Disclaimer: All of the following is thoughtfully rearranged from the original works of Charlaine Harris. So I cannot scream MINE.
Thanks to a chat I had with Thyra10 – on Twitter instead of PMs. :D I follow her around, apparently.
This is the last one I'll be publishing before DITF, which is a matter of hours away. I'm not sure if Sookie's attitude towards killing is going to change in the new book, thanks to her own torture. I hope not, so I'm slamming this out before conditions change. Unfortunately, I lost track of time and thought I had more time - until someone wrote "5 days to DITF" and then I had to work hard and publish a whole bunch of fics at once, for fear of leaving things undone or feeling like I had to revise them like I did with "Shield". I hate revising. :D
Just to let you all know, I'm not sure if I'll be writing after the release of DITF. Many of the topics I've chosen have been topics that there seems to be a lot of confusion and illusion over, and are often polarised in discussion, and were largely linked to DAG, which was the denouement of the series. They weren't particularly popular topics in fanfic either, but I think I'll be seeing less rose coloured glasses around the place for fics based post DITF. That's how I like my fic. I suspect, due to CH's comments in interviews, that she'll set about with the disillusionment that Eric is a perfect wonderful man, who would have a romantic, perfect relationship with Sookie if only she listened - a man that Sookie should be grateful is interested, just to reverse the false community view of Eric. That's bolstered by comments I've seen from those who have read advance copies that DITF isn't "canon" - which really means it's not the false concoction conclusions on canon - CH is canon. She's the authority. Don't blame her - you brought it on yourselves. :P
I'd thought a great deal about how I wanted The Things - One and Two to die. I'd craved it. I'd wanted it with every fibre of my being. I relished in their demise – the looks of shock and horror on their faces. I positively loved when Bill bit into the neck of my female torturer, and her blood spilled red all over me. It made me worry about myself, where I was going, and how this would all turn out. How I would feel on killing in the future, when I'd always been so against it.
.*° o O 0 * 0 O o °*.
I'd done my fair share of killing. I wasn't proud of it – and I agonised over it. I didn't want to continue doing it. It wasn't something I looked forward to, a pastime that I could share with my supernatural friends. Unfortunately, when I was around supes, I had plenty of opportunity to test that pastime, and get into precarious situations that would bring out the survivalist in me. I wasn't completely comfortable with that. In the heat of the moment, I could kill easily, but it always came back to torment me later.
I'd made my deal with Eric, that first night at Fangtasia, based on the idea that he wasn't going to be using me to kill and torture people. Honestly, that turned my stomach. He said it like it was nothing. I remember how far from his humanity Eric had seemed that night. That was the deal with the vampires – those were the conditions. Some people might tell me that it was pointless – that I should just let the vampires do whatever is right for them. I had no taste for blood being on my hands. I wouldn't be doing that.
If I wanted to use my ability to ensure people would be hurt, I could have done that before. I didn't need to go and do that for vampires. I could have made a really great living for myself if I could prove that I would be able to hand down verdicts that meant harsh punishments. I could have gotten up and spilled important information on people. I could become the state executioner, judging people based on what they told, and how much was truth, handing out death sentences in the name of the government.
I didn't want to be the one to rain down fiery justice on my fellow human beings. Nor did I - until Thing One and Thing Two got to me - wish for supes to die so fervently. I'd never before truly craved a death, as I had that night - I needed it and wanted it. I may not have lamented the deaths of all those supes, but I tried not to actively cause them. I'd wanted to deal with Lorena, but I didn't really crave her death. If I could have gotten out of that building with Bill, I wouldn't have bothered to come back and do away with her. I wasn't sure I had the commitment to killing her, no matter what I'd asked Eric to do in the event of my death. I worried that I was changing and not for the better.
.*° o O 0 * 0 O o °*.
I could use my skills to make sure that people got what they deserved. But I wasn't perfect. I made mistakes. I wasn't anyone to judge on who deserved what. If I really wanted to use my skills to hurt others, others I judged to a higher standard, then I couldn't go past using my skills against the supes. If I was the person who got to decide who was good enough to live and who should die, then they should be high on the list of targets. Since I've known them, gotten to know them, supes kill.
Before the Great Revelation and synthetic blood, vampires sometimes killed to survive. I didn't particularly like having it pointed out that we were prey - that I was talking to someone who had preyed on people long before I was born. But I'd accepted that. But I also haven't met one vampire that hasn't killed someone since the Great Revelation. Bubba killed Jerry Falcon, Bill and Eric decimated the Weres in my living room, Pam killed some of Victor Madden's people surrounding Fangtasia. Not one of them had clean hands. They weren't innocent. They hadn't turned automatically into law abiding citizens after the Great Revelation, who no longer hurt others.
