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Dexter Morgan [userpic]
Damnation, Lost/The Hellbound Heart Crossover
by Dexter Morgan (ouronlyhunter)
at March 17th, 2007 (04:08 pm)

Fandom: Lost/The Hellbound Heart
Title: Damnation
Series: Eh. It's gonna be a short story with chapters at least. May write more if I like it and my Cenobites don't make anyone else laugh
Author: ouronlyhunter (LJ), coaxialcreature (fanfiction.net), Dex (that's me)
Characters: Charlie, Desmond, the four Cenobites, and a bit of Claire. (The Engineer will arrive should the moment merit)
Rating: Mature/R
Disclaimer/claimer: I wrote the words, but own none of the characters or settings. Basically, most of the elements of this story belong to not me, and I’m not making money, so please don’t sue me. Please don’t repost..
Summary: Charlie finds a puzzle box, which he spends an afternoon opening.
Notes: Some of the Hellraiser movies may slip in, but this is based on The Hellbound Heart rather than the Hellraiser movies. Angelique will not be making an appearence, and neither will the Chatterer or any of the Cottons. Pinhead is not Doug Bradley, however, and such small details should be found in the novella. (The Lemarchand box is yet another detail that differs.) Yes, I love Hellraiser, but I find The Hellbound Heart to be a superior work of art. I've always wanted to write a piece of The Hellbound Heart fanfiction, so there you have it. Talk to me if you like Hellraiser and want to see some of that; I'd be happy to oblige after I finish up this and some other projects.

Spoilers for the Hellbound Heart (and kinda the Hellraiser movies) and Par Avignon.

And if me having a totally huge crush on Pinhead creeps you out you probably shouldn't be reading this...




Desmond woke, suddenly but silently, rubbing his forehead. Looking around him, he saw the tent that he'd set up - been given really. It was on the beach, it was close to Charlie, and... and... "Oh, god." Desmond whispered it, licking his lips, tasting salt. He was sweating, slick with it, although it was a dim thought, eclipsed by something that made his hands unsteady, a thought already slipping away from him.

A box. Black, shiny, and just... a box. A box that could be held, and cradled, a box that could fit into a man's hand.

Charlie's hand.

But Desmond knew that couldn't happen, because whatever the box was... He'd scrambled out of the tent by now, and a light gust of made him shiver, made him aware of the fact that something had scared him badly enough that he’d sweated it out, hard and long enough to plaster his clothes to his body. All he could remember was that box, and even the thought of it now was enough to make him want to cry out. Instead he clenched his teeth, making his way to Charlie’s tent. Whatever he looked like, it was enough for the people on the beach to give him a wide berth, more so than usual. “Charlie?” He called it out once he was close enough to Charlie’s tent, waiting, and when he didn’t come out. Desmond’s hand shook as he grabbed the flap of the tent, pulling it back, hoping, oh god... hoping that Charlie was in there, some private moment that Desmond had interrupted, and he’d be angry, yes, but he wouldn’t put his hand around that box and pick it up...

Because that’s what happened. “Charlie!” Desmond called out loudly, more frantically, when he couldn’t see anyone inside. Of course, that didn’t help. Desmond closed his eyes, and stood, looking around wildly. All he saw was Claire coming out of her tent. Aaron was crying softly, but Desmond hadn’t heard.

“You woke him.” Claire was chiding, just a little. Desmond flinched, but she didn’t harp on it. “Charlie’s not here.” Her guarded expression fell, brow furrowing slightly. “You didn’t see...”

“I didn’t...” Desmond hadn’t been thinking about Claire, or Aaron, or that he might be asleep. Or about how close Charlie’s tent was to Claire’s. Desmond nodded; Claire knew about his premonitions, so if she knew where Charlie was.... “He’s not here?” He restrained himself, managing to sound casual about it.

Claire shook her head. “He found something. Took it off into the jungle.” Claire shrugged, and then took another look at Desmond, studying him. In a whisper, she admitted, “I didn’t like it...”

No. Nonono. “What was it?” Some of the panic slipped into his voice.

