Silent Hill 4 - Walter/Henry - PG-13 - Personal Hell
Title: Personal Hell
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Silent Hill 4
Pairing: Walter/Henry (light)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, death.
Word Count: 200
Notes: Written for slashthedrabble's "Heat" prompt.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is the property of Konami Entertainment.
There was a heat there, under Walter's skin - when Henry had first had chance to touch him, he'd noticed it. Walter was swinging a bat towards Eileen, and she had cringed, and Henry had reached out, grabbing Walter's wrist just under the coat, clutching his skin there.
And god, it felt... hot.
Henry had expected Walter's skin to be cold and clammy - after all, Walter was dead, wasn't he?
It wasn't until he was dead that Henry realized that cold wasn't always the way it went.
Even now, when Walter would pin him down to re-carve the numbers in his chest (they would almost act as if they were going to heal after a time, scarring up and closing, fading back into his skin, and Walter couldn't have that, of course), Henry could feel the heat - Walter's fingers pressed against his chest, stilling his canvas as his other hand held the knife, and the fire of Henry's own blood rolling down his chest from each fresh wound, the blood trickling down in dark streams that soaked into the bed below.
Death, Henry realized, wasn't cold at all. It was hot. Burning hot.
Maybe this really was was Hell after all.
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Silent Hill 4
Pairing: Walter/Henry (light)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Violence, death.
Word Count: 200
Notes: Written for slashthedrabble's "Heat" prompt.
Disclaimer: Silent Hill is the property of Konami Entertainment.
There was a heat there, under Walter's skin - when Henry had first had chance to touch him, he'd noticed it. Walter was swinging a bat towards Eileen, and she had cringed, and Henry had reached out, grabbing Walter's wrist just under the coat, clutching his skin there.
And god, it felt... hot.
Henry had expected Walter's skin to be cold and clammy - after all, Walter was dead, wasn't he?
It wasn't until he was dead that Henry realized that cold wasn't always the way it went.
Even now, when Walter would pin him down to re-carve the numbers in his chest (they would almost act as if they were going to heal after a time, scarring up and closing, fading back into his skin, and Walter couldn't have that, of course), Henry could feel the heat - Walter's fingers pressed against his chest, stilling his canvas as his other hand held the knife, and the fire of Henry's own blood rolling down his chest from each fresh wound, the blood trickling down in dark streams that soaked into the bed below.
Death, Henry realized, wasn't cold at all. It was hot. Burning hot.
Maybe this really was was Hell after all.