[Original: Drabble] "Guardian" [Zeke Jones, PG]
Title: Guardian
Prompt: writerverse challenge #10 weekly quick fic #3 (“you have to laugh at yourself once in a while, because you’d cry your eyes out if you didn’t” (The Indigo Girls) )
Word Count: 515
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Warnings: slight, non-graphic violence/injury
Summary: I would be the only vampire in recorded history to bleed to death, wouldn’t I?
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Guardian
I drew in a slow, pained breath, and it escaped as a huff of laughter.
It wasn’t funny- it really wasn’t funny- but I couldn’t help myself. I had been a Lit. major once upon a time, and the irony of my current situation was painfully obvious. I would be the only vampire in recorded history to bleed to death, wouldn’t I?
Another burst of laughter wheezed out.
At least I wasn’t going to die alone. There was another body in the alley with me, the sick bastard who’d threatened to kill my partner. Howell had put this guy’s father in jail fifty years ago, where he’d promptly been shanked, and his son had sworn revenge. By which he meant taunting the police with a series of gruesome murders, intending to end the game with Howell’s no doubt equally horrible death.
He’d been watching the investigation, watching Howell, and he must have figured that a clumsy, female rookie cop wasn’t worth keeping tabs on.
I’d put four bullets in his chest, a perfect cluster, but not before I’d taken a couple, too.
Carefully, I peeled off the hand I’d clamped over my ribs. The bleeding had slowed, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I felt light-headed and oddly numb.
It was really kind of peaceful, propped up against the sturdy brick wall. It was still warm from the sunlight of that day, or maybe that was the oven of the bakery inside. I had seen it earlier, and now I could smell the first batch of something delicious. I took a deep breath, winced, and closed my eyes.
Only to snap them open again at the sound of paws pounding on concrete. A gray blur- a huge wolf- raced into the alley, padding to a stop beside me with a low whine. I’d never seen him like this before, but I recognized my partner instantly.
“Sir,” I said and, oh, that hurt much more than I’d thought it would.
As a wolf, Howell was still at least twice my size, but he licked at my bloody hands so gently that I hardly felt it. He was so warm, sitting beside me in the cold night air, that I let my eyes slide shut again, ignoring the questioning growl that sounded suspiciously similar to his human ones.
Then, suddenly, there were large hands closing over mine, and I looked up to find human-Howell crouched beside me. He wasn’t wearing a stitch, of course, which was why he’d made it a rule never to transform while on duty.
“You will not die, Hezekia,” he said, a promise and an order all at once.
I heard the sirens coming, getting louder fast.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and blacked out.
I woke to the beeping of hospital equipment and the floaty feeling of really good painkillers. On the room’s only chair, there was a crisply-folded police uniform, and as I drifted back to sleep, a warm, familiar weight pressed against my side.
“G’night, sir,” I murmured.
My partner replied with a wolfish laugh.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah
Prompt: writerverse challenge #10 weekly quick fic #3 (“you have to laugh at yourself once in a while, because you’d cry your eyes out if you didn’t” (The Indigo Girls) )
Word Count: 515
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: original ( Zeke Jones ‘verse)
Warnings: slight, non-graphic violence/injury
Summary: I would be the only vampire in recorded history to bleed to death, wouldn’t I?
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Guardian
I drew in a slow, pained breath, and it escaped as a huff of laughter.
It wasn’t funny- it really wasn’t funny- but I couldn’t help myself. I had been a Lit. major once upon a time, and the irony of my current situation was painfully obvious. I would be the only vampire in recorded history to bleed to death, wouldn’t I?
Another burst of laughter wheezed out.
At least I wasn’t going to die alone. There was another body in the alley with me, the sick bastard who’d threatened to kill my partner. Howell had put this guy’s father in jail fifty years ago, where he’d promptly been shanked, and his son had sworn revenge. By which he meant taunting the police with a series of gruesome murders, intending to end the game with Howell’s no doubt equally horrible death.
He’d been watching the investigation, watching Howell, and he must have figured that a clumsy, female rookie cop wasn’t worth keeping tabs on.
I’d put four bullets in his chest, a perfect cluster, but not before I’d taken a couple, too.
Carefully, I peeled off the hand I’d clamped over my ribs. The bleeding had slowed, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I felt light-headed and oddly numb.
It was really kind of peaceful, propped up against the sturdy brick wall. It was still warm from the sunlight of that day, or maybe that was the oven of the bakery inside. I had seen it earlier, and now I could smell the first batch of something delicious. I took a deep breath, winced, and closed my eyes.
Only to snap them open again at the sound of paws pounding on concrete. A gray blur- a huge wolf- raced into the alley, padding to a stop beside me with a low whine. I’d never seen him like this before, but I recognized my partner instantly.
“Sir,” I said and, oh, that hurt much more than I’d thought it would.
As a wolf, Howell was still at least twice my size, but he licked at my bloody hands so gently that I hardly felt it. He was so warm, sitting beside me in the cold night air, that I let my eyes slide shut again, ignoring the questioning growl that sounded suspiciously similar to his human ones.
Then, suddenly, there were large hands closing over mine, and I looked up to find human-Howell crouched beside me. He wasn’t wearing a stitch, of course, which was why he’d made it a rule never to transform while on duty.
“You will not die, Hezekia,” he said, a promise and an order all at once.
I heard the sirens coming, getting louder fast.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and blacked out.
I woke to the beeping of hospital equipment and the floaty feeling of really good painkillers. On the room’s only chair, there was a crisply-folded police uniform, and as I drifted back to sleep, a warm, familiar weight pressed against my side.
“G’night, sir,” I murmured.
My partner replied with a wolfish laugh.
THE END
Current Mood:
blah