Plant Gore
TW: Plant Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Arguing with Hallucinations, Major Character Death, Copper, Implied and vaguely referenced Sexual Assault, Violence, Dead City in general, heavy topics.
I made this fucker big so you have been warned! Do not fucking proceed if you can not handle any of the above.
Total Word Count: 2722
It wasnât often that the kids of Dead City were recovered when they ran off into the distant woods. It wasnât often that kids went out there to begin with in the first place. It was known to most of the kids as Deadwood, because after you go out there most people just know youâll never come back alive. Of course everything changes when you have no one left to live for, to fight for. It makes them the destination that your feet drag you to in order to escape the city for the final time, to welcome that death with wide open arms.
It had taken Seth four hours to slowly make his way out after he had been chased from his hideout in the smokestacks. Four hours of stopping at the sounds of distant engines and laying as flat as he could to avoid detection, four hours of gripping a syringe close to use as a weapon if he needed. Four mind numbing hours of feeling his fear spike so hard that his heart felt like it was seizing. When he finally managed to dart into the trees, he almost collapsed from the sudden wave of exhaustion that hit him, he wasnât used to running for that long anymore. He bit his lip hard, slumping against the tree he was hidden behind, fumbling around in his pocket uselessly until he gripped the lighter and baggie of heroin, along with his spoon. If he didnât shoot up now, heâd pass out, that wasnât what he wanted. He wanted to try and make it out, to get free of this damned city, to find a nice quiet spot to lay in and let himself finally fucking die. He didnât want to turn to his last bit of heroin, but if he needed to in order to keep going before the next patrol car ran through.
He wasnât gonna let himself be taken again either⌠especially knowing that there wasnât anyone left in the city that gave a rat's ass about him anymore. Heâd just end up dead for all the shit he put them all through. It wasnât how he wanted to go out, and he wouldnât so long as he had any say in the matter.
As quick and as hidden as he could, he got the last of his heroin ready, anxious and looking around every so often to make sure that no one would end up sneaking up on him. He didnât want to be spotted, he really didnât. He just needed this to go smoothly, he just needed this last little bit of energy to keep going-
In the distance the sound of car tires hitting gravel sounded, echoing like a haunting whisper through the trees, sending him into a frenzy to kill the lighter and load his needle, not daring to try and use the lighter again as the sounds of the tires grew louder, the low purr of the engine following, he could practically feel the rattle of it as it went through the trees. He fumbled with it, barely managing to stick himself properly and shoot up. His chest was heaving as the tingle washed through him, sparks of his static roaring under his skin, pressing against him in ways that felt as though his skin was about to burst. He could hear the squeal of the breaks as the car stopped, the click of the door opening soon sounding and the engine turning off. His anxiety skyrocketed at the voice of the Copper, and then he felt his heart drop in his chest as the sobbing of a kid was heard.
He laid his head back against the tree, lips mouthing a soft âFuckâ before he chanced a glance. Fuck, he knew the kid. It was that little fuck, Crisis. Ratty ass hair, sunken green eyes, a scar all the way down his cheek that looked like a sloppy âcâ. He knew the kid. Of fucking course, he would know the kid. Because thatâs how the world worked, he clearly would fucking know the damn kid and would feel guilty if he did fuck all to help the little shit. Because why the fuck wouldnât this happen when all he wanted to do was leave the god damn city and die without fucking trouble.
âFucking damn it all..â he muttered, shifting to grab onto his needle again and a branch as quietly as he could. Coppers back was to him, heâd have the element of surprise, but only long enough to give the kid a chance to bolt into the woods. After that he didnât know what he was going to do, heâd have to get real fucking lucky. As if he had any of that left anymore in the first place. He could still hear the spiel that the sick bastard was on about, saying how cute he was, how much better he would be back at the back room at the station. It made his skin crawl but he waited, until his body shifted back enough that the kid would have space to run. Then he pounced, stabbing the needle into his neck and pulling down hard, the drugs flooding his system with strength he usually didnât possess. He was able to get Copper off guard, he wasnât expecting an attack, his static screaming to life under his skin and shocking the cop where their skin connected. He barely managed to get the branch around front to act as a weapon to help him maintain the choke hold.
