Disclaimer: I don't own As Above, So Below.
Summary: In his dreams, he is still lost deep within the winding expanse of the catacombs, hearing his little brother cry out for him, watching helplessly as Scarlett throws herself headlong into danger, and praying that they somehow make it out alive - or, at least, are granted a swift, painless death. GeorgeScarlett, set post-movie, oneshot
I honestly did not expect to get so caught up in this movie, let alone write a fic for it. I thought it would be a fun little thing to go see while I was off work for a bit, so I went and saw it and ended up getting really involved with the characters and the plot was really interesting - then again, I've always had a bit of a fascination with the Paris catacombs. Anyway, this is my little contribution to this fandom and has been in the works for a while and I just now got the time to finish it. There are so few fics for this movie, and I find that pretty sad, so I do hope that y'all enjoy this!
Above, Between, Beneath
Footsteps echo off the walls around him. Frantic, rushed steps. A deep breath inhaled through clenched teeth, exhaled with a shakiness that isn't commonplace for him. Darkness around him, darkness and tight walls and winding passageways and the never-ending maze before him. He gropes along a wall, trying desperately to find purchase on something real, something that he can feel, but he quickly realizes that trying to touch these walls only disturbs him more.
George quickly removes his hand as a shudder ripples down his spine.
The chanting echoes off of the walls, sounding ungodly. He feels as if someone is scraping a knife against his bones. His pulse pounds frantically through his body, almost intensifying whatever words are being groaned by whoever is speaking those foreboding, unintelligible words. It is as maddening as it is frustrating, as frightening as it is inexplicable.
Scarlett is leading the way, a familiar madness to her eyes that he has seen countless times before. It is strange, but in that moment he is almost comforted by the sight before he is jerked back to reality by the coldness of the crypts and the constant sound of dripping water around them.
It was the water that got to him the most, clearly, and with good reason. He can still hear his brother's voice on that fateful day - even more so down here, and he has even seen him in flashes in the corners, beneath shallow pools of murky water that weren't even there in the first place. The whole situation is enough to make him feel as if he is losing his mind. And, really, that might be preferable compared to actually being sane and being lost down here.
His breathing comes out heavier and heavier as he moves on, faster and faster. George tries to control the oncoming hyperventilation but finds that it is becoming increasingly difficult. There is nothing here to anchor him but Scarlett, and she is so far gone that they might as well be back in Turkey, but he focuses on her anyway, remembers her words before he was forced down into the catacombs.
"I need you with me," she had said.
And, no matter how much he might have protested at the time, he knew that he never stood a chance of standing against her, even if that policeman hadn't forced his hand at the time.
So now, George faces certain doom for the umpteenth time because of this maddening woman, and he faces it with little regard for his own safety, because hers is infinitely more important to him.
His eyes follow her as she marches ahead of him. Scarlett is the picture of a strange, calm franticness. It would certainly be fascinating to watch if their group wasn't in the middle of a continuous loop of life and death.
She's saying something. He can't make out the words. They sound garbled and thick, sticking in his ears and not seeming to make it to his brain. George wrinkles his brow and tries his hardest to decipher some meaning from those words, but he cannot find anything.
"This way," are the words he is finally able to make out; Scarlett's voice is sure and firm. Confident. He wishes he could feel the same in these circumstances, but he's seen too much to think positively. Too many messed up things have happened in these catacombs to guarantee a happy ending. Or, an ending at all other than death.
His breaths come out shakily as they make their way further into the depths of the catacombs. It seems as if there is an impossible pressure around them, from both sides, squeezing the life from them. George tries to focus on anything else. Tries to turn his thoughts inward, tries to remember Turkey. Because even a Turkish prison was a better fate than this.
Instead, he finds himself focusing on the red of Scarlett's hair as it flows behind her. It calms him momentarily, but eventually the ever-rising panic surrounds him, takes hold of him, and it is all he can do to take a breath without shuddering.
The catacombs go on forever. Winding and whirling and woeful. Water drips from the ceiling and splatters on his forehead. He wipes it away and his hand comes back red.
George starts to hyperventilate, looking around for the source of the blood itself, but finds nothing. His eyes are saucers in his face, wheeling around and trying - and failing - to find some meaning of this horror. When he looks upward, expecting to see a river of gore decorating the ceiling, he is greeted with only the clearest of water.
When he looks back to Scarlett, he sees nothing but blackness.
Inky blackness surrounds him where there was once a pinpoint of light. He is immersed in it, drowned in it...
Alone.
"Scarlett!" he croaks through his dry throat. It feels as if it is closing up. He stumbles forward, hands outstretched, heart hammering away in his chest. "Scarlett!"
No answer.
His fingers bump into a wall and he turns, heading the other way.
His fingers bump into the wall again.
He feels a quizzical look overtake his features. He turns again.
A wall.
He turns.
A wall.
Stone meets his fingertips every single time.
Breathing becomes harder, each and every inhalation feels as if it is a struggle. In, out, in, out, in out, inoutinoutintouin -
"Scarlett!" he shouts again, and he hates how weak his voice sounds. Fists pound on the walls around him until he feels a stickiness coat them. "Scarlett!"
Nothing. Only the sound of his voice echoing off the walls arond him.
Nothing, except the sharp bite of stone teeth into his neck -
Suddenly, he's being shaken by the shoulders and her voice filters into the oncoming consciousness.
"George!" Scarlett exclaims. Her hands are warm on his clammy shoulders. "George, you're safe!"
It takes a moment for his eyes to find hers, takes a moment for him to realize that they are in his bedroom and wrapped in his sheets, takes a moment for him to wrap his arms around her thin frame and bury his face in her chest. Her heartbeat thunders in his ears. She is real, she is safe, she is here.
He doesn't realize he is chanting her name - no, no, no, not chanting, he can never chant anything, not when he still remembers the chanting so far beneath the surface - until she starts smoothing his hair from his face, fingers tangling briefly with the strands, repeating the mantra that has become like his life jacket in a sea full of sharks - helping to keep his head afloat but not enough to stop the impending doom.
"You're safe, we're in your apartment, you're safe, I'm here - "
And this continues, it continues until his breathing evens out and his hands stop shaking, but it does not stop the thoughts from overtaking him.
Scarlett does her best, though, smoothing her hands over his hair and whispering soothing words into his skin. Slowly, but surely, his pulse begins to slow and his heart begins to steady, his breaths come easier and his fingers find hers.
And, as he begins to calm, George presses his fingertips to her wrist, feeling the pulse that resides there, before smiling exhaustedly.
Scarlett saves him. Each and every time.
End.