Disclaimer: Do not own the movie A Nightmare on Elm Street, or any of its characters. Property of New Line/Warner Bros., Wes Craven, Platinum Dunes, and whoever else...

Author's Note: I decided to join the Freddy/Nancy AU with my friend Type Unique Pen Name Here, for au50 at insanejournal. I will NOT be doing this in numerical order. This one was a little... Off for me. But this is a challenge, and no one can say I didn't try, right?

Chapter Warnings/Notes: Blood, sexual images, taboo scene.

10. Crimson

She was so beautiful when she was terrified.

The way her blue eyes, tinted with red from lack of sleep, glistened with fresh tears and widen with fear. How her body trembled and lips parted in a ready scream. How her dark chocolate brown locks splayed across the pure white pillow.

Beautiful.

"I hate-hate you," she sobbed, trying to pull on the invisible restraints that held her arms above her head. Always struggling. She hadn't struggled much when she was five. All he had to do was say it was a game and she'd lay still, wide eyed and curious, only making a sound or crying when he would get too rough, losing his own control. Now she was always struggling. He wasn't sure what he liked to see more.

"I know," he rasped, emotionless, as he lowered himself on top of her, pressing his lifeless, heartless, chest, feeling her heart beat frantically against her own ribcage; a sick reminder that he was dead and she wasn't. She should be. She should die for tattling. For getting him killed. For breaking her promise.

"Can you keep this a secret?" he stared down at her underneath him. Her nose and eyes wet, her little cheeks red and her expression full of pain and confusion. "Can you, little Nancy? Can you promise to keep this our little secret?" Little Nancy. Always wanting to make him happy. She nodded softly, and he smiled and leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. "That's my baby girl."

Anger boiled his coagulated blood, sending a flame of hatred through him. She hadn't kept her promise! She had promised and she lied. Blind rage filled him long enough for him to sit up and straddle her waist, his clawed hand slashing at the material of his favorite dress.

She screamed as he nicked and pulled at her skin as well, leaving deep, red, cuts across her stomach, her collar bone, across the soft mounds of her breast, as he threw the dress away, catching himself. No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't kill her now. That would be to easy. He'd waited to long for this moment.

He growled low in his throat as he stared down at his work, watching as he blood, flowing and fresh, slide freely from his marks on her skin. He watched the way they pooled down her side. How some trickled between the valley of her exposed breast and pooled onto her stomach.

She looked good in the crimson ribbons of her own blood.

"Nancy," he whispered in his deep and graveled voice, staring down at her. Her eyes were closed tight, head turned to the side like she was trying to inch away from him and block out everything, to block out the pain and his presence. With the same gentleness he used when she was five and crying, he reached down and held her head between his arms, forcing her head to face him.

She sputtered and whimpered in pain, as he pressed his chest once again against hers, pressing her cut breast down, spreading the gashes, causing the crusted blood of her cut to break, sending another small wave of ribbons of blood down her body and sides of her breast, staining into his dirty, itchy, sweater. He lowered his face to her collar bone, sniffing her stained skin, savoring the sunflower and liquid copper scent, before trailing his tongue along the cut.

Nancy let out a strangled cry, whimpering in disgust as her lapped up her flowing crimson life, savoring how she still tasted the same, even if she no longer smelled it. "P-Please! N-No more... S-Stop...," she was dry heaving, her voice sounding strained and dry from screaming and crying, as he licked up to her throat, leaving a trail of blood and saliva.

His face hovered over hers, his hot, foul, breath brushing against her tightly shut lips as he trailed his index claw down a tear stain trail, puncturing the skin lightly, mixing blood and tears, watching as the blood and salty tear residue slide down her cheek.

"It's OK, little Nancy," he chuckled, his voice taking on the same soft tone he had used on her when she was five, his index claw trailing down her cheek, her neck, digging into the skin, making her hiss at the papercut like sting. "I'm sorry it hurts... The first time is always the worse." A smirk spread across his burnt lips, as her heart pounded hard against her ribcage and echoed against his empty one, her eyes darting wildly, her hands pulling harder at the restraints as he slid down to her the Pocahontas panties he had put her in.

"Don't cry. I promise, I'll make it better," he laughed over her screams as he cut into her skin, ripping the undergarment from her body, more of her crimson life flowing to pool between her legs from the cuts above her womanhood.

"All better for my little Nancy."