#(Nico getting there first but struggling to shine in a weak car

[distantlaughter]

in an older post (Top 5 Brocedes moments) you said that back in 2008 Nico had a favourite Brit and it (probably) wasn’t Lewis and Lewis had a favourite German (Adrian Sutil) but it (probably) wasn’t Nico. This got me wondering who was the favourite Brit and why that person? Sorry for bringing this up but the question won’t leave my head.

Hi! I’m going to be honest I actually cannot for the life of me remember who I was talking about in that post but if I had to guess I think the favorite Brit (in terms of people on the grid/associated with f1) might have been Jenson? Just based on what I could tell from the research I had done (doing activities off-the-grid together, general camaraderie)… I think I said that based more on how the media would sometimes play up the friendship between Nico and Lewis and how their level of friendship during that period in time (pre-Mercedes) actually (probably) wasn’t as best-friends-since-childhood as ppl make it out to seem…

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Chapter 13

Behind the Masks

Warnings for gore and murder, but there’s a bit of fluff at the end for once :3

Word count - 4,121

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

-------------

---V---

He woke to the sound of cursing. Bright light shone through his closed lids and a faint aroma he vaguely recognized teased at his nostrils. Comforting warmth enveloped him, the product of a bulky knitted blanket. He was horizontal, how did that happen?

More importantly, where am I?

More cursing. Heavy steps, someone pacing. That voice, he knew that voice…

“What the fuck, what the fuck, I’m gonna go to jail. What the fuck?!”

Dark lashes parted, painfully slowly to give his pupils time to adjust. Plain beige walls greeted him, tasteful art placed in strategic positions throughout the space. Modern furniture dotted the room, arranged to make it seem more spacious than it was. He was lying on a couch, black leather and minimalistic. To his right, a modest TV hung upon the wall beside a small desk with a laptop resting on it. The accursed beanie rested on a coffee table nearby.

“Shit, what the fuck, I’ve lost my mind! What was I thinking?”

The artist sat up and tugged the offensively itchy fabric back into place on his scalp, struggling to organize his thoughts. This must be your home, but how did he get here? The last thing he remembered was the museum, and then…

He licked his lips. What a sweet memory. After such a display, it wouldn’t be much longer before he filled you with more than his fingers.

“V! Finally!” 

His smirk turned to a frown as your quick footsteps brought your worried face into his line of sight. “What do you mean, finally?”

“You’ve been unresponsive for three hours. How do you feel? Let me check your vitals,” you began, already pulling a small flashlight from your pocket to shine in his eyes. 

The artist flinched away, batting at your arm with an annoyed huff. “I’m fine, there’s no need.”

It was sweet of you to fret, but the only lingering effect he noticed was a slight fatigue, and perhaps an irritating itch of deja vu. Nothing alarming, and nothing worth showing weakness, even to you. 

She forgets her place. 

He hummed as you sat back, attentive eyes watching his every move. Vergil was wrong, you didn’t forget your place at all. In fact, he might even say you were where you belonged for the first time.

At his side.

Lithe fingers lifted to dance across your cheekbone, stealing a quiet sigh from your lips. So responsive, so lovely and delicious. His hand drifted lower, his thumb curling to wrap around your slim neck and pull you closer. Your pulse fluttered under his touch even as you instinctively resisted, like any prey facing its predator.

His mind went deliciously blank as your lips met his. Your small hands pressed against his chest as if to fend him off, but with each shift of his mouth, your attempts weakened. Leather squeaked as he leaned closer, shifting his body to curve over you. Another way to assert his dominance.

Yet you still rebelled against his will, stubbornly refusing to lower yourself to lie beneath him properly. True, you would be his equal if he had his way, but for now…

He tightened his grip on your neck until you succumbed. It was a delicate balance to cut off the blood supply to your brain yet to leave your airway unencumbered, and his fingers itched to clamp down and claim his prize. 

How exquisite you’d be, flaying your first victim and carving your way to the truth. Splashes of scarlet on your smooth skin, glimmering silver in your palm and a smile on your face. Oh, how delightful it would be to bury himself in you in the aftermath, when you were still drunk on discovery. 

He pressed his hips into your thigh, letting you feel the ache you woke with a soft groan. The same hands that once pushed him away now danced under his shirt, feather soft touches caressing his skin. Heavenly.

The fires of lust in his cock turned to ice as a sharp knock rang from the wooden front door. Surely you hadn’t betrayed him? Jade eyes searched your expression, digging beneath the panic and confusion to find any hint of disloyalty hidden beneath, yet he saw only more of the same. No, you clearly didn’t expect company.

A second knock, more insistent than the first. Whoever it was, they lacked patience.

