Fanfiction: Bleeding Through (Little Hope)
Supermassive's horror games continue to be a great, great excuse to write fanfiction exploring all my favourite themes. Here's a fic for Little Hope.
I was a little hesitant to write this because I thought I'd need to rewatch the Little Hope prologue for research, and I find the Little Hope prologue incredibly upsetting, but I managed to avoid it!
Title: Bleeding Through
Fandom: The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,500
Summary: Sometimes, the people Andrew's trapped in Little Hope with seem a little strange. Like they're not themselves, somehow.
It’s hard to know if they’re making any real progress towards getting out of this place. Andrew’s footsteps echo in the darkness; they seem strangely loud, somehow.
“So, Andrew,” Taylor says, slowing her step to walk next to him. “Tell me about yourself.”
He was expecting her to want to talk about the monsters, or the town, or the visions of the past they’ve been seeing. He’d be able to talk about those things; he’d be able to speculate, at least, even if he’s not really sure what’s going on here. He wasn’t prepared to be asked about himself.
“What’s there to tell?” Andrew asks.
Taylor shrugs. “You’d know better than me. You’ve got to have, like, nerdy little hobbies, right? Interests? What do you do in your spare time?”
What does he do in his spare time?
“Come on,” Taylor says. “I really need a distraction in this place. I know all about Daniel already. I’m not gonna relate to the Gen Xers. That leaves you.”
“I’m older than they are,” Andrew points out.
“Uh, nooooo,” Taylor says. She looks pointedly from Andrew to Angela and back again. “No, I really don’t think you are.”
Andrew hesitates. He doesn’t know what to say to that; he doesn’t know how to make sense of what he just said. Where did that come from?
He looks down at his hands. Studies the veins on the back, the smoothness of his skin. They feel unfamiliar to him, somehow.
“Come on.” Taylor nudges his shoulder with hers. “Share something with me. We never hung out enough when we were in the same house.”
Andrew looks sharply at her. “The same h-”
The word house seems to clog his throat. He swallows, twice, trying to force it down.
“When was that?” he manages to ask at last.
“Hm?” Taylor tilts her head. “When was what?”
He must have misheard her. She never said the same house, she never said hung out. He misheard her. It’s something he doesn’t have to think about.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s nothing.”
-
“If anything doesn’t look right, get behind me,” John says, as they make their way slowly into the fog. “I’m your teacher. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”
John’s been quick to run when things go wrong, but Andrew decides against mentioning that. He may not be the most reliable person, but it’s still good to have him here. “Thanks.”
“No,” John says, “I need to know you understand. I’m telling you that, if we all died here, it would be my responsibility.”
Andrew’s footsteps stutter to a halt. He turns to look at John.
“I’m the one who brought you all here,” John says. His gaze is uncomfortably intense. “I have a duty of care. I should have been paying attention.”
“Professor,” Andrew says, carefully, “what are you talking about?”
A moment passes.
“Did I say something strange?” John asks. “Sorry. This place must be getting to me.”
-
“He was right there,” Daniel mutters, staring at his hands. “I could’ve saved him. I should’ve-”
He cuts himself off, just breathes for a moment, still kneeling on the floor. Closes his eyes, but he opens them again quickly. Which makes sense; it’s not safe to have their eyes closed here.
He looks up at Andrew. “He’s going to come after me now, isn’t he?”
Andrew wants to say something, maybe something reassuring. But nothing’s coming to him.
“Fuck,” Daniel mutters.
It doesn’t feel like enough. But...
“You tried,” Andrew says.
Something in Daniel’s expression changes, softens into sympathy. When he speaks again, looking directly at Andrew, he sounds calmer. “So did you.”
Andrew didn’t do anything; it’s Daniel who tried to save David. But the thought of trying to contradict him burns, somehow. He stays silent.
-
They manage to shake the monsters, manage to catch up with John and Angela, take a moment to catch their breath. Andrew’s shaking. When he saw Daniel and Taylor in danger at the same time, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to-
“Oh, man. Andrew. We’d have been screwed back there without you.” Taylor pulls him into a hug.
