R is for...
Words: 1224
Rating: PG-13; Mentions of sex, violence
Summary: Sawyer needs them to stop running.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to get rescued, but they weren't supposed to find out who he was, what he'd done. Charlie wasn't supposed to find out.
He still didn't understand how it all came to be like it was. Sawyer knew it was his fault, because instead of going to jail like he should've, he chose to run, run like he always did, run like his life depended on it. The thing was that it did, but Charlie was now his life, in some sick, twisted way. He had ran too, throwing everything away, which just wasn't fair. Sawyer had nothing to throw away; Charlie had so many things. He was Aaron's pseudo-father, he had a record deal slowly happening, he was only thirty...
That explained why, at a bar in the middle of no where at four fifteen in the morning, way past when normal places had last call, Sawyer had came up with a plan. He had always told Charlie to watch out, to make sure no one drugs his drinks or his food, to never trust anyone, but he doesn't notice when Sawyer slips a small white pill into his beer, dissolving quickly. Seconds later, it was being swallowed.
The television changed, going from some random sport thing that was definitely not live, to a news report. He watched silently as the television spoke.
"Two criminals, named Charles Pace and James Ford, known more commonly as Charlie and Sawyer respectively, have been spotted in the area. The two are armed and dangerous, so stay away from them at all costs. They have robbed banks throughout the country, and are thought to have over a million dollars in unmarked bills." A snort of annoyance and disbelief was heard from Sawyer, though Charlie's attention was lost in moving the glass slowly, the drugs already working and making it appear amusing. "If you see them, please contact your local police station."
Sawyer heard a someone talking from the corner of the bar. Both he and Charlie had hooded sweatshirts, their heads covered from view. Eyes moving, he watched the person talking.
"If I ever found them, I'd steal all their money and then turn them in. You know, get a good reward for it," some fifty year old trucker-looking guy said. Oh, Sawyer couldn't let this one pass.
Getting up, he moved over to the table, and heard a faint call of 'Sawyer, I don't feel good' from the bar. Moving to the table, he slammed his hands down on it, getting attention quickly. Pulling the hood down, he smirked. "Wanna say that to my face? 'cause I'll definitely fight you. I won't even use my gun."
The man's eyes widened, as did his friends', and he could see one reaching for their cell phone while trying to hide it. That was what he wanted. "Didn't think so. Watch your words next time 'cause next person might not be so damn happy." He moved back to the bar, to see Charlie's head down on the bar top, his eyes closed and his mouth mumbling something.
Arms moving, he grabbed the man and picked him up, being careful. "Come on, sleepy," he whispered to the other as he held him, one arm under the man's knees, the other under his shoulders, Charlie's head lightly on Sawyer's own shoulder. "Time to go to the car and get caught. Fun's over."
He started towards it and placed Charlie into it gently. The drugs would only last about fifteen minutes, so they barely had another ten. It'd be enough though, he knew. As he pulled back and shut the door to the old convertible, he noticed Charlie's eyes looking up at him tiredly. "Hey, love you, remember that, 'kay?"
It was wrong, Charlie knew, because Sawyer never said that. Still, he gave a tiny nod and mumbled out, "L'v you too." A small kiss was placed on his lips and he knew something was really wrong. Sawyer never kissed him anymore. He hadn't since the island, not unless they were in a dirty motel room, crying out as they came together, clinging desperately and feeling closer than they ever felt anymore.
"I know you do," he murmured quietly. "So go along with what the letter says." He took out a small piece of paper, filled with words, and placed it under one of the windshield wipers. He moved into the car to open the glove box, where fifty thousand was stashed in hundred dollar pills, and he pulled out their gun, only used for last resort situations.
"I'm going to make us stop running. I'm done running. Gets too much, you know?" He watched Charlie's confused and scared eyes before shutting it the small compartment. Moving away, he walked into the empty road, aiming the gun at where he could distantly see red and blue lights hurtling towards him.
A faint noise of the door unlocking was heard, Charlie falling from the car onto his knees, fighting the drug. Why did he have to be so stubborn? There was no way he could stop this though. "Charlie, just shut your eyes. It'll be over soon," he called, and could feel the stares of the scared customers in the bar on his back, but blocked that out. He had to, because soon he knew Charlie would be crying, would be screaming, and he needed to block it all out. This way for him; he didn't want to regret the smartest thing he'd ever done. Then it'd be meaningless.
Guns were already being pulled out, sirens screaming, but he heard and noticed none of it. The only thing he heard was Charlie's desperate cries as he tried to stand. Closing his eyes tight, all it took were a few shots fired from the gun, making his hand move just the slightest bit, and they were returned.
Wide blue eyes stared as one single rip appeared on Sawyer's shirt, followed by another, and another, the blue tee-shirt slowly becoming brown as red blood mixed with the blue and the night. Soon after that, his jeans followed, bullets hitting him in every area. In some sick, twisted way, it was graceful, all happening in slow motion.
Each bullet pushed Sawyer back slightly, but his face remained calm, no signs of pain or fear on it. The gun slowly fell from his hand, hitting the ground just a second before his body did. Those were two sounds Charlie would never forget.
He didn't notice himself screaming, or the fact that before his drugged body could get to Sawyer's, he was being pulled up to his feet by cops as another police officer read a note and said to let him go, stating how Sawyer had explained in the letter how he'd forced the other through drugs and mind tricks to do this. He didn't notice himself being pulled towards the car for questioning, or the money being taken from the trunk and glove box. He didn't notice the fact that the night sky was the clearest he'd ever seen it.
All he noticed was that Sawyer had stopped moving, had stopped breathing, had stopped running. After running all his life, from his past, from the cops, from civilization, he was finally peaceful. The running was finally over.
