onlythebranch | (no subject)

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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.

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"No fuckin' idea," he answers, which somehow makes it worse. If he knew how she'd gotten here, maybe he could do something about it, send her back somehow, but she's just here. Dead on his couch. Her eyes are still open, he couldn't even bring himself to touch her to close them.

"I fell asleep on the couch," he says. "Woke up a few hours later and here she is. Right fucking there."

He has to get rid of her somehow and the thought makes his stomach turn. He doesn't love her, he barely fucking knew her, but he's got an affection for her he can't fully deny to himself. She's a complete asshole, she has a shitty personality and a black hole where her heart ought to have been, but he'd liked her all the same. Grown attached, as it were.

"You need to get rid of her before someone starts smelling her and calls the police." The statement is firm but it's rooted in something like concern. There was no way she wasn't going to start stinking soon and who the hell knew how nosy his neighbors were?

"Get a blanket or something and I'll help you," he says, sighing. He doesn't want to stand here and look at a gorydamned dead body. It needs to be removed and buried. Luckily, he has some experience with that since Sweeney seems frozen.

"Now," he orders, glaring. "Come on."

It's easier with a little bit of help. With someone telling him what to do.

Sweeney goes down the hall toward the bedroom and pulls a closet out of the closet. It's one that was here when he arrived, one he doesn't even think he's ever used, which is probably for the best. He's about to use it to dispose of a body, one he doesn't want being traced back to him. So he brings the blanket out, sets it down on the floor beside the couch, then looks at Laura.

There's no saving her this time. No picking up his coin off the road and settling it back in her chest. She won't wake up and punch him and he knows he ought to be grateful, but he can't find it in him.

"Fuck," he mutters, then picks her up off the couch and lays her down on the blanket. As he's covering her, he looks at Cassius to avoid having to look at her face. "You got any idea where to take her?"

"No."

He hadn't exactly done research on burying a body earlier today. He's careful not to touch the body as he wraps her in the cloth, a grimace of disgust on his face. Dead people were always so cold and clammy feeling and it was a sensation that clung to you.

"The woods, perhaps. Or the cemetery. Either one is going to be a walk with a body or a very suspicious cab ride. Choose."

This was Sweeney's body and Sweeney's burden. Cassius was there and he would try and help but he wasn't going to take complete charge and end up too connected with this whole thing.

He's almost insulted by Cassius's expression. On Laura's behalf, really, which is stupid, because Laura wouldn't have fucking cared. Laura with a coin in her would have torn Cassius's arm off and, strong as he is, he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. He's fought them both himself, he knows which of them is stronger, but it's the coin that gives her that power.

Now she's just a body.

"The woods," he says. "Fuck the cemetery." And Cassius was right about the walk, but it had to be done. At least it was late, they would probably be able to avoid running into most people, but either way, she still looks like a body, even wrapped up in the blanket. Sweeney makes matters worse by picking her up in his arms like he's carrying someone living. He can't fold her over and shove her in a fucking duffel bag, though, he doesn't have that in him.

"Gorydamn, Sweeney," Cassius says, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. They were going to be lucky to go anywhere without someone stopping them with the way Sweeney was carrying the body. But, it's his problem and Cassius is only along for the ride.

So, Cassius holds the door open and doesn't say anything as they start the trek out of the building and down to the street.

"Any reason you can think of that this might have happened?"

He almost asks what the fuck Cassius expects him to do. If he's supposed to ball her up and shove her in a bag, but he knows that's exactly what he should do. He should make it so she doesn't look so much like a fucking corpse, that's what most people would do, especially if they were getting rid of a body of someone they'd killed.

And he is her killer. In a way. She'd not seen it that way and he supposes he ought to consider himself lucky for that, but he'd caused the accident, even if it had been on Wednesday's order.

"No fuckin' idea," he answers. He moves confidently, despite the fact that he's still drunk. The more at home he looks, the less likely someone is stop them, although the streets are dark and quiet. "I was thinking about her, but I think about her often enough."

"Uh huh."

So, it was this place, most likely. It was this place doing something and Cassius makes a concerted effort not to think of anything he wants except the fact that he wants to go home. If that were to work, he'd be gorydamned amazed but he doubts it will. He's not going to be sent home that easily.

"Well, I think you might just be special, Sweeney, since I haven't seen anyone else carrying around a body while I was on my way here," Cassius tells him, rolling his eyes. "What an utter gift for you. Hope it's followed up by a new couch."

"Think that's probably a pass," Sweeney mutters. He doesn't give a fuck about the couch. Most of the blood ended up on him anyway, but he figures there are people who wouldn't want a couch a dead woman had lain on.

He doesn't care. She's not dead enough to stink, she's barely dead enough to have gone cold, and it's fucked up, but he thinks he sort of likes that she'd been on his couch.

"Yeah, real special," he agrees as he moves toward the woods. He doesn't have a shovel, but he'll find something. He'll figure it out. "Lucky fuckin' me. Better dead than dead and with my coin. You'd really like her."

