@ijustshotabear-blog / ijustshotabear-blog.tumblr.com
Where did you go? I enjoyed reading your threads so much. You're such a good Sawyer. Please come back, wherever you are.
[ Man, this is the second anon to ask me this and I feel like an asshole. My Sawyer muse is kind of AWOL at the moment, so I've been on another account. I promise I'll get this one up and running again as soon as possible. kajsdkgj and thank you so much for reading. ]
No more booze for you, Freckles.
She played it like a pro: eased in for a long, slow kiss, and then grabbed his glasses and retreated before he’d fully registered what she’d done. Sawyer smirked, and then the smirk slanted into a grin, dimples visible on both cheeks. He dismissed his book almost immediately, propped himself up on his elbows, head slightly tilted, eyes locked on Kate and tracing her every move as she snagged a t-shirt of his and slipped it on.
“I’m Sawyer.”
Her hair a little tangled from sleep, the curls more wild than usual, green eyes bright even behind the lenses of his godawful glasses that she actually managed to make look sexy as hell. Although that was more about her than the glasses.
“And I like to seduce women with bottles of Schnapps.”
Sawyer let out a chuckle and pushed himself up into a sit, tugging her to him by the fabric of the shirt. His hands slipped under the hem, came to rest on her thighs, and he leaned in to kiss her, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth as he drew back. He slid the glasses off her and tossed them aside, that same hand moving to cup her jawline.
“Didn’t hear you complainin’, Freckles,” he challenged, the corners of his mouth quirking up again.
Sawyer’s touch made her shiver, the goosebumps rising on her skin stemming out from the area beneath his fingertips. Kate shook off the butterflies though and pressed her hands into his chest, tilting her head to the side before they kissed.
“Didn’t hear you complainin’, Freckles.”
She gave him a look, rolling her eyes a little bit as she looked into Sawyer’s eyes, their color seemingly brighter than ever. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” She asked, one corner of her mouth tugging up higher than the other, her smile becoming rather lopsided.
She would’ve stayed awake had she known he wouldn’t sleep. She would’ve gotten up and grabbed them some food or something instead of just lying there motionless while he read. She felt bad that she’d kept him there, although something in the back of her mind told her that he didn’t mind in the slightest.
Kate inched a little bit closer to him, still sitting up on her knees. One of her hands slid down his arm to lay over his. The other came up to his face, her fingers moving the hair away from his forehead. She sighed softly, her muscles relaxing a little more when she sat back to search his face.
“How long was I sleeping?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together slightly in curiosity.
He just smiled a little in response to the question about whether or not he'd slept. It wasn't even really a question; they both knew he hadn't. But he didn't mind. Something about lying there, reading a book, with her all tucked up beside him, as far removed from the people in camp as if they were occupying a whole other plane of existence - hell, it was peaceful. When was the last time he'd gotten do to something like that? To just lie in bed and relax with someone who felt safe enough with him to fall asleep on his chest?
That would be a big, resounding 'never.'
When she brushed his hair back from his forehead, he tugged her gently by the hips so that she was sitting rather than kneeling. He smiled again at the look on her face, that cute little frown of drowsy curiosity.
"How long was I sleeping?"
"'Bout an hour, maybe two. Why?" His smile got wider, making his dimples more visible. "You got someplace else you gotta be?"
Dean couldn’t help but breathe out a soundless chuckle at the name he was presented with. ‘Sawyer’ sounded so befitting for the guy that it was almost too good to be true. Not that Dean knew his name was a fake, but it was simply amusing. He even managed a grin at the nickname ‘Dorothy’, when he was pretty sure he would’ve frowned at it earlier in this conversation.
The grin vanished from his face at the man’s talk of the island’s local, though. What were these locals all about, anyway? If a guy like that was scared of going back to a village he’d already been in before, surely these people must be a tough nookie. Great. As if they needed more troubles along the way, aside from him being separated from his brother.
“Alright. What’re they like though, the locals? Y’know, in case I run into them. Best be prepared for the worst, huh?”
He had no idea what ‘the worst’ would even be, concerning this weirdass island he’d landed himself on out of the blue, but he was pretty sure it’d be bad. Real bad.
Be prepared for the worst seemed accurate enough. Sawyer didn’t know where the hell to even begin answering that first question, though. What were the Others like? He could speak volumes about his time on Hydra Island and the shit they’d pulled long before that, and it still would barely cover what they were like.
“Well they ain’t the Brady Bunch, that’s for damn sure. They got a thing for snatchin’ kids and pregnant girls, stringin’ people up in trees and lockin’ ‘em in cages.”
