A/N: Warnings - Personified Scotland, character death, language, alcohol, suicide, angst... I think that's it. Don't know where it came from, but it deffinately hit hard.


What a shitty day. Allistor just wanted to grab a bottle and drown in his favorite whiskey. It felt needed at that point. He relaxed on the couch and got through half of it in silence before the phone rang. Great. Bleeding into the afternoon and he was already getting called. He checked the collar ID. Nope. No one he wanted to talk to. The booze was putting him in a better mood and he didn't want anything to crash that.

He grabbed another bottle of whiskey to chase the one in the den. He flopped back on the couch and, once the first bottle was gone, worked on the second. He swore a lot, words coming out muddled, at nothing in particular. Maybe just at himself. He was always mad at himself. Alli took the 3/4 empty bottle into the kitchen with him, for what only he knew, tripping over his own two feet and falling on the floor. The glass shattered under his hand and shards bit into his skin.

"Fuck!" He felt some in his shoulder and arm, more annoyed by losing the liquor than getting hurt. He got up, stepping on the mess as well. Was he seeing red? Huh- He was bleeding from it. With glass in his feet and right hand/arm, he went into the kitchen and felt around with his good hand for a pill bottle. Fuck, he hurt. Another bottle of whiskey and he probably wouldn't have cared.

Found it! How many was he supposed to take? With a shrug, he took the cap off of it and tipped the bottle back. Pleased with this solution for some odd reason, he went to the bathroom, trail of red behind him. Need to get the glass out... He curled into the tub and started picking at the bigger pieces of glass in his hand, dropping them on to the bathroom floor.

The white tub was stained red. It shouldn't have been red. He frowned and started on one of his feet, pausing every so often to shiver. Had it always been this cold in here? He felt numb, but didn't care. No. He didn't care about anything at that point. It was almost relaxing. Ebbing away slowly.

The tinkling of glass on the stone floor as he dropped it out of the tub... It sounded so pretty. Like chimes. He chuckled at the thought, picking glass out of his other foot now. Chimes. Clinking against each other and the stone. Red, though. They shouldn't be red. They were supposed to be clear, weren't they? So pretty. Maybe metal chimes would sound better? He pondered this, barely noticing he was loosing feeling in his fingers as he worked.

He rolled his head back. Huh. Was the phone ringing? Part of him wanted to go get it, but was drowned out by the rest of him which just wanted to stay there in the tub. Hmm. It was getting harder for him to grab and hold on to the shards, and he still had some in his shoulder. Sleepy. Blackness crept up at the edges of his vision. Blood smeared everywhere. He laid back and curled his arms around himself. Cold and sleepy. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he'd get warmer. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he'd be loved. Maybe his brothers wouldn't hate him. Maybe the memories of those tribes, what they did to him, will be gone. Maybe everything would be better once he fell asleep. Maybe was all that he had... His eyes drifted shut. Maybe he'd find peace... Maybe-