FIC: Dead End
Title: Dead End
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Words: 446
Summary: Nightmares.
Notes: petronelle will recognize these people. I don't think anyone else will.
The streets are dim and desolate in an ominous twilight. Gabriel moves quickly, keeping close to the blank walls of the buildings. He doesn't know how long he's been walking. He's alone in these streets, in this endless city which is not the city he knows; alone except for them. They are not men, whatever they look like. What they are and what they want of him he does not know, and fears to know.
But now he can see them, shadows at the ends of streets, silhouettes against the half-light, moving toward him. He turns and turns again, ducking around corners, into darker and darker alleyways in hopes of losing them. There are too many. Everywhere they are there before him, waiting like cats before a mousehole.
He can feel his breath coming short in the still air. Another turning, and another -- and now, of a sudden, he recognizes the place. Somehow in the nightmare city he's found familiar territory, and his heart leaps. He knows the way home from here.
Even as he thinks it, they're upon him. They pour into the alley, dark gray figures with the faces of drowned men. Their eyes look blind, but they move quickly, purposeful, and Gabriel bolts, knowing -- knowing that what lies ahead is a dead end. Panic fills his throat.
If they were men, he would know what they wanted; he would have no horror of them. But these are nothing human, with their blind eyes and soundless feet -- close enough to touch now, to touch, O God -- and what that touch will do to him, what they will do to him, what they will make him do --
"Constantin--!"
It comes out in a raw scream, in the voice of the young man he is and not the boy he feels himself. And beyond, as they fall back startled, there is Constantin.
He looks just as he always does: tall, broad, a little raffish, absolutely in control of the situation. He reaches out a hand, and Gabriel throws himself into his arms.
"Clear out," Constantin says brusquely to the throng, exactly as he would say to unruly guests and unsatisfactory lodgers. Around them, with a hushed and ugly rustle, a hundred shadows melt back into the dark. Constantin smooths his hair with one heavy hand, almost idly.
"Come home now, petit."
And Gabriel, clinging to his warmth, his strength, goes cold again. He knows, of a sudden, that this safety has a price, and that his cry for help will cost him more than he can guess.
He wakes alone, in a strange bed, and the chill is still upon him.
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG
Words: 446
Summary: Nightmares.
Notes: petronelle will recognize these people. I don't think anyone else will.
The streets are dim and desolate in an ominous twilight. Gabriel moves quickly, keeping close to the blank walls of the buildings. He doesn't know how long he's been walking. He's alone in these streets, in this endless city which is not the city he knows; alone except for them. They are not men, whatever they look like. What they are and what they want of him he does not know, and fears to know.
But now he can see them, shadows at the ends of streets, silhouettes against the half-light, moving toward him. He turns and turns again, ducking around corners, into darker and darker alleyways in hopes of losing them. There are too many. Everywhere they are there before him, waiting like cats before a mousehole.
He can feel his breath coming short in the still air. Another turning, and another -- and now, of a sudden, he recognizes the place. Somehow in the nightmare city he's found familiar territory, and his heart leaps. He knows the way home from here.
Even as he thinks it, they're upon him. They pour into the alley, dark gray figures with the faces of drowned men. Their eyes look blind, but they move quickly, purposeful, and Gabriel bolts, knowing -- knowing that what lies ahead is a dead end. Panic fills his throat.
If they were men, he would know what they wanted; he would have no horror of them. But these are nothing human, with their blind eyes and soundless feet -- close enough to touch now, to touch, O God -- and what that touch will do to him, what they will do to him, what they will make him do --
"Constantin--!"
It comes out in a raw scream, in the voice of the young man he is and not the boy he feels himself. And beyond, as they fall back startled, there is Constantin.
He looks just as he always does: tall, broad, a little raffish, absolutely in control of the situation. He reaches out a hand, and Gabriel throws himself into his arms.
"Clear out," Constantin says brusquely to the throng, exactly as he would say to unruly guests and unsatisfactory lodgers. Around them, with a hushed and ugly rustle, a hundred shadows melt back into the dark. Constantin smooths his hair with one heavy hand, almost idly.
"Come home now, petit."
And Gabriel, clinging to his warmth, his strength, goes cold again. He knows, of a sudden, that this safety has a price, and that his cry for help will cost him more than he can guess.
He wakes alone, in a strange bed, and the chill is still upon him.