Fic: Giggles
Oct. 3rd, 2006 01:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: Giggles
Pairing: Gen, light Michael/Lincoln
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1,258
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I couldn't sleep last night so I just let the plot bunnies invade. This one stuck out till today and so I wrote it ^_^ *sniff* Not enough time to work on Breathe Love lately; I need entire days cleared out to write those. So instead here's a fluffy drabble, with no angst! Really! ...btw, no Prison Break until 10/23!?!??! I'll die, I swear. I'll die from PB withrawal. Anyway, feedback = love.
Summary: 4-year old Lincoln deals with the death of their family dog Giggles and the birth of his new baby brother.
Lincoln Burrows, age 4. Peter Burrows, 33, Mrs. Amanda Burrows, 28, and little fetus Michael is eight months old going on nine. Giggles, 79 in doggy years.
Lincoln never had a favorite stuffed animal or favorite blanky; at show-n-tell the teacher asked “why didn’t you bring anything?” and Lincoln held out a doggy bone and said “this is my teddy bear and blanky and his name is Giggles” and Ms. Silverman just looked at him quizzically and then left him alone. Children are allowed to be eccentric before kindergarten.
Every night Lincoln goes to sleep with his small body curled into the ball of fluff, an old collie with tufts of hair missing around his muzzle. After his mom confirmed that Giggles wouldn’t eat Lincoln in his sleep, she allowed this habit because a) it was kind of heart-warming to see them lightly snoring together and b) otherwise Giggles would climb into their bed at night and she’d smell like dog drool for the rest of the day.
Giggles was 79 years old in doggy years. That’s old, and everybody knew he was bound to die soon. While Amanda wanted to put Giggles to sleep and make up a story to tell Lincoln (something about the collie reuniting with its grandpuppies and moving to Wisconsin) but Peter thought it would be a good lesson for the kid, learning about death and loss and all that good stuff. Unfortunately, the married couple never had the time to make a decision because one afternoon Giggles stopped in the middle of a street (the old boy couldn’t fart while walking anymore. He’d stop, sit on his haunches, and let out a little doggy toot before moving on) and got hit by a bicycle. No, not a bicyclist; a bicycle. A girl’s bubblegum-pink Huffy with streamers on the handlebars fell from a roof or some window and landed on Giggles and he died instantly. Amanda liked to say it was a blessing because it was so quick. Peter just said it was God farting back on Giggles and Lincoln didn’t really understand what his dad meant but he’d always dissolve into little boy chortles at the word “fart”.
But at night, Lincoln isn’t so amused anymore. There was nobody around to say funny words to keep the emptiness at bay and all he has is a cold bed covered in a fine sheet of dull white and brown hairs and a sunken spot in the mattress which Giggles had occupied for the last four years. Upon nightfall Lincoln starts to cry; he hugs his mother’s calf, sniffles into his French roll, sits facing a corner in the dark but nothing stopped the tears. At 8:30 PM, his bedtime, Lincoln climbs in between his parents on their king-sized bed but he father rolls him out onto the carpet.
“Learn to be a man, Linc.”
So the little boy goes back to his room and cries underneath a pillow, muffling the sound as best he can. But he misses Giggles; he misses him and his heavy, fuzzy body, he misses the constant source of warmth and he especially misses the little doggy farts he’d make in his sleep because they were just so funny.
The next day his father helps Lincoln dig a deep hole in their backyard and they bury the dog. His mother cleans her son’s sheets and replaces them with crisp, new blue ones that smell like starch. Peter uses up the rest of the Sunday reading the paper, watching two consecutive football games and then eating dinner in front of the telly for the final game. Amanda spends the day cleaning the kitchen, knitting booties next to her husband, and going into labor just as the Bears score their second touchdown. Lincoln’s parents pile into the sedan with a reluctant four year old in tow (Lincoln wants to stay home and draw a picture for Giggles’ grave with the Crayolas he borrowed from school when the teacher wasn’t looking).
However, three and a half hours later when Lincoln sees his mother all sweaty but flushed and smiling, he doesn’t want to draw anymore. He wants to see what’s inside that pink towel in her arms that everybody’s so busy fussing over. Lincoln wrinkles his nose and stands on his tippy toes but everybody ignores him until his dad accidentally kicks him in the knee.
“Oh Linc, hey. Come meet your baby brother, Michael.” The doctor tries to lower the moving bundle to show him but Lincoln’s too short so instead Peter lifts the boy up by the armpits and settles him on the hospital bed next to his mother.
“You look squishy,” are the first words Lincoln ever says to Michael and then he proceeds to smash his palm into the wide-eyed face before him. Peter bats Lincoln’s hand away and nudges him off the bed. Lincoln pouts.
When they get home it is all Michael this and Michael that and Lincoln doesn’t see what the big fuss is. Other than the fact that they got his blanky color wrong; pink is for girls. Ha. But when he tries to point this out his parents just shush him and go back to poking at the wriggling, squinty-eyed thing.
