For the Love of God, Montresor

by MrsHamill (thamill@cox.net)

Archive: MA and my site, Mom's Kitchen (www.squidge.org/~foxsden)
Category: horror, angst, weird
Pairing: Um...
Rating: Uhh... R?
Summary: Dying hurts. A lot more than you might think.
Disclaimer: What, you think I own these guys? Do I even look like George Lucas? If this is not what you expected, please alter your expectations. No such thing as random coincidence. No such thing as too much lubricant.
Warning: Death. Death and dreck. Grim. Rather nasty, actually.
Series: Not a chance.
Notes: So, is there a DMS to go with the DPS? I cannot believe I've written this and not gotten nightmares from it. Bless Onci, Christi, Claude and Binky if you find it at all readable, but I'll take the blame for mistakes.

"Nah, nah... lissen. Ya gotta, see, ya gotta sew dey's lips t'gether first. No, no, no, like dis, use t'big needle, an' wire, t'copper wire with 'im, an' use big, y'know, stiches. Dat way, dey won' be, y'know, yellin' when ya do t'other stuff. Shit, can't stand dat, dem yellin' and cryin' an' all, gets on my nerves. So sew dem lips t'gether first, got it?"

"Does dey always yell an' stuff?"

"Most of 'em, yeah, an' some of 'em, y'know, dey try an', y'know, talk. Make ya stop." He shook his shaggy head. "Dey knows ya can't, dey knows dey already, y'know, dead, but still."

"But... if dey's dead, den how...?"

"Aww... fuck if I know. Sumpin 'bout dey's bugs in d'blood. Dem bugs gotta get, y'know, kilt, burnt or sumpin, afore dey finish wit' dyin'. Dat's why we gotta, y'know, put stuff in d'bodies, so dey's finish dyin' quicker, like."

They worked in silence for a moment. "You'd tink dem Jedi, dey'd be better'n dat, wouldn't yell an' stuff. Bitch about dyin an' all dat."

"Don't matter none, we allus gonna want t'stay. I learnt dat from my master." He shook his head again. "Now, dere was a piece o'work. Crazier'n a mynock, she wuz. She liked t'hear 'em, liked it when dey yelled an' cried. Crazy bitch. She even liked t'go places, y'know, by ship."

"You ever been?"

"Yah, I did, couple'a times. No fun atall. Last time wuz a while ago, went to dis place, Nabbo, Naboo, Naybob, whatever. What a dump. No place t'drink atall."

"What you do dere?"

"Whadda you tink? Fire is t'same dere as here. But lemme tell ya, dat's where I learnt t'sew dem lips up first. Dat Jedi, he was crazier n'my master was."

"Oh yeh? How? Whud he do?"

He gave his companion a penetrating look. "I ain't no storytaler, I ain't gotta teach ya nuffin but how t'do it."

"I knows, I knows dat, but I want t'know."

After a long moment, wherein they finished with the mouth and started on the wounds, he spoke again. "Yah, yah. Whatever. He was a big'un. Hadda big hole he did, right here, took me hours t'fix it up. Dey gave 'im new stuff t'wear, an' dat helped. But den, I wuz workin' on 'im, and he opened dat mouf an' started in t'talkin. Pushy barstard."

"What are you doing to me?"

The man did not reply other than rolling his eyes.

"What are... who are you? Where am I? What... oh, dear Force. I'm dead..."

"Yar, pin a medal on ya," the man said sourly, pulling something metallic from the tray next to him. A low humming noise began.

"But... but... I can't be! I have to live... I have to... I have to see to the Chosen One, and... oh gods, Obi-Wan! Is Obi-Wan all right? Obi-Wan!" Despite his need to be heard, all Qui-Gon could manage was a breathy whisper through lungs that felt congested and a throat dry as sandpaper. No effort on his part helped -- he couldn't even blink.

"Look, you, shut it or I shut it fer ya. Yer dead, Jedi, ain't nuffin you gots t'do now."

