(no subject)

[onlythebranch]

The worse Mad Sweeney's luck gets, the more he thinks about Laura fucking Moon.

It's fucked up, he's very aware of it, because when he thinks about her, he's not just thinking about how badly he wants his bloody coin back. He's thinking of that moment after the second accident, when he'd stood on that highway with his blessed coin between his fingers and just stared at her and known. He's thinking about that creeping insistence inside him that he do the right thing, whatever the fuck that means, and he's thinking about how angry he'd been, how badly he'd wanted to turn and walk away and leave her rotting there on the asphalt.

He's thinking of how gently he'd placed the coin back on her chest, how her dead, skinned muscles had felt under his fingertips.

She didn't deserve the gift he'd given her, but then, he knows he had never deserved it either.

These days he's drinking more than he usually does, which is saying something. Chances are nobody really notices, he's drunk more often than not even when times are good. It's just that drinking makes the rest of it sort of blend into the background and he can forget all this shit he keeps thinking about. It starts with the coin, but it ends up at Laura, and over and over he finds himself wandering back to the idea that it's not the coin he wants to see again, but her.

And that idea can go fuck itself.

He drinks straight from the bottle, Southern Comfort minus the fucking coke, drinks enough that he's stumbling when he moves from the kitchen to the living room. There's a moment's consideration when he thinks he ought to call someone, but then he just collapses on the couch with the bottle resting against his thigh and he turns on the TV. What he gets is some reality show about body painting, which is fine, which is good enough for him. It's brainless and he doesn't have to think, he can just get lost in the alcohol and the colours and when he finds himself drifting off, he thinks he's never been so thankful for a little bit of sleep.

The last thought he has before he slips into a dreamless black is that he wishes he could see her.

It's late when he wakes again. The TV is still on, but it's a different show now, some late night bullshit that never quite makes any sense and it's made worse by the fact that he's still drunk. The lights are off, the room is dark, but all at once he's aware of some change. There's pressure against his thigh other than the bottle of whiskey, something cool and slightly damp.

The air smells like blood.

Carefully, he sits up and sets the bottle aside, then reaches for the lamp he knows is beside the couch. The room floods with warm, yellow light and he looks down into the pretty, dead eyes of Laura Moon.

She's wearing the same clothes she was the night of the accident. The one that killed her. The one he caused. She's lying on the couch beside him, her head propped up against his thigh at a perfect angle that he's staring down into her face. There's blood on her lips, dripping gently onto his jeans, leaving a dark red smear he can feel against his skin.

This isn't Laura with his coin. This is Laura quivering in her death throes on the side of a highway. This is Laura after deciding to suck Robbie's cock one last time, after Sweeney had swerved his truck into their lane on Wednesday's instructions. This is Laura before the coin, the Laura who should have been left to rot in her grave, but instead she's here. On his fucking couch.

He can't stop looking at her. He takes his phone out of his pocket and dials the first person he thinks might be able to help. It's late, he's not sure they'll answer, but when they do -- or maybe it's their voicemail, he's too drunk and too fucked up to think about it -- he just says, "I'm at home. I need help."

Then he hangs up again. Hangs up and stares at Laura staring back at him.

"Fuck," he whispers.

Comments

[quinientos]

Ever since he'd woken up to discover his hone had a history that would give someone a lifetime of blackmail against him and friends telling him exactly how much of a fucking asshole he'd been as a modern Mexican, Vasquez has been spitting furiously mad, going to work at the range more than usual, drinking heavily, and trying to forget the bullshit wish that had turned him that way.

When his phone goes off, he nearly doesn't answer, but Sweeney...well, at least he's usually good for offering him some distraction. Vasquez barely even gets a chance to open his mouth to ask 'help with what' before he hangs up. "Puta," he exhales, but he still changes into clothes (decent calf-skin trousers and a linen with a vest, none of that modern shit he'd been wearing). He doesn't bother to shave, even if he does corral his hair.

He takes advantage of the walk to smoke his way through two cigarettes, pounding on Sweeney's door when he gets there. "Did you have to hang up? You know I fucking hate texting," he gripes, which is why he hadn't texted back to ask what he needed help with. "Open the door."

[onlythebranch]

"For the love of Brân, could you be any fuckin' louder?" Sweeney hisses as he opens the door after Vasquez begins to pound on it. It's late and he sure as fuck doesn't want to wake his neighbours, not when he's got a dead body to contend with. Laura might not have a record in Darrow as having been a citizen, but that doesn't mean someone won't be willing to pin him with a murder if they catch him like this.

He's thinking about that. About getting rid of the body. About what it might mean for him if he can't do it successfully. It's a hell of a lot better than thinking about what it means that she's here at all. Here and dead, no less, not here and undead, which are very different states. This version of Laura is quiet.

