Story: The Angels From My Nightmare
Disclaimer: I do happen to own something here! Okay, Jordan and Riley are MINE! But everyone else belongs to FOX…. Damn.
Spoilers: Minor for 'The Soldier on the Grave'
Chapters: This first chapter is but a teaser, though a dark teaser for the super light and fluffy schtuffs later. Call this the German chocolate cake, but you're angels food cake is coming up in the next chapter.
Summary: This was his family, his angels in the darkness.
Chapter 1/Teaser: Dreams
Note: This was just a fun piece to write, and I really had fun writing it. Hope everyone enjoys a purely fluff family-centered piece! Tis great fun! But this first chapter is a bit dark, but never fear, for the next stuff is fluffy as all get out!
------------------------------- ---------------------------------- --------------------------
It was his job, his duty, his purpose. It didn't matter that it was the father of a child, nor did it matter that today happened to be that child's birthday; it was his job. So Booth sat, or rather, laid, across the top of the roof, the shingles digging uncomfortably into his ribs. Slow and even breaths escaped him into the hot, humid air as the sniper concentrated on the house across the street. He waited, his body slowly relaxing even more and molding to the contours his uncomfortable perch that was the roof. After hours of sitting and waiting for movement, a stretch of light interrupted the quiet dark of the street. A tall, thin figure slid out of the open door into the street, the flick of a lighter piercing the heavy silence like a knife. The figure closed the door behind him and set off down the street, oblivious to the man with the gun waiting across the street.
Booth watched the man -his target- walk up the street towards a small pub. He centered the crosshairs of his rifle dead center of the man's back and slowly exhaled, pulling the trigger. It made no sound, the silent sniper rifle, but to Booth, the whistle of the bullet, the snapping of the ribs and the slowing heartbeat of the falling man roared in his ears with his blood. He prepared to slide down the roof and leave before being discovered when a shadow fell in front of him.
His sharp brown eyes locked on the hulking shadow before Booth raised his gun and flipped around to face the man towering above him. Beady black eyes peered out at him from beneath a low black cap. A scarf hid the man's mouth and he was dressed in dark green and black. There was nothing remotely athletic about the huge man in front of him, his pale skin blobby and white where it spilled from beneath the folds of his clothes. He held a hunting knife in his pudgy hand, the long blade centered above Booth's chest. Reacting quickly, Booth sent his second bullet through the folds of the man's belly and knocked the knife aside with the muzzle of his gun. The man made no sound, but simply stared at Booth, his black eyes cold as ice, hard hatred burning amidst the frozen heart.
Hot blood poured from the pierced flesh, the heat covering Booth as it splashed around him and soaked his clothes. The gaping wound seemed to go on forever and the jaggedly torn red hole continued to gush. He couldn't move; the man blocked his path from the roof. Booth tried to get a hand under himself to push up against the frozen visitor, but the slippery red liquid beneath him sent him crashing back to the jagged roof tiles. The movement seemed to awaken the standing man as Booth scrambled to get back onto the peak of the roof, and he brought a bloody hand to his scarf and slowly pulled it down.
Booth clapped his hands over his ears and shouted out as a blood curdling scream filled the once silent night air. Blood poured from the man's gaping mouth, and Booth twisted and squirmed in agony as the sound continued to slowly rip apart his insides. He clawed at his head, willing the noise to disappear. One heavily booted foot lashed out and caught the man across his knee. He buckled and fell forward onto Booth, landing heavily on him. The scream continued and the blood that flowed from his stomach gently seeped through Booth's clothes until it burned his very skin along with the blood that poured from the man's mouth across Booth's exposed throat.
The scream of agony was soon joined by thousands of others, the wails of the sniper's victims and families joining the one in front of him as they rose from the ground beneath him. Both tried to push the fat man off, but he circled his fleshy hands around Booth's neck and squeezed, holding him in still as the faces of people appeared all around him. One in particular stood out; it was the face of a child, his small innocent face tear streaked. A birthday hat hung to the side of his head, and he was one who did not scream.
"Why?" He repeated over and over again, his voice growing in volume and anger until it was as loud as the cries around him. Booth squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breath amidst the chaos. His air supply, though, was dwindling. Booth lashed out again with a fist and caught the man across the face. The force of his desperation sent the green and black clad man off to the side, leaving Booth to watch him roll down the side of the roof, a trail of blood dripping off the roof after him. Where it touched the parched ground, wispy clouds of smoke floated up and joined the faces of the people, the smoke twisting until it took on the face of someone else.
The screams rose in volume as more joined them. Here were the victims of war, enemy and ally alike. They all cried for lost loved ones, their cries rising towards darkened skies in hopes someone would hear their pleas. Booth cringed as he felt himself fading towards insanity in the presence of such agony. His eyes opened to see the little boy with the birthday hat's face floating a few feet away from him. It was quiet and angry.
"He was my daddy." He now repeated. The face of the young boy began to twist and melt, the features slowly becoming familiar to Booth. Now he stared into the face of his son, Parker's features broken and bloody. The sandy blonde hair that fell over his face was now matted and dirty, his face streaked with mud and rust. Again, the face twisted, the blood and mud running down his cheeks and melting into another face.
"Murderer." Tempe's torn face yelled at him. Her cheek was torn open, the muscle beneath the skin twitching as the wind blew over it. Booth screamed and closed his eyes, denying everything. He felt the insanity overcoming him.
Booth continued to claw at his face, willing his eyes to not see and his ears to not hear. An unseen force held his hands down, a light weight resting on his chest. Booth banged his head back on the roof, but it was now soft as a pillow and did not provide release for his splitting head.
"Stop." He moaned, the torture from hell becoming gradually more unbearable.
"Seeley!" He heard his name and looked around wildly. The faces began to fade and the cries ceased as two blue boons appeared from behind the clouds.
"Seeley!" The call became more frantic, more far away as the moons faded back against the night sky.
"I'm here!" He tried to yell, but nothing would come out. The moons continued to fall back, but he didn't want them to go. They were oddly comforting, oddly familiar. And they made the voices go away.
"No!" He tried to scream again as they became one with the clouds, but nothing came back out again. The world around him faded to black, the call of his name fading with it.
------------------------------ -------------------------------- ---------------------------
Sorry that was a really dark chapter! But, never fear, for once you readeth through this, there is more of thy fluffy yumminess that yet approacheth! That made sense, really… anyways, review if you liked this darkness or not. Fluff is yet to come! I'm typing it as we speak… well, not really, but as soon as I finish the sentence and save I will go write it, so I'm going to stop talking to you to go do that…. -ash