Primeval ficlet: Ramshackle
Title: Ramshackle
Author: rustydog
Characters: Connor, Cutter
Rating: PG13
Warnings: angst, dream violence
Spoilers: 3x03 and 3x06
Words: 755
Beta: mad_jaks
Summary: The team has survived the day's dangers, but the decaying hut won't leave Connor alone.
The birds were persistent, he'd give them that, but the real problem was that, even before Phorusrhacids with beaks like scythes had begun offering assistance, the hut had already been falling apart. Which was weird, considering that everything inside it was so remarkably well-preserved. Maybe that should have been their first clue this was going to be one of those days.
The door Connor was trying to brace shut wasn't going to last long. He felt a heavy blow ram the wood behind his back, then the sharp tip of a beak stabbed through a crack a few inches from his head. A moment later there was a giant, bloodshot eye blinking at him. He'd shudder if his heart weren't pounding so hard it was already shaking his body. Or, okay, maybe that was the birds pounding on the door.
The wall was the only thing separating them from death, and all too quickly, pieces were being torn away, splintered, tossed aside. Nothing was going to keep these creatures from their hot, gory meal. Connor was as afraid of watching the others die as he was of dying himself.
...But they weren't meant to die today, as it turned out. Amidst the terror, there were heroics, then safety, jubilation, and before the day was done, anger and more joy&mdash They had survived. Again. It was an exhausting way to live, but Connor assumed that just kept them from thinking too much, helped them sleep better at night.
Theoretically. Tonight he reckoned there was a fifty percent chance that instead of sleeping like a babe, he would spend his unconscious hours fighting enormous, hungry dream-pigeons, or chickens with machine guns or some other avian bollocks.
In the end it was neither of those things. Instead, when Lester's cool, quiet flat was darkened and Connor pulled the sheet over himself, he slipped easily into a dream he'd already had several times recently.
He's in Cutter's office to show him something, but they're separated by the expanse of the anomaly model in the middle of the room. Connor peers between the rods of the matrix representing time and space, and this time the dream changes: the model becomes the swirling, golden paths of light emanating from the artefact. Cutter is staring through it to a spot in the center. He says, "This is all I have," and as he brings his hand up to touch a yellow arc, the model disintegrates, sending motes of light showering to the floor. Cutter turns to Connor, still staring with eyes so hollow, Connor wonders how the emptiness can hold his body together.
Connor wants to say, "But you have us," wants to stride over, shake Cutter awake, and remind him, "You have me." But he is mute. In frustration, he turns to go, to find help, but he isn't in the ARC anymore. It's the forest, and there's the ironically named safe house, still and dark inside, its tortured exterior looking ready to collapse.
Connor walks around the hut, dazed, and out the back he discovers Cutter, his arms held by Helen and Stephen. While Connor watches, they begin to strike Cutter, first taking turns, then becoming more frenzied, seemingly bent on breaking all of his bones, leaving him pulped, dying. Their wicked enthusiasm is terrifying. They seem to bark and chuckle as they attack, and Connor can't remember where he's heard those sounds.
Moving ever so slowly, he looks about for a weapon, something to stop them, but he sees nothing and now he can't move at all; his feet have sunk into the ground. Helplessness and anger cloud his dream vision purple-red, and he can hardly see at all when Helen drags Cutter into the hut and she and Steven are gone.
He finally breaks free, runs for the hut, but before he reaches the door, the hut shudders, sighs, and crumbles in a cloud of dust. For a moment, through a gap, Connor can see Cutter's broken body before it is buried by the debris.
"This is all I have," Cutter's voice says, and Connor tries to dig his way to him, but the splinters of wood have turned to bone and feathers, and there is no one there.
Connor woke, face flushed, legs tangled in the sheet, and sighed. He always looked forward to work, even though it sometimes meant having days like yesterday. It was the best way to keep his mind quiet. It was the best way to help a friend he couldn't save.
Author: rustydog
Characters: Connor, Cutter
Rating: PG13
Warnings: angst, dream violence
Spoilers: 3x03 and 3x06
Words: 755
Beta: mad_jaks
Summary: The team has survived the day's dangers, but the decaying hut won't leave Connor alone.
The birds were persistent, he'd give them that, but the real problem was that, even before Phorusrhacids with beaks like scythes had begun offering assistance, the hut had already been falling apart. Which was weird, considering that everything inside it was so remarkably well-preserved. Maybe that should have been their first clue this was going to be one of those days.
The door Connor was trying to brace shut wasn't going to last long. He felt a heavy blow ram the wood behind his back, then the sharp tip of a beak stabbed through a crack a few inches from his head. A moment later there was a giant, bloodshot eye blinking at him. He'd shudder if his heart weren't pounding so hard it was already shaking his body. Or, okay, maybe that was the birds pounding on the door.
The wall was the only thing separating them from death, and all too quickly, pieces were being torn away, splintered, tossed aside. Nothing was going to keep these creatures from their hot, gory meal. Connor was as afraid of watching the others die as he was of dying himself.
...But they weren't meant to die today, as it turned out. Amidst the terror, there were heroics, then safety, jubilation, and before the day was done, anger and more joy&mdash They had survived. Again. It was an exhausting way to live, but Connor assumed that just kept them from thinking too much, helped them sleep better at night.
Theoretically. Tonight he reckoned there was a fifty percent chance that instead of sleeping like a babe, he would spend his unconscious hours fighting enormous, hungry dream-pigeons, or chickens with machine guns or some other avian bollocks.
In the end it was neither of those things. Instead, when Lester's cool, quiet flat was darkened and Connor pulled the sheet over himself, he slipped easily into a dream he'd already had several times recently.
He's in Cutter's office to show him something, but they're separated by the expanse of the anomaly model in the middle of the room. Connor peers between the rods of the matrix representing time and space, and this time the dream changes: the model becomes the swirling, golden paths of light emanating from the artefact. Cutter is staring through it to a spot in the center. He says, "This is all I have," and as he brings his hand up to touch a yellow arc, the model disintegrates, sending motes of light showering to the floor. Cutter turns to Connor, still staring with eyes so hollow, Connor wonders how the emptiness can hold his body together.
Connor wants to say, "But you have us," wants to stride over, shake Cutter awake, and remind him, "You have me." But he is mute. In frustration, he turns to go, to find help, but he isn't in the ARC anymore. It's the forest, and there's the ironically named safe house, still and dark inside, its tortured exterior looking ready to collapse.
Connor walks around the hut, dazed, and out the back he discovers Cutter, his arms held by Helen and Stephen. While Connor watches, they begin to strike Cutter, first taking turns, then becoming more frenzied, seemingly bent on breaking all of his bones, leaving him pulped, dying. Their wicked enthusiasm is terrifying. They seem to bark and chuckle as they attack, and Connor can't remember where he's heard those sounds.
Moving ever so slowly, he looks about for a weapon, something to stop them, but he sees nothing and now he can't move at all; his feet have sunk into the ground. Helplessness and anger cloud his dream vision purple-red, and he can hardly see at all when Helen drags Cutter into the hut and she and Steven are gone.
He finally breaks free, runs for the hut, but before he reaches the door, the hut shudders, sighs, and crumbles in a cloud of dust. For a moment, through a gap, Connor can see Cutter's broken body before it is buried by the debris.
"This is all I have," Cutter's voice says, and Connor tries to dig his way to him, but the splinters of wood have turned to bone and feathers, and there is no one there.
Connor woke, face flushed, legs tangled in the sheet, and sighed. He always looked forward to work, even though it sometimes meant having days like yesterday. It was the best way to keep his mind quiet. It was the best way to help a friend he couldn't save.