Welcome To Apocalypse 2/?
Title: Welcome to Apocalypse 2/?
Pairing: Domlijah and Other
Rating: 15 for language and violence
Summary: Dom wakes up and is most confused...
He woke, and could make out, through a haze of pain and sleep, a fogged grey ceiling. The sheets scratched at his back and if he moved in the slightest it was like switching a huge poker on and off against his skin. Maybe this was it, that horrible hospital bed he had prayed for so frantically. He remembered standing in the rain, planning the pills, where he could get them from and setting off… for the place he never reached.
It flooded back very fast and it jerked his breath as he relieved it yet again. He made the mistake of clenching his fists and his muscles caught fire. Forcing himself to slacken, he noticed the person in the gloom for the first time.
“Who are you?” He meant to shout, but managed no more then a whisper. The figure stood, and came towards the limp and vulnerable form.
“You’re safe.” The voice was soft, accent thick. He took another step forward.
“Get away from me.” Again he didn’t have the slightest bit of energy to make himself threatening. The man, still hidden in shadow, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I don’t mean ye’ any harm. But I need you to tell me, before you forget, what did you see?” Dom started, mentally.
“Nothing.” Slowly, the man came into the puddle of dim light in which Dom’s bed was floating. He was a similar build to himself, a touch more wiry, with mossy green eyes and a disconcerting smile; just that bit too wide, with a crease too many. Doom had just lied (badly) to him, why smile?
“Why are you smiling?”
“Tell me what you saw before you blacked out and I’ll explain everything. Sound fair?” He left the light and returned with something bright and silver, reflecting in his eyes. For a split second Dom was scared again, but it was just a bowl, filled with purple liquid,
“What’s that?” Said Dom suspiciously.
“Answer my question first.” Dom paused.
“Sounds fair.”
“Good lad. And it’s pain killer.” He lowered the soaked cloth slowly and gently onto Dom’s forehead. Then standing by the top of Dom’s head where he could not see him, he began to run a single finger from the bottom of his ear, down to his chin and back up the other side. The medicine was doing its work well, but Dom could still feel the very light trail, leaving behind a tiny tickle that he wanted to scratch.
“The scars healed well…” He moved to examining Dom’s shoulders and thighs. He shifted uncomfortably, before a wave of sleepiness washed over him.
“What… what did you say?”
“I said, the scars healed well Dom. Now, what did you see?” He spoke very slowly and soothingly.
“I saw… things I didn’t want to see. And things I was trying to forget.”
“Thank you Dom. The drug with have you unconscious in a second, alright?” Dom nodded vaguely, and had time for one last thought.
“What’s your name?”
“Billy.” Then nothing.
/-\
When Dom came to he was still in the scratchy bed, but the room was full of daylight that filtered in through dusty glass squares in the ceiling. A concrete grey perfect square, a plain wooden table, a chest against one wall, and a prison-esque steel toilet but otherwise empty. Billy had gone and Dom wondered had he dreamed him up? Was he indeed in a prison? Small rooms with only a bed rang a bell from some television show he’d seen about immigrants being sold into the sex trade. Only in their sweating panic did he realise he didn’t hurt anymore and could move without being seared.
He jumped up and tried the handle of the steel door, expecting it to be locked. To his surprise it swung open, onto a much larger room. The strips of squares in the ceiling also lit this, and he jumped when a pair of shadowy feet walked across it. Somebody laughed and he jumped again.
“You’re not one of those nervous people are you? Can’t stand nervous people.” The speaker was a boy shorter then himself and obviously four of five years younger. Between that and the striking blue eyes, he reminded Dom forcefully of an elf.
“Not…usually.”
“Good good.” He moved out from behind the desk, which was littered with pages of hand written text, in different pen and handwriting. His sporty (though shabby) teenage clothes were in sharp contrast with his rectangular black glasses, which he then folded and hung from the neck of his plain red basketball vest. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Elijah by the way.” He took it, and it was very cold.
“Dom.”
“I know. We looked in your wallet.”
“Oh…”
“Ok.” Elijah hopped up and sat on the desk, business-like. “I’ll save you the trouble of you having to put all your questions into priority of asking, and lay it all out now, shall I?” Dom smiled slightly.
“Yes please.”
“Ok, well, you see, we are part of an order called-”
Then a man crashed through the door, sprawling to the floor and soaked in blood.