He’s not expecting it, and he kind of tenses up.
“Not a hugger?” Taylor asks, letting him go.
“Sorry,” Andrew says. “I’m just not used to it. I don’t think people really, uh, touch me very often.”
“You don’t think?” Daniel asks. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d know?”
“That’s kind of sad,” Taylor says, frowning a little. It doesn’t sound mocking. “What about your parents?”
What about his-
What about his parents? Did he ever have-
“Andrew. Andrew! Get it together!”
Andrew opens his eyes to see John stooping over him. John stands up, lets out a hard sigh of relief.
Someone’s holding him. He’s in - he’s in Angela’s arms, half in her lap, half sprawled on the road.
He doesn’t know how he got here. Did he pass out?
His throat feels scratchy and raw, like he’s been screaming.
He hasn’t been screaming. He’d remember.
It occurs to him only later, as they’re making their way through the factory, that he didn’t feel selfconscious about Angela holding him at all. It didn’t feel like the first time, somehow.
-
“I don’t know if I’m remembering you guys right,” Andrew says.
They’re lying side by side in the Little Hope cemetery, looking up at the stars, a neat little row of headstones behind them. It feels disrespectful, lying on graves. He can’t remember how they ended up here.
“Does that matter?” Taylor asks. “We were all kind of a mess. Maybe it’s better to leave those people behind.”
Andrew frowns up at the sky. It seems strange that they can see the stars at all. Did the fog clear? “I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“I don’t know,” Daniel says. “I could be a real dick. I kind of like this version of me more.”
The conversation isn’t entirely making sense to Andrew, even if he’s participating in it.
He knows, somehow, the names on the gravestones behind each of the others. John, Angela, Taylor, Daniel: James, Anne, Tanya, Dennis. He’s expecting something beginning with A when he cranes back to look at the stone behind him, but the name there is Megan R Clarke.
“I have to say, Andrew, I’m a little offended,” Angela says. “I’m not sure you’ve made this version of me any better.”
“Well, my dear,” John says, reaching out to take her hand, “that’s obviously because you can’t be improved.”
Angela laughs, and the two of them share a quick kiss, and-
-
Anthony wakes, suddenly, standing in sunlight in front of the diner. He knows who he is, and he knows who they were.
There was no conversation in the cemetery. A dream, or a hallucination. But he guesses it wasn’t any less real than anything else that’s happened tonight.
He thinks at first that he’s alone. But they’re still at his side. Maybe he shouldn’t be relieved by that, but it’s hard to feel anything else.
“Maybe we’d have had the chance to be better if we’d been around longer,” Taylor says. She leans against his side. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe that.”
He looks at her. At John, Angela, Daniel, gathered around him. He doesn’t really know what names to use for them now.
They look solid. He can see them moving and breathing, he can feel the weight of Taylor against his arm. But...
“You’re not real,” Anthony says, quietly.
Daniel shrugs. “Maybe not, but we’re here.”
“You know, you never answered my question,” Taylor says. “What do you do in your spare time?”
Anthony hesitates.
“Nothing, right?” Taylor asks. “I get it. It’s hard to focus after something like that. But I bet you could find something you’d enjoy. I mean, things could be better for you.”
“It’s too late for me,” Anthony says.
John snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still alive.”
Angela touches Anthony’s shoulder, strokes his hair. “I always thought you could be a musician.”
Did his mother ever actually think that? Or is it just something he’s telling himself?
“There’s that second-hand music store near the bus depot,” John says. “You could start out with a cheap instrument, see how it goes.”
Anthony looks down at his hands. They’re older, now, and scarred. But maybe they could hold a guitar, play a keyboard or a piano.
He’ll never know if Mom really thought he’d enjoy music, he guesses. He feels like she might have mentioned it to him, once. But his dead family is standing around him; he can’t trust his mind, which means he can’t trust his memory.
Still. Whatever the answer, maybe it would be worth giving it a try.
When he looks up, he catches the eye of the girl they’ve been chasing through Little Hope. She smiles at him and keeps walking up the road, heading away from the town.
