Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape or form, own, or claim to own, Sweeney Todd, Leave Out All Rest by Linkin Park, Chester Bennington, Life by Our Lady Peace, Tourniquet by Evanescence, Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets & Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows written by J.K. Rowling, or Peeps written by Scott Westerfield. They all belong to their respective companies, bands, writers, or themselves. Sadly. Or I'd be a very rich person. Anyhow, any content used is just to help enhance the story, and I have no monetary gain from this enterprise.
--xXx--
Leave Out All The Rest
It was a beautiful evening, well, as beautiful as dirty, grimy London can get. It was relatively warm, there wasn't any rain, although a light mist clouded everything, and small glimpses of the sunset could be seen, if you were able to see past the multitude of buildings and ships.
Overall, it was the type of evening where you just wanted to sit outside with a glass of wine, watch the sunset, chat with your neighbours, and just generally enjoy life.
No one actually had the time to that, though, especially not the woman bustling around the main floor of 186 Fleet Street.
Eleanor Lovett scurried around the kitchen, trying to cook, clean and dampen fresh rags at the same time. Dr. Bennington would be coming soon, and she had let the shop fall into shambles since his last visit.
"What does it matter, anyway?" she muttered, scrubbing furiously at a stubborn, baked-on grease spot. She knew the doctor wouldn't linger. He'd rush right upstairs, where she'd follow and listen to his diagnosis. Then he'd leave immediately, summoned by his other patients, and Eleanor would look after everything until he returned.
"Mum!" Toby yelled, running into the kitchen, panting, "The doctor's 'ere!"
"Thanks, dear." Eleanor replied, trying to smile comfortingly at the boy, but only succeeding to increase the look of worry on her face, "Can you finish up 'ere?"
"'Course, ma'am." Toby murmured, turning to the oven, "But it doesn't look very good upstairs."
Eleanor gulped, scared of Toby's disheartening words. If it was bad enough that it brought Toby - an optimistic, easy-going, responsible child - down, she had no idea how it would affect her.
She took a deep breath and stepped out into the damp London evening. As she gradually ambled up the creaky stairs, she felt her gut clench and her arms shake, and she knew it wasn't because of the potentially unsafe steps.
It was because of the things Sweeney Todd, the man she loved, the man she hated, the man she lived for, and the man would die for, was going through.
He was sick, deathly sick, and Dr. Bennington could do nothing to help him. "Nothing to do but ease the pain until God calls him into Heaven," he had said. Sweeney had smiled slightly at that, and Eleanor knew that the same thing had been going through both their minds.
"I'm not sure I fulfil the requirements," Sweeney had whispered, his cynical grin growing.
Nellie had started to giggle, and she had excused herself to go laugh her head off outside. The oblivious doctor didn't know that the duo could not see Heaven admitting the Demon Barber. It was the sort of thing Benjamin would have said. Jokes were few and far between when it came to her Mr. Todd.
The line separating Benjamin from Sweeney had been growing thin, ever since he'd gotten sick. He'd been a lot friendlier and more humorous lately, but without any warning, he would snap back to his usual self.
"It is right before Death where one shows the most Life, and ones true selves are exposed to the world."a small voice, her voice of reason, in her head whispered philosophically, and she before she could argue with herself, coughing heard from Sweeney's room reminded Eleanor of what the man was going through.
It had started simply, with him coughing more then usual. He had then started to become feverish, then he stopped eating, and when customers had started coming sown to the bakehouse alive, but with pictures - crude portraits of Lucy - carved into their skin, she knew he was delirious.
She didn't take him to the doctor at first, knowing how'd he protest and say he was fine, but once he started coughing up blood, she cracked. Eleanor had tried to force him to get up and see the doctor, but he was too weak to stand.
That was three weeks ago. And it had all gotten downhill from there.
Eleanor felt the tears sliding down her face, leaving warm tracks against her cold cheeks. She sat on the stair, letting the tears fall and her body shake freely. She didn't want Sweeney to die - she'd only just gotten him back. She hadn't even had a regular conversation with him yet, and he had returned nine months ago. Her goal in life was to make him hers, but he kept moaning about his bloody dead wife; at least, he thought she was dead. She wasn't even close to accomplishing her goal.