The con man paused, wondering how - or if, even - he should continue. “Let’s just put it this way, Sundance. You run into one of the Others, you’d best hope you can pull the trigger faster than they can.”
Saying Dean’s face was pulled into a deep frown would be an understatement. His head was tipped back in thought, his hands dug into his pockets and his eyes fixed on the man in front of him. The more he told them about these “Others”, the more concerned he grew; these people didn’t sound like they were a piece of cake, and if they had Sam, it’d be hell to get him back, by the sound of it.
“Kids and pregnant girls? Jesus. What do they do with ‘em? …Eat ‘em?”
First thought when you end up on an island and you figure out there’s a group of natives who mean harm to intruders? Of course it’s gonna be a mental image of some cannibalistic tribe. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting some kind of civilized village with people who actually seemed decent until you crossed them.
"Well I don't know what the hell they do with 'em," Sawyer bit off; he couldn't blame Dean for asking questions, but having to be the one providing answers was never a high point in any conversation. To a degree, though, he was matching the guy's frown, especially after the allusion to the Others being cannibals. And wouldn't that have been the icing on the cake.
After a moment or two he got a saddle on some of the bluntness, adding, "We got the girl back in one piece - kicker is, she don't remember a damn thing."
He didn't mention that they'd left Charlie hanging by the neck from a tree, or that Ethan had been a ringer planted in the middle of the group since the day of the crash. Didn't mention Hydra Island or the cages, the raft or what happened to Walt, the fact that the Others had lists.
Instead, he nodded toward Dean's gun in its holster. "How many bullets you got?"
So they were sticking to the ‘hunting the Devil’ thing. Sawyer didn’t know whether it was the drugs or if Castiel was just nuts - either way, the con man didn’t bother pushing the subject any further. Sure it was weird, but since the crash he’d seen and heard more than his fair share of weird. Hell, even if what Castiel said turned out to be the honest truth, there wasn’t much that could surprise Sawyer any more.
He glanced at Castiel when the questions got personal, keeping a neutral expression aside from the customary half-smirk. Really, though, he was trying to figure out what he could actually say, because there was just no way he was gonna come right out and tell this guy what his job - for lack of a better word - had been on the mainland.
“All that?” Sawyer echoed, allowing the smirk to get more prominent. “There ain’t an ‘all that.’ Investment business, no family.” He mimicked the hiked brows, launching a counter-question to get the focus off of him and back on Castiel, “You got a wife and kids back home, Norman Rockwell?”
Castiel’s brow creased, if not but just a bit, when Sawyer said he didn’t leave much behind when he arrived on this island. It was a bit sad that he had nothing to get back to when he sailed across the ocean to get to main land. It was true that the ex-angel didn’t have very much himself, but he did have Dean — that was something. Perhaps when they got back, Castiel could invite Sawyer back to camp.. Dean would like him..
“Nah. No wife or kids.” Castiel answered, turning back to him. “By the time I dropped my halo, the world had gone to hell.. Besides, none of the women at camp really do for me, y’know? I mean — they’re all good when it comes to sex, but other than that, they don’t have a whole lot to offer.” All of the women were nice, all of them pretty, but the idea of them as a mother? Horrible. Granted though, Castiel wouldn’t exactly be the best father either.
The halo remark made the con man's eyebrows lift again, but briefly; a few seconds later he let out a low chuckle. They're all good when it comes to sex, but other than that, they don't have a whole lot to offer. Yeah, Sawyer could relate to that one. At least back in the real world, he amended, with a brief glance back over his shoulder towards where Kate stood.
Didn't much surprise him that Castiel didn't have a family back home, though. Not that he presumed to know the guy all that well, but it was difficult to picture him as the married, apple-pie, white-picket-fence type.
"I hear ya, Chief. Commitment ain't my first language."
They'd almost reached the part of the beach where Michael stood, with a couple of other people, already handing out tasks to get the boat-building underway.
Maybe there really was hope of getting the hell off this island.
LOST: The Glass Ballerina
“Yo, Sasquatch.”
Sam paused, shaking his head slightly and quirking a half-smile as he glanced towards the fire. It could only be Sawyer, and it was. Drawing the conclusion that this guy was like a redneck version of Dean had taken all of a day and a half; and it didn’t even bother him, so much as it amused the hell out of him. Especially when Dean and Sawyer were in the same vicinity.
Pissing contests of epic proportions. Constant one-up to see which of them could triumph with their fluent sarcasm, smartass quips, and pop culture references.
The two of them playing poker — and trying to hustle each other — was something Sam really wished he could get on film. Would’ve paid money to get on film, in fact. Too bad there wasn’t a snowball’s chance of that, on this island.
