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intheheartTitle: Rules
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence.
Summary: Aaron breaks the rules.
Date: 2015
AU: Sociopathic Besties
Notes: These events, in canon, take place in 2012: for the purposes of this AU I have moved them to 2015. The timeline is squidgy; I can do as I please. Looked over by the lovely Sara, to whom Maria Corlioni belongs.
WARNING for sociopathy and outright murder.
There are things you don't do. There are people you don't hurt.
There are rules.
It infuriates him, every time he thinks of his youngest sister crying on the phone. She's little. She's helpless. You don't hurt the helpless.
And for what? He asked Ivy that, and she snapped something about 'that fucking bitch Madison.' From which he gathers that Madison said something that made Lars hurt Summer. He doubts she told Lars to do anything specific-- she never struck him as particularly malicious, just vapid. So maybe he'll leave her, if he feels like it.
Lars is another story.
--
They all think he's still at camp, because camp is snowed in. Camp thinks he's trekking home, because something happened to his sister. Camp is right, as it happens, but when he turns up the next day panting and says he couldn't get out and had to spend the night in a cabin, they won't question him. And no one in New York will have any reason to think he was ever here.
Lars's building doesn't have working cameras, or a doorman. The neighbors are incurious. The walls are thin, but Aaron works quietly.
It could hardly get more perfect.
--
A resident is just coming out as he approaches, trying to stuff his keys in his pockets with mittened hands. Aaron bumps into him, holds up his hands in mute apology, and heads off down the street, fingering the keys now in his pocket. He'll wait until the resident is long gone, maybe circle around the block, before he goes in.
He's breaking all the rules for this, so he must be triply careful. He cannot get caught. If he had sense, he'd ask Maria... but this is personal, in many, many ways.
You don't hurt the helpless. You don't.
--
It's that peculiar grey time between full light and true dark when everyone is either at work or at home. The stairs and hallways are deserted, and his steps echo up and down, a hollow, metal sound. Not good-- if anyone is listening, they can pinpoint his time of arrival. Then again, not bad-- if anyone is listening, what they are not doing is watching. There is no way of telling who arrived.
He curls his fingers around the keys in his pocket, feels the edges cut into his fingers. No blood, he thinks, no DNA, and lets them go.
--
Lars lets him in.
That's what kills him-- figuratively, of course. Lars lets him in. Even knowing what he does about Aaron, even knowing what he's done to Summer, to someone helpless, he lets him in. It's almost too easy.
Maybe, Aaron thinks, Lars knows what's going to happen. Maybe Aaron will be doing everyone a favor.
But then, Lars doesn't know the real secret, the big secret-- only Maria knows that. Lars only knows that Aaron is scary, and that he will protect his sisters. Maybe he thinks he'll get a lecture.
He won't. There's no mercy for this.
--
Lars has been talking. Aaron hasn't been listening. He's been looking around the apartment instead, eying the things there, wondering what he should use. Not smothering-- the usual methods might get him caught. This is too personal for poison. He could use a kitchen knife, he supposes, but he'll get all bloody.
He wishes he could have brought his own things, but that would-- sing along if you know the words, he thinks wryly-- get him caught.
Then he spots it, leaning up in the corner. Why Lars even has a crowbar, he doesn't know. Right now, he doesn't care.
--
It's remarkable how easy it is to render someone unconscious, if you know where to hit. It's even more remarkable how people who should know better will turn their backs on you. And if you know how to really gag someone... well. The world is yours.
He stands, and waits for Lars to focus on him. "You know what you've done," he says, when he does. "You know you deserve this."
The other man's eyes widen; he can't speak, can't make any sound above a muffled squeak, but he tries.
Aaron smiles at him with absolutely no humor, and swings.
--
It's still grey outside, still bitingly cold. He likes the wind against his face.
He used every trick he knows: broke a window and left the crowbar on the fire escape, so it looks like a robbery. With the cold killing smell, who knows how long it will be before someone finds what's left?
Maria will be disappointed in him, he knows, walking through the grey. She'll stare, and ask him what he was thinking. She'll be right to: he's broken all the rules. No one you know.
But he had to. This is personal.
You don't hurt the helpless.
