Title: Hell on Earth
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
Gabe ran her fingers lightly over Jeremy's neck.
"Hold still," she urged as he squirmed under her touch. "I have to see these bruises. They might be better off with an icepack instead of a compress -- dammit, Jeremy, I told you to hold still!"
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away. Gabe reached for a rubbery blue icepack and gently pressed it against his swollen neck. She knew his pride was what was smarting most, but he'd never admit it. Jeremy's eyes were cloudy with pain and shame; she could almost see the black hatred for Micah bubbling just beneath the surface. Her own feelings were... conflicted. No, not conflicted, just -- well, she didn't feel like talking about it.
"Didn't I tell you not to make him angry?" Gabe murmured. She sat back as he took the icepack himself, glaring at the floor. "Before he got there, I told you not to be too offensive, but you went right ahead half-cocked and --"
"I know what happened," Jeremy snarled. "I was there, wasn't I?!" She stared at him, then slowly crossed her arms.
"You're snapping at me like this is my fault," Gabe said quietly.
"No, I'm not!" He paused, then growled softly. "Okay, so I'm a little uptight. Can you blame me?" She began examining her nails idly, hating how the paint was chipped halfway to the cuticle. Normally, they would've been re-painted in three different colors by now, but Micah had made a point of destroying all the cosmetics, nailpolish included. It was by mere chance that she'd had a small bag of emergency supplies hidden under her mattress.
"Just a bit, yes," she mumbled. Jeremy's scowl darkened; he resituated the icepack on his neck and regarded her carefully.
"You can't tell me you don't find Michael responsible for any of this?" he asked darkly.
"Micah," Gabe corrected absently, and blushed. "Well, yeah, of course, but --"
"No, Gabe," Jeremy snapped. "No but. He's a psychotic, twisted, sick, killer, there is no but."
"Jer," she protested, but was cut off when he grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned close.
"Do you remember Edith?" he asked in a tone of quiet anger. "Do you? She was a good person, Gabe. She never did anything to hurt anyone in her entire life, then Michael came into town and had her killed without a second thought. He didn't even know her, and he took her life. Is that fair? Is that right?" Jeremy stared at her hard as Gabe shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered.
"Of course not," she whispered. "I understand that. I'm not an idiot." When she looked up, their faces were still dangerously close, and for one long moment she thought they were going to kiss. Then he released her shoulders and leaned back, crossing his arms moodily.
"Good," he said bluntly. Jeremy pulled himself from the couch, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "So next time you decide you want to make googly eyes at the head of the Massacre Committee, remember that."
Jedediah poked nervously at his food.
"Are you sure this isn't sacrilige?" he asked meekly. Micah calmly placed a forkful of some sort of chicken casserole in his mouth. They had all found, with mild surprise, that they liked the stuff.
"I have consulted with the Lord," he murmured after chewing carefully. "There is no blasphemy in eating what he has laid out for us." There was a murmur of quiet agreement from the children around them; the Hemmingford followers were more than happy to stumble upon the hotel's large supply of food. The stuff they'd found in the spacious white kitchen was so much different from the bland things they survived on in Gatlin. Food still had to be rationed, of course, but at least dinner was something they could look forward to. Jedediah had proved to be a surprisingly good chef.
"If the Lord has approved it," he said, obviously relieved, then snapped his head up. He'd glimpsed someone walking down the street out of the corner of his eye -- the window he sat at had a perfect view of the center of town. Jed set down his plate and pushed the curtain back slightly. "Micah," he called softly.
"Hm?" Jedediah looked up and found with some amusement that their almighty leader had a generous amount of brown sauce running down his chin. Knowing he'd probably be punished for it later, he found it too funny to spoil and didn't mention it.
"When did you say children weren't allowed to leave their houses?" he asked, concealing his smile with a bit of difficulty. Micah busied himself with his food again and speared a piece of chicken with his fork.
"9 p.m. or after the harvest is done," he answered absently. "Why?" Jed raised a hand and pointed past the curtains.
"There goes one of the locals. Looks like she's heading towards the school." He squinted a little as Micah got to his feet and joined him at the window. "Is she wearing the clothes you described in the dress code...?"
"No," Micah growled quietly. "No, she's not." Jedediah glanced up at him, looking expectantly at the pale face that belonged to their leader.
"And she's out after hours," he finally prompted, unnerved by the lack of action.