Suddenly Daryl was back in that ‘nowhere dive’, watching as Sawyer left, walking out into the pouring rain. He remembered the con man’s last words to him before he left the bar, which were now ringing in his ears.
“Next round’s on you. Happy huntin’.”
How ironic had that turned out to be? Who would’ve thought they’d both be drinking right before they were going out on a hunting trip together? Certainly either of them, that was for sure.
“How come it ain’t ever you who picks up the tab?”
Daryl, already learning to ignore Sawyer’s nicknames, nodded as if he were actually considering the question offered. He set his empty beer can down next to him and tilted his head slightly to the side. “Tell you what,” He said, sitting up straighter with a soft grunt. “We find a bar - a real one - you drink till yer shitfaced.”
He paused, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward. “Next round’s on me.”
Thinking back to when they’d first met, Sawyer realized that in all the tension and resentment and - okay, a damn lot of fear, that came with returning to the island, he forgot. He forgot what was actually going on in the real world right now. Forgot about the dead people, the infection, the nationwide state of emergency that was probably worldwide by now.
A jolt of nausea hit him in the stomach like a punch when he thought of Cass and Clementine, something tightening up under his sternum.
That just made him drink even deeper, drinking like he needed to drown something. His own words to Jack, the ones he’d spoken in the hotel room in Macon, drifted back to him as he did so: Problems don’t drown, Doc. They swim.
Yeah, no fucking kidding.
“Tell you what. We find a bar - a real one - you drink till yer shitfaced.”
Sawyer looked over at the hunter again, conjuring a smirk from somewhere to match the way Daryl’s mouth quirked just slightly.
“Next round’s on me.”
“I like the way ya think, Hoss.” The con man lifted his beer can in a mock salute before emptying it, and then he tipped his head down the beach, towards where the blonde who’d been clinging to Daryl before stood talking to a couple of other people. “That your girl, or you just pick her up on the side of the road someplace?”
Picking Andrea up on the side of the road was exactly what Daryl had done. But to go into what had happened before they met up with everybody else would be God awful. Remembering what had happened to Amy was sickening, even as he briefly recalled the memory as he sat there with Sawyer.
The way her eyes had changed color, gone glassy and bloodshot, the way she’d snarled at the two of them… It was horrifying. Not only did it terrify both he and Andrea, the thing that Amy had turned into was almost unearthly - like it was something like that didn’t belong there. Something that couldn’t belong there. It was scaring the hell out of him, and Daryl didn’t spook easy.
But despite all of those things running through his mind, Daryl managed a slight chuckle at the idea that he and Andrea could be together. How could Sawyer possibly think he had anybody? Did he not see how repulsive he was? How quiet and bitter and hateful towards everybody he was?
“Ain’t mine,” Daryl grumbled lowly, the little bit of regret in his tone taking him by surprise. He didn’t even know the woman, hadn’t even known she existed a few days prior. What was he doing acting like this was such a big deal? He swallowed hard and looked up at Sawyer. “Won’t leave me alone. You’d think she ain’t…”
He was about to say You’d think she ain’t got nobody left in the world that gives a damn about her, and that was 100% true, but Daryl didn’t feel right saying it. Especially not so soon after Amy.
He shook his head. “She ain’t mine.” He finished. Ain’t ever gonna be mine.
The hunter decided to change the subject before Sawyer could even think about pressing his relationship with Andrea any further. Romance wasn’t Daryl’s strong suit, but it was the first thing that came to mind. “What about Austen?” He asked, looking out at the people standing on the beach, searching for the brunette. “She’s yer tracker, ain’t she?” He questioned, his eyebrows raising slightly. “You close?”
He'd asked about Blondie to lighten the conversation a little, steer it away from the mass of dark thoughts that started to form in his head. But as soon as he saw Daryl's reaction, Sawyer wished he hadn't said anything. The same way the mention of a bar had prompted his mind to wander, the near-quip about the blonde had a clouded look of something like regret crossing the hunter's face.
Even the chuckle he forced out contained no small amount of bitterness.
"Won't leave me alone. You'd think she ain't..."
The moment of eye contact was broken as soon as Daryl's sentence trailed off; rather than go on looking, knowing that if their positions were reversed he sure as hell wouldn't want to be stared at, Sawyer's eyes returned to the waves.
'Til Daryl spoke again, that is. What about Austen? What about her, Sawyer thought. He'd barely seen her since they got rescued. Didn't know where they'd stood before that, let alone where they stood now. He missed her, but wouldn't admit he missed her. Worried about her but wouldn't admit he was worried. Thought about her, about how things had been before they got off the island, every damn day - but it would be easier to get blood from a stone than to get him to own up to anything. Because maybe he'd been wrong this whole time and he'd only ever been a convenient distraction.
