|||||Jet Black Stare "Ready to Roll" ||]|
Warnings: slash, swearing, death and ressurection, AU.
Pairing:Nuada/John Myers, mentioned Nuada/Nuala.
Fandom: Hellboy movieverse.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and these settings. All the OC's are mine, but that's it pretty much.
Summary: Kowalski swears like a sailor, but that's his quirk>_> Nuada finally draws his first breath.
Author's note: Seriously, LJ STOP IT
The creature closed the distance between them and touched his hand with its nose. Sharp end of the horn stopped at the level of John’s ribs and stayed in this position for a long moment until it was moved back. He was accepted, it would seem.
Because, after all, it was never about physical purity, was it? It was about purity in a wider sense – a clean conscience, soul unblemished by sin, spiritual purity. In short: only pure hearted could touch the unicorns.
So maybe the professor was right when he and Abe tried to explain that to him a long time ago. Maybe there was a grain of truth in their words. But even that knowledge didn’t make John feel any better with the knowledge that the whole Agency just witnessed him passing through the world’s most removed Virgin Detector.
He’ll never get any respect from these people. Never.
But then the unicorn nosed his hand again and it all became superfluous.
Betrayal. No loyalty. Sadness. Dead Prince. Dead Princess. Something has ended.
Walking along the dark corridors of the base reminded him of a sleepwalking. John remembered every step he took, but at the same time wasn’t aware of any of them, he wasn’t sure how he’s managed to walk without tripping or falling into the walls. The darkness around him was absolute, but John’s brain decided to ignore it and pretend that everything is as it should be. What was going on?
Unicorn was afraid of the metal the walls and floors were made of, it didn’t like the smell down here, the air was “dead” and everything was “wrong.” John knew about it because the creature kept touching his hand, leaning its’ side on his tight. Every time it touched him John felt as if something in his soul was pulsing, blooming – only to wilt painfully when the contact ended. It was easier to breathe for a second and the darkness exploded in a rainbow of colours, but the walls were too close and the air smelt of iron.
At the end of the journey he felt as if his body was a conductor for an electric current that was slowly burning out his nerves. When they finally stepped inside the Morgue the unicorn trotted to the catafalque, leaving John weak and numb.
The man leaned weakly on the stone table and slowly lowered to the floor. Weird, his knees met cold tiles instead of grass and lilies of the valley... wait, no, it wasn’t weird. Him expecting them was weird... right? At least it wasn’t dark anymore. Thanks to the clay urn that glowed blue in the corner of the room. The genie sealed inside wouldn’t be happy knowing that his previous owner used the urn in the exact same way – as a nightlight.
As John tried to gather his wits, the unicorn was busy around the dead elf. It kept walking around the catafalque and sniffing at the marble limbs of the prince. Veil of sorrow that surrounded it thickened to the point of being almost, almost material.
Disappointment. Sorrow. So many lives was sacrificed to this madness. So many more will be. And she was so good. Something that should stay whole has been pulled apart and now everything was wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Round and round, these words-not-words kept assaulting John’s brain causing constant shifts in his awareness. He was sitting on the floor in the base, but he was also standing over the crib with two pale infants in it. He was rubbing his eyes to chase away these images, but he was also seeing an old king as he lowers face into his hands so he doesn’t have to look at the son that’s walking away from them all. And then...
“Please, stop,” he managed to whisper. “It’s strange.”
Yes, strange, not right. Both worlds are not right. Both are broken and tired of it. It has to be fixed. It has to be put back together. The Prince has to be punished.
“But he’s dead already!” he tried to protest. “You can’t do anything more to him, he’s dead!”
The Prince was young, stupid. Full of hate. He broke the worlds. They need him to fix it.
“But he is dead!”
Why didn’t that creature understand? Nuada was dead, turned into stone and nothing could change it.
John shuddered when the unicorn suddenly appeared in front of his face. These endless blue eyes caught his look and he... understood. This time without words, without meanings. Pure knowledge was poured into his mind.
The prince was Sidhe, not human. He didn’t have a soul so to speak, so he didn’t go anywhere after his death. All the Other Kin’s had was their bodies – and as long as the bodies were unharmed, they didn’t go anywhere.
John understood, awed and terrified. He watched the unicorn nod its head and jump on the stone slab to stand over the dead elf.
“The Prince is for you,” its’ said slowly and clearly.
Atonement. Loneliness. Sadness.
John tried to get up and see what was happening, but he slipped and landed on his face... in a clump of... grass? Wait, what grass? It was impossible, right? These tiles were sitting on a meter of concrete, steel and God knows what else that was used to secure the base! It was not possible!
The grass dared to differ. Anti-slip tiles were cracking like glass to make space for the bunches of fresh, green grass and herbs that climbed the stone of the slab to reach Nuada.
“You’re doing this,” John stated uselessly, gaping like a goldfish on the miracle that was happening under his own hands. “Are you...?”
He didn’t get an answer; just an amused look from the corner of one sky-blue eye. Then the smell of the flowers thickened around them, unicorn lowered its head and pushed the horn into Nuada’s chest...
...the earth didn’t shake. Darkness didn’t come. None of the glass cases around the room didn’t even make a sound. Nothing weird happened.
There was only John and a spreading green carpet underneath him, and a stone catafalque with a dead Sidhe. There was no unicorn and after few seconds the lights came on again.
For some reason agent Myers felt like crying.
Major Kowalski stomped into the Morgue and helped him up. Tom was pale and his eyes were a little glassy, but his face was free of shock that was clearly written on the faces of the other agents that came stumbling after him.
“What’s going on, boss?” major asked quietly, looking around in search of possible danger. The grass and the herbs didn’t seem to faze him. “What the fuck has happened?”
John leaned gratefully on the strong arm that kept him upright and shook his head. The feeling of numbness wasn’t leaving and his thoughts were a mess; he didn’t have answers to any of the questions that Fletcher and Jordan were throwing at him. He needed time to figure it out himself, a moment to rest and make sense of it all...
Well , it seemed that this was all the time he’s got.
Director Hart stepped into the room and everyone fell silent.
Eliah Hart was a tall, thin man in his early forties, who looked more like he belonged on a cover for GQ rather than the B.P.R.D. secret base. He was always composed and never lost his nerve, no matter the situation. It seemed that nothing can surprise him; even a unicorn in the heart of the agency didn’t seem to manage it.
John remembered that the change from hot-blooded Manning to the ice-cube Hart was hard for the agents at the beginning. From the man who yelled and demanded to the man who asked politely and never raised his voice. Strangely, they all considered the latter one more frightening.
And standing under the heavy stare of Director Hart, John supported that opinion. He tried, honestly, to find strength in himself to straighten up – sure that half of the displeasure in those grey eyes comes from the fact that he was slumping, – while wondering if fainting will get him any mercy points from his superior.
Unexpectedly, he was saved by the ever-supportive major Kowalski and his majestic vocabulary.
“Fuck me sideways, look at that!”
Tom was looking to the side, and when other agents followed his gaze, John released the air from his lungs. He was not surprised when he saw what everyone’s been staring at.
“We’ve got a gift, sir” he spoke quietly. “From the World.”
Unknowing and peaceful, prince Nuada slept on the stone table, his chest raising and falling under the cover of fragrant herbs.