AHA! This might be my last oneshot for a while, I'm not sure. If I get the motivation, I'll finish the Halloween ones, but otherwise that's probably it for a bit. UNLESS you'd like me to write some Christmas/New Years ones. I dunno. Just a thought. Let me know!
This fic has been planned for a while now, but I finished it in literally a day. I was that excited about writing it. Kinda morbid considering the topic, but oh well. This is for you, my angst lovers (*cough cough* Laurs, Dallas, and Alex *cough cough*)
Warnings: Death, violence, gore (mainly just blood), and insinuations of suicide
Much Love, Krissy
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I'm jerked from my slumber by the sound of my dorm door being knocked on loudly. It's far too early for this, isn't it? I check my clock, which reads 2 AM. Yes, definitely too early for this. The knocking becomes more insistent, and I sigh and get up, leaving the warmth of my blankets. I go to my dorm door, prepared to scold whoever thought to bother me or Eliza this early in the morning, but my words die on my tongue as my eyes fall on the sight outside my door. John is carrying Peggy on his back as she lay unconscious. Both of them are beaten thoroughly.
"John?" is all I can get out. He reaches out for me, but collapses. I catch him immediately, trying to hold Peggy up too.
"Eliza!"
Eliza and I have been awake since 2 AM taking care of John and Peggy. Peggy woke up and had a concussion, and John has been fading in and out of consciousness for hours.
"Who did this to you?" I ask Peggy softly, the desk lamp being our only light source as we talk. She curls up around my body like a cat, and I stroke my hand over her hair.
"Jefferson," she mutters quietly. My hand pauses in her hair, and I feel anger boiling up in my stomach. Jefferson hurt them. I should hurt him. I remember thinking these thoughts only when my father had tried to hurt John and my mother. Now, someone else has hurt people I love. I let it slide before. I cannot do it again. I begin to stroke Peggy's hair again, slowly and soothingly.
"It will be okay, Pegs. I won't let him hurt you ever again," I say softly. She takes my free hand and holds onto it.
"I know you won't," she says, smiling a little. I lift her hand and kiss her knuckles, before lowering it back onto the bed and standing up. I need to find a knife.
Perhaps this was not the wisest idea. It could ruin my life, after all. James will hate me if I kill his boyfriend. However, I'm certain James also doesn't know what Thomas likes to do to the rest of our friends in his free time. However, I'm driven by anger and a thirst for revenge. Thomas hurt John. Thomas hurt Peggy. You hurt my friends and I cannot let it slide. I turn the corner and see the trademark puffed up hair. He's even wearing purple. Perhaps a bit toned down, but it still screams "Jefferson." I pull the gas station pocket knife out of my jeans pocket and stalk up behind him. I draw closer, keeping my steps light so that he can't hear me. It's my last chance to back out. I don't want to. I flick out the blade of the knife and let out a sharp whistle. Jefferson pauses and turns around. As his eyes fall on me, I jump, plunging the knife into his chest.
"Tu n'aurais pas dû blesser mes proches, espèce de connard pompeux (You should not have hurt my loved ones, you pompous asshole)," I whisper harshly, knowing he speaks French. His eyes widen in fear and...Hurt?
"Anastasia?" he chokes out. My lungs cease to function as I realize my error. This isn't Jefferson. It's Laf.
"Laf?" I ask, voice suddenly quiet as tears flood my eyes. He stumbles and catches himself against the wall, and I go to him. Unlike most normal people, he does not flinch away from me - the person who just stabbed him in the chest.
"I take it...You were looking for Jefferson?" he asks, his French accent strong and lovely. How could I ever mistake him for Jefferson?
"Je suis vraiment désolé. Je suis tellement désolé, je ne le pensais pas (I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it)!" I cry, holding on to him. He chuckles weakly and flinches, and I look at where the blood is soaking through his shirt. I know I need to keep the knife in. I press my hands against his chest, afraid that I've just killed one of my best friends. He touches my face and brushes my hair back.
"Je te pardonne. J'aimerais aussi le poignarder (I forgive you. I would like to stab him as well)," he says. I realize that I have to get him to a hospital, or some place where they can help him.