"She's yer tracker, ain't she? You close?"
Sawyer breathed out a grim chuckle, much like the one Daryl had given a minute ago, and went to take another swig of beer before remembering the can was empty.
"She ain't anybody's tracker." Least of all mine. He shot a look at Daryl, but the bravado was half-assed at best. "We seem real close to you, Sherlock? She ain't anybody's anything."
“Any idea how I go about doin’ that? Kid’s got a way of getting himself in trouble more often than I’d like ‘em to be.”
So the guy was just trying to track down his kid brother. The honest worry that showed up in place of the smartass quips was more than enough information for Sawyer. At least for now. But he wasn’t willing to lead a stranger back to the beach, and nor did he feel much like ditching him in the middle of the jungle for him to either find his own way to the beach or walk straight into Othersville without a clue.
Any idea how I go about doin’ that?
“You tried clickin’ your heels again?” Sawyer asked mildly, then tilted his head to the side as he shrugged one of his shoulders. “It’s a big island. You ain’t gonna get far unless you know how to track. You got a name, Chachi?”
“Name’s Dean. And pretty sure I’ll manage the whole trackin’ part. Been a hunter since I was a kid.”
He wasn’t even lying about that part; failing to mention that he hunted things that go bump in the night wasn’t lying, after all. He looked out at the jungle and rubbed a hand across his face at the sight of the thick curtain of leaves and vines. He sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to venturing in there, but if it’d help him find Sam, he’d do so without hesitation.
He gave the guy in front of him a once-over before nodding to the general direction of the forest.
“Don’t suppose you’re gonna help me out there, Cletus?”
They were at uneven odds now; Dean’d given the man his name, but hadn’t gotten one in return. And he was hellbent to come up with the most annoying nicknames until he’d get a proper name. Benefits of being a wiseass Winchester.
“Been a hunter since I was a kid.”
And didn’t that just beat all. It was already looking like Mr. I’ll-manage-the-whole-tracking-part might be better suited to life on Crazy Island than Sawyer was. At least when it came to catching boar. He watched Dean run a hand over his face and look around at the jungle, before his eyes came back to the con man with a nod at their surroundings.
“Don’t suppose you’re gonna help me out there, Cletus?”
Sawyer couldn’t decide if getting nicknames thrown right back at him was amusing or annoying as hell. Possibly both. Either way, he smirked a little again. “It’s Sawyer. And I thought you just said you got the trackin’ part covered? Here’s the deal, Dorothy. You want me to point you in the right direction, fine - but if your brother’s gone and pissed off the locals, I ain’t about to march behind enemy lines to get him back. ‘Cause I already been there once, and I got no plans to make that an annual visit. We on the same page here?”
Dean couldn’t help but breathe out a soundless chuckle at the name he was presented with. ‘Sawyer’ sounded so befitting for the guy that it was almost too good to be true. Not that Dean knew his name was a fake, but it was simply amusing. He even managed a grin at the nickname ‘Dorothy’, when he was pretty sure he would’ve frowned at it earlier in this conversation.
The grin vanished from his face at the man’s talk of the island’s local, though. What were these locals all about, anyway? If a guy like that was scared of going back to a village he’d already been in before, surely these people must be a tough nookie. Great. As if they needed more troubles along the way, aside from him being separated from his brother.
“Alright. What’re they like though, the locals? Y’know, in case I run into them. Best be prepared for the worst, huh?”
He had no idea what ‘the worst’ would even be, concerning this weirdass island he’d landed himself on out of the blue, but he was pretty sure it’d be bad. Real bad.
Be prepared for the worst seemed accurate enough. Sawyer didn't know where the hell to even begin answering that first question, though. What were the Others like? He could speak volumes about his time on Hydra Island and the shit they'd pulled long before that, and it still would barely cover what they were like.
"Well they ain't the Brady Bunch, that's for damn sure. They got a thing for snatchin' kids and pregnant girls, stringin' people up in trees and lockin' 'em in cages."
The con man paused, wondering how - or if, even - he should continue. "Let's just put it this way, Sundance. You run into one of the Others, you'd best hope you can pull the trigger faster than they can."
Kate dreamed. For the first time in a long time, she dreamed. Well - remembered, really. It was she and Tom, a long while back. They couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, and Kate was already showing signs of typical childhood rebellion.
“Katie, we shouldn’t be doing this,” Tommy said.
“Yeah?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows as she threw herself over a hunk of scrap metal. “We’re doing it anyway.” She extended her arm, offering her hand for him to take.
