Fic: Road to Nowhere 14/?
Well, what do you know, a new chapter!
Title: Road to Nowhere 14/?
Author: gatechic
Characters/Pairing: A bunch of people - I'm too lazy to list.
Rating: PG-16
Summary: Pre-series. Zero, after imprisoning Wyatt Cain in the iron suit, arrests and splits up the Cain Clan. Now they must cope with life apart, in prison, and forced to work for the Sorceress and her Longcoats.
This chapter: Are Garrett and Mason finally rescued from the cave-in?
Word Count: 2,140
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle and Garrett belong to me. I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I'm not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is a WIP and full of OCs. Thanks to those of you who support original characters, this would not have happened without it. Thanks to my beta, erinm_4600, which she didn't beta this chapter, so any mistakes are all mine. I'm posting this for bizarra, hope this helps you feel better. Cast page can be found here.
Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5||Chapter 6||Chapter 7
Chapter 8||Chapter 9||Chapter 10||Chapter 11||Chapter 12||Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Garrett heard voices, some moaning, and some talking. At first, the voices sounded more like echoes and distant; but in time, they became clearer. The ground was softer, and it was…brighter? He forced his eyes opened and then shut them quickly when the light hit them, causing pain. He didn’t know he had groaned until a gentle hand touched his shoulder and a soft voice spoke to him.
“Garrett?”
His throat hurt, his mouth was dry, and when he answered, it came out sounding like a raspy grunt. “Don’t try to talk. I’ll let Doctor Meyer know you’re awake.”
He wanted to nod to acknowledge that he understood but even moving his head hurt and made him nauseous. He willed his stomach to keep from emptying, if he had anything in his stomach at all.
“Hey, Garrett, you okay?” Mason asked, propping himself up on his bed.
Garrett raised his finger and then waggled it. It was the only motion he could think of that didn’t hurt or make him sick. “What happened?” Garrett asked, his words sounding almost like a sensible language.
Mason understood, though. He learned in medical school that ‘What happened?’ is usually the first thing an injured person will ask. “There was a cave-in and we were trapped. Your legs were caught under some fallen debris. Your right leg is broken at the femur and tibia and you have a concussion.
It was then Garrett’s stomach emptied.
“Nurse!” Mason called, “Garrett is suffering from emesis.” The nurse gave him a puzzled look. “You’re a doctor?” she asked, wondering why a doctor was camp worker.
Mason shook his head. “Medical student, at least, I was.” His days in school seemed so far in the past now.
“I don’t think I feel well enough to go to school today, Mom,” Garrett said, and then glanced around his bed, with a troubled look on his face, as if he misplaced something.
Mason raised his brows. “Garrett, this isn’t exactly school.” He knew the confusion was due to the concussion and it would take time for Garrett to recover. Mason glanced at the nurse, worried. He knew the infirmary was primitive compared to the hospitals in Central, he hoped they could provide the care that Garrett needed.
Mason was released long before Garrett was, and the Longcoats wasted no time in trying to blame Garrett for the collapse and due to the time spent in the recovery and rebuilding the mine, they would have to work double.
When Garrett was finally released from the infirmary, he noticed the stern glances aimed at him as he headed towards the barrack. He had a good idea what was the reason behind the stares. Harold had made it a point to tell him about the executions of those accused of sabotage, Longcoats were not big on trials, and why he was not executed. It didn’t take him long to figure out the next stage of Harold’s great plan to make his life at the camp miserable.
Brent and Mason walked hastily towards him; their quick steps making him chuckle. Some of the other miners coming towards him didn’t go unnoticed, either. Garrett motioned towards them. “I don’t think they’re as happy to see me.”
Brent glanced over his shoulder, “No, they’re not. There’s been talk…”
“Yeah, let me guess, they blame me for the collapse and the executions,” Garrett said, sizing up his would-be opponents.
“How’d you know?” Mason asked, sticking his hands in his pockets from either nerves or the cooler weather that was descending upon the camp.
“The thorn in my side told me.” Garrett glanced over his shoulder and said, “I bet the son of a bitch is watching right now.” When he shifted his glance back to Mason and Brent, they had company, and not the friendly kind.
“Hey, Cain, we want a word with you,” the bigger of the group said angrily.
Garrett raised his brows and slightly shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. What is it?”
Mason looked at Brent, worried. Brent nodded.
“Word has it that you caused the collapse and those men were executed as punishment for you,” another said, showing a clear intent to fight behind his words.
