FIC: And My Shadow
May. 12th, 2010 01:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: And My Shadow
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: the Losers, gen
A/N: I was going to write fix-it fic for the end of the comics, vol 5. This is not that fic. Warnings would be spoilers for the comics vol 1-5, so it's under the cut. 137 words.
Warnings: canon character death (Clay, Cougar, Roque and Aisha), masturbation, um. Tattooing? And now the warning is officially longer than the fic.
The first anniversary of Cougar's death, Jensen goes and gets tattooed above his heart. It's his body now, not the Company's, and he thinks maybe it'll quiet the nightmares.
He sits in the shower after, the tequila bottle spilling over lukewarm water, and he touches the fresh ink like he can reach through it to Cougar's skin.
"Fuck you, man," he says to nobody, to himself, to the shadow that's always over his shoulder. "Fuck you. You get out of your PTSD and you give it to me instead. What am I supposed to do now, huh?"
The silence feels different. There's nobody watching him. There's nobody listening. So he jerks off, grinding his fingertips into the burn-soreness of the ink, and he tastes bitter saltwater when he comes.
The tattoo doesn't help him sleep at all.
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: the Losers, gen
A/N: I was going to write fix-it fic for the end of the comics, vol 5. This is not that fic. Warnings would be spoilers for the comics vol 1-5, so it's under the cut. 137 words.
Warnings: canon character death (Clay, Cougar, Roque and Aisha), masturbation, um. Tattooing? And now the warning is officially longer than the fic.
The first anniversary of Cougar's death, Jensen goes and gets tattooed above his heart. It's his body now, not the Company's, and he thinks maybe it'll quiet the nightmares.
He sits in the shower after, the tequila bottle spilling over lukewarm water, and he touches the fresh ink like he can reach through it to Cougar's skin.
"Fuck you, man," he says to nobody, to himself, to the shadow that's always over his shoulder. "Fuck you. You get out of your PTSD and you give it to me instead. What am I supposed to do now, huh?"
The silence feels different. There's nobody watching him. There's nobody listening. So he jerks off, grinding his fingertips into the burn-soreness of the ink, and he tastes bitter saltwater when he comes.
The tattoo doesn't help him sleep at all.