He reluctantly clambered over the edge, and both children made it to the cliff looming over the empty construction lot in no time. Katie sat down on the edge, swinging her legs over the side, viewing the dimly lit workplace enthusiastically - like it gave her some kind of rush that couldn’t be obtained any other way.
“Katie…” Tommy pleaded, looking over at her nervously. “Let’s get outta here. Somebody’s gonna find us.”
“Nobody’s gonna find us,” Katie replied, her eyes meeting Tommy’s. “‘Sides, I’m good at runnin’.”
At that, Tommy finally cracked a smile, sitting down beside her, looking up at the moon. They sat there silently, not saying anything at all, just enjoying each other’s company for awhile. It had always been like that for the two of them. Not many words needed to be exchanged for them to communicate freely.
“I’m happy we came out here,” Tommy said quietly before standing up and helping the brunette to her feet. “But let’s go home.”
Katie jabbed him gently in the ribs with her elbow, smirking at him through the darkness. “Scaredy cat.”
And with that, Kate eased awake, her eyelids fluttering open, a smile on her lips. Whether it was because of where she was and who she was with, or because a happy memory had been returned to her, or a mixture of both, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She was happy, and that was all that mattered.
Her vision came into focus, and she gave Sawyer a small squeeze, her arm still in the same place she’d left it. After a few moments, she sat up a little bit, looking up into his face sleepily, quickly realizing his reading glasses were on. Her brow furrowed. “What…”
She turned her head around, finally noticing the book in his hand. “Of course,” She said softly, tilting her head back so that she could look at him. How could she expect anything different? This was Sawyer, after all. To him, reading was like breathing - and it was second nature. She knew that, and she accepted it.
Maybe his intelligence was even a little bit of a turn-on.
Kate shook her head slightly and rolled her eyes, leaning forward to kiss him. One of her hands came up to cup his neck, her thumb moving gently against his skin. When their lips parted, she moved quickly, seizing the opportunity to snatch the glasses off his face while he was unprepared.
She laughed and rolled away from him, brushing her hair away from her face to slip on Sawyer’s glasses before he could do anything about it. She rose up onto her knees, grabbing one of his shirts and pulling it on over her head with a giggle.
“I’m Sawyer,” She teased, pulling her hair out of the shirt so that it fell over her back and shoulders. She fixed the glasses on her face and sat up straighter, smiling even wider as her eyes met his.
“And I like to seduce women with bottles of Schnapps.”
She played it like a pro: eased in for a long, slow kiss, and then grabbed his glasses and retreated before he'd fully registered what she'd done. Sawyer smirked, and then the smirk slanted into a grin, dimples visible on both cheeks. He dismissed his book almost immediately, propped himself up on his elbows, head slightly tilted, eyes locked on Kate and tracing her every move as she snagged a t-shirt of his and slipped it on.
"I'm Sawyer."
Her hair a little tangled from sleep, the curls more wild than usual, green eyes bright even behind the lenses of his godawful glasses that she actually managed to make look sexy as hell. Although that was more about her than the glasses.
"And I like to seduce women with bottles of Schnapps."
Sawyer let out a chuckle and pushed himself up into a sit, tugging her to him by the fabric of the shirt. His hands slipped under the hem, came to rest on her thighs, and he leaned in to kiss her, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth as he drew back. He slid the glasses off her and tossed them aside, that same hand moving to cup her jawline.
"Didn't hear you complainin', Freckles," he challenged, the corners of his mouth quirking up again.
When the guy holstered his weapon, Sawyer waited another beat or two before he tucked his own back into his waistband. He was inclined to believe the story, despite it being like an episode of the Twilight Zone, for a couple of reasons: first off, this guy did not, by any stretch of the imagination, look like he’d been living on an island for any extended period of time. He wasn’t dirty, his clothes weren’t ragged — he was wearing a leather jacket, for shit’s sake.
And second, his story was no crazier than Cooper’s. Not to mention the whole ‘flash of white’ thing being a common factor. He exhaled a humorless laugh, under his breath. If getting here by plane crash was bad, being zapped while driving like you’d been beamed back to the mothership was a strong contender.
“Hey, you seen a guy that looks a lil’ younger than me, lost, and really needs a haircut? Save for yourself, that is.”
Funny. The last thing this island needed was another wiseass; he had to actually hold back another smirk when he thought of just how well-received by the group that’d be.
“Well, shucks, I’ll be sure to make an appointment once I pay the bill on my coconut phone,” he said dryly. “And no, I ain’t seen your buddy. But you might wanna track him down before the natives do - they get real sensitive when you walk through their backyard.”