"No... please... I must see my padawan, my Obi-Wan.... I have to tell him... he has to..." Qui-Gon's words cut off with a choked scream. "Stop! Please!"

The man ignored him and the searing pain in Qui-Gon's toes began to slowly work its way up his feet. Shoving the pain aside, Qui-Gon concentrated. If he were really dead, then how was he feeling his body? "Why... Why can I feel what you're... oh gods... what you're doing if I'm really dead?"

The man rolled his eyes again. "You damn Jedi. Yer don' even knows when yer dead. Yer all fuckin' stupid, t'lot o'yer." He picked up a long, wickedly sharp needle, threaded with fine silver wire, and leaned over Qui-Gon's body towards his face. "G'wan wit'cha. Don' want t'listen to yer screamin'."

Divining his purpose, Qui-Gon frantically tried to evade the needle, but though he could feel his body, could use it to speak, after a fashion, he had no other control over it. "Please... please don't, I beg of you. I won't scream, I swear. Please... I need to tell you, someone, so you can take a message to my padawan, please..."

The man paused after pushing the needle through Qui-Gon's lower lip. "Yuh can't do dat, whaddaya want, I can't do dat. Aginst d'rulz, it iz."

Qui-Gon wanted to weep, but he didn't seem to have control over his eyes or anything else, save his tongue, and even that was iffy -- it felt huge and hot and dry and the need to cough was nearly driving him to distraction, but the air to do so simply wasn't there. "But you could," he whispered. "You could take my words to him. Tell him what I needed to tell him, tell him how important it is to train the boy... I didn't expect to die..."

"Ain't no body what does," the man said gruffly, but he left the needle where it was and backed away, looking at something down by Qui-Gon's feet. The burning agony had reached a point just above his ankles. "Pushy barstard. Ya can talk, but ya scream once an' I sew ya up."

"Thank you, thank you so much..." Qui-Gon tried to take a breath, tried to shove the pain aside again. "I need to tell Obi-Wan, need to tell him he must train Anakin, he is the Chosen One. I know he's worried about Anakin, because he's so powerful... so..." His voice cut off again as the pain began creeping up his calves. He concentrated hard and was able to avoid voicing his agony. He raged internally; he couldn't even grit his teeth in frustration! Couldn't blink, could barely see... was this what death was? Why was he lingering? Was it because he had so much left undone? "And more, I needed to say more... how sorry I am, I didn't want to die, and I... I had so many other things to say to him. How much I loved him, what a wonderful man, Jedi, he had become. I... I think I said some terrible things to him, and I know they hurt, but... but..."

The man attending him snorted, inelegantly, derisively. "I didn't mean to hurt him!" Qui-Gon protested as sharply as he could. "But Anakin, he's the Chosen One, and no one seemed to see it but me. I couldn't believe... ohhhh... Forssssss..."

The burning had just about reached his knees, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore it. To take his mind from it, he concentrated on the tiny, exquisite pain of the needle hanging from his lower lip, knowing if he screamed, he would be unable to speak again.

He did not want to think about what would happen when the pain reached his torso.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked, wondering where had that come from, why had he said that? It certainly wasn't what he had meant to say. The man twisted sharply, though Qui-Gon couldn't see his face. Relentlessly, his voice carried on with the topic he didn't want to acknowledge. "I have. The first time, she died. The second time, I... I guess I did. Oh... my Obi-Wan... I didn't mean to leave you alone..." He wanted to swallow, wanted to move, wanted to make his voice show his anguish. "I didn't even say goodbye to him. Didn't kiss him, didn't tell him how much he meant to me, how much I loved him. And now, I never will be able to, will never be able to touch him, hold him. What a fool I've been. Blinded by my duty, steeped into being a Jedi. Hurting those around me by my willful blindness..."

