Re-habitation, 1/1, Angel/Leverage
Jun. 22nd, 2010 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveTitle: Re-habitation
Author: james
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,200
Fandom: Angel/Leverage
Genre: gen
Notes: for hc_bingo, square 'mind control/possession' Thanks to katbcoll for the beta!
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Summary: Lindsey dies. And then there's something that might be Hell. And it might not.
He'd been to Hell before, but it was impossible, really, to prepare for going to Hell. Lindsey couldn't brace himself, even as time slowed to nearly a stand-still as the shock hit him at nearly the same instant as Lorne's bullet. He half-expected to see his life flash before his eyes or some such bullshit; when it didn't he waited to see his own personal circle of Hell re-form around him and resume.
He couldn't claim to be truly surprised when, instead, he found himself standing before a jury of his employers. He didn't recognise any of their faces save that of Holland Manners where he sat at the far end of a long, semi-circular bench. Few of the faces were even human, and Lindsey forced himself to only watch them and not to speak until spoken to. It wasn't possible to make things worse for himself, he knew, but talking out of turn couldn't possibly make it better.
He could hear murmuring, and from the way heads turned and bobbed he guessed they were discussing him. He couldn't make out any words, much less identify a language. When he looked at Holland and tried to read the man's face, he got nothing but the burning inky blackness of the dead man's eyes.
There was a slight smirk on his face, however, which meant he was at least glad to see Lindsey. Naturally, that didn't make him feel any better.
After what might have been a short eternity, one of the beings rose. It was either dressed in a shaggy, furred robe or its own body hair was long and full and tightly woven together like cloth. From the way its colour matched the being's face, Lindsey guessed it was the latter.
It held out its hand and pointed at him; Lindsey heard a voice in his head, booming so loudly it bounced off the inside of his skull, making his eyes water and driving him to his knees. It wasn't until he opened his eyes and found himself lying on his side, completely naked on a grassy hill -- in the sunshine, blue sky, birds fucking singing in the distance -- that he was able to understand what had been said.
Imprisonment. Banishment. Discarded.
He sat up, arms shaking as they tried to support his weight, and looked around. It looked like he was back on Earth -- but of course he didn't believe that, not for one second. Hell could look like anything they wanted it to. But banishment had sounded odd as he thought back over the being's sentence. He ran the words through his mind again, and found they were the same. Imprisoned, banished, and discarded.
Which didn't explain a damn thing. Lindsey tried to stand up, felt the fierce stab of pain through his skull, and dimly he heard his voice say, "Fucking Chinese."
Lindsey froze as his body continued to stand up, take a look around, and sigh. Lindsey tried to open his mouth to scream, but no sound came out at all.
Not until, apparently of its own volition, he said, "The fuck? They took my clothes."
Lindsey tried to raise his arms, tried to force his mouth open to ask what the Hell was happening, then he realised he was trapped. Imprisoned inside his own body.
Somebody else was driving.
~~~
For a year he watched out of his eyes, listened to himself speak words he didn't intend, wailed and ranted in silence as he undertook jobs that he knew he could help with if only he could get out, speak a few words. Minor magics which would ease the way, if only he could say them.
But of course it was useless. His body seemed to remember most of the things he'd learned about fighting, but any knowledge he had in his head was stuck in the corner he'd been walled into. All he could do was observe. Lindsey had long since determined that he wasn't in the same world he'd been in. There were no demons here, no vampires or mages or Slayers. There was no Wolfram & Hart in any corner of the globe -- and this body had gone to practically every single one, and Lindsey had looked everywhere he could with eyes he could not direct and listened to every word that he could understand, but had never seen nor heard of the barest whisper of the Evil he'd once served.
Instead what he saw was a man, wearing his body, committing such minor acts of illegality that Lindsey sometimes wanted to rage at the waste. When they could have reached out and taken one extra golden memento, killed one more man for an extra half a million dollars -- they stuck to the rules of the game, retrieved whatever had been contracted for and took whatever payment was offered.
This was never going to lead him back to his own world, without the power and resources he could not grab for himself. So Lindsey seethed, and watched, impotently, making and discarding plan after plan in an effort to do something.
Then, one day he was standing in a warehouse, listening to the others he'd worked briefly with talking about a job gone wrong. Lindsey had seen it coming, seen right through the missing payment because he'd seen it a hundred times over -- betrayal and manipulation guiding the man to kill instead of pay the contract he'd made.
As he felt his body break into a run, Lindsey found himself wishing -- again, uselessly -- that he could find the man and enact some revenge. Cut off his head, Lindsey whispered angrily, knowing he couldn't be heard. It was too bad, he thought, because this crew... there was something not so bad about them, something that felt comfortable. Maybe he was just so fucking lonely with only his own thoughts for company that he would have taken anyone. But in the brief time he'd known them, he found himself drawn to them and wished he had some way of making himself give up the 'loner' shit and ask for.... Well, nothing, because he could never make himself heard.
As they ran for the open door, he heard one of the others stumble and fall. Without thinking, Lindsey shouted, trying to reach even though he could not move--
And he felt his arm go down, felt himself grab the other man and haul him to his feet. Lindsey felt his hands -- his own fucking hands -- shove the man towards the door and felt the heat and force of the blast as the warehouse blew.
As Lindsey stared, and he heard Hardison's voice, he tried to turn and look. His head didn't move, of course, but suddenly he heard a whisper.
Better.
Lindsey froze, thoughts stilled and he tried again to move, but his arms and legs were no longer in his control. He heard his voice talking to the others and all Lindsey could do was listen and watch. But when he tried to reach forward to the mental wall that held between himself and whom or whatever was driving his body, the smooth hard surface...gave just a little.