"Indeed she is," the leader said bluntly. There was another long moment of silence before Ruth spoke from behind him.
"Aren't you going to take care of her?" Her voice was soft and tenative, but just enough to get Micah going at last.
"Yes I am." He turned away from the window and headed out the door, leaving his chicken casserole on the table the children had dragged into the lobby. Ruth and Jedediah watched as the black-clad figure slid effortlessly into step behind the girl; they both knew he was quiet enough to avoid being noticed until he wished to be.
"Something's wrong," Jed said at last.
"What do you mean?" Ruth looked down at him with a little frown, and the curly-haired boy chewed his lower lip slightly.
"He flinched." He shrugged, trying to appear casual, but it was hard to hide the worried line that was forming between his brows. Ruth's frown deepened; she looked from him to the shadowy form of Micah, then back to Jed again.
"So?" she demanded. Jedediah took his gaze from her to watch Micah follow the girl down the road, as stealthy as a tiger stalking its prey. After a moment, he looked back up at her and cocked a brow in skepticism.
"Have you ever seen Micah flinch?"
Gabe had a prickly feeling at the base of her spine, but every time she looked over her shoulder the road seemed to mock her with its emptiness. There was no one following her, even though it certainly felt like it.
"Going nuts," she mumbled to herself, and picked up the pace.
Micah found it immensely irritating that he had to duck behind the nearest building every time that stupid girl glanced over her shoulder. In fact, the whole situation had him generously pissed off. First she wore forbidden cosmetics, then she snuck out after hours, and now she was wearing clothes he had been sure he'd burnt? The voices in his head were right, this girl was a threat. But he'd dealt with threats before -- in fact, he'd had the earth swallow them like candies by a child. Surely this one would be a piece of cake.
"Get where you're going, you bitch," he muttered, and was forced to hide behind a large blue mailbox when she turned around again.
After nearly five minutes of paranoid walking and glancing, Gabe came to a stop in front of the high school. She slowly sat on the short brick wall that jutted out from the building that housed the auditorium, looking slowly over the place she'd been dreading her return to that fall. Summer vacation was only two weeks from ending before the insane children had run their town; now it was only a week from the start of school, but she knew -- with a bittersweet smirk -- that it wouldn't be opening as she'd dreaded. It would stay closed and locked, dark and burnt black from where the leader of the children had thrown his corn-stalk torches. The part that had fared the best was, surprisingly, her favorite -- the auditorium. Gabe had snuck out the night before too, just to see what hadn't been totally destroyed; the auditorium was only singed around the edges, and most of the chairs in the audience were still intact. Most of the black curtains looked like they hadn't been touched, but the large red curtain that hung in front was blackened and had a few holes here and there. It had saddened her more than she thought it could as she had stood there that night, staring at that battered red curtain in the darkened auditorium. Funny that it was still hard to cry for the lost adults, but the sight of a singed curtain could bring tears to her eyes.
"What time is it, Gabrielle?" a quiet voice asked from behind. Gabe was so startled she nearly fell off the wall. When she twisted and saw Micah, she set her jaw tightly and turned her back on him again, staring intently at the darkening sky.
"Wouldn't know," she said evenly. "Your cronies took my watch." The boy slowly walked around the wall and stood in front of her, his hands laced neatly behind his back.
"The sun has set," Micah responded, a soft kind of authority in his voice. Gabe began to glare at him, then noticed a smear of brown sauce on his chin; for some reason, it struck her as immensely funny and she had to cover her mouth before her snort turned into laughter. His dark brows met in a confused scowl. "What?"
"Your... chin," she managed, and snorted again. Micah touched his chin gingerly, saw the remains of chicken casserole on his fingertips, and immediately wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"You wouldn't laugh if you knew who you were dealing with, little archangel," he snarled. She stopped making strangled laughing noises and slowly straightened on her wall, her face hardening a little.
"Bite me, psychotic freak," she snapped crisply.
The insolence of this girl! The sheer disrespect! Micah felt his insides flare with hot anger, but he stepped slowly closer, determined not to let her see him falter.
"I believe I set a dress code as well as a curfew," he said coldly, and looked her over briefly. "As far as I can remember, ripped jeans and a shirt with swiss cheese on it were not deemed as acceptable."
"It's Spongebob Squarepants," Gabe said defensively. The anger was temporarily replaced with utter confusion.
