til_it_aint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
til_it_aint) wrote2011-03-21 01:45 am
til_it_aint) wrote2011-03-21 01:45 am
(no subject)
[[There will be CANON here]]
Thunder rolls overhead, lightnin' flashin' bright, shines over what's left of th'cornfield. Ben's sprawled in the mud and it hurts, oh God oh fuck but it hurts like he'd never believed it could. Slittin' his own throat didn't even feel like this - this is a forever pain, a burnin' pain, it eats away at him and makes him wiggle like a worm on a goddamn hook in the middle of th'mud and th'rain and that's not even what hurts so bad, that's not even what eats away at him, it's th'fact that Justin's above him and he's won, he's raisin' the sickle high and it's already killed him, Ben thinks dizzily, bitin' into his shoulder and openin' his belly up to spill blue blood onto th'ground but Justin just wants t'make sure.
He's got both hands on the sickle. Raises it high.
Lightnin' flashes. Ben c'n see the tree tattoo, spreading branches.
A voice in his mind. A vision.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet.
How many goddamn times? How many times had he seen it? Heard it? And only now, seein' what he never seen before, does Ben know what it means. His hands fumble for th'dagger, only one hand workin', really, but it's enough and it grabs, it holds, and th'dagger almost leaps in his hand 'cause it knows where it's goin' and Ben's up, lunging, and it's hilt-deep in Justin's chest before th'preacher-man can even blink.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet. "Anointed...dagger..." he grits out, teeth clenched hard, hurts more'n anythin' he's fuckin felt in his life and he's fuckin' died, but this is it. He's winning. "Plunge...thee...deep!"
They fall together. Ben twists the knife as he falls, slams hard into th'ground with Justin underneath him and he's still twistin', even though the blood's pumpin' out like nothing livin' and Justin's face is surprised, waxy, still.
Dead.
Ben gets maybe three feet away, crawlin' on hands and knees, dagger wrapped in bloody fingers, before it's all just too damn much. He's leavin' a trail behind him, blue blood still pourin' from belly'n'shoulder and he thinks, maybe, this is really how it ends. Them killin' each other (grass changes under him but he doesn't notice, can't see much of anythin', now) and he don't know if it's that thought or the hurtin' or what but he's fallin', suddenly, fetchin' up against a tree (was there a tree there before?) and when he hits the ground it's just so fuckin' bad that he pukes, blood'n'bile spillin' down his front, makin' his head spin even more so that he thinks
oh
I'm fuckin' dying
and ain't that just one
big
fucking
joke
(were there always lights in the distance?)
Thunder rolls overhead, lightnin' flashin' bright, shines over what's left of th'cornfield. Ben's sprawled in the mud and it hurts, oh God oh fuck but it hurts like he'd never believed it could. Slittin' his own throat didn't even feel like this - this is a forever pain, a burnin' pain, it eats away at him and makes him wiggle like a worm on a goddamn hook in the middle of th'mud and th'rain and that's not even what hurts so bad, that's not even what eats away at him, it's th'fact that Justin's above him and he's won, he's raisin' the sickle high and it's already killed him, Ben thinks dizzily, bitin' into his shoulder and openin' his belly up to spill blue blood onto th'ground but Justin just wants t'make sure.
He's got both hands on the sickle. Raises it high.
Lightnin' flashes. Ben c'n see the tree tattoo, spreading branches.
A voice in his mind. A vision.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet.
How many goddamn times? How many times had he seen it? Heard it? And only now, seein' what he never seen before, does Ben know what it means. His hands fumble for th'dagger, only one hand workin', really, but it's enough and it grabs, it holds, and th'dagger almost leaps in his hand 'cause it knows where it's goin' and Ben's up, lunging, and it's hilt-deep in Justin's chest before th'preacher-man can even blink.
A dark heart dwells where twisted branches meet. "Anointed...dagger..." he grits out, teeth clenched hard, hurts more'n anythin' he's fuckin felt in his life and he's fuckin' died, but this is it. He's winning. "Plunge...thee...deep!"
They fall together. Ben twists the knife as he falls, slams hard into th'ground with Justin underneath him and he's still twistin', even though the blood's pumpin' out like nothing livin' and Justin's face is surprised, waxy, still.
Dead.
Ben gets maybe three feet away, crawlin' on hands and knees, dagger wrapped in bloody fingers, before it's all just too damn much. He's leavin' a trail behind him, blue blood still pourin' from belly'n'shoulder and he thinks, maybe, this is really how it ends. Them killin' each other (grass changes under him but he doesn't notice, can't see much of anythin', now) and he don't know if it's that thought or the hurtin' or what but he's fallin', suddenly, fetchin' up against a tree (was there a tree there before?) and when he hits the ground it's just so fuckin' bad that he pukes, blood'n'bile spillin' down his front, makin' his head spin even more so that he thinks
oh
I'm fuckin' dying
and ain't that just one
big
fucking
joke
(were there always lights in the distance?)
(sounds like laughter, spilling from a bar?)
Not that it matters.
Not that much matters, anymore.
Ben thinks, with the last shreds of consciousness available to him, that he wouldn't so much mind dying, if only it didn't hurt so much.
no subject
They start moving together, her arms wrapped tight around him, holding him snug. Shuffling steps that don't seem quite right but they're moving, slow and steady, little by little. And that's good enough for her.
She's covered in him. Inside and out, coated in his warmth, in the trembling skins of him. She can feel his labored breaths on her flesh, the pinch of her hair caught under his arm, the way her fingers stick to everything they touch. She has him, she is him, he is her, and in this moment they can't move but with each other, missing legs that carry her home.
They carry him home.
They carry them home.