Silent Hill - Travis/Alex - R - The Butcher [UNFINISHED]
Title: The Butcher
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Silent Hill
Pairing: Travis Grady/Alex Shepherd
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, possible sex
Word Count: UNFINISHED
Notes: This is obviously unfinished. I'll come back to it soon.
Disclaimer: Konami. ♥
The dank motel room had a very precise feel to it - a calm, cold silence coupled with a smell like musk and mildew that made it clear that the building wasn't exactly doing so well in the upkeep department. How long had it been since since someone had stayed in this room?
Travis knew how long it had been since it mattered.
He stood in the motel bathroom. The smell was strongest here -- likely, just beyond the shower tiles, the mold had grown and grown, silent, multiplying, filling up the walls, making the inside of the room dirty, disgusting, in desperate need of repair. If someone were to stay in that room long enough, he thought, they would get sick. It would be slow at first, and then breathing in the spores would break down their immune system and the cold in their room could really get under their skin. Soon the boundaries would be broken down and there would be nothing to stop the disease from getting in; from spreading--
It was fitting, the complex metaphor he was spinning in his head. He wondered if anybody would appreciate it. He wondered if Alex would.
Oh, right, Alex. Travis had almost forgotten about him. He sighed, pulling on a pair of white cloth gloves. Yes, Alex -- the young soldier still sleeping, strapped to the bed in the main room. He'd been restrained in quite the haphazard manner -- not usually how Travis liked to do it, but then, he was never one to really get into the ceremony of it all. It usually came down to inviting the girl back for sex, and then, just as he came, taking the life from her. It had never been a man before. It had never been something like this.
He wondered how it would feel.
Running a hand through his hair, Travis turned from the tiny motel bathroom, moving into the doorway, watching the room beyond with silent appreciation. His eyes turned up towards the ceiling fan. It had been years, many years since the incident, but Travis could picture it like it was yesterday. It sickened him, in a way. This room needed something new painted in it. A cowardly suicide done by a desperate, selfish man just didn't have the right amount of flair.
Maybe Travis hoped he could paint over the memory in his mind, too. Maybe he could grow over it, like the mold. Back to the mold, he thought, humorlessly.
The way he walked changed when he put the apron on. He'd never worn it before - it had only been a symbol he'd seen on a monster in this damned town, nothing more. His dreams liked to indulge in symbolism, though - they always had - and for once, Travis had thought maybe he could indulge, too. Besides, killing Alex had to be special. Alex wasn't some dumb whore looking for money and maybe a nice fuck. He was...
--the only person who's ever cared about me, the only person who's ever looked at me and seen something other than a monster, this is crazy, I can't kill him, we can't do this--
He sighed, shaking his head. Shut up, he told himself. This is the only way. The only way everything can make sense.
He wasn't allowed to have anybody who cared about him. Everybody had to know the truth. Travis had to show them that truth. That was the most important thing. He was nothing but a demon, nothing but a devil child. How could anybody love that?
He only loves me because he doesn't know any better. I can't keep deceiving him, can I? But it'll be alright - I'll make it quick.
Well. Quick enough, anyway. He was going to all this trouble, after all, just for Alex. Surely the soldier would appreciate that.
It was then that Travis' attention was suddenly pulled away from his own quick-running monologue. A small groan had issued from the bed, and Alex had stirred. Travis watched him carefully, his gaze hard. Alex had recovered from the little bump on the head awfully fast. What a good little soldier.
Flexing his arms, Alex seemed to sleepily realize that he was restrained -- his eyes flew open and he pulled so hard against the bindings in a sudden panic that Travis almost thought he was going to break through them. My, my! Maybe Travis had underestimated Alex? None of the other people he'd killed had been through basic training, and none of them had been to Silent Hill. They'd been easy. Maybe Alex would be a challenge.
