(creative_muses) Good things come in small packages.
Good things come in small packages
(OOC: This is from an odd little AU (greypicketfence) where Alec is roughly eight. And was stolen from Manticore. He now lives with Dean, Lisa and Ben Braeden. Alec thinks the 'good things' in question are the kittens. We all know it's a different, bipedal, kitten that already has a smart mouth on him.)
The sound was strange, high and desperate. He'd never heard it before, but somehow he knew. He knew. It sounded like how he felt when he wanted Lisa or Dean to hug him warm and tight. Like how he felt when he woke from a nightmare. At least that's what Dean called them.
It came from behind the dumpster, which was behind Wade's Korner Grocery. Alec had stared up at the sign for a long time trying to figure out why the word corner was spelled wrong. Didn't people proof read signs?
The noise, the crying, was coming from behind the store. In the dark corner by the fence where cars didn't like to park. Where it smelled funny in that gross way. He only wavered for a moment though, before heading over. His nose wrinkled up and he sneezed repeatedly.
The wooden fence had something slimy on it. And the space between the fence and the dumpster wasn't wide enough for him to use his crutches. He thought about just walking a little even though it would hurt, but Miss Shea, the doctor, had said not to walk on it at all. So he leaned his eight year old sized crutches on a clean part of the fence and hopped. Once he was between the fence and the dumpster he could use his hands and swing.
There was something sticky on his arm, and something slippy under his boot. He swore like sailor, in two languages. And then described the parentage of all the people that couldn't get the trash into the dumpster in a third. It wasn't pretty. In fact it was graphically rude. He could snipe a moving target at a ridiculous distance. Why couldn't full grown adults hit a target that was 4 feet by 6 feet? From point blank range.
He was now gross all over and it smelled like something had died back here. There was a box in his way and he still couldn't see what was making that noise. He nudged the box with his bad leg and it made that desperate noise. Or at least something in the box did. There wasn't enough room to look in it so he nudged it in front of him until both him and the box came out on the far side of the narrow passage.
He crouched down, balancing easily on one foot, other stuck out in front of him. He tipped the box up a little and peered in. It was then that he discovered that something really had died back there. At the front of the box was a gingery striped body. The fur looked soft but Alec know a couple of days dead when he saw it.
But dead things didn't usually make noise. So he set the box down flat and slid the cold body out. The fur was soft, but dead was dead and he didn't like the feel of it under his hands. He looked in again and saw more dead bodies. Much smaller that the first. But there was that noise again. Desperate, sad. Cold and hungry. He took out more little furry bodies. Dead. Still.
Then one squirmed weakly. Needle claws. The little body next to it cried. They were both cold, but not still, or dead. Not yet. They're eyes wouldn't even open, and they shivered between his hands. It was so wrong because he knew they're little bodies should be exactly as warm as his own.
He had to pull them out one at a time because his hands were just little boys hands. Dean could have held them both in one hand. But Dean wasn't here. So he pulled them out one at a time, away from their dead siblings. But at least they still had each other.
Once they were both out they cried louder and tried to hold on to him. To the warmth. Without thinking he tucked them both up under his chin and purred. Once they had quieted he tucked them down inside his zipped jacket.
One was all black and nearly disappeared in the shadow of his jacket. He could still see the pink of skin under the fur. The other he thought might be mostly white, under the dirt. White over pink with grey spilled paint marks, big and uneven. He knew that once their eyes were open they'd shine at night just like his own.
He looked at the small, still, dead bodies of the ones he hadn't found in time and suddenly wanted to be home and get one of those hugs he'd been thinking about earlier.
Muse: Alec McDowell/X5-494
'Verse: greypicketfence
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 772
(OOC: This is from an odd little AU (greypicketfence) where Alec is roughly eight. And was stolen from Manticore. He now lives with Dean, Lisa and Ben Braeden. Alec thinks the 'good things' in question are the kittens. We all know it's a different, bipedal, kitten that already has a smart mouth on him.)
The sound was strange, high and desperate. He'd never heard it before, but somehow he knew. He knew. It sounded like how he felt when he wanted Lisa or Dean to hug him warm and tight. Like how he felt when he woke from a nightmare. At least that's what Dean called them.
It came from behind the dumpster, which was behind Wade's Korner Grocery. Alec had stared up at the sign for a long time trying to figure out why the word corner was spelled wrong. Didn't people proof read signs?
The noise, the crying, was coming from behind the store. In the dark corner by the fence where cars didn't like to park. Where it smelled funny in that gross way. He only wavered for a moment though, before heading over. His nose wrinkled up and he sneezed repeatedly.
The wooden fence had something slimy on it. And the space between the fence and the dumpster wasn't wide enough for him to use his crutches. He thought about just walking a little even though it would hurt, but Miss Shea, the doctor, had said not to walk on it at all. So he leaned his eight year old sized crutches on a clean part of the fence and hopped. Once he was between the fence and the dumpster he could use his hands and swing.
There was something sticky on his arm, and something slippy under his boot. He swore like sailor, in two languages. And then described the parentage of all the people that couldn't get the trash into the dumpster in a third. It wasn't pretty. In fact it was graphically rude. He could snipe a moving target at a ridiculous distance. Why couldn't full grown adults hit a target that was 4 feet by 6 feet? From point blank range.
He was now gross all over and it smelled like something had died back here. There was a box in his way and he still couldn't see what was making that noise. He nudged the box with his bad leg and it made that desperate noise. Or at least something in the box did. There wasn't enough room to look in it so he nudged it in front of him until both him and the box came out on the far side of the narrow passage.
He crouched down, balancing easily on one foot, other stuck out in front of him. He tipped the box up a little and peered in. It was then that he discovered that something really had died back there. At the front of the box was a gingery striped body. The fur looked soft but Alec know a couple of days dead when he saw it.
But dead things didn't usually make noise. So he set the box down flat and slid the cold body out. The fur was soft, but dead was dead and he didn't like the feel of it under his hands. He looked in again and saw more dead bodies. Much smaller that the first. But there was that noise again. Desperate, sad. Cold and hungry. He took out more little furry bodies. Dead. Still.
Then one squirmed weakly. Needle claws. The little body next to it cried. They were both cold, but not still, or dead. Not yet. They're eyes wouldn't even open, and they shivered between his hands. It was so wrong because he knew they're little bodies should be exactly as warm as his own.
He had to pull them out one at a time because his hands were just little boys hands. Dean could have held them both in one hand. But Dean wasn't here. So he pulled them out one at a time, away from their dead siblings. But at least they still had each other.
Once they were both out they cried louder and tried to hold on to him. To the warmth. Without thinking he tucked them both up under his chin and purred. Once they had quieted he tucked them down inside his zipped jacket.
One was all black and nearly disappeared in the shadow of his jacket. He could still see the pink of skin under the fur. The other he thought might be mostly white, under the dirt. White over pink with grey spilled paint marks, big and uneven. He knew that once their eyes were open they'd shine at night just like his own.
He looked at the small, still, dead bodies of the ones he hadn't found in time and suddenly wanted to be home and get one of those hugs he'd been thinking about earlier.
Muse: Alec McDowell/X5-494
'Verse: greypicketfence
Fandom: Dark Angel
Word count: 772