Funny. When it came to witty comebacks, Dean wasn’t short of a worthy contender with this guy. That’d prove to be one hell of a conversation, should he try to keep it up this way. And knowing Dean, he probably would. Being emotional or serious without even the slightest hint of sarcasm or joking around wasn’t his cuppa joe.
The man’s last remark made him squint his eyes though. Natives? Sounded like they’d landed themselves on some kinda cannibal-inhabited island. He could half picture his brother having walked into camp and being roasted on a spit by now. Well, damn.
His eyebrows tugged together in a deep frown, every last hint of sarcastic amusement fading from him and turning into legitimate concern about his brother.
“Any idea how I go about doin’ that? Kid’s got a way of getting himself in trouble more often than I’d like ‘em to be.”
Dean wouldn’t often admit it in front of Sam, but what kept him busy more often than not were his worries about his little brother. If he’d had the choice of keeping Sam out of the hunting business, he probably would have. Damn him for finding their dad’s journal and damn his curiosity. But, as it was, they went about hunting together, so he might as well attempt to protect him to his best effort. That added up with the fact that he had to watch his own back ninety-nine percent of the time made for a very busy hunter’s life.
“Any idea how I go about doin’ that? Kid’s got a way of getting himself in trouble more often than I’d like ‘em to be.”
So the guy was just trying to track down his kid brother. The honest worry that showed up in place of the smartass quips was more than enough information for Sawyer. At least for now. But he wasn’t willing to lead a stranger back to the beach, and nor did he feel much like ditching him in the middle of the jungle for him to either find his own way to the beach or walk straight into Othersville without a clue.
Any idea how I go about doin’ that?
“You tried clickin’ your heels again?” Sawyer asked mildly, then tilted his head to the side as he shrugged one of his shoulders. “It’s a big island. You ain’t gonna get far unless you know how to track. You got a name, Chachi?”
“Name’s Dean. And pretty sure I’ll manage the whole trackin’ part. Been a hunter since I was a kid.”
He wasn’t even lying about that part; failing to mention that he hunted things that go bump in the night wasn’t lying, after all. He looked out at the jungle and rubbed a hand across his face at the sight of the thick curtain of leaves and vines. He sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to venturing in there, but if it’d help him find Sam, he’d do so without hesitation.
He gave the guy in front of him a once-over before nodding to the general direction of the forest.
“Don’t suppose you’re gonna help me out there, Cletus?”
They were at uneven odds now; Dean’d given the man his name, but hadn’t gotten one in return. And he was hellbent to come up with the most annoying nicknames until he’d get a proper name. Benefits of being a wiseass Winchester.
"Been a hunter since I was a kid.”
And didn't that just beat all. It was already looking like Mr. I'll-manage-the-whole-tracking-part might be better suited to life on Crazy Island than Sawyer was. At least when it came to catching boar. He watched Dean run a hand over his face and look around at the jungle, before his eyes came back to the con man with a nod at their surroundings.
“Don’t suppose you’re gonna help me out there, Cletus?”
Sawyer couldn't decide if getting nicknames thrown right back at him was amusing or annoying as hell. Possibly both. Either way, he smirked a little again. "It's Sawyer. And I thought you just said you got the trackin' part covered? Here's the deal, Dorothy. You want me to point you in the right direction, fine - but if your brother's gone and pissed off the locals, I ain't about to march behind enemy lines to get him back. 'Cause I already been there once, and I got no plans to make that an annual visit. We on the same page here?"
I love the depth you give to Sawyer. It's amazing. OK bye. :)
[REALLY THOUGH, all I'm doing is trying to expand on Josh's flawless performance. Thank you so much. *hides*]
Ben opened his eyes just in time to see Sawyer jerk his head towards Alex’s grave. Immediately, appreciation and gratefulness flooded through him, and he just stood there for a moment, a look of amazement on his face, before he became aware of it and quickly turned and began to walk to the grave, Sawyer right behind him.
A few feet away from the grave, Ben stopped, nostalgic. He sifted through all of his memories with Alex, focusing on the good times more than the bad, even if they were harder to find. A sharp stab of pain blew through him as he realized just how far apart they had drifted the past few years. At that moment, standing beside his daughter’s grave, Ben knew that he would give anything to have his daughter back, to have a second chance. All this time he had thought that he held all the knowledge, but the truth was that he was more ignorant than anyone else on the island— the grave he was staring at was justification enough. He just wished his daughter didn’t have to die for him to realize that.
He could feel Sawyer’s presence beside him, but didn’t look up, his gaze still fixed at the patch of dirt under which Alex lay. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but stronger than before.
“She’s not—” he flinched slightly at his mistake, “was not really my daughter, you know.”
