DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SISTERS GRIMM, MICHAEL BUCKLEY DOES.
Warning: This story will contain some mild swearing, some dark themes, character death, and mentions of murder and crime. There will not be any super graphic descriptions of death or gore, but if you are sensitive, too young to be on this site, or easily offended by the aforementioned subjects, this story is not for you. This whole story will be pretty intense (at least, that's the feeling I intend to create), so turn back now if you like reading fluff or lighter subjects more.
Now before most of you get discouraged and mark me down as a morbid writer, I promise you there will be some sweet romance in later chapters, but it won't be very fast. I believe in slow and steady relationship growth, so that's how this AU will play out. There will be lots of twists and turns, happiness and sadness, lightheartedness and tears, the works. I promise you will not be disappointed by the later chapters if you're into that sort of stuff! It was just too good a story to not write down (in my opinion), so without further ado, I present to you my latest story, 'Dark, Darker, Darkest'.
Bullets of sweat rolled down her neck and her hair slapped at her face as she whirled around in a blur, panic and adrenaline pumping through her veins. The girl wasn't there. She was there just seconds ago, crouching in her armor behind her back. "Stay close to me," she had cautioned, and the girl had promised. So where was she now? Where were the familiar dark brown braids she had grown up with for so many years?
Her breath came in quick, short pants as she tore through the forest with abandon, screaming the girl's name through a hoarse, scratchy voice. A bellow was heard, and she could feel the dragon's searing breath char the ground not twenty feet away from her. She continued shrieking the girl's name, but to no avail.
She burst through the clearing, lungs crying out for the taste of the air. The boy was there too, manning the catapult, loaded with a boulder that easily could take out the dragon. And there, flying in the face of death, was the girl. She was gracefully dodging the streams of fire exploding from the dragon's nostrils, and repeatedly blasting its hide with jets of white magic.
Manic laughter burst from the boy's lips, almost as if he were enjoying the dangerous game that could end in life or death. Slamming his hand on the red button that fired the catapult, he let out a gleeful shout as it flew towards the brutish monster.
Something was wrong though. The angles, the trajectory, the proximity. And somehow, she knew before the rock found its mark that the girl fighting the dragon would die. Soon.
"Don't fire!" she screamed, but she was just too late. It was already flying through the air, getting closer and closer to the girl, and she could only watch helplessly as she saw the blue-hot flames engulf her small body and send it plummeting to the ground like a rag doll.
It had never felt so horrible to be right.
"Sister!" she cried out through her raw, choked throat, running to the girl who lay in a charred crater next to a fallen mass of orange scales. Her neck was jerked to the side in a grotesque manner, and her face was blackened with burns and bloodied. Her dark brown eyes were still wide open, glassy but unable to take in the chaos that surrounded her. She knelt down next to her body, praying in vain that by some fluke, some stroke of luck that she had survived, maybe by magic, maybe by divine intervention. Gently placing her hand on the side of her neck, she felt for any sign of a pulse, but there was nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. She was dead. She would brush her hair no more, make up silly words, stuff her face at mealtimes, or be her best friend. The chocolate brown orbs lying in her skull would not dance and sparkle when she looked at them, she would never see her form skip down the stairs for breakfast. Dead.
The boy, no longer laughing but ashen faced, had flown down to stand by her body. Before he could speak, the older girl cut him off.
"You killed her!" she raged. "I told you not to hit that stupid button, but you did anyways! She's dead! And you know why? It's because you killed her, you killed her thinking that this whole war was just some sort of playground for you and that nobody would get hurt. Well, you're wrong! And because of that, my sister is DEAD."
"I'm sorry," he blurted, tears streaming thickly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I didn't know—"
"Save it," the older girl said bitterly, her voice dripping with contempt and loathing. "Fly away and never let me see you again, or the next time, I swear I will kill you. I swear on her dead body I will kill you." Her hands shook with fury.
"But I—"
"No! Go, or I will kill you here and now."
He looked at her with tears still in his eyes, and gave the girl one last look. He tried to make a move towards the body on the ground, but she flung herself over the body and screamed at him to leave, to leave while she was merciful enough to spare his life.
And then he went, pink wings fluttering brokenly behind him. There was nothing left to do but cry. So she did. Not giving a damn about the blazing inferno behind her or the jaws of Death looming before her, she laid down by her sister's body and wept uncontrollably. Her mourning was short lived though—a blast of flame hit so close to her, the hem of her shirt caught fire.
