Summary: In a world where Uncle Bartlett went too far, Sookie Stackhouse decides to embrace herself rather than bend to the townfolk's perception of normal. Years later, she saves a dense vampire from two drainers. Slowburn Sookie/Eric.
Uncle Bartlett approached the funeral service.
Sookie's entire nerve system recoiled in wild, instinctive fear. Bile boiled in her stomach, gut churning with a blind horror. Rage pulsed through her, making her blood crackle with coiled up fury like a feral flame.
All those emotions hit her with the force of a bomb dropping from the sky. The intensity knocked Sookie forward, hair tumbling over her forehead as she doubled over and clapped a hand to her mouth - to stop herself from screaming in blind terror, to stop herself from emptying her stomach, to stop a wild battle cry piercing the air - and breathed through her nose.
She was too scared to close her eyes but she tried to force her mind to lock onto breathing. She felt dangerously close to the edge of something great and terrible, mind spinning wildly out of control. No, she begged, utterly desperate, no, no, no, no no no no -
"Oh, my God," Tara exclaimed in concern.
"Oh, shit," Lafayette murmured, worry stabbing at her mind like a knife.
"Sook, you okay?" Jason asked anxiously.
Then came JB's light Southern drawl, not panicking but a calm attempt to snap her out of it, "Sookie."
Sookie could feel the wall in her mind that kept her functioning splintering, the harsh snapping sounds echoing in her ears like broken bones. The plates crashed to the floor, and thoughts flooded in. The distraction from her own head made her feel a split second flicker of release - and then Uncle Bartlett was in her head, and he was remembering -
Rage. Pure, blistering, wild rage burned away her fear. She wanted to kill, to hurt with her bare hands until they were coated with blood. Revenge, for every fucking second of her pain since he had violated her, taken what wasn't his; her choice, her body, her virginity.
Sookie remembered look in Gran's eyes, the crushing guilt and hot pain and failure, whenever the older woman thought about her brother's actions. Gran wouldn't have approved of bloodshed, not at all, but she would have understood, maybe. Gran was all about necessary things, and it felt necessary.
The word caught in her brain. Necessary. If she killed Bartlett, he would become even more significant. His victory would be crafted by her own rage and offensive self-preservation. He would be gone but he would win. Murderous rage and defiance clashed painfully in her mind, sparks of rage and protest shooting through her body.
Overwhelmed, Sookie simply reacted.
The coiled muscles in her legs sprang, sending her flying out of the chair as she took off blindly, legs carrying her away from the funeral. Dimly, she heard gasps and whispers but it was drowned out by the rapid thumping of her heart. Her heels plunged down into the mud and ripped back out of it with every step.
She didn't stop - couldn't stop - crazed and hunted, she needed to keep running -
"Sookie! Sookie, wait!"
The voice hit her ears, muffled and distorted beyond recognition by her blind panic.
Sookie was athletic and swift, adrenaline numbing her to the pain shooting up her legs and the insistant pinch of her heels, but whoever chased her was fast as well. A strong hand grabbed her arm - and the wild emotions exploded within Sookie, lashing out instinctively -
A pained shout dispelled the red haze around her vision. Her wild, dark eyes focused, and she found herself deep in the graveyard, far from the funeral, surrounded by headstones. She felt hot and flushed and icy cold all at the same time. Her body was wound tightly, there was hot liquid on her fist, and Jason was on the floor, shock and hurt in his face, blood gushing eagerly from his mouth, staining the grass red.
Realization clicked together in Sookie's head with a snap, and she swayed under the weight of cold horror.
"Jason," she whispered, unable to believe what she had done. Spilt her own blood when there was already so much on her kitchen floor, and she could still feel the wet, heat of it on her skin.
Blood. Skin. Memory flashed - forceful hands, throat raw from screaming, head cracking against the floor, pain flaring, pretty white dress going up, up, up - stop, no, stop - please -
Uncle Bartlett. Gran.
She wanted Gran. She needed Gran.
Sookie started to cry, harsh, broken sobs, without shame or dignity.
Pushing off the floor, Jason reached for her uncertainly, pain livid in his - hers, Gran's - brown eyes but Sookie recoiled fearfully from his touch, shaking her head wildly, staggering away. She couldn't bare touch while vulnerable.
