Lost Fic: Miles in Wonderland
OMG, I wrote something. *Snuggles flist* I’m so glad you guys gave me prompts. More ficlets are on their way, I just got bowled over by elliotsmelliot’s prompt. You know I can’t resist Miles.
Title: Miles in Wonderland
Characters: Miles, ensemble
Rating: PG-13 (Language)
Words: 1,539
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: After the bomb goes off, Miles wakes up alone in the jungle. Things go downhill from there.
A/N: Written for elliotsmelliot who gave me the prompt Miles post-Incident.
Miles wakes up in the jungle face down in the grass. He pushes himself slowly to his feet and tries to ignore the throbbing headache pounding away at his temples. For a moment he can’t figure out why the hell he’s in the middle of the jungle, and then he remembers Jack’s grand plan and the light show that followed. His chest tightens as he casts a glance around the clearing. He’s completely alone. Which seems wrong because there was no shortage of people screaming five minutes ago. At least he thinks it was five minutes ago.
The next thing he notices is the fact that there’s no Swan station. No gaping crater. Nothing. He looks around the clearing and realizes that he’s nowhere near the Swan site. That can’t possibly be good, he thinks.
“Where the hell is everybody?” he says out loud.
His question is met with a mixture of birds chirping and tree frogs croaking. He listens for a moment straining to hear something, anything that sounded remotely human.
“Dad?” he calls hopefully, before remembering Chang’s not used to answering to that particular title. He clears his throat and tries again, “Dr. Chang?”
Nobody answers. Miles decides to change tactics. “La Fleur? Oh, that’s right you didn’t want to be called that anymore because you decided to join the crazy train,” Miles says bitterly.
“Jin? Hurley? Anybody?”
The lack of sound in the jungle is making Miles uneasy. Nothing about this adds up. Something definitely happened at the Swan. At the time Miles was pretty sure that something meant imminent death, but he knew death, hell he had death on speed dial, and this wasn’t death. He’s still breathing which is nice, but he’s feeling a little fuzzy on the how and the why of it all. He decides the best solution to this problem is to ignore it and hope that whatever the answer is it won’t make his head hurt any worse.
A rustling in the bushes causes him to stop. The sound is too soft to be a human so his mind immediately starts conjuring up possibilities---boar, monkey, really big fricken snake---none of which he wants to deal with at the moment. He moves behind a nearby tree hoping he’s out of sight of whatever creature’s about to emerge from the bushes. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding when a yellow lab comes running towards him, tail wagging.
“A dog? Seriously?”
Miles leans down and scratches the dog behind the ear. It gives his hand a grateful lick before continuing on its way. As he watches it go, Miles can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen the dog before. Wasn’t there a yellow lab in the camp when he first got here? But that was three years ago, why would the mutt show up now? Miles shakes his head and starts walking again. He has more important things to worry about than where Fido’s been hiding out, like finding his friends and possibly his Dad. And maybe a cheeseburger. His stomach grumbles at the thought of food and he smirks. No one ever tells you to pack a lunch before you go on the run and attempt to erase three years of history. There should be a pamphlet.
Miles is so lost in thought he almost misses the fact that there’s a person standing a few feet away from him. The guy is facing away from him, but Miles recognizes him anyway---dark hair, nice build, kind of a Captain America-esque profile---definitely Jack. Jack in a suit. Which is weird because Jack wasn’t wearing a suit a few minutes ago when he was busy executing plan: make the island go boom.
Miles opens his mouth to call to him, but before he can say a word Jack takes off running towards the beach like the devil’s chasing him.
“Okay…” Miles says slowly before he breaks into a run to catch up with him. The minute he emerges onto the beach he stops dead in his tracks. He’s seen a lot of weird shit on this island; no doubt about it…smoke monsters, crazy bald guys who jam grenades in your mouth, dudes who look thirty no matter what decade they happen to be in…but this tops it all.
