Work Text:
On reflection, driving to New York in December might be… unwise. It’s just, New Year is the perfect time for fresh starts. How could David have known a blizzard would blow up before he’d even left Elm Valley?
He clutches the wheel, peering through swirling flakes.
There’s a grinding squeal. Roland’s truck shudders to a halt.
David screws his eyes tight and shrieks, a noise not unlike the truck. His phone is dead, and all he has is designer sweaters, the last of his skincare, and half a Caramilk. Hardly survival kit.
—
The sky darkens.
No vehicles pass.
So, this is how he goes: frozen to death in the middle of nowhere. At least in the truck his body won’t be eaten by raccoons.
Except… there’s a light: warm, glowing. A cabin, maybe. Probably not that far.
David considers his boots. Shivers in the creeping chill. Decides.
—
By the time he’s banging on the cabin door, he’s sure he’s got frostbite
Belatedly, the risk of axe murderers occurs to him. He’s weighing the merits of quick and violent versus slow, freezing deaths, when the door opens.
“Hello?” says an angel-faced apparition, haloed in firelight.
David might be having a divine revelation.
His vision fades.
—
Light filters in, then gentle music and the scent of pine.
“Am I dead?” David whispers.
There’s a soft, huffing chuckle. “No. But it would have been touch-and-go if you’d been out much longer.”
Not an angel then.
“I’m Patrick, by the way. What were you doing out there?” Patrick the not-angel continues.
“I… was running away...” David mumbles.
“Ah,” says Patrick. “I know a bit about that.”
Golden-brown eyes and a kind face come into view. A warm mug is placed in his hands.
Not an angel. But something close.
A New Year’s miracle, perhaps.