It wasn't just vampires either. Shifters and weres weren't completely clean either. Weres regularly had fights that would lead to them killing each other. They often had to fake the deaths of their own pack members, who were killed in various skirmishes and power struggles. Sam had killed Weres in the Shreveport pack battle – the Were War, and Quinn had killed the men who had attacked his mother.
I don't think that there's one particular answer on whether or not those killings were right or wrong. But if I was the sort to pass down judgement on who should be found guilty or innocent, I don't know that it would ultimately fall in favour of supes, as the innocent parties. I can only control what I will allow myself to be a party to, and I wasn't going to be a party to more killing by the groups I knew did just fine killing without my help. I didn't need to up their kill ratio.
If I wanted to pass judgement, I could have joined the Fellowship and used that as a justification of who should die and who shouldn't. The Fellowship had a spiritual goal, and claimed that God was on their side. If I believed that God thought it was better to decide who to kill and who would live, then I could take up their cause far more easily, being Christian myself. After all, even if they didn't think I was quite right, if I used my telepathy to work for their cause, I'm sure that they would welcome it. I had more in common with them than I did with many supes. I didn't want to kill others just because they didn't agree with me.
.*° o O 0 * 0 O o °*.
The first person that I seriously injured was trying to kill me. I'd been well beaten by him, and he had murdered my Grandmother. I didn't want to kill him, and I didn't want Bill to kill him. I didn't want blood on my hands – that's what Rene had. I wanted no part of that. I didn't want his death on my conscience. Bill and I had a few run-ins over killing others. I didn't like it. Bill always justified it by saying that it was in his nature. Well as far as I'm concerned, he may be right. If we're going to have a round of reverting to our natures, I'll go away from what's contrary to my nature and he can do it alone. I'm not helping, and I'm not sticking around to enjoy it. If supes wants to kill my fellow humans, they can do that without my help and support. Frankly, the idea makes me sick.
But I should have a choice on who it is that I spend my time with, and what it is we do together, as a human who doesn't want to be surrounded with killing. If they want to go and be themselves, in my company, without regard to my feelings, then I should have the right to walk away from it, as part of what my nature is. It is hardly the bigger offence to walk away, rather than kill someone.
Of course, I could always lie to myself and put all the responsibility off on the supes. But I'd killed. I'd killed plenty of times – usually when it was them or me. Usually, it was a case of survival, and I agonised over those deaths because I worried that one day I would sink into animalistic behaviour and give no thought to the lives of the beings who surrounded me. That I would become callous and uncaring, judging lives on the values they had, and finally the final step of the value that they had to me personally.
I had access to supes who would kill for me. I could kill anyone, or have someone killed. The very idea scared me. When Bill had killed my Uncle Bartlett, he'd been able to accomplish it the night that he decided the man should die. I didn't regret Bartlett's death – I wasn't sad that he was gone from the face of the Earth. But I wasn't completely comfortable with the idea that I could be the person who gets to say if others live or if they die. That shouldn't be a burden I had to bear and I didn't want to. It went against my conscience, and my nature to just pronounce death on others.
If I'd so wished, I could have had bloody revenge on every person who'd ever offended me, or hurt me. Let me tell you, when you're a telepath, that's a lot of people. I could have chosen the people who'd sent nasty thoughts to me to try to upset me like Andy Bellefleur had. It had happened at school. It was cruel, and I could have made sure they paid with their lives. Bill, and probably a few other supes would have been happy to leave a bloody swathe of bodies for my sake. I'm sure that I could have someone killed, or enact their death if I didn't like the way they spoke to me, or thought about me. If I wanted to, I could have a whole heap of people in the periphery of my life knocked off. That was a dangerous thing around supes. It was a trend I didn't want to set.
Apart from the moral quarrels I had over killing, it was just a plain old practicality. If I encouraged the supes around me to be more careless, more bloodthirsty, then I would also be around them – fragile, mortal and breakable. I'd surround myself with beings who were actively encouraged to kill, and could well decide to kill me. There were enough supes who tried to kill me without encouraging more of them. Frankly, I had enough of plots and attempted killings to last me many lifetimes. I didn't need to be hemmed in with a whole heap of them to whom killing was no big thing. One day, I might be one of the humans they deemed worthy of death.