Pairing: Domlijah and Other
Rating: 15 for language and violence
Summary: Dom wakes up and is most confused...
He woke, and could make out, through a haze of pain and sleep, a fogged grey ceiling. The sheets scratched at his back and if he moved in the slightest it was like switching a huge poker on and off against his skin. Maybe this was it, that horrible hospital bed he had prayed for so frantically. He remembered standing in the rain, planning the pills, where he could get them from and setting off… for the place he never reached.
It flooded back very fast and it jerked his breath as he relieved it yet again. He made the mistake of clenching his fists and his muscles caught fire. Forcing himself to slacken, he noticed the person in the gloom for the first time.
“Who are you?” He meant to shout, but managed no more then a whisper. The figure stood, and came towards the limp and vulnerable form.
“You’re safe.” The voice was soft, accent thick. He took another step forward.
“Get away from me.” Again he didn’t have the slightest bit of energy to make himself threatening. The man, still hidden in shadow, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I don’t mean ye’ any harm. But I need you to tell me, before you forget, what did you see?” Dom started, mentally.
“Nothing.” Slowly, the man came into the puddle of dim light in which Dom’s bed was floating. He was a similar build to himself, a touch more wiry, with mossy green eyes and a disconcerting smile; just that bit too wide, with a crease too many. Doom had just lied (badly) to him, why smile?
“Why are you smiling?”
“Tell me what you saw before you blacked out and I’ll explain everything. Sound fair?” He left the light and returned with something bright and silver, reflecting in his eyes. For a split second Dom was scared again, but it was just a bowl, filled with purple liquid,
“What’s that?” Said Dom suspiciously.
“Answer my question first.” Dom paused.
“Sounds fair.”
“Good lad. And it’s pain killer.” He lowered the soaked cloth slowly and gently onto Dom’s forehead. Then standing by the top of Dom’s head where he could not see him, he began to run a single finger from the bottom of his ear, down to his chin and back up the other side. The medicine was doing its work well, but Dom could still feel the very light trail, leaving behind a tiny tickle that he wanted to scratch.
“The scars healed well…” He moved to examining Dom’s shoulders and thighs. He shifted uncomfortably, before a wave of sleepiness washed over him.
“What… what did you say?”
“I said, the scars healed well Dom. Now, what did you see?” He spoke very slowly and soothingly.
“I saw… things I didn’t want to see. And things I was trying to forget.”
“Thank you Dom. The drug with have you unconscious in a second, alright?” Dom nodded vaguely, and had time for one last thought.
“What’s your name?”
“Billy.” Then nothing.
/-\
When Dom came to he was still in the scratchy bed, but the room was full of daylight that filtered in through dusty glass squares in the ceiling. A concrete grey perfect square, a plain wooden table, a chest against one wall, and a prison-esque steel toilet but otherwise empty. Billy had gone and Dom wondered had he dreamed him up? Was he indeed in a prison? Small rooms with only a bed rang a bell from some television show he’d seen about immigrants being sold into the sex trade. Only in their sweating panic did he realise he didn’t hurt anymore and could move without being seared.
He jumped up and tried the handle of the steel door, expecting it to be locked. To his surprise it swung open, onto a much larger room. The strips of squares in the ceiling also lit this, and he jumped when a pair of shadowy feet walked across it. Somebody laughed and he jumped again.
“You’re not one of those nervous people are you? Can’t stand nervous people.” The speaker was a boy shorter then himself and obviously four of five years younger. Between that and the striking blue eyes, he reminded Dom forcefully of an elf.
“Not…usually.”
“Good good.” He moved out from behind the desk, which was littered with pages of hand written text, in different pen and handwriting. His sporty (though shabby) teenage clothes were in sharp contrast with his rectangular black glasses, which he then folded and hung from the neck of his plain red basketball vest. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Elijah by the way.” He took it, and it was very cold.
“Dom.”
“I know. We looked in your wallet.”
“Oh…”
“Ok.” Elijah hopped up and sat on the desk, business-like. “I’ll save you the trouble of you having to put all your questions into priority of asking, and lay it all out now, shall I?” Dom smiled slightly.
“Yes please.”
“Ok, well, you see, we are part of an order called-”
Then a man crashed through the door, sprawling to the floor and soaked in blood.