"What?"
"Spongebob Squarepants," she said again, and pointed at the alleged swiss cheese on her red shirt. "A cartoon. On Nickelodeon?" When his only reponse was a blank stare, she lowered her hand with a sigh. "Forget it."
"You're out after the harvest," Micah growled, his anger returning again. "You're wearing banned clothes, and I'll judge by your hair that you have forbidden cosmetics as well." He stepped even closer, bending so his eyes were level with hers. "I would suggest you run along home and pray for forgiveness." Gabe kept her head lowered for a moment, then slowly tipped her chin up, her mouth set in a defiant line.
"To your God?" she asked softly. "I don't think so. And as far as I can tell, mine stopped listening about two weeks ago, so praying is pretty much out of the picture."
There was a very long moment of silence after she said those words, and for a second Gabe thought he was going to kill her right there. Then Micah slowly leaned even closer, his nose almost touching hers. The pause gave her a chance to really see his eyes for the first time, and how they weren't all dark -- they had tiny flecks of brown and green in them. For the second time that day, she thought she was going to be kissed.
"Be careful, Gabrielle," Micah said, his voice a deadly whisper. "Even angels have been known to fall." Suddenly, his hands shot out and shoved her off the wall; too surprised to react, Gabe could do nothing but fall hard on her rear end, letting out a small cry as she did so. Micah turned on his heel and began walking away, his hands neatly behind his back and a spring in his step. It took a second to get her wind back.
"You're just a big bully, aren't you?" she yelled after him. "Can't do anything better than push down girls to make them cry? Is that it?" When he didn't respond, Gabe got shakily to her feet and rubbed her aching rump sorely. She hadn't expected him to do that. With a wince, she turned slowly for the auditorium and headed inside.
Micah slowed his steps gradually, the initial satisfaction he'd gotten from the look on her face fading quickly. There had been pain in her voice, something that went deeper than how her tailbone must have hurt. And as much as he hated himself for it, it was bothering him.
"Have to take her back to the houses," he said firmly to himself. "She isn't supposed to be out after hours." And though the voices in his head screamed in protest, Micah slowly turned around and walked back to the auditorium.
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
Gabe ran her fingers lightly over Jeremy's neck.
"Hold still," she urged as he squirmed under her touch. "I have to see these bruises. They might be better off with an icepack instead of a compress -- dammit, Jeremy, I told you to hold still!"
"Sorry," he muttered, looking away. Gabe reached for a rubbery blue icepack and gently pressed it against his swollen neck. She knew his pride was what was smarting most, but he'd never admit it. Jeremy's eyes were cloudy with pain and shame; she could almost see the black hatred for Micah bubbling just beneath the surface. Her own feelings were... conflicted. No, not conflicted, just -- well, she didn't feel like talking about it.
"Didn't I tell you not to make him angry?" Gabe murmured. She sat back as he took the icepack himself, glaring at the floor. "Before he got there, I told you not to be too offensive, but you went right ahead half-cocked and --"
"I know what happened," Jeremy snarled. "I was there, wasn't I?!" She stared at him, then slowly crossed her arms.
"You're snapping at me like this is my fault," Gabe said quietly.
"No, I'm not!" He paused, then growled softly. "Okay, so I'm a little uptight. Can you blame me?" She began examining her nails idly, hating how the paint was chipped halfway to the cuticle. Normally, they would've been re-painted in three different colors by now, but Micah had made a point of destroying all the cosmetics, nailpolish included. It was by mere chance that she'd had a small bag of emergency supplies hidden under her mattress.
"Just a bit, yes," she mumbled. Jeremy's scowl darkened; he resituated the icepack on his neck and regarded her carefully.
"You can't tell me you don't find Michael responsible for any of this?" he asked darkly.
"Micah," Gabe corrected absently, and blushed. "Well, yeah, of course, but --"
"No, Gabe," Jeremy snapped. "No but. He's a psychotic, twisted, sick, killer, there is no but."
"Jer," she protested, but was cut off when he grabbed her by the shoulders and leaned close.
"Do you remember Edith?" he asked in a tone of quiet anger. "Do you? She was a good person, Gabe. She never did anything to hurt anyone in her entire life, then Michael came into town and had her killed without a second thought. He didn't even know her, and he took her life. Is that fair? Is that right?" Jeremy stared at her hard as Gabe shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered.
