fic: Filled up with glue (Heroes; PG - Gabriel Gray)
title: Filled up with glue
character: Gabriel (implied Elle/Gabriel leading into the exposed future)
rating: PG
word count: an even 500
spoilers/warnings: through 3.11 to be safe; second-person imperative tense
summary: Mix your metaphors. Be normal.
Okay, so yeah, you’re tempted to make it so that little kid at the booth behind you never kicks a seat again for the rest of his life. Everybody has flashes of I could murder that little bastard, but you’re not going to act on that impulse, okay? You have to draw lines somewhere, no matter how arbitrary. It’s best to draw your lines in the metaphorical sand, by the way, and not in blood across people’s foreheads.
This? This is everyday life. If you intend to blend, then you really have to work to keep those urges in check, kiddo. Killing kids is just not on.
Actually, killing in general is frowned upon, so try to refrain.
So just ignore the kid and enjoy your ice cream. You have a pretty girl across from you who loves you. She’s really, really into her banana split. You have a hot fudge brownie dream in front of you that you’re not paying attention to, and your butter pecan is dribbling down the side of the bowl and puddling on the table. Be careful-normal life is in the details and right now you’re slacking.
Smile bright and happy when she looks up. This is your life now, smiling and having ice cream. This is what happy, normal people do, and you’re normal and happy, remember?
When you finish, take your girl out and walk down the street with her. Hold her hand. Pull her close against you later on, when it’s chilly, because she didn’t bring a sweater and hey, you’re a big guy. You put off a lot of body heat.
Remember, you’re both of you normal. You’re just like everybody else walking down the boardwalk. If there’s something a little extra in your cocktail, well, doesn’t mean you have to go there. You own a lot of shirts-you don’t wear your cable-knits when it’s ninety degrees out, do you?
Mix your metaphors.
Remember how you used to work so hard to fix things, back before all you were was a mindless, voracious carnivore? Meticulous, delicate little things? Being normal is kind of like that, if you remember. Bus fare to be paid in coins, the lobster clasp on the heart-shaped locket you bought your girl, tiny specks of spices sprinkled over dinner.
This is what you always wanted, wasn’t it? When you were sitting there, hunched over Daddy’s workbench and squinting at clockworks, you were dreaming of a sunshiny future with a sunshiny blonde on your arm. Okay, maybe you didn’t even dare to dream about the blonde; that’s fine. But here you are, living it now, and she’s here, too.
So what you’re going to do, buddy boy, is swallow everything down. Tamp all of it down pat. Make it lie like rugs. Lie like a rug yourself if you have to, if that’s how you have to go about being normal then that’s how you’re going to do it.
Eventually, it won’t even feel like you’re trying anymore.
End.
character: Gabriel (implied Elle/Gabriel leading into the exposed future)
rating: PG
word count: an even 500
spoilers/warnings: through 3.11 to be safe; second-person imperative tense
summary: Mix your metaphors. Be normal.
Okay, so yeah, you’re tempted to make it so that little kid at the booth behind you never kicks a seat again for the rest of his life. Everybody has flashes of I could murder that little bastard, but you’re not going to act on that impulse, okay? You have to draw lines somewhere, no matter how arbitrary. It’s best to draw your lines in the metaphorical sand, by the way, and not in blood across people’s foreheads.
This? This is everyday life. If you intend to blend, then you really have to work to keep those urges in check, kiddo. Killing kids is just not on.
Actually, killing in general is frowned upon, so try to refrain.
So just ignore the kid and enjoy your ice cream. You have a pretty girl across from you who loves you. She’s really, really into her banana split. You have a hot fudge brownie dream in front of you that you’re not paying attention to, and your butter pecan is dribbling down the side of the bowl and puddling on the table. Be careful-normal life is in the details and right now you’re slacking.
Smile bright and happy when she looks up. This is your life now, smiling and having ice cream. This is what happy, normal people do, and you’re normal and happy, remember?
When you finish, take your girl out and walk down the street with her. Hold her hand. Pull her close against you later on, when it’s chilly, because she didn’t bring a sweater and hey, you’re a big guy. You put off a lot of body heat.
Remember, you’re both of you normal. You’re just like everybody else walking down the boardwalk. If there’s something a little extra in your cocktail, well, doesn’t mean you have to go there. You own a lot of shirts-you don’t wear your cable-knits when it’s ninety degrees out, do you?
Mix your metaphors.
Remember how you used to work so hard to fix things, back before all you were was a mindless, voracious carnivore? Meticulous, delicate little things? Being normal is kind of like that, if you remember. Bus fare to be paid in coins, the lobster clasp on the heart-shaped locket you bought your girl, tiny specks of spices sprinkled over dinner.
This is what you always wanted, wasn’t it? When you were sitting there, hunched over Daddy’s workbench and squinting at clockworks, you were dreaming of a sunshiny future with a sunshiny blonde on your arm. Okay, maybe you didn’t even dare to dream about the blonde; that’s fine. But here you are, living it now, and she’s here, too.
So what you’re going to do, buddy boy, is swallow everything down. Tamp all of it down pat. Make it lie like rugs. Lie like a rug yourself if you have to, if that’s how you have to go about being normal then that’s how you’re going to do it.
Eventually, it won’t even feel like you’re trying anymore.
End.