Disclaimer: I don't own Steven Universe!
Title: The Ones That Bleed Visibly Hurt The Least
Summary: Connie's first four, real scars. The first is from Pearl; the second, she's gives herself. The third comes from a mission. The fourth; a battlefield. Pearl's hurts, her's is a distant memory, and the third can be soothed with some healing spit. The fourth hurts both inside and out; this is the one she's the most proud of.
Warnings: Mentions of blood and thoughts of death. Not very fluffy.
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CanvisWrites- Thanks! Don't worry; it's gonna be four chapters long total. =)
Dalekz Universe- Better question; why do I like to write Connie angst? I never want to see her come to harm, but here I am, writing about her bleeding all over the sky arena. I think it's because of the growth opportunities. =)
loosecat56- Thanks!
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The second scar, she gives herself.
It's not a physical scar. It's a mental one, clinging to the back of everything she does, every thought she has.
She's twelve.
It scared her.
It's late at night, but Connie can't sleep. Her room is pitch black, reminding her of the days her sight was this bad all day around and her glasses were actually useful.
She sits up and reaches under her bed, pulling out a sword. Her parents are asleep by now- she'd made sure to wait long enough- so she doesn't have to worry about one of them barging in, so long as she's quiet.
Pearl had given it to her once, as a test. "Do what you're willing to do." She'd said, a dark twinkle in her eye.
Connie knows what she wants. An oath sworn over it, or perhaps a sheen of blood coating the metal and a bandage on her arm, as proof of her dedication. Fighting the battle is nothing. Living the battle is everything.
She quietly positions it, sharp end down, directly over her heart, feeling the unyielding steel press against her skin. With every outward breath it digs in. Her hands shook. She imagines the sword magically forcing itself through her chest, killing her, leaving a bloodied corpse for her family to find the next day. A small noise, high-pitched and keened, escaped her at the thought, but nothing stirred.
She's going to die someday, she reflected. It won't be pretty or painless, either; she's going to bleed to death somewhere, sprawled out for all the world to see. She knew as much; she'd been told as much.
"It's all worth it." Pearl had insisted. "It always is."
Even still, doubt flickered in the back of her mind. What if she died before the war ended, leaving Steven to fight her battles? All that work, all those fights, with nothing to show for it. Just a blood stain and her friend to fend for himself.
She can't protect him as well as she'd like, and it bothers her.
And what about her parents? They didn't know anything. How would they feel when, one day, she comes home in a casket? They would never understand, would never know, just how important this is to her. It'd tear their hearts apart, and the fact they didn't get it would only rub salt in their wounds.
Despite this, despite all these doubts and what-ifs, Connie didn't feel her loyalty waver in the slightest. It didn't matter what happened to her, so long as she got to play her part in keeping the planet safe.
I can't hurt them like this, she thought, grip loosening on the blade. But I can't back down, either.
The sword fell.
Connie watches, horrified, as it falls towards her. She pictures it slicing through her skull- closer to the left one than the right, but still directly between the eyes- and leaving her with nothing but the ability to scream and cry as she slipped away, when her hands shoot out of their own accord and halts its descent. She somehow did all of this without making a sound, not counting her staggered breathing.
Gasping for air, she gently sets the weapon on the floor with shaking fingers, nudging it under the bed once again for safekeeping. She'd find a better hiding place for it tomorrow.
She's crying. Her cheeks feel warm.
A tiny nick has appeared on her chest, right above her heart. It stings.
She cries even harder, face buried in her hands.
They can never know.
Connie gives the sword back eventually. She'd never been sure what to do with it, exactly, and it had been left to gather dust, until finally she'd gathered the courage to bring the weapon to practice.
"Thank you, Connie." Pearl gently takes the weapon. It's post-intervention Pearl, so her eyes are bright with worry, not dim with darkness. "I'd thought you'd forgotten about it."
"I'm sorry, Pearl." She replies earnestly.
Alarm flickers across her face. "For what?"
"I didn't clean it."
Pearl smiles. It's obvious she's glad that no bodily harm came to her by way of this sword. "It's not a problem, I promise."
Connie never mentions the tiny nick on her chest. Nor does she speak of the fear making itself at home in her gut at the thought of not being able to protect Steven. Those are her battles. Her demons.
They wouldn't understand.
Author's Note: Writing wise, this chapter's probably the hardest out of the four. At least, I feel like it will be. Either way, I'm proud of the result. =)
-mandaree1