"Of course not," she whispered. "I understand that. I'm not an idiot." When she looked up, their faces were still dangerously close, and for one long moment she thought they were going to kiss. Then he released her shoulders and leaned back, crossing his arms moodily.
"Good," he said bluntly. Jeremy pulled himself from the couch, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. "So next time you decide you want to make googly eyes at the head of the Massacre Committee, remember that."
Jedediah poked nervously at his food.
"Are you sure this isn't sacrilige?" he asked meekly. Micah calmly placed a forkful of some sort of chicken casserole in his mouth. They had all found, with mild surprise, that they liked the stuff.
"I have consulted with the Lord," he murmured after chewing carefully. "There is no blasphemy in eating what he has laid out for us." There was a murmur of quiet agreement from the children around them; the Hemmingford followers were more than happy to stumble upon the hotel's large supply of food. The stuff they'd found in the spacious white kitchen was so much different from the bland things they survived on in Gatlin. Food still had to be rationed, of course, but at least dinner was something they could look forward to. Jedediah had proved to be a surprisingly good chef.
"If the Lord has approved it," he said, obviously relieved, then snapped his head up. He'd glimpsed someone walking down the street out of the corner of his eye -- the window he sat at had a perfect view of the center of town. Jed set down his plate and pushed the curtain back slightly. "Micah," he called softly.
"Hm?" Jedediah looked up and found with some amusement that their almighty leader had a generous amount of brown sauce running down his chin. Knowing he'd probably be punished for it later, he found it too funny to spoil and didn't mention it.
"When did you say children weren't allowed to leave their houses?" he asked, concealing his smile with a bit of difficulty. Micah busied himself with his food again and speared a piece of chicken with his fork.
"9 p.m. or after the harvest is done," he answered absently. "Why?" Jed raised a hand and pointed past the curtains.
"There goes one of the locals. Looks like she's heading towards the school." He squinted a little as Micah got to his feet and joined him at the window. "Is she wearing the clothes you described in the dress code...?"
"No," Micah growled quietly. "No, she's not." Jedediah glanced up at him, looking expectantly at the pale face that belonged to their leader.
"And she's out after hours," he finally prompted, unnerved by the lack of action.
"Indeed she is," the leader said bluntly. There was another long moment of silence before Ruth spoke from behind him.
"Aren't you going to take care of her?" Her voice was soft and tenative, but just enough to get Micah going at last.
"Yes I am." He turned away from the window and headed out the door, leaving his chicken casserole on the table the children had dragged into the lobby. Ruth and Jedediah watched as the black-clad figure slid effortlessly into step behind the girl; they both knew he was quiet enough to avoid being noticed until he wished to be.
"Something's wrong," Jed said at last.
"What do you mean?" Ruth looked down at him with a little frown, and the curly-haired boy chewed his lower lip slightly.
"He flinched." He shrugged, trying to appear casual, but it was hard to hide the worried line that was forming between his brows. Ruth's frown deepened; she looked from him to the shadowy form of Micah, then back to Jed again.
"So?" she demanded. Jedediah took his gaze from her to watch Micah follow the girl down the road, as stealthy as a tiger stalking its prey. After a moment, he looked back up at her and cocked a brow in skepticism.
"Have you ever seen Micah flinch?"
Gabe had a prickly feeling at the base of her spine, but every time she looked over her shoulder the road seemed to mock her with its emptiness. There was no one following her, even though it certainly felt like it.
"Going nuts," she mumbled to herself, and picked up the pace.
Micah found it immensely irritating that he had to duck behind the nearest building every time that stupid girl glanced over her shoulder. In fact, the whole situation had him generously pissed off. First she wore forbidden cosmetics, then she snuck out after hours, and now she was wearing clothes he had been sure he'd burnt? The voices in his head were right, this girl was a threat. But he'd dealt with threats before -- in fact, he'd had the earth swallow them like candies by a child. Surely this one would be a piece of cake.
"Get where you're going, you bitch," he muttered, and was forced to hide behind a large blue mailbox when she turned around again.
