Title: Regrets Drowning
Word Count: 1, 738
Rating: R, This fic contains graphic violence, excessive profanity and mention of a past heterosexual relationship.
Summary: A dying man's only regret, a murder’s only joy, and one hell of a way to go.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with the band Avenged Sevenfold, Warner Bros., or Mr. Matt Sanders or Zacky Baker.
Author's Notes: This was written for wearethefallen’s May “Anti-OTP” challenge. It’s dedicated to the wonderful wickedways who made me blush and inspired the summary. The muse for this fic came was my pup from the Role-Playing Game Bent Reality.
One week after his father died, my father woke up with a hole in his stomach. Rules of succession are a bitch.
He and my grandfather, they were two of a kind. So when the old man passed he got a little careless, a little sloppy. Guess he forgot our relationship wasn’t so close. Idiot. His guilt was a little too late to do either of us any good. I was already enough of his son not to forgive. Wish he’d had the decency to struggle, though. A kill without a good fight is like fucking without foreplay. Gets the job done, but it’s a helluva lot less fun. I should be used to that by now; dear ole dad was never much for letting me enjoy my bad habits. Too bad, I might have taken it easier on him if he had.
It doesn’t matter now. I got what I wanted. The chains, the cold, death grinning at his reflection in a guillotine, I still won, and that’s something none of these fuckers can take away. I had my life. I had my pack. I had my father’s life dripping out between my fingers in sticky, red rivulets that tasted like release and not a single one of them can change a fucking thing about any of it. So it doesn’t matter how the rest of this scene plays out, because I already got my victory.
And it might be a touch hollow, but I don’t care. And I might be seeing green every time I shut my eyes, but I don’t care. And I might be sitting here with voices chirping in my ear, but I don’t care.
No—not voices, a voice. My brother left behind. I have no regrets, but then again, I won’t see his face when they ship me back in pieces. It’ll be someone else, another alpha, who’ll fix what I’ve left behind. So, no regrets for me, I’m exiting before things get really messy.
Hey, I’m always gone before the fallout starts. It’s a pattern.
If I were going to live, I’d say its self preservation. Only, this is my swan song—oh fuck, I didn’t just form those words. Something’s wrong old wolf, guess I took out my edge.
“Mm…” A roll of the head that makes the stiff muscles of my neck creak. I can hear the guard outside jump and fuck I’m getting off just thinking about his fear. Locked and left like a dog and I can still make the fucking mighty tremble. Maybe this whole dying thing won’t be such a drag, after all. Least I can have a little bit of fun before going hard into that good night.
Another lifetime ago I got my rocks off thinking of green eyes and silver rings. But that was a past life, and one best not remembered now. It only makes me ache for things long past. The taste of blood is still heavy in my mouth, makes those dreams of the past turn sour. Guess those memories don’t go well with a little bit of mayhem. Pity. Nothing’s gets the blood going better than some hastily wreaked chaos.
Which wasn’t what this was, for the record.
This took planning. Consideration. A fucking lifetime to pull off. Really, if gramps hadn’t died when he did, I don’t know if I’d be here now. Good old granddad, finally good for something. I was beginning to think I should just gun for him, give the old man his sire’s head for Father’s Day. Glad I refrained. Would have been nice to see his face had I tossed out that particular olive branch, though. Wouldn’t have accomplished much more than fucking with him. And been there. Done that. Got the clap to prove it.
Not that it wasn’t worth it. Fucking with Daddy had its perks, but in the end was ultimately unsatisfying. He’d just take it like a bitch. Sometimes thinking of sharing genetics with him makes me faintly ill. Then he’d do something like send me bits of old friends, fingers, hair, a whole head once tacked onto invitations to come home and I’d see the family resemblance.
Profoundly dysfunctional. It’s a miracle that either of us are able to exist in society much less find people who’ll rally ‘round. Even after his death the old man’s got the loyalty of his troops. I can say that much about him. Even terrified, this little guard is still standing outside my cell, pissing his pants with every breath that I draw. They should have given him something. Sedative. Laxative. Hell, an iPod might help with the way he’s wincing every time my bones creak. Wonder what the rattling of chains would do to his delicate sensibilities? Wonder what a little couplet might do to his fragile psyche?
