Tranquility
Tranquility
Rating: PG-12 for general disturbedness, mild violence, and mild yaoi.
Pairing: Harry/James
Fandom: Silent Hill
Disclaimer: Non-profit fanfiction.
Notes: AU if you've played SH3 ;). Saying anything more would be kind of telling. Also, I apologise for the Most Unsatisfying Ending Ever T.M., but if I hadn't ended this thing, it was going to get seriously tedious. Bloody James. Prattling on and on and on and not having mad sexors with Harry in front of me. *sniff*. Again, this is one of those things like Omnipotent Fury that would be better if I actually had the time and patience to continue it and fill it out a bit more, but eh. Lets play safe and call it character study ^_-.
James didn't think he was going insane anymore. He knew. Every new dream, nightmare, every time he woke up dazed in arms he didn't recognise instantly, he was driving a little closer to the edge of a steep precipice.
Harry didn't seem much better off sometimes, staring off into space while James slept in his arms on the sofa. It was a strange relationship; they rarely spoke of anything that mattered anymore, but somehow the lack of 'proper' conversation only added to the intimacy of their situation. Moreover, it made them both feel safer.
James wasn't sure when the silence started, but he knew exactly when he became aware of it.
His dreams had started going back to Silent Hill. Oh, he was used to dreaming about the town regularly - how could one ever get a place like that out of their mind? But the dreams were usually unfocused - monsters here, Maria there, bashing Eddie's head in with a plank... glimpses of the past he would dearly, dearly love to forget before it completely stole his sanity.
That week, though, the dreams were different. Whole scenes played out in his head - and all of them involving Harry. Pulling Harry's corpse from a crashed car and coming within inches of kicking the fallen man back into death when it lurched forward, vomiting black blood before grasping at his legs and crying out "Please!". Walking through the hospital and finding a room in the corridor that had decidedly not been there before, and he had no choice but to stay in there to avoid that damned pyramid-headed creature waiting for him outside. A creature getting to its feet as if being pulled upwards by strings, and it was only when it fully stood up and tried to reach him that he realised something was holding it in place. Human arms and neck pierced by tentacles stretching out from a dark gap in the wall. The abuse it spat at him, teasing and taunting him, before the body seemed to spasm violently and throw itself forward, falling into his arms limply as the morbid puppet strings withdrew from their slots.
He had known the face on that body.
James kept having the same dreams over and over again every night, but it was not until a week had passed that he realised why they disturbed him so much.
James could not remember, not even to the slightest extent, when he first met Harry.
He was certain they had spoken through the internet at some point, and met up after that - he had recollections of their first 'date' of sorts, and his embarassment when Harry seemed near offended by the flowers James presented him with.
But what had happened before that? Again, he was certain he had spoken with Harry before meeting up again across the internet, but how? Harry was too old to have gone to school with James, even if he didn't look it, and besides; they had grown up in different places. James in a city, Harry in some generic small-town american village.
He knew he should have asked Harry, but something grey and cold inside of him whispered that perhaps, perhaps Harry did not know either, and that meant more than James ever wanted to think about.
James frowned and clicked power off on the remote control, standing up from his seat in front of the television and wandering into the kitchen. Harry appeared to be preparing dinner, judging by the insanely small cubes of tomato scattered across the worksurface. "Ah, it lives. Any chance of you actually helping me?"
James laughed quietly before running his fingers along the blade Harry had recently abandoned. "Do you remember the last time I cooked?"
"I try not to."
"So why ask?" James slid his arms around the taller man, smelling faint traces of old dirt and petrol on Harry's neck. "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"When did we last have sex?"
Harry laughed out loud before sucking a bit of spilt sauce off his thumb. "Last night, moron, why do you ask?"
"Nothing," James lied. "I'm just in the mood."
"Maybe after the fajitas, I'm not letting all this food go to waste. But for now, you can obey the apron."
James did as asked, pressing a light kiss to Harry's cheek before turning back to the television and tilting his head in slight confusion. He could have sworn he'd switched it off. Probably imagining things again. He retook his seat, trying to find something that wasn't a car advert or series re-run.
"I hope you don't mind your chicken overdone!" Came the cry from the kitchen before Harry came through with two plates of surprisingly edible-looking fajitas.
"As if you ever cooked anything properly."