Rating: PG-13 for implied violence.
Summary: Aaron breaks the rules.
Date: 2015
AU: Sociopathic Besties
Notes: These events, in canon, take place in 2012: for the purposes of this AU I have moved them to 2015. The timeline is squidgy; I can do as I please. Looked over by the lovely Sara, to whom Maria Corlioni belongs.
WARNING for sociopathy and outright murder.
There are things you don't do. There are people you don't hurt.
There are rules.
It infuriates him, every time he thinks of his youngest sister crying on the phone. She's little. She's helpless. You don't hurt the helpless.
And for what? He asked Ivy that, and she snapped something about 'that fucking bitch Madison.' From which he gathers that Madison said something that made Lars hurt Summer. He doubts she told Lars to do anything specific-- she never struck him as particularly malicious, just vapid. So maybe he'll leave her, if he feels like it.
Lars is another story.
--
They all think he's still at camp, because camp is snowed in. Camp thinks he's trekking home, because something happened to his sister. Camp is right, as it happens, but when he turns up the next day panting and says he couldn't get out and had to spend the night in a cabin, they won't question him. And no one in New York will have any reason to think he was ever here.
Lars's building doesn't have working cameras, or a doorman. The neighbors are incurious. The walls are thin, but Aaron works quietly.
It could hardly get more perfect.
--
A resident is just coming out as he approaches, trying to stuff his keys in his pockets with mittened hands. Aaron bumps into him, holds up his hands in mute apology, and heads off down the street, fingering the keys now in his pocket. He'll wait until the resident is long gone, maybe circle around the block, before he goes in.
He's breaking all the rules for this, so he must be triply careful. He cannot get caught. If he had sense, he'd ask Maria... but this is personal, in many, many ways.
You don't hurt the helpless. You don't.
--
It's that peculiar grey time between full light and true dark when everyone is either at work or at home. The stairs and hallways are deserted, and his steps echo up and down, a hollow, metal sound. Not good-- if anyone is listening, they can pinpoint his time of arrival. Then again, not bad-- if anyone is listening, what they are not doing is watching. There is no way of telling who arrived.
He curls his fingers around the keys in his pocket, feels the edges cut into his fingers. No blood, he thinks, no DNA, and lets them go.
--
Lars lets him in.
That's what kills him-- figuratively, of course. Lars lets him in. Even knowing what he does about Aaron, even knowing what he's done to Summer, to someone helpless, he lets him in. It's almost too easy.
Maybe, Aaron thinks, Lars knows what's going to happen. Maybe Aaron will be doing everyone a favor.
But then, Lars doesn't know the real secret, the big secret-- only Maria knows that. Lars only knows that Aaron is scary, and that he will protect his sisters. Maybe he thinks he'll get a lecture.
He won't. There's no mercy for this.
--
Lars has been talking. Aaron hasn't been listening. He's been looking around the apartment instead, eying the things there, wondering what he should use. Not smothering-- the usual methods might get him caught. This is too personal for poison. He could use a kitchen knife, he supposes, but he'll get all bloody.
He wishes he could have brought his own things, but that would-- sing along if you know the words, he thinks wryly-- get him caught.
Then he spots it, leaning up in the corner. Why Lars even has a crowbar, he doesn't know. Right now, he doesn't care.
--
It's remarkable how easy it is to render someone unconscious, if you know where to hit. It's even more remarkable how people who should know better will turn their backs on you. And if you know how to really gag someone... well. The world is yours.
He stands, and waits for Lars to focus on him. "You know what you've done," he says, when he does. "You know you deserve this."
The other man's eyes widen; he can't speak, can't make any sound above a muffled squeak, but he tries.
Aaron smiles at him with absolutely no humor, and swings.
--
It's still grey outside, still bitingly cold. He likes the wind against his face.
He used every trick he knows: broke a window and left the crowbar on the fire escape, so it looks like a robbery. With the cold killing smell, who knows how long it will be before someone finds what's left?
Maria will be disappointed in him, he knows, walking through the grey. She'll stare, and ask him what he was thinking. She'll be right to: he's broken all the rules. No one you know.
But he had to. This is personal.
You don't hurt the helpless.