'At least 'e's around, though, and 'e 'asn't taken off yet.' she thought, wiping her face with her hands, ''Cause he might not be 'ere for much longer.'
She stood up and wiped her hands over her face again. Sweeney may have been sick, but he would never give up a chance to ridicule her about her crying, in his own cold, twisted way.
Eleanor climbed slowly up the rest of the stairs, anxious about what Sweeney would look like when she walked in.
"I want you to take a deep breath, sir, and hold in as much as you can." the acute, melodic voice of Dr. Bennington could be heard through the door. Eleanor walked in, making sure to gently close the door behind her.
The room had been changed drastically. Everything had been taken out, save for a small cot in the centre of the room for Sweeney to sleep on. Even the high-tech chair, that Sweeney had spent three days building, had been ripped out and the trapdoor had been nailed shut, all Eleanor's doing, to make sure the young doctor didn't kill himself.
"Ah, Mrs. Lovett." Dr. Bennington announced, kneeling on the floor next to the cot, "Just the woman I needed to see."
He held out a well-muscled hand and Nellie pulled him up to his feet. Behind him, she saw Sweeney sitting cross-legged on the cot, his back to her, his mahogany eyes staring daggers at the floor.
"Can we step outside, please?" Dr. Bennington asked, pointing his head towards the door. Eleanor nodded, and they both headed towards the doorway. Dr. Bennington held it for her, and Eleanor suddenly realized how much he looked and acted like a younger, healthier version of Albert. The Albert she had agreed to marry, not the obese gout-afflicted creature he became. The suave charm, the heavily muscled body, and the sandy brown hair and eyes caused her to believe that every time Bennington opened his mouth, Albert's disapproving voice would sound and scold her endlessly until Nellie felt like a misbehaving child.
She hated feeling like a child.
"Now, Mrs. Lovett, Eleanor, if I may call you that," Dr. Bennington started, completely ignoring the fact that Eleanor had not answered his question, "I'm afraid I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that Mr. Todd is going to die any time in the next week-"
"Oh!" Eleanor exclaimed, wringing her hands together, sorrow ripping at her innards. She had almost died of grief when she had heard the same diagnosis for Albert, like a good wife is supposed to, but how could she survive the death of the man she adored? "Are you sure, Doctor?"
"Call me Chester, please." Dr. Bennington continued, "But let me finish. As I was saying, Mr. Todd will die soon, a very horrible, a very painful death, in fact, but the good news is I have some belladonna back at my building that will make Mr. Todd's departure a quick and painless one."
"I'll n-n-nee-d to t-t-al-k to 'im a-a-ab-o-ut it f-iir-st." Eleanor stammered, trying to keep her heartache at bay.
"Well, I'll go get it anyways." Dr. Bennington replied, looking dejectedly at the London skyline, "Just in case. But you know, Eleanor, if you need any help coping with the grief, my home is always open to you."
The sly smile on his face as he walked down the stairs made Eleanor realize that she was invited to his house; as long as she opened something of her own as well.
She was stunned, gobsmacked, speechless. Even the resemblance to Albert- especially the resemblance to Albert- wasn't enough to make Eleanor even remotely like the man. No matter if Sweeney was alive or not. She just stood there, dumbstruck, staring at the retreating doctor's back.
"'e? No. What? Bloody 'ell." Nellie gasped, still trying to put things into perspective.
A sudden blast of phlegmy coughing from behind the door made Eleanor remember that Sweeney was still sitting in his room, and that they needed to discuss the little matter of his death.
She walked in, and Sweeney still had his back to her. He was still sitting on his bed, his gaze turned to the window.
"Mr. T? Love, are you alright?" Eleanor asked, shutting the door behind her, "We need to talk about your, condition."
"He wants to kill me." Sweeney whispered, slowing turning his head to face Eleanor, "He wants me gone so he can get to you."
"Love, 'e only suggested it 'cause it will save you a lot of pain." Eleanor replied, standing awkwardly at the door, "Not 'cause he thinks I'm a bloody whore."
Sweeney turned his piercing gaze directly on her. Eleanor had the uncomfortable sensation he was looking right through her.
"Well, maybe a lit'le bit of both." Eleanor mumbled, blushing.
