Challenge: Ice and Pinecone
They are surrounded.
The wolves are all around them and the entrance of the cave is blocked. The beasts are unnaturally big and have a vicious look to them; there's no doubt in John's mind that they are of a paranormal nature.
"Keep calm everyone." He says softly, his body relaxed to project a calm aura towards the animals. "Do not engage unless you have no other choice, it will only rile them up more."
For all his efforts, not everyone is handling the situation as well as he is and it's starting to show; the wolves are growling more and creeping closer in a threating manner.
"Be calm." He breaths out.
John breaths in, no one but him knows there's a slight shake with his hands.
-.-.-.-
He likes to call the B.P.R.D.'s Antarctica base, the "Ice Cube". It feels like one, it almost looks like one too and it's always so god damed cold. John never complains out loud but he hates it; the place, the cold, the people. He hates them all.
He misses Oklahoma and Ponca city. The plains of his childhood home and the warmth of the sun kissing his skin. He misses his siblings.
But that was a long time ago, he's always missed that, the only difference is that now he also misses the dark, broody place that is the B.P.R.D. base of New York.
Liz, Hellboy, Abe…
He's always been a bit of a loner and never would've imagined he could be friends with these wonderful creatures people, but he is. He was at least; he hopes he still is. As gloomy as the other base was, it was warm with feeling; this place is so cold all the time.
John rolls in bed and tries to huddle closer to maximize his body's heat. He sighs and tries to make a list of the things he actually does like with his new position. It's not very long but he's tired of being unhappy and complaining in his head.
Oklahoma invades his head again and even further back he can almost see the Kansas farm in his mind's eye. He smiles at the thought of his many siblings and wonders what became of their lives.
-.-.-.-
He knows that it was unavoidable, he had seen it in the younger's agent's moves, in the way they crooked their rifles, how the animals tensed their hind legs to pounce.
There was no getting out of the cave without a fight. So much for a recon mission.
Everything is so loud then; the men are screaming, guns crackling and the wolves snarling, their fanged snouts open in a display of aggressive confrontation.
There are too many wolves.
He stops for a fraction of a second as one of the beasts tears open the throat of agent Wood. Her blood splatters all around as she chokes with the effort to scream and breath. Her blood is on his face.
It's just one second; it's enough of a second.
-.-.-.-
"Myers!" He feels the object flying towards his head and only his reflexes save him last minute before the projectile hits him. Raising his hand he catches it and John is surprised when he feels the lightness of the thing.
There's a pinecone in his hand, very small and round in shape. The FBI agent raises his head and Scarface is giving
him a crooked grin.
"You ready to leave?" Asks the other but John looks down at his hand again.
"Where did you get a pinecone in Antarctica?" He's got a puzzled look on his face.
Scarface laughs good-naturedly but doesn't find it important to answer.
"Come on, Captn`. We gotta get movin'." John rolls his eyes at the veteran.
"I've been ready for twenty minutes, you have no right to hurry me now."
The older man can't help but laugh again and Myers can't help but smile at that; it's a full, warm sound and it's a struggle not to join in.
"Okay, okay. Let's go." John says as he stands up.
"Hey, if we do this nice and fast," Scarface pats him on the back with force "We might even be back in time for dinner." He grins shark-like and the four lines on his face stretch. John is suddenly grateful for his presence; he'd go crazy in this goddamed box if it weren't for the man.
"Maybe." John smiles lightly as they walk towards the trucks.
-.-.-.-
The wolf drags him into a crack in the ice mountain. The paws of the rest of the pack scatter around the snow as they travel the white dunes. The entrance is narrow and there's suddenly a lack of snow on his back; ice covered rocks pave the floor making bumps beneath him and scratching his back with their sharp edges. It's awful to realize that his pain can still increase.
The passage turns suddenly into an open space, cavern-like.
If his breath were not gone already, the place itself would've taken it away. It's beautiful. The structure is ancient and it shines fractured light all around. There are buildings carved from ice and rock that merge to the walls of the mountain.
The wolf that drags him adjusts its hold on his leg and bites down harder. John gasps a soft cry; he doesn't have the strength for more. The movement continues as he slides limply across the unforgiving land.
He chokes back a sob, everyone is dead, all mauled to death by paranormal beasts. Scarface's blank bloodied face imprinted on his mind's eye as are the rest of the torn bodies. John knows there's blood and guts on his back from when the wolves dragged him out of the cave.
He wonders why they hadn't finished him off with the others.
-.-.-.-
The trip is a quiet affair, the soft chattering of some of the agents and the constant rumble of the truck lull John into a peaceful state. As much as he hates all these ice and snow he can never quite hate the desolate panorama at the end of the earth.
He looks outside through a small window and he can only think of how beautiful it is.
He's been thinking about calling the guys at the old base, it would be nice and it's been a while. He misses them; they're the only people he misses that he can still contact, they only ones who aren't dead.
Once he swallows all of his self-pity he will call them.
John looks at Scarface and hides a smile behind his hand as the veteran silently mimics a conversation of two young agents, added silly looks and all. He punches him lightly on the shoulder to make him stop, no need to make a scene.
-.-.-.-
He can't move, it's too painful, but he feels something… there's something in his left pocket, he can't tell what it is.
It's getting colder by the minute; John just realizes all of his aches are slowly disappearing into a dull numbness. That's not good.
The wolves have left; he's all alone now.
It's sad really, to think he would've rather have the wolves stay; he doesn't like being alone. He's had months of accumulating the feeling and it's not fair. He had decided he'd mend himself, that he would make his word less bleak than it seemed. He just needed more time.
Also… there's a pinecone in his pocket.
References:
-John used to live in Kansas until the disappearance of his father and the subsequent separation of him and his siblings.
-He then moved to Oklahoma with his uncle Thaddeus.
-Al the crossed things are things he thinks or wants that he doesn't allow himself to think too deeply about.
-.-.-.-
Abril: This is a challenge between Shadow-ying and me, we had to give the other an element and a natural object and just, spun a story out of it. This should've been published AGES AGO.
This actually is part of a multi-chapter story I never got to finish (and publish). It may be a bit confusing so ask me if something isn't clear.
P.S. I just realized Fan Fiction doesn't let me cross text so there are some things that might be lost in the narration.