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Фанфик по сериалу Пацаны, начинающийся со сцены во втором сезоне где Энни - Звёздочку - заставляют сделать невозможный выбор. Но в этот раз, это не Хьюи, а Глубина (анти-герой и друг Виллиьяма Бутчера) который лежит у её ног.
И в этот раз, она делает то что никогда не хотела, пересекает свою финальную границу. И ломает себя в процессе. А Штормфронт, ну, она просто в нужном месте в нужное время. И заново собирает разбитую звезду, толкая её дальше в пропасть.
Глава Первая:
Face to face, my lovely foe. Mouth to mouth, breathing heaven’s glow. Face to face, my lovely foe. Mouth to mouth, breathing heaven’s glow.
“Kill him or I’ll kill you both. He’s a traitor and should be punished as such.”
Annie raised her hands. Beside her, Homelander stood, his breathing shallow and sharp. It seemed he enjoyed this way too much. She could have vomited. But he was so far away. Her mind blocked out any outside sensations. All she saw was the Deep’s face, resigned to his fate. But even now he wasn’t afraid. He looked at her with scorn, and resentment, but not fear. His eyes locked with hers, as if challenging her to do it.
Testing her, daring her.
Finally, she felt the heat pour up out of her body and surge through her arms, the river scolding her flesh. Her fingertips glowed. The room shined like a star about to go supernova. The Deep’s face vanished in the shining, scorching, white, pure light.
And then the glow faded, and the darkness slowly dripped back in, reclaiming its place, and the Deep wasn’t moving anymore. His green suited body collapsed, slumped against the wall. A wave of terror pushed down on her.
Homelander laughed, and out of the corner of her eye she could see his idiotic smile, projected onto his hard, muscular, stoic, All-American jaw.
“Good girl.”
The air slightly rippled and he was gone.
She was alone, with the Deep’s corpse. She knew that Butcher would probably never forgive her for this. He was always proud of the man, and how he managed to get him from a sex fiend and a frat boy who secretly hated his employers to a bonafide superhero. She remembered Butcher drunkenly half-joking that if there was a Supe in the world he admired, it would be the Deep.
The Deep was one of his original crew – before her, before Hughie.
Oh god. What would he think? She was now a killer. Not better than the rest of the Seven.
She looked once again into the Deep’s dark, empty, eyes, thinking back to her first day in the Seven. Hearing his voice congratulating her, showing her around, and being genuinely flattered when she told him he was her favorite out of the superhero team.
The rest of the fugitives got away, except for Miyashiro, who Homelander cut in half on the roof of some tenement. He was still pissed, and for some twisted and strange reason, it comforted Annie.
She didn’t know how she made it through the day – disassociating from her true self, burying her own identity under fake grimaces. Her human form shrinking, disappearing into the dark pit inside her, fading into the atrocious golden leotard the guys over at Vought designed for her. Annie was gone for most of the day and only Starlight remained behind.
It was her who answered the questions asked by the demanding press with a cold, neutral, voice, spitting out the pre-recorded statements as if they were some particularly disgusting meal.
“Was it difficult? You went on record that he was your favorite out of the Superhero team, with you joining up on patrols multiple times.”
Her face contorted into a fake Hollywood smile, Starlight pushed the plastic answer out of her chest, into her mouth, barely stopping herself from gagging on it.
“Yes, but a traitor is a traitor. I just had to remind myself of how much was at stake. Of how important this was for the future of the superhero team.”
What about your future, Annie? Ever thought of that?
The glitzy camera flashes were blinding her, bringing her back to her own shining light, as she ended the Deep’s life. Every single breath – every single moment – brought her back to that point, him sitting there, defeated, tired, broken, after Stormfront used her powers to split the whale he summoned wide open to let the Seven pass through.
She remembered his last words, reverbing in her ears, an echo from beyond the grave, on hellish, horrifying, repeat, a record that she wanted to tear out of her brain and smash to a thousand pieces.
“Butcher, you take Miyashiro with you. I’ll hold them off and then join you later.”