Lincoln goes to bed and now he Really misses Giggles. Giggles would still like him more, he wouldn’t bound over to the Michael-thing and start cooing (dogs can’t really coo, anyway). He would lie in his little ditch on the bed and Lincoln would put the blankets over the both of them and he would use the old collie for a pillow, like always. But then he remembers the flying bicycle (what was that?) and Giggles’ demise and feels the tears brewing up again. So he weeps himself to sleep, angrily wiping and blowing his nose on his T-shirt and feeling triumphant because his inattentive mother would have to clean it later. Until it was bedtime and he was just covered in his own snot, the wet fabric feeling clammy against his skin. Lincoln changes shirts and goes to sleep, bereft.
At 11 PM when Michael finally falls asleep (after being inhumanely quiet for the past hours), Amanda tiptoes into Lincoln’s bedroom. There’s a cradle set up in this room, also with pink blankets (she just likes pink, and besides people ought not to enforce gender roles), but then she watches her firstborn toss uncomfortably in his sleep, clutching at the empty space beside him, and she remembers Giggles. So she softly pads over, humming a quiet tune while avoiding Lincoln’s toys and dirty clothes on the floor, and carefully nestles her sleeping baby into the permanent depression in the mattress. Lincoln instantly rolls over and hugs Michael close to him, seemingly content as his frown lifts into an expression of calm. After watching over her boys for a few minutes more, the mother finally leaves and shuts the door behind her.
When Lincoln wakes up, he tries to bury his head into Giggles’ belly to block out the sunlight. But then the makeshift pillow squeaks and then starts to cry and when he opens his eyes, it’s not his old collie anymore. It’s his stupid new little brother Michael. Nonetheless he pets the baby on the tummy like Giggles’ used to like and it seems to work, and Michael gurgles and smiles a beaming, toothless grin up at him. Lincoln slowly decides that his new brother might do alright, and tucks him under his chin for five more minutes of sleep.
Pairing: Gen, light Michael/Lincoln
Author:
aeroport_artRating: G
Spoilers: none
Word Count: 1,258
Disclaimer: Prison Break is not mine, obviously. And I am not making any money from this, obviously.
Notes: I couldn't sleep last night so I just let the plot bunnies invade. This one stuck out till today and so I wrote it ^_^ *sniff* Not enough time to work on Breathe Love lately; I need entire days cleared out to write those. So instead here's a fluffy drabble, with no angst! Really! ...btw, no Prison Break until 10/23!?!??! I'll die, I swear. I'll die from PB withrawal. Anyway, feedback = love.
Summary: 4-year old Lincoln deals with the death of their family dog Giggles and the birth of his new baby brother.
Lincoln Burrows, age 4. Peter Burrows, 33, Mrs. Amanda Burrows, 28, and little fetus Michael is eight months old going on nine. Giggles, 79 in doggy years.
Lincoln never had a favorite stuffed animal or favorite blanky; at show-n-tell the teacher asked “why didn’t you bring anything?” and Lincoln held out a doggy bone and said “this is my teddy bear and blanky and his name is Giggles” and Ms. Silverman just looked at him quizzically and then left him alone. Children are allowed to be eccentric before kindergarten.
Every night Lincoln goes to sleep with his small body curled into the ball of fluff, an old collie with tufts of hair missing around his muzzle. After his mom confirmed that Giggles wouldn’t eat Lincoln in his sleep, she allowed this habit because a) it was kind of heart-warming to see them lightly snoring together and b) otherwise Giggles would climb into their bed at night and she’d smell like dog drool for the rest of the day.
Giggles was 79 years old in doggy years. That’s old, and everybody knew he was bound to die soon. While Amanda wanted to put Giggles to sleep and make up a story to tell Lincoln (something about the collie reuniting with its grandpuppies and moving to Wisconsin) but Peter thought it would be a good lesson for the kid, learning about death and loss and all that good stuff. Unfortunately, the married couple never had the time to make a decision because one afternoon Giggles stopped in the middle of a street (the old boy couldn’t fart while walking anymore. He’d stop, sit on his haunches, and let out a little doggy toot before moving on) and got hit by a bicycle. No, not a bicyclist; a bicycle. A girl’s bubblegum-pink Huffy with streamers on the handlebars fell from a roof or some window and landed on Giggles and he died instantly. Amanda liked to say it was a blessing because it was so quick. Peter just said it was God farting back on Giggles and Lincoln didn’t really understand what his dad meant but he’d always dissolve into little boy chortles at the word “fart”.
But at night, Lincoln isn’t so amused anymore. There was nobody around to say funny words to keep the emptiness at bay and all he has is a cold bed covered in a fine sheet of dull white and brown hairs and a sunken spot in the mattress which Giggles had occupied for the last four years. Upon nightfall Lincoln starts to cry; he hugs his mother’s calf, sniffles into his French roll, sits facing a corner in the dark but nothing stopped the tears. At 8:30 PM, his bedtime, Lincoln climbs in between his parents on their king-sized bed but he father rolls him out onto the carpet.