"Come on, we have to get you to a hospital," I say, throwing his arm around my shoulders just to make sure he can stay upright. He shakes his head as we take a few shaky steps.
"Non non. Ils vous arrêteront pour m'avoir poignardé (No, no. They will arrest you for stabbing me)," he objects. I keep pulling on him, forcing him to walk. I need to make it right. I should've just dealt with it like I usually would. I shouldn't have brought a knife to a fist fight.
"Je le mérite (I deserve it)," I mutter. He shakes his head and stops walking, reaching over with his free hand to touch my cheek and turn my head to face him.
"He hurt our friends, no? I will not disagree that we look alike. You were trying to threaten him, and make him stay away. You were trying to protect us. You do not deserve prison for that," he says. I blink back the tears in my eyes, but one escapes. He brushes it off my cheek and I shake with an unvoiced sob.
"I will not let you die for me," I say softly. I watch the familiarity with the words spark in his eyes as he realizes he once said that to me, in our past lives. I'd been shot near where I'd now stabbed him.
"Aw, how sweet," a thick Virginian accent purrs. I get halfway turned around before pain explodes in my abdomen. I look down, and there's a knife sunk into my skin. I look back up and see Jefferson smirking at me.
"You piece of shit!" I scream. I yank the knife from my own body and swing it at him, but he captures my wrist and twists it into an unnatural position. I cry out and release the knife, watching as he catches it and stabs me again, closer to my ribs this time. He shoves Laf off my shoulders, and my friend collapses to the ground. I try to go to him, but I'm shoved into a wall. The knife in my abdomen is twisted, making a sickening squelching noise, and I try to cry out. A hand covers my mouth.
"Poor little French girl. Too weak to protect your friends. Too pathetic. Now you're going to watch Lafayette bleed out in front of you, and there's nothing you can do to help him," Jefferson snickers. I grab at his wrist, trying to get him off of me. My feet dangle helplessly over the ground, and an idea strikes me. I kick at him as hard as I can, nailing him right in the crotch. He yelps and drops me, doubling over in pain. I drop to the ground and yank the knife out of my stomach again, swinging desperately at him. I mangage to make a cut across his face, and he roars in anger and pain. He knocks the knife from my hand, and in a blur he strikes me again, and I'm down on my elbows and knees beside Laf. I scream as I'm stabbed once again, this time in my back, and I can feel my entire body shaking. Warm, sticky blood gushes out of me, and everything hurts. There's a gentle touch against my arm, and I look over. Laf has turned his head and is looking at me softly. He glances down, at the knife in his chest. I yelp as Jefferson rips the knife out of my back, tears of pain rolling down my cheeks. And despite my pain, I know what Laf is suggesting.
"Non," I whisper. He squeezes my arm weakly.
"Oui," he mouths. Jefferson chuckles over us, and I turn my head to look up at him. He's twirling the knife between his fingers.
"You know, I wasn't gonna kill you, but then you gave me this glorious opportunity, and I've decided I can't pass it up. So, any last words?" he asks, looking down at me with a cocky smile. Laf squeezes my arm again and I hang my head.
"Just a few," I say, voice trembling. With my last ounces of strength, I yank my knife out of Laf's chest and throw my body upwards, twisting around violently and thrusting my hand toward Jefferson. I watch and listen as the blade sinks into his throat.
"Fuck you, Jefferson." He falls to his knees, blood pouring out of his mouth and the wound in his throat. I shove him over and watch the remaining life ebb out of him, before looking back at Laf. With the knife gone, the blood is spilling out even faster. I drop down to him once again and press my hands over the stab wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
"Ne me quitte pas (Don't leave me)!" I cry, tears flowing freely. My vision is growing darker, and the world is spinning. I have to stop the bleeding. I have to save him. If he dies, it's my fault.
"Anastasia," he mutters, gently touching my hands. I let out a whimper, not wanting to give up. He can't die. Not now. Not because of me.
"Arrêtez (Stop)," he says softly. I reach up and touch his cheek with my blood covered hand, leaving a handprint on his cheek. My other arm gives out and I collapse on top of him, my head resting next to his. He turns his head to look at me, and I hiccup.