Ben wasn’t sure if Sawyer already knew this or not, but he didn’t care. The need to talk— to open up— overcame him. He just needed to speak to someone, anyone.
“I stole her as a baby from the French woman. Rousseau.”
Contrary to popular belief, he felt neither indifference nor apathy towards other people and the shit they went through; he'd just come to believe that it was easier to stay detached, that he and other people alike would be better off. Sawyer could make all the smartass quips in the world, could shove everybody away and build up walls and talk a big game about how he'd never done a good thing in his life - but no part of the facade was genuine.
It was just that: facade. Bravado. Because shoving away anything that resembled emotion was more appealing than having to learn how to deal with it.
But a lot had changed in these last few months. He'd only started to realize just how much during the time he and Kate had spent on Hydra Island. When the only thing that ever even had a shot at keeping him in line was Kate being threatened. When the thought of her getting hurt was so unbearable that it caused him physical pain.
The strangest thing about this, here, right now, standing a couple of paces from the new grave of a 16-year-old girl, was that Ben had been the one who threatened Kate. Ben was the one who locked them up; who conned him, hit him with that damn baton, brought him all the way out to the edge of the island just to show him there wasn't a snowball's chance of getting off - just to show him how trapped he was. Ben had done enough to warrant a lifetime's worth of loathing, and then some.
Right now, though - right here, beside the grave - Sawyer didn't loathe him. Didn't hate him. And that, maybe, in his mind, was the most screwed up part about all this.
"She's not -- was not really my daughter, you know."
Sawyer's focus shifted, went from the grave to Ben's face in time to catch the wince when he used the present instead of the past tense. The con man's brows pulled together, waiting for an elaboration.
"I stole her as a baby from the French woman. Rousseau."
"Did you have a reason, or is stealin' kids just part of the job description?"
The words got out before he could stop them, and he cursed internally, a tick in his jaw; for once, he actually wasn't trying to be insensitive. But he didn't know how to respond, didn't know what to do with the information.
Didn't know why Ben would be telling him.
Suddenly Daryl was back in that ‘nowhere dive’, watching as Sawyer left, walking out into the pouring rain. He remembered the con man’s last words to him before he left the bar, which were now ringing in his ears.
“Next round’s on you. Happy huntin’.”
How ironic had that turned out to be? Who would’ve thought they’d both be drinking right before they were going out on a hunting trip together? Certainly either of them, that was for sure.
“How come it ain’t ever you who picks up the tab?”
Daryl, already learning to ignore Sawyer’s nicknames, nodded as if he were actually considering the question offered. He set his empty beer can down next to him and tilted his head slightly to the side. “Tell you what,” He said, sitting up straighter with a soft grunt. “We find a bar - a real one - you drink till yer shitfaced.”
He paused, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward. “Next round’s on me.”
Thinking back to when they'd first met, Sawyer realized that in all the tension and resentment and - okay, a damn lot of fear, that came with returning to the island, he forgot. He forgot what was actually going on in the real world right now. Forgot about the dead people, the infection, the nationwide state of emergency that was probably worldwide by now.
A jolt of nausea hit him in the stomach like a punch when he thought of Cass and Clementine, something tightening up under his sternum.
That just made him drink even deeper, drinking like he needed to drown something. His own words to Jack, the ones he'd spoken in the hotel room in Macon, drifted back to him as he did so: Problems don't drown, Doc. They swim.
Yeah, no fucking kidding.
“Tell you what. We find a bar - a real one - you drink till yer shitfaced.”
Sawyer looked over at the hunter again, conjuring a smirk from somewhere to match the way Daryl's mouth quirked just slightly.
"Next round's on me."
"I like the way ya think, Hoss." The con man lifted his beer can in a mock salute before emptying it, and then he tipped his head down the beach, towards where the blonde who'd been clinging to Daryl before stood talking to a couple of other people. "That your girl, or you just pick her up on the side of the road someplace?"
A lazy smile crept across his face, keeping his eyes open by fixing them on hers, when she turned towards him and touched his cheek, his neck, his jaw. If she kept that up, he really would end up just drifting back to sleep. And he wasn’t gonna argue with her observation; he probably did look exhausted. But so did she, and who could blame either of them? Sex like that took a lot out of a person.
That made his expression shift again into a lopsided smirk, blue eyes staying focused on Kate’s green ones. She was perfect. It wasn’t just his dick talking, either, or the whole drunk-on-post-coital-gratification thing; she actually was perfect.
“Can you take the day off?”
The way she scrunched up her nose right before she kissed him had him smiling against her lips.