If I chose to do it for my own personal reasons, what happens when another human sees the trend I've set, how callous to all of them I am, and their supernatural friends see a lucky moment and does away with me when all the supernatural beings I'm friendly with aren't watching? Should those rules of using your boyfriend to do away with fellow humans not apply to me equally? I couldn't kill people, or order their deaths because of offensive behaviour, even if it left the boundaries of their heads and was stuff they actually said or did.
Offensive behaviour is so wide spread among humans, I'm not so sure that I'd stop. I couldn't punish people for what they automatically thought. I didn't want to punish people for what they deliberately thought, or even what they said, what they believed. If I went down that route, I'd be no better than the Fellowship, who'd targeted me based on the idea that I wasn't fit to live. I'd inevitably become a target for what may be seen as a pre-emptive strike. If I started pronouncing death on people, I would be seen as a possible threat, and I could find myself on the receiving end of a death sentence.
No matter how hard anyone could think about something, believe in something, there was always someone else who thought the opposite. It's easy to be callous to the other side, but I didn't want to turn to the same hatemongering I'd experienced myself. I didn't think it was a safe attitude to take to kill indiscriminately – not if you were going to be a casualty on either side – not in the supernatural or human world. More and more hate came back at you. Carnage didn't stop carnage – it bred and produced more.
When the Fellowship had come at the Dallas nest, the vampires chased after them. That was in retaliation for an assault by the vampires of Dallas. There was only one person who died that day in the Fellowship – by a Fellowship convert, Godfrey. The cycle just went round and round. It didn't stop. I didn't want to contribute to it if I didn't need to. I'd seen that with Debbie Pelt. I'd killed her – my first honest-to-goodness killing – one that I took full responsibility for. It didn't stop with Debbie trying to kill me a couple of times. When I'd killed her, the Pelt family set about their revenge.
I couldn't have avoided killing Debbie, and I had a lot of grief over my part in her demise. I'd been directly involved in other deaths – but usually it was a desperate attempt to defend my own life. It wasn't a deliberate act that was happenstance. Every time I'd killed up until that point, it was something that I didn't consciously think about. Don't get me wrong, it was just as horrifying, but it wasn't a purposeful thing. In the case of Lorena, it was the stake I desperately flipped up – and she had been trying to kill me. I didn't regret her death – but it turned my stomach. The sound of that stake as it went into her haunted me.
When the weres died in my living room, well, I wasn't sorry that they were dead. But I hadn't done anything actively to get them that way. Once that adrenaline had died down, it sickened me to see men in pieces all over my home – the place where I lived. During the Were war, there were people I couldn't save, and people who'd pushed me to hurt them. There was a witch who lunged forward onto the knife I'd been holding. I didn't intend to kill, but in order to defend myself; I had ended up causing their death.
In times since then I hadn't been faced with such stark choices. I hadn't had to defend my own life at the cost of another's. Some of the supes who surrounded me did a fine job of that, without me having to do much of anything. The men of Merlotte's bar had saved me from Charles Twining. Claudine had saved me from Weres in the Were War, as had Sam. Eric had saved me from Lucky the Were assassin. Quinn had saved me from the bitten Weres and the Pelts. When the time came to deal with Sandra Pelt, and Tanya Grissom her agent, I chose a method that didn't involve killing. I was real lucky for a while there. The FBI had protected me from the likes of Whit Spradlin and Donny Boling. They'd wanted to kill me, and if I wasn't a telepath, they surely would have. Then I had a hand in the death of Mel Hart. It was just a tough day, and I shouldn't have, but I remembered Crystal and her baby, on that cross. My sympathy had left me for Mel Hart and his troubles.
Then, I'd killed a fairy – one who snuck up behind me. But the clear intention was to kill me – he'd even said "I'll enjoy killing you for my lord". I rose up, quick and smooth and stabbed him with my Grandmother's trowel. When you've been in as many situations as I have, it becomes second nature. It nauseated me yet again, that when it came down to it, I would rather survive than turn the other cheek. It went against what I believed. It just came so naturally. I just hated that.
That scared me. That I could, without thought, wield a weapon and deal out death. I had gone a long time without harming people, without wishing to harm people. Since I've been in the supernatural world, I had had both ample opportunity to be hurt and killed, and to hurt and kill others. I sometimes wondered if something had broken in me - a dark place in me that would become all consuming until it swallowed up the person I always thought I was. What The Things had done to me had so broken me down to that dark place that the choice became easy. I worried for my immortal soul, which really wasn't fairing so well. I worried, quite desperately, that I would become savage.