I wouldn't have it any other way, Travis thought. Alex was still fighting, but after a moment, after wildly trying to look around, he stopped. He recognized the room, but it was clear he didn't understand why he was tied to Travis' bed. He didn't see the man, either -- he couldn't twist in quite that way.
"T-Travis?" he called, his voice shaking. He sounded almost raw -- as if he'd been screaming, but he hadn't. Not yet. "This... tell me this isn't your idea of a joke."
Travis watched him carefully. (--stop this right now, just stop it, we can still turn back, it's not too late, he's the only person who will ever care about me, he's the only person who listens, and he knows what it's like, his parents were--)
"It's not a joke," he answered, finally, and the hard gravel in his voice scared even him for a moment before that was grown over, too. "Alex." The name was tacked on as an after-thought, but it felt appropriate. It went there. Alex seemed to stiffen at the words, but he recognized Travis' voice instantly. He tried again to move against the bindings, but he couldn't.
"Then what the hell," he breathed, "is it."
Travis didn't answer for a long time. He watched the curve of Alex's chest move up and down with his sharp, panicked breaths, bare if not for the thin white undershirt he had on. How amazing, Travis thought, the human brain. It could pick up on a threat, even when it wasn't apparent. By all accounts, Alex should have been feeling just fine. Travis' room, Travis' bed, Travis' voice - all things he was familiar with, and yet somehow adrenaline had kicked in.
Beautiful.
The silence was comfortable to Travis, but it was clear it bothered Alex. "I'm really not into this," he said, breaking the silence. "I mean it, Travis, let me out."
Alex had had a hard week, Travis thought, vaguely. That was okay, though. It was all going to come to an end. Alex would go to a better place. He would be at peace there.
That's not why I do it, Travis reminded himself. It has nothing to do with "peace".
Oh well. That didn't really matter.
"You're not going anywhere," Travis said, quietly. Alex was very, very still suddenly. Not even his chest was moving anymore. Travis wondered what was going through his head. The feeling was delicious -- he'd never let this moment, the moment before the killing drag out before. His victims had never had any idea. It was perfect.
Alex was perfect.
"Joke's over, Travis," Alex breathed, quiet, an obvious last-ditch effort to save himself. Travis didn't waver.
"It's far from over, soldier."
Moving from the doorway, Travis stepped into the room proper, not watching Alex, his mind instead on one singular purpose. He crossed the room, stepping towards the dresser. Everything he owned was either in or on that dresser, and the inventory wasn't large - but one thing he did have was a small knife, black and silver, that folded in on itself. He'd had it for as long as he'd remembered, always getting the blade sharpened or, in one instance, replaced. He picked it up, pulling the blade out easily, even with the gloves on. He stared at the metal for a moment, feeling Alex's eyes on him. Alex wasn't saying anything, but he was fumbling with the restraints - quietly, as if he thought he could escape Travis' hold by slipping out unnoticed. Unlikely.
Turning towards the bed, knife in hand, Travis took care to bury any doubts left in his head. Alex had his head raised, neck strained, trying to see Travis, trying to see anything. His eyes skimmed over the blade just as Travis' eyes had. It was clear he was starting to worry for his life.
Slowly, Alex swallowed, lying his head back against the bed. "Travis," he said, slowly, quietly. "Put down the knife."
How interesting that he would go for that one first. Travis had expected him to have used "don't you love me" or "we can talk this over" or "what did I do to you". It only seemed natural, to first want to know why you would deserve to be in such a situation.
Maybe Alex already felt guilty.
Approaching, Travis stood over the bed, watching from the foot, watching Alex and his undershirt and plain black boxers and the dog tags slung around his neck. He never took those off, not even when they were... together. As if he thought taking them off would negate some deep part of him, as if he wouldn't be a soldier anymore.