“Shit, uhh… fuck,” you mumbled, extricating yourself from his grasp. “It might be my dad… fuck.”

He didn’t like the look on your face, not one bit. “Would you like me to remove him?”

“What?! Have you lost your- no, I do not want you to ‘remove’ my father!”

Yeesh, it was just a question!

He didn’t quite understand. It was a simple offer, you didn’t need to make a fuss. Besides, if the man’s existence brought such an expression, he clearly needed to be dealt with. Perhaps you’d change your mind?

“Look, just… I’ll handle it, you go upstairs and keep quiet,” you said. “Fuck!”

The artist frowned but did as you asked, climbing the narrow staircase to crouch behind a conveniently placed shelf. Blood pounded in his ears, a clammy film coating his palms. If ever you would betray him, now was the moment. When no blade waited in his hand for an offering, when he had no chance of escape. His fate rested in the choices you made over the next few minutes.

The door opened to reveal two figures, though the angle was poor and he couldn’t discern any details. It didn’t particularly matter who they were; none could know he was here.

“Oh! Officer Redgrave, Officer Goldstein, what can I do for you?”

Officers? They’re cops?! You gotta get outta here!

Yet he ignored the avian voice. Why bother telling him to hide if you were turning him in? It didn’t make sense, something else was going on. More information was required before selecting a response.

A low voice replied, though the words were a mystery. You widened the opening and gestured for the strangers to enter, shooting a surreptitious glance his way. The artist ducked lower, just in time as the two figures entered.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Aw, this ain’t nothin’. You should see my place!”

The wooden chairs surrounding your dining table creaked as the strangers made themselves at home. As the duo exchanged pleasantries with you, the artist couldn’t resist peeking around the edge to get a glimpse, now that he might be able to spot a useful detail. He needed to assess the threat and possible outcomes, as if he had any control.

Of course, his eyes went straight to your face to find a stony expression, far too frozen to be natural.

The other two didn’t seem to notice. Fools. How could they ever hope to catch him, when they didn’t even notice he was in the same apartment? It would've made him laugh outright if not for the need for silence.

“So, we got the paperwork finished. You are officially a police consultant, doc. Congrats.”

“Just in time for the next body to drop, too. We’re headed to the scene now, wanna come?”

The artist grinned. Surely you wouldn’t miss the meaning behind his work if you saw it in person? How perfect, he couldn’t have planned it better. 

“Yeah, uh… okay, I’ll just need a few minutes. Can I meet you downstairs?”

The two cops exchanged a look but stood, the female stretching her arms as if she’d been sitting for hours instead of minutes. 

“Sure, just be quick. Every minute counts!”

He ducked back to hide as you escorted the two to the door. The moment the lock slid into place, a deep sigh slipped from your lips. 

Huh, look at that. She didn’t rat you out.

“As if there was any reason to doubt,” he replied quietly. 

I can think of a few!

He rolled his eyes and stood, descending the stairs to find you frantically gathering your things.

“Stay here, okay? I don’t- I don’t know how long I’ll be but you need to stay put, got it?”

He scratched his scalp and nodded, mind already focused elsewhere. It was difficult to focus with so many new things to examine and so much to learn, here in the place you called home. Didn’t most people have photos of loved ones? Where did you keep yours, if not on the walls?

“I’m serious, V. God, this is unbelievable… what am I doing?”

The artist hummed, lips curling in amusement. Watching your metamorphosis was such a delight, what a perfect companion you’d become. 

“You’re doing what you want to, instead of what others expect.”

Your lips pursed, a sharp glare lacking any true weight glittering in your eyes. “Stay. Here.”

---Reader---

Outside, Nico and Tony waited by a standard police sedan. Surely they’d let you drive yourself; they wouldn’t make you sit in the back like some kind of criminal, right?

Even though I’m aiding and abetting one…

But this wasn’t the time to think about the murderer currently lounging on your couch. You needed to focus, keep up the appearance of normalcy. Just a little longer, you’d figure this out. All you needed was time. 

“You wanna hop in the back or follow us?” Tony asked.

A nervous laugh spilled from your lips. “I’ll follow, thanks.”

Nico grinned and held out her palm to her partner. “Told ya. Pay up, old man.”

He groaned and slapped her hand back, mumbling curses under his breath as he hopped into the patrol car’s drivers seat. 

Nico paused, watching as you turned to unlock your car. 

“You drive that thing? Are you sure it ain’t gonna explode on the way?” she commented, her eyes wide and locked on your rickety beast. You hadn’t even turned it on yet, no doubt she’d have more to say once she heard it. Better have the music nice and loud, then. 

“Hasn’t failed me yet,” you replied.

