Seabiscuit Stories

Stories for the greatest horseracing movie - Seabiscuit, and one of a few that does not contain non-con, lol. Stories were written 5 and 11 March 2004 respectively.

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Not the Hearts That Were Broken

Fandom: Seabiscuit
Pairing: Not really, but Red Pollard/Charles Howard (Tobey Maquire/Jeff Bridges) implied. (no, not Red/Biscuit as some of you might fear, lol).
Rating: PG-13, angst
Summary: Their legs might be broken but something else remained untouched. Set after Red Pollard had accident.
Author’s Note : I skipped a fact about Red because I don’t want to spoil readers of it, just in case they haven’t seen the movie. You’d better find out yourself.
Feedback : Yes, please to handcuffed_4u at yahoo. I will be happy to hear what you think, especially if you love this movie! It will make more sense if you've seen it, but even if you haven't, you'll know what's happening, and I hope you might get lured to see it :)
WARNING: This story is unbeta'ed because I couldn't find any beta. Nothing too bad to spoil your mood, though ^^. And it's not tested on animals, so enjoy!

Tom Smith was a keen observer. He did not talk much, but he did feel. He felt others’ pain and grief; he sensed their anger and passion. He tried to help them face the tough times, and many times he had succeeded. Among the four companions, he was the one who didn’t need to be saved. He was already saved, but Red Pollard was not.

The first time he saw the boy and the horse together, he couldn’t help smiling. They were so much alike: Seabiscuit kicking his legs in the air, shouting his anger at the men who had bound him and tried to use him. And turning around, feeling nearly giving up with the beast, he saw Red and other men who were bullying the thin boy. Red was shouting his challenge, come on, son of bitches, come on! He was spinning a basket around to keep the men away. Tom turned to look at Seabiscuit again, and he thought he saw mirrored souls in the two boys.

Red was the one who calmed Biscuit down, and rode him to defeat and victories. The sad-eyed boy was great, and many times Tom wondered if he could be a champion if the hard life did not shape him to be the man he was. Biscuit and Red had physical flaws, but their spirits never faded. Not until they were brought down. Not until Red had his leg broke into pieces. Not until Biscuit’s tendon was torn. Charles was wise to send Biscuit to Red. Together they healed each other, as Tom learned, and little by little Biscuit started to run, and Red began to ride again.

Yet, Charles did not—he could not let Red ride. He decided to call Georgy to be Biscuit’s rider at Santa Anita Handicap, against his own heart.

“It is as much my horse as it is yours!” Red shouted to Charles as he limped away angrily, hurt, thinking his friends had betrayed him. Charles followed him, as Tom waited and observed.

And that was the first time Tom thought he saw something solidified between the young and older men. He wondered back through earlier time when things had changed between them.


Red opened his eyes and saw darkness. He couldn’t remember where he was, and after a moment he realized it was a holiday before the Match Race between Seabiscuit and War Admiral would start. He was at Riddle’s house, and it was time to get up and went to say hi to Biscuit. Red sat up, but then he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t lift his head. He tried again, and then pain shot through his body, his leg. Right leg. Then, he remembered.

Match Race ended three days ago, and George was the rider who led Biscuit to his greatest victory. He felt the pride and joy, and sadness when he listened to the radio. He should have been the one…he should have been the rider.

And then the worse thing happened. Biscuit had broken.

Since he was a child, since the day his father and mother left him, tears were brimming on his eyes. He might not walk again. He might lose everything—his career, Biscuit, his life. Then, Red swallowed his self-pity and took a deep breath. His body still hurt but he would not let it get to his heart as well.

The door opened, and then Charles entered. Red was surprised to see him come alone. The older man smiled at him and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Red said. “But I still feel like a horse is sitting on me.”
That brought another smile to Charles’ lips. It was a sad smile.

“How’s Biscuit?” He asked. The older man’s face fell.
“He…he’s resting. The doctor sedated him, and…”
“Will he run again?”
Charles’ jaws were set. “No.”