After nearly five minutes of paranoid walking and glancing, Gabe came to a stop in front of the high school. She slowly sat on the short brick wall that jutted out from the building that housed the auditorium, looking slowly over the place she'd been dreading her return to that fall. Summer vacation was only two weeks from ending before the insane children had run their town; now it was only a week from the start of school, but she knew -- with a bittersweet smirk -- that it wouldn't be opening as she'd dreaded. It would stay closed and locked, dark and burnt black from where the leader of the children had thrown his corn-stalk torches. The part that had fared the best was, surprisingly, her favorite -- the auditorium. Gabe had snuck out the night before too, just to see what hadn't been totally destroyed; the auditorium was only singed around the edges, and most of the chairs in the audience were still intact. Most of the black curtains looked like they hadn't been touched, but the large red curtain that hung in front was blackened and had a few holes here and there. It had saddened her more than she thought it could as she had stood there that night, staring at that battered red curtain in the darkened auditorium. Funny that it was still hard to cry for the lost adults, but the sight of a singed curtain could bring tears to her eyes.
"What time is it, Gabrielle?" a quiet voice asked from behind. Gabe was so startled she nearly fell off the wall. When she twisted and saw Micah, she set her jaw tightly and turned her back on him again, staring intently at the darkening sky.
"Wouldn't know," she said evenly. "Your cronies took my watch." The boy slowly walked around the wall and stood in front of her, his hands laced neatly behind his back.
"The sun has set," Micah responded, a soft kind of authority in his voice. Gabe began to glare at him, then noticed a smear of brown sauce on his chin; for some reason, it struck her as immensely funny and she had to cover her mouth before her snort turned into laughter. His dark brows met in a confused scowl. "What?"
"Your... chin," she managed, and snorted again. Micah touched his chin gingerly, saw the remains of chicken casserole on his fingertips, and immediately wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"You wouldn't laugh if you knew who you were dealing with, little archangel," he snarled. She stopped making strangled laughing noises and slowly straightened on her wall, her face hardening a little.
"Bite me, psychotic freak," she snapped crisply.
The insolence of this girl! The sheer disrespect! Micah felt his insides flare with hot anger, but he stepped slowly closer, determined not to let her see him falter.
"I believe I set a dress code as well as a curfew," he said coldly, and looked her over briefly. "As far as I can remember, ripped jeans and a shirt with swiss cheese on it were not deemed as acceptable."
"It's Spongebob Squarepants," Gabe said defensively. The anger was temporarily replaced with utter confusion.
"What?"
"Spongebob Squarepants," she said again, and pointed at the alleged swiss cheese on her red shirt. "A cartoon. On Nickelodeon?" When his only reponse was a blank stare, she lowered her hand with a sigh. "Forget it."
"You're out after the harvest," Micah growled, his anger returning again. "You're wearing banned clothes, and I'll judge by your hair that you have forbidden cosmetics as well." He stepped even closer, bending so his eyes were level with hers. "I would suggest you run along home and pray for forgiveness." Gabe kept her head lowered for a moment, then slowly tipped her chin up, her mouth set in a defiant line.
"To your God?" she asked softly. "I don't think so. And as far as I can tell, mine stopped listening about two weeks ago, so praying is pretty much out of the picture."
There was a very long moment of silence after she said those words, and for a second Gabe thought he was going to kill her right there. Then Micah slowly leaned even closer, his nose almost touching hers. The pause gave her a chance to really see his eyes for the first time, and how they weren't all dark -- they had tiny flecks of brown and green in them. For the second time that day, she thought she was going to be kissed.
"Be careful, Gabrielle," Micah said, his voice a deadly whisper. "Even angels have been known to fall." Suddenly, his hands shot out and shoved her off the wall; too surprised to react, Gabe could do nothing but fall hard on her rear end, letting out a small cry as she did so. Micah turned on his heel and began walking away, his hands neatly behind his back and a spring in his step. It took a second to get her wind back.
"You're just a big bully, aren't you?" she yelled after him. "Can't do anything better than push down girls to make them cry? Is that it?" When he didn't respond, Gabe got shakily to her feet and rubbed her aching rump sorely. She hadn't expected him to do that. With a wince, she turned slowly for the auditorium and headed inside.
Micah slowed his steps gradually, the initial satisfaction he'd gotten from the look on her face fading quickly. There had been pain in her voice, something that went deeper than how her tailbone must have hurt. And as much as he hated himself for it, it was bothering him.
"Have to take her back to the houses," he said firmly to himself. "She isn't supposed to be out after hours." And though the voices in his head screamed in protest, Micah slowly turned around and walked back to the auditorium.