"Get in here," he says, grabbing Vasquez and then shutting and locking the door behind him. "Fuck."

[quinientos]

Vasquez rolls his eyes, because yes, he could be louder. At least he didn't kick down the door and start shooting, though if Sweeney were in trouble, he might have. He did bring the guns, though, because the cryptic phone message hadn't set him at ease, so he's here ready to fight.

When he gets hauled itself, though, Sweeney's demeanor is definitely strange, but what's stranger is the fucking body on the ground. Staring at Sweeney, then the woman, he gives him a wary look.

"Did you do this?"

[onlythebranch]

"It was a car accident," he says. It's not a lie, because it was the car accident that killed Laura Moon. Mad Sweeney doesn't need to tell anyone he's the one who caused the accident, though, and he sure as fuck doesn't need to tell them he did it because Wednesday asked him to.

"This is the bitch with me coin," he continues, pointing at her. "Only this is before her idiot fuckin' husband gave her the coin, so she's just dead. Way this looks, this is right after the accident."

He remembers. This is exactly how she looked, quivering on the road as she died alone and afraid. At the end of it all, he feels like Laura hadn't wanted to die, not even after all the years she considered it and all the times she attempted it. Not after all the effort she made to keep herself busy.

[bloodyanimal]

Spike didn't have the chance to even mutter, "What are you bloody on about?" The line was dead before that, and he was left staring at the phone, as if some sort of answer might spring up on its infuriatingly tiny screen.

In the middle of a closing shift, Spike considered sending his apologies, but there was something in Sweeney's flat, distant tone that told Spike that this was nothing to simply brush off. When he strode out of the club, he was uncertain whether or not he'd have a job later, but he wasn't too terribly broken up about it.

Perhaps it was time to move on.

He was there in under ten minutes, parking just down the block. As he climbed the stairs, turning the corner down Sweeney's hall, he could already smell the blood. The stench of death. The coming of rot.

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, startled when he tried the knob and found the door unlocked. Inside, the smell was stronger, his empty stomach giving a quiver of hunger.

Quietly shutting the door behind him, he took in the scene, his brow arched and his hands resting upon his hips.

"What's all this, then?"

[onlythebranch]

The last thing he wants to do right now is explain himself, but he figures there aren't many people who are going to let him get by without. Spike might, if he refuses to give the details, but he needs the help right now, he doesn't have the slightest fucking idea what to do with a body in a place like this.

She'll not be the first body he's had to get rid of, but those years are long in the past and they'd been in places he'd been familiar with in ways he's not yet with Darrow. Because he hasn't had to be. Not until now.

"Meet Laura Moon," he says, his voice rough and low. He'd gotten up after calling for help, he hadn't been able to sit there and let the fresh blood from some awful internal injury continue to drip onto his leg. "The bitch with my coin before she got hold of it."

Dead, dead, dead. Because he killed her. Caused the accident that did this to her. That's the bit he thinks he can get away with keeping to himself, at least for now, and he looks at Spike with an unreadable expression. "Don't know what happened, mate. I passed out, next thing I know she's here on the couch, her head practically in my fuckin' lap."

[bloodyanimal]

"Wonderful," Spike said flatly, his lips curling with distaste. Sweeney smelled of guilt, of despair. It rolled off of him in waves, bitter and sickly. She wasn't simply the bitch who'd stolen his coin-- that much had been obvious the first time Spike had heard her name, but not the truth of it was nearly a tangible thing.

"And you want me to help you get rid of her, I suppose," he said, arching a brow. Drawing in a breath, he took a step toward the couch, dropping into a crouch beside it.

Buffy's lifeless, glassy stare flickered through his mind and his jaw twitched as he clinched his teeth. "We've got a few options. None of them are particularly pleasant, though I can't imagine this is the first body you've had to deal with, mate."

[onlythebranch]

It's not just that. If it were just a matter of getting rid of a body, Sweeney would have done it without hesitation, and as soon as he realizes that, he tries to stuff it down. The reason he'd needed someone else here with him is because it's Laura.

And he'll be fucked if he doesn't hate that.

"Nothing pleasant about it one way or the other," he says, the words feeling as if they're grinding out of him. "She didn't even have the decency to bring my bloody coin with her."

Even if she had, he knows he wouldn't take it from her. Somehow that pisses him off even more, but he doesn't have the energy for real anger right now. "Where the fuck am I supposed to put her?"

[andhiswife]

Mad Sweeney doesn't call her. These days, he doesn't seem to acknowledge her at all, and if it weren't for the fact that her offerings continued to disappear, she'd be inclined to wonder if he'd gone home, or if she'd angered him somehow (though she doesn't think his anger would be the subtle, is-he-or-isn't-he sort). But he's been keeping his distance.

Not calling her. And certainly not asking for help.