It was the one shot he had.
âGet the fuck out of here! Go! Into the fuckin woods-â His voice was loud, heavy with all the rage he usually had shown, doing his best to scare the kid into action. He thanked everything good when the kid did as he said, bolting into the woods and vanishing with no trace. Then he felt the elbow connect to his ribs until a crack sounded, pain blossoming violently as he's thrown off and to the ground, the air being knocked out of his lungs and struggling to get back in, only to be forced out once again by a kick in the same place.
He rolled, moving onto his feet and taking off before he recognized him, he didnât need this today. He didnât even care when he heard the gun being fired and pain blooming in his shoulder, then again in his back, and finally his hip. He didnât stop until he was deep in the woods, the sounds of frustrated screams far behind him. It was at that time that his legs gave out, sending him tumbling into the roots and leaves, the shadows starting to jump out more and more and screams starting to ring out in his mind, but he shoved them down.
He tiredly threw his good arm over his eyes, letting out a weak laugh, filled with bitter regret. âCanât even fuckin run from the city without tryin ta help someone⌠canât even wash my hands of itâŚâ His voice was weak, low, edging on broken as he finally let his body give out. âI just want to be able to run off, fuck everyone else, I wanna be free of this fuckin guilt and everything else⌠Iâm so fucking tired⌠I just wanted to find a nice fuckin place ta die, I donât wanna do this shit anymore...âÂ
The whispers crooned over his ears, eyes glazing slightly as he listened. âI know itâs bad of me ta say that Sparky⌠I know itâs a shite way ta think, but I gotta get out, I can't take this shite no more, Iâm done⌠Iâm doneâŚâ
More crooning whispers sounded, making a broken laugh leave his lips, he sat up, stubbornly going against his protesting body. âWhat gives ya the fockin right tâ throw that in my fockin face? I woke up and ya were fockin gone, the fock did you want me tâdo?! Ya just fockin left and I looked fer ya and ya were fockin gone! Ya donât get tâ fockin blame me on shite like that!â He started, a heated glare going to one of the trees, as though someone was standing there, his eyes cold as ice. âYa donât get ta throw any of that inta my face when all Iâve fockin done was try anâ be a good brother, ya donât get ta treat me like shite because somethin ya did yourself!âÂ
His eyes didnât move from the spot for several minutes, then the tired look returned to them, his breath suddenly growing more labored as his emotions spiraled. ââM sorry, shouldnât be goin off on ya⌠shouldnât be fockin yellin either âs fockin killin my head..â he murmured, burying his face into his knees for a moment, ignoring the pain that was flaring in his shoulder and across the rest of his back down to his hip. The haze started to leave his eyes and he bit his lip, shaking his head to try and clear it further. He didnât like when the voices became Marvin, when they looked like him instead of shifting shadows in his mind. He shook himself, standing again and looking around. He didnât really know where he was, but he knew if he kept on in the same direction, he could get a good way away from the fucking hellscape that is Dead City. Closer to where he wanted to just vanish into darkness, to take a final breath and finally escape it all.
He started to move deeper, ignoring his body's protests and the voices that echoed past arguments around him. Part of him seethed in rage against himself, how dare he be selfish like this when he made it a habit to prevent others from trying to kill themselves like this. He could hear his own voice in the depths of his mind lashing out violently as it could, telling him that he was a real piece of shit to choose this instead of fighting like he told so many others to do even though they had every single reason to give in. It was nearly overstimulating to hear the constant screaming, the distraction it posed soon led him to begin to stumble more, losing his footing and nearly slamming his head into a tree every few feet. He just wanted it to stop, was that too much to ask? To have a fucking break for once in his god damn life, to just have a fucking break where he could feel absolutely nothing and forget about all the pain in his god forsaken existence before it finally fucking ends.
