|posted on 11-Jun-2002 10:22:20 PM by Peter Parker|
|I had absolutely no idea there was a thread for other show's fanfic. You probably know me better for my Roswell stuff, but I've been writing DC fics twice as long, under the name 'leeryandpotter'.|
Well, I thought I'd start with this AU fic I wrote awhile back(maybe some feedback will convince me to finish act 3;)). Want to know why I chose this particular one? Read, and you'll find out:
Disclaimer: Dawson, Joey, Pacey, and Audrey are the property of Kevin Williamson and the WB. I don’t own them. I also don't own the ‘other show’ that this story is based on.
Spoilers: This is an ‘alternate reality’ story. None of these events could ever take place in the normal ‘Dawson’s Creek’ timeline. There’s a mention of Pacey insisting that Dawson and Joey are more than ‘just friends’ but other than that, nothing that happened on the show happened her.
My name is Dawson Leery.
I’m…well…I guess you could call me a filmmaker. I’ve loved movies for as long as I can remember, and idolize Steven Spielberg like you wouldn’t believe. As for the rest of my life, it’s pretty boring. My parents consist of a news reporter and a restaurant owner. I live in Capeside, your average ‘small town with not much happening’ you’d see in one of those teen drama films by John Hughes back in the 80’s. And me? I’m just your average guy with the average life.
That is, until five days ago. That’s when everything changed.
Because, you see…five days ago, I died.
Dawson Leery handed the chef the newest order. It had been a busy day at ‘Leery’s Fresh Fish’, and he was working overtime. It was tourist season, so the workload was multiplied like you wouldn’t believe.
Of course, Mitch Leery wouldn’t hire any extra help. That meant they all had to suffer alone. Still, the tips were good, and would help start a budget for his next film. If he ever finished that script, that is.
“How can you be so calm, man?” his friend, Pacey Witter asked him.
Dawson turned to Pacey. One of his closest friends, he was given a job at the restaurant. It was better for Pacey than working for his own dad, anyway. Sheriff Witter was a stern father, and was even worse to his co-workers. The last thing Pacey wanted was to have him for a boss.
Besides, he just wasn’t the cop type.
“Simple, patience,” Dawson answered. “Organize your work by ‘goals’ and do them one at a time. Not only do you get everything done, but it makes the day go faster.”
“Well, whop-de-doo, Dawson,” Pacey complained. “Excuse me if I don’t agree with that. Not all of us can be the ‘cinematic wunderkind’ like some people.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Pace,” he said. “You’ve got your own talents.”
“Hope you’re right, man,” Pacey answered. “Cause, at first opportunity, I’m checking out of this one horse town.”
Dawson smiled. Pacey was completely right, neither of them could wait to get out of there, and Dawson planned on being on the first plane to LA right after graduation. Nothing had happened in Capeside since 1947…the supposed ‘UFO crash’.
He laughed to himself. It figured, the only thing that people knew Capeside for was something that never even happened. Unless you believed the ‘government cover-up’ stories that the X-Files nuts kept spewing off like bad gossip. Which Dawson, of course, did not. It made for good movies, but didn’t really hold any bearing on real life.
Nope. The only ‘alien’ in Capeside was a certain fat-fingered, recces pieces eating guy on his desk.
“So, any developments in your love life these days?” Pacey asked with a grin.
“You know, you could get your own girlfriend?” Dawson suggested, annoyed at Pacey’s prodding.
“But yours is sooo much more interesting, dude,” he argued.
“Well,” Dawson began. “I think Jen wants me back. She’s been making all these indications, hanging around with me more often, giving me these looks…”
“Been there, done that. The girl is a heartbreaker.”
Dawson rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m not really looking forward to it,” he admitted. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Pacey flashed his ‘Cheshire cat’ grin and indicated behind Dawson.
“Potter’s staring at you again,” he told him.
Dawson looked behind him to see Josephine ‘Joey’ Potter sitting at a table a few feet away. With her was Audrey Liddle, her close friend. Joey was pretending she didn’t see him.
