til death do us part || beck leisure

Laurent's canon reaches a deafening wail, shattering what's left of Beck's composure. He breaks, then and there, knee buckling and he folds in on himself as though that could protect him from the mangled remnants of the man laid in front of him. His final words to Laurent hang in the air between them, a taunt that does nothing more than rub salt within his wounds.

The stench of blood sticks to his nose, his mouth, it rings in his ears - it's oppressive. Inescapable. Sobs wrack his body, loud as they lose themselves within the storm but as they cascade throughout the trees they start to sound a lot like laughter. This is less than survival. If there was a place to fall past rock bottom Beck's there. Small and scared and in unspeakable agony.

He doesn't try to find the strength the move, he knows it's not there. Laurent's body is a sinister companion, but at least he's not alone.

He's so very tired of being alone.

There is nothing worse than death. He scrambles to justify what he's done, keeping his eyes squeezed shut so that he need not face those empty things starting up at him. It was so much easier to drown in his desperation that way. Laurent would have killed him. He had to die so that Beck could live.

It was better Laurent than Beck.

He'd survived.

Twenty-two down. One to go.

No matter what he had to do, no matter who he faced in the coming days Beck refused to die. Because Sophie was dead and Noel was dead and Silas was dead and Juliet was dead and

Beck wasn't.

He had to believe that meant something.