His gaze softened. He loved making people blush, for some odd reason. Lucy had never blushed, and he wasn't desperate enough to flatter the boy in any way. That left only Eleanor, and again for some incomprehensible reason, he was almost addicted to it, to her.
Ever since he'd gotten sick, a strange feeling towards Eleanor had awoken. It was very a strong feeling; he thought it was lust, maybe. The woman was always trying to force herself on him, and she did cut a very striking figure.
"You can't lust after Eleanor, she's your landlady. You love Lucy, not her." the small voice of Benjamin, the only remnant of his former life, reminded him. "It's probably just that we are too afraid to die alone."
That had to be it. He had always been scared of dying, even when he was a child; his brother had been killed in battle during the War of 1812, and his sister had been raped and beaten to death. He needed someone to come with him into the Darkness, and he knew for a fact that it wasn't going to be the boy.
That just left Eleanor, and frankly, he was pleased with his decision.
He felt like he would do anything to win her over, to get her to die with him, he was that scared.
Sweeney knew that she was already head over heels for him, but he wasn't going to die without her. He had to think of a way to get her to die with him.
Suddenly, he remembered how he got the disease. The stupid beggar woman had walked uninvited into his shop while he was disposing of another customer, so he had slit her throat and disposed of her, too. She had been showing the same symptoms as him, the coughing, the fever, the deliriousness, but she had no actual physical contact with his person.
But he had gotten a whole lot of her blood in his mouth.
'This should be interesting.' he thought, grinning.
The smile on Sweeney's face frightened Eleanor. It was the smile of a predator, the smile you would see right before you died at the hands of the hunter. She had only seen before when she first told him her idea about 'Let's bake your victims into pies!' thing, and when he was staring at his razors. She was a little wary, and she was planning to stay by the door for the duration of the conversation -
"Can you come here, please?" Sweeney asked, tilting his head at the empty bed space "Just sit."
-or not.
She walked over, stepping lightly so not to disturb him and sat upon the bed. It sagged slightly under both their weight.
"Nellie." Sweeney said seriously, looking into her eyes. Best to sweeten her up first. She loved it when he called her a pet name. He knew this because she was terrible at hiding her emotions.
He wanted to see if he could use that to his own advantage.
Eleanor was surprised at the use of her nickname. Even just her first name would have been a shock.
"Let me try to get this out. Try not to interrupt, pet, even though it's hard for you to remain silent for any matter of time." Sweeney continued, still trying think of how to have an excuse to lean in and get ready to spread the disease. He decided a meaningful soul-bearing conversation could work, "I dreamed I was missing. You were so scared. And no one would listen, 'cause no one else cared."
He actually did have a dream like that, which increased his feeling of confusion.
"Toby cares 'bout both of us, Mr. T." Eleanor interrupted, staring at him. Their shoulders were touching, and the mere contact set her heart racing. Even a dying Mr. Todd could turn her on, "Whether you like it or not, 'e's goin' to be for a while yet."
"That's not what I meant. I meant a different kind of care."
"Oh." Eleanor mumbled, looking at the floor, blushing furiously.
"After my dreaming, I woke with this fear. What am I leaving when I'm done here?" Sweeney continued, reaching out with one hand to pull her face up so their eyes met. His hand felt rough and could against her skin, but the contact made her want to wriggle with pleasure.
"Just your vengeance, really. 'ard to kill som'one when you're dead." Eleanor answered casually, "Unless y'were a ghost or somewhat."
"Be serious Eleanor." Sweeney criticised disparagingly, dropping his hand from her face.
"Never been more serious in m'life." Eleanor replied, "An' 'ow come you keep usin' my first name? Y'never felt so inclined to do so before."
"So if you're asking me I want you to know," he muttered, leaning unconsciously closer towards her, "that when my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done, and help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory. Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest."
'That should be enough of a sob fest for her.' he thought evilly. But, subconsciously, he knew he meant every word he just said.
"Of course I'd miss you, love. It would never be the same if you were gone again." Eleanor whispered, trying to soothe the obviously troubled man. She could feel his breath coming in quick, dry wheezes against her skin. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing she thought that she'd like, but it made her feel zealous inside, "You're a part of mine and Toby's lives, a big part. I'd think of you all the time. I would be empty if y'were gone. An' the wrong you've done? Well, it was all for a good reason, wasn't it? To avenge your wife and daughter. That's gotta count for something."