When the voices finished taunting him and his head grew peacefully quiet, his body sagged with the relief which led to him propping himself up against the trunk of the closest tree and finally taking a good look at what was in front of him. Only it caused his eyes to slowly widen in horror at the sight before him. What had probably been a long winding creek was littered with horribly mutilated bodies, cypress knees having impaled them all over, the trees responsible for those damned spiked roots looked to be a deeper red than they shouldâve, it was only after he registered what he was seeing that the stench hit him, filling his lungs with the intense scent of horrible rot and decay. If he had anything left in his body to vomit, then it surely wouldâve come up as he looked over the area, his heart clenching dangerously as he realized that he knew some of these bodies. These were the missing kids he heard about, the ones that the coppers took, he could tell because all of them were lacking not only clothes, but they had what looked like several gunshot wounds to their small bodies. No one else really used guns like that, if they did they typically didnât last long.
He found himself falling to his knees, a hand coming up to his mouth as he looked over their sunken features, their names coming as faint whispers in his mind. Sadie. Curls. Curbstop. Towers. Harley. Vick. Slasher. Bloom. Blossom. More and more names came to him as he crawled along the edge, each and every face he recognized becoming like a punch to the gut time and time again. The bodies that had lost their flesh wounding him deeper than the faces, the fear of not knowing who it was clawing at his very soul. Then it felt as though his very heart had completely stopped when his eyes landed on one particular face.
âNo- nononono- no- Itâs not- no-â He whimpered, throwing his thoughts about his health to the wind as he threw himself into the stagnant water, mind no longer registering everything he was walking through as his eyes were locked on a singular dead face in the cove of dead bodies. It was older than he remembered, hair was choppier, those sweet brown eyes no longer in itâs skull, instead a cypress knee had punctured through its skull and poked out through the eye socket. What struck him was how new the body looked aside from all of that. It wasnât possible, was it? No, this person couldnât have⌠it just wasnât possible, there was no way, they shouldâve been long dead-
But as he finally got his hand to lay on the body's chest and he looked at his ribs, a broken sob left his throat without his consent. âNo⌠no, Luke⌠no it canât⌠it canât be-â he whimpered, shaking his head more in denial. Even with the damning evidence of scars Sparky once left when he burned their little brother trying to get him out of the way of stray gunshots. There was no possible way this could be their Luke, his Luke. That building collapse, they knew it had stolen their brother from them, there was no way he couldâve lived at all. But clearly he did, clearly he lived long enough to grow into those damn dorky ears and long legs, he lived long enough to be taken by the coppers and held onto until whenever they took him out here and fucking executed him-
He didnât know what the fuck was happening anymore, what was real, if it was fake. All he could feel was his static shrieking and writhing with his agony. He felt as though he was being electrocuted with every single breath he took, tears pouring down his cheeks before everything snapped in his body at once, throwing back his head and letting out a roar of a scream, every single note riddled with such agony that he felt his throat and vocal cords cinch and rip. His hands came to the back of his neck, nails digging in deep and tearing at the tender flesh, red and blue flashing around him in sharp arcs of lightning, that seemed to only spurr the screams on. When he finally fell silent he found that his body had been glitched back to the shore, his static still shrieking around him. He managed to take a single breath, coughing hard after and blood dribbling from his lips before his eyes rolled back and his body fell limp, blank eyes staring out over the bog riddled with the bodies, his static dispersing in a shower of sparks that sparked flames to one of those damned trees, slowly taking and spreading out.
Unconscious eyes watching the slow destruction of the trees over the bog, causing them to fall into each other and cover them all, leaving nothing but a haunted silence hanging in the air and blood that pooled from his untreated bullet wound around his unmoving form. Now unaware of the stench of burning human remains around him, but it was too late already, their faces were already stuck in his mind, his face was already stuck in his mind.
When he would wake up, hours later, a new host of voices would echo in his mind, the loudest ones belonging to the kids he called his brothers.
