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Ficlet: My Bloody Valentine/SPN (PG)
Ummm.. These characters are not mine and this is all
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varkelton ’s fault. She wanted comfort!fic after the movie and... I'm pretty sure this isn't what she had in mind.
Tom pulled the mask off as he trudged up over the crest of the hill, suddenly desperate for clean, fresh air. The mine was behind him now, and he couldn’t quite remember why that was so important, couldn’t quite figure out why he was sure he didn’t want to look back into the valley behind him.
Instead, he pushed himself hard, heading out into the forest single-mindedly, letting the careful placement of each step, the bend of each branch and the scuff of the leaves beneath his feet take the place of thought, letting his mind just go.
He found himself on the ridge-line just as dusk started to fall, his muscles burning and his breath coming in harsh pants. He had no idea when he’d started running, but the sweat now rapidly chilling his body indicated it had been a while. Inexorably, his gaze drifted back toward the valley floor, toward the mine and tunnel number five.
His eyes wouldn’t focus in that direction; all he saw was a haze of glowing red, misty and murky and dense. Sunset colors, but the mine was east of thim now, and there was no light. Still he stared, watching the color crawl along the valley floor without really seeing any of it.
There was a soft rustling behind him. It was probably a bird - he’d been still enough for one to settle on his head – but the hairs on the back of his neck rose at the sound, gooseflesh breaking out all along his arms.
The wind picked up as he turned around slowly. The sun’s last rays were sinking below the horizon, painting the ridge with ruby and orange-jeweled light, nothing like what he’d been watching on the valley floor. Silhouetted in that flaming light was a figure, standing less that three feet away, arms outstretched as if to catch the last of the sun with the cape that covered his shoulders.
Tom didn’t jump. Part of him thought he should, but instead he folded gracelessly to his knees, his head staying up, unable to shift his eyes away from the spectacle before him. The man gestured toward him, beckoning him to rise, his cape shifting and rustling oddly, almost like it had muscles of its own, like it was a part of the man.
Unable to resist, Tom rose and stepped forward, stopping only when he was so close he could feel the rise and fall of the other man’s chest displacing the air against his own. The man folded his arms around Tom, surrounding him with warmth, cutting off the mountain wind and more, stilling the currents that were always swirling in his mind. Silky feathers shifted against Tom’s face, sushing and soothing him, and he felt the light of the sun start to creep into his bones, into his soul.
Tom floated, lost in the strongest sensations of protection and home he’d ever felt. They surged through and around him, making his nerves sing, the sensations sinking deep into his bones. After a long time, Castiel released him a fraction, bringing his hands up gently toward Tom’s face. Quietly, so soft Tom almost missed it in the swirl of warmth and light, Castiel said, “It’s time for you to come home, Tom Hanniger,” and in a single, fluid motion, he snapped Tom’s neck.
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It's possible you also asked for other things that I, possibly, failed to give you, but you can't have everything, damnit! Besides I was fast: we'd barely been out of the movie 2 hours when I posted this, and we all know certain sacrifices have to be made for that kind of speed...
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[is still incoherent five minutes later]
There are so beautifully many variations of how this could be interpreted if one makes the Tom-Dean connection. And they all hurt.
Not that this doesn't ache without going there at all.
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::shudders::
(And hey there! Thanks for like, plowing through my journal, devouring my fic and leaving such lovely comments. It's been easily the best part of my week.)
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Welcome!