fic:it'll kill ya/btvs,spn/gen
Aug. 1st, 2013 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avamcleanTitle: It’ll Kill Ya
Series: Miles to Go
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 400
Fandom: Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge: August Fic-a-Day @![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: This story is part of the Pike'centric shorts which can be found here: Principles and Shit
The phosphorus ignited, white hot before fading into a more mellow orange, and with it came the scent of sulfur before Pike dropped the burning matchbook onto the butane soaked bones of Michael Welch. The remains caught with the familiar sizzle of hair and clothe before the bones ignited and the ghost’s outraged shriek behind Pike had him smirking in triumph. His hand slipped inside the pocket of his jeans and freed another matchbook from Harvelle’s and his cigarettes as a Bobby Singer, grumbling about, ‘balls and whatnot’ dragged his ass up from the ground where Welch had been making him his bitch.
Not that Pike had room to mock. He was covered in dirt and flowers from his time being dragged through the cemetery. His head had taken on more than a few tombstones and the tightness around his left eye told him he’d have one hell of a shiner come morning. He scratched at the side of his head with the matchbook as he brought the pack of smokes up to catch one in his teeth and tug it free. The cigarette was lit, warming his hands and creating a shiny ember for Pike to focus on rather than the crumbling ash six feet below his boots.
The deceptively mint feeling of the menthol coating his throat was a welcomed thing as he sucked in his first inhalation before allowing it to slowly trickle out his nose. “Those ‘ell kill ya.”
Pike snorted and turned, presenting Bobby with a profile outlined in firelight as he scoffed, “As if this life won’t?”
“Point,” the gruff reply had Oliver chuckling.
He turned back to the fire and watched it attempt, and fail, to spread to the damp wood of the coffin before adding, “’sides. I only smoke as reward for a job well done.”
“You call this well done?”
“We’re alive and he’s dead,” Pike frowned before adding, “er.”
“I suppose so.” It was Bobby’s turn to snort as he stepped forward to join him graveside before adding, “Ellen might’ve been right about you.”
Pike nodded his thanks rather than voicing it, but thought to add, “It’s best to just tell Ellen she’s right.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth?”
They shared a chuckle as the bones continued to burn long after Welch had been consumed by the fire and Pike and Bobby fell into a companionable silence until the flames died.
The end.
Series: Miles to Go
Rating: FR13
Word Count: 400
Fandom: Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge: August Fic-a-Day @
twistedshortsDisclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: This story is part of the Pike'centric shorts which can be found here: Principles and Shit
The phosphorus ignited, white hot before fading into a more mellow orange, and with it came the scent of sulfur before Pike dropped the burning matchbook onto the butane soaked bones of Michael Welch. The remains caught with the familiar sizzle of hair and clothe before the bones ignited and the ghost’s outraged shriek behind Pike had him smirking in triumph. His hand slipped inside the pocket of his jeans and freed another matchbook from Harvelle’s and his cigarettes as a Bobby Singer, grumbling about, ‘balls and whatnot’ dragged his ass up from the ground where Welch had been making him his bitch.
Not that Pike had room to mock. He was covered in dirt and flowers from his time being dragged through the cemetery. His head had taken on more than a few tombstones and the tightness around his left eye told him he’d have one hell of a shiner come morning. He scratched at the side of his head with the matchbook as he brought the pack of smokes up to catch one in his teeth and tug it free. The cigarette was lit, warming his hands and creating a shiny ember for Pike to focus on rather than the crumbling ash six feet below his boots.
The deceptively mint feeling of the menthol coating his throat was a welcomed thing as he sucked in his first inhalation before allowing it to slowly trickle out his nose. “Those ‘ell kill ya.”
Pike snorted and turned, presenting Bobby with a profile outlined in firelight as he scoffed, “As if this life won’t?”
“Point,” the gruff reply had Oliver chuckling.
He turned back to the fire and watched it attempt, and fail, to spread to the damp wood of the coffin before adding, “’sides. I only smoke as reward for a job well done.”
“You call this well done?”
“We’re alive and he’s dead,” Pike frowned before adding, “er.”
“I suppose so.” It was Bobby’s turn to snort as he stepped forward to join him graveside before adding, “Ellen might’ve been right about you.”
Pike nodded his thanks rather than voicing it, but thought to add, “It’s best to just tell Ellen she’s right.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth?”
They shared a chuckle as the bones continued to burn long after Welch had been consumed by the fire and Pike and Bobby fell into a companionable silence until the flames died.
The end.
