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.
Ruth had seen her leave.
A clumsy stumbling sound from the stairwell had drawn her from the kitchen, leaving Jedediah with his half-made omelets. She crept quietly down the corridor and poked her head around the corner; the girl with spiky blonde hair -- Gage, or something masculine like that -- was hurriedly buttoning her jeans, clasping a red shirt in her hand and wearing nothing else but a black bra.
"Son of a bitch," she was cursing loudly as she stormed for the lobby doors. "Son of a fucking BITCH." Ruth frowned in confusion, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why that girl (whom she didn't care for much at all) was half-clothed in their hotel so early in the morning. Gage-or-whatever paused briefly by the doors to pull on the rest of her clothes, but before she did so something caught her attention. Halfway in and out of her shirt, she peered at something apparently on the skin of her collarbone; Ruth saw her face twist in disgust and surprise as she looked wildly over the rest of her body. "Oh, holy hell!" Ruth was far enough away to avoid being seen, but not too far away to miss the large purple mark that Gage was furious about; something inside her went cold at the thought of what it might mean. Meanwhile, the girl angrily struggled the rest of the way into her shirt and stalked out.
"What have we here?" Ruth whispered softly to herself.
"Ruth?" Jedediah's tentative voice made her jump and whirl. His curly head was poking out of the kitchen. "I need help setting the table for breakfast. Micah --" He hesitated, then finished carefully, "Micah has asked not to be disturbed this morning." Ruth's brows met in a slow, deliberate frown -- and suddenly she wasn't confused.
"I see," she said simply, and brushed past him into the kitchen.
Micah slowly pulled his pants on, staring at the black material but not really seeing it at all.
"What did I do wrong?" he murmured to himself. "I did everything you said, I followed orders exactly, I did my very best -- so why did she run?"
Women are weak creatures, my child. And thus did Eve allow herself to be tempted by the serpent and lured from the Garden of Eden...
Micah zipped up his pants and buttoned them as expertly as she'd undid them the night before, nearly allowing his face to warm at the thought. He caught himself just in time.
"Will I be punished for my failure, Lord?" The question came out slow and tentative, as he was intensely afraid of the answer; as heavily as Gabe's exit was weighing on his mind, the idea of going back to that unexplainable place of pain was just a little more pressing.
No, Micah... you will not be punished. Because this is exactly as I have planned. You will follow the girl.
"But she said --"
You will follow the girl and charm her once again. She is vulnerable. She is tender. She is WEAK. You need merely to use your pretty words to make her docile again... and from there I will instruct you further. For now, follow the girl... find the girl... and make her yours again. If she is unwilling to cooperate... make her realize that she already IS yours, and always will be.
Micah waited, his hand on his black shirt, waiting for more. The sermon was somehow inspiring him to skip breakfast and find her now.
Go, Micah.
He whipped the shirt off the bed and went stealthily for the door, moving with the grace of someone who is very powerful and very aware of it.
"She is weak," he echoed softly, and slipped away into the halls of the hotel.
"Where the fuck have you BEEN?!"
Gabe winced in response and shut the door behind her. It had been a sneaky, yet obviously unsuccessful attempt to get in past Jeremy, who was now storming towards her. Great, she thought sourly. This is exactly what I need right now, something ELSE with a penis to piss me off.
"I stayed out last night," she quipped easily, tilting her head back to meet Jeremy's angry green eyes with her cool blue ones. His nostrils were flaring. They only flared when he was really hocked off about something.
"Oh, good," he snapped with a note of sarcasm that just wasn't quite hidden. "I hope you had a wonderful time!"
"You have no idea," Gabe muttered, and began to slip past him up the stairs. He shot out an arm and slammed his open palm against the wall, blocking her way; she looked at his livid face in genuine surprise. He'd never been this angry before. And his expression of such was not going unnoted; there were some small children in the living room peering over the back of the couch with wide eyes. A few older girls who had been quite wrapped up in cleaning the kitchen were now watching unabated, the dishrags forgotten in their hands and bleeding dirty tapwater all over the table.
"I'm really fucking glad you're so cheerful this morning," Jeremy spat heatedly in her face, bringing her attention away from the onlookers and back to the situation at hand. "I thought you were dead, Gabe, do you understand that? I thought those crazy fuckers had put you up on a cross just like they did to half of the rest of our families --"
"Yeah, well, they didn't." Another brief glance around brougth Gabe's decision firmly into place. She was not going to discuss this out here. Yes, she was at fault, but the children did not need to see them bickering when they were supposed to be the leaders, the two strongest links in their already weakening chain. They would take this elsewhere. "Let's go upstairs, Jeremy, okay? We could --"
"I think we can discuss this right here! Gabe, do you understand how serious this is?! When we live where we do --"
"I know."