The look she gave you made you want to scream. Disdain or pity, maybe a hint of condescension. As if driving a car like yours made you inferior. If only she knew the murderer she was hunting currently occupied your apartment.

He’d better still be there when I get back…

---------

Tony was easy to follow, even with the anxious fluttering stealing your focus.What would you find at the latest scene? What monstrosity had V created now? And how were you going to manage to balance looking like you knew your stuff and covering his tracks?

You sighed. 

As much as you wanted to unravel the mysterious artist, he’d rapidly made a total mess of your life. It felt like being trapped in a spider’s web, watching and waiting as your doom crept closer to consume you. Like you were a fly, desperately flapping your tiny wings as if there was any hope of escape. 

You shoved the thought aside as Tony slowed, pulling into an empty spot in front of a small home currently lit in red and blue from the swirling police lights. Yellow tape cordoned off the small yard, a few stern looking officers milling about to dissuade the neighbors from getting too nosy. 

It was a nice area, if cramped. Colorful homes stood mere feet apart. Shrubs and small trees filled the front yards, adding a layer of refinement absent in most of the city. V chose his location well. A murder in such a luxurious neighborhood would set the entire upper class into chaos.

Not even your fancy security gates can keep you safe from him…

Back in high school, kids from these types of homes were the bane of your existence. A little fear might do them well. At the very least, it might distract them from bullying others for a while.

You turned down the volume to a respectful level as you pulled into an empty spot on the curb, cringing as the engine loudly rattled. Maybe you should’ve ridden in the back, just to hide how crappy your car was…

Oh well. Too late now.

Tony and Nico waited by the driveway, chatting with another officer as you approached. You couldn't put your finger on it, but the woman’s uniform seemed different somehow. 

“Lieutenant, this is Dr. Waras, the consultant I told you about,” Tony said, gesturing towards you.

Her angular features and rigid posture reminded you of a stereotypical drill sergeant, but at the introduction her face relaxed into a grim smile and a hand extended to shake yours. 

“Good to have you, doctor. CSI’s already finished, but try not to disturb anything just in case. Booties are by the door.”

---------

Scarlet droplets marked the artist’s path from the front walkway inside. Small yellow tags sat by each fallen drip, each with a number etched in black. The colors contrasted with the shiny oak floor and you couldn’t help but be amused by it, that all the wealth and status of this home did nothing to protect it from V’s creation.

Nothing can protect you from the horror of reality.

You stepped carefully around a few yellow markers, past the elaborate kitchen and polished granite countertops to follow Tony further inside. Smiling family photos dotted the walls and one of those fancy voice-activated devices sat on a hall table. By all appearances, a young and happy family lived here.

Tony led you to the master bedroom and paused at the door. “I’d recommend you breathe through your mouth. You haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

You rolled your eyes. After seeing Ken’s melted arms and smelling death from the orderly he’d murdered, you weren’t worried. Besides, scent was easy to ignore most of the time. It was a matter of will power.

Beyond the door was a tableau of mutilated meat. Spread out amongst the sturdy furniture and tasteful decorations, the artist had arranged sections of what could only be human flesh. A muscle here, a tendon there… There was blood, of course, but the scene wasn’t as drenched as you would’ve expected from the artist. 

Tony stayed in the doorway and watched as you wandered through the room. It was clear in his eyes that he wanted to vomit or shoot someone, but you ignored him. Far more interesting was the strange display.

Which muscle was that? How did all these pieces fit together to make a person? Humans really were just meat, when you came down to it. Hunks of steak with the rare ability to create and imagine. 

But why had V done this? He always had a reason, he said so himself. Why go through the trouble of carving up some poor soul and hauling their carcas here to arrange this way? 

You stared at the scene for what felt like hours, searching for meaning in the macabre. There had to be something, there just had to be. All you had to do was find it.

It wasn’t until you tilted your head that the design became clear. From most angles, the spread of tissue lacked any rhyme or reason, but now?

Now all the tendrils of tendons and filets of flesh came together to form a single letter.

V.

Yet there were still pieces that didn’t fit the pattern. Outliers, strewn about like so much garbage. 

“We managed to ID the fucker. Name’s Michael DuPonte. Known rapist that we never managed to charge with anything. Guess it’s a moot point, now,” Tony explained from the hall. 

He deserved this, then. 

Who knew how many women he’d made his victims? Even one was too many. You’d worked with sexual assault victims for a while in school, part of your thesis on criminal behavior. Their stories hadn’t been easy to hear.

Mostly because they kept using all the tissues you brought, but one or two told tales that hit too close to home. If it wouldn’t contaminate the scene, you’d have enjoyed spitting on his