garecares (garecares) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2009-10-09 14:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | #flashback, #solo |
WHO: Gareth (stand alone)
WHAT: Memories
WHEN: Late night -- around 1:00 AM
WHERE: The living room of his trailer
Note: This is a flash-back, extremely gory and violent in nature. Due to the graphic-ness of this scene I'm rating it NC-17, if you're squeamish about blood and very graphic depictions of violence, then I would recommend ignoring this particular scene.
Gareth suffered from chronic insomnia -- there would be whole weeks where he would go on two hours of sleep or less. The insomnia had begun when he was about nine years old, and he rarely had relief from it. Because of his inability to sleep at regular hours, Gareth had the bed habits of a house-cat. Sometimes he would wake with carpet prints reddening his face, others he'd find himself startled into consciousness as the bathwater he was relaxing him suddenly covered his face. There was no such thing as bed-time for the blonde man, but he welcomed sleep whenever it came.
He was seated in a broken recliner that he'd found alongside the road the day before. It was tattered and old, and so comfortable that he couldn't help but doze off while relaxing in it. Dusty had gone into the bathroom to take shower -- which usually translated to "I'm going into the bathroom to wack it and then shower so don't come no where near that water closet unless you want to be hollered at some good." Gareth knew better than to venture from the living room. He'd settled into the recliner, admired the aged and yellowing wall-paper in their new home, lit a cigarette, and sighed. Relaxing turned into a sort of restless, light slumber, and with that slumber came dreams. Gareth never had the fantastic dreams of flying or becoming the king of the ocean or dancing on the moon... his dreams were always recollections of things past, memories he kept at bay when awake, memories he struggled to lose.
Dusty was asleep. They had settled into a Motel Six in Pandega Texas, no less than five miles from their home town, Arlington. It had been a crummy day. Thunder clouds had loomed dark and ominous all through the afternoon, the sort of hang-over skies that always seemed to put them both in a foul mood. It was time for a rare rainstorm in southern Texas it seemed. They had been chasing a Were across the state, a Were who was reputed to have killed a whole family. Of course, the facts didn't matter to Dusty and Gareth, their only goal had been to eliminate the Supernatural -- regardless of who or what it was. They'd lost the fucker again, and now Dusty was in bed. Gareth had found sleep long coming and sat up on his own dingy mattress, flipping through silent channels, the blue glow of the television reflected across his features, making him look ghostly. It had been a sort of peaceful silence, until a soft noise broke it. Glancing over, Gareth took note of Dusty.
The mostly-bald man was sprawled on his back, though his fists clenched at grimy sheets. His eyes were tightly closed and he was writhing in place. Swallowing, Gareth shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed and leaning closer, trying to hear what his friend was moaning. At first there had been no words, only soft sounds of pain... but then, as his friend's nightmare seemed to grow in horror, the whimpers and moans became cries.
"Dad-- please-- not... no... Dad... Not me... please... not..." The words came in a frighteningly childish lilt and Gareth recognized it as Dusty's voice, thirty six years prior. The same tenor, the same fear. "I'm sorry Dad.... Dad! Aw God!" And then in his sleep, sobbing, the wretched tears of the damned. Gareth couldn't stand it. He got out of bed entirely, walking over to his friend. His heart was hammering in his throat, his stomach knotted. He remembered all too well what he'd seen... what he'd heard. The things that Dusty's father had done... they were inhuman, horrible. In their travels they had never met a monster as horrendous as Ronnie Baker. Reflecting on how much he had hated Dusty's father now, Gareth felt a welling of disgust in his chest. He hadn't been able to do anything about the man when he was twelve, but he was thirty seven now, and he had considerable skill in managing with... problems. It was without thought that the blonde found himself pulling on his boots, gathering his weapons... he was going to pay Ronald Baker a visit.
It was raining by the time he pulled up to the nearly ancient trailer on Parker Road. A few rusty bikes lay forgotten in the lawn, and he recognized one of them as his own. There was an old Caddy that he also recognized as Dusty's dad's, though now it was suspended on cinder-blocks, the engine and transmission spilling out of the hood like a child's bag of over-flowing halloween candy. He could see a television light flickering through the front window, despite the blankets that had been put up as curtains. In short, it looked almost exactly as he remembered it from childhood.
He'd spent the car-ride the haze of a dull rage. Flickers of the past kept washing through his mind in a macabre slide-show, only making his fury increase. Now -- standing in the pour down, a knife sidled up inside his sleeve, his hair clinging to his face in wet and golden strands -- he exhaled a slow breath, his eyes blazing. "You little bitch." It was a whisper, one he wasn't even aware had passed his lips; an echo from his past.
He kicked in the door. It splintered like so many broken plates and egos and hopes. Effortlessly. Stepping inside, his brown leather saddle boots left mud on the entryway floor. Twenty seven years ago, both he and Dusty would have been beaten bloody for so much as ghosting dirt into the filthy trailer. Tonight however, that wasn't the case. He could see Ronald Baker clearly in the dimly lit living room. The man had put on weight -- so much so that he more closely resembled a human blob than a human. A beer was sitting cozily in his left hand and he was staring at the spot where the door had been with a look of bafflement. Gareth stood, dripping with rain and anger, and then Ronnie made his last mistake. After a life-time of them, this was a small one in comparison.
"You gawd-damn son'of'abitch!" He'd shouted, and shoved himself up from the couch, grabbing a shotgun that was close at hand. "Yer gonna pay for that door!" And he fired at Gareth.