"Of course. To get to the Judge." Sweeney grimaced. That was the one thing he would regret - not being able to get to the Judge. The snivelling, weak bastard who had technically caused this entire mess. If the Judge had never sent him to prison, Lucy would have never been raped, Johanna would have never been taken away, and Sweeney would still be Benjamin, who wouldn't kill people, thereby avoiding the nasty scene with the beggar woman.
And these annoying feelings for Eleanor would have probably never awakened.
"Well, 'e's probably close to dead, anyway. What is 'e, sixty like?" Eleanor mused, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.
"You're always thinking practically, and yet appropriate as always." Sweeney smiled, recalling his words from when she thought of the devious plot to dispose of his victims. How the woman thought up half the things she did, he would like to know.
Or, actually, now that he thought harder about it, maybe he didn't.
A sudden bout of violent coughing racked Sweeney's body, forcing him to double over and clutch at his chest. The metallic taste and syrupy texture of blood filled his mouth, forcing him to turn towards the door and spit it out.
The bloody phlegm sat forlornly on the ground, forcibly drawing the attention of the both of them to it.
"Maybe the bloody man-whore of a doctor will slip on it." Sweeney observed, glaring at the contents of his lungs.
Eleanor fought to hold back her laughter, but a sudden mental image of Bennington slipping and flying through the air and out the window caused her to giggle uncontrollably.
Sweeney turned his glare on her, but remembrance flashed in his eyes and his expression instantly softened. "Don't be afraid." he murmured, putting both hands gently on her cheeks, "I've taken my beating. I've shared what I made. I'm strong on the surface, not all the way through. I've never been perfect, but neither have you."
The happiness in Eleanor's eyes made Sweeney sick and gleeful at the same time. 'You almost let her catch on, control your anger, think of Lucy, think of Johanna.' He kept repeating the mantra, chastening himself for coming so close to scaring her away.
Eleanor sighed, feeling his hands run slowly up her neck, cupping her face, encircling themselves in her hair, and slowly pulling themselves free and starting the process over again. "Never said either of us was perfect love." Eleanor replied, inwardly celebrating at his touch, "You're the Demon Barber, remember? And I lied about-"
She instantly froze up, reprimanding herself for almost giving her biggest secret away.
"You lied about?" Sweeney asked, pulling his hands out of her hair, "It's not polite to leave a sentence unfinished, you know, pet."
"It's nothing." Eleanor muttered, leaning away from Sweeney. If he ever knew she lied about his wife being alive, she would be good as dead. No, she would be dead. 'I won't say anythin', I won't say anythin', I won't say anythin', I won't say anythin', I won't-'
"Your wife's still alive, but she's crazy and a beggar out on the street and I'm pretty sure she's a prostitute and she keeps trying to get into the shop, but I keep chasing her out so I can have you all to myself." she panted. 'Bloody 'ell, I said it.'
"Oooh, we're in trouble now." her newly found conscious taunted inside her head. Eleanor had no idea why she said it. Why would she randomly blurt out one of her deepest secrets, especially since she had been keeping it for a good nine months?
The sudden twitching of the serial killer's eye did not bode well for Eleanor. "Mr. T, we could just calm down and talk about it, settled like." Eleanor suggested, getting off the bed and sliding slowly over to the door.
All Sweeney felt was pure, unadulterated rage. He wanted to reach out and strangle her, watch the life slowly being squeezed out of her, see the fear and panic in her eyes, feel her heart slow, and listen to her last breath leave her mouth. He wanted to hear the death rattle that was the demise of Eleanor Lovett.
He wanted to die with her still, but only because he was beyond saving, and he wanted her to suffer. He wanted to die now, knowing any chance of seeing Lucy was gone, she would probably be terrified of the man he was now.
'Wait,' Sweeney realized, another epiphany hitting him, 'She'd be terrified of the man I am now… that means, she probably wouldn't love me."
"But Lucy would always love us." Benjamin reminded him, growing angry at the so-seemed betrayal of their wife.