"With the freaks that we do --"
"I know."
"Precautions need to be taken, Gabe!" That was it. Her patience was spent. It was another of the countless times in the past few days she'd been spoken to like a child, and she was sick of it.
"I'm going upstairs," Gabe hissed through clenched teeth. "I'd really rather you not follow me." She pushed his arm away from the wall harshly and started up the steps, but Jeremy's reflexes were quick; he followed her up the stairs and seized her left shoulder, yanking her back hard enough to pull down the collar of her shirt just slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it sharply the moment his eyes fell on the angry reddish-purple mark adorning her collarbone. There was a long, tense moment of silence.
"Where were you last night?" Jeremy asked at last, his tone a quiet threat.
"I went to town," she said, not untruthfully, and pulled away so hard he fell down the few steps he'd climbed after her. Before he could do much else, Gabe was up the staircase and heading to the bedroom, but not to stay -- she slipped out the window to the gentle slope of the roof, then shimmied down the gutter a short distance to the ground, hitting it at a dead run.
She had to go someplace she wouldn't be found.
Gabe immediately changed direction and headed for the cornfield.
Micah clasped his hands carefully behind his back. She was already deep into the fields, running blindly, this he knew. It was just a matter of time before he caught up with her. Then he would twist her again, bend her until she broke, make her surrender to the will of He Who Walks Behind The Rows and do her rightful work --
He stopped.
She was crying.
"God dammit, stop crying," Gabe half-gasped, half-sobbed to herself; she had finally stopped running once she had no idea where she was and resigned herself to bending over, her hands on her knees, her tears flowing freely from her cheeks to the husk-littered earth. She had no idea when she'd started, but now it seemed unable to stop -- Micah's harsh words had done the first amount of damage, but Jeremy's blow was the most brutal. He had been her friend for God knew how long, and in one night he turned from the one thing she still believed in to an accusatory, snarling enemy. Because she hadn't told him where she was going, because he wanted to monitor her like a child. And because she'd fucked one of the Children of the Corn. Everything was just... not right. "God dammit," Gabe whispered again, and slowly sank to the ground, her knees hitting it with a dull thud. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought hazily, then buried her face in her hands.
Micah stared at her from behind the shelter of the stalks a few feet away; she was on the ground now, crying quietly into her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly with the force. His face was slack, not betraying any emotion, but in all honesty... he felt something. And it scared him beyond belief.
Micah, don't forget your quest... charm her, bring her back, make her yours. She is the one who is weak, Micah... not you. Don't let her make you weak.
"Yes, Lord," he mumbled, but there was a small, hurtful twinge in his chest that was hard to ignore. Micah began slipping towards her, ready to charm her, bring her back, make her his... and she looked up with tearful blue eyes, her face tense, the painful-looking marks on her neck standing out harshly against her skin. The twinge in his chest became a twist of pain.
There was a long moment where they did nothing but stare at each other.
Gabe looked up at him, angry at herself for being caught in a moment of weakness and even angrier at him for finding her this way. But she wouldn't falter; her face stayed calm and cool, despite the tears pouring down it, and -- ever so slightly -- she tipped her chin back. Just a touch of defiance. She would not give in to him. Not again. And if he didn't like it -- just let him try to make a sacrifice. She'd take him down with her.
After a very long, very uneasy moment, he stepped even closer... and dropped to his knees before her.
Micah had no idea what he was doing. He waited for His voice to guide him or for His essence to flow through him, expecting that he was being controlled by a higher power at the moment, but a second of rational thought revealed he was not -- he was on his own. It was of his own free will (and still arguably not) that Micah was reaching towards her now, sliding his arms around her, pulling the archangel close to his chest and holding her there. She began to make a noise -- of protest or defeat, he couldn't tell which -- but Micah felt the urgent need to make her silent, to make her better, and on an impulse he slid a slow hand into her hair. It had been spiked up the night before in an effort to appear somewhat rebellious, but the following events had flattened it, softened it, made it nicer to the touch. He supposed there was symbolism there, but everything was much too blurry to analyze right now.
Another uncomfortable stretch of time passed before the archangel embraced him in return.
Gabe had fought it as long as she could, but it was just so damn easy to feel good in his arms that she slid her own around his thin, black-clad body; she lifted her head to meet his lips in one slow, careful kiss before lowering it to his shoulder and enjoying the feel of his body against hers, the rhythmic touch of his fingers in her hair, the soothing sound of his measured breaths. This was utterly wrong. Utterly wrong, and twisted, and stupid...
And for the moment, she didn't care.
For the moment, she was his.
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.