He had been too drunk to aim properly -- Gareth supposed -- or perhaps he'd been just trying to scare the blonde man off. Either way the bullet didn't mark fatally. It grazed Gareth's shoulder, letting lose a torrent of blood and a jolt of pain that seemed to go down his arm in a white hot flash. Gareth winced, and then lunged forward.
His right arm – his good one, luckily- shot out and grabbed the fat man by the neck—as much as he could – and he began to choke him, effortlessly. "You know, I don't think I will be payin' for that door." He growled. His entire body thrummed with anger. Seeing Ronnie Baker for the first time in years made something inside him snap completely. He didn't think, only submitted to the raw rage that was eating at him. His hand tightened on the throat and he watched avidly as Ronnie's face turned a plumy red, roses blooming under his sunken in eyes, and he found himself spilling out words suddenly, now, while the other man was too breathless to speak.
"Somewhere out there, right fuckin now, you have a thirty seven year old son who can't sleep at night. You have a god damn child who remembers you as the man who used to beat him until he couldn't move. You sick son of a bitch." Gareth's voice was shaking, his hands were shaking. The man he was strangling made a noise – his face was turning a violent purple, spittle sat on his rubbery lips, but Gareth made no move to lessen his grip. The shotgun he had been holding tumbled from his hands and went off a second time. Ronnie flinched. Gareth did not.
"Do you hear me? You fat bastard? Right now, you have a son who doesn't dream unless it's of you pulling his pants down, he still lives in your fuckin' shadow." Abruptly the blonde man released Ronnie and the huge man crumpled to the floor, gasping and wheezing. Gareth turned away for a moment, pausing to compose himself, calm down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the gasping and coughing man reach for his shotgun again and he spun around. One foot landed hard on the outstretched hand, and there was the satisfactory sound of crushed bones. Ronnie screamed, a shrill and agonized sound and Gareth swung one leg back, bringing his booted foot forward. It landed with a sound crack against the older man's jaw and he toppled backward, now soundless with pain. Gareth moved forward again, kicking the gun out of the other man's grasp.
A low grin spread across his features, something with too many teeth and a shaky, almost evil quality to it.
"Try that again an' it'll be the last thing you do hoss. Y'hear me?" He brought his foot forward again, swinging it hard, and it met Ronnie's skull. The man screamed again, writhing in agony. "Why don't y'gimme a nod to let me know y'understand what I'm sayin'." Ronnie nodded, his eyes wide and terrified. That was good. That was great. Terror was exactly what Gareth wanted to see.
"Tell you what there Hoss." He breathed, kneeling now beside the big man, his breath hot on Ronnie's face. "You did things to y'son. Things that no one ever should'a done to another person. Y'touched him in ways that no eight year old should ever be touched. So here's what we're gonna be doin' tonight. I'm gonna take each one'a your fingers. With each one, I'm gonna tell you somethin' you done that you shouldn't... just to make sure you know just what you done."
At this Dusty's father began to scream, he screamed and tried to pull back, tried to get away. Gareth reached out, grabbing him by his shirt, his eyes dark with hatred. "Don't you fuckin' dare old man." He grunted, and shoved him back down. Without any effort, the blonde reached out, grasping Ronnie's wrist, and lifted the fat hand to his face. "Wooee boy. Look at that padding on y'fingers. This is goan take a big'old knife aint it? You got plenty'a meat on you." He slipped out his hunting knife, sharp as sin and glinting twice as brightly, and held Ronnie's hand still.
"Well, let's see here. I'm gonna take y'pinky first. See, you used to come home, drunk as hell, and you'd beat Dusty if he hadn't anticipated y'need for dinner to be made. Hell, you'd haul his scrawny eight year old ass outta bed at three AM just to beat him for not makin' food." With a simple swing of his blade, Ronnie's finger lay on the floor by his face. He screamed and Gareth let out a growl, frustrated. "Shut the fuck up Ronnie!" He brought the hand back to his face, lifting his knife again.
In the waking world, Gareth whimpered in his sleep, moving in his chair. His brow was drawn in with something that looked like worry. His cigarette lay burnt out and dead on the rug by his feet.
"This finger is fer every time you came home and saw Dusty mowin' the lawn and though you'd rather have him on his knees." His throat tightened, the urge to vomit rising in his gullet and he swallowed it back.
He made quick work of Ronnie's hands, and each time the man screamed, Gareth slammed him back against the ground. He was covered in blood, his chest was heaving. Ronnie was still conscious, though the blonde man could see it was fading. Dropping the fingers to the ground, Gareth hauled Ronnie up onto his feet, his breathing harsh, his eyes on fire.
"You're a sick bastard. A sick son of a bitch." Gareth's features were haggard, furious, and he peered into Ronnie's face. The big man's eyes were rolling back in his head and Gareth supposed it was time to finish up. "See you in hell." He grumbled, and drew the knife tight across Ronnie's throat.
He'd been soaked in blood by the time he returned to the motel. Rain had washed it from his hair, but his shirt and pants were ruined. He'd slipped into the room quietly, sneaking to the bathroom. The clothing had to be tossed. Dusty was now sleeping soundly on the bed, curled in on his side, and Gareth took great care not to wake him.
--
Waking up in a cold sweat, Gareth startled out of the chair. He'd been asleep for less than twenty minutes. Looking down at his hands, he expected to see the blood he'd been dreaming about. His clean hands made him relax a little bit and he exhaled, looking around for Dusty. The bald man was still in the shower it seemed, Gareth could hear the water running.