Dawson turned back towards Pacey.
“You’re delusional,” he said.
“Oh, give me a break D-Man,” Pacey replied. “That girl has the hots for you.”
“She’s my best friend Pacey,” he argued. “As in ‘platonic’. Joey’s just…Joey. She’s not, like, a ‘girl’ girl. There is nothing romantic between us at all.”
“Yeah, right,” Pacey said sarcastically. “You know, this ‘just friends’ thing you two have going on is becoming stale. Take a chance.”
“It isn’t going to happen, ok?” Dawson told him, taking another look at the girl’s table. “You take their orders, I’ll handle Chris Wolfe and that bushy haired friend of his over at table 7.”
The two waiters spread out, heading for the prospective tables.
Joey watched Dawson talking to Chris and sighed to herself.
“You’re doing it again,” Audrey pointed out. “Just leave it be, ok?”
Pacey walked over to them, pen in hand.
“Morning ladies, what can I get ya?” Pacey asked.
“Oh, uh…” Joey said, broken out of her reverie. “Just a coffee.”
“Tuna melt,” Audrey answered. “And one of those fries things. Oh, and a bottle of Tabasco.”
Pacey lifted one eyebrow.
“How can you stand that stuff?” he asked her.
“It’s an acquired taste, Witter,” she responded, a little annoyed.
Pacey wrote down the order and brought it over to the chef. Then, before he could do anything else, Dawson tapped him on the shoulder.
“What?” he asked.
“Trouble,” Dawson said, pointing to two men sitting by the window. They seemed to be arguing, causing people from the surrounding tables to leave.
“There go our tips,” Pacey muttered.
Pacey walked closer to the table where the argument was.
“Sir, I was wondering if you could quiet down a bit?” Pacey suggested.
One of them gave Pacey a cold stare.
“Get lost, punk,” he spat, and began arguing again.
Pacey sighed in frustration, and walked back to Dawson.
“Well, I tried,” he said, and began walking towards his next table. He didn’t make it, however, because the argument had gotten more intense. Both stood up, knocking their chairs over.
“You owe me, man!” one of them said. “Pay up, or you’re gonna be sorry.”
“That’s it,” the other one spat.
Then he pulled a gun out of his pocket. The other one leaped at him.
“HE’S GOT A GUN!!!” one of the customers screamed, as people started piling out of Leery’s Fresh Fish by the dozens. The two men started to struggle over the weapon.
“Let’s get the heck out of here!” Audrey told Joey, pulling her by the arm. Joey began to stand up, but something happened.
Pacey however, couldn’t move. He was frozen in fear, as Dawson ran over to him.
“Pacey, GET DOWN!” he said, pushing Pacey to the ground just as the gun went off…
He felt a sharp pain in his chest, right below his heart. The impact made him fall to the ground.
Realizing what had just happened, the two men stopped struggling. Not wanting to be caught, both of them ran towards the door.
Pacey picked himself off the ground, noticing his friend lying on the ground.
“Dawson?” he called out. “DAWSON!”
He ran over to him, while across the room, Joey tried to do the same. Audrey grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
Joey didn’t answer. She just pulled her arm away, and ran towards the guys.
“Oh god…oh man!” Pacey said repeatedly. He was completely freaking out, holding a towel against Dawson’s chest.
Joey arrived, and pulled Pacey off of him.
“What are you…?” Pacey asked, still horrified.
“Call an ambulance!” she ordered, cutting him off. Then, as Pacey ran for a phone, she knelt down over Dawson, ripping his shirt open. Blood was slowly pouring out of the wound in his chest, a quarter-inch below his heart.
“Jo…” he coughed, trying to sit up. Then he realized that he couldn’t move. He was cold, too, and getting colder by the second. Everything started to get dark.
“Dawson?” she asked. “Look at me. You have to keep your eyes open and look at me. Please.”
He was feeling tired now, and she sounded so far away. Nevertheless, Dawson forced his eyes to stay open. His breath was becoming shorter and shorter.
Without another second to spare, Joey put her hand over the bullet wound, and took a deep breath.
