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fandomfrom3[mood| 
surprised]
[music| ]
TITLE: Five Things That Never Happened To Walter Lloyd
AUTHOR: Kristen Kilar <chickadee_from_3@yahoo.com>
RATING: PG-13. Angst. Language. Violence, ish.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, Diane Duane, K.A. Applegate, C.S. Lewis, Donald P. Bellisario, and Sam Raimi. Spelling errors in this message are the product of a poor school system. Pay teachures more than athletes.
ARCHIVE: Just ask.
SUMMARY: Five AU/crossover snippets featuring Walt.
SPOILERS: LOST: Through What Kate Did. Very, very, not worth mentioning, vague spoilers for all other fandoms involved. Seriously, they’re not really spoilers. Well, okay, maybe vague spoilers for The Silver Chair.
PAIRINGS: Some innocent Walt/Jill Pole. Very vague Shannon/Ash.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hate my muse. My beta, however, is a goddess. All hail![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nikiness! :D
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
1. Walter Lloyd never took the Oath.
In Life’s name, and for Life’s sake…
Walt ran.
His breath came in ragged gulps, he had shooting pains in his side, his legs ached, and he wanted to die.
He ran.
I say that I will use the Art for nothing but the service of that Life…
He finally stopped for breath under a big tree. Huddled in the shadows, sucking in air, trying to get his fear under control.
“Computer,” he gasped out. “Are they still following?”
“Negative,” the smooth, generated voice came back. “Pursuit holding at point-six-three miles back.”
I will guard growth and ease pain.
“Right.” Walt nodded and forced himself to stop trembling. “Good.” How far was point-six-three miles? He didn’t bother asking.
Not far enough.
I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way…
He needed to find the beach and the other crash survivors. He needed to find out what had happened to the raft, and his dad.
Could his dad swim? He didn’t know. A blown-up raft in the middle of the ocean probably wasn’t real conducive to swimming, anyway, even for the best—
He couldn’t think like that.
And I will change no object or creature, unless its growth and life—
He looked back at the compliant computer sitting in the undergrowth next to him and wondered if his life would ever start making sense. This kind of stuff just didn’t happen. Planes didn’t fall out of the sky and never get rescued. Kids didn’t get kidnapped off of rafts by lunatic bombers. And computers didn’t offer the power to save the universe to terrified ten-year-olds.
Or that of the system of which it is part—
A thought occurred to him. “Computer,” he hissed. “Can I use you for…y’know…communication? To talk to someone?”
“Affirmative. Who would you like to speak to?”
“Someone. Anyone! One of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815—”
The computer screen went dark for a moment.
Are threatened…
It flickered back to life. “Connection established. Type when ready.”
Walt reached out hesitantly and started pressing keys. Hello?
A moment later the answer came back—hello?
He couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. Who is this?
To these ends, in the practice of my Art…
There was another pause before the answer came back. This is Michael. Who is this?
Walt stared at the screen, open-mouthed. So Dad had made it away from the raft okay…
And all he could type in response was Dad?
I will put aside fear for courage…
A noise a few feet away made him start, looking away from the screen before an answer came. His heart started hammering again and he scanned the jungle desperately.
A man stepped out of the shadows, looking at him solemnly. A disheveled man, long hair wild, a torn, dirty jumpsuit, a backpack on one shoulder and a rifle in his hands. And wholly unfamiliar—he wasn’t one of the crash survivors, and he hadn’t been with Walt’s kidnappers, either. So was he a friend or an enemy?
And death for life…
“Computer,” Walt hissed. “Can you get a defensive spell ready?”
“Spell prepared and on standby,” the computer said emotionlessly.
When it is right to do so…
Walt waited. He didn’t want to have to use the spell until he was forced into it.
Till the Universe’s end.
The man smiled, almost a beam. “Dai stihó, little brother!” he greeted with a heavy accent. “I’m on errantry, and I greet you.”
2. Walter Lloyd never changed his shape.
Terror, sheer fear, no understanding.
Walt clung to the solidity of the tree and tried to fight back his fear.
He wanted his dad. He wanted Vincent. He wanted Mr. Locke.
He wanted not to be here.
The polar bear had almost broken through the scant protection of trees.
Walt had a sinking certainty that he was going to die here. He backed up even more, as far as he could, branches pressing into his back.
Please, someone save me!
And then he shouted with surprise as a tiger leapt at the polar bear, tearing into its neck with sharp fangs.
Right. Because the polar bear on a tropical island wasn’t weird enough—he thought later, but right then he was too shocked and scared to think anything that coherent.