"No, no, no - " she chanted mindlessly, continuing to shy away anxiously though he made no other move toward her.
"Sookie..." Jason said, pain thickening his voice.
"You invited Uncle Bartlett," Sookie snarled, a keen quality of agony to her voice. Lies, lies, lies. It was an old instinct to hide the actual cause of her pain. Uncle Bartlett was nothing, a straw to break the camel's back - rage and fear and so much horror - but Gran was gone, and that mattered so much more.
Jason's face was slick with sweat and flushed from the sun, blood dripping from his mouth to stain his rumbled white shirt. His expression was contorted with pain and confusion. "He has a right to be here!"
A searing, seething rage broiled through Sookie. It was reckless and cruel, urging her to lash out at her brother with words in the shape of knives. It twisted her something fierce to hear him defend Bartlett but Gran was too vivid in her mind for Sookie to follow through with the impulse.
"The only right he has is to burn in Hell!" Sookie snapped, raw with emotion. The anger was pale and fickle in comparison to the hot, hungry licks of writhing agony that ravaged her heart.
"I know he and Gran had their problems, but in the end, we're family!" Jason said fervently. Sookie felt her knees weakening, stomach swishing with revulsion as her brother called Bartlett family. She felt her skin crawling over her muscles - dirty and unclean.
"You have no idea - " she cut herself off, sounding hoarse and choked. "You are my family! Gran is my family! He is a piece of shit!"
As hot as hers, Jason's temper flared in his eyes, "Gran's gone!"
Jason's face went very pale, slackening with horror at the brutal truth that stabbed through the air and hung heavily over them. The silence crashed over them for a long moment, unbearably heavy.
Sookie had said the words herself before but it felt different from Jason. She stood still, a numb haze blanketing over her as she tottered on the edge of a knife, swaying from side to side. It made her dizzy, but she made one last lunge for indifference.
"I know," Sookie said flatly, slumping her posture and arching an eyebrow sardonically. "I was the one to find her body, remember, Jason? Hell, I had a meet and greet with the blood."
Jason stared at her, brow furrowed - anger flashed over his face - and then his expression was changed by soft realization. He sniffled, blinking rapidly, pointing back in the direction of the funeral. "They're burying Gran today, Sookie."
She felt herself begin to unravel, reality slackening its grip on her.
"Jason," she said in a voice that was eeirely calm. "Shut the fuck up."
Jason shook his head, eyes fixed on her. "No. You and me, Sookie - we're all we've got now." He moved closer to her, hesitating, face tight with pain. "We ain't ever gonna see Gran again because some evil son of a bitch killed her."
The words felt like a killing blow, slicing cleanly through the last string tying Sookie to the world. It felt like falling into the deep, dark unknown, blackness rushing up over her head. It was grief, it was madness, it was empty. The world tilted off its axles - Gran was dead - and then crashed back down.
The thunderous intensity of all her bottled up emotions bursting free tore a strained, choked noise from her throat. Sookie crumpled, legs buckling under the weight of it all. A pair of arms caught her, clutching her close. Her eyes burned, and she clung instinctively to her brother, unable to stand or think.
Despair overwhelmed her, tides of rage and pain and fear hailed down on her, and she sobbed, gasping hysterically for air. A hand clumsy with panic stroked her back, and Jason shook with her - his voice flickered through her ears like a bad radio connection - "I shoulda been there - I shoulda been there - "
Jason was crying. The knowledge fuelled Sookie's agony, arms locking around his back in a instinctive attempt to console him, but her mind was stuck on a loop. Behind her eyelids, flashes of memory launched a blitz attack on her sanity - Gran, surrounded by dark red - the unnatural mask of terror twisting her loving face - blood - blood - blood -
And no Eric to haul her back from the edge.
Like a vice, Jason's arms squeezed around her, kissing her hair forcefully - Sookie?
That caught her attention. No one had intentionally called to her in their head before, and then Jason's wrist deliberately brushed the back of her neck, sending her tumbling into his mind.
