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crack_van2013-01-08 11:29 am
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-01-08 11:29 am
Entry tags:
"Tell Me How This Ends" by tevere (T)
Fandom: Terminator / Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles
Pairing: Cameron/John, canonical Kyle/Sarah
Length: ~9K words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tevere
Author Website: AO3
Why this must be read: Well, yesterday's rec was a little to merry for a franchise based on an unavoidable robot apocalypse, so here's a post-series exploration of an assortment of characters and their day-to-day survival and how they view their alleged savior. Honest and a bit haunting in the way that the best Terminator fics are.
Tell Me How This Ends
Pairing: Cameron/John, canonical Kyle/Sarah
Length: ~9K words
Author on LJ:
tevereAuthor Website: AO3
Why this must be read: Well, yesterday's rec was a little to merry for a franchise based on an unavoidable robot apocalypse, so here's a post-series exploration of an assortment of characters and their day-to-day survival and how they view their alleged savior. Honest and a bit haunting in the way that the best Terminator fics are.
Connor stopped and turned to look back at Derek. In the darkness he seemed thoughtful, sad. He said, apropos of nothing, "You don't have to do this alone, Reese."
"What?" said Derek, uncertainly.
"Survive." Connor's lips curved, but the expression was too complicated to be a smile. "Look after your brother. You don't have to do it alone."
Derek felt a pang in his chest, sharp as a push-pin. Relief or gratitude, maybe both, coupled with the pathetic, childish hope that what Connor said was true, even though he knew it couldn't be. Kyle was his responsibility; always would be. It was simply the way the world worked now, a force as incontrovertible as gravity.
He wondered what showed on his face, because Connor gripped his shoulder and said in a low harsh voice, "You've done a good job looking after him."
Derek had to swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten praise -- his baseball coach, maybe, when he'd hit that home run the last summer. It was one of a lot of last times he couldn't remember, all of them things he'd taken for granted without even realising they might be finite. The last time he'd eaten icecream. The last time he'd walked barefoot on grass. The last time their mom told him she loved him.
Connor was silent for a few moments, then said almost absently, "Ammo's going to be a problem in the future. But I'd rather you use a few now than have to learn on the battlefield." He paused. "If they give you time to learn."
Derek frowned. "They. The other survivors?"
Connor looked at him. "No. The machines."
"What do you mean?" Derek knew the origins of Judgement Day; knew a computer program had destroyed the world using the weapons mankind had built for it. But even a world-reaching program was just a program, a blind intelligence in the servers.
"They'll come," said Connor. There was a certainty in his voice, a sadness, that made Derek shiver. Connor took the Mossberg and started loading rounds. He said, distantly, "They can't be bargained with, and they can't be reasoned with. They don't feel pity, or remorse, or fear." He looked up and racked the bolt back. The sound was harsh, militaristic, final. "And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until we're all dead."
"What?" said Derek, uncertainly.
"Survive." Connor's lips curved, but the expression was too complicated to be a smile. "Look after your brother. You don't have to do it alone."
Derek felt a pang in his chest, sharp as a push-pin. Relief or gratitude, maybe both, coupled with the pathetic, childish hope that what Connor said was true, even though he knew it couldn't be. Kyle was his responsibility; always would be. It was simply the way the world worked now, a force as incontrovertible as gravity.
He wondered what showed on his face, because Connor gripped his shoulder and said in a low harsh voice, "You've done a good job looking after him."
Derek had to swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten praise -- his baseball coach, maybe, when he'd hit that home run the last summer. It was one of a lot of last times he couldn't remember, all of them things he'd taken for granted without even realising they might be finite. The last time he'd eaten icecream. The last time he'd walked barefoot on grass. The last time their mom told him she loved him.
Connor was silent for a few moments, then said almost absently, "Ammo's going to be a problem in the future. But I'd rather you use a few now than have to learn on the battlefield." He paused. "If they give you time to learn."
Derek frowned. "They. The other survivors?"
Connor looked at him. "No. The machines."
"What do you mean?" Derek knew the origins of Judgement Day; knew a computer program had destroyed the world using the weapons mankind had built for it. But even a world-reaching program was just a program, a blind intelligence in the servers.
"They'll come," said Connor. There was a certainty in his voice, a sadness, that made Derek shiver. Connor took the Mossberg and started loading rounds. He said, distantly, "They can't be bargained with, and they can't be reasoned with. They don't feel pity, or remorse, or fear." He looked up and racked the bolt back. The sound was harsh, militaristic, final. "And they absolutely will not stop, ever, until we're all dead."
Tell Me How This Ends
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