“And you, my father, there on the sad height,” Thomas. I am a very well educated wolf. It’s oddly fitting, since, you know, the damn bitch didn’t do more than whimper as I ate out his throat. “Curse, bless, my now with your fierce tears, I pray do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Oh yeah, that puppy’s really freaking now. My laughter probably isn’t helping. The acoustics are great in here, I sound down right demonic. Then again, that might be what I am. To the guard, at least. I’m a perfect angel to everyone else.
There’s that laugh again. It’s a howl and a scream and growl all rolled together with my vocal chords grating to fill the air between stone walls. He’s probably shitting himself listening to me. I wonder what it is that they told him. Maybe someone let it slip that I killed the old lupa, ripped her throat out, too. Clawed through her innards while she was pregnant and ripped away the flesh of her thighs as her mate, her pack, her males supposed to protect her were powerless to pull me away. I wonder if knowing six men and four tranquilizers did nothing but piss me off is what’s making him tremble.
Then again, it might just be my winning personality.
Really, it’s so hard to find good help these days. Poor dad. None of my pack would be standing in terrified guard of a lone wolf who’s already been chained. They’d mock. Laugh. Howl themselves just to make every second a torment. They’d never be so weak as to let a man who’d killed their alpha smell their fear.
They’ll be strong. They’ll be angry. They’ll survive. Syn’ll make sure of it. He can keep ‘em line. Even Zack’ll listen. Eventually.
Goddess, Zack, he of the green eyes. Adelphos. My brother. Packmate. Friend. Goddess, sounds like I’m the one writing his fucking eulogy instead of him having to write mine. Damn it. No regrets. I won’t feel guilty for any part of this. I did what I intended, what I’d always intended, and I’m not going to let even a single-fucking-shred of remorse interrupt my last minutes of fun. If I get off tonight, it’ll be on panic and fear, not a few fucking memories of my time in limbo. That was always going to end.
I wonder how he’s doing, though.
I haven’t done love since I was in my twenties. Fucking puppy. Even then I ended up ripping out her throat. And, well, there wasn’t too much when the coroners came to scrape what had been a beautiful woman off the pavement.
I don’t regret most of my kills, but I do regret her. Everything about her. And me. I regret who I was then, some young, naive, stupid little cub thinking I could have blood on my hands and a mate to lick off. Fucking world class idiot. I should have known better—did know better, just didn’t have the balls to the face that part of the beast. Thought it was my fucking right to take a mate, that I had the strength and the snarl to challenge anyone and walk out unscathed. Never stopped to think while I was laying my kills at her feet I’d lose it.
Live and learn, yeah?
Fucking moron, I did it again. Not that I meant, too, but goddamn it, fucking hell, who the fuck did I think I was? If I had more brains than balls, I’d have turned him out of Seattle the second he set foot in my town. But I didn’t. I saw the end in those green eyes and was too stupid, too fucking horny to a damn thing about it.
But hey, I don’t have to live with this mistake. I’ll never have to face what I did to him, what leaving and dying’ll do. And maybe—maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was just casual fucking all this time and he’ll curl up with the next alpha to roll into town. God knows my kind’s common. He could get any wolf he wanted with those eyes, and god, that mouth. Fucking Christ, I shouldn’t have ever set eyes on that mouth. It wasn’t the rings that I loved, but it was easy to let him think that.
Kiss. Bite. Nibble a little on those piercings that weren’t him but were so fucking sexy. I could taste the metal, roll it on my tongue and pretend that’s what I was drowning in. He never had to know. It was all just a game because, fuck me sideways, I’d have made him my mate. Goddess fucking save me, I’d have done anything for him. I fell in love. Proof that I didn’t live after the first death. Proof I died with her because I didn’t learn a damn thing to save him.
Well, one regret’s not so bad is it? As far as regrets go, he’s a fucking beautiful one. And at least it’ll only be my death that hurts him, not my fangs or my claws. I’ll never know the taste of his last pint of blood, or how his eyes would look before I tore through flesh and muscle. My death and he’ll live. He’ll learn, and I’ll never have to see his pain.
As far as regrets go, I can almost smile about this one, close my eyes and taste revenge on my teeth and metal on my tongue—deep enough to drown.