100 Fic Challenge: Breathe Again
Prompt Number: 10
Author: selvanic
Series: DOGS
Word Count: 613
Characters/Pairings: Heine
Rating: PG-13; mostly for language and implied violence
Summary: Bullet after bullet, time after time, all he could do was wait.
There were days when Heine honestly asked himself why he even tried. It wasn't as if he ever cared enough to be stealthy; it wasn't as if he ever shied away from grossly uneven firefights. It wasn't even as if he was afraid of getting hit. It was, more than likely, just an instinct. “Duck and cover” seemed to come with his territory. That didn't keep it from feeling utterly pointless, however, as his body hit the ground yet again.
There was the usual echoing thud as he became little more than dead weight - what a terrible choice of words - followed by the almost secondhand sensation of pain when his head bounced off of the concrete. The voices shouting celebratory cries of victory seemed far away, the tentative shuffle of feet gathering around him fading into white noise as everything went black.
It would have been routine by now, if it didn't still feel disgustingly awkward. Floating there, in the depths of his own mind, knowing that every vital process in his body had stopped but the one he always wished would...
“You're getting weak.”
Heine's least favorite part: the damn nagging voice attached to the back of his neck.
“You keep winding up here. If you don't do something soon, they'll peg you in the head. Then it'll all be over.”
He would have laughed if he'd cared enough. As it was, it was the same fucking lecture as always. Everything was the same.
“There really is a simple solution.” He was face to face with himself, though he was sure the other's appearance was entirely arbitrary. “You stop fighting like you're one of them, and let me do the work. That's what I'm here for after all.”
No...The thing was there because he'd been forced to take it. He'd been told it would help the others. And now he was stuck with it.
“You should stop fighting me. That's what's killing you, if you'll mind the tasteless joke. I'm the only thing that guarantees you'll stay alive.”
Admittedly, that was true. But nine times out of ten, when he was laid out like this, he honestly wondered if being alive was what he wanted. Another reason he hated being laid out like this.
“Let me out. I'll show them all. And you won't take one more bullet.”
Right. His chest and gut were full of lead. No wonder he felt as heavy as he did. Though remembering as much got things moving again. He could feel muscles starting to twitch, could feel his lungs struggling to pick up where they'd been forced to leave off...It hurt like hell, but it was by far his favorite part.
It meant the voice was running out of time.
“Come on. Stop being so stubborn. You want to win, don't you? You don't honestly think you can kill all of them on your own do you?”
No. He couldn't. But...he wasn't alone. There were two idiots - he hadn't yet decided who was more retarded, his partner or his stalker - waiting for him to get up, no doubt fighting to buy some time until he could 'save the day'. So to Hell with the voice. To Hell with the relief of insanity. He'd do this the good old fashioned way.
A spasm, a rough and painful shock through his body, and everything kicked back into gear. Bullets rattled across the floor as he coughed them up, horrified enemies staggered back with shrieks of disbelief, a certain loud-mouthed redhead shouted something about his being late...
He'd never been happier to be able to breathe again.
Author: selvanic
Series: DOGS
Word Count: 613
Characters/Pairings: Heine
Rating: PG-13; mostly for language and implied violence
Summary: Bullet after bullet, time after time, all he could do was wait.
There were days when Heine honestly asked himself why he even tried. It wasn't as if he ever cared enough to be stealthy; it wasn't as if he ever shied away from grossly uneven firefights. It wasn't even as if he was afraid of getting hit. It was, more than likely, just an instinct. “Duck and cover” seemed to come with his territory. That didn't keep it from feeling utterly pointless, however, as his body hit the ground yet again.
There was the usual echoing thud as he became little more than dead weight - what a terrible choice of words - followed by the almost secondhand sensation of pain when his head bounced off of the concrete. The voices shouting celebratory cries of victory seemed far away, the tentative shuffle of feet gathering around him fading into white noise as everything went black.
It would have been routine by now, if it didn't still feel disgustingly awkward. Floating there, in the depths of his own mind, knowing that every vital process in his body had stopped but the one he always wished would...
“You're getting weak.”
Heine's least favorite part: the damn nagging voice attached to the back of his neck.
“You keep winding up here. If you don't do something soon, they'll peg you in the head. Then it'll all be over.”
He would have laughed if he'd cared enough. As it was, it was the same fucking lecture as always. Everything was the same.
“There really is a simple solution.” He was face to face with himself, though he was sure the other's appearance was entirely arbitrary. “You stop fighting like you're one of them, and let me do the work. That's what I'm here for after all.”
No...The thing was there because he'd been forced to take it. He'd been told it would help the others. And now he was stuck with it.
“You should stop fighting me. That's what's killing you, if you'll mind the tasteless joke. I'm the only thing that guarantees you'll stay alive.”
Admittedly, that was true. But nine times out of ten, when he was laid out like this, he honestly wondered if being alive was what he wanted. Another reason he hated being laid out like this.
“Let me out. I'll show them all. And you won't take one more bullet.”
Right. His chest and gut were full of lead. No wonder he felt as heavy as he did. Though remembering as much got things moving again. He could feel muscles starting to twitch, could feel his lungs struggling to pick up where they'd been forced to leave off...It hurt like hell, but it was by far his favorite part.
It meant the voice was running out of time.
“Come on. Stop being so stubborn. You want to win, don't you? You don't honestly think you can kill all of them on your own do you?”
No. He couldn't. But...he wasn't alone. There were two idiots - he hadn't yet decided who was more retarded, his partner or his stalker - waiting for him to get up, no doubt fighting to buy some time until he could 'save the day'. So to Hell with the voice. To Hell with the relief of insanity. He'd do this the good old fashioned way.
A spasm, a rough and painful shock through his body, and everything kicked back into gear. Bullets rattled across the floor as he coughed them up, horrified enemies staggered back with shrieks of disbelief, a certain loud-mouthed redhead shouted something about his being late...
He'd never been happier to be able to breathe again.