Abort Mission

Abort mission

(via)

Brahms Heelshire

AN: Brahms is here!!

Warnings: major character death, violence, Brahms being insane and his usual toxic self, swearing

"What do you think you're doing?"

His voice was alarmed, panicked, as if he saw you holding a knife instead of a pair of pants. Brahms had that kind of thing where he'd worry about the tiniest things. A word that wasn't pronounced like he was used to, food that didn't taste like usual, mistakes that broke the routine. It made him uneasy, and scared.

You were standing in front of the bed, trying to decide what clothes to wear. The satin sheets were littered with varying clothing articles arranged close to each other to determine which colors matched.

"The new girl who brings the groceries invited me into town to show me around in case she can't go shopping for us. I thought I'd go, you know-", you gestured towards him, "in case there's an emergency."

Brahms was quiet for a few seconds, still observing you while nervously grasping the edge of the door.

He didn't want you to go. Not at all. You wouldn't come back if he let you go.

"I don't want you to go.", he mentioned his worries quietly, voice dropping deeper, now that he knew he had to stop you. It sent shivers down your body, the way his childish voice faded. As if a switch inside him just clicked.

"I know, Brahms, but I think it's for the best.", you smiled at him sweetly, finally deciding what clothes to wear, "And it'll be just for one evening."

Brahms felt anxiety rise in the pit of his stomach like bile. No. You couldn't go. He didn't want you to. His parents went away too, and they never came back.

"I don't want you to go.", this time it was louder, more rushed, more panicked. Brahms knuckles had turned white from holding onto the door frame.

"Brahms,", you sighed quietly, swiftly putting on your pants, "I know this seems scary to you, but it'll be fine."

The way you kept insisting that you'd go made him swallow harshly. Even just the idea of having to stay here alone, knowing you'd leave him, made him feel sick and hopeless inside. His stomach churned.

No, he wouldn't let you leave.

"I'm not scared,", Brahms shook his head vehemently, making the dark brown locks dance in front of his face, "I just don't want you to go."

You rolled your eyes at him, swiftly putting the clothes back into your dresser. Did he always have to be such a child? You understood the whole trauma, commitment issue thing, but god, it was annoying sometimes. He was a grown man after all, he should be able to stay alone for a few hours.

"Brahms, I will go.", you stated with a curt nod in his direction, "It's just one evening, I'm sure you'll survive."

Another eye roll from you accompanied the statement. This conversation was not what you wanted before leaving the house, even if a small part of you knew you'd had to face this the second you accepted the offer.

Something clicked inside the man in front of you at the sight of you being so careless about all of this. Did you even care about his feelings in this whole situation? You loved him, didn't you? Then why be so cold about all of this? Maybe you wanted to leave him, you wanted to be with someone else, betray him, and everything he felt for you. Jealousy seeped into hos system, clouding his thoughts.

"I said no.", he yelled, moving in front of you, blocking the door with his body.

He was huge as he loomed over you, and even though you trusted him with your life, you flinched back a little, intimidated by his size. He was breathing heavily, chest heaving while hot air hit you through the holes of his mask.

"Brahms.", every bit of warmth had left your voice, and you pressed your hands against your hips, sending a cold stare to the man in front of you. You had enough.

But the brunette just kept breathing heavily, never once breaking eye contact. His gaze would've scared you if he didn't behave so childishly. Just like always.

The two of you kept looking at each other, eyes fighting a war one could never express with words. Just as Brahms was about to give in, ready to cling to you if that meant you staying, the deafening ringing of the doorbell echoed through the large, empty house.

Both of your heads snapped towards the big entrance door, temporarily forgetting about the tension in the room beforehand. You sent one glance back to Brahms, and before he could react, pushed yourself through the gap between him and the door, leaving him behind. What a mistake.

Brahms stared at his hands for a few seconds, in disbelief, before his eyes followed your form marching down the stairs.

His vision turned red with rage. How could you. How did you dare.

