forever is the sweetest con (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
delacourtings) wrote2015-01-06 10:29 pm
delacourtings) wrote2015-01-06 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
[fic] protect and serve; teen wolf; parrish
protect and serve. teen wolf. parrish. pg-13. 369.
parrish first knows he wants to help people when he's five, peering between the balusters of the stairs, watching as his parents are murdered before his very eyes.
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card_writing.
parrish first knows he wants to help people when he's five, peering between the balusters of the stairs, watching as his parents are murdered before his very eyes. something or someone, too many years of fictional dreams and truthful memories morphing together into one for him to be entirely certain of which, come in and take them from his grasp.
he goes through the system after that, hears taunts like "pretty boy," and wears bruises like outfits until a new guy comes along and takes pity on him, teaches him how to land punches like insults. he flits from fake family to fake family, three months here, six months there, never for too long.
when he's seventeen, there's a man in a uniform standing in front of the cafeteria as he goes to collect his lunch. he's got a trifold, pamphlets, a sparkling offer of the force paying for extended education to lure people in. parrish's eyes have been hooked on him since he read the words on his glittering badge. this we'll defend.
he sets his heart on explosive ordnance disposal, doesn't look back. he spends five years in training, forces himself to pass exams designed for him to fail. he watches as they push better men than him to the breaking point, physically, psychologically. they say it's to weed out the weak ones, the ones who succumb to the pressure. he's a perfect candidate, no family, no one to miss him.
the first bomb he diffuses, he doesn't even feel the fear. there's too much adrenaline, running through him like electricity, warmer than the desert sun on his back. it isn't until afterwards, when he's safe, as safe as one can be, that he realizes just how close he came. to death. to his parents. his hands don't stop shaking for hours.
he learns. slowly. how to steady his breathing, how to get used to the soundtrack of his own heartbeat. thump, thump, thump. how no matter how good you are, no matter how nimble your fingers, you only have to be unlucky once. how still being able to hear your heartbeat is a precious, precious thing. thump. thump. thump.
eventually, his hands stop shaking.
parrish first knows he wants to help people when he's five, peering between the balusters of the stairs, watching as his parents are murdered before his very eyes.
for
card_writing.parrish first knows he wants to help people when he's five, peering between the balusters of the stairs, watching as his parents are murdered before his very eyes. something or someone, too many years of fictional dreams and truthful memories morphing together into one for him to be entirely certain of which, come in and take them from his grasp.
he goes through the system after that, hears taunts like "pretty boy," and wears bruises like outfits until a new guy comes along and takes pity on him, teaches him how to land punches like insults. he flits from fake family to fake family, three months here, six months there, never for too long.
when he's seventeen, there's a man in a uniform standing in front of the cafeteria as he goes to collect his lunch. he's got a trifold, pamphlets, a sparkling offer of the force paying for extended education to lure people in. parrish's eyes have been hooked on him since he read the words on his glittering badge. this we'll defend.
he sets his heart on explosive ordnance disposal, doesn't look back. he spends five years in training, forces himself to pass exams designed for him to fail. he watches as they push better men than him to the breaking point, physically, psychologically. they say it's to weed out the weak ones, the ones who succumb to the pressure. he's a perfect candidate, no family, no one to miss him.
the first bomb he diffuses, he doesn't even feel the fear. there's too much adrenaline, running through him like electricity, warmer than the desert sun on his back. it isn't until afterwards, when he's safe, as safe as one can be, that he realizes just how close he came. to death. to his parents. his hands don't stop shaking for hours.
he learns. slowly. how to steady his breathing, how to get used to the soundtrack of his own heartbeat. thump, thump, thump. how no matter how good you are, no matter how nimble your fingers, you only have to be unlucky once. how still being able to hear your heartbeat is a precious, precious thing. thump. thump. thump.
eventually, his hands stop shaking.
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