<Hey, kid,> a voice said in his head, and a gorilla lumbered into view. Walt blinked, past the point of shock by now. <Yeah, come on, follow me…>
“What’s going on?” Walt managed to choke out.
There was a pause, during which a grizzly bear joined the tiger in fighting the polar bear. Then the gorilla said, <Uh, yeah. Tell you in a minute. Come on, follow me…>
Walt followed.
The gorilla led him away from the fight, which continued unabated. Walt was shaky and unsteady and not at all upset to be getting away.
When they were far enough away that the noise of the fight had started to die away, the gorilla began to change.
In a matter of minutes, he was a human kid, a Hispanic boy slightly shorter than Walt, in unflattering spandex with a smirk on his face.
“I’m Marco,” he said.
“Walt. And what the hell just happened?”
“We saved your life,” Marco said cockily.
“Yeah. How? And who’s we?”
Marco paused. “That’s a long story. It’s also completely insane.”
<You always think everything’s completely insane.> A hawk swooped down from a nearby tree, circled lazily around their heads, and perched on a branch near Walt.
Marco jerked his thumb. “Walt, Tobias, Tobias, Walt.”
Walt blinked.
“We,” Marco said with a grand gesture, “Which is to say, me, Tobias, Cassie, Ax, and the twin lunatics back there fighting Visser Three—”
“Visser Three? Who’s Visser Three?”
“I’ll get to that. We are superheroes—”
<Superheroes?>
“—sort of.”
<You’re really bad at this, Marco.>
Marco scowled. “We’re fighting an alien invasion of Earth and our only weapon is the ability to turn into animals. There, is that better?”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Walt asked cautiously.
“Visser Three back there—the guy doing the polar bear act—is the leader of the alien invasion. And he’s pure evil. And he’s taken an especial interest in you. And we’ve been watching this for a while, and Jake—our fearless leader—has decided to take a risk on you.”
“What risk is that?”
<Have you ever wanted to fly, Walt?> Tobias asked.
3. Walter Lloyd never crossed between worlds.
Walt had been playing backgammon with Hurley, but Hurley had gotten tired of losing money and wandered off, so Walt grabbed Vincent and went to look for something to do.
He was out of yelling distance of the beach when he tripped and fell out of the world.
He hit soft grass instead of packed dirt and cried out from surprise. When he looked up, he was in a wide-open clearing instead of surrounded by jungle, and the sky was a shade of blue that seemed realer and bluer than any sky he’d seen before.
“Are you okay?” a British voice asked, and he looked into the eyes of a girl about his own age.
“Just surprised,” he answered, daze.
“Welcome to Narnia,” she said, and smiled. “I’m Jill Pole.”
“Walt Lloyd. Why am I here?”
“You’re needed,” she said solemnly, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Eustace and Puddleglum. You’ll like them, probably. And you need to be armed…”
“Armed? What are we doing?”
She looked at him through her eyelashes. “We’re saving a prince.”
Dazed, he let her pull him forward. They left the clearing and plunged into a forest that was so very different from the jungle on the Island. Through the trees, Walt saw something moving and squinted to see it clearer.
Was that a centaur?
“How did I get here?” he asked Jill.
“Magic,” she said, and kissed him lightly.
4. Walter Lloyd never leapt.
Walt woke up and found himself in a bluish white room and panicked.
“Hello? Hello! Where am I?”
He couldn’t find a way out and it threw him into a panic. After so long on the beach, in the caves, on the raft, being enclosed like this freaked him out. He was practically clawing at the walls by the time the voice spoke.
“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, kid!”
He spun around but didn’t see anyone. “Where am I?” he yelled, panicking. “Get me out of here!”
“If you’ll calm down, I’ll come in and speak to you.”
He fought to control his breathing. “I’m calm. I’m cool. I’m calm.”
A moment later the door opened and a man walked in. A man in a uniform, a slick dark-haired man, and Walt didn’t trust him.
“You calm?” he asked.
“I’m calm,” Walt snapped.
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Uh-huh. I’m Admiral Albert Calavicci with the Navy. Call me Al.”
“I’m Walt Lloyd.” He took a deep breath. “What am I doing here?”
“Well, you’ve kinda been…involuntarily recruited…into a top-secret project…”
Walt blinked.
“Don’t worry,” Al added. “We’ll get you back as soon as we can. In the meantime, take comfort in the knowledge that when we do, everything will have worked itself out. In the meantime…what’s the last thing you remember?”
5. Walter Lloyd never read the Necromicron.
Walt wandered irresolutely among the gathered crash survivors.
The crashing sounds in the jungle had them all spooked and off-balanced. Michael was so preoccupied with trying to find out if anyone knew what was going on that he hadn’t even noticed when Walt slipped away.
