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Skeletons in the Nightmares

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Summary: Yet another take on why Angel and Booth look alike.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Bones > Angel - CenteredPaBurkeFR1515310113,76513 Jun 0813 Jun 08Yes
Skeletons in the Nightmares
By: PaBurke
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. I’m just playing, no profit involved. If you recognize the characters, they’re not mine.
Distribution: The Nook, TtH
Spoilers: All of Angel, and nothing much for Bones
Word Count: 500
Rating: Higher than normal, PG-15

“A guy who dies fighting a dragon deserves a second chance at life. I won’t be the one to unlock that past.”

Booth started fighting to awake at that point. Whenever he heard those words, he knew that his dream was about to become a nightmare. A horrible nightmare teeming with death, destruction and torture, and he wasn’t always the victim, but sometimes the perpetrator.

The first time he had awoken from such a night, the horror had continued in the light of day. He –the man who had absolutely no artistic talent- had drawn a beautiful and accurate representation of Bones in repose.

On the wall.

With his own blood.

And she had been dead.

Don’t ask how he knew that she was dead.

It scared the hell out of him. He had spent a weekend using all the tricks he had learned from the geeks to rid the apartment of the evidence.

The next time had been a horrible night, but he had happened to have taken a phone message with a sheet of computer paper and a pencil. Using those in his sleep, his sketch captured Cameron dismembered with a chainsaw.

Don’t ask how he knew that it was a chainsaw.

He had killed everyone he had ever worked with or loved in the dreams and in the following sketches. He had burned the picture of his son (who, for some strange reason, he had called ‘Connor’ during the dream). That had banished the nightmares for a couple weeks, but now they had returned. These dreams were all the fault of some stupid language geek from the UK who had turned down the Jeffersonian’s job offer.

Somehow he knew that it was her fault. (Why had her lithe body and her brown hair seemed so familiar?) She had said those warning words that had started off every nightmare. Somehow he knew that if she had accepted the offer, the dreams would get worse. (Could they get worse?)

Somehow he knew that if he bought a sketchpad and a set of artist’s pencils, blood wouldn’t end up on the walls again.

So here he was chained again, inside some stupid dream where he was chaining up some dame and making her scream in pain.

That’s not me anymore! He screamed and then he argued with his subconscious. Why the hell had he said ‘anymore’? That wasn’t him.

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

A breath that didn’t fit into life. Like someone was talking about him behind his back.

It’s not me! Booth insisted.

A sigh.

Very well.

Booth awoke. First he checked the sketchpad and, to his relief, it was empty. No new horror was recorded there. He had nothing new to hide from the shrink or from the geeks and Bones. He wandered around the apartment, wondering if it was safe to sleep again. He sat down in an easy chair and turned on the television.

He drifted to sleep and thankfully had no more nightmares.

For now.


The End

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