"S'il te plait ne me laisse pas (Please don't leave me)," I whimper, pressing my forehead against his and closing my eyes. He reaches up and puts his hand atop mine.
"Ne sois pas désolé. Ne t'en veux pas (Do not be sorry. Do not blame yourself)," he whispers. I sob, and he tilts his head, planting the softest of kisses on my lips.
"Je t'aime mon ami (I love you, my friend)," he whispers. I feel the blood leaving my body, no doubt puddling on the floor with his. Merging. My eyelids feel heavy, and the world is fading to black.
"Je t'amie aussi, Lafayette," I whisper. As I fade away, I feel another kiss, and with the last of my life, I return it.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. It's steady. Rhythmic. How long have I been hearing it? It feels like hours, though I have no real concept of time. My limbs have felt heavy for a long time, though I've felt them lifted a few times. Specifically my hands. I have a vague memory of lips kissing my knuckles. I've had a warm body curled up beside me. I want to reach out, but I can't. I hear voices, but the words are muffled, as if I'm hearing them from under water. Beep. Beep. I smell a familiar shampoo near my nose, and the warmth has returned.
"Please come back, Ana," a familiar voice begs. John. I have to move. I have to get up. For John! He's holding my hand, and I try to move my hand. It won't cooperate. I take what I hope is a deep breath and pull all my strength. A twitch. Just the smallest twitch of my finger.
"Ana?" Yes, yes I'm here! I feel my fingers move slightly, just to close around his hand. He sits up, squeezing my hand.
"Guys! Guys, she's waking up!" he cries. I hear chatter around me, so fast that I can't understand what they're saying. I squeeze his hand weakly and my other hand moves slightly. I feel another hand grab that one.
"Ana, it's us. Wake up for us, please!" It's...Peggy. Peggy! I try to open my eyes, but the light blinds me and I flinch slightly. The light behind my eyelids dims.
"It's okay, now. You can open your eyes," John says softly. I force my eyes open slowly, seeing John's hand blocking out the bright, fluorescent hospital lights. Wait. Hospital? Hospital. I gasp and jerk my body, and pain blooms in my back and abdomen. Hands gently hold me down as my breathing evens out.
"Laf!" I cry out, tears stinging my eyes. Hands grab my face and I'm turned to face someone. Herc. He looks close to tears at the very mention of our friend. No...
"No," I whisper, realizing what that look means. He nods and a tear rolls down his face. He'd been telling me for months that he was in love with Laf. I use newfound strength to pull myself free of all the hands holding me down and throwing my arms around him. I sob into his shoulder, muttering apologies. It's my fault. It's my fault that Lafayette is dead. I killed him. I'm a murderer. It was me. It's all my fault.
The sky is crying. That's how I've always seen rain. It's why you always see it rain during funerals on TV. The moment is sad, so the sky is crying. Any rational person would bring an umbrella. I'm not rational. Not anymore. Thomas Jefferson ended up being blamed for the entire incident, including Laf's death. When I'd broken down during my questioning, saying it was my own fault that he was dead, that I was the one who killed him, they'd taken it as hysteria and survivor's guilt. They didn't convict me of anything. And since Jefferson is dead, there's no court case. There's no trial. No one gets punished. Laf is still dead, and I'm still the one who killed him. It's the reason his name is carved into stone and he's in the ground beneath it. I stand before it, clutching flowers in my hands and shaking. I haven't stopped thinking about that day since I woke up. I haven't been able to sleep. I've barely been able to eat. I drop to my knees and hang my head as I cry.
"I'm so sorry," I sob, putting the flowers down before the headstone. He doesn't respond. The dead don't talk. Not anymore. I lay down in the dirt beside the grave. The fair soaks my clothes and my hair, and mud covers one side of my face, but I don't care. This is what I deserve. I should've died with him. No...Instead of him. Perhaps when I get home I'll...Yes. I think a kitchen knife will do. I put my hand on top of the newer dirt of his grave.
"I'm so sorry, Laf. I'll be with you soon."
Um. Yikes? That was...I had way too much fun writing this. Mostly the fighting with Jefferson and the stabbing. Ooooh that was fun. I liked killing Jefferson. No beef with Daveed, I love him, but like fuck you, Jefferson.