The dragon was looming right above her now, staring at her with hunger in its glowing eyes, rearing its head back for the kill.
I'll come back for you, she promised as she ran from the flame. The last thing she heard was a great shrieking roar from the monster, combined with her own tortured screams.
Sabrina Grimm's startlingly blue eyes flew open, her heart beating a harsh tattoo against her throat as she woke up from the same recurring nightmare. Dim lights from lamps shone weakly through the suffocating darkness, and she stumbled around, looking for a glass of water to soothe her trembling nerves. With shaking hands, she poured herself some water and drank, the cup clacking against her teeth. She set it down firmly and held onto the table for support, letting the last horrors of her nightmare, the last hot breath of the dragon dissipate into the cold New York air. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and she fought to suppress the dry sobs that were choking her.
After the war, she had run away from Ferryport Landing, away to a deserted little clearing on the outskirts of Manhattan, near the slums where the gangs and the criminals stayed. She did not socialize with them much, but kept to herself, in her little shack that was enchanted to keep prying eyes away from her hiding place. For weeks, she did nothing but huddle on the tiny cot that she had crudely fashioned from pine needles stuffed in coarse burlap bags and rock back and forth, crying over the loss of her family.
She'd lost everything in the war except one thing. Her sneakiness. Fueled with the volatile rage of losing loved ones, she buried her sorrows deep in her work, and buried them well. She was known throughout the underworld circles as the best thief in the business, and she wore that illegal crown proudly. Someday, she vowed, she'd avenge the deaths of all those who had been killed in the war. But she wasn't there yet. Yet.
Sabrina's frazzled nerves were finally beginning to calm themselves, and she briefly checked the waterproof watch on her wrist. 8:17. She had agreed to meet with a Mr. Hal Preston, a multimillionaire, the owner of Preston Labs Inc., a company that developed explosives, at 8:45. He had promised it was a mission worth her time, to which she curtly responded, "It better be."
So she pulled on her long coat and shoes, locked the door behind her, and set out to find Hal Preston.
He had asked her to meet him at his private offices, and gave her directions to get there. She took the way around the alleys, passing mobsters and gangs that were obscured behind clouds of cigarette smoke. She may have been a criminal, one of them, but she was classier than smoking behind New York alleyways. She ducked around some drunks, wove through the sleeping homeless, and stepped over all matter of filth and garbage before arriving at the office that Preston had described.
It was not particularly large or ostentatious, but it was sleek and classic. She was about to raise her hand and knock on the door, but it swung open before she could touch it and a man stood in the doorway, gazing coldly at her. He wordlessly ushered her into his house, soundlessly shutting the door behind them.
The room was cleanly painted in white, and scattered about were pieces of dark cherry furniture and a few potted plants. The man, whom Sabrina assumed was Preston, strode past her and pulled out a chair for her. He extended his hand, and she took it cautiously.
"Hal Preston," he said in a cool, clipped, professional tone of voice. He kissed her hand formally. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Grimm. I've heard a lot about you. Please have a seat."
"The pleasure is mine," she replied politely. She sat in the cushioned cherry seat and surveyed her surroundings. Doors, windows, cracks in the roof; escape routes. She looked at the modern art that decked the walls, thinking secretly that they might hide a safe behind their canvases, cliché as that was.
"May I offer you coffee?" Preston asked, pouring a coffee into a small cup on a saucer, and pushing towards her a tiny pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes.
"Thank you," she said, pouring in a little cream and adding in two sugar cubes, and wrapped her cold hands around the ceramic. She clenched her teeth and pretended to take a sip, but she knew better; never consume anything a stranger offers you.
"Suspected I've poisoned it, have you?" Preston took a gulp of his coffee, pure and black like the night. Sabrina abruptly set down the cup, wondering in alarm how he could have noticed; a smirk was playing at the corners of his lips. "You clench your jaw quite tightly for someone who is supposedly just having a drink of coffee, Miss Grimm."
Sabrina took a good, long look at Preston from her seat across the table. He was astonishingly young to be a multimillionaire, almost her own age; twenty-three. He sported a clean, side swept cut of rich auburn hair, dark green eyes, and a sharp nose and jawline. He was long and lean, and wore a perpetually cool gaze that betrayed no emotion. His posture was impeccable, and his movements were fluid and graceful.