'Lucy would always love you.' Sweeney replied angrily, trying to push the annoyance that was his old self out of his mind, 'She'd love mild, meek Benjamin, because she was mild, meek, controlling Lucy. You liked to be controlled. I, on the other hand, do not find it very appealing. Fifteen years of following orders in purgatory can really make one aversive to the idea.'
"Then you don't deserve her." Benjamin growled, trying to scare him, but only making himself sound more insipid then ever, "You deserve she's doing to you."
'Which would be?' he countered, when suddenly, a picture of the beggar woman who he had killed, who had gotten him sick. 'So?'
The mental image remained, forcing Sweeney to stare, studying the small details of the mad vagrant's face. He thought he knew her from somewhere, like she was a big part of his life, like she someone tied very closely into his life, someone important to him -
'Oh.' Sweeney could only stare dumbstruck at the face of his wife. 'I killed her?'
The presence of Benjamin grew sinisterly happy. "Yes," Benjamin sneered, "You killed her. And now she's killing you. A slow, painful death, and you're all alone. And you can't even expect to meet her in Heaven, since you're going to Hell, 'cause of all the people you killed"
'And how exactly is she killing me, friend?' Sweeney asked sarcastically, tired of the pointless disruption when he could be doing better things - like killing Eleanor. 'Achieving vengeance from the grave, by chance? Or are you really Lucy? Trying to annoy me to death? Believe me, you're getting close.'
Benjamin huffed in exasperation, pushing the mental image of Lucy deeper into his consciousness "Imbecile. You got her damn blood in your mouth."
Shock hit Sweeney as he froze in place, reeling from the idea. His Lucy, his wife, had done the unspeakable.
Sweeney retreated deeper into himself, contemplating the change that his life had taken. He couldn't believe it - he killed his wife, who, in turn, was killing him. He felt so angry, so hateful, so confused. He felt angry and regretful at himself for killing his wife, angry and disgusted at Eleanor for not telling him about her, but the most anger was reserved for Lucy, who, unknowingly, was pulling him down to the grave. He hated her for doing that to him, whether she knew it or not.
Sweeney remembered Bennington telling him about how the disease was spread - you caught the disease through blood, spit, and sex. She didn't have it before he was sent away, and she had once he got back. That basically meant she had cheated on him, probably many times, whereas he hadn't cheat on her once, not yet, at least. That meant she didn't believe he was going to ever return, and that lack of faith regarding his return really enraged him, made his vision go red. He'd promised her he would come back, and she had promised she would wait. She lied, and her lie made him a lot angrier then Eleanor's.
Remembering Eleanor, and her belief that she always thought he'd come back, didn't really help with his anger.
'Basically, she's the one who's killing me?' he asked Benjamin, struggling to calm himself down.
"Yeah, but you killed her, so you deserve it. It's even better her death was quick, but yours is long and drawn out-"
'That's all I needed to know.' he cut in, pushing Benjamin away, focusing on his task. The whole conversation, realizations and epiphanies included, had taken only a couple of seconds.
He turned his gaze towards Eleanor, who was still standing a few feet away, slowly inching her way towards the door. She was trying to hide her fear, but the slight shaking of her hands gave her away.
"Mrs. Lovett," he called, "get over here."
"I think I'd rather stay over 'ere, love." Eleanor replied, backing up ever so slightly. The fear in her eyes was apparent, and Sweeney knew the doctor would be back any minute. He needed to get her sick, now.
'These are desperate times, and desperate measures are called for.' He thought to himself, and he decided to play with his strengths: the depressed card again.
"So if you're asking me I want you to know", Sweeney repeated, narrowing his eyes because he knew it made him look sadder, more sincere, "that when my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done, and help me leave behind some reasons to be missed. Don't resent me, and when you're feeling empty, keep me in your memory. Leave out all the rest, leave out all the rest."
'I can't believe I'm doing this.'
He pulled out his razor and stared at it. The light shining towards it reflected all over the room and his face looked like it was lit from within.
"What are you doin', dear?" Eleanor asked, concerned by the miserable expression on his face and the razor hovering over his hand, "Don't do anythin' you might regret later, now."
"I already have." Sweeney replied, looking forlornly at her, and he dragged the razor across his wrist. His blood flowed slowly out of the wound, staining his unusually
"Sweeney!" Eleanor exclaimed, as she rushed over to the bed and grabbing his wrist, "Why would y'do som'thin' like this!"
