Rest Ye Merry (Brimstone, PG)

[buggery]

As promised, a Christmassy Brimstone fic. (Look, Nicole, I finally finished one!)

Heartfelt thanks to Jen bonibaru for a swift, effective beta, and for supplying the title.

This is for Te. She knows why, and you should be so lucky.



Rest Ye Merry


The gaily coloured lights of Chinatown gradually gave way to the gaily coloured lights of downtown's holiday decorations as Zeke walked. San Francisco was just plain colourful.

He didn't feel the cold, and felt the urge to hurry even less. Around him, late shoppers bustled, moving briskly to keep warm or finish their last-minute purchases or both. His shoulder still tingled where the tattoo of Proby's name had burned itself off his skin, and he rubbed idly at it.

At an intersection, pedestrian traffic paused. Zeke glanced down the cross-streets. He could continue back to his latest flea-trap hotel room, or... or try to get back to LA in time for Christmas. An all-day bus trip, and he could stand in the less-cold night, in the street, watching her glow with Christmas cheer like an indigent child outside a toy-store window.

"Nothing like being dead and damned at Christmas to really get you down, hmm?" asked an all-too-familiar voice behind him, echoing his thoughts. He turned.

The Devil was stationed beside a department store entrance, dressed in Santa Claus's red suit and hat, bell in hand. A harried-looking woman emerged from the store, dumping a handful of loose change into the charity-logo-blazoned pot without even looking as she trotted off, juggling bags and packages.

"Thank you," the Devil called after her. "At this rate," he said, sounding even more pleased with himself than usual as he turned to Zeke, "I'll be able to buy myself something really nice for Christmas."

Zeke just shook his head. Whether the donation bucket was an illusion, or the Devil's appearance in place of an actual Salvation Army volunteer was, or the master of Hell really was appropriating small change from unsuspecting mortals, Zeke wasn't in the mood for the headache wondering about it would give him.

"Nice outfit," he said instead. "Red's your colour."

The laugh that earned him was typically, exuberantly sinister. "Why, thank you. I find it serves excellently to entice impressionable young women to sit on my lap and tell me their fondest desires."

The insinuation rankled, and the itch in Zeke's shoulder flared anew, but he wasn't about to touch the freshly-cleared spot now. "That was a near thing, you know. I'd hate to think how many of those women would've died if I hadn't found Proby's ship tonight."

"Yes, you have been slipping lately, Mr Stone. I wasn't going to say anything, but..."

Zeke just stared him down. "You could have given me a less misleading tip."

The Devil laughed out "Ho ho ho," clutching his unpadded belly, then sobered, laugh-lines dropping from his face like snow that evaporates before reaching the ground. "It really made little difference, Ezekiel. Captain Proby was damned either way, and the women he'd planned to swindle on the high seas -- well, most of them -- were innocents. Better they should die pure of heart than after the evils of the world tempted them to mortal sin, wouldn't you think?"

Zeke turned away, but the Devil flanked him and blocked his path. "You should know better than most, Ezekiel. Imagine if you had died before murdering Gilbert Jax. You could be at peace, now, instead of trying to choose between pining for your ex-wife from near or far."

"Yeah, well..." Zeke said, fishing in his pocket, "I think I'll go with nearer. It'll get me away from you, at least."

"Ezekiel," the Devil said, drawing out the syllables of his name into their own sentence and laying one gloved hand on Zeke's chest to halt him, "You can never get away from me. Not while my strayed souls are still loose in the world."

"Why don't you go home for Christmas, too?" Zeke volleyed back. "Oh, right." He took a step back, made to turn away, then paused. "This must be a lousy time of year for you. I'm sure you don't really need the reminder that you're the least favourite son."

The Devil's expression didn't freeze, just stopped in that untense way that Zeke had learned meant he'd scored a hit. "Merry Christmas," he said, and gave the Devil his back. It wasn't that far a walk to the bus station, and growing close to midnight; he dropped twenty-seven cents into the donation bucket on his way past.




ETA, 27 December: slodwick made this wonderful cover for "Rest Ye Merry" -- and she's never even seen the show! I love my Slod, I rilly do...

non-Brimstone fic by Jack

The baddie referenced is an actual historical figure... if there's any interest at all, I'll detail his better-documented sins after I get home Thursday.

And now I really am off. Happy holiday, one and all.

Comments

*BWEE*

[thete1.livejournal.com]

I got booted offline when the telephone people showed up to fix their fuckup, and so missed you. But ohh, *lovely*.

They snark so *nicely*.

:: glee ::

[sidewinder.livejournal.com]

Mmmm, nothing like a little Brimstone holiday cheer for Chistmas morning, thank you!

[milkshake-b.livejournal.com]

Oh bless you. I suddenly got walloped in the back of the head with a sudden craving for Brimstone Christmas fic and this hit the spot perfectly. Really dead-on for their interaction on the show, too--and I can so picture the Devil doing that.

Thanks.