A guy sitting on the outskirts of the group was polishing a prosthetic with a torn T-shirt and muttering to himself. He looked up when Walt approached and his eyes narrowed. “Can I help you, kid?”
Walt shrugged.
“I’m not a hero,” he said, more to himself than to Walt. “I’m not and I wish people would stop expecting me to be one. Jesus Christ Almighty…”
“I’m Walt.”
“Ashley Williams. Ash. Housewares.” He smirked thinly. “Shop smart…shop S-mart.”
“What do you think that thing in the jungle is?”
“I don’t know.” But his eyes made it clear he was lying. “But,” Ash added, “I’m gonna be ready next time it comes.” He flexed his prosthetic hand. “You want some advice, kid?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t ever be a hero. Shoot ’em in the head. And don’t forget the last syllable.”
“The last what?”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto,” Ash said. “Remember that.”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto,” Walt repeated.
“Again.”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto.”
“Again.”
“I got it!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t forget it,” Ash said, and stood up. “I forgot it, and look where I am now. Trapped on a godforsaken island with Deadites stalking me again—”
“Deadites?”
Ash blinked and looked at Walt guiltily, obviously aware that he’d said too much. “Shoot ’em in the head,” he repeated, and looked away. “Who’s the blond?”
Walt tried to follow his gaze, finally saw who he was looking at. “I think her name’s Shannon. The guy with the pens was yelling at her earlier.”
“Huh.” Ash watched Shannon for a moment longer, then looked back at Walt. “Beat it, kid.”
Walt beat it.
The book was bound in human flesh and written in human blood. It felt heavy and rough and wrong in Walt’s hands.
He stood there staring at it and tried to understand everything that had happened in the last day, everything that Alex had told him before he’d escaped, everything that Locke had told him when he’d found the other survivors again, everything that the film had told him, and everything that was in this book.
The timer was counting down and the book was weighting Walt’s hands down and Locke was yelling at him, to get the numbers in before it was too late.
He couldn’t. Alex had insisted there was something he had to say first, but she hadn’t told him what.
Ash’s words from the first night flickered into his head, and Walt took a deep breath. Couldn’t hurt to try, it was the only option he had…
“Clatto,” he said carefully, “Verata, N…” and his mind went blank.
surprised][music| ]
TITLE: Five Things That Never Happened To Walter Lloyd
AUTHOR: Kristen Kilar <chickadee_from_3@yahoo.com>
RATING: PG-13. Angst. Language. Violence, ish.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. They belong to JJ Abrams, Diane Duane, K.A. Applegate, C.S. Lewis, Donald P. Bellisario, and Sam Raimi. Spelling errors in this message are the product of a poor school system. Pay teachures more than athletes.
ARCHIVE: Just ask.
SUMMARY: Five AU/crossover snippets featuring Walt.
SPOILERS: LOST: Through What Kate Did. Very, very, not worth mentioning, vague spoilers for all other fandoms involved. Seriously, they’re not really spoilers. Well, okay, maybe vague spoilers for The Silver Chair.
PAIRINGS: Some innocent Walt/Jill Pole. Very vague Shannon/Ash.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I hate my muse. My beta, however, is a goddess. All hail
nikiness! :D-----------------------------------------------------------------------
1. Walter Lloyd never took the Oath.
In Life’s name, and for Life’s sake…
Walt ran.
His breath came in ragged gulps, he had shooting pains in his side, his legs ached, and he wanted to die.
He ran.
I say that I will use the Art for nothing but the service of that Life…
He finally stopped for breath under a big tree. Huddled in the shadows, sucking in air, trying to get his fear under control.
“Computer,” he gasped out. “Are they still following?”
“Negative,” the smooth, generated voice came back. “Pursuit holding at point-six-three miles back.”
I will guard growth and ease pain.
“Right.” Walt nodded and forced himself to stop trembling. “Good.” How far was point-six-three miles? He didn’t bother asking.
Not far enough.
I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way…
He needed to find the beach and the other crash survivors. He needed to find out what had happened to the raft, and his dad.
Could his dad swim? He didn’t know. A blown-up raft in the middle of the ocean probably wasn’t real conducive to swimming, anyway, even for the best—
He couldn’t think like that.
And I will change no object or creature, unless its growth and life—
He looked back at the compliant computer sitting in the undergrowth next to him and wondered if his life would ever start making sense. This kind of stuff just didn’t happen. Planes didn’t fall out of the sky and never get rescued. Kids didn’t get kidnapped off of rafts by lunatic bombers. And computers didn’t offer the power to save the universe to terrified ten-year-olds.