Suddenly, Dawson started to feel warm again. It started at where Joey’s hand was against him, then moved across his entire body. His eyes, which were glazed over, came back into focus again. What was she doing?
She took one more deep breath and moved her hand away, just as Pacey came back.
“They’re on their way, how’s he…?” he started to ask, but then stared at Dawson in shock.
The wound was completely gone. Pacey’s jaw almost hit the floor.
“How did you…?” Dawson asked, looking at his best friend in utter shock.
At that exact moment, Audrey looked out the window. Coming down the street were police cars and ambulances…and reporter vans.
“Joey, we have to go NOW!” she yelled, in a complete panic.
Joey, without another word, grabbed a bottle of ketchup and broke it over a counter. Then she poured it on Dawson’s chest.
“What are you…?” he tried to ask.
“No time,” she told him. “Tell them that you knocked over the bottle and spilled it on you. Don’t tell them anything else. Please.”
Dawson nodded, and looked at Pacey, who didn’t say a word.
“Just tell me how you did this,” Dawson asked her.
“Joey!” Audrey called.
Joey looked Dawson in the eyes as he stood up.
“I can’t” she replied, and ran out the door with Audrey.
Pacey helped him off the floor as the two girls ran out. Dawson kept his eyes on the two of them as they hopped in Joey’s jeep and drove off.
“What the HELL just happened?” he asked.
Dawson didn’t answer. He simply buttoned his shirt back up and continued to stare out the window as the police and reporters piled into the restaurant.
TO BE CONTINUED...
I know...this being a Roswell board, I couldn't resist.;) Just let me know if I should post more of this.
|posted on 16-Jun-2002 3:45:32 PM by Peter Parker|
|Here's act 1:|
Gale Leery swung her arms around her son, holding him tightly.
“Oh sweetheart,” she exclaimed. “You’re ok.”
Dawson rolled his eyes. This was starting to become embarrassing.
“I’m fine, mom” he assured her. “You’re getting too worried.”
“Someone fired a gun in the place where my husband and only child work,” she reminded him. “I’m allowed to be worried. Especially with a giant red stain on your shirt.”
Dawson fingered the ketchup stain on his chest and showed it to her.
“It’s just ketchup, I knocked it over when I pushed Pacey out of the way,” he lied.
“My little hero,” Gale said proudly, and then looked over at Pacey.
“Uh, yeah man, thanks for the save,” Pacey said to his friend.
Pacey then turned towards his brother. Deputy Douglas Witter was one of the first officers on the scene. Not surprising, since there were very few cops in Capeside. Only four, and two of them were Witters. Capeside was a small town, and a diner shoot-out was a very rare occurrence.
“From the top, Pace,” Doug told him. “I need a good description.”
“Yeah, ok, uh…” Pacey searched his brain, trying to remember. “The one guy looked like, you know…John R. Buckle from ‘Garfield’. The other one looked something like one of the South Park kids…only bigger.”
Doug sighed. Why did HE get stuck with this?
“That the best ID you can give me, little brother?” he asked. “I’m guessing they weren’t actually cartoons.”
“Hey, give me a break Dougie,” Pacey argued. “I was the guy who was almost shot today.”
The door to Leery’s Fresh Fish opened at that very moment, as someone walked in the door. Everyone in the room snapped to attention when they saw him. Sheriff John Witter knew how to get people’s attention.
It wasn’t hard for him, either. He was the father of Pacey and Doug, and it showed. He definitely had Pacey’s knack for being melodramatic. He also seemed to share Doug’s professionalism. However, the similarities ended there. John had this aura of seriousness around him. Dressed in light blue, and an old-fashioned ‘cowboy’ hat to hide his receding hairline, he looked every bit a sheriff. And his mirrored glasses hid his eyes, preventing anyone in the room to read them.
Being friends with Pacey for years meant that Dawson had met the sheriff several times. This was different, though. At home, he was calm and relaxed, though a little stricter than his own father. However, when working, he was totally different. He was someone you did not want to get on the bad side of.