"See if I ever cook anything for you again! I think I've done damn well for a first try. Turn to dad's army, I love that show."
"I know," James huffed as Harry laughed before sitting between James' legs and watching the television program despite the poor reception. James was not quite so enamoured with the repeat episode regardless of Harry's insistance he had 'never seen this one before', and found himself looking around the room. He pondered for a moment the irony of having Mary's photograph resting next to the long dead flowers from his and Harry's first 'date'. Not much worse than having Cheryl's photo nearby, he supposed.
"James, if you want to think any louder you'll have to start talking. What's on your mind?"
"It doesn't matter."
Harry winced slightly before tilting his head back, resting it in James' lap. "You know what would really make me feel more relaxed right now?"
"Go on?"
"Coffee."
James laughed slightly and scratched Harry's head, finding some measure of comfort in his lover's blandly handsome smile. "One of these days that coffee machine of yours will stop hating me, and then I promise you will be regularly supplied with first-class caffeine."
"Paranoiac," Harry grumbled before fumbling around on the floor for one of his fajitas. James smirked and kissed Harry on the forehead before leaning forward and picking up the plate that had been trying to remain three inches from Harry's reach, offering it to the failed searcher. A blare of static came from the T.V. before it finally made a pathetic "phut" sound and switched itself off, followed shortly by the other electrical members of the household. "Damnit," Harry grouched. "Got any candles?"
"No," James replied before finally taking a bite of one of his fajitas. Seemed that Harry, for all his over-frying abuse of the chicken, was actually a decent cook. Made sense, really, otherwise Cheryl would have been raised on microwave meals and takeaways. "Don't worry, the electricity around here generally shorts out for an hour at most." Harry made some vague annoyed sound before taking an uncomfortably large bite of his dinner, deciding he may as well make the best of a bad thing.
Which was something Harry had always had a knack for, really.
James knew there was something very off about the whole situation, and knew that the moment he fell asleep he was going to have another of his unsettling dreams. But while he was awake, he had Harry, and he had the stability of the flat, and he didn't need a damned thing from the outside world. That was enough for him, and if he lost his sanity to it, he knew that Harry at least could deal with the consequences.
The End
Rating: PG-12 for general disturbedness, mild violence, and mild yaoi.
Pairing: Harry/James
Fandom: Silent Hill
Disclaimer: Non-profit fanfiction.
Notes: AU if you've played SH3 ;). Saying anything more would be kind of telling. Also, I apologise for the Most Unsatisfying Ending Ever T.M., but if I hadn't ended this thing, it was going to get seriously tedious. Bloody James. Prattling on and on and on and not having mad sexors with Harry in front of me. *sniff*. Again, this is one of those things like Omnipotent Fury that would be better if I actually had the time and patience to continue it and fill it out a bit more, but eh. Lets play safe and call it character study ^_-.
James didn't think he was going insane anymore. He knew. Every new dream, nightmare, every time he woke up dazed in arms he didn't recognise instantly, he was driving a little closer to the edge of a steep precipice.
Harry didn't seem much better off sometimes, staring off into space while James slept in his arms on the sofa. It was a strange relationship; they rarely spoke of anything that mattered anymore, but somehow the lack of 'proper' conversation only added to the intimacy of their situation. Moreover, it made them both feel safer.
James wasn't sure when the silence started, but he knew exactly when he became aware of it.
His dreams had started going back to Silent Hill. Oh, he was used to dreaming about the town regularly - how could one ever get a place like that out of their mind? But the dreams were usually unfocused - monsters here, Maria there, bashing Eddie's head in with a plank... glimpses of the past he would dearly, dearly love to forget before it completely stole his sanity.
That week, though, the dreams were different. Whole scenes played out in his head - and all of them involving Harry. Pulling Harry's corpse from a crashed car and coming within inches of kicking the fallen man back into death when it lurched forward, vomiting black blood before grasping at his legs and crying out "Please!". Walking through the hospital and finding a room in the corridor that had decidedly not been there before, and he had no choice but to stay in there to avoid that damned pyramid-headed creature waiting for him outside. A creature getting to its feet as if being pulled upwards by strings, and it was only when it fully stood up and tried to reach him that he realised something was holding it in place. Human arms and neck pierced by tentacles stretching out from a dark gap in the wall. The abuse it spat at him, teasing and taunting him, before the body seemed to spasm violently and throw itself forward, falling into his arms limply as the morbid puppet strings withdrew from their slots.