He looked intently at her, a poignant expression on his face. He slowly lifted his wrist and rubbed it against his mouth. "Forgetting," he muttered, clutching his razor closer to his chest, "all the hurt inside you learned to hide so well."
"What are you talkin' about?" Eleanor asked, worrying for the state of the man's mind, "I'm not hurt. You're the one sick and bleedin' and all."
"What about you having to watch me with Lucy, pet?" Sweeney answered, tasting his own blood on his lips, "Or having to dispose of all the bodies? What about looking after me for the past weeks? What about me acting like a total arse and ignoring you the entire time. That's a lot of hurt, pet, or have we forgotten how to count?"
"Y'were occupied an' plannin' 'ow to get to the Judge. I can respect that." Eleanor protested, determined not to let the man feel even more down about himself.
"'The Judge. Always 'arpin' on the bloody old Judge!'" Sweeney mimicked Eleanor, copying her accent almost perfectly.
Eleanor didn't say anything, but she had the grace to blush and look away.
"Pretending," Sweeney continued, his monotonic, yet silken voice a low murmur in Eleanor's ear, "someone else can come and save me from myself."
He sighed, dropping his razor to the floor. 'This is it, folks. The moment we've all been waiting for.'
He put his hands on Eleanor's shoulders, and uneasily leaned closer. It felt like an eternity to him, but he had to move slowly, or else he might scare her off before he had time to execute his plan.
Eleanor seemed to catch on to what he was doing, and she eagerly forced their mouths together.
'That's romantic.'Sweeney thought, rolling his eyes, as he felt Eleanor's lips pushing harder and harder against his own. He kept kissing though, and as it wore on, he started to enjoy it. It reminded him of a forgotten, but familiar world, filled with stars and lavender and moonlight, and the sharp tang of orange that was a reflection of Eleanor's own essence.
He remembered the reasons he had thought up as to why he wanted Eleanor to die with him. One was love-devoid lust, and the other was fear of Death.
But he had forgotten one, the most likely option -
He, Sweeney Todd, was in love with Eleanor Lovett.
With that realization dawning on him, he made the kiss much more urgent, trying to pour all of his love and devotion into their first, and probably last, moment together.
Her tongue suddenly flicked against his lip.
'Excellent!'
Or maybe it was their last moment in this life, and they would be together again soon…
He pulled away, and he saw her mouth was blood red.
He was filled with satisfaction, he wasn't too afraid of dying now, knowing Eleanor would soon be coming with him.
"Dr. Man-Whore will be coming back soon." Sweeney mumbled, his face deadpan, but his inside glowing with happiness.
"Don't call 'im that!" Eleanor sniggered, shoving Sweeney's shoulder playfully.
He felt a tinge of regret at the contact. 'Maybe I should have asked before I infected her.'But he was sure she would rather die with him then live without him. 'Almost 100% sure.'
Sweeney pressed a soft kiss against her lips, as if he was trying to make up for what he just did to her. She responded gently, almost hesitantly, knowing this was their way of saying goodbye to each other.
They broke apart, and their eyes were filled with sadness. They sat and stared into each other, chocolate eyes watched mahogany eyes with concern. They stayed like that for fifteen long, dragging minutes, before the doctor finally knocked on the door.
"Hello? We're all still alive, I hope?" he joked, poking his head in and holding his bag up, "Now, Mr. Todd, what are you planning to do?"
"I'm going to take your recommended treatment." Sweeney muttered, his aloof expression and cold eyes returning.
"Okay then. The cure for the itch you've got is a very rare cream I got from-"
"I think you've got the wrong patient." Sweeney interjected tauntingly, "I do have an itch, but none that you can help relieve."
The wily look in his eyes as he glanced over at Eleanor made it painfully obvious what he meant.
"Oh, you'rethe dying one." Bennington laughed, reaching back into his bag, "Oh, well I have two things, a mixture of thyme, and some essence of belladonna. The thyme will make you less alert, sleepy, if you will, to heighten the effects of the belladonna, which is what you will swallow to shut down all your systems. The thyme will also act as analgesia, making sure you feel as little pain as possible."