Travis knew a thing or two about dog tags. Used to identify a soldier when they were killed in battle. His gaze lingered on them a moment too long. He remembered the night that Alex had come to him almost hysterical, saying that while he was in Silent Hill his father had tried to tell him that he hadn't really been at war. Saying that he'd said the dog tags weren't his. He'd begged Travis to look at them, to read the name on them, but all they said was "A. SHEPHERD", and Alex's fingers shook when he took them back, as if he was seconds away from a breakdown.
Sometimes Travis wished he had physical evidence of the things he'd been through. Maybe that was why Alex clung so desperately to those dog tags. Travis considered them for a moment, considered whether or not he would take them off Alex's body afterwards. He already had a charm around his neck, but maybe another wouldn't hurt. Then he could keep Alex with him, always. Would Alex want to stay with him forever? After this? Could Alex accept him for what he was? Could he really keep a piece of Alex, or would that be selfish of him?
So many damn questions. Not enough answers. It didn't do much to quell his appetite. Blood, he knew, never held questions. He knew what the inside of a body looked like. Not even Alex Shepherd could keep him guessing there.
Slowly climbing onto the bed, Travis straddled Alex, knees on either side of him, holding up the knife, staring down at Alex with wild, dark eyes. Alex met his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to part from him. If Travis was going to kill him, he thought, he was going to have to be man enough to look him in the face when he did it. He wouldn't offer any other arguments -- at least, not yet. He tried to remember his time from Silent Hill, how Judge Holloway had turned the damn electric drill on him after a long, ranting monologue. He'd known Judge Holloway alright -- she'd been Elle's mother, after all, and close to Alex's own mother in a way -- but Travis was something closer, the only person he'd let close in to him after Silent Hill. Judge Holloway had betrayed Alex, but at least she'd explained why. Travis wasn't saying anything at all.
Maybe that was the worst of it.
It didn't help that the outfit Travis was in reminded him of something else entirely. It wasn't stained yet -- was Alex's blood going to be its first? Travis seemed like he knew what he was doing, even if he was breathing quick, heavy breaths that spoke of fear and uncertainty and a rush Alex didn't want to consider Travis could really be feeling.
Author: Ema (lightningrapier)
Fandom: Silent Hill
Pairing: Travis Grady/Alex Shepherd
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, possible sex
Word Count: UNFINISHED
Notes: This is obviously unfinished. I'll come back to it soon.
Disclaimer: Konami. ♥
The dank motel room had a very precise feel to it - a calm, cold silence coupled with a smell like musk and mildew that made it clear that the building wasn't exactly doing so well in the upkeep department. How long had it been since since someone had stayed in this room?
Travis knew how long it had been since it mattered.
He stood in the motel bathroom. The smell was strongest here -- likely, just beyond the shower tiles, the mold had grown and grown, silent, multiplying, filling up the walls, making the inside of the room dirty, disgusting, in desperate need of repair. If someone were to stay in that room long enough, he thought, they would get sick. It would be slow at first, and then breathing in the spores would break down their immune system and the cold in their room could really get under their skin. Soon the boundaries would be broken down and there would be nothing to stop the disease from getting in; from spreading--
It was fitting, the complex metaphor he was spinning in his head. He wondered if anybody would appreciate it. He wondered if Alex would.
Oh, right, Alex. Travis had almost forgotten about him. He sighed, pulling on a pair of white cloth gloves. Yes, Alex -- the young soldier still sleeping, strapped to the bed in the main room. He'd been restrained in quite the haphazard manner -- not usually how Travis liked to do it, but then, he was never one to really get into the ceremony of it all. It usually came down to inviting the girl back for sex, and then, just as he came, taking the life from her. It had never been a man before. It had never been something like this.
He wondered how it would feel.
Running a hand through his hair, Travis turned from the tiny motel bathroom, moving into the doorway, watching the room beyond with silent appreciation. His eyes turned up towards the ceiling fan. It had been years, many years since the incident, but Travis could picture it like it was yesterday. It sickened him, in a way. This room needed something new painted in it. A cowardly suicide done by a desperate, selfish man just didn't have the right amount of flair.