Ruth had seen her leave.
A clumsy stumbling sound from the stairwell had drawn her from the kitchen, leaving Jedediah with his half-made omelets. She crept quietly down the corridor and poked her head around the corner; the girl with spiky blonde hair -- Gage, or something masculine like that -- was hurriedly buttoning her jeans, clasping a red shirt in her hand and wearing nothing else but a black bra.
"Son of a bitch," she was cursing loudly as she stormed for the lobby doors. "Son of a fucking BITCH." Ruth frowned in confusion, trying to figure out what exactly was going on and why that girl (whom she didn't care for much at all) was half-clothed in their hotel so early in the morning. Gage-or-whatever paused briefly by the doors to pull on the rest of her clothes, but before she did so something caught her attention. Halfway in and out of her shirt, she peered at something apparently on the skin of her collarbone; Ruth saw her face twist in disgust and surprise as she looked wildly over the rest of her body. "Oh, holy hell!" Ruth was far enough away to avoid being seen, but not too far away to miss the large purple mark that Gage was furious about; something inside her went cold at the thought of what it might mean. Meanwhile, the girl angrily struggled the rest of the way into her shirt and stalked out.
"What have we here?" Ruth whispered softly to herself.
"Ruth?" Jedediah's tentative voice made her jump and whirl. His curly head was poking out of the kitchen. "I need help setting the table for breakfast. Micah --" He hesitated, then finished carefully, "Micah has asked not to be disturbed this morning." Ruth's brows met in a slow, deliberate frown -- and suddenly she wasn't confused.
"I see," she said simply, and brushed past him into the kitchen.
Micah slowly pulled his pants on, staring at the black material but not really seeing it at all.
"What did I do wrong?" he murmured to himself. "I did everything you said, I followed orders exactly, I did my very best -- so why did she run?"
Women are weak creatures, my child. And thus did Eve allow herself to be tempted by the serpent and lured from the Garden of Eden...
Micah zipped up his pants and buttoned them as expertly as she'd undid them the night before, nearly allowing his face to warm at the thought. He caught himself just in time.
"Will I be punished for my failure, Lord?" The question came out slow and tentative, as he was intensely afraid of the answer; as heavily as Gabe's exit was weighing on his mind, the idea of going back to that unexplainable place of pain was just a little more pressing.
No, Micah... you will not be punished. Because this is exactly as I have planned. You will follow the girl.
"But she said --"
You will follow the girl and charm her once again. She is vulnerable. She is tender. She is WEAK. You need merely to use your pretty words to make her docile again... and from there I will instruct you further. For now, follow the girl... find the girl... and make her yours again. If she is unwilling to cooperate... make her realize that she already IS yours, and always will be.
Micah waited, his hand on his black shirt, waiting for more. The sermon was somehow inspiring him to skip breakfast and find her now.
Go, Micah.
He whipped the shirt off the bed and went stealthily for the door, moving with the grace of someone who is very powerful and very aware of it.
"She is weak," he echoed softly, and slipped away into the halls of the hotel.
"Where the fuck have you BEEN?!"
Gabe winced in response and shut the door behind her. It had been a sneaky, yet obviously unsuccessful attempt to get in past Jeremy, who was now storming towards her. Great, she thought sourly. This is exactly what I need right now, something ELSE with a penis to piss me off.
"I stayed out last night," she quipped easily, tilting her head back to meet Jeremy's angry green eyes with her cool blue ones. His nostrils were flaring. They only flared when he was really hocked off about something.
"Oh, good," he snapped with a note of sarcasm that just wasn't quite hidden. "I hope you had a wonderful time!"
"You have no idea," Gabe muttered, and began to slip past him up the stairs. He shot out an arm and slammed his open palm against the wall, blocking her way; she looked at his livid face in genuine surprise. He'd never been this angry before. And his expression of such was not going unnoted; there were some small children in the living room peering over the back of the couch with wide eyes. A few older girls who had been quite wrapped up in cleaning the kitchen were now watching unabated, the dishrags forgotten in their hands and bleeding dirty tapwater all over the table.
"I'm really fucking glad you're so cheerful this morning," Jeremy spat heatedly in her face, bringing her attention away from the onlookers and back to the situation at hand. "I thought you were dead, Gabe, do you understand that? I thought those crazy fuckers had put you up on a cross just like they did to half of the rest of our families --"
"Yeah, well, they didn't." Another brief glance around brougth Gabe's decision firmly into place. She was not going to discuss this out here. Yes, she was at fault, but the children did not need to see them bickering when they were supposed to be the leaders, the two strongest links in their already weakening chain. They would take this elsewhere. "Let's go upstairs, Jeremy, okay? We could --"
"I think we can discuss this right here! Gabe, do you understand how serious this is?! When we live where we do --"
"I know."