The man leaned over him again, and Qui-Gon felt a tug in his chest which suddenly bloomed into agony. Keeping silent -- barely -- he made himself analyze the pain, and in doing so, he realized it was from the place where that damned Sith thing had run him through. With a flash of anguish, a far more bitter pain than any he had yet felt, he remembered Obi-Wan cradling his head as Qui-Gon struggled to speak. "I should have told him how much I loved him," Qui-Gon whispered. "I should have told him I knew he loved me, that it was all right, that he would be fine without me. I wanted him to take Anakin as his padawan, to raise him, teach him and love him as I hadn't loved Obi-Wan, as I was incapable of loving, apparently."

The tugging, the bright, torturous sparks in his chest stopped, finally, and Qui-Gon would have breathed a sigh of relief save for the fact that whatever was happening in his lower body had reached his groin and was flaring brightly, and he couldn't find enough breath to sigh anyway. His heart no longer beat, his lungs were full of fluid, he could feel it, and if he could have moved he would have heard them slosh. A sound, half a chuckle and half a keen, escaped his lips and the man ministering him looked down sharply.

Qui-Gon could feel the burning, like his own private, solitary pyre, rise further, and knew, somehow, his time was limited. "I asked him, begged him to take Anakin as his padawan. The boy must be trained, must be guided into the Light. Obi-Wan, my Obi-Wan, so far into the Light he could be a star -- Obi-Wan could do it. Can do it. Even though I know he didn't want me to ask that of him. He thinks... he thinks Anakin... is dangerous..."

With sudden prescience, Qui-Gon realized that which he had been hiding from himself since he had met the boy, and it staggered him. Anakin was dangerous, was capable of... capable of... Force! Why had it taken him dying to realize this? "Obi-Wan, beware, watch him closely, he will test you, my padawan, my love. He will chafe at the rules you give him, so take your lesson from my page, do what you have to, but make him secure in the Light... the light... oh gods... Force, no, please...!"

Whatever had been filling his body had made it to his chest and now nearly everything felt like it was aflame. The man who tended him leaned over, grimly picked up the needle and began sewing his lips shut even as Qui-Gon began to scream. "No! NO! Please... No... noo... nooo..." His lips were nearly sealed. "For the love of the Force..." The final stitch went in and Qui-Gon could speak no more.

The agony was horrific, he was being burned alive; no, not alive, he was dead, he needed to let go but he didn't know how, had to stay, had to give his Obi-Wan the message, the warning: you were right, Obi-Wan, you were right, oh my love, you were right, he had to somehow... For the love of God, love of the Force, he must warn...

His last sight was through his left eye, just before the man sewed his eyelid shut.

"So, did'ja find t'guy what he wanted an' tell 'im?"

"What you tink? Naw, I dint. Aginst t'rules, ya shithead, ya better not fuhget it." He started the pump and the infusion began, starting, as usual, at the corpse's feet. "An' anyways. We be too busy to fuck wit' dat. Dey alls dyin' now, like dis'un. Dat Sith guy, he be gettin' good at killin' Jedi, quicker, like, but it makes it hard'n us, all dem holes t'close. Good t'ing we ain't Jedi, now, ain't it?"

"Hey, dat Sith guy, d'ya think dat was t'same guy dat Jedi was talkin' about..."

His teacher interrupted him. "Hey, ya don' gots t'use t'copper wire anywheres else but on 'is face. Ya can use t'silver everwhere but 'is face; for dat, use t'copper. Dey don' like t'see it, y'know, an' dis guy, his skin is dark, like, but 'is clothes'll hide t'silver wire."

The other man nodded and began to sew shut the corpse's many gaping wounds, then something made him look up. "Lookit dat!" he said, and his teacher turned.

"Yeah, dat happens sometimes. Dat's why I tol' ya, sew dem lips first. Ya can g'wan an' sew 'is eyes shut if'n ya wants. Don' matter when yer do dat."

"Yah, right."

"G'wan wit'choo now, we gots a couple dozen t'go once 'es done... an' dey'll be more in t'mornin'."

"Yah, yah."

The last thing Mace Windu saw was the flash of a needle leading a length of fine copper wire which sealed away the horror in his eyes from hearing the man's story. For the love of the Force...

end