I was a little hesitant to write this because I thought I'd need to rewatch the Little Hope prologue for research, and I find the Little Hope prologue incredibly upsetting, but I managed to avoid it!
Title: Bleeding Through
Fandom: The Dark Pictures Anthology: Little Hope
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,500
Summary: Sometimes, the people Andrew's trapped in Little Hope with seem a little strange. Like they're not themselves, somehow.
It’s hard to know if they’re making any real progress towards getting out of this place. Andrew’s footsteps echo in the darkness; they seem strangely loud, somehow.
“So, Andrew,” Taylor says, slowing her step to walk next to him. “Tell me about yourself.”
He was expecting her to want to talk about the monsters, or the town, or the visions of the past they’ve been seeing. He’d be able to talk about those things; he’d be able to speculate, at least, even if he’s not really sure what’s going on here. He wasn’t prepared to be asked about himself.
“What’s there to tell?” Andrew asks.
Taylor shrugs. “You’d know better than me. You’ve got to have, like, nerdy little hobbies, right? Interests? What do you do in your spare time?”
What does he do in his spare time?
“Come on,” Taylor says. “I really need a distraction in this place. I know all about Daniel already. I’m not gonna relate to the Gen Xers. That leaves you.”
“I’m older than they are,” Andrew points out.
“Uh, nooooo,” Taylor says. She looks pointedly from Andrew to Angela and back again. “No, I really don’t think you are.”
Andrew hesitates. He doesn’t know what to say to that; he doesn’t know how to make sense of what he just said. Where did that come from?
He looks down at his hands. Studies the veins on the back, the smoothness of his skin. They feel unfamiliar to him, somehow.
“Come on.” Taylor nudges his shoulder with hers. “Share something with me. We never hung out enough when we were in the same house.”
Andrew looks sharply at her. “The same h-”
The word house seems to clog his throat. He swallows, twice, trying to force it down.
“When was that?” he manages to ask at last.
“Hm?” Taylor tilts her head. “When was what?”
He must have misheard her. She never said the same house, she never said hung out. He misheard her. It’s something he doesn’t have to think about.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s nothing.”
-
“If anything doesn’t look right, get behind me,” John says, as they make their way slowly into the fog. “I’m your teacher. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”
John’s been quick to run when things go wrong, but Andrew decides against mentioning that. He may not be the most reliable person, but it’s still good to have him here. “Thanks.”
“No,” John says, “I need to know you understand. I’m telling you that, if we all died here, it would be my responsibility.”
Andrew’s footsteps stutter to a halt. He turns to look at John.
“I’m the one who brought you all here,” John says. His gaze is uncomfortably intense. “I have a duty of care. I should have been paying attention.”
“Professor,” Andrew says, carefully, “what are you talking about?”
A moment passes.
“Did I say something strange?” John asks. “Sorry. This place must be getting to me.”
-
“He was right there,” Daniel mutters, staring at his hands. “I could’ve saved him. I should’ve-”
He cuts himself off, just breathes for a moment, still kneeling on the floor. Closes his eyes, but he opens them again quickly. Which makes sense; it’s not safe to have their eyes closed here.
He looks up at Andrew. “He’s going to come after me now, isn’t he?”
Andrew wants to say something, maybe something reassuring. But nothing’s coming to him.
“Fuck,” Daniel mutters.
It doesn’t feel like enough. But...
“You tried,” Andrew says.
Something in Daniel’s expression changes, softens into sympathy. When he speaks again, looking directly at Andrew, he sounds calmer. “So did you.”
Andrew didn’t do anything; it’s Daniel who tried to save David. But the thought of trying to contradict him burns, somehow. He stays silent.
-
They manage to shake the monsters, manage to catch up with John and Angela, take a moment to catch their breath. Andrew’s shaking. When he saw Daniel and Taylor in danger at the same time, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to-
“Oh, man. Andrew. We’d have been screwed back there without you.” Taylor pulls him into a hug.
He’s not expecting it, and he kind of tenses up.