“Learn to be a man, Linc.”
So the little boy goes back to his room and cries underneath a pillow, muffling the sound as best he can. But he misses Giggles; he misses him and his heavy, fuzzy body, he misses the constant source of warmth and he especially misses the little doggy farts he’d make in his sleep because they were just so funny.
The next day his father helps Lincoln dig a deep hole in their backyard and they bury the dog. His mother cleans her son’s sheets and replaces them with crisp, new blue ones that smell like starch. Peter uses up the rest of the Sunday reading the paper, watching two consecutive football games and then eating dinner in front of the telly for the final game. Amanda spends the day cleaning the kitchen, knitting booties next to her husband, and going into labor just as the Bears score their second touchdown. Lincoln’s parents pile into the sedan with a reluctant four year old in tow (Lincoln wants to stay home and draw a picture for Giggles’ grave with the Crayolas he borrowed from school when the teacher wasn’t looking).
However, three and a half hours later when Lincoln sees his mother all sweaty but flushed and smiling, he doesn’t want to draw anymore. He wants to see what’s inside that pink towel in her arms that everybody’s so busy fussing over. Lincoln wrinkles his nose and stands on his tippy toes but everybody ignores him until his dad accidentally kicks him in the knee.
“Oh Linc, hey. Come meet your baby brother, Michael.” The doctor tries to lower the moving bundle to show him but Lincoln’s too short so instead Peter lifts the boy up by the armpits and settles him on the hospital bed next to his mother.
“You look squishy,” are the first words Lincoln ever says to Michael and then he proceeds to smash his palm into the wide-eyed face before him. Peter bats Lincoln’s hand away and nudges him off the bed. Lincoln pouts.
When they get home it is all Michael this and Michael that and Lincoln doesn’t see what the big fuss is. Other than the fact that they got his blanky color wrong; pink is for girls. Ha. But when he tries to point this out his parents just shush him and go back to poking at the wriggling, squinty-eyed thing.
Lincoln goes to bed and now he Really misses Giggles. Giggles would still like him more, he wouldn’t bound over to the Michael-thing and start cooing (dogs can’t really coo, anyway). He would lie in his little ditch on the bed and Lincoln would put the blankets over the both of them and he would use the old collie for a pillow, like always. But then he remembers the flying bicycle (what was that?) and Giggles’ demise and feels the tears brewing up again. So he weeps himself to sleep, angrily wiping and blowing his nose on his T-shirt and feeling triumphant because his inattentive mother would have to clean it later. Until it was bedtime and he was just covered in his own snot, the wet fabric feeling clammy against his skin. Lincoln changes shirts and goes to sleep, bereft.
At 11 PM when Michael finally falls asleep (after being inhumanely quiet for the past hours), Amanda tiptoes into Lincoln’s bedroom. There’s a cradle set up in this room, also with pink blankets (she just likes pink, and besides people ought not to enforce gender roles), but then she watches her firstborn toss uncomfortably in his sleep, clutching at the empty space beside him, and she remembers Giggles. So she softly pads over, humming a quiet tune while avoiding Lincoln’s toys and dirty clothes on the floor, and carefully nestles her sleeping baby into the permanent depression in the mattress. Lincoln instantly rolls over and hugs Michael close to him, seemingly content as his frown lifts into an expression of calm. After watching over her boys for a few minutes more, the mother finally leaves and shuts the door behind her.
When Lincoln wakes up, he tries to bury his head into Giggles’ belly to block out the sunlight. But then the makeshift pillow squeaks and then starts to cry and when he opens his eyes, it’s not his old collie anymore. It’s his stupid new little brother Michael. Nonetheless he pets the baby on the tummy like Giggles’ used to like and it seems to work, and Michael gurgles and smiles a beaming, toothless grin up at him. Lincoln slowly decides that his new brother might do alright, and tucks him under his chin for five more minutes of sleep.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 08:31 am (UTC)*dies in a puddle of fluffy goo*
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Date: 2006-10-03 08:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 08:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-10-04 02:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 10:48 am (UTC)Anyhoo- this was a beautiful, cute little fic, that i greatly enjoyed because it made me feel sad, made me go aww, and just ... made me , period. Very lovely, and i like the writing style.
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Date: 2006-10-04 02:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 12:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-04 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 06:08 pm (UTC)Cute and gorgeous and adorable!!
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Date: 2006-10-04 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-03 07:39 pm (UTC)Do you take requests? I'd love to see your version of a story in which Michael is four and Lincoln eight, or something thereabouts. Just so's they can participate equally in the snuggle love, you know?
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Date: 2006-10-04 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-12-09 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-09 12:50 pm (UTC)