FIC: Slower Suicide
Title: Slower Suicide
Characters: Becky Trapper
Rating: PG-13 (for disturbing imagery)
Summary: Calisto fucked Becky up. Need I say more?
Notes: Well. You know Becky wouldn't be her normal sweetheart self right away, right? Have some proof of that.
Disclaimer: I don't own... oh, right, I do own Becky! And I have a 1/5th share in beyondtherift modship, so FUCK YEAH!!! :D :D :D
The first time you leave the basement after Calisto's death, you pass a pretty college student on the street. She's going to break up with her boyfriend tonight, and he's not going to take well to it.
You don't even cringe as you see what's going to happen to her. You just follow her home and wait.
The time comes, and you're somehow inside - you're never quite sure how you always manage to be where you need to be, when where you need to be is behind locked doors, but you're there, wings out, face expressionless. You watch as he beats her, rapes her, and eventually kills her by stabbing her in the chest, a cold anger burning in his eyes. You take the pain, all of it, and you murmur comforting words.
For the first time, you don't cry, even when her eyes glaze over and her heart stops.
Once she's dead, you don't leave. You've felt worse pain and survived - even though the residual ache is still there, you stand, wings flared, and look her murderer in the eyes. His death is painful. Not particularly slow, but frightening and pain-filled, and you nod to yourself and pull the knife out of the dead girl's chest without a pause, standing, somehow managing to tower over the frightened man at least ten inches taller than you.
You can't help but take some of the pain, it's what you do, but you let him keep as much as you can, let him keep the fear, seeing the emotionless avenging angel descending on him and eviscerating him. Only after you're done and he's almost gone do you take the rest of the pain. It's the same as in the warehouse, really. Feeling the pain of someone dying because of you. This time, at least, you chose this. And you know you'll choose it again. Not every time, just sometimes. Just when you need it. Just when you can't even feel sorrow for the passing of an innocent.
It's almost cathartic. It's almost freeing. It's almost disgusting.
In the end, it's just another piece of yourself, dead along with him.
Characters: Becky Trapper
Rating: PG-13 (for disturbing imagery)
Summary: Calisto fucked Becky up. Need I say more?
Notes: Well. You know Becky wouldn't be her normal sweetheart self right away, right? Have some proof of that.
Disclaimer: I don't own... oh, right, I do own Becky! And I have a 1/5th share in beyondtherift modship, so FUCK YEAH!!! :D :D :D
The first time you leave the basement after Calisto's death, you pass a pretty college student on the street. She's going to break up with her boyfriend tonight, and he's not going to take well to it.
You don't even cringe as you see what's going to happen to her. You just follow her home and wait.
The time comes, and you're somehow inside - you're never quite sure how you always manage to be where you need to be, when where you need to be is behind locked doors, but you're there, wings out, face expressionless. You watch as he beats her, rapes her, and eventually kills her by stabbing her in the chest, a cold anger burning in his eyes. You take the pain, all of it, and you murmur comforting words.
For the first time, you don't cry, even when her eyes glaze over and her heart stops.
Once she's dead, you don't leave. You've felt worse pain and survived - even though the residual ache is still there, you stand, wings flared, and look her murderer in the eyes. His death is painful. Not particularly slow, but frightening and pain-filled, and you nod to yourself and pull the knife out of the dead girl's chest without a pause, standing, somehow managing to tower over the frightened man at least ten inches taller than you.
You can't help but take some of the pain, it's what you do, but you let him keep as much as you can, let him keep the fear, seeing the emotionless avenging angel descending on him and eviscerating him. Only after you're done and he's almost gone do you take the rest of the pain. It's the same as in the warehouse, really. Feeling the pain of someone dying because of you. This time, at least, you chose this. And you know you'll choose it again. Not every time, just sometimes. Just when you need it. Just when you can't even feel sorrow for the passing of an innocent.
It's almost cathartic. It's almost freeing. It's almost disgusting.
In the end, it's just another piece of yourself, dead along with him.