Work Text:
-April 6, Long Live The Reestablishment-
My day got ten times worse when my father told me to meet him at my mother's house. He's probably there to give me another one of those speeches of "This is weakness. Don't succumb to it," while standing over my dying mother's bed.
I hear him talking as I walk up to the front door, and stop to listen.
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” I hear him say. “I think you’d change your mind if you actually had the opportunity to feel the skin melt off your face. But,” he says, “I am not unkind. I certainly won’t rule it out as an option, if you’re really that interested.”
Who is he talking to? I decide the only way to find out is to walk in.
"Aaron! Come in," I hear him say. My mind immediately goes into fight or fight because of his false joyful tone. I cautiously step into the house and immediately stop in my tracks.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
She was supposed to be at omega point. Why is she here again? Why is life hell bent on taking everything worth living for?
I realize that I can't just stand there and force my feet forward. Seeing Juliette's face makes me feel ill. I feel like throwing up just by imagining her dead body. I can tell my face has fallen from it's perfect mask and that Juliette can see the unabridged terror.
“You kids remember each other, right?” My father laughs.
I can feel the verge of a panic attack as I gaze at her form and see her cuts and bruises. I feel like I've climbed up a mountain but can't catch my breath because of oxygen poisoning. I barely remember that my father is present in time to try and wipe my face clean.
"What is she doing here?" I ask, my voice wavering.
“I’ve had her collected for us."
“For what?” I ask desperately. “You said you didn’t want her-"
“Well,” he says, like he's considering. “That’s not entirely true. I could certainly benefit from having her around, but I decided at the last moment that I wasn’t interested in her company anymore.”
I stop listening. My thoughts are spiraling in ways I can't control. On the forefront is, I was supposed to die first.
“A miracle, my son informs me, that was performed by two of your little freaks," I hear through my spiral.
Not them too. I have doomed everyone to death. I leave a trail of destruction where I tread.
“No,” she gasps. “Oh, God—what have you done—WHERE ARE THEY-”
“Calm yourself,” he says to Juliette. “They are perfectly unharmed. I simply had them collected, just as I had you collected. I need them to stay alive and healthy if they’re going to heal me, don’t you think?”
Juliette turns on me. “Did you know about this?” She asks frantically. “Did you do this? Did you know-”
“No- Juliette,” I say, equally as frantic. “I swear- this wasn’t my idea-"
“You are both getting agitated over nothing,” he says, waving a lazy hand in our direction. “We have more important things to focus on right now. More pressing issues to deal with.”
“What,” I ask, “are you talking about?” I'm not breathing.
“Justice, son.” My father turns his gaze to Juliette. “I’m talking about justice. I like the idea of setting things right. Of putting order back into the world. And I was waiting for you to arrive so I could show you exactly what I mean. This,” he says, “is what I should’ve done the first time.” He glances at me. “Are you listening? Pay close attention now. Are you watching?”
He pulls out a gun.
And shoots Juliette in the chest.
I hear myself scream as she grabs her chest in shock and falls to the ground. I scramble over to her body.
"JULIETTE! NO- YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO DIE YET! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO LIVE!" I scream as I collapse next to her. I can feel myself sobbing.
Her eyes are half closed and her face is contorted in pain. "Juliette don't leave me like this..." I sob as I look in her eyes.
"So dramatic," My father comments from the other side of the room, "Make sure to get rid of the body when she dies. You can even bury her if your lovesick heart demands it."
I can barely hear him through my sobbing. I can't think or feel anything other than her fading heartbeat. I hear the door click as my father walks out the house, calm like he came over for tea.
The thought fills me with boiling rage. You're not dead yet. I pick up Juliette's body and sprint out the house and towards the nearest bunker.
I think of my tattoo as I sprint, ignoring the burn in my legs as I do. Hell may be empty, and the devils may be here, but Juliette is an angel and won't die yet. I won't have to see her dead body. I pray to a God I never believed in that, God, if you exist, don't take her. She's the only good one left.