Rating: PG-13; Mentions of sex, violence
Summary: Sawyer needs them to stop running.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to get rescued, but they weren't supposed to find out who he was, what he'd done. Charlie wasn't supposed to find out.
He still didn't understand how it all came to be like it was. Sawyer knew it was his fault, because instead of going to jail like he should've, he chose to run, run like he always did, run like his life depended on it. The thing was that it did, but Charlie was now his life, in some sick, twisted way. He had ran too, throwing everything away, which just wasn't fair. Sawyer had nothing to throw away; Charlie had so many things. He was Aaron's pseudo-father, he had a record deal slowly happening, he was only thirty...
That explained why, at a bar in the middle of no where at four fifteen in the morning, way past when normal places had last call, Sawyer had came up with a plan. He had always told Charlie to watch out, to make sure no one drugs his drinks or his food, to never trust anyone, but he doesn't notice when Sawyer slips a small white pill into his beer, dissolving quickly. Seconds later, it was being swallowed.
The television changed, going from some random sport thing that was definitely not live, to a news report. He watched silently as the television spoke.
"Two criminals, named Charles Pace and James Ford, known more commonly as Charlie and Sawyer respectively, have been spotted in the area. The two are armed and dangerous, so stay away from them at all costs. They have robbed banks throughout the country, and are thought to have over a million dollars in unmarked bills." A snort of annoyance and disbelief was heard from Sawyer, though Charlie's attention was lost in moving the glass slowly, the drugs already working and making it appear amusing. "If you see them, please contact your local police station."
Sawyer heard a someone talking from the corner of the bar. Both he and Charlie had hooded sweatshirts, their heads covered from view. Eyes moving, he watched the person talking.
"If I ever found them, I'd steal all their money and then turn them in. You know, get a good reward for it," some fifty year old trucker-looking guy said. Oh, Sawyer couldn't let this one pass.
Getting up, he moved over to the table, and heard a faint call of 'Sawyer, I don't feel good' from the bar. Moving to the table, he slammed his hands down on it, getting attention quickly. Pulling the hood down, he smirked. "Wanna say that to my face? 'cause I'll definitely fight you. I won't even use my gun."
The man's eyes widened, as did his friends', and he could see one reaching for their cell phone while trying to hide it. That was what he wanted. "Didn't think so. Watch your words next time 'cause next person might not be so damn happy." He moved back to the bar, to see Charlie's head down on the bar top, his eyes closed and his mouth mumbling something.
Arms moving, he grabbed the man and picked him up, being careful. "Come on, sleepy," he whispered to the other as he held him, one arm under the man's knees, the other under his shoulders, Charlie's head lightly on Sawyer's own shoulder. "Time to go to the car and get caught. Fun's over."
He started towards it and placed Charlie into it gently. The drugs would only last about fifteen minutes, so they barely had another ten. It'd be enough though, he knew. As he pulled back and shut the door to the old convertible, he noticed Charlie's eyes looking up at him tiredly. "Hey, love you, remember that, 'kay?"
It was wrong, Charlie knew, because Sawyer never said that. Still, he gave a tiny nod and mumbled out, "L'v you too." A small kiss was placed on his lips and he knew something was really wrong. Sawyer never kissed him anymore. He hadn't since the island, not unless they were in a dirty motel room, crying out as they came together, clinging desperately and feeling closer than they ever felt anymore.
"I know you do," he murmured quietly. "So go along with what the letter says." He took out a small piece of paper, filled with words, and placed it under one of the windshield wipers. He moved into the car to open the glove box, where fifty thousand was stashed in hundred dollar pills, and he pulled out their gun, only used for last resort situations.
"I'm going to make us stop running. I'm done running. Gets too much, you know?" He watched Charlie's confused and scared eyes before shutting it the small compartment. Moving away, he walked into the empty road, aiming the gun at where he could distantly see red and blue lights hurtling towards him.
A faint noise of the door unlocking was heard, Charlie falling from the car onto his knees, fighting the drug. Why did he have to be so stubborn? There was no way he could stop this though. "Charlie, just shut your eyes. It'll be over soon," he called, and could feel the stares of the scared customers in the bar on his back, but blocked that out. He had to, because soon he knew Charlie would be crying, would be screaming, and he needed to block it all out. This way for him; he didn't want to regret the smartest thing he'd ever done. Then it'd be meaningless.
Guns were already being pulled out, sirens screaming, but he heard and noticed none of it. The only thing he heard was Charlie's desperate cries as he tried to stand. Closing his eyes tight, all it took were a few shots fired from the gun, making his hand move just the slightest bit, and they were returned.
Wide blue eyes stared as one single rip appeared on Sawyer's shirt, followed by another, and another, the blue tee-shirt slowly becoming brown as red blood mixed with the blue and the night. Soon after that, his jeans followed, bullets hitting him in every area. In some sick, twisted way, it was graceful, all happening in slow motion.
Each bullet pushed Sawyer back slightly, but his face remained calm, no signs of pain or fear on it. The gun slowly fell from his hand, hitting the ground just a second before his body did. Those were two sounds Charlie would never forget.
He didn't notice himself screaming, or the fact that before his drugged body could get to Sawyer's, he was being pulled up to his feet by cops as another police officer read a note and said to let him go, stating how Sawyer had explained in the letter how he'd forced the other through drugs and mind tricks to do this. He didn't notice himself being pulled towards the car for questioning, or the money being taken from the trunk and glove box. He didn't notice the fact that the night sky was the clearest he'd ever seen it.
All he noticed was that Sawyer had stopped moving, had stopped breathing, had stopped running. After running all his life, from his past, from the cops, from civilization, he was finally peaceful. The running was finally over.