“From what I hear, you’re a real hero, Dawson,” he said with a small smile. “With Pacey walking into the line of gunfire and all. Guess he takes after his old man a little, huh?”
Dawson smiled a little. So that’s where Pacey got it from.
“You sure you’re ok?” he asked him. “You’re shirt’s a little…”
John indicated the red mark on Dawson’s chest, rubbing a bit off with his index finger.
“Oh, it’s just ketchup, no big deal,” he told him. “I’m just lucky the actual bottle didn’t fall on me. Broken glass would have been harder to get out.”
There was something about Dawson’s story that didn’t quite fit. John didn’t know what, but it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone seemed to be fine, if not a little shaken up.
“Better head on home and clean up before you scare the tourists away,” he said. “This place isn’t going to be open for business for at least a few more hours, until we finish the investigation.”
Dawson turned to leave, but then something stopped him. Doug walked up to the group.
“Pop, we’ve seemed to have lost some evidence,” he reported.
“What evidence?” his father replied. It figured. Punks were always taking things from crime scenes as ‘souvenirs.
“The bullet, I can’t find it,” Doug continued.
“What bullet?” Pacey spoke up.
“You said the gun went off, right?” he asked his younger brother. “Well, usually that means a bullet would shoot someplace. But for some reason, it’s not here. Not on the ground, and no holes in the wall either. It just disappeared.”
Dawson froze. Yeah, he knew where the bullet had gone…three inches into his chest. He remember how it felt when the cold steel punctured his flesh, and embedded itself right below his heart. Of course, he couldn’t tell Sheriff Witter that. As far as he knew, Dawson had simply spilled ketchup on himself.
After all, that’s the story Joey told him to say. Hmm…maybe Joey had taken the bullet. But why would she?
“You sure you can’t remember anything else, Dawson?” the Sheriff asked him.
Dawson shook his head ‘no’. Now John knew something was wrong. The second Doug had mentioned the bullet, Dawson had become tense. Obviously, the Leery kid knew more than he was saying.
Unfortunately, he didn’t think he could get anything out of him now.
“You’d better head on home, then,” he said.
He would just have to keep an eye on that boy for awhile, just in case.
Without another word, Dawson and Pacey walked out the door.
“Keep looking,” he said to Doug, his eyes never leaving the two boys as they left.
Dawson walked along the docks as he headed home. His mind finally trying to attempt to wrap itself around what had happened at the restaurant.
“So, what the heck happened?” Pacey asked him as they walked. “And don’t give me the ‘ketchup’ story. I was there.”
Dawson wasn’t exactly the ‘popular’ guy at school. As a matter of fact, he was exactly the opposite. The ‘film freak’ they called him, and not without reason. He loved movies, and he lived by them. Dawson believed that the answers to all of life’s problems could be found in a Spielberg film, and tended to stick by that theory.
His friends always told him that he over-analyzed things to death. It didn’t bother him, he liked using his head. Unfortunately, not many people could understand that. He really only had two real friends. Pacey and Joey.
“Dawson!” Pacey yelled, stepping right in front of him. Dawson had been so preoccupied, he had completely forgotten Pacey was there.
“Huh?” he asked.
“What happened back there, Dawson?” Pacey asked. “You had this gaping hole in your chest. I call the ambulance, and suddenly you’re fine? You don’t even have any scar or nothing.”
“I know that,” Dawson said, pushing past him.
“Whatever Indian Jedi trick Joey used on you, get her to teach me it,” he replied, following him. “Hey, maybe it was just a flesh wound or something? Bullet must’ve bounced off a bone or something.”
“Then where’s the scar, Pace?” Dawson responded, turning to face him. “Where’s the bullet?”
“I don’t know man, you tell me,” he asked.
Dawson sighed, and started walking again.
“I need to get some rest,” he told his friend. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Dawson walked ahead, leaving Pacey standing there alone.
“Dawson?” he called after him.
He didn’t answer.
Dawson pulled himself over the windowsill, inside his room. The second he was inside, he slumped down on the floor and leaned against the wall.
