new Breaking Bad fic: Declan's Dog
Title: Declan's Dog
Author: Shenandoah Risu
Rating: T
Content Flags: canon character death; spoilers for episode 5-10 "Buried"
Characters: Declan
Excerpt: Deep down he knew that Declan was not a nice man, that he did many things that were wrong. But it didn’t matter to him.
Word Count: around 1,020
Author's Notes: I probably would have never watched Breaking Bad had it not been for Louis Ferreira's guest role as Declan. - This story is just a reminder that nobody is all bad. Every human being has redeeming qualities, however insignificant they may be.
Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Declan... Declan I'd know what to do with. ;-)
Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)
Please leave comments here at my LJ if it's not too much trouble.
oOo
Declan’s Dog
He’s hurting. Badly.
He’s been in pain before, lots of it, but nothing like this. He can’t remember having hurt this badly, ever.
Not that he remembers a lot - remembering things has never been his strong point. But Declan was always patient with him, repeating a command until he understood, and when he remembered he always got a treat.
Declan always seems to have treats in his pockets. He always smells so good, and not just because of the treats, but because he smells like safety.
Like home.
The dog struggles to get up, then whimpers as his rear end just collapses underneath him. He doesn’t know what a bullet is; he doesn’t know he was hit in the spine by a stray ricochet in the firefight, out there in the cold winter desert.
He sniffs the air.
Yes, there he is. Declan is here. His savior, his friend.
He’s not a smart dog, but he remembers certain things.
He remembers he was very little; he was wet and so cold and so, so scared, when the Big Hand picked him up, him and his nine tiny siblings, and he was dropped in a cold dark place that stank of garbage. One by one his siblings stopped crying and moving.
He never stopped crying. He remembers how hungry he was, and how he was crying the whole time, and how he was so tired and lonely.
He remembers the sudden blast of fresh air, an upset voice, a gentle hand, being wrapped in something warm and dry, and then things got better.
Someone fed him with a bottle and carried him around in the inside pocket of his leather jacket until he was too big to fit in there.
The first time he opened his eyes and saw Declan he knew it was him right away. He had curly brown hair and brown eyes, just like himself. “Hey puppy,” Declan had said, and that’s pretty much the way it stayed. It was always “Puppy” or “Dog”. Those weren’t bad names. He was happy.
Declan took him everywhere with him. There were lots of dark places in the middle of the night, and the dog would watch for shadows as Declan met with other people. He would growl when the others raised their voices, and he would bare his teeth, ready to defend his boss, until Declan gave a tiny wave with his hand. That meant “sit down and shut up”. The dog remembered that every time.
Deep down the dog knew that Declan was not a nice man, that he did many things that were wrong. But it didn’t matter to him. Declan always treated him well, always fed him and played with him, and sometimes, when he was cold at night, Declan would lift his blanket and he crawled under the covers with him.
He loved being out in the desert with Declan. They would play fetch between the low shrubs, and he loved chasing after whatever Declan would throw. He was very good at fetching, and Declan always had a treat for him when he dropped the stick or whatever at his feet. Sometimes Declan would laugh at his antics, and then he would rub his face and call him his best buddy or "Dumpster Dog". And the dog loved him with all his heart and every bit of understanding of the world that he had.
He knew when Declan wanted his company, and he knew when to leave him alone.
The dog knew his place. He would always walk to Declan’s left, half a step behind him, always scanning the area for any possible threats ready to defend him - to die for him if necessary.
Sometimes Declan would leave without him. Then he was sad, and he would wait anxiously for his return. And sometimes Declan would take him along and he got to ride in the car with him, and he loved that. Once he even took him to a place called New Mexico where Declan was meeting with other people out in the middle of nowhere. He told him to wait in the car, and the dog watched nervously as he talked to them. It happened twice, and both times he was so happy when Declan came back, and then they drove home.
Sometimes other people would come visit them in the desert. Then he would be next to Declan, pretending like he understood what they were talking about, and always watching out for any danger.
Today though, today was different. When the cars arrived Declan told him to stay by the front door.
He sat there and watched as Declan climbed into the hole in the ground where he is never allowed. Then more cars pulled in and Declan came back up.
The dog knew something was wrong. The new people just smelled wrong. He didn't like them. They smelled of danger, of death.
He started to run when the bullets flew, but then suddenly his hind legs stopped working and he crouched down in a panic.
It was quiet for a while. Then there was one more gunshot.
The dog closed his eyes and didn't move.
It was night before the other people left. He watched them carry many things up from the hole in the ground.
As the moon rises he shivers in the frigid air.
He drags himself towards the smell of his friend, knowing all the time that he smells wrong, and by the time he reaches Declan he is cold.
The dog whimpers and licks his face. He cleans the blood off the back of his head. It tastes terrible.
He feels his strength fading away. He is hungry and cold and weak.
There is nothing else he can do. Pushing his nose under Declan’s arm he tucks himself close to him.
He closes his eyes.
The moon is bright and cold, and the last thing he remembers is how lucky he is to be there next to the man to whom he owes his life.
He sighs deeply.
And then he simply stops breathing.
oOo
Thanks for reading! A comment or feedback would be much appreciated.
.
.