Maybe Travis hoped he could paint over the memory in his mind, too. Maybe he could grow over it, like the mold. Back to the mold, he thought, humorlessly.
The way he walked changed when he put the apron on. He'd never worn it before - it had only been a symbol he'd seen on a monster in this damned town, nothing more. His dreams liked to indulge in symbolism, though - they always had - and for once, Travis had thought maybe he could indulge, too. Besides, killing Alex had to be special. Alex wasn't some dumb whore looking for money and maybe a nice fuck. He was...
--the only person who's ever cared about me, the only person who's ever looked at me and seen something other than a monster, this is crazy, I can't kill him, we can't do this--
He sighed, shaking his head. Shut up, he told himself. This is the only way. The only way everything can make sense.
He wasn't allowed to have anybody who cared about him. Everybody had to know the truth. Travis had to show them that truth. That was the most important thing. He was nothing but a demon, nothing but a devil child. How could anybody love that?
He only loves me because he doesn't know any better. I can't keep deceiving him, can I? But it'll be alright - I'll make it quick.
Well. Quick enough, anyway. He was going to all this trouble, after all, just for Alex. Surely the soldier would appreciate that.
It was then that Travis' attention was suddenly pulled away from his own quick-running monologue. A small groan had issued from the bed, and Alex had stirred. Travis watched him carefully, his gaze hard. Alex had recovered from the little bump on the head awfully fast. What a good little soldier.
Flexing his arms, Alex seemed to sleepily realize that he was restrained -- his eyes flew open and he pulled so hard against the bindings in a sudden panic that Travis almost thought he was going to break through them. My, my! Maybe Travis had underestimated Alex? None of the other people he'd killed had been through basic training, and none of them had been to Silent Hill. They'd been easy. Maybe Alex would be a challenge.
I wouldn't have it any other way, Travis thought. Alex was still fighting, but after a moment, after wildly trying to look around, he stopped. He recognized the room, but it was clear he didn't understand why he was tied to Travis' bed. He didn't see the man, either -- he couldn't twist in quite that way.
"T-Travis?" he called, his voice shaking. He sounded almost raw -- as if he'd been screaming, but he hadn't. Not yet. "This... tell me this isn't your idea of a joke."
Travis watched him carefully. (--stop this right now, just stop it, we can still turn back, it's not too late, he's the only person who will ever care about me, he's the only person who listens, and he knows what it's like, his parents were--)
"It's not a joke," he answered, finally, and the hard gravel in his voice scared even him for a moment before that was grown over, too. "Alex." The name was tacked on as an after-thought, but it felt appropriate. It went there. Alex seemed to stiffen at the words, but he recognized Travis' voice instantly. He tried again to move against the bindings, but he couldn't.
"Then what the hell," he breathed, "is it."
Travis didn't answer for a long time. He watched the curve of Alex's chest move up and down with his sharp, panicked breaths, bare if not for the thin white undershirt he had on. How amazing, Travis thought, the human brain. It could pick up on a threat, even when it wasn't apparent. By all accounts, Alex should have been feeling just fine. Travis' room, Travis' bed, Travis' voice - all things he was familiar with, and yet somehow adrenaline had kicked in.
Beautiful.
The silence was comfortable to Travis, but it was clear it bothered Alex. "I'm really not into this," he said, breaking the silence. "I mean it, Travis, let me out."
Alex had had a hard week, Travis thought, vaguely. That was okay, though. It was all going to come to an end. Alex would go to a better place. He would be at peace there.
That's not why I do it, Travis reminded himself. It has nothing to do with "peace".
Oh well. That didn't really matter.
"You're not going anywhere," Travis said, quietly. Alex was very, very still suddenly. Not even his chest was moving anymore. Travis wondered what was going through his head. The feeling was delicious -- he'd never let this moment, the moment before the killing drag out before. His victims had never had any idea. It was perfect.