With his stare never once leaving you, he started steering towards you. It felt like his sight was restricted, the only thing he perceived a tunnel vision and at the end of it, you.

And you came closer and closer as he followed you, your body now nearly in reach.

Like in a trance, the brunette noticed his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, as well with a sharp, piercing beeping that made his skin tingle.

One of his hands got a hold of your arm, and with a strength he didn't look like he possessed, he pulled you back against him.

You wouldn't leave. You'd never, ever leave. He'd make sure of it, even if it meant he'd have to chain you to the bed.

You, however, grew furious as soon as you felt his skin on yours and with one sharp push, you shoved the man away from you and against the banister. Brahms yelped as his spine hit the sharp edge of the wood, but right now, you couldn't care less.

"Touch me again, and I'll leave and never-", your voice was dripping pure venom, eyes shooting ice-cold daggers at the man in front of you, "-ever come back."

That was the final straw, the final statement.

With a grunt and a loud, final "No!", Brahms forced you away from him. His strong arms pushed you back as he stepped forward, locks sticking to the sweat on his neck.

He saw you fall as if someone froze time. The way your foot missed the step, the way your eyes widened as you stumbled backwards, arms fishing around the air, searching, hoping, for something that could catch your fall. Your pretty mouth opened in a scream, you tried to grab the wooden railing next to you but failed as your body flew back without you having any control.

A loud, sickening crack filled the open lobby like a gunshot, and then it was silent. Dead silent. Brahms noticed that the doorbell stopped. The bitch must've realized that no one was coming.

Brahms took a deep breath, swallowing blood he didn't know he had in his mouth as he glanced down the staircase. He didn't see nor hear you. Anxiety filled his brain, earlier rage swept away as if he'd forgotten about it.

"...Y/n?", he whispered, voice suddenly small and high-pitched again, filled with fear. He didn't mean it, he didn't mean it, oh lord, he didn't mean it. He hoped you wouldn't be angry.

"Y/n? I'm sorry.", Brahms took a few small steps down the stairs, hands gripping the railing as if he'd fall when he'd let go. A few more steps, and he saw your leg behind one of the banisters, unmoving.

A few more steps and your torso came into view pressed into the carpet of the staircase.

"Y/n...?", Brahms didn't know why he was talking so quietly. He didn't know what was going on at all. He just wanted you to stay with him and now- he swallowed harshly.

A few more steps and he saw it. Your head had hit the floor on your fall down, breaking your neck on impact. Blood pooled around the skull, face sickly twisted and contorted as your skin had moved to give space to your moving bones. Dead, cold eyes stared up at him, lidded and filled with... fear.

The masked man moved closer, slowly and quietly, as he looked down at you. A few seconds later and he was kneeling on the ground, gently reaching out to touch your cheek. It was warm but felt weird, like a doll, like dough. It scared him, even if he didn't know why.

"Y/n...", the killer softly petted your cheek smearing a bit of blood over your skin during the process, "M'sorry. Just didn't want you to leave."

His voice was small and scared, like a child apologizing for eating too much candy, or breaking Mother's favorite vase.

Brahms anxiously waited for an answer. When he didn't get one, he stood up, slowly moving backwards. What was he going to do now?

"I'll wait upstairs, okay?"

No answer.

"I am sorry, Y/n.", the corners of his mouth pulled down like a giant, exaggerated pout. He looked a child. A child stuck in the body of a grown man.

Brahms slowly made his way upstairs, softly trudging over the carpet.

It was still deathly silent in the lobby, the only noise came from the big clock, ticking away in the corner.

As soon as Brahms reached the end of the stairs, he looked down one more time, hoping to see your face follow him, your sweet voice call out for him, but nothing moved.

Sighing, he made his way to his room, hoping that even though this time, he'd made a grave mistake, you'd still forgive him. After all, you loved him, right?

AN: I love the idea of Brahms not understanding death and "falling back" into his childish self because of it. I thought it fits well. I'd love to hear your opinions though.