Author: Shenandoah Risu
Rating: T
Content Flags: canon character death; spoilers for episode 5-10 "Buried"
Characters: Declan
Excerpt: Deep down he knew that Declan was not a nice man, that he did many things that were wrong. But it didn’t matter to him.
Word Count: around 1,020
Author's Notes: I probably would have never watched Breaking Bad had it not been for Louis Ferreira's guest role as Declan. - This story is just a reminder that nobody is all bad. Every human being has redeeming qualities, however insignificant they may be.
Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad. I wouldn't know what to do with it. Now, Declan... Declan I'd know what to do with. ;-)
Thanks for reading! Feedback = Love. ;-)
Please leave comments here at my LJ if it's not too much trouble.
oOo
Declan’s Dog
He’s hurting. Badly.
He’s been in pain before, lots of it, but nothing like this. He can’t remember having hurt this badly, ever.
Not that he remembers a lot - remembering things has never been his strong point. But Declan was always patient with him, repeating a command until he understood, and when he remembered he always got a treat.
Declan always seems to have treats in his pockets. He always smells so good, and not just because of the treats, but because he smells like safety.
Like home.
The dog struggles to get up, then whimpers as his rear end just collapses underneath him. He doesn’t know what a bullet is; he doesn’t know he was hit in the spine by a stray ricochet in the firefight, out there in the cold winter desert.
He sniffs the air.
Yes, there he is. Declan is here. His savior, his friend.
He’s not a smart dog, but he remembers certain things.
He remembers he was very little; he was wet and so cold and so, so scared, when the Big Hand picked him up, him and his nine tiny siblings, and he was dropped in a cold dark place that stank of garbage. One by one his siblings stopped crying and moving.
He never stopped crying. He remembers how hungry he was, and how he was crying the whole time, and how he was so tired and lonely.
He remembers the sudden blast of fresh air, an upset voice, a gentle hand, being wrapped in something warm and dry, and then things got better.
Someone fed him with a bottle and carried him around in the inside pocket of his leather jacket until he was too big to fit in there.
The first time he opened his eyes and saw Declan he knew it was him right away. He had curly brown hair and brown eyes, just like himself. “Hey puppy,” Declan had said, and that’s pretty much the way it stayed. It was always “Puppy” or “Dog”. Those weren’t bad names. He was happy.
Declan took him everywhere with him. There were lots of dark places in the middle of the night, and the dog would watch for shadows as Declan met with other people. He would growl when the others raised their voices, and he would bare his teeth, ready to defend his boss, until Declan gave a tiny wave with his hand. That meant “sit down and shut up”. The dog remembered that every time.
Deep down the dog knew that Declan was not a nice man, that he did many things that were wrong. But it didn’t matter to him. Declan always treated him well, always fed him and played with him, and sometimes, when he was cold at night, Declan would lift his blanket and he crawled under the covers with him.
He loved being out in the desert with Declan. They would play fetch between the low shrubs, and he loved chasing after whatever Declan would throw. He was very good at fetching, and Declan always had a treat for him when he dropped the stick or whatever at his feet. Sometimes Declan would laugh at his antics, and then he would rub his face and call him his best buddy or "Dumpster Dog". And the dog loved him with all his heart and every bit of understanding of the world that he had.
He knew when Declan wanted his company, and he knew when to leave him alone.
The dog knew his place. He would always walk to Declan’s left, half a step behind him, always scanning the area for any possible threats ready to defend him - to die for him if necessary.
Sometimes Declan would leave without him. Then he was sad, and he would wait anxiously for his return. And sometimes Declan would take him along and he got to ride in the car with him, and he loved that. Once he even took him to a place called New Mexico where Declan was meeting with other people out in the middle of nowhere. He told him to wait in the car, and the dog watched nervously as he talked to them. It happened twice, and both times he was so happy when Declan came back, and then they drove home.
Sometimes other people would come visit them in the desert. Then he would be next to Declan, pretending like he understood what they were talking about, and always watching out for any danger.
Today though, today was different. When the cars arrived Declan told him to stay by the front door.
He sat there and watched as Declan climbed into the hole in the ground where he is never allowed. Then more cars pulled in and Declan came back up.
The dog knew something was wrong. The new people just smelled wrong. He didn't like them. They smelled of danger, of death.
He started to run when the bullets flew, but then suddenly his hind legs stopped working and he crouched down in a panic.
It was quiet for a while. Then there was one more gunshot.
The dog closed his eyes and didn't move.
It was night before the other people left. He watched them carry many things up from the hole in the ground.
As the moon rises he shivers in the frigid air.
He drags himself towards the smell of his friend, knowing all the time that he smells wrong, and by the time he reaches Declan he is cold.
The dog whimpers and licks his face. He cleans the blood off the back of his head. It tastes terrible.
He feels his strength fading away. He is hungry and cold and weak.
There is nothing else he can do. Pushing his nose under Declan’s arm he tucks himself close to him.
He closes his eyes.
The moon is bright and cold, and the last thing he remembers is how lucky he is to be there next to the man to whom he owes his life.
He sighs deeply.
And then he simply stops breathing.
oOo
Thanks for reading! A comment or feedback would be much appreciated.
.
.