"I suppose you are an observant person, Mr. Preston," Sabrina said coolly.
"Quite," he agreed, gently setting down his cup on his saucer after taking a sip. "I assure you I have no intentions of poisoning the woman that I hired out, as that rather defeats the purpose of it. However, I have little time—and patience, I must admit—for formalities such as small talk and trifles that would befit an otherwise generous and courteous host such as myself. Shall I simply, ah, cut to the chase, Miss Grimm?" She nodded.
Preston took out a thick golden brown folder stuffed with papers. "I have taken the liberty of compiling some information on the person at the core of your mission," he said smoothly, sliding the folder over the table to Sabrina, who took it in her hands and felt its weight. She bent the metal clasps and slid out the stack of papers, picking up the first one on top.
"Are you familiar with a man by the name of Robin Goodfellow, Miss Grimm?" Preston asked quietly.
Hot bolts of electricity arced through her veins when Preston said his name. Sabrina's blood was boiling and her hands formed tight fists below the table, but she managed to choke out a "Yes" through clenched teeth.
"You are aware, then, that he runs a rival explosives company, I presume?" he continued. His fingers were idly drumming on the surface of the cherry table.
"I did not know that." Sabrina's brows furrowed. A rival explosives company?
"A firm called Explodieren, which is…German, I believe, for the word explode. Rather unoriginal for marketing to the public, but that is beside the point, and who am I to judge?" Preston replied.
Sabrina rifled through the rest of the papers. On one of them was the details of Goodfellow's headquarters, conveniently located in New York. Sabrina frowned again. How could she have not noticed his headquarters if it was in New York, where she resided as well? Maybe his headquarters used to be somewhere far away, and then he moved it back to New York? Flipping through some more pages, she realized how ridiculously intricate the security system was, sophisticated DNA scans, guards at every possible entrance, and every piece of high tech security gadget was in her way. Preston was right; accepting the mission would be a challenge worth her time. But so far, she had never lost.
"His company is the only one turning more of a profit than mine," Preston said, with more than a hint of frustration and bitterness. "Your mission, assuming you accept, is to find any new plans for business, steal them, and bring them back to me."
Icy silence stole over the room. It was just Preston staring calculatingly at Sabrina and her staring back at Preston with shrewd, careful eyes.
"And for how much?" Sabrina finally asked.
Preston licked his lips carefully. They both knew that Sabrina Grimm was the best at what she did, and that was exactly why Preston had hired her in the first place. He had to be careful with her; she was crafty, clever, and persistent. "Five hundred grand," he said finally, drawing a deep breath as his green eyes pierced her blue ones.
Sabrina stared at Preston. Five hundred grand for a couple of plans, he offered. Five hundred grand. That was a lot of money. She milked the moment, pretending to be in deep thought. It had been so, so long since she had made use of her talents—illegal talents, for sure—and although she was trying to lie low, the prospect of going back to her old roots thrilled her too much.
Think, the logical part of her brain screamed. If you get caught, you will let her murderer escape unscathed.
But I won't get caught, another part of her brain said confidently.
Sabrina clenched her teeth again, and tried to keep the heat from rising in her cheeks as Preston noticed this little quirk yet again and treated her to another infuriatingly smug smirk.
Don't do it, don't do it, it chanted. Don't do it.
And although she found her voice of logic begging her to refuse his offer, her soft pink lips parted in an almost sinister grin and said—
"You have a deal, Mr. Preston."
A/N: Hello everyone, thank you for reading! As you might already know, I'm Annie and I write a fair bit for the Sisters Grimm fandom. Some of my other works include Four Years After, Starlight, and Reminders, so if you've read any of those, yup, it's me. I hope you liked this first chapter; I experimented with writing about some grittier themes rather than the lightness I usually tend to stick to and found that I actually quite like it. So yes, please go check out some of my other works, and leave a review! Should I stick to light writing, do you like this style and want to see more, or am I dreadful enough that you want me kicked off this site (lol)?
Also, if anyone would like to beta for this story, Four Years After, or any of my oneshots, please please PLEASE PM me, as I am in desperate need of another pair of eyes to glance over my work.
Hasta la vista, and don't forget to leave a review, follow, or favorite!