He sat there, brave, jumping out of the water in the path of Stormfront and Homelander, barely an obstacle for the two supes.
And then, he, covered in viscera and organs, crying at the loss of another innocent animal life. Looking at Homelander, spitting in his face.
Homelander’s strong, muscular, hands, gripped her shoulders, forcing her to do what she never wanted.
The Deep looked at her in disgust, as if saying “I always knew you were a coward.”
Maybe she always has been.
Despite her best attempts at trying to repress it, to bury herself as deep as she could inside her own flesh and skin, the words from Butcher cut through her as a burning blade, pushing her to the edge of tears.
“You couldn’t have stopped Homelander, huh? You couldn’t have pushed him to the side, or I don’t know” he turned around, hands lifted high “used your fucking powers, you stupid cunt?” She wanted to punch the man in the face for saying this, but she could not. Her own hands refused to help her, for she knew he said the truth. She should’ve done anything else but this. She was a fool and a coward.
The rest of the Boys looked at her with a mingling of regret and disgust. Hughie didn’t speak to her until they were standing outside. “Listen, Annie, I – “she stopped him mid-sentence, leaning into his shoulder, tears flowing out of her eyes, Hughie’s touch soft, him smelling of old laundry and detergent. “I could’ve saved him. I should have. Instead, I took the easy way out.” Hughie looked at her, shocked, before leaning in and hugging her. “Here, here, let it all out.” She smiled at him, through the pain and the tears.
Arriving at the Tower later that night she found it empty, except for one single person.
Stormfront.
The brunette was hanging off the couch, browsing her Twitter, before registering Annie’s presence. Smiling, she rose, strolling over to the blonde.
“Heard what you did with the Deep. Congratulations. Couldn’t have done it better myself, sweetheart.” Annie froze in place.
Stormfront was actually…proud of her? Somehow. Proud that she finally became what the rest of the Seven already were – cold-hearted butchers with barely any consciousness to speak off.
Stormfront stood painfully close to her, her hands brushing against her exposed arms, the leather strangely soft to the touch, her intense, dark, gaze focused on the blonde.
Leaning in, cheek touching the superheroines, bitter cold against her warm flesh, she whispered, delicately, in a softened voice. “I hope it isn’t your last. I would love to see more.” Annie pulled back; her face contorted into a grimace of disgust.
Running to her bedroom, she heard the brunette cackling, her shout chasing her all the way down – “I meant it as a compliment!”
Lying in her bed that night, she could barely breathe, her own chest cavity choking her, crushing her under its weight.
Annie wanted to put her hands around it, rip it out, demolish it under her heel. But it was impossible. That strange feeling wasn’t some outside force making its home in her chest, no. It was a part of her.
She was a killer.
She’d murdered him—her friend, a fellow Supe, the first person that she ever encountered within the Seven. Her childhood hero. She’d killed him to save her own worthless life. Without even hesitating for a minute. And all the press conferences and the Vought lies couldn’t change it. She wasn’t who they made her out to be. She did not do the right thing and did not deserve to be celebrated for it. She wasn’t brave, or courageous. She was the dirt in which they would bury the Deep.
Butcher was right in hating her and she was sure that Hughie was about to tell her that they should break up before she interrupted him. He wouldn’t be that wrong, either.
And yet…some strange, unfamiliar, alien, sentiment started bubbling deep inside her body. The sensation that she enjoyed Stormfront’s compliment. A disgusting worm nested deep inside her bone marrow telling her to revel in this. Teasing her that this was what she always desired.
She had pursued Stormfront’s appreciation ever since the brunette arrived at the Seven, and apparently, all it took was to kill the one man on the team who genuinely seemed to like her.
Shocked, she turned to the side, pushing these thoughts away. Her sleep was short and restless.
Cheek to cheek, the bittersweet, commit your crime in your deadly time
_________________
Wa de fuck ga ik vandaag allemaal verkeerd doen ?
Нитроксилин писал(а): Гомункул, если подумать, тот же биоробот.
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