Hell Is Other People
By Vanilla Tiger
AN: Darkfic – includes disturbing imagery, rape, death etc. Inspired by the
Troika Slash "writhe" challenge. Thanks to Fab for the beta.
Feedback to fitchers_bird@yahoo.co.uk
Blackness.
A memory flickers: Andrew. His open face, his need, the way he would writhe under Warren as-
Then all around him explodes into light and sound. Suddenly images are everywhere. Andrew winces and twists in pain as Warren thrusts harder, faster, with no thought of anything but his own satisfaction. A tortured animal whine escapes from Andrew's mouth and Warren comes.
No! Warren wants to shout, it wasn't like that. Yes, there was pain, there was always pain, but at least then it was mingled with overwhelming pleasure, for both of them.
The images continue with increasing violence. Warren flinches as he watches his double forcing himself onto a cowering Andrew.
There's no escape. He can't turn away, for everywhere he looks he sees the same thing. The pictures bleed into his skull so consistently that he can barely remember the hesitancy of their true first time. Still he tries to hold on to the reality of who he was.
"That's not me," Warren gasps. "I wouldn't do anything like that."
For a second he foolishly believes that it's over, but all around him is fading to grey; and he is soon faced with a vision of Katrina in a miniscule black dress and frilly white apron. The events of that terrible night loop constantly and each time the sadism of this other him grows.
The only things of which Warren can be certain is that he loved Katrina and that he never meant for things to turn out like this. He keeps trying to hide, eyes and ears covered; but no matter what, he can still see and hear everything, so that each new sight of ever-increasing pain is superimposed over his existing memories. He curls into a ball, ineffectually defensive. Frantically he rocks, moaning, "No, no, no."
New scene. Willow and her girlfriend making love in the room where they were together. The blonde has a hole in her chest and is bleeding everywhere. Neither seem to notice the red stains that cover them.
When Tara finally stops bleeding, her body begins to decompose. Still their union continues. In the embrace of her lover's corpse, Willow's hair slowly darkens.
What was once Tara flickers out of existence, and her place is taken by the Slayer. She too dies from her bullet wound, and the scene repeats itself, first with Katrina (whose chest is as perfect as ever, but whose skull is broken), then with Andrew.
Warren had never seen Willow's room before. He studies it intently, desperate to avoid the blood-smeared bed and its inhabitants. Through the window he can see the world ending.
Katrina. Buffy. Tara. Willow. Andrew. All melding in and out of each other in an orgy of sex and death. Interspersed with flashes of Jonathan in a pool of blood; Jonathan lying dead in a secret grave.
Warren cries. He weeps and wails, tormented by the knowledge that this is his fault, this is his legacy.
And, as if this was all that was required of him, the images freeze and fade away. Warren is left to himself once more.
Blackness.
A memory flickers: Andrew. His open face, his need, the way he would writhe under Warren as-