“Not a hugger?” Taylor asks, letting him go.
“Sorry,” Andrew says. “I’m just not used to it. I don’t think people really, uh, touch me very often.”
“You don’t think?” Daniel asks. “Isn’t that the kind of thing you’d know?”
“That’s kind of sad,” Taylor says, frowning a little. It doesn’t sound mocking. “What about your parents?”
What about his-
What about his parents? Did he ever have-
“Andrew. Andrew! Get it together!”
Andrew opens his eyes to see John stooping over him. John stands up, lets out a hard sigh of relief.
Someone’s holding him. He’s in - he’s in Angela’s arms, half in her lap, half sprawled on the road.
He doesn’t know how he got here. Did he pass out?
His throat feels scratchy and raw, like he’s been screaming.
He hasn’t been screaming. He’d remember.
It occurs to him only later, as they’re making their way through the factory, that he didn’t feel selfconscious about Angela holding him at all. It didn’t feel like the first time, somehow.
-
“I don’t know if I’m remembering you guys right,” Andrew says.
They’re lying side by side in the Little Hope cemetery, looking up at the stars, a neat little row of headstones behind them. It feels disrespectful, lying on graves. He can’t remember how they ended up here.
“Does that matter?” Taylor asks. “We were all kind of a mess. Maybe it’s better to leave those people behind.”
Andrew frowns up at the sky. It seems strange that they can see the stars at all. Did the fog clear? “I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“I don’t know,” Daniel says. “I could be a real dick. I kind of like this version of me more.”
The conversation isn’t entirely making sense to Andrew, even if he’s participating in it.
He knows, somehow, the names on the gravestones behind each of the others. John, Angela, Taylor, Daniel: James, Anne, Tanya, Dennis. He’s expecting something beginning with A when he cranes back to look at the stone behind him, but the name there is Megan R Clarke.
“I have to say, Andrew, I’m a little offended,” Angela says. “I’m not sure you’ve made this version of me any better.”
“Well, my dear,” John says, reaching out to take her hand, “that’s obviously because you can’t be improved.”
Angela laughs, and the two of them share a quick kiss, and-
-
Anthony wakes, suddenly, standing in sunlight in front of the diner. He knows who he is, and he knows who they were.
There was no conversation in the cemetery. A dream, or a hallucination. But he guesses it wasn’t any less real than anything else that’s happened tonight.
He thinks at first that he’s alone. But they’re still at his side. Maybe he shouldn’t be relieved by that, but it’s hard to feel anything else.
“Maybe we’d have had the chance to be better if we’d been around longer,” Taylor says. She leans against his side. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe that.”
He looks at her. At John, Angela, Daniel, gathered around him. He doesn’t really know what names to use for them now.
They look solid. He can see them moving and breathing, he can feel the weight of Taylor against his arm. But...
“You’re not real,” Anthony says, quietly.
Daniel shrugs. “Maybe not, but we’re here.”
“You know, you never answered my question,” Taylor says. “What do you do in your spare time?”
Anthony hesitates.
“Nothing, right?” Taylor asks. “I get it. It’s hard to focus after something like that. But I bet you could find something you’d enjoy. I mean, things could be better for you.”
“It’s too late for me,” Anthony says.
John snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still alive.”
Angela touches Anthony’s shoulder, strokes his hair. “I always thought you could be a musician.”
Did his mother ever actually think that? Or is it just something he’s telling himself?
“There’s that second-hand music store near the bus depot,” John says. “You could start out with a cheap instrument, see how it goes.”
Anthony looks down at his hands. They’re older, now, and scarred. But maybe they could hold a guitar, play a keyboard or a piano.
He’ll never know if Mom really thought he’d enjoy music, he guesses. He feels like she might have mentioned it to him, once. But his dead family is standing around him; he can’t trust his mind, which means he can’t trust his memory.
Still. Whatever the answer, maybe it would be worth giving it a try.
When he looks up, he catches the eye of the girl they’ve been chasing through Little Hope. She smiles at him and keeps walking up the road, heading away from the town.