Fic: Ghosthunting (CSI:NY AU, FRT-13)
May. 24th, 2009 08:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Ghosthunting
Rating: FRT-13
Fandom: CSI:NY
Theme set/prompt: Supernatural, prompt #2: Ghosts
Summary: The reason Don's afraid of ghosts.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Hints of M/M slash – don't like, don't read!
written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
10_what_ifs challenge...
Blaming the usual suspects…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
**
"You ready?" Danny asked and pulled the key out of the ignition of their car.
Don gulped visibly, but he managed a shaky nod.
"You wanna stay here?" Danny offered, a small smirk beginning to form on his face. "Think Mac should've let Linds come with me."
"I'm good," Don defended himself and climbed out of the car. The cold winter air almost immediately reddened his skin, and he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "Besides, Linds is working with him on that vampire case."
"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Danny continued to tease and joined Don at the trunk of the car to collect the equipment they would need.
"I'd prefer if you'd hold the shotgun," Don growled and pushed said object into Danny's chest, trusting him to catch it. "Where did you say those bones are?"
"Mac said there's a basement under this monastery – something about an old torture chamber. He said they're most likely there."
"Most likely?" Don repeated disbelievingly and picked up a heavy battle axe. He stared at it for a moment before dismissing it, dropping it back into the trunk with a loud clatter.
"Unless they've been buried under the altar at the church," Danny added, seemingly unfazed. "There were documents that indicated that both can be possible."
"Oh, great," Don sighed and grabbed a shovel. "Two ghosts."
Danny stopped mid-move and frowned. "You could be right," he said slowly. "It would fit the MO. Or the lack thereof."
"You are not going after one of them alone!" Don snapped, and before Danny could think of a teasing reply, Don had grabbed his head and had pulled him close against his lanky body, kissing him – a quick brush of dry lips against dry lips, chafed and rough.
Danny stood motionless for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around the taller man, feeling the smooth material of his leather jacket and his body heat under his hands and against his cheek, and held him close for a few heartbeats.
"It's okay, Don," he murmured soothingly. "I'm with you."
"You'd better," Don murmured against his hair, before straightening and taking a step back. He ran a hand through his hair and picked up the bottle of sacred oil.
"You really think there are two?"
Danny watched him for a heartbeat, but then he returned to his earlier activity of picking weapons. He knew that from all the hunters, ghosts were the worst for Don, ever since his whole family had been killed by one.
If he concentrated really hard, he could remember a younger, much younger, Don, hiding under his bed, shaking because of a nightmare – his parents, ripped to shreds by a ghost, right in front of little Donnie's eyes, knowing that he'd be the next one – Don's chest and stomach still bore the marks of that fateful night, in the form of deep scars the ghost had left before he'd been exorcised.
"Could be," he shrugged. As far as he could tell, Don had himself back under control. It had been just a minor little freak-out. They all had them. The trick was to ignore them once they had gone by and continue as if nothing had happened.
He knew that Don would watch his back.
And Danny would watch his.
That was what they did, and they worked so well together because they knew their strengths and weaknesses so intimately as if they were just one person. They moved like pieces of a well-oiled machine as they quietly crept into the ruins of the monastery.
Danny smiled softly.
He would fend off the angry ghost while Don murmured the correct words of the ancient prayer, his voice quiet but never wavering, never breaking, never giving the ghost a chance to escape, and Don would pour the sacred oil over the remains of the bones and setting them on fire, thereby binding the ghost and destroying him, and when it was gone for good, they would repeat the procedure with the second ghost, and when the ghost would knock Danny out, Don would take the shotgun and shoot it, without ever stopping the stream of words dropping from his lips like honey, saying the prayer that would bind this ghost to his bones, as well, and then torch these bones too.
Danny grinned. One day, he would tell them, would tell Mac about the extent of his mental abilities. For now, however, he knew that Don would have his back.
That was all that counted.
He checked the shotgun one last time and turned his grin towards Don.