"Let's get this over with, then." Sweeney whispered, for the first time looking scared. Eleanor knew of his fear of dying, it had been strongly apparent in Benjamin, and she figured fifteen years in a hellhole of a prison would only heighten it.
"Is there any tea?" Bennington asked, "It'll make it easier for Mr. Todd to swallow the toxins."
"Downstairs, left cupboard, closest to the door. Toby will 'elp you." Eleanor replied, reluctant to waste any time with Sweeney.
"Why don't you come down with me and helpme out?" Bennington retorted, with what was a pathetic attempt at a slick and attractive voice.
"Like I said, Toby will 'elp you." Eleanor answered smoothly.
"Fine." Bennington whined, and he stomped out the door,
"Worse then a bloodyteenager, 'e is." she observed, and Sweeney started laughing, every snigger punctuated by a cough, "Any last words, requests, love?"
"We'll meet again, a lot sooner then you think, pet." Sweeney muttered, staring guiltily at the floor.
"What did y'mean by that?" she asked, confused. Was she dying or something?
"Don't ask." he replied, looking back at up at her. She really didn't need to know anything yet. She was bright; she would figure it out for herself.
They remained staring, Eleanor confused and Sweeney repentant and apprehensive, until Dr. Bennington walked in, carrying a cup of tea, with a sluggish, dishevelled Toby following him like a lost puppy.
"Now Mr. Todd, just drink this down, and you'll fall into the final sleep." Dr, Bennington announced, holding his hand over his heart in a mournful, respectful position.
"Good-bye, Mr. Todd." Toby yawned. Seeing Sweeney's look of confusion at the boy's sadness, Toby added sleepily, "I know we aren't the closest people in the world, but Mum likes ya, and she'll be sad when you're gone, so I gotta respect that."
"Something profound, boy. I'm amazed." Sweeney scorned, sipping at his tea. The sudden angry look Eleanor shot him reminded him how much she cared for the boy, "Um, yeah. I'll miss you too, boy. Sure."
"Good enough." Eleanor sighed, getting up off the bed, "See you later, love. Wait for me."
"Sure thing, pet." Sweeney whispered, gulping down the last of the mixture, grimacing at the bitter taste, "Remember what I said before. I can't be who you are. Not even in my wildest dreams, could I amount to you."
As he spoke, his eyes fluttered shut, his breathing evened out, and his face took on an expression of content. With one final shuddering breath, Sweeney Todd died, and left Eleanor Lovett alone in the world again.
--xXx--
"Stupid bloody man!" Eleanor growled, staring up at the ceiling, the only view available from her bed, "'e knew this would 'appen! It's 'is stupid bloody revenge for lyin' 'bout 'is stupid bloody wife and 'im bloody dying 'alfway through 'is bloody revenge against the stupid bloody Judge!"
Eleanor was being forced to rest in bed, being forced to drink tea and doze. She hadn't moved in weeks, and it was all because Sweeney Todd had given her his deadly ailment. The same symptoms - the coughing, the fever, the deliriousness - and it was a lot worse then Sweeney's case.
It was so bad, Toby had been forced to move in with one of her brothers in Liverpool, and Dr. Bennington had moved in to keep a constant eye on her. He did not want the disease to become an epidemic or something.
Luckily, he had gotten over his adoration with her. He was probably scared of catching the bug himself.
"I tried to kill the bloody pain, but I only brought more." Eleanor announced to no one in particular, glaring at the random white spot on her wooden ceiling, "I lay dying. You 'appy now, Sweeney?"
Sudden yowling at her door made Eleanor jump. The yowling continued until the door slowly creaked open by itself, and a small black cat with dark brown eyes and a white belly, tail tip & paws padded in. The cat leaped onto her bed, and the door slammed shut, again on its on accord.
"Look at the lit'le pussycat." Eleanor crooned, as the cat started rubbing itself against her hand. "'Ow'd you get in 'ere, cat?"
The cat crawled up onto her belly, piercing her side with its claws.
"That 'urts, you bloody animal." she whispered, trying to push the cat off.
The cat moved closer to her face, its intelligent mahogany eyes staring into her chocolate ones.
She slowly reached her hand out to try to stroke the cat, but it pointedly ignored her and curled up on her chest. "Go away!" she hissed, waving her hands toward it.