She murmurs an explanation to Thomas as she dresses in the dark, and then hurries over to Mad Sweeney's apartment building. Outside of his door, she hesitates for a moment, wondering -- belatedly -- if he misdialed. Well, he got her out of bed, at any rate; she's not going home without finding out what's going on. She knocks briskly, and waits.

[onlythebranch]

When he opens the door, it's not Greta he expects to see on the other side. He must have called her by mistake, because he's been trying to keep his distance from her, trying to keep her from getting wrapped up in all of this bullshit bad luck of his, but he supposes it was only a matter of time before she was dragged into it.

He hadn't meant to call her. Of course his luck would twist it this way.

"Fuck," he says when he sees her. Laura is still there on the couch behind him, though at least she's not visible from here, and he doesn't know what to do. To keep her out of this, he should probably slam the bloody door in her face. But it's probably too late for that.

"C'mon, get in here," he says. "And don't fuckin' freak out. This is some bullshit from home."

[andhiswife]

The smell of alcohol hits her like a slap, and she takes him in, from his startled expression to the blood on his trousers, in a single, sweeping glance. Her eyes narrow incrementally. "Hello to you, too," she says, unimpressed. But when he invites her in -- in a matter of speaking -- she doesn't hesitate before stepping inside. There's no question of whether he meant to call her, anymore, but that doesn't assuage her curiosity in the least. She still wants to know what on earth is going on.

That feeling lasts right up until she sees the body on the couch. To her credit, she does not 'freak out,' as he so charmingly puts it. She can't help an instinctive flinch and an 'ugh,' as if she'd stumbled upon the desiccated remains of some pest or other in the back of the pantry, but she doesn't scream or swoon or anything else inconvenient like that.

It's not the first dead body she's seen.

It is the first dead body she's had to truly bother herself about, though (with all due respect to the memory of Jack's Mother), and she grimaces. "What happened?"

[onlythebranch]

"Car accident," he says, which is the true. He can get around the fact that he's the one responsible for her death so long as Greta's questions don't get too specific and really, a car accident was the beginning and the end of it.

It's a relief that Greta doesn't do much more than flinch. He's pretty sure he couldn't fucking deal with her screaming and throwing a fit right about now and she's never struck him as the type, but he's also never dragged her into a shitty situation with a dead body before either, so he's not sure if he's really got a good grasp on how she might react.

"Before Darrow," he adds. "This is- she's the one with my coin. Laura. Only right now she sure as fuck don't have my coin. This is before that. And before you ask, I got no fuckin' clue how she ended up here. I passed out on the couch and when I woke up, there she fuckin' was."

[beforethepunchline]

It's late when the call comes in, but Harley knows that Sweeney wouldn't make the call if he didn't mean it, let alone hang up like that. He needs help and she's gonna deliver.

Luckily, he's just a couple floors up, so she books it to the elevator and wishes she'd taken the stairs instead, turning up a couple minutes later to knock at his door.

"Sweeney?"

[onlythebranch]

There are a few people in Darrow he trusts to be able to help him and it's weird, given that they don't know each other that well, but he counts Harley among them without much consideration at all. If he lets her in this apartment, he doesn't think she's going to assume he killed Laura, which sure as fuck couldn't be said for everyone else in this city. He knows how most people see him and it's not like he's ever done anything to make them think otherwise.

It's his own bloody fault. All of this.

At the sound of her knock, he opens the door and gestures for her to come inside.

"I don't know where the fuck she came from," he says before Harley can say anything. Laura is still there, lying on the couch. He hadn't the heart to move her.

[beforethepunchline]

"Oh, boy," Harley says, stepping inside. It's impossible not to see her there, a body just laid out, taking up a good portion of the couch, definitely dead. Not super dead yet, but definitely dead.

She was gonna ask where she came from, but since he's already beat her to that one, she changes tacks. "So what happened? She just appeared?"

Sounds crazy, but it isn't. Not in a city like this.

[onlythebranch]

Maybe it's because Harley doesn't know him that the words come out, but Sweeney finds himself sinking down into a chair where he scrubs his face over his hands before he begins to speak.

"Remember I told you about the woman brought back to life because she got hold of my coin?" he asks. "My luck? That's her. Before my coin. I was- me and her, we were traveling, trying to find her a true resurrection. She- fuck, she's a complete asshole, maybe one of the most fucked up people I've met in my very long life, but somethin' about her..."

He's not explaining this very well at all and he takes a deep breath, then looks at Harley. "I've been thinkin' about her a lot lately. Not just about getting my coin back, but just fuckin'... just seeing her, I guess. Been doin' a lot of drinking to stop thinking about her. I passed out on the couch a couple hours ago and when I woke up, she was just here."

[morning_knight]

Cassius should have ignored the call. He should have just rolled his eyes and gone about his day but Sweeney doesn't really admit that he needs help at all. Ever. So, Cassius doesn't go there because he's looking to help.