He was remembering Gran. He was remembering rushed school mornings, trying to grab all of his stuff with Gran's help as Sookie teased him - her own smile flared wickedly in her head - and Gran laughed at something she'd said, love shining in her eyes - then he remembered the night their parents had died - the soft, soothing crone of Gran's voice as she sang Hey Jude, tucking them in - a simple Sunday dinner after church with a rarely smiling Hadley -
Sookie began to breathe again, slow and gasping, and Jason pressed his face into her hair.
It took ten minutes of snarky put-downs before Jason agreed to go back to Gran's funeral.
"You go play the dutiful grandson, and I'll be - well, I'll just be myself," Sookie tossed over her shoulder, fleeing the scene. "And maybe I'll forget that you have the swing of a five-year-old girl."
In the wake of her embarrassing breakdown, she felt less blood-boiling rage about that little incident. The ball-crushing would have to wait until Jason angered her again. But she could hardly talk, could she? She had actually hit her brother.
Sookie walked home to find JB standing on her porch. She was too emotionally ravaged to care much for the girlish flutter in her gut at the sight of his tall, handsome form.
"Stalking me?" she called to him dryly. The redness had cleared from her eyes on her walk. She had released her hair from its bun, leaving it to tumble down her shoulders in waves of gold. Her heels were caked with mud, and her legs were splattered with flecks of it.
"How was your run?" JB deflected like a total amateur. Still terrible at lying.
"It sucked," Sookie answered frankly, climbing her porch. She walked around him, sensing him turn to follow her as she leaned casually against the railing, cocking an eyebrow. "How was yours?"
It took JB a second to realize what she was talking about - his move from Bon Temps to Monroe. "Long."
Sookie's lips twitched in a smirk and she attempted to look coyly up at him. "Hard?"
It was one of her worst digs but it made JB smile - a bright flash of white teeth that threw her back some. "Christ," he muttered, voicing her thoughts almost exactly. His cinnamon brown eyes looked at her intently. "I've missed you so much, Sookie."
Before they had been skirting around third base in the backseat of his car, she and JB had been real close. JB was self-aware enough to know how much he sucked at lying, so he was honest and laid-back, unlike most of the people she met. It had been an odd friendship but a pleasant one.
Sookie felt herself aching over as she looked across at JB, his hair lit ash-bright in the fading sun.
JB looked at her for a moment, a thought hovering between them, a history, and then he averted his eyes to her drive. "Even that," he said quietly.
"My driveway?" she arched a single eyebrow. "Oh, goddamnit. Did somebody slip you a roofie?"
JB's head swivelled around to look at her, far from amused, but he refrained from commenting. Instead he eyed her. "Do you want me to go?"
Sookie didn't want to deal with his veiled sympathy and the faded memories of their relationship, of the dizzy madness in her younger years when she said yes to him; of him asking. She wanted to curl up somewhere quiet and dark until she felt less vulnerable and raw. Until Bartlett was out of Bon Temps, far away from her. But there was a faint tie between them still, and she didn't want this to be it with JB.
But she thought that maybe this needed to be it.
"Yeah," she said, flashing him a brutal bloodied grin.
And JB's face hurt - the swipe visibly slashing through him where he (where she, even now) was raw to this, to their history, and knocking the breath from him. He stuttered out an exhale, ducking his head and nodding as though he should have expected that.
"Yeah," he repeated, snorting bitterly.
"Hey, I'm all about honesty, JB," Sookie told him, spreading her arms wide. She ducked her head, feigned condescension in her face as she looked all the way up at him like she'd never - like they had never - "And that's all that really matters."
Not this, echoed in JB's head: Not you.
And Sookie almost reached out, almost curled her hand around his wrist - hot skin to hot skin, his pulse stuttering against her palm, as she said no, and she almost told him no, not ever and almost, always, always almost, I fell in love with you when I was a fourteen.
"Of course, it is," said JB blankly. He pushed off the railing, avoiding her gaze. "I should get out of your hair, then."
Sookie watched as JB turned his back, climbing down the porch steps and walked down her drive to where his car was probably parked.
Her knuckles, slowly, whitened on the railings, but as Sookie Stackhouse watched history repeating itself, she locked her jaw and said nothing at all.
Sookie drew her knees to her chest, head lolling back against the tub, damp golden hair laying over her shoulders. Steam rose from the clear, hot water, misting up the bathroom mirror. The door was locked securely.