Author: james
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,200
Fandom: Angel/Leverage
Genre: gen
Notes: for hc_bingo, square 'mind control/possession' Thanks to katbcoll for the beta!
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit made
Summary: Lindsey dies. And then there's something that might be Hell. And it might not.
He'd been to Hell before, but it was impossible, really, to prepare for going to Hell. Lindsey couldn't brace himself, even as time slowed to nearly a stand-still as the shock hit him at nearly the same instant as Lorne's bullet. He half-expected to see his life flash before his eyes or some such bullshit; when it didn't he waited to see his own personal circle of Hell re-form around him and resume.
He couldn't claim to be truly surprised when, instead, he found himself standing before a jury of his employers. He didn't recognise any of their faces save that of Holland Manners where he sat at the far end of a long, semi-circular bench. Few of the faces were even human, and Lindsey forced himself to only watch them and not to speak until spoken to. It wasn't possible to make things worse for himself, he knew, but talking out of turn couldn't possibly make it better.
He could hear murmuring, and from the way heads turned and bobbed he guessed they were discussing him. He couldn't make out any words, much less identify a language. When he looked at Holland and tried to read the man's face, he got nothing but the burning inky blackness of the dead man's eyes.
There was a slight smirk on his face, however, which meant he was at least glad to see Lindsey. Naturally, that didn't make him feel any better.
After what might have been a short eternity, one of the beings rose. It was either dressed in a shaggy, furred robe or its own body hair was long and full and tightly woven together like cloth. From the way its colour matched the being's face, Lindsey guessed it was the latter.
It held out its hand and pointed at him; Lindsey heard a voice in his head, booming so loudly it bounced off the inside of his skull, making his eyes water and driving him to his knees. It wasn't until he opened his eyes and found himself lying on his side, completely naked on a grassy hill -- in the sunshine, blue sky, birds fucking singing in the distance -- that he was able to understand what had been said.
Imprisonment. Banishment. Discarded.
He sat up, arms shaking as they tried to support his weight, and looked around. It looked like he was back on Earth -- but of course he didn't believe that, not for one second. Hell could look like anything they wanted it to. But banishment had sounded odd as he thought back over the being's sentence. He ran the words through his mind again, and found they were the same. Imprisoned, banished, and discarded.
Which didn't explain a damn thing. Lindsey tried to stand up, felt the fierce stab of pain through his skull, and dimly he heard his voice say, "Fucking Chinese."
Lindsey froze as his body continued to stand up, take a look around, and sigh. Lindsey tried to open his mouth to scream, but no sound came out at all.
Not until, apparently of its own volition, he said, "The fuck? They took my clothes."
Lindsey tried to raise his arms, tried to force his mouth open to ask what the Hell was happening, then he realised he was trapped. Imprisoned inside his own body.
Somebody else was driving.
~~~
For a year he watched out of his eyes, listened to himself speak words he didn't intend, wailed and ranted in silence as he undertook jobs that he knew he could help with if only he could get out, speak a few words. Minor magics which would ease the way, if only he could say them.
But of course it was useless. His body seemed to remember most of the things he'd learned about fighting, but any knowledge he had in his head was stuck in the corner he'd been walled into. All he could do was observe. Lindsey had long since determined that he wasn't in the same world he'd been in. There were no demons here, no vampires or mages or Slayers. There was no Wolfram & Hart in any corner of the globe -- and this body had gone to practically every single one, and Lindsey had looked everywhere he could with eyes he could not direct and listened to every word that he could understand, but had never seen nor heard of the barest whisper of the Evil he'd once served.
Instead what he saw was a man, wearing his body, committing such minor acts of illegality that Lindsey sometimes wanted to rage at the waste. When they could have reached out and taken one extra golden memento, killed one more man for an extra half a million dollars -- they stuck to the rules of the game, retrieved whatever had been contracted for and took whatever payment was offered.
This was never going to lead him back to his own world, without the power and resources he could not grab for himself. So Lindsey seethed, and watched, impotently, making and discarding plan after plan in an effort to do something.
Then, one day he was standing in a warehouse, listening to the others he'd worked briefly with talking about a job gone wrong. Lindsey had seen it coming, seen right through the missing payment because he'd seen it a hundred times over -- betrayal and manipulation guiding the man to kill instead of pay the contract he'd made.
As he felt his body break into a run, Lindsey found himself wishing -- again, uselessly -- that he could find the man and enact some revenge. Cut off his head, Lindsey whispered angrily, knowing he couldn't be heard. It was too bad, he thought, because this crew... there was something not so bad about them, something that felt comfortable. Maybe he was just so fucking lonely with only his own thoughts for company that he would have taken anyone. But in the brief time he'd known them, he found himself drawn to them and wished he had some way of making himself give up the 'loner' shit and ask for.... Well, nothing, because he could never make himself heard.
As they ran for the open door, he heard one of the others stumble and fall. Without thinking, Lindsey shouted, trying to reach even though he could not move--
And he felt his arm go down, felt himself grab the other man and haul him to his feet. Lindsey felt his hands -- his own fucking hands -- shove the man towards the door and felt the heat and force of the blast as the warehouse blew.
As Lindsey stared, and he heard Hardison's voice, he tried to turn and look. His head didn't move, of course, but suddenly he heard a whisper.
Better.
Lindsey froze, thoughts stilled and he tried again to move, but his arms and legs were no longer in his control. He heard his voice talking to the others and all Lindsey could do was listen and watch. But when he tried to reach forward to the mental wall that held between himself and whom or whatever was driving his body, the smooth hard surface...gave just a little.