Series of Unfortunate Events One-shots, What-ifs, and Drabbles

The Baudelaire's Demons

She was in a birdcage, a piece of tape over her mouth. She could see the hook holding the cage up, ready to drop her at any moment.

She was crawling laps as fast as she could. She was so tired, but she couldn't stop. He wouldn't let her. He'd hurt her. He'd hurt her siblings.

She was climbing up the elevator shaft with her teeth. She was terrified that she would fall and die. But she had to keep climbing. She'd do it for her siblings. She'd do it so she could save her friends from her and her siblings' fate.

She was sitting in the jail cell with her siblings. She had been accused of murdering Jacques with her teeth. She would never do that. She'd never do that. She wouldn't do that- right? What if it came to defending her siblings? But she hadn't defended her siblings. She'd gotten them into trouble. They would be burned at the stake tomorrow, and she couldn't do anything.

She watched her brother hold the knife to her sister's throat. He had to pretend to murder their sister, or they would all die. And she couldn't do anything about it.

She looked at the crowd. They were mocking her. Laughing at her. The false pelt she wore itched. She wanted to tear it off, but she had to keep up the charade or she and her siblings would die. But she hated it.

She was in his car. She was being held on his girlfriend's lap. His girlfriend was pinching her. She was crying, because she was in pain, and because she was petrified. They had taken her from her siblings. She was alone and she was helpless. She would die, and they would die, and she was helpless. 

She was in the diving helmet. She couldn't breathe. Her siblings were frantic. She would die, and she was helpless, and they were helpless. She would die, and she was scared, and she couldn't do anything.

'Burn down Denouement,' she had said. Her siblings were aghast. He had called her 'his girl.' She wasn't his girl, not now, not ever. But she had suggested to start a fire. She hated herself. 

She huddled with her siblings on the boat. She couldn't see him anywhere. The storm was raging, and they would die, and once again, she was helpless.

She sat in the armchair with her siblings. She couldn't breathe, again. She was scared. She remembered last time. But there was no horseradish this time, no wasabi. She would die, and her siblings would die. 

Sunny Baudelaire sat bolt upright in her bed, gasping for breath, sweat pouring down her face. 

It had been four years since he died. Four years since Beatrice had been born. Four years since Kit had died. (She was helpless then too.) They had lived peacefully on the island for four years.

Yet memories of him still haunted her. She wondered if she would ever really escape him.

She started to cry. She curled up into a ball and wept. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into her sister's face. Her sister gathered her up in her arms and took her outside, onto the brae.

Her sister kissed her face and wiped her tears away. "He's gone, Sunny. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I was dying, Vi. I was dying. You were dying. Klaus was dying. And I was helpless." She sobbed. She hugged her sister tightly. Violet kissed her again.

"I'm here now, Sunny. Klaus is in there, with Bee. We're all here."

"I feel like I'm never going to escape him, Vi." 

Violet stroked her hair. 

"And the things I did-"

"Sunny. No. You can't keep thinking like that. You were two years old when we did those things. We did them to survive. We're noble enough."