“Well that’s the best part about runnin’ your own business, puddin’,” he drawled, the hand on her stomach sliding down and around to her hip, fingertips lightly tracing patterns on her skin. “‘Course I can take the day off.”
“You don’t have any appointments to cancel or anything, do you?” She giggled, pressing her lips to his jaw. She peppered kisses all the way down to his neck, nestling her head in the crook of his shoulder as she did so. Her eyes were fluttering shut again, a whole new wave of exhaustion crashing over her like a tidal wave.
Sex sure did take a lot out of a person, but this was an entirely different kind of debilitation. Everything seemed to be softer, every touch gentler, each kiss all the more tender and passionate. It was almost as if she was in some kind of perfect haze. She didn’t feel tired or burned out. She felt more alive than ever - just subdued.
Kate kissed his chest a few times before settling against it, one arm draped over his side. She sighed softly, her breath warm on his neck as the pull of sleep became too much to ignore any longer. “‘Night…” She whispered. Her voice trailed off, her breathing evening out almost immediately after she was done speaking.
A low chuckle was brought on by the remark about canceling appointments, but any response he might've come back with was gone when her mouth met his jaw. She kissed her way down his neck and he let out a low, steady exhale, eyes closing for a minute while she settled in close again. He was smiling - not smirking, but actually smiling - when she planted a few soft kisses on his chest and then laid her head back down, her warm breath tickling his skin.
Sawyer's fingers trailed along the arm she'd draped across him, his other arm circled around her with his hand on her torso, just above the line of her rib cage. Those fingers, too, were moving, in little circles like the ones he'd traced on her back when they'd walked to camp the night before.
He couldn't remember ever feeling calmer, happier, or safer than he did lying there with her right now.
"'Night..."
And he was about to say something, give her some quip about how It ain't night anymore, Freckles, but the way her breathing leveled out and her muscles relaxed completely told him she'd actually dropped off to sleep. So consciousness after sex had lasted all of - what, ten minutes? He breathed out a quiet laugh, turning his head slightly to press his lips to her forehead.
Then - moving carefully so as not to disturb her - Sawyer reached down beside the makeshift bed for his reading glasses. Slipped them on, adjusted the pillow behind his head so that he was propped up a couple more inches, Kate still nestled into him. The arm around her staying where it was, fingers still drawing their tiny circles, he retrieved his book with his free hand and flipped through to the page he'd left off at.
For a second there, he almost forgot they were on a damn beach.
Sawyer smiled again as he started to read.
The con man couldn’t help but quirk a grin when Castiel actually laughed; ten minutes ago, he’d looked ready to either run for the hills or start shooting, and now it seemed like most of that tension was gone. Or at least alleviating, for the time being. Which was a damn good thing, since island life was precarious at the best of times and the last thing anybody needed was another shitstorm.
“Actually no, he goes where he damn well pleases. That’s the problem with hunting him.”
“Hunting him?” A smirk tugged at both corners of Sawyer’s mouth and he raised his eyebrows again at Castiel. “That’s what you did, in Kansas City. You hunted the Devil.” He snorted quietly and shook his head, glancing out at the water. “Hell, Chief. And I thought I had it rough.”
“Exactly!” Castiel agreed, his eyes seeming to brightened slightly when he said so, the smile remained wide as ever, the irritation that was there just a few minutes ago completely gone. “This place isn’t that bad.. It’s nothing compared to how it is back home.” This was actually one of the few times the former angel had ever come to a beach.. Usually, he wasn’t as fond of them as he was dense forests or rocky mountains. This was, he supposed, a nice change of pace though.
“What about you?” The ex-angel asked, lightly kicking up the sand with the tip of his boot as he walked. His eyes flickered up to the taller man at his said, eyebrows lightly quirked upward. “Before you came here, what’d you do? —Y’know. Job.. Family.. All that.”
So they were sticking to the 'hunting the Devil' thing. Sawyer didn't know whether it was the drugs or if Castiel was just nuts - either way, the con man didn't bother pushing the subject any further. Sure it was weird, but since the crash he'd seen and heard more than his fair share of weird. Hell, even if what Castiel said turned out to be the honest truth, there wasn't much that could surprise Sawyer any more.
He glanced at Castiel when the questions got personal, keeping a neutral expression aside from the customary half-smirk. Really, though, he was trying to figure out what he could actually say, because there was just no way he was gonna come right out and tell this guy what his job - for lack of a better word - had been on the mainland.
"All that?" Sawyer echoed, allowing the smirk to get more prominent. "There ain't an 'all that.' Investment business, no family." He mimicked the hiked brows, launching a counter-question to get the focus off of him and back on Castiel, "You got a wife and kids back home, Norman Rockwell?"
