He Didn't Say It
Hi! New member! Here's my contribution, an AU where Larry and Freddy live called "He didn't Say It"
He Didn’t Say It
A Triptych
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Warnings: some bad language
White
“I’m sorry kid; it looks like we might have to do some time.”
Orange looked up into Larry’s face, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. But all he could do was gasp and whisper. Larry shook his head. The kid would need to conserve all his strength if the two of them were going to get out of this alive.
And then there was a crash and the police rushed in. Larry felt himself being seized by the arms and dragged out of that place, but the only thing that was bothering him was that he couldn’t look back over his shoulder to see how Orange was doing. He could barely feel the pain in his own wound anymore- he just didn’t care anymore. They pulled him outside into the blinking sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pink being arrested by several cops, but he barely looked. As they bundled him into an armed ambulance, the only faint words on his lips were,
“The kid? Is the kid OK?”
Larry woke up in the prison hospital some time later, bandages wrapped around his chest. He looked around wildly. Mr Pink was sitting across the room from him, a fearful expression in his wide blue eyes. Orange was nowhere in sight.
“The kid?” Larry asked, turning to Pink. “Is Orange alright? Did he die?”
Pink was staring hopelessly at him, looking as though he wished he didn’t answer. Larry was appalled. Orange must be dead, and Pink just couldn’t bear to tell him. “The fucking kid?” he barked desperately. “Is he fucking OK?”
Pink shook his head slowly and whispered. “Joe was right.”
Pink
So they were in prison, and it didn’t look like they were getting out anytime soon, maybe anytime ever. If they couldn’t prove it was Blonde who torched the cop, they would most likely end up in the Chair, but Pink didn’t want to think about that.
White was crying in the next cell. Pink didn’t want to hear it- there was something nauseating about hearing a grown man sob like that. Crying for the Cabots, maybe, his best friends who he had shot over a wounded policeman. Or perhaps for Orange, a man who as far as Tommy was concerned had never existed in the first place. Most likely White was crying for himself. Pink wished that he would stop. He wished he were anywhere in the world but here.
Orange, that’s what this was all about. That helpless, bleeding, dying thing that had lain on the warehouse floor in a never-ending pool of his own blood had been a cop after all. The thing White had shot Joe and Nice Guy for. The thing whose name had been on the handle all along. The rat. Freddy Newendyke, that was his name. Orange. Die, Orange, die.
Orange
“Motherfucker! Worthless pile of rat-shit!”
When Freddy Newendyke took to the court to testify, the man who had been codenamed Pink began to hurl unprintable insults at him. The court orderly bellowed for silence, but every time Freddy opened his mouth Pink would uncontrollably bellow out a string of foul language and abuse, spittle flecking his mouth, his eyes rolling, his fist waving in mania.
But Freddy barely heard the curses, nasty as they were. Pink’s voice broke across him like a wave. He just looked past Pink to the grey-haired man on his left, who stood silent and bitter. Larry stood in the court and occasionally even looked Freddy in they eye, but he never said anything, not a word.
“I would have told him,” Freddy told the mirror every night before he went to his bedroom with his wife. “I was going to tell him.”
But no matter how many times he said it, it was never enough.
He Didn’t Say It
A Triptych
Disclaimer: I don't own anything
Warnings: some bad language
White
“I’m sorry kid; it looks like we might have to do some time.”
Orange looked up into Larry’s face, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something. But all he could do was gasp and whisper. Larry shook his head. The kid would need to conserve all his strength if the two of them were going to get out of this alive.
And then there was a crash and the police rushed in. Larry felt himself being seized by the arms and dragged out of that place, but the only thing that was bothering him was that he couldn’t look back over his shoulder to see how Orange was doing. He could barely feel the pain in his own wound anymore- he just didn’t care anymore. They pulled him outside into the blinking sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pink being arrested by several cops, but he barely looked. As they bundled him into an armed ambulance, the only faint words on his lips were,
“The kid? Is the kid OK?”
Larry woke up in the prison hospital some time later, bandages wrapped around his chest. He looked around wildly. Mr Pink was sitting across the room from him, a fearful expression in his wide blue eyes. Orange was nowhere in sight.
“The kid?” Larry asked, turning to Pink. “Is Orange alright? Did he die?”
Pink was staring hopelessly at him, looking as though he wished he didn’t answer. Larry was appalled. Orange must be dead, and Pink just couldn’t bear to tell him. “The fucking kid?” he barked desperately. “Is he fucking OK?”
Pink shook his head slowly and whispered. “Joe was right.”
Pink
So they were in prison, and it didn’t look like they were getting out anytime soon, maybe anytime ever. If they couldn’t prove it was Blonde who torched the cop, they would most likely end up in the Chair, but Pink didn’t want to think about that.
White was crying in the next cell. Pink didn’t want to hear it- there was something nauseating about hearing a grown man sob like that. Crying for the Cabots, maybe, his best friends who he had shot over a wounded policeman. Or perhaps for Orange, a man who as far as Tommy was concerned had never existed in the first place. Most likely White was crying for himself. Pink wished that he would stop. He wished he were anywhere in the world but here.
Orange, that’s what this was all about. That helpless, bleeding, dying thing that had lain on the warehouse floor in a never-ending pool of his own blood had been a cop after all. The thing White had shot Joe and Nice Guy for. The thing whose name had been on the handle all along. The rat. Freddy Newendyke, that was his name. Orange. Die, Orange, die.
Orange
“Motherfucker! Worthless pile of rat-shit!”
When Freddy Newendyke took to the court to testify, the man who had been codenamed Pink began to hurl unprintable insults at him. The court orderly bellowed for silence, but every time Freddy opened his mouth Pink would uncontrollably bellow out a string of foul language and abuse, spittle flecking his mouth, his eyes rolling, his fist waving in mania.
But Freddy barely heard the curses, nasty as they were. Pink’s voice broke across him like a wave. He just looked past Pink to the grey-haired man on his left, who stood silent and bitter. Larry stood in the court and occasionally even looked Freddy in they eye, but he never said anything, not a word.
“I would have told him,” Freddy told the mirror every night before he went to his bedroom with his wife. “I was going to tell him.”
But no matter how many times he said it, it was never enough.