He sighed in relief. It had been a pain…hiding how exhausted he was. He couldn’t help it, though. He was shot…he was SHOT?
The mere thought of that hit him like a tidal wave. Someone shot him. With a gun. And somehow he was still alive?
“Ok,” he said aloud, as he stood up and started pacing around the room. “There has to be a logical explanation for all of this. I…I wasn’t shot. I was wounded. Joey just…stopped the bleeding somehow. Yeah, right. Stopped the bleeding, and took all evidence of the bleeding away?”
Dawson let his eyes search around the room. Among the walls were old theatre tickets, the posters for ‘Shindler’s List’ and ‘Jurassic Park’. Then his TV, with piles upon piles of videocassettes around it. Finally, the ET collector’s item on his desk.
The one that almost seemed to be…staring at him.
Dawson shook his head, attempting to shake that thought. This was silly, he realized. The second you accused a plastic alien of staring at you, you knew you were going crazy. Maybe if he just got some sleep, he could think clearly.
He removed his uniform shirt, getting ready for bed. Dawson wasn’t exactly an athlete. As a matter of fact, he was the least athletic person in the entire school. It didn’t bother him though. He was a thinker, and had nothing to prove. He was pretty lean, not that muscular. The white under-shirt he was wearing was pretty loose, and the neckline hung down. If it hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have noticed.
There was a mark of some kind on his chest, right over where Joey touched him.
Without another thought, Dawson ran out the door, and straight into the bathroom, locking the door.
“Dawson, what’s wrong?” his father called to him.
Dawson didn’t answer. He just pulled the shirt up over his head so he could get a closer look.
Right below his heart was a handprint, cast in pure silver. He tried to splash water on it, and rub it off. No use. It was like it was tattooed on his chest.
“I’m fine dad!” he called back, as he ran back to his room.
Frantically, he dove into his closet, rummaging through various boxes. He was searching for something in particular. Finally, he found it.
An art project the two of them had done back in kindergarten. They did some finger painting, and put two handprints each, with their names under them.
One of the prints under the name ‘Joey’, with exception of size, was an exact replica of the one on his chest.
Ok, now he was officially freaked out.
The next day, Dawson went to his locker. Looking over his shoulder, he made sure no one approached him. Either Pacey with his questions, or Jen pursuing him again. He especially didn’t want to have to face Joey. At least not until he was prepared for it.
Then, looking to the side, saw Joey. She was about ten lockers away. Her long, dark hair stretching down her back. She turned her head to the side to look back at him.
Joey smiled, blushing slightly. Dawson smiled back for a moment, but then looked the other way. A look of uneasiness came over him.
Later that day, in film class.
“Considering we’re only a day away from the annual crash festival, I thought this would be a good topic,” the teacher said to them. “Spielberg always tended to deter from the classic ‘alien invasion’ stories. His visitors from space were usually identified as, if not necessarily friendly, at least nonviolent.”
“Like in ‘cocoon’ or something?” Abby asked him.
“Correct,” he answered.
Abigail Morgan was a close friend of Dawson and Pacey’s. She was smart…a science wiz. Unfortunately, many people considered her a ‘brainiac’.
“Now,” he continued. “I want you to consider the ways the ‘aliens’ interact with normal people in these types of films. They appear to be there to help, as it were…”
Usually, Dawson paid the most attention of anyone in film class. Today, however, was different. He couldn’t stop looking over at Joey. Joey, however, was watching the teacher very closely.
Just what was going on with her? If anyone should be freaking it was him.
At that moment, Dawson decided to find this out for himself.
“Hey Joey?” Dawson called out to her as the exited the class. “Wait up.”
She turned and smiled at him nervously.
“Hey,” she replied. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you,” he informed her. “About what happened yesterday.”
Joey bit her lip. She had hoped that she could avoid this subject. If not forever, at least a little longer. Yeah, sure she could. She knew in her heart that Dawson Leery was the one person she couldn’t lie to. At least, not anymore.
