Multi-Fandom One Shots

Knocking on Heaven's Door (Shachath)

You think of it often. You sit in your cell more often. Alone, always alone. No one at Briarcliff has a roommate so nights are always alone. Safer, yes, but not kinder. You often have the means. You are an expert at cheeking your meds. You can hide them for forever and break them out only when needed, or to overdose. You've thought of it, sat there and stared at them.

That's the first time she arrived. You thought she was another thing your brain made up. You noticed her out the corner of your eye, wearing all black and a veil. She had red hair pinned up like she was about to attend a funeral service, you noticed when you finally looked her dead in the eye. Both eyes blue, one injured. You didn't pity her. But she wasn't made up by you. Your people were rarely so pretty. "It's okay," is all she said. She didn't sway you one way or the other.

You weren't alone. You didn't take the pills.

Next, Jude had beat you raw. You had caused a disturbance, a side affect of cheeking your meds. You weren't often violent, but sometimes you had to shout at the people to shut up because there were so many and you didn't know which ones you'd made.

She claimed she was sick of correcting you, though that rarely happened, and you thought she was really angry with something else. This place did that to people. You were welted everywhere, from apparently talking back but that rarely happened too. Your face was bruised and two orderlies had to carry you back to your room. They were vile and lecherous, but they left the damaged crazy bitch alone on her bed, bleeding onto the sheets. They didn't go back the way they came so they didn't see how you'd bled all the way here. Now you were on top of your blood, seeping into the pure white sheets.

You'd get beat for this if you survived. You fisted the sheets. Tears streamed down your face. You squeezed your eyes shut and stuffed your face into the sheets, trying to dry your face. You couldn't stand the moving tickle. When you looked back at the floor, you saw black fabric. You wanted to jerk away, Jude had come for round two- But a gentle hand touched your shoulder. It didn't even hurt.

You looked up to see the redhead again. You smiled, glad to have company again.

The back of her gloved hand moved down your face. "You can be at peace," she promised. You knew you'd never see her if you weren't as of now. How could you never see this face again? "Just let go," she implored, pitying you. She never judged the person she passed on, but the conditions you were left in, put through, still here and still about to die; she couldn't stand it. She always wanted the passing to be quick, painless, accept it and be done. She laid her hand on yours, leaning in.

You squeezed her fingers. Opened your eyes again and she saw gone. No kiss.

Another girl was far too pretty. She wasn't yours, but she liked you. The main room was a mess and it was loud, you knew. But you were quiet usually. You didn't move much, sometimes drew or played on the piano or read a book even. She had brown hair always around her face and big brown eyes you trusted. She trusted you, involved you in her schemes sometimes. She told you the memories she didn't want to lose. You repeated them to her. She often spoke to herself, and often on what she needed. If you could provide it, you presented it to her in private. She usually hugged you after this. It was an odd sensation, but it left you warm.

But the warmth always goes. You sat alone in your room, a storm beating the walls and windows and ceiling. It was a horrid affair and you felt lower than ever. Alone. You held up the handful of pills, the amount grown. You'd never be able to swallow them all. You heard the water drip. First from the ceiling and trailing down the window. You looked up and over. You didn't feel you had the strength.

A hand laid on the one not holding your suicide tool. She said nothing this time. You weren't sure if you would die. You'd been here so long. You weren't sure if you could make yourself stand and drink and swallow and drink and swallow. You looked at the ginger. You'd been here years and you saw her every few of them. When it got too hard. Had you been here your entire life? How many times had she actually come to you? But she was always there.

You flung yourself at her, loosing the pills from your grasp. You held her tight in it. Could she feel the warmth? You hugged her well, wanting her to feel how grateful you were for her to be there every time you truly needed it. You didn't call her. Didn't even know her name. Did she know yours? But you were two ships who kept meeting in the same shitstorm. You kissed her cheek. You fell asleep hugging the woman who grieved the not yet dead and the long dead.

You woke up on your side, the pills in a perfect pile in front of your face. You slid them back into their hiding place and sat up.

It took months, years. Perhaps your not made up one would break you all out, rescue the lost souls. Sister Jude was a patient. She sat with you and her and you cried. She was cruel, telling you to snuff your sniffles. She broke the song, the rule, the regimen. You fisted your hair and smacked yourself. An orderly took you to your room, gave you some medicine. If she was a patient, if Kit was a murderer, if Grace was sterile and pregnant and dead and alive and gone and here. You didn't know this world. You couldn't stand still in the storm. You weren't a lighthouse.

You twisted your sheets, ripped them to make them longer. You wound yourself up like you would at night, but worse. You weren't cozy. You were cold, lightning shooting through your veins. One hook was around your neck, the other your foot. If you tried to go back, you only made it worse. You fell to the stone floor, writhing like a fish. You'd been fishing? You flopped and tried to go back, because you were alone!

She stood before you. Then she knelt. "Stop," she commanded in that gentle tone. Her wings came out. Tears she'd held for you for so long dripped free and she leaned in. Her hands held you still, stilled your wretching. "Now come." Beneath the veil. Your lips touched hers. Hers touched yours. And you were free.