Red closed his eyes, wishing the earth would swallow him. Now, here comes the moment to get a clarity.

“Charles…” Red looked right through in the man’s eyes. “Tell me the truth. Will I ride again?”

Charles’ eyes flashed of pain, and Red knew he had all the answers. He had asked the man earlier if he would walk again, and they told him he would. But Howard cut him off before he could ask the question.

“Well, yes, of course. But that was another step. First you have to get to walk, and then…”
“You’re still not a good liar,” Red said quietly.

Charles lowered his face. When he looked up again, he smiled grimly. “No, I’m not.”

Red tried to return the joke, but suddenly he was doubled as pain took him. It gripped his heart and soul, and he felt his tears bursting out.

He was hurting all over. He threw his hand around and smashed the jar on the bedside to shatter on the floor. He pulled his leg away from the supporter and yelped as his injury flared in pain.

Charles was on him immediately, gripping his wrists and pushed him still on the bed. “Stop, Red! Stop! You’re hurting yourself!”
“NO!” Red cried.
“You stupid kid, stop struggling!”
“You’d better kill me! What do you care? I can’t ride anymore! You’d better shot me dead like those horses!” Red screamed, tears streamed down his face.
“I never killed a horse!” Charles shouted back, his neat hair fell on his forehead. “I never get rid of one and I won’t get rid of you either!”
“You’re a fucking liar!” Red shouted back, his already big eyes swollen red with tears and anguish. “What can a cripple like me do for you? Anyone would keep the horse, but they won’t keep me. They don’t need me!”

The words hit Charles in his gut. He remembered Red’s remark as he saw the millionaire’ stable. The boy muttered, I wish I was horse. He remembered Red sleeping in the stable, on the straw mattress, with his books, denying himself of comfort.

“No, Red, Biscuit needs you. We need you.”

Red looked at him with wild eyes. Charles had a warm feeling that he looked a bit like Seabiscuit when the guy was wild. He slowly pulled the boy into embrace.

“We need you,” he whispered.

Red’s hands were on his chest and then he choked out a cry. The sound sent a pang to Charles’ heart, and he held Red as he cried, feeling his expensive shirt dampened with tears, but he no longer mind. He placed his hand on the nape of Red’s neck and made a soft shhh sound as Red’s body rocked with sobbing. The boy was fragile, no matter how tough he acted. He was skinny, his eyes hollowed as he tortured himself with weight control. Suddenly Charles had this urge to say, to hell with the game. To hell with this painful life, having to puke your guts out after you eat, or eat only a few nuts a meal just to keep yourself perfectly at 115 pounds. Enough of staying on the cold outside, sleeping in the grass and straws. Enough of lost childhood. Enough of lost hopes and memories. From now, you stay with Biscuit, the two of you, no more hurting again.

‘Headless Horseman’ the papers once called Red. Charles felt anger rose within him, and he clutched his arms around the thin body as Red continued to cry, sobbing. They had no fucking ideas what the boys had gone through—Red and Biscuit. No idea. And they judged him. Of course, it was just a game to them. They needed a hero, not a fallen one.

“I won’t throw you away, keep that in mind, Red. You will be Seabiscuit’s rider now and forever,” he said fiercely into the boy’s red hair.

He heard Red take a breath. Then a muffled word, “Yeah?”
“Yes. You see, Tom said to me..,” Charles looked down into the boy’s blue eyes, “You don’t throw a whole life away just because it banged up a little.”

Another tear spilled from the corner of Red’s eye.

Charles pressed the red, rumple head to rest on his shoulders. Red’s body was tight with emotions. He felt tears of many years being shed to his chest as Red buried his face and held close to him, arms around his shoulder. He ran his hand on the boy’s head, comforting him.

Then he heard a sob, “Thank you…”

The words made warmed Charle's heart. He had many people thank him before. Thanks for the champagne, thanks for the beer. Thanks for the money, thanks for the game. But Red thanked him with his soulful eyes and almost shy gesture. Awkward, as if he thought he did not deserved to be helped and was surprised that someone would bother to help him at all.

