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that man is my spirit animal

March 2016



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that man is my spirit animal

Title: Next Time, We Go to Disney World
Rating: PG (for bad language)
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine! Wheeeeeeee!
Author's Note: This is a crossover between Lost and another fandom I'm not mentioning because that ruins the fun. You'll just have to find out for yourself. ;)

Next Time, We Go To Disney World

They sat off to the side after the crash, two people nobody seemed to notice or care about in the chaos who were politely robbing two corpses.

"I thought you weren't into robbing from the dead," the girl said, fishing through the dead woman's purse for the Tic-Tacs she knew were in there.

The man she was with rolled his shoulders uneasily as he untied the laces on the dead man's shoes. "Well, I can't walk around barefoot on hot sand," he said. "They make my soles hurt. Times like this, you've got to watch out for the condition of your feet, like a soldier on the march."

"Good to know," the girl muttered as he slipped the man's shoes off and put them on his own feet. She rummaged in the purse until she pulled out a plastic case of orange Tic-Tacs and frowned, glancing back at the woman sitting next to her on the sand. "I thought you said they were cinnamon," the girl said.

The woman stared blankly for a moment, then smiled a little and said, "Oh, dear. I must have slipped the cinnamon ones into my pants pocket."

The girl looked down at the dead woman's legs, or more accurately, where her legs had been before some errant piece of debris had lopped them neatly off from the waist down. The girl grimaced and put aside the purse. "Never mind."


For the next day or so, nobody noticed the two of them, but that was kind of the point. They sat off to the side and lounged around and any time someone bothered to ask them if they wouldn't mind helping, one of them would make up some BS about having post-traumatic stress syndrome. Not like they were the only ones on the island who could claim that, but if you looked dazed enough in a stressful situation, people let you get away with anything.

"You know," the girl said as she poked at the sand with a stick, "when I said I wanted to go someplace, this wasn't what I had in mind."

"You got to see Sydney, didn't you?"

"Yeah, from, like, the windows of the terminal." She glared at him and jammed the stick into the sand. "Just because there are Australian people in the airport doesn't actually make it Australia, you know. And then it was back on the plane with me. Why did we even get on the plane when we just bumped half the people when they were in line anyway?"

The man didn't glance up from the notebook he was writing in. "You ask too many questions, you know that?"

"Well, I'm bored," the girl said. "It's not like there's a TV lying around here in a palm tree or something." She finally took notice of what he was writing and narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," he said. He looked up from the notebook and pointed towards the little boy sitting not far away. "Hey, why don't you go play with the boy? Kid's lost his dog. He could probably use someone to talk to."

"Don't feel like it," the girl grumbled.

The man eyed her for a long, thoughtful moment, then extended the small foil bag at his side. "Peanut?"

Her gaze whipped towards him, then down at the tiny bag of airplane peanuts in his hand. She flashed him a dirty look and got up to go sit next to the pregnant girl for a while.


The girl didn't know how long it had been before the man woke her up from her nap on the beach and handed her a yellow slip of paper. "Get up, sleepyhead. Time to go to work."

She glared down at the piece of paper as if he'd been about to hand her a live snake. "What the fuck ..."

"You didn't think this was a real vacation just because we crashed on a tropical island, did you?"

"Yeah," she said with a roll of her eyes, "that was the general idea."

He shrugged and shoved the slip of paper into her hands. "No, it wasn't," he said before plopping down on the sand next to her. "Never said anything about getting time off. It's just going to be a slow couple of months, that's all."

The girl scowled at him before getting up and brushing sand from her jeans. Something tiny leapt off her skin, and she grimaced. Ew. Sand fleas. The paper crumpled in her hand, and she sighed. "You're like a giant Boy Scout sometimes, you know that?"

The man only smiled and settled down in the sand, his gaze settling on the ocean before them. "Check your watch, peanut. Time's a-wastin'."

She glanced at the piece of paper, then at her watch. "Aw, man," she groaned, before stomping away.

The man's smile widened.


For once, there was no one in the tent, no serious but cute doctor, no snobby brunette chick. If there was one thing the girl had noticed since the crash, it was that someone was always hovering over the guy poking and prodding him in his broken parts. If it had been her lying in there, the girl was sure she would have scared them all off a long time ago, but then again, if it had been her with a giant piece of shrapnel stuck in her chest, she would have just discreetly yanked it out during the chaos following the plane crash and fuck all this makeshift-beach-operating-room shit.

Doc had gone off to find the brunette, the girl could tell, because conversation carried pretty good on the beach if you knew what to listen for. The girl darted into the tent before anyone could see her, not wanting to have to explain her sudden interest in a dying plane crash victim she'd never met before.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the guy was dying, because once you got past the shrapnel injury, the guy looked like he was going to keel over any second. You know, if he wasn't already as keeled over as he was going to get, lying on the ground like that.

The girl knelt beside him as quickly as possible, hoping he'd gone to sleep for a moment or fallen unconscious or something else that wouldn't require an introduction. But the second her knees hit the ground, his eyes opened, and he narrowed them as he stared her down. "You're not --"

"No, I'm not," she said quickly, really wanting to just get this over and done with. She forced a smile and rested her palm against his arm.

The man's gaze drifted to her hand as she dragged it along his forearm, the familiar cool tingle sliding over her skin in a smoky dance. Then it was gone, and she stared at the man to see realization dawning in his eyes.

It took him a second, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward in quiet acceptance.

The girl raced out of the tent -- before the others could come back or before she threw up, she wasn't sure.


"You know what I miss?"

The girl wanted to hit him right then and there, but experience had taught her to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she kept her eyes on the steadily growing commotion on the other end of the beach, flinching as a gunshot rang out in the tent and there was a sudden vacuum of silence on the beach.

"Extra-extra-crispy bacon. A big old glass of OJ. Flapjacks. Man, I'd kill for some flapjacks right now."

His choice of words wasn't the best, and the girl glared at him in the darkness. "Not to be a bitch, Rube, but you're really not fucking helping right now."

Rube shrugged. "Not trying to. Look at the bright side, peanut. They pulled a few straws somewhere, and for once, you won. You wanted to go someplace, you got it, so lay off the complaining. A tropical island is someplace, George."

"'Someplace' doesn't count if I have to kill people the whole time I'm there." Frowning, George crossed her arms over her knees and rested her chin on them as the two of them watched the doctor yell at the Southern guy before ducking back into the tent. "We couldn't have bumped him before the crash?"

Rube shook his head, not so much as a denial, but more like he wasn't all that comfortable with the way the conversation was going. "I'm not exactly getting the best info here, peanut. And if you think this is bad, just wait. Gonna be a real bitch getting E.T.D.'s lying on this beach."

George's expression softened as her gaze drifted to the guy suddenly sitting next to her, looking much less bothered about the piece of shrapnel sticking out of him than he'd been before.

"Some vacation," she muttered.


*maniacal cackle* Hey, somebody had to do it. ;)


I love you. Marry me.
Clever. Well done.

Just beautiful. The peanut crack was priceless, and the whole thing is just beautiful. Nicely done.
Extra shiny.
George! Rube! ::loves::
Even though I don't know the non-Lost fandom, I was able to figure it out thanks to reading your journal. Well done.
As you may recall, I am sadly non-Lost myself, but I adore Dead Like Me, and this brightened up what is so far a pretty freaky day. Thanks!
Perfect! I love it.
That was great. I loved it!
Ok, that was clever.
Yay for Dead Like Me! Excellent crossover, very well done. ^_^
Yes, someone had to do it and it was you. Brilliant and so in character. I'm so glad I didn't scroll down for a peek to see what the mystery crossover was. ;)
Awesome, awesome, awesome! What a cool idea for a crossover. I can just see George getting pissed off every hour about the inconvenience of monsters and random kidnappings while everyone else is all whispers, mysteries and atmospheric music.
This is beautiful. It brought a tear to my eye. A tear of joy.
Heeee! Rube and George! I love it!

Nicely done.
Now Hurley has to notice they're not on the manifest, either. :-)

Loved it!
All I have to say is, Hee!
*Squee* That was amazing! I love Dead Like Me and it's not often that someone writes a believable, in character crossover but you accomplished it in spades.