“Well, you heard wrong or did you mindless buffoons forget that I almost died in the collapse?” Garrett asked, taking a defensive position. He stepped up to the bigger one, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Take your best shot, and after you do, I’ll kill you.” There was no mistaking the aggressive tone in Garrett’s voice. His arms fell to his side and his fingers curled in towards his palms forming fists.
The man stepped into Garrett’s personal space. The two men were engaged in a stare-down. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Garrett started, “it’s a promise.”
Mason could swear Garrett snorted like a bull does before it charges.
“I keep my promises,” Garrett added. There was a tense moment of men flexing muscles, trading glares, and the testosterone thermometer was about to burst when the other man backed down. “Good choice.” Garrett relaxed but not enough to show vulnerability. “Look, if you haven’t noticed, this is what they want,” he pointed to a group of Longcoats who had gathered in the hopes of seeing a fight. “They want us to fight with each other. They work us till our hands bleed, barely feed us, keep us in close quarters, and anythin’ else they can think of. Why?” He glanced around waiting for someone to answer his question. “Because we outnumber them. It’s the only way they can control us, other than usin’ fear tactics. Tyrants use fear to keep control of the masses, keep you from thinkin’ with your own minds, and they keep you ignorant of the truth with lies and distortions. Keep that in mind the next time a Longcoat tells you somethin’. I’m not your enemy.”
The miners looked at Garrett, turned, and walked away. Garrett let out a breath. Brent clapped his back. “Nice work. But would you have killed him?”
Garrett nodded. “Yeah, I would have.”
“How do you do it? I mean, how did you make them back off?” Mason asked, wondering where Garrett’s ability to prevent fights by threatening to fight comes from.
“Poker, Mason, life is nothin’ but a big poker game.”
Mason nodded, remembering that lesson Garrett taught him. As they walked towards the barracks, Mason pondered. “So you bluffed?”
“No, not in that sense, I would have fought him, and I would kill to protect myself. I’m talkin’ more about forcin’ your opponent to fold whether you have a winning hand or not.”
Mason shook his head as they stopped. “I don’t understand; why fight a man if you don’t think you can win? Wouldn’t it be easier to not put yourself in that position?”
“Ideally yeah, but look where we’re at. This isn’t exactly the best place to be passive. There are two kinds of people here: The bully and the bullied. The bullied will fold every time, but the bully knows there’s always someone out there stronger than he, so he puts on a good show; he bluffs, but because he’s good at it, he gets away with it. See, poker isn’t just a game of chance or luck, it’s about strategy, learnin’ your opponents weaknesses and exploiting them. I can teach you how to take Brent down. Fighting is not just about strength or who’s taller. Strategy, Mason, look for the weak spots: the eyes, the throat, the balls, the knees…”
Mason followed Garrett’s motions as he demonstrated his points using Brent as a model. “Poker is also a game of science. Study the body language, the signs that a person gives unconsciously: sweating, fidgeting, breathing through the mouth can show nervousness, eyes shifting from side to side, stuff like that.”
“But it’s more than that Garrett. You have the look, I’ve seen it,” Mason said, trying his best to mimic the look he’s seen Garrett give on more than one occasion.
Brent laughed as he nodded at Garrett. “He’s gettin’ better at making your faces.”
Garrett smirked, failing to keep a soft chuckle from escaping. “Yeah, well, it took many games of poker to get the look. But my father…” he stopped and his eyes glanced away for a moment.
“I want that look,” Mason said a moment later, determined to be fearless like his friend Garrett.
“It’s not just the look, Mason, you have to be prepared to back it up,” Garrett added, sitting down on the bench. His eyes closed at the pain he was feeling in his legs. The doctor refused to give him crutches, and Garrett knew that was Harold’s orders. Crutches would have provided Garrett with a couple of weapons. He stared off watching people, wondering how things were going outside of the camp, and he also wondered why they were mining all this mauritanium. He sighed deeply and then turned to Mason. “Hey, kid,” he started, pursing his lips; “I’m sorry for the way I acted because of your father. You don’t pick your families, and well, sometimes apples do fall far from the tree.” He offered his hand.
Mason nodded and reached to shake Garrett’s hand. “Nothing to apologize for. If I were in your shoes, I would have had the same reaction.”
The three men sat silent for a moment when Garrett broke the silence. “I need whiskey. Damn fuckin’ Longcoats.” Brent laughed. Mason shook his head.
Rebecca watched as another girl was dragged away screaming by a Longcoat. She glanced around and some were ignoring the scene, pretending it wasn’t happening or they had a look that said ‘be silent go about your work.’ She looked across the factory floor and saw Lulu and Kasey doing their work but visibly shaking.