Or that of the system of which it is part—
A thought occurred to him. “Computer,” he hissed. “Can I use you for…y’know…communication? To talk to someone?”
“Affirmative. Who would you like to speak to?”
“Someone. Anyone! One of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815—”
The computer screen went dark for a moment.
Are threatened…
It flickered back to life. “Connection established. Type when ready.”
Walt reached out hesitantly and started pressing keys. Hello?
A moment later the answer came back—hello?
He couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. Who is this?
To these ends, in the practice of my Art…
There was another pause before the answer came back. This is Michael. Who is this?
Walt stared at the screen, open-mouthed. So Dad had made it away from the raft okay…
And all he could type in response was Dad?
I will put aside fear for courage…
A noise a few feet away made him start, looking away from the screen before an answer came. His heart started hammering again and he scanned the jungle desperately.
A man stepped out of the shadows, looking at him solemnly. A disheveled man, long hair wild, a torn, dirty jumpsuit, a backpack on one shoulder and a rifle in his hands. And wholly unfamiliar—he wasn’t one of the crash survivors, and he hadn’t been with Walt’s kidnappers, either. So was he a friend or an enemy?
And death for life…
“Computer,” Walt hissed. “Can you get a defensive spell ready?”
“Spell prepared and on standby,” the computer said emotionlessly.
When it is right to do so…
Walt waited. He didn’t want to have to use the spell until he was forced into it.
Till the Universe’s end.
The man smiled, almost a beam. “Dai stihó, little brother!” he greeted with a heavy accent. “I’m on errantry, and I greet you.”
2. Walter Lloyd never changed his shape.
Terror, sheer fear, no understanding.
Walt clung to the solidity of the tree and tried to fight back his fear.
He wanted his dad. He wanted Vincent. He wanted Mr. Locke.
He wanted not to be here.
The polar bear had almost broken through the scant protection of trees.
Walt had a sinking certainty that he was going to die here. He backed up even more, as far as he could, branches pressing into his back.
Please, someone save me!
And then he shouted with surprise as a tiger leapt at the polar bear, tearing into its neck with sharp fangs.
Right. Because the polar bear on a tropical island wasn’t weird enough—he thought later, but right then he was too shocked and scared to think anything that coherent.
<Hey, kid,> a voice said in his head, and a gorilla lumbered into view. Walt blinked, past the point of shock by now. <Yeah, come on, follow me…>
“What’s going on?” Walt managed to choke out.
There was a pause, during which a grizzly bear joined the tiger in fighting the polar bear. Then the gorilla said, <Uh, yeah. Tell you in a minute. Come on, follow me…>
Walt followed.
The gorilla led him away from the fight, which continued unabated. Walt was shaky and unsteady and not at all upset to be getting away.
When they were far enough away that the noise of the fight had started to die away, the gorilla began to change.
In a matter of minutes, he was a human kid, a Hispanic boy slightly shorter than Walt, in unflattering spandex with a smirk on his face.
“I’m Marco,” he said.
“Walt. And what the hell just happened?”
“We saved your life,” Marco said cockily.
“Yeah. How? And who’s we?”
Marco paused. “That’s a long story. It’s also completely insane.”
<You always think everything’s completely insane.> A hawk swooped down from a nearby tree, circled lazily around their heads, and perched on a branch near Walt.
Marco jerked his thumb. “Walt, Tobias, Tobias, Walt.”
Walt blinked.
“We,” Marco said with a grand gesture, “Which is to say, me, Tobias, Cassie, Ax, and the twin lunatics back there fighting Visser Three—”
“Visser Three? Who’s Visser Three?”
“I’ll get to that. We are superheroes—”
<Superheroes?>
“—sort of.”
<You’re really bad at this, Marco.>
Marco scowled. “We’re fighting an alien invasion of Earth and our only weapon is the ability to turn into animals. There, is that better?”
“What’s this got to do with me?” Walt asked cautiously.
“Visser Three back there—the guy doing the polar bear act—is the leader of the alien invasion. And he’s pure evil. And he’s taken an especial interest in you. And we’ve been watching this for a while, and Jake—our fearless leader—has decided to take a risk on you.”
“What risk is that?”
<Have you ever wanted to fly, Walt?> Tobias asked.
3. Walter Lloyd never crossed between worlds.
Walt had been playing backgammon with Hurley, but Hurley had gotten tired of losing money and wandered off, so Walt grabbed Vincent and went to look for something to do.
He was out of yelling distance of the beach when he tripped and fell out of the world.
He hit soft grass instead of packed dirt and cried out from surprise. When he looked up, he was in a wide-open clearing instead of surrounded by jungle, and the sky was a shade of blue that seemed realer and bluer than any sky he’d seen before.