Alex was perfect.
"Joke's over, Travis," Alex breathed, quiet, an obvious last-ditch effort to save himself. Travis didn't waver.
"It's far from over, soldier."
Moving from the doorway, Travis stepped into the room proper, not watching Alex, his mind instead on one singular purpose. He crossed the room, stepping towards the dresser. Everything he owned was either in or on that dresser, and the inventory wasn't large - but one thing he did have was a small knife, black and silver, that folded in on itself. He'd had it for as long as he'd remembered, always getting the blade sharpened or, in one instance, replaced. He picked it up, pulling the blade out easily, even with the gloves on. He stared at the metal for a moment, feeling Alex's eyes on him. Alex wasn't saying anything, but he was fumbling with the restraints - quietly, as if he thought he could escape Travis' hold by slipping out unnoticed. Unlikely.
Turning towards the bed, knife in hand, Travis took care to bury any doubts left in his head. Alex had his head raised, neck strained, trying to see Travis, trying to see anything. His eyes skimmed over the blade just as Travis' eyes had. It was clear he was starting to worry for his life.
Slowly, Alex swallowed, lying his head back against the bed. "Travis," he said, slowly, quietly. "Put down the knife."
How interesting that he would go for that one first. Travis had expected him to have used "don't you love me" or "we can talk this over" or "what did I do to you". It only seemed natural, to first want to know why you would deserve to be in such a situation.
Maybe Alex already felt guilty.
Approaching, Travis stood over the bed, watching from the foot, watching Alex and his undershirt and plain black boxers and the dog tags slung around his neck. He never took those off, not even when they were... together. As if he thought taking them off would negate some deep part of him, as if he wouldn't be a soldier anymore.
Travis knew a thing or two about dog tags. Used to identify a soldier when they were killed in battle. His gaze lingered on them a moment too long. He remembered the night that Alex had come to him almost hysterical, saying that while he was in Silent Hill his father had tried to tell him that he hadn't really been at war. Saying that he'd said the dog tags weren't his. He'd begged Travis to look at them, to read the name on them, but all they said was "A. SHEPHERD", and Alex's fingers shook when he took them back, as if he was seconds away from a breakdown.
Sometimes Travis wished he had physical evidence of the things he'd been through. Maybe that was why Alex clung so desperately to those dog tags. Travis considered them for a moment, considered whether or not he would take them off Alex's body afterwards. He already had a charm around his neck, but maybe another wouldn't hurt. Then he could keep Alex with him, always. Would Alex want to stay with him forever? After this? Could Alex accept him for what he was? Could he really keep a piece of Alex, or would that be selfish of him?
So many damn questions. Not enough answers. It didn't do much to quell his appetite. Blood, he knew, never held questions. He knew what the inside of a body looked like. Not even Alex Shepherd could keep him guessing there.
Slowly climbing onto the bed, Travis straddled Alex, knees on either side of him, holding up the knife, staring down at Alex with wild, dark eyes. Alex met his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to part from him. If Travis was going to kill him, he thought, he was going to have to be man enough to look him in the face when he did it. He wouldn't offer any other arguments -- at least, not yet. He tried to remember his time from Silent Hill, how Judge Holloway had turned the damn electric drill on him after a long, ranting monologue. He'd known Judge Holloway alright -- she'd been Elle's mother, after all, and close to Alex's own mother in a way -- but Travis was something closer, the only person he'd let close in to him after Silent Hill. Judge Holloway had betrayed Alex, but at least she'd explained why. Travis wasn't saying anything at all.
Maybe that was the worst of it.
It didn't help that the outfit Travis was in reminded him of something else entirely. It wasn't stained yet -- was Alex's blood going to be its first? Travis seemed like he knew what he was doing, even if he was breathing quick, heavy breaths that spoke of fear and uncertainty and a rush Alex didn't want to consider Travis could really be feeling.