He had known the face on that body.
James kept having the same dreams over and over again every night, but it was not until a week had passed that he realised why they disturbed him so much.
James could not remember, not even to the slightest extent, when he first met Harry.
He was certain they had spoken through the internet at some point, and met up after that - he had recollections of their first 'date' of sorts, and his embarassment when Harry seemed near offended by the flowers James presented him with.
But what had happened before that? Again, he was certain he had spoken with Harry before meeting up again across the internet, but how? Harry was too old to have gone to school with James, even if he didn't look it, and besides; they had grown up in different places. James in a city, Harry in some generic small-town american village.
He knew he should have asked Harry, but something grey and cold inside of him whispered that perhaps, perhaps Harry did not know either, and that meant more than James ever wanted to think about.
James frowned and clicked power off on the remote control, standing up from his seat in front of the television and wandering into the kitchen. Harry appeared to be preparing dinner, judging by the insanely small cubes of tomato scattered across the worksurface. "Ah, it lives. Any chance of you actually helping me?"
James laughed quietly before running his fingers along the blade Harry had recently abandoned. "Do you remember the last time I cooked?"
"I try not to."
"So why ask?" James slid his arms around the taller man, smelling faint traces of old dirt and petrol on Harry's neck. "Harry?"
"Yeah?"
"When did we last have sex?"
Harry laughed out loud before sucking a bit of spilt sauce off his thumb. "Last night, moron, why do you ask?"
"Nothing," James lied. "I'm just in the mood."
"Maybe after the fajitas, I'm not letting all this food go to waste. But for now, you can obey the apron."
James did as asked, pressing a light kiss to Harry's cheek before turning back to the television and tilting his head in slight confusion. He could have sworn he'd switched it off. Probably imagining things again. He retook his seat, trying to find something that wasn't a car advert or series re-run.
"I hope you don't mind your chicken overdone!" Came the cry from the kitchen before Harry came through with two plates of surprisingly edible-looking fajitas.
"As if you ever cooked anything properly."
"See if I ever cook anything for you again! I think I've done damn well for a first try. Turn to dad's army, I love that show."
"I know," James huffed as Harry laughed before sitting between James' legs and watching the television program despite the poor reception. James was not quite so enamoured with the repeat episode regardless of Harry's insistance he had 'never seen this one before', and found himself looking around the room. He pondered for a moment the irony of having Mary's photograph resting next to the long dead flowers from his and Harry's first 'date'. Not much worse than having Cheryl's photo nearby, he supposed.
"James, if you want to think any louder you'll have to start talking. What's on your mind?"
"It doesn't matter."
Harry winced slightly before tilting his head back, resting it in James' lap. "You know what would really make me feel more relaxed right now?"
"Go on?"
"Coffee."
James laughed slightly and scratched Harry's head, finding some measure of comfort in his lover's blandly handsome smile. "One of these days that coffee machine of yours will stop hating me, and then I promise you will be regularly supplied with first-class caffeine."
"Paranoiac," Harry grumbled before fumbling around on the floor for one of his fajitas. James smirked and kissed Harry on the forehead before leaning forward and picking up the plate that had been trying to remain three inches from Harry's reach, offering it to the failed searcher. A blare of static came from the T.V. before it finally made a pathetic "phut" sound and switched itself off, followed shortly by the other electrical members of the household. "Damnit," Harry grouched. "Got any candles?"
"No," James replied before finally taking a bite of one of his fajitas. Seemed that Harry, for all his over-frying abuse of the chicken, was actually a decent cook. Made sense, really, otherwise Cheryl would have been raised on microwave meals and takeaways. "Don't worry, the electricity around here generally shorts out for an hour at most." Harry made some vague annoyed sound before taking an uncomfortably large bite of his dinner, deciding he may as well make the best of a bad thing.
Which was something Harry had always had a knack for, really.
James knew there was something very off about the whole situation, and knew that the moment he fell asleep he was going to have another of his unsettling dreams. But while he was awake, he had Harry, and he had the stability of the flat, and he didn't need a damned thing from the outside world. That was enough for him, and if he lost his sanity to it, he knew that Harry at least could deal with the consequences.
The End