“Are you okay?” a British voice asked, and he looked into the eyes of a girl about his own age.
“Just surprised,” he answered, daze.
“Welcome to Narnia,” she said, and smiled. “I’m Jill Pole.”
“Walt Lloyd. Why am I here?”
“You’re needed,” she said solemnly, took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Eustace and Puddleglum. You’ll like them, probably. And you need to be armed…”
“Armed? What are we doing?”
She looked at him through her eyelashes. “We’re saving a prince.”
Dazed, he let her pull him forward. They left the clearing and plunged into a forest that was so very different from the jungle on the Island. Through the trees, Walt saw something moving and squinted to see it clearer.
Was that a centaur?
“How did I get here?” he asked Jill.
“Magic,” she said, and kissed him lightly.
4. Walter Lloyd never leapt.
Walt woke up and found himself in a bluish white room and panicked.
“Hello? Hello! Where am I?”
He couldn’t find a way out and it threw him into a panic. After so long on the beach, in the caves, on the raft, being enclosed like this freaked him out. He was practically clawing at the walls by the time the voice spoke.
“Hey, hey, hey! Calm down, kid!”
He spun around but didn’t see anyone. “Where am I?” he yelled, panicking. “Get me out of here!”
“If you’ll calm down, I’ll come in and speak to you.”
He fought to control his breathing. “I’m calm. I’m cool. I’m calm.”
A moment later the door opened and a man walked in. A man in a uniform, a slick dark-haired man, and Walt didn’t trust him.
“You calm?” he asked.
“I’m calm,” Walt snapped.
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“Uh-huh. I’m Admiral Albert Calavicci with the Navy. Call me Al.”
“I’m Walt Lloyd.” He took a deep breath. “What am I doing here?”
“Well, you’ve kinda been…involuntarily recruited…into a top-secret project…”
Walt blinked.
“Don’t worry,” Al added. “We’ll get you back as soon as we can. In the meantime, take comfort in the knowledge that when we do, everything will have worked itself out. In the meantime…what’s the last thing you remember?”
5. Walter Lloyd never read the Necromicron.
Walt wandered irresolutely among the gathered crash survivors.
The crashing sounds in the jungle had them all spooked and off-balanced. Michael was so preoccupied with trying to find out if anyone knew what was going on that he hadn’t even noticed when Walt slipped away.
A guy sitting on the outskirts of the group was polishing a prosthetic with a torn T-shirt and muttering to himself. He looked up when Walt approached and his eyes narrowed. “Can I help you, kid?”
Walt shrugged.
“I’m not a hero,” he said, more to himself than to Walt. “I’m not and I wish people would stop expecting me to be one. Jesus Christ Almighty…”
“I’m Walt.”
“Ashley Williams. Ash. Housewares.” He smirked thinly. “Shop smart…shop S-mart.”
“What do you think that thing in the jungle is?”
“I don’t know.” But his eyes made it clear he was lying. “But,” Ash added, “I’m gonna be ready next time it comes.” He flexed his prosthetic hand. “You want some advice, kid?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t ever be a hero. Shoot ’em in the head. And don’t forget the last syllable.”
“The last what?”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto,” Ash said. “Remember that.”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto,” Walt repeated.
“Again.”
“Clatto Veratta Nicto.”
“Again.”
“I got it!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t forget it,” Ash said, and stood up. “I forgot it, and look where I am now. Trapped on a godforsaken island with Deadites stalking me again—”
“Deadites?”
Ash blinked and looked at Walt guiltily, obviously aware that he’d said too much. “Shoot ’em in the head,” he repeated, and looked away. “Who’s the blond?”
Walt tried to follow his gaze, finally saw who he was looking at. “I think her name’s Shannon. The guy with the pens was yelling at her earlier.”
“Huh.” Ash watched Shannon for a moment longer, then looked back at Walt. “Beat it, kid.”
Walt beat it.
The book was bound in human flesh and written in human blood. It felt heavy and rough and wrong in Walt’s hands.
He stood there staring at it and tried to understand everything that had happened in the last day, everything that Alex had told him before he’d escaped, everything that Locke had told him when he’d found the other survivors again, everything that the film had told him, and everything that was in this book.
The timer was counting down and the book was weighting Walt’s hands down and Locke was yelling at him, to get the numbers in before it was too late.
He couldn’t. Alex had insisted there was something he had to say first, but she hadn’t told him what.
Ash’s words from the first night flickered into his head, and Walt took a deep breath. Couldn’t hurt to try, it was the only option he had…
“Clatto,” he said carefully, “Verata, N…” and his mind went blank.