“It’s all right, boy, it’s all right.”

Red held onto the older man for he didn’t know how long. It felt good and he didn’t want to let go. It was six years he was in the arms that he didn’t have to pay money for, and it was stronger arms than his. For a moment, he felt safe. He felt that his life did not waste, that he was not a waste.

Charles let him cling to him for as long as he wanted, and after a while, he let go. He saw the damp spots he left on the man’s shirt, and realized that his nose was running and his face was wet with tears. Red felt himself burned with shame. But Charles only looked at him with gentle eyes, and a faint smile that said it was all right. Red wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and looked at some where else. Suddenly he couldn’t face Charles.

Then he felt Charles’ finger on his cheek, wiping the tears.

“I’m…I’m sorry I said that, killing horses. I know you wouldn’t…”
“It’s ok.” Charles reassured.

Their eyes locked and Red knew that there was hope.

Then Charles told Red that Biscuit would arrive to be his companion, that Red was the one who could heal him. Red was reading at the balcony as Biscuit’ truck arrive, and the sight that greeted him made his heart ache and swell…Biscuit limping from the car, a red cloak around his body, white bandages around his four legs. Red ran to him as he could, throwing his walking sticks away and took Biscuit into his arms. He felt complete. He felt Biscuit as a part of him. And they walked together, read and sleep in the field. Red felt home.


Tom watched as Charles put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and Red said passionately to him.

“He made me better. *You* made me better.”

Maybe that was Charles’ final defeat—to the younger man’s vehement passion to reunite with his horse. Tom still held the truth close to his soul. Their legs might be broken, but their hearts remained strong.

And together they won.




End note: sigh...this is one of a rara happy fics I wrote ^_^. I'm feeling warm and fluffy thinking about it, and about writing it. If you feel the same, let me know!

Red & Iceman as I see it (next time I'll do Red & Georgie as you see in movie, k? ;)).


"The Deal"

Fandom: Seabiscuit (book & movie mixed, but you’ll get it)
Rating: PG-13 (including graphic scene)
Pairing: Red Pollard/George "Iceman" Woolf
Summary: What the Iceman asked from Red being his replacement. Red and Georgie made a deal. Author’s Note: This is a mix of Book & Movie canon. I’d invite you to imagine the real George Woolf and Tobey!Red Pollard. But even if you never know how the real Woolf looks like, it won’t be hard to read this fic :)
Feedback: Oh yes, to handcuffed4u at yahoo. I’d be delighted!


Seabiscuit is pacing in his stable, headbutting against the door.

“Easy, Pops. It’s gonna be fine.”

He snorts loud through his nostrils and kicks harder.

“Whao. Seems your horse is rather protective of you, huh?” Woolf said, watching Biscuit kicking against the stall, nose flaring, eyes glaring at him.
“Cut the crap, Georgie. No time to joke around.”
“Who said I was joking.”
Biscuit pokes his head out and stares at the two young men standing face to face. George “Iceman” Woolf has his arms flank at both side of Red Pollard’s head. From a brief glance, Woolf can see Biscuit’s murderous eyes, as if he wants to say, ‘Get the hell away from my jockey, you prick!’ His only reply is a deep chuckle.

“George. That’s…” Red’s eyes are wide and they sparkle bluer than ever. Woolf has this predatory smile on his face. He steps closer to the startled jockey, injured and vulnerable, and yet looking more adorable than ever. He inches closer that their chests almost touch, and Red backs further and goes no where but in the confined circle of Woolf’s arms.

“Shocked, ain’t you?” Woolf asks.
“Well, hell yeah. Wouldnt’ you? You can’t be serious.” Red gives a nervous smile, his eyes dart at Woolf’s lips.
“I want it as much as you wanted me to ride, Red.”