"You just saying that or are you serious?" Cassius asks, following Sweeney along even though he really doesn't want to have to bury a dead person tonight, let alone someone he doesn't know.

"I don't like anyone, Sweeney," Cassius tells him haughtily. "I tolerate people."

And that was the truth, don't try and tell him otherwise especially while you were carrying a fucking dead body.

"I'm just sayin' it, lad, she's a cunt and you wouldn't like her," Sweeney answers as he moves into the trees. "Mostly because, with the coin, she could knock your block off."

That would have been kind of funny to see. Laura would hate Cassius, he's got no doubt of that. If she hated Sweeney, which she did, there's nothing in the world Cassius would be able to do to make her like him.

"Dunno what kinda magic it was," he says. "But it made her stronger than anyone I've ever met. You included."

"Valuable item," he says casually. It definitely sounds like something he would have wanted to get his hands on. Just imagining himself with something like that and facing down Darrow made his way. The only thing that would have made it better was if he actually had this coin and could take out the entirety of Darrow's rebels.

"How the gorydamned hell did she die if she's so powerful?" Cassius wonders. "There was obviously a weakness."

"The coin made her powerful," he answers. "And she didn't get that until after she died. Until then she was just a regular fuckin' woman."

But no, that's not quite right. There's not much regular about Laura Moon. She'd had a dark heart, one not fully capable of loving, that's what he thinks. She'd never really loved Shadow. Maybe not anyone.

Except he remembers when they'd taken her to see her family. If not for that moment, he'd think her utterly heartless, but he remembers how she'd looked when she'd come back to the cab.

"What the gorydamned hell is in the coin?" Cassius asks, unable to help himself. "What makes it so powerful? I assume it's some item of supernatural power but what exactly is it?"

He's curious. There's never been a weapon that powerful in his galaxy that he knows of and for it to be a gorydamned coin of all things.

"How did it get that way?"

"Don't know," he says. "It was given to me by accident, after I was a bird. Came from someone else who probably shouldn't have had it. All I know is that it's older than old, older than anything I can imagine."

And it's not the source of all his power, but it is the source of his luck. He doesn't know where it had come from, doesn't know the forces behind it. Sometimes he thinks it's incredible how little he really knows, but after so long of being a bloody bird, he hadn't felt the need to ask questions. All he'd wanted was freedom and he'd had that in spades.

"In my hands it's nothin' more than luck. In Laura is was somethin' a hell of a lot more," he says, then shrugs. "Don't know why that is either. It's like having a bit of the sun."

It sounds incredibly and Cassius can't help but want it. He would be able to subjugate just about anyone back home and perhaps he could even make himself Sovereign. It's no more than a flight of fancy right now because this coin isn't here but it's something he wants to remember.

Just in case.

"I wonder what it might be in my hands," he muses idly as the walk. "Do you know where you want to put her? Can you be sure this city isn't going to gorydamned bring her back to life?"

"Dunno, but it has to be freely given," he answers. Not that it matters. It's not here. He just knows if things ever change, if he ever gets his hands on that coin again, he sure as fuck isn't going to be giving it away again any time soon. Not to anyone, not even to someone he likes.

"And no," he adds. "Can't be sure of nothin' in this fuckin' place, can I?"

As for where he wants to put her, he keeps walking in response to that. Deeper in the woods. Somewhere deeper and darker. Somewhere the moss has begun to rot and it smells faintly of loam and decayed vegetation. That's where she'll go.

"Christ, man, are you taking us to the depths of hell?" Cassius asks, trying to avoid the worst of the mud and the muck. He doesn't know why this place isn't a perfect spot to just dump the body. He doesn't look to be going to some special, magical place either. He's taking her body somewhere that's she's never going to see the light of day.

"This is ridiculous," Cassius complains. "You know you can just bury her anywhere and the end result will be the same, right?"

"Fuck you," Mad Sweeney snaps, turning to look at Cassius. Laura is suddenly horribly heavy in his arms and he has to shift her, holding her against his chest.

"I asked you for help, but if all you've got right now is shit like that, you can fuckin' go. Because I might be a right asshole, but if it was someone who mattered to you, I'd at least have the decency to keep my mouth shut."

He'll do it on his own, then. He'd thought he needed help, because it fucking hurts, and he's not used to that, but somehow this is worse. Having someone he gives a shit about treating it like it's just dumping a body. That just hurts worse. And fuck that. Fuck having feelings like that.

"Oh, bullshit," Cassius says, rolling his eyes. He doesn't need this. He'd come out here and tromped through mud and muck enough. All he'd done was question the spot of burial and now this shit?

Whatever.

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut if someone's cock was shoved into it," Cassius snaps, already turning around to leave. "You do it yourself. It's your body, not mine, and it doesn't look like you need any help anyway."

He wasn't going to get sweaty and nasty digging a hole. Sweeney could do that on his own.

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