There’s a plane on the beach. No scratch that, there are various parts of a plane on the beach because apparently it just slammed into the island. There’s also fire. And hey look people. People who are understandably freaking the hell out. Miles isn’t sure if he should go help or sit down and cry, or maybe just laugh.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He takes a couple of deep breathes to psych himself up before plunging into the chaos to search for Jack. People push past him and he has to avoid stepping on the injured. His stomach lurches from the combined force of the living panicking and the newly dead screaming bloody murder. His head is pounding and he has to fight the urge to slap a blonde chick that is standing in the middle of everything wailing like a horror movie victim.
He jumps when someone catches his elbow. He looks up hoping to see Jack or Jim or anybody that looks familiar, instead he finds himself staring at a tall, skinny guy with freakishly blue eyes who he’s never seen before.
“Do you have a pen?” the guy asks urgently.
Miles shakes his head bewildered.
“A pen? You need a pen…now?” Miles asks in confusion.
The guy lets out an exasperated sigh and keeps moving. Miles spots Jack in the distance bent over a pregnant lady and hops over a dead guy to head towards them when he stops in his tracks. He needs answers and so far the living were too busy being hysterical to help him out. Might as well ask a dead guy, he thinks. He keeps his eyes on Jack as he kneels down next to the dead fellow.
“Alright Buddy, tell me what happened.”
Miles closes his eyes and shivers as the guy’s panic washes over him. He’s on a plane, it’s starting to shake…someone screams. ---Oh God, Oh God, what’s happening? I can’t die now. Jill’s waiting in LA. It’s been thirty years…please no…not now---
Miles jerks away from the guy so fast he topples over into the sand. Los Angeles, the plane was heading to Los Angeles. Miles feels bile rising in his throat as he looks up at what’s left of the plane. There’s an Oceanic symbol on the side.
“No way…there’s no fucking way…” Miles sputters. He forces himself to look around at the people on the beach. There’s Jack helping the pregnant chick. Miles takes in the sight of the girl’s long blonde hair and shudders. He remembers that girl, but the last time he saw her she had a baby in her arms and she wasn’t exactly among the living. Next to her is a big dude who is without a doubt Hurley. Miles continues scanning the crowd until he spots Sayid and Locke hovering over some poor sap without a leg.
“So…this means what exactly?” Miles asks desperately. “If it worked, shouldn’t I be in Encino eating a burrito right now?”
Miles pushes himself to his feet and starts to head towards Jack and Hurley when he spots Jim leaning against a piece of debris taking a long draw off a cigarette. Miles watches him for a moment. He seems perfectly calm, just surveying the chaos. He’s got to remember, Miles thinks. As he makes his way over to his old boss, Miles can’t help but grin. He never thought he would be this happy to see La Fleur.
“Jim! Man, what the hell is going…”
Miles stumbles when Jim’s fist connects with his jaw. He rubs at the spot as he looks up at Jim who’s standing over him looking more than a little pissed off.
“Why did you just call me Jim, son?”
Miles groans. There’s not even a glimmer of recognition in his friend’s eyes. Jim’s got no idea who he is and is apparently not especially up with people at the moment.
“I thought you were someone I knew…my friend from the plane, you look a little bit like him.”
Jim snatches the front of Miles’s jumpsuit and pulls him to his feet. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“My name’s Sawyer, Hoss and I ain’t your friend.”
Miles shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
Jim shoves him and Miles turns to walk away.
He’s screwed, there’s no doubt about it. The chaos seems to be dying down around him. People are huddling together, crying and talking. Miles looks down at his Dharma jumpsuit and realizes he’s not exactly blending in. He sighs and bends down to unzip the first suitcase he sees. It doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere any time soon, so he might as well try not to frighten the locals.
The first thing he pulls out of the suitcase is a garish Hawaiian print button down. Miles snorts.
“I miss the seventies,” he mutters to himself before unbuttoning his jumpsuit.