BH Fic: for you, anything (Annie/Mitchell)
Title: for you, anything
Pairing: Annie/Mitchell
Rating: PG-13
Words: 519
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for the prompt to hell and back at stainofmylove’s Labor Day Comment Fic meme.
He came for her; the least she can do is return the favor.
She moves between the worlds of the living and the dead so easily now they all fear her, the girl who can open and close the doors any damn time she pleases. It’s unnatural. Annie uses their fear to her advantage.
She puts on a show, lights flashing, earth shaking---she’s beginning to enjoy the theatrics. She hitches a ride with a murderer, Alex Preston, thirty-five, killed his brother and his brother’s wife for no reason at all, at least not one anyone will ever understand.
His door is red.
“Am I dead?” he asks and Annie takes his hand without hesitation. It’s not a question of deserving, it’s the human thing to do and she remembers what it is to be human.
“Yeah…sorry,” she replies awkwardly.
The man nods, stoically. He doesn’t ask which direction he’s going and Annie doesn’t volunteer the information.
*
Hell isn’t hot.
Or cold.
It is dull, unending; cell on top of cell, the condemned sit and watch their lives on grainy television sets, not the good parts, mind you, but the very worst bits. Over and over. This is their eternity. Annie thinks this is worse than fire; this is an invitation for madness.
No one tries to stop her, but she hears them murmuring. They think they’ve finally won.
Annie knows better.
She walks among the dead, peering between bars searching for a familiar face. She doesn’t know what she’ll say when she finds him. She can offer him home, but she can’t promise him anything else. She’s not even sure if this right. He’s a killer. But he’s Mitchell.
“Annie?” he breathes her name and her dead heart clenches. “You can’t be here; listen to me, Annie, you have to go…go now…”
He looks older, darker. Broken.
Annie smiles.
“Not without you.”
*
She takes him like a thief in the night.
The world, the underworld, nearly cracks apart. They’re not the only two souls that leave, and Annie knows there will be consequences, repercussions. But those will come later.
Now there is Mitchell, safe and home, and that’s worth any trouble to come.
“I deserved to be there,” he says, his voice quiet as he stands on the corner staring up at the dark house.
“Maybe,” Annie replies, “but I wanted you back. Besides I owed you one.”
Mitchell turns to her, shame burning in his eyes.
“You don’t owe me anything, Annie.”
In the darkness, she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.
“Shut up, Mitchell.”
She kisses him, and tastes the cold. He’s like her now. Just a ghost. The bloodlust will be gone; she tells herself everything will be all right now.
Things will be like they were.
“You ready to go inside?” she whispers in his ear, but Mitchell stays rooted to his spot, his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close, holding on like he’s afraid of letting go.
“Thank you,” he murmurs over and over, his voice breaking.
Annie prays he’ll still mean it in the morning.
Pairing: Annie/Mitchell
Rating: PG-13
Words: 519
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for the prompt to hell and back at stainofmylove’s Labor Day Comment Fic meme.
He came for her; the least she can do is return the favor.
She moves between the worlds of the living and the dead so easily now they all fear her, the girl who can open and close the doors any damn time she pleases. It’s unnatural. Annie uses their fear to her advantage.
She puts on a show, lights flashing, earth shaking---she’s beginning to enjoy the theatrics. She hitches a ride with a murderer, Alex Preston, thirty-five, killed his brother and his brother’s wife for no reason at all, at least not one anyone will ever understand.
His door is red.
“Am I dead?” he asks and Annie takes his hand without hesitation. It’s not a question of deserving, it’s the human thing to do and she remembers what it is to be human.
“Yeah…sorry,” she replies awkwardly.
The man nods, stoically. He doesn’t ask which direction he’s going and Annie doesn’t volunteer the information.
*
Hell isn’t hot.
Or cold.
It is dull, unending; cell on top of cell, the condemned sit and watch their lives on grainy television sets, not the good parts, mind you, but the very worst bits. Over and over. This is their eternity. Annie thinks this is worse than fire; this is an invitation for madness.
No one tries to stop her, but she hears them murmuring. They think they’ve finally won.
Annie knows better.
She walks among the dead, peering between bars searching for a familiar face. She doesn’t know what she’ll say when she finds him. She can offer him home, but she can’t promise him anything else. She’s not even sure if this right. He’s a killer. But he’s Mitchell.
“Annie?” he breathes her name and her dead heart clenches. “You can’t be here; listen to me, Annie, you have to go…go now…”
He looks older, darker. Broken.
Annie smiles.
“Not without you.”
*
She takes him like a thief in the night.
The world, the underworld, nearly cracks apart. They’re not the only two souls that leave, and Annie knows there will be consequences, repercussions. But those will come later.
Now there is Mitchell, safe and home, and that’s worth any trouble to come.
“I deserved to be there,” he says, his voice quiet as he stands on the corner staring up at the dark house.
“Maybe,” Annie replies, “but I wanted you back. Besides I owed you one.”
Mitchell turns to her, shame burning in his eyes.
“You don’t owe me anything, Annie.”
In the darkness, she reaches up to cup his face in her hands.
“Shut up, Mitchell.”
She kisses him, and tastes the cold. He’s like her now. Just a ghost. The bloodlust will be gone; she tells herself everything will be all right now.
Things will be like they were.
“You ready to go inside?” she whispers in his ear, but Mitchell stays rooted to his spot, his arms wrapped around her back, holding her close, holding on like he’s afraid of letting go.
“Thank you,” he murmurs over and over, his voice breaking.
Annie prays he’ll still mean it in the morning.