He goes over there because he's curious. He takes his time, doesn't rush and soon enough, he's in front of Sweeney's door and knocking.

"You dead in there?"

[onlythebranch]

"Not me," he answers when he opens the door and pushes it wide enough only to let Cassius inside. The last thing he fucking needs is one of his neighbours seeing Laura's body and he's grateful, for nothing else, that most of the people on his floor seem to keep normal hours. They're probably all asleep right now and as long as they stay that way, maybe he has a chance of getting her out of here without being seen.

Laura would think it was fucking hilarious if he went to jail for her murder in a city where she's never even lived.

"Cassius, meet Laura," he says, sweeping his hand toward her where she's lying on the couch. "The bitch with my coin, before she got my coin."

[morning_knight]

Cassius steps inside and then stops short when he sees the body on the couch. He's seen dead people before, plenty of them, but this strikes him as being a little different.

A little more personal. He sends a look over to Sweeney before moving again, walking closer to the body and peering down at it.

"And how in the gorydamn hell did this get here?" Cassius asks, glancing over at Sweeney.

[priordivergence]

I know people who love their phones, who like to have long conversations or call just to chat. I'm not really one of them, preferring to do talk in person. Sweeney has always seemed the same way, which makes the terse voicemail seem even stranger. When we'd exchanged numbers, I'd never expected him to ever use mine, much less for such an ominous message.

I wonder what that says about my expectations of him.

Getting there takes a little longer than I want, given my cast and the fact that I've never been to his place, but I manage it and knock on the door.

"I'm here."

[onlythebranch]

By the time she's there, he regrets having called in the first place. Mad Sweeney's not a man prone to moments of panic, but the sight of Laura on his couch had undone him a little and he'd made a mistake. Getting Tris tangled up in this is a bad fucking idea and he's tempted to just not answer the door.

But she's the sort to get her way, he knows that. Stubborn. More than he is. If he makes her wait, chances are the neighbours will wake up and he doesn't want to deal with that either.

So he opens the door. She's still got her cast on and he curses under his breath, wishing he'd thought this through a little better than he has. Which seems to be not at all. "C'mon," he says. "Come in. I need to get this door shut."

[priordivergence]

I don't know why he's called me here but when he opens the door to usher me in, I only have more questions. It's strange how such a big man can seem so hunched and furtive, like there's something trying to destroy him from inside.

Once the door is closed, even in the semi-dark, the smell hits my senses more than anything else. Blood and death. The hairs on the back of my neck rise up and I can remember what one of my Erudite teachers called this sensation: the fight or flight response. My brain, programmed to fight and survive, assesses for its source. Is the blood coming from an injured enemy or from some kind of horror?

I'm tense–my heart beating fast and nervous, one hand halfway to the knife in my jeans–when I see it. When I see her. She's pretty, her face similar to Eleanor Lamb's beneath the blood, and freshly dead. My assessment shifts and I turn to look at Sweeney.

"What is this."

[scythe_lucifer]

Rowan didn't think of Sweeney as a man who needed help, let alone asked for it. He was strong, stubborn, just proud enough to not go looking for assistance when he could make do on his own. So when Rowan got the call -- too abrupt and curt to be anything other than an emergency -- he immediately headed out to Sweeney's apartment.

He took the elven dagger with him, tucked into his boot under his jeans, just to be safe.

Standing outside the door with pursed lips, Rowan knocked twice on the door, by now intensely curious as to what was going on, but fearful of what he might find. He couldn't even begin to imagine what terrible thing the city -- or Sweeney -- had done.

[onlythebranch]

The last time they'd spoken it hadn't exactly gone poorly -- Mad Sweeney likes a good fight, after all, he's sort of disappointed it hadn't dissolved into one -- but a part of him almost hadn't expected Rowan to show up. He'd pissed him off the last time, he knows it, and a lot of times that's enough of a reason for someone to tell him to fuck off.

But Rowan comes. Sweeney hears him knock and he goes to the door, opening it and nodding for him to come in. Were it someone else, he thinks he'd tell them not to freak out, but he's got a feeling a dead body isn't something that's going to scare Rowan all that much.

"Hi," he says, stepping back. He wants Rowan to get inside so he can shut the door as soon as possible. It's late, but who the fuck knows if some of his neighbours are still awake.

[scythe_lucifer]

It had never been a question in Rowan's mind whether he would come to Sweeney's help or not. There were only a handful of people in Darrow that he could even come close to being himself around. While Sweeney didn't respect boundaries too well, he was still too valuable as a friend to abandon.

He stepped into the apartment and made his way into the main room without asking, just to put some distance between himself and the door.

And... that was when he saw her. He froze in confusion. Clearly Sweeney hadn't killed her. She was too far gone already to have been a fresh kill. But what was a body doing in his apartment?

"What am I doing here?"