"Let's kick some poltergeist ass."
The end.
Rating: FRT-13
Fandom: CSI:NY
Theme set/prompt: Supernatural, prompt #2: Ghosts
Summary: The reason Don's afraid of ghosts.
Author's Notes/Warnings: Hints of M/M slash – don't like, don't read!
written for the
10_what_ifs challenge...Blaming the usual suspects…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
**
"You ready?" Danny asked and pulled the key out of the ignition of their car.
Don gulped visibly, but he managed a shaky nod.
"You wanna stay here?" Danny offered, a small smirk beginning to form on his face. "Think Mac should've let Linds come with me."
"I'm good," Don defended himself and climbed out of the car. The cold winter air almost immediately reddened his skin, and he wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. "Besides, Linds is working with him on that vampire case."
"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Danny continued to tease and joined Don at the trunk of the car to collect the equipment they would need.
"I'd prefer if you'd hold the shotgun," Don growled and pushed said object into Danny's chest, trusting him to catch it. "Where did you say those bones are?"
"Mac said there's a basement under this monastery – something about an old torture chamber. He said they're most likely there."
"Most likely?" Don repeated disbelievingly and picked up a heavy battle axe. He stared at it for a moment before dismissing it, dropping it back into the trunk with a loud clatter.
"Unless they've been buried under the altar at the church," Danny added, seemingly unfazed. "There were documents that indicated that both can be possible."
"Oh, great," Don sighed and grabbed a shovel. "Two ghosts."
Danny stopped mid-move and frowned. "You could be right," he said slowly. "It would fit the MO. Or the lack thereof."
"You are not going after one of them alone!" Don snapped, and before Danny could think of a teasing reply, Don had grabbed his head and had pulled him close against his lanky body, kissing him – a quick brush of dry lips against dry lips, chafed and rough.
Danny stood motionless for a moment, then he wrapped his arms around the taller man, feeling the smooth material of his leather jacket and his body heat under his hands and against his cheek, and held him close for a few heartbeats.
"It's okay, Don," he murmured soothingly. "I'm with you."
"You'd better," Don murmured against his hair, before straightening and taking a step back. He ran a hand through his hair and picked up the bottle of sacred oil.
"You really think there are two?"
Danny watched him for a heartbeat, but then he returned to his earlier activity of picking weapons. He knew that from all the hunters, ghosts were the worst for Don, ever since his whole family had been killed by one.
If he concentrated really hard, he could remember a younger, much younger, Don, hiding under his bed, shaking because of a nightmare – his parents, ripped to shreds by a ghost, right in front of little Donnie's eyes, knowing that he'd be the next one – Don's chest and stomach still bore the marks of that fateful night, in the form of deep scars the ghost had left before he'd been exorcised.
"Could be," he shrugged. As far as he could tell, Don had himself back under control. It had been just a minor little freak-out. They all had them. The trick was to ignore them once they had gone by and continue as if nothing had happened.
He knew that Don would watch his back.
And Danny would watch his.
That was what they did, and they worked so well together because they knew their strengths and weaknesses so intimately as if they were just one person. They moved like pieces of a well-oiled machine as they quietly crept into the ruins of the monastery.
Danny smiled softly.
He would fend off the angry ghost while Don murmured the correct words of the ancient prayer, his voice quiet but never wavering, never breaking, never giving the ghost a chance to escape, and Don would pour the sacred oil over the remains of the bones and setting them on fire, thereby binding the ghost and destroying him, and when it was gone for good, they would repeat the procedure with the second ghost, and when the ghost would knock Danny out, Don would take the shotgun and shoot it, without ever stopping the stream of words dropping from his lips like honey, saying the prayer that would bind this ghost to his bones, as well, and then torch these bones too.
Danny grinned. One day, he would tell them, would tell Mac about the extent of his mental abilities. For now, however, he knew that Don would have his back.
That was all that counted.
He checked the shotgun one last time and turned his grin towards Don.
"Let's kick some poltergeist ass."
The end.