They weren’t people with rights. They were property and the Longcoats could treat them anyway they wanted. The only thing Rebecca could do was to hope they got through another day.
If it were not for Jeb, Adora would feel alone in this new world she woke up to every morning. Being a Tin Man’s wife, she knew that there was always that danger of Wyatt never coming home, but this was different. Not only was Wyatt taken from her but her home as well. Wyatt’s family was gone and there was no one to mourn with. If it wasn’t for Jeb, she probably would have killed herself; not because she couldn’t face life without Wyatt but because she didn’t want to give Zero the satisfaction of having her life in his hands.
Instead, she continued to plan her escape.
After chopping up wood for the hearth, Reese stacked it against their house. Winter was coming, and he needed to get as much wood as he could. Chalee tended to the few chickens they had and was thankful that Reese was able to obtain some cattle. There were some other essentials they needed, but overall, they were prepared for winter.
Later that evening, they sat near the hearth, Reese was reading and Chalee was knitting. Normally, they would have sat on the porch watching twilight turn to nighttime. But times were different and very few ventured from their homes at night.
He hated the silence. He longed for the days when he had to sit through Garrett mangling a song on his fiddle when he was learning how to play the instrument. But once Garrett learned, and Wyatt had mastered the harmonica, they had joyous music to dance to after their weekly gathering. The family feast once a week was a tradition for the family and a way to keep that bond. They would all gather together, giving thanks to Glinda for the week that had ended. He didn’t know he had been smiling or that Chalee was standing in front of him when she pulled the book from his hands. “Is the book that good?” she asked.
“No, it’s terrible. I should have known it was bad if the Longcoats didn’t feel it was necessary to burn it.”
“Oh, well, then may I ask why you were smiling?” She sat on his thighs and then leaned towards him.
“I was thinking about how terrible Garrett played that fiddle of his in the beginning,” he said, and then laughed.
“Oh, by the gods that boy was terrible. Even had the dogs howling,” she said, making them both laugh. “But, he got better, thank the gods. I think Travis was goin’ to burn the damn thing at one point.”
They talked through the night, sharing stories, even ones they told again. When Chalee finally fell asleep on the couch, Reese decided to write down the stories in a journal. It was the best way he knew of to keep his family alive.
Title: Road to Nowhere 14/?
Author: gatechic
Characters/Pairing: A bunch of people - I'm too lazy to list.
Rating: PG-16
Summary: Pre-series. Zero, after imprisoning Wyatt Cain in the iron suit, arrests and splits up the Cain Clan. Now they must cope with life apart, in prison, and forced to work for the Sorceress and her Longcoats.
This chapter: Are Garrett and Mason finally rescued from the cave-in?
Word Count: 2,140
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle and Garrett belong to me. I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I'm not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is a WIP and full of OCs. Thanks to those of you who support original characters, this would not have happened without it. Thanks to my beta, erinm_4600, which she didn't beta this chapter, so any mistakes are all mine. I'm posting this for bizarra, hope this helps you feel better. Cast page can be found here.
Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5||Chapter 6||Chapter 7
Chapter 8||Chapter 9||Chapter 10||Chapter 11||Chapter 12||Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Garrett heard voices, some moaning, and some talking. At first, the voices sounded more like echoes and distant; but in time, they became clearer. The ground was softer, and it was…brighter? He forced his eyes opened and then shut them quickly when the light hit them, causing pain. He didn’t know he had groaned until a gentle hand touched his shoulder and a soft voice spoke to him.
“Garrett?”
His throat hurt, his mouth was dry, and when he answered, it came out sounding like a raspy grunt. “Don’t try to talk. I’ll let Doctor Meyer know you’re awake.”
He wanted to nod to acknowledge that he understood but even moving his head hurt and made him nauseous. He willed his stomach to keep from emptying, if he had anything in his stomach at all.
“Hey, Garrett, you okay?” Mason asked, propping himself up on his bed.
Garrett raised his finger and then waggled it. It was the only motion he could think of that didn’t hurt or make him sick. “What happened?” Garrett asked, his words sounding almost like a sensible language.
Mason understood, though. He learned in medical school that ‘What happened?’ is usually the first thing an injured person will ask. “There was a cave-in and we were trapped. Your legs were caught under some fallen debris. Your right leg is broken at the femur and tibia and you have a concussion.
It was then Garrett’s stomach emptied.
“Nurse!” Mason called, “Garrett is suffering from emesis.” The nurse gave him a puzzled look. “You’re a doctor?” she asked, wondering why a doctor was camp worker.