“Not here,” she told him, a look of urgency appearing in her features.
Grabbing him by the arm, she led him into the library, and went down one of the isles. It was dark there, so no one would see them. Or, hopefully, hear them either.
To their surprise, Jen Lindley was sitting right there, a book in her lap.
“Hey Dawson,” she said with a sunny smile. “I’ve been looking for you.”
She walked up to them, and kissed Dawson on the cheek.
“You all ready for the festival tomorrow night?” she asked, not noticing the dirty looks she was getting from Joey. “I can promise you, my costume is going to blow you away.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry,” he smiled at her. “Though I’d better start studying for that bio test tomorrow. Joey knows how much I suck at biology, so she promised to help me. Right, Jo?”
“Oh, uh, right,” Joey stuttered. The sooner they got rid of Jen, the better.
Disappointed, Jen went to leave.
“Good luck, guys,” she said. “Break a leg.”
Same to you…literally, Joey thought. Then she turned to Dawson.
“So…what did you want to ask?” she said, slightly worried.
Dawson sighed, pacing back and fourth for a moment.
“Ok, I tried to think of this logically,” he began. “Everyone thinks I spilled ketchup on myself…that’s what I told them. Just like you asked me. But I was shot. I know I was shot, I felt it. I was on the ground dying, but somehow…you saved me.”
Joey bit her lip, not saying anything yet.
“Then comes the weird part,” he continued. “The bullet disappeared. There’s no scaring on me whatsoever. No evidence I was even shot. Nothing…except this.”
Slowly, he unbuttoned his flannel shirt. Joey began to sweat, seeing him do that. Especially in what was considered the ‘make out isle’. However, the mood slightly changed when he stretched out the collar of his undershirt, to show her his chest.
There she saw the silver handprint that was seemingly tattooed on him.
“What is this?” he asked. “I checked out this finger-painting we made in kindergarten…this is your handprint Joey. Exactly where you touched me. Where you…healed me.”
Dawson could barely finish the sentence. It still seemed impossible for him.
At this moment, she realized there was no use hiding it anymore. He had to know the truth.
“How did you do this?” he asked one last time.
“Ok, you know how my parents adopted me?” she recalled. “Well, my real family wasn’t from Capeside.”
“Yeah,” he responded. “I remember how your mom brought you over the very day the adoption papers were finalized. She was so happy. You weren’t from Capeside?”
Joey smiled at the memory, then became serious.
“Yeah, it turns out that I’m not from around here,” she admitted.
Dawson began to look confused.
“Then where are you from?” he asked.
In a single gesture, Joey pointed upward.
“North?” he asked. “What, so your family was Inuit or something?”
Joey pointed higher.
Dawson’s eyes followed her finger, reaching up to the ceiling.
“Wait, come on,” he said, half chuckling. “This is a joke right? You’re not…I mean, you’re not actually an…alien? That’s just…”
“I sort of prefer ‘not of this earth’” she said with a half-smile. It was the only way to lighten to mood.
Dawson’s jaw slowly began to hang open, as the weight of the situation finally clicked.
“What did you do with Joey?” he asked, almost whispering.
“Dawson, I am me,” she responded. “I’m the same person you’ve known for over a decade. I’m…I’m an alien. It’s…sort of weird actually saying that out loud.”
Dawson took a deep breath. Right now, he was somewhere between shock and scared. It was like he was just transported into some sort of movie. He had to talk to Pacey.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, and turned to leave.
“Dawson?” she called. “Dawson, wait!”
She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him to face her. Their faces were only inches apart.
“You can’t tell anybody about this,” she whispered. “Not your parents, not Jen, not even Pacey…and especially not his dad. If you do…something bad is going to happen.”
Dawson looked at her eyes. She was scared. No, more like horrified. He hadn’t seen a look like that from her since her mom died.
“Please,” she begged. “Whether I live or die completely depends on you now.”
“Ok, I promise,” he said, and left.
As he walked away, a single thought kept running through his head.
Suddenly, his life had just became more complicated.
Like it? Hate it? Let me know.