The cat turned its head back at Eleanor, a glimpse of exasperation in its eyes. It yawned in her face, and Eleanor grimaced at the strong fishy odour.
Eleanor sighed and put her hand on the cat's back. It didn't run or flinch away; instead, it started purring and put its head back down. "Suppose you're not 'armin' any one," Eleanor sighed, returning her glare to the ceiling, "Might as well stay 'ere."
The presence of the cat was actually very comforting, warming her chest. She'd always loved cats, and she had felt regretful about attempting to shove them in pies, but you had to make a living somehow. The cat's company helped her forget about the pain her body was going through. Every limb ached as if she had been standing in an iron maiden for weeks, her head was pulsing as if a livid, homicidal lumberjack kept pounding her skull, and her lungs were on fire. She couldn't believe Sweeney had endured the whole thing in near silence.
Then again, he was the one who had rotted away in prison for fifteen years, so maybe something as petty as a simple illness wasn't enough to force him to hurt.
Still she was amazed at his tenacity. She couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and Bennington was pretty goddamn awful at making tea. She missed Toby, but better safe then sorry when it came to the loveable orphan.
Eleanor knew her time was up soon. And she couldn't bloody wait.
The cat stood up and placed its nose on Eleanor's' face. A sudden memory of her sitting on her father's knee, her brothers surrounding her, and tales of horrors lurking behind every corner, monsters staring out of the shadows and bumps in the night. A particular favourite was one about cats being the Devil's familiars, and how they would steal your breath in the night. She remembered feeling relieved about kicking their crazy old tom because she and her brothers were scared of the cat stealing their life.
The cold, wet feeling on her face was both unsettling and pleasant. She was breathing shallowly, feeling weaker and sicker by the second. The ache in her toes was slowly fading, and a cold numb chill was spreading through her veins.
'So this is what it's like to die.' Eleanor thought, half-coherent and growing sleepier by the second. 'It ain't so bad. Quicker an' easier then falling asleep.'
The amiable presence of the cat was gone, and the practical side of Eleanor thought it left because it could smell the death creeping through her. The fantasist side, however, thought the cat had left because it had completed its obligation of taking her soul. What did it matter anyway? She would die either way, did it matter a cat was present at the time?
She felt her eyes close, and as her last breath left her lungs, voices echoed inside her mind, all her memories, jumbling and flashing, replaying all of her strokes of genius and her mistakes, her good times and her bad, everything that made her herself.
Eleanor didn't regret anything. All of her mistakes had made her stronger, had prepared her for this one pivotal moment of her life. Her end.
The last words to ever fall off her lips were directed at Sweeney Todd, the man she loved, the man she hated, the man she had lived for, and the man she was about to die for.
"I can't be who you are, love. I can't be who you are."
--xXx--
Will you lie in wait forever?
Reluctantly lingering in Life, ready for when I come
to join you for all of Eternity.
While I scream for the grave,
will you laugh?
Or will you yell with me,
and guide me to the end?
I lie in hope of one thing:
for an endless night,
without blood, tears, or anguish.
I dream of a world
where I am free of my hopeless chains of malady.
I cry out for deliverance.
For salvation.
For Death.
For you.
--xXx--
A.N: Sorry if it is a terrible story, and your eyes fell out of your head because of its horribleness, but I'm only 14, not even in high school yet, so cut me a break. Anyway, it's a songfic based on the lyrics of Leave Out All The Rest, by Linkin Park. The story was originally just the sick Sweeney, but my possessed iPod turned to this song, even though it wasn't on shuffle and I was listening to Nickelback, and I realized it fit with Sick!Sweeney perfectly. And no, I didn't get into Linkin Park because of Twilight - I've liked them for a long time.
I'd like to thank my 'unofficial' beta, Catnip27, one of my best friends, who is awesome at inspiration stuff, fixing ideas, and putting up with my constant depression-pessimistic-ness. Carry out the deeeeeeed, Draco. I'd also like to thank my other two best friends, who are also forced to put up with constant depression and Helenaisim. They've put up with me this far, let's see if they can make it through the days left until Grade 8 grad. Man, just saying that makes me feel old, but I know I'm relatively new in the world, only 14 years of life, of existence...
Reviews are love, money and gin rolled into one.
Live long and prosper.
NightsWeCantRemember