Mason shook his head. “Medical student, at least, I was.” His days in school seemed so far in the past now.
“I don’t think I feel well enough to go to school today, Mom,” Garrett said, and then glanced around his bed, with a troubled look on his face, as if he misplaced something.
Mason raised his brows. “Garrett, this isn’t exactly school.” He knew the confusion was due to the concussion and it would take time for Garrett to recover. Mason glanced at the nurse, worried. He knew the infirmary was primitive compared to the hospitals in Central, he hoped they could provide the care that Garrett needed.
Mason was released long before Garrett was, and the Longcoats wasted no time in trying to blame Garrett for the collapse and due to the time spent in the recovery and rebuilding the mine, they would have to work double.
When Garrett was finally released from the infirmary, he noticed the stern glances aimed at him as he headed towards the barrack. He had a good idea what was the reason behind the stares. Harold had made it a point to tell him about the executions of those accused of sabotage, Longcoats were not big on trials, and why he was not executed. It didn’t take him long to figure out the next stage of Harold’s great plan to make his life at the camp miserable.
Brent and Mason walked hastily towards him; their quick steps making him chuckle. Some of the other miners coming towards him didn’t go unnoticed, either. Garrett motioned towards them. “I don’t think they’re as happy to see me.”
Brent glanced over his shoulder, “No, they’re not. There’s been talk…”
“Yeah, let me guess, they blame me for the collapse and the executions,” Garrett said, sizing up his would-be opponents.
“How’d you know?” Mason asked, sticking his hands in his pockets from either nerves or the cooler weather that was descending upon the camp.
“The thorn in my side told me.” Garrett glanced over his shoulder and said, “I bet the son of a bitch is watching right now.” When he shifted his glance back to Mason and Brent, they had company, and not the friendly kind.
“Hey, Cain, we want a word with you,” the bigger of the group said angrily.
Garrett raised his brows and slightly shrugged his shoulders. “Okay. What is it?”
Mason looked at Brent, worried. Brent nodded.
“Word has it that you caused the collapse and those men were executed as punishment for you,” another said, showing a clear intent to fight behind his words.
“Well, you heard wrong or did you mindless buffoons forget that I almost died in the collapse?” Garrett asked, taking a defensive position. He stepped up to the bigger one, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Take your best shot, and after you do, I’ll kill you.” There was no mistaking the aggressive tone in Garrett’s voice. His arms fell to his side and his fingers curled in towards his palms forming fists.
The man stepped into Garrett’s personal space. The two men were engaged in a stare-down. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Garrett started, “it’s a promise.”
Mason could swear Garrett snorted like a bull does before it charges.
“I keep my promises,” Garrett added. There was a tense moment of men flexing muscles, trading glares, and the testosterone thermometer was about to burst when the other man backed down. “Good choice.” Garrett relaxed but not enough to show vulnerability. “Look, if you haven’t noticed, this is what they want,” he pointed to a group of Longcoats who had gathered in the hopes of seeing a fight. “They want us to fight with each other. They work us till our hands bleed, barely feed us, keep us in close quarters, and anythin’ else they can think of. Why?” He glanced around waiting for someone to answer his question. “Because we outnumber them. It’s the only way they can control us, other than usin’ fear tactics. Tyrants use fear to keep control of the masses, keep you from thinkin’ with your own minds, and they keep you ignorant of the truth with lies and distortions. Keep that in mind the next time a Longcoat tells you somethin’. I’m not your enemy.”
The miners looked at Garrett, turned, and walked away. Garrett let out a breath. Brent clapped his back. “Nice work. But would you have killed him?”
Garrett nodded. “Yeah, I would have.”
“How do you do it? I mean, how did you make them back off?” Mason asked, wondering where Garrett’s ability to prevent fights by threatening to fight comes from.
“Poker, Mason, life is nothin’ but a big poker game.”
Mason nodded, remembering that lesson Garrett taught him. As they walked towards the barracks, Mason pondered. “So you bluffed?”
“No, not in that sense, I would have fought him, and I would kill to protect myself. I’m talkin’ more about forcin’ your opponent to fold whether you have a winning hand or not.”
Mason shook his head as they stopped. “I don’t understand; why fight a man if you don’t think you can win? Wouldn’t it be easier to not put yourself in that position?”