“It was a box.” Claire frowned, took a breath, and shook her head. She was bouncing Aaron in her arms, gently, trying to calm him down. “It was a little black box. Charlie said it was a puzzle, but I didn’t see...” She began shaking her head harder. “Find him. Please?”

~~~~


Charlie had wanted to be alone. He’d told Claire where he was going, and he knew what Desmond had said... but it was just a box. Claire had looked at him like he’d gone off his rocker, but he’d told her just that. It was a puzzle. A game. And it would take his mind off things, like his supposedly impending doom.

He’d worked at it, until he thought his fingers would go raw just sliding over the sides of the box. It was bloody impossible, and his stomach twisted. The longer it took him, the more he wanted so very desperately to figure this out, just to prove that he could. He lost himself in the box, his face reflected back at him again and again as he turned the box in his hands. He didn’t know how long it had taken him, and he didn’t care.

He’d done it. He cried out softly as the box slipped from his hands; he grabbed at it, and as he did, his fingers gripped the proper places, and there was a small chime. Charlie frowned, and held the box up, as small pieces popped out. He grinned, at that, and at the tinkle of music, and at the even brighter inside of the box.

After that, it was easier. He’d worked so hard to figure out the first bit, that anything after would have seemed anticlimactic. Especially this. The more he pulled out, the louder and more intricate the music got. He tried to keep track of it, but it got too complicated and he just wanted to get this over with. He could go back, show Claire, and they’d have a good laugh over how it really had been nothing for her to be afraid of.

He leaned back, more lying than sitting, when he’d finished, and then looked up, blinking, trying to think through the sound of the bell, loud and strong and... He hadn’t heard it before now, really heard it, but he was tired of it already, hopelessly tired of it. The sound must have been going on forever.

Still, the real question was... where on the island was there a bell? He’d have to go back to camp; someone probably had an idea. Everyone on this whole bloody island could probably hear it. Charlie stood, box still in hand but all but forgotten for now. Swaying, he felt under a spell, blood pulsing through him, and he tried to bite back on the fear. Something was wrong. The bells got louder and louder, overtaking the music, painful now. Enough so that he lifted his hands, covering his ears; he had to drop the box, but did that without a second thought. Groaning, he wondered why the sound wouldn’t stop, would barely even dim. Why wasn’t someone stopping it?

The only thing that distracted him from the bell was the light, and he looked up. Not again... But this was different. It wasn’t that color, though; this color, Charlie decided, held that same coldness, but blue laced the white, not purple. Not purple at all. Coming from directly in front of him, it opened just a little. Just in that one space, in front of him, a great big crack and light pouring out of it, like some huge, invisible door opening right in front of his eyes. He froze, watching it, wanting to look away. His head wouldn’t move, though. This was far too important to miss. He saw them, then, the four of them coming through that light, slipping through the door just like the light that was starting to hurt his eyes. The light went away, like someone had flicked a switch. Suddenly the sunlight felt inadequate; glaring was what he’d thought earlier, but really, nothing compared to... that.

At first, Charlie thought that his vision was swimming, blurring the figures, because they couldn’t possibly have that many scars. Even the thought made his head pound. How? He turned the one word question into a chant, until it worked at a frantic pace, running into each other. It just made his heart hurt even more. He had to... He had to tell someone about this, or something. He had to get away. The scent of vanilla came on a gust of wind, sickly-sweet because it wasn’t really that at all. It was the smell of something rotting through, laced with vanilla. They came a little bit closer, and the scent got stronger.

He tried to regain his composure, enough to run at least, because he could see them now, and there weren’t just scars. There were hooks. Little metal hooks through one of their eyelids, pulling back, the chains connected to them going down under the skin, and then poking back up to connect to the lower lip. Pulling... Charlie shuddered, tried to look at another one, but it was just as bad. Maybe worse. He froze again, as one of them moved forward. This one had tattoos on it’s bald head, a grid, and at every single intersection, a pin came out of it’s skin, shining. Jeweled. Two more to go. One had bulges that covered it’s eyes, and Charlie’s eyes dropped. No use. It’s whole body was that way, scars that were... Maybe they’d been infected? Charlie’s mind scrambled for some semblance of normality before looking at the fourth, thankfully robed. Charlie’s stomach dropped; he took a sharp breath, and... He had to go to the bathroom, all of the sudden. Badly. He wanted to move, to say something, but they beat him to it.

“Where is this?” The voice was flat, the... thing with the hooks speaking. Charlie looked at it, shivering as he noticed something weird about the clothes. They were sewn onto the skin, through it, and he flinched, taking a stumbling step back. He caught the way the hooks moved; he’d thought he’d noticed all the way they held together, but it was much more complicated than that first glance had shown him. And he could see under the lip, under the eyes, when it spoke. Red and slippery. Meat. Charlie swallowed hard. He tried to label the thing, even as a man or a woman. Nothing gave it away; he couldn’t actually see any skin that would have, and it’s voice had an androgynous and almost mechanical quality to it.

There was a moment of silence, Charlie’s head buzzing, as he prayed that this would all just go away. That he’d worked on the puzzle so long that he’d collapsed, and someone would be right along. Claire would send someone if he didn’t come along soon... And he figured he’d been out here long enough for her to start worrying. She hadn’t wanted him to pick up the box in the first place. She hadn’t wanted him to go off on his own. But he hadn’t listened to her, of course.

“No city. No city at all.” The girl’s voice, high and breathy and excited came from the one with the pins.

Funny, Charlie thought dimly, that he would have pegged this one as a male. All of them were kind of hard, though, to think of as anything human. But Charlie studied this one, and decided he was definitely male, despite the voice. “I don’t exactly know where this is. You see, we all kind of... crashed.” Charlie spoke quickly, hoping that answer would satisfy them, and they’d leave, opening that door of theirs that Charlie would turn away from this time. He didn’t want to see it open, even to make absolutely sure all four of them went back through it.

The one with the pins in his head turned to Charlie, and Charlie’s shivers turned violent. How far down did the pins go? He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to even think about it. Charlie made the mistake of meeting the gaze.

His eyes were cold, dead. Unworried.