Red’s jaws set, his lips thin with rising anger. “You shouldn’t use this against me.”
“I’m only asking for what I want. We made a deal, and now I’m only going to take what you owe me. We said, ‘if I won the matchrace, I’d kiss you.’ You said deal. Don’t we have a deal, Johnny?”

Red shakes his head. “I thought it was a bad joke.” A glimpse of hurt appears in Iceman’s blue eyes. “It wasn’t.”
Red searches his friend’s face. “Why now?” his voice is broken with emotions. Woolf, using his calculated, calm nature, tries his best to ignore Red's distress.

Instead, Woolf raises his hand and runs the back of his finger down the jawline of Red’s face, his eyes fixing on the ripe lips.

“Because I know you couldn't say no, and I really wanted to kiss you.”

Seabiscuit kicks the door again. The thunderous sound could have woken up the whole barn.

Woolf darts his smart blue eyes at the stall window, then back to pin with Red’s.

“After all, I risked my short life with him, judging from his reaction to my proposal,” he says, amused, “and the victory I’ve brought you is worth it.”

Red Pollard, a fierce fistfighter and eccentric jockey, now faces with this Iceman, he swallows hard.

Woolf breaths on Red’s lips.

“I won, and I get to kiss you, Johnny.”


Tom, Charles and Red are staring at each other. Red finally recovered from his injuries and he was ready to ride again. Until he mounted the horse for Blume. The horse got freaked out, fell, and managed to smash Red’s leg into pieces.

“Santa Anita. I think we’ll have to scratch,” Charles says, crestfallen.

Red exchanges glance with Tom. He blurts out, “No, we can’t scratch him again. He’s been scratched in the past three matches.”

“And his weight is getting up,” Tom hangs his head, fingers thread through his grey hair.

“But,” Charles murmurs, “we cannot find a new jockey in time.”

At the two older men’s obvious misery, Red takes in a deep breath. His memory flashes back to that night at Seabiscuit’s stable, and the warm wetness of George’s lips.

Iceman pressed his lips on him, firm but gentle. Then, Red felt the tip of George's tongue slowly licked its way across his mouth, tasting him, and slowly thrust into him, demanding for more. As he opened his mouth for George, the man took hold of his mouth, and ate him. Lips sucking him, tongue plunging him, teeth biting the lower lip, clainming his prize for the victory he’d brought to the wounded jockey. Red could do nothing but held his ground, and fought back with all he could. It inflamed the Iceman, whose lips and tongue felt like liquid fire in Red’s mouth. George pushed him harder, his lips invading deeper, and Red’s head fell back. He instantly felt George’s lips on the side of his neck, biting and kissing. Red cried out as his shoulders were crushed into the wooden wall.

George abruptly pulled away. They stared at each other with wild eyes. Red was breathing hard, while Iceman looked taut from suppressed desire. His hair tousled, and Red wondered if that was from his doing. George’s lips were raw, and Red wondered if they mirrored his. He slowly straightened his injured shoulder, and Iceman let out a harsh, inaudibly whisper, “I’d better go.”

Red swallowed, tasting George in his mouth. “Yeah, you’d better go,” he rasped.

And there he left, Iceman sprinted away, and Seabiscuit’s snort was loud in the night as Red sneaked his arm around the horse’ neck and patted him soothingly there.

Thinking back, Red feels heat rise on his face, and he shifts, feeling uncomfortable on the sickbed.

“No…we have a…solution.”

Both Charles and Tom turn toward him.

“Call Woolf,” Red says, defeated.

The agreement is set. They call Woolf, and the Iceman travelled across the continent to Baltimore to where Red is resting in one cloudy, rainy day.

As he enters the patient’s room, being a bit soaked from the rain, his eyes locked instantly with Red, he smiles and his eyes gleam of some mischief.

“Ready for another deal?”


End note: I came to watch the horse one time and they were truely beautiful, in a hot weather and hardness of the competition. They are real fighters, and I bow to every jockey and horse who sacrifice their life for the passion of the run...I really had a wonderful, beautiful time in my life.