"With the freaks that we do --"
"I know."
"Precautions need to be taken, Gabe!" That was it. Her patience was spent. It was another of the countless times in the past few days she'd been spoken to like a child, and she was sick of it.
"I'm going upstairs," Gabe hissed through clenched teeth. "I'd really rather you not follow me." She pushed his arm away from the wall harshly and started up the steps, but Jeremy's reflexes were quick; he followed her up the stairs and seized her left shoulder, yanking her back hard enough to pull down the collar of her shirt just slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it sharply the moment his eyes fell on the angry reddish-purple mark adorning her collarbone. There was a long, tense moment of silence.
"Where were you last night?" Jeremy asked at last, his tone a quiet threat.
"I went to town," she said, not untruthfully, and pulled away so hard he fell down the few steps he'd climbed after her. Before he could do much else, Gabe was up the staircase and heading to the bedroom, but not to stay -- she slipped out the window to the gentle slope of the roof, then shimmied down the gutter a short distance to the ground, hitting it at a dead run.
She had to go someplace she wouldn't be found.
Gabe immediately changed direction and headed for the cornfield.
Micah clasped his hands carefully behind his back. She was already deep into the fields, running blindly, this he knew. It was just a matter of time before he caught up with her. Then he would twist her again, bend her until she broke, make her surrender to the will of He Who Walks Behind The Rows and do her rightful work --
He stopped.
She was crying.
"God dammit, stop crying," Gabe half-gasped, half-sobbed to herself; she had finally stopped running once she had no idea where she was and resigned herself to bending over, her hands on her knees, her tears flowing freely from her cheeks to the husk-littered earth. She had no idea when she'd started, but now it seemed unable to stop -- Micah's harsh words had done the first amount of damage, but Jeremy's blow was the most brutal. He had been her friend for God knew how long, and in one night he turned from the one thing she still believed in to an accusatory, snarling enemy. Because she hadn't told him where she was going, because he wanted to monitor her like a child. And because she'd fucked one of the Children of the Corn. Everything was just... not right. "God dammit," Gabe whispered again, and slowly sank to the ground, her knees hitting it with a dull thud. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought hazily, then buried her face in her hands.
Micah stared at her from behind the shelter of the stalks a few feet away; she was on the ground now, crying quietly into her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly with the force. His face was slack, not betraying any emotion, but in all honesty... he felt something. And it scared him beyond belief.
Micah, don't forget your quest... charm her, bring her back, make her yours. She is the one who is weak, Micah... not you. Don't let her make you weak.
"Yes, Lord," he mumbled, but there was a small, hurtful twinge in his chest that was hard to ignore. Micah began slipping towards her, ready to charm her, bring her back, make her his... and she looked up with tearful blue eyes, her face tense, the painful-looking marks on her neck standing out harshly against her skin. The twinge in his chest became a twist of pain.
There was a long moment where they did nothing but stare at each other.
Gabe looked up at him, angry at herself for being caught in a moment of weakness and even angrier at him for finding her this way. But she wouldn't falter; her face stayed calm and cool, despite the tears pouring down it, and -- ever so slightly -- she tipped her chin back. Just a touch of defiance. She would not give in to him. Not again. And if he didn't like it -- just let him try to make a sacrifice. She'd take him down with her.
After a very long, very uneasy moment, he stepped even closer... and dropped to his knees before her.
Micah had no idea what he was doing. He waited for His voice to guide him or for His essence to flow through him, expecting that he was being controlled by a higher power at the moment, but a second of rational thought revealed he was not -- he was on his own. It was of his own free will (and still arguably not) that Micah was reaching towards her now, sliding his arms around her, pulling the archangel close to his chest and holding her there. She began to make a noise -- of protest or defeat, he couldn't tell which -- but Micah felt the urgent need to make her silent, to make her better, and on an impulse he slid a slow hand into her hair. It had been spiked up the night before in an effort to appear somewhat rebellious, but the following events had flattened it, softened it, made it nicer to the touch. He supposed there was symbolism there, but everything was much too blurry to analyze right now.
Another uncomfortable stretch of time passed before the archangel embraced him in return.
Gabe had fought it as long as she could, but it was just so damn easy to feel good in his arms that she slid her own around his thin, black-clad body; she lifted her head to meet his lips in one slow, careful kiss before lowering it to his shoulder and enjoying the feel of his body against hers, the rhythmic touch of his fingers in her hair, the soothing sound of his measured breaths. This was utterly wrong. Utterly wrong, and twisted, and stupid...
And for the moment, she didn't care.
For the moment, she was his.