“Ideally yeah, but look where we’re at. This isn’t exactly the best place to be passive. There are two kinds of people here: The bully and the bullied. The bullied will fold every time, but the bully knows there’s always someone out there stronger than he, so he puts on a good show; he bluffs, but because he’s good at it, he gets away with it. See, poker isn’t just a game of chance or luck, it’s about strategy, learnin’ your opponents weaknesses and exploiting them. I can teach you how to take Brent down. Fighting is not just about strength or who’s taller. Strategy, Mason, look for the weak spots: the eyes, the throat, the balls, the knees…”
Mason followed Garrett’s motions as he demonstrated his points using Brent as a model. “Poker is also a game of science. Study the body language, the signs that a person gives unconsciously: sweating, fidgeting, breathing through the mouth can show nervousness, eyes shifting from side to side, stuff like that.”
“But it’s more than that Garrett. You have the look, I’ve seen it,” Mason said, trying his best to mimic the look he’s seen Garrett give on more than one occasion.
Brent laughed as he nodded at Garrett. “He’s gettin’ better at making your faces.”
Garrett smirked, failing to keep a soft chuckle from escaping. “Yeah, well, it took many games of poker to get the look. But my father…” he stopped and his eyes glanced away for a moment.
“I want that look,” Mason said a moment later, determined to be fearless like his friend Garrett.
“It’s not just the look, Mason, you have to be prepared to back it up,” Garrett added, sitting down on the bench. His eyes closed at the pain he was feeling in his legs. The doctor refused to give him crutches, and Garrett knew that was Harold’s orders. Crutches would have provided Garrett with a couple of weapons. He stared off watching people, wondering how things were going outside of the camp, and he also wondered why they were mining all this mauritanium. He sighed deeply and then turned to Mason. “Hey, kid,” he started, pursing his lips; “I’m sorry for the way I acted because of your father. You don’t pick your families, and well, sometimes apples do fall far from the tree.” He offered his hand.
Mason nodded and reached to shake Garrett’s hand. “Nothing to apologize for. If I were in your shoes, I would have had the same reaction.”
The three men sat silent for a moment when Garrett broke the silence. “I need whiskey. Damn fuckin’ Longcoats.” Brent laughed. Mason shook his head.
Rebecca watched as another girl was dragged away screaming by a Longcoat. She glanced around and some were ignoring the scene, pretending it wasn’t happening or they had a look that said ‘be silent go about your work.’ She looked across the factory floor and saw Lulu and Kasey doing their work but visibly shaking.
They weren’t people with rights. They were property and the Longcoats could treat them anyway they wanted. The only thing Rebecca could do was to hope they got through another day.
If it were not for Jeb, Adora would feel alone in this new world she woke up to every morning. Being a Tin Man’s wife, she knew that there was always that danger of Wyatt never coming home, but this was different. Not only was Wyatt taken from her but her home as well. Wyatt’s family was gone and there was no one to mourn with. If it wasn’t for Jeb, she probably would have killed herself; not because she couldn’t face life without Wyatt but because she didn’t want to give Zero the satisfaction of having her life in his hands.
Instead, she continued to plan her escape.
After chopping up wood for the hearth, Reese stacked it against their house. Winter was coming, and he needed to get as much wood as he could. Chalee tended to the few chickens they had and was thankful that Reese was able to obtain some cattle. There were some other essentials they needed, but overall, they were prepared for winter.
Later that evening, they sat near the hearth, Reese was reading and Chalee was knitting. Normally, they would have sat on the porch watching twilight turn to nighttime. But times were different and very few ventured from their homes at night.
He hated the silence. He longed for the days when he had to sit through Garrett mangling a song on his fiddle when he was learning how to play the instrument. But once Garrett learned, and Wyatt had mastered the harmonica, they had joyous music to dance to after their weekly gathering. The family feast once a week was a tradition for the family and a way to keep that bond. They would all gather together, giving thanks to Glinda for the week that had ended. He didn’t know he had been smiling or that Chalee was standing in front of him when she pulled the book from his hands. “Is the book that good?” she asked.
“No, it’s terrible. I should have known it was bad if the Longcoats didn’t feel it was necessary to burn it.”
“Oh, well, then may I ask why you were smiling?” She sat on his thighs and then leaned towards him.
“I was thinking about how terrible Garrett played that fiddle of his in the beginning,” he said, and then laughed.
“Oh, by the gods that boy was terrible. Even had the dogs howling,” she said, making them both laugh. “But, he got better, thank the gods. I think Travis was goin’ to burn the damn thing at one point.”
They talked through the night, sharing stories, even ones they told again. When Chalee finally fell asleep on the couch, Reese decided to write down the stories in a journal. It was the best way he knew of to keep his family alive.