This story takes place in a slightly different universe than we’ve come to know and love from Firefly and Serenity. On the outside it’s the same place- a war for independence lost, a ship of folks just trying to get by… but what if different decisions had been made? What if circumstances had been different for the crew in their formative years? What if Mal was a man of the cloth with a hidden past? Or River was a physician on the run, trying to heal her brother after he experienced untold horrors at the hands of the Alliance?

The crew is exactly the same, only they’re totally different. Some canon facts have been changed for my convenience, so if you see something you don’t agree with… my brain, my story. That said, I love constructive criticism, but I love compliments even more. Some of the stories, especially the first one will be re-imaginings of episodes, while others will be completely thought up by me

First off, none of these characters belong to me (much as I’d like them to be). They are the brainchildren of the superman that is Joss Whedon, brought to life by a group of fantastic actors. I just take them out and play with them a while. I make no money writing any of this stuff, it’s just easier than imagining it all in my head.

Serenity

The pre-dawn skies of Hera were lit as bright as day with the deadly glow of war. An Alliance skiff barraged the Independents’ position from the sky, blowing up near everything it could with blasts of blue light. Alliance soldiers were shooting at the few Independent craft still in the sky with heavy artillery, picking them off as best they could, and seekers flew through the air constantly. The Alliance may have had technology and money on their side, but the Independents were strong and willing to die to stay out from under the governments thumb. That made the current battle in Serenity Valley all the more difficult for the Alliance.

Sgt. Hoban “Wash” Washburne ran towards his platoon, trying hard to avoid bodies of the folks who he had, until they landed on this rock, fought along side for more bloody battles than he’d care to count. They’d taken a heavy toll during the weeks of fighting on Hera- it seemed like they were destined to die in this “Valley of Death”, the likes of which were always prayed about by his Ma back on the polluted rock they lived on. The lot of them was humped unless they could find a way to take that skiff down. Their best bet was some support from the air- they had to get one of their own ships down planet side for the big guns and maybe some reinforcements. He burst into the pile of sandbags and netting that had acted as their base for as long as they’d been on that rock at the same time as his closest friend- he’d fought with Inara Serra for as long as the gorram war had been going on.

“Sergeant, Command says air is holding until they can assess our status.” Wash was floored, “Our status is we need some gorram air support!”. Inara seemed to share his feelings- she knew that skiff was just going to keep shredding them to pieces ‘till they knocked it out of the sky. No matter, because as bad as their wanting was for an advantage over the Alliance, bureaucracy was still the way of things- either they got the lieutenants authorization code or none of the ships were coming in. As if things weren’t going downhill for them enough as it were, the lord on high had chosen that very day to claim Lt. Baker as one of his own in the heavens. Unfortunate, but Wash didn’t have time to worry about how the chain of command was supposed to go, only how it needed to go at that moment. The command code was easy enough to remove from the Lt.’s body, and even easier to pass off to Green to call into their ships still orbiting the planet.

One problem taken care of, now onto the next- the small skiff above and the seemingly increasing number of Alliance soldiers making their way steady to their position. Wash sent a few of the men up on higher ground, from up there the enemy would be as easy to pick off as tin cans; although the tin cans were a mite smaller and didn’t tend to shoot back. Inara wasn’t so sure about the way Wash’s plan was heading “High ground is death with that skiff in the air!”. As soon as those words left her mouth she knew that’s what Wash had in store for them two. It was just like him to think up some kind a moonbrain plan that would either get them killed in a very messy fashion or work like a charm.

Bendis was put in charge of cover fire. He was a decent shot as long as he could keep his fear in check- something Wash knew was about as likely to happen at that moment as winning the lotto and retiring to some fancy core planet. Still, it was better to keep Bendis in the shelter and maybe accomplish something hero-like than having him out with the others creating a situation more corpsefying than it needed to be. The younger soldier wasn’t so sure and Wash could tell just by lookin at him. Appeared to be time for one of Sgt. Washburne’s famous speeches that seemed to either embolden the platoon or send them into fits of laughter suitable for a nuthouse: “The Alliance said they were gonna waltz through Serenity Valley. And we choked ‘em with those words. We’ve done the impossible, and that makes us mighty. Just a little while longer. Our angels are gonna be soaring overhead, raining fire on those purple-bellies!”

And with that, most of the men scattered into position, sans Bendis. Seems like Wash was right in doubting the kid, but at least he’d be able to live to tell the story of this glorious battle against the Alliance, during which he cowered in fear. Wash tenderly kissed the old, worn cross he carried ‘round his neck. His Ma had given it to him before he left home to fight. It had kept her ancestors safe through the long journey through the black from Earth-that-was to their new galaxy and she had every hope it would get her only child through the war.

Taking over the Alliance gun was surprisingly easy- as was shooting the skiff right out of the sky. ‘Course, things were oftentimes easy at first and then turned hard. Hard like trying to outrun a flaming hulk heading fast right towards your position. Wash and Inara made it, but not without landing on the rocky ground in such a way that they’d be mighty sore the next day. ‘Course, if things went right they’d be up in the black on one of their own ships soon, maybe heading towards a little R & R.

Comm. operator Green was gone and dead when they got back, so Wash sent Inara to call onto Command. All they needed was a few more able-bodies and a pile of weaponry to finish of the Alliance bastards. In the mean time he had a very much alive, albeit shell-shocked Bendis to contend with- but the only speech he could come up with was some nonsense about being too pretty for God to let them die. Wash knew that was a bit of a lie and had a feeling the lad in front of him did too- they’d seen their share of those that were “pretty” laid down bloody in the streets. Soldiers, innocents… the war claimed lives all the same, death didn’t care two beans for looks nor creed.

Suddenly, hope was in the air around them. Hope was a sound- a ship breaking atmo and preparing to land. Hope was then twisted into something totally different with what Inara told them. It wasn’t their ship, it was Alliance. Their ship wasn’t coming for them, then nor ever. Surrender hadn’t ever been an option, life was win or die. But there was surrender, landing right in front of them. Shooting at near everything that was left to lay to waste. Bendis, who was least likely in their platoon to go home in a box went down at that moment, and all Wash could think was “That lucky bastard”.

The Alliance wasn’t known for treating their prisoners of war with mercy.