Staring up at the ceiling, she thought back to the funeral. Uncle Bartlett was in town. Her skin crawled with distaste, and her stomach knotted up with stress. She hated the thought of him being in Bon Temps with every inch of her being. A niggling insecurity writhed under her skin. Sookie knew how to act in a fight. She was wryly strong, quick and fierce. She knew how to take care of herself but she felt even less safe than she usually did.
All because of a decrepit old man in a goddamned wheelchair.
She wanted to be mad at Jason for inviting him, but her brother was, once again, clueless, and that was on her. Gran had offered to tell him but the idea was unbearable to Sookie. It struck her in the chest that now, she was the only person who knew.
"Fuck," she declared quietly, stretching her legs out, lifting her head to observe the way her skin glistened like gold in the water.
A small part of her wanted to tell someone but most of her was desperate to bury the truth deep.
"I need to stop thinking about this," she sighed, raising an eyebrow at the ceiling. "And I really need to stop talking to myself."
In the end, she should be more concerned about how easy she found it to seriously consider killing Bartlett. Sure, he deserved it like whoa and she would probably be able to get away with it but she wasn't going to sink that low because of him.
Not when Gran's killer deserved it so much more.
Sookie finished up in the bathroom, automatically applying moisturizing cream before changing into loose white shorts and a black camisole and sitting at the dressing table to towel her hair dry.
Her eyes caught on the lilies on her bedside table, and her mouth curled up into a wicked, naughty smirk. A familiar flame ignited in her eyes.
She grabbed her cell, scrolled down until she found Eric's cell number, and texted him - 34C.
An hour later, there was a brisk, commanding knock on the door. Sookie opened the door to find Eric looming on her porch in a pair of dark jeans and a dark tank top, hands clasped behind his back, a crackling air of power about him.
He was, Sookie suspected, faintly amused.
Which was good. She stood less of a chance against Eric than the three werewolves had, and she had a feeling offending him was more dangerous than trying (and almost certainly, failing) to kill him.
"Am I to presume that was an invitation to see for myself?" Eric arched an eyebrow smoothly at her.
"I think actually following through would ruin my reputation as a tease," she retorted, leaning against the doorway and flashing him a playful grin.
"Indeed," Eric rumbled, cool blue eyes dropping to the figure with obvious appreciation. She was wearing a bra but her camisole was on the skimpy side, exposing generous cleavage and nearly all of her shoulders. His gaze made her stomach flutter slightly. "You are telling the truth."
"That does seem to be an unfortunate habit of mine," she remarked flippantly, rolling her body to the side and gesturing her head in a silent invitation. Eric accepted. He walked into her house with an arrogant swagger to his movements, big form brushing past her. He paused in the hall, studying his surroundings.
"You have not rescinded my invitation," Eric observed. He didn't sound surprise or pleased, it seemed to be a simple statement. Sookie could sense the inquiring note more than hear it.
"I don't know how," she said, testing the waters.
Eric's intent stare locked on her, containing traces of a stony glare - try again.
Sookie was unsure of how to feel about that. At the core, Eric wasn't a hugs-and-puppies kind of guy. If he knew her, it could prove dangerous for her. She was useful to him because of her telepathy but there was a downside to being useful - his interest was a great and terrible thing.
Eric knew she could throw a truly staggering punch. He knew she hated being grabbed. He knew she could read minds. He knew she loved her brother, and her Gran, and based on that, he knew where her weakness to manipulation lied - Jason, Tara, Lafayette, Dawson, JB, Terry, Hoyt, Arlene and her kids.
(Sam.)
But he didn't know that while she couldn't read vampire minds, she could pick up on them. There were some tricks up her sleeve. It was best to be open about the big stuff, so he thought of her as slightly naive but intelligent and never looked that close.
On the other hand, it as almost... nice for someone to not immediately write her off as ridiculous or crazy.
"Alright, fine." Despite her morbid thoughts, Sookie's grin was genuine. "I do know how but I figured if you ever decided to kill me, it wouldn't be here."
It would be a quick spur-of-the-moment thing prompted by her tragically stupid determination not to bend for anybody ever again. An invitation into her home would be irrelevant.
As she thought this, Sookie walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, trying to avoid thinking of the last time the old vampire had been in her kitchen. Eric followed her, footsteps silent and impressively stealthy for such a big man.
"So you have considered the dangers in our association," he said, dark voice drilling into her ears like the crisp turning of a page or the sound of a sharpening blade. It was impossible to ignore Eric, and he knew it. There was a hint of threat in his voice. "I hope for your sake you are not reconsidering my business proposal, Miss Stackhouse."
Sookie looked at him drolly, expressive face reflecting the lack of truth in his assumption. "I'm a lot of things, Eric - brown-eyed, a C cup, sarcastic, telepathic, offensively honest and reasonably realistic." As she listed off her personality traits, she tilted her head from side to side, a lively flare in her dark eyes. "But I ain't that blonde."
Teeth flashing in a cheeky grin, she held up a bottle of True Blood Gran had left over from the DGD meeting and put it back down again when she saw distaste in Eric's expression. She paused, canting her head with curiosity. "What does this taste like to you?"
"It's vile and metallic," Eric explained disdainfully as she closed the fridge. A sinister hunger darkened his eyes. "Nothing compared to actual blood. You smell...particularly sweet. It has been a while since I have eaten as you do," he continued, eyeing her with a more dangerous lust. "There is little I can compare it to."
"Yeah, I'm so not offering a taste testing course," Sookie rebuffed him, crossing her arms over her chest. It was not a vulnerable gesture so much as a firm one, though the smile quirking the corners of her mouth showed her overall good humor.
The threatening hunger remained in Eric's eyes but the towering blonde vampire smirked down at her and looked her over leisurely. "Pity," he remarked. "Though I am not certain such a brief experience could satisfy us both."
Sookie flashed him a look, amused and sensual in the same breath before she sobered up, moving closer to him, tilting her head back to look up into his pale, handsome face and asked bluntly, "Do you kill the people you feed from?"
Dawson had told her that vampires killed every single one of their victims but considering the source and how illogical that sounded, Sookie was skeptical. Of course, if he did, she doubted Eric would tell her so.
Eric arched an eyebrow down at her, lowering for her. He looked so out of place in her tiny dainty kitchen, and the flare of mischievous amusement that flitted across his stony expression seemed to reinforce this rather than debunk it. Something fluttered low in her gut at his close proximity.
"Very few vampires kill those they feed from since we have gone public though there are always incidents with baby vampires." Eric looked down at her, cool mockery in his face, a blaze in his blue eyes. "Don't you listen to the pretty blonde vampire lady on television?"
Sookie narrowed her eyes at him, smiling with sardonic tightness. "No, sadly, I have an allergy to bullshit."
The distance between their faces shortened to a few scant inches. It was unnerving to see Eric so close, knowing what he could do to her but she wasn't afraid. Intimidated, perhaps, and attracted by how devastatingly handsome he was but unafraid. The flutter grew stronger. "Is that so? What did you do to your hand?"
Surprised, Sookie broke from Eric's intense, piercing stare and looked down at her hand. Her knuckles were bruised, one of them was newly split. There was a stiffness to her fingers that she was used to blocking out. A lock of blonde hair fell over her face, brushing across her cheekbone as she lifted her head, and found herself caught in his gaze.
"You own a bar." Sookie shrugged. "You know how people get when they're drunk, scummy and all for molesting the bouncy blonde waitress." She sighed dramatically and reminded him, "Besides I've been having a busy week between the drainers and those werewolf BFFs."
"You are unusually possessive of your personal space for a human," Eric stated, capturing her hand to be contrary.
His long fingers curled easily around her wrist, palm rough and callused against her skin in a way that made Sookie feel an intense fizzle of heat in her blood. Her heart stuttered slightly, torn between a twinge of anxiety and arousal.
"Unusual is my MO," she said in an overly grave tone before cracking her facade with another smile. She didn't try to pull away from his grip, knowing he wouldn't let go until he felt like it. Being held against her will, however loosely, would make her panic. "So do you?"
Eric was quick, figuring out she was referring to his somewhat deflected question about killing his food source. "I have better uses for my time than disposing of dead fangbangers," he said dismissively.
"And you're smarter than that," Sookie said in a matter-of-fact tone. It was something they both understood about each other - neither was an idiot. It was like respect but not quite there yet. Still considering his human-hating tendencies and her jerk-hating morals, it was darn impressive.
"Yes," he said simply, acknowledging the little understanding between them without too much ego.
The rough pad of his thumb stroked down the vein in her wrist, and her pulse stuttered from something between wariness and arousal. Eric smirked significantly but Sookie didn't rise to her own defense. She was attracted to him but he was attracted to her just the same.
A purr rumbled darkly in Eric's broad chest, thumb resting on her vein, not pressing down but monitoring her heartbeat which was slightly erratic. His cool blue eyes dropped to her chest, watching the pull of her tank over the curves of her breasts with every breath.
"Are you certain that wasn't an invitation?" he said in a low voice, blue eyes glinting with an animalistic desire - to fuck and feed. It appealed to her on a deep level, the animal part of her brain responding to him, and she felt her body responding to his voice, a hot coil tightened in her stomach.
"As much as I admire your hands on approach, my dearest vampire," Sookie said, dark eyes burning wickedly, "I have to wonder - don't you have better uses for your time than my breasts?"
"There is one thing that holds more interested to me," Eric revealed suggestively, cool blue eyes sweeping down her figure, striking her clean to the core with his intense stare. Her stomach swooped, an odd rush shooting up her spine.
"It wasn't an invitation," Sookie told him. A different heat simmered in her large, dark eyes. "I wanted to thank you for the flowers."
Eric seemed to realize she was pulling back from their flirtatious banter, but his cool eyes drilled relentlessly into her, and she did not look away. The look between them was long and unexpectedly intimate due to their combined intensity. His thumb stroked her pulse point one last time, the scrap of his skin against hers shortened her breath, before he released her.
"You're welcome," he said simply, darkness lingering in his eyes. "Read the contract," he told her, causing her to blink in faint surprise as she remembered the contract he had given her on her porch two days ago. "Take care, my tiny human."
Eric lowered his head to breach the few inches between them and pressed a parting kiss to her cheek, stubble rasping teasing against her skin in a way that made her stomach clench again. Then Eric zipped away, door closing abruptly behind him.
For a moment, Sookie stood in her kitchen, an electrical tension in her limbs. He hadn't asked about the funeral or how she was doing. Most people would be upset by his disinterest but she gave a small, wane smile.
Sookie went into Merlotte's early the next morning, early enough to dodge Arlene and Tara and even Lala who was the only other fucking person in Louisiana to understand the joys of not talking about everything. She holed herself up in Sam's office and went over his books, filtering calmly through pages and pages of information, black ink on white paper.
Nothing red but the twist of Sookie's own lips.
She did, however, venture out into the actual dining area for the lunch time rush.
There was a brief hush when Sookie stepped into the room, tables falling silent as everyone looked at her, minds humming with activity for the first time in the history of ever - and Sookie folded one ankles over the other, dipping into a curtsy, mouth twisting forcibly sardonic.
In one snap movement, everyone looked away, necks almost snapping with whiplash. Whispers broke out faster than the plague. Of course, Sookie thought bitterly, eyes sweeping over the room -
And, to her surprise, noticed a new face.
It wouldn't be hyperbole to say that everyone in Bon Temps knew each other on sight at the very least. Everyone had grown up on top of each other, had shared a town and a space with from cradle to coffin. People didn't come to Bon Temps, and people didn't leave Bon Temps.
The last newcomer had been Sam Merlotte seven years ago.
"Hey," said Sookie, hitching her mouth up in a smile as she went towards the woman. She was dark-haired and pale-eyed with a sharp, classical sort of beauty. "Have you been served yet?"
"Not yet," she said, smiling at Sookie. Her teeth were very even and very white; very well taken care of, unlike Sookie's own teeth. "I'm afraid I've never been to this establishment before. Everything looks so good. What would you recommend?"
"I'm contractually obligated to say everything," Sookie said brightly, scanning the woman's mind briefly. It crackled with a strange sort of energy, contained and well-leashed, reeled in and ready to be set loose. "But if I were in your place, I'd try the soup of the day, uh - what's your name, darlin'?"
"The soup of the day it is," she said, closing her menu. Her smile widened as she looked back up at Sookie, cool blue eyes glittering with a smug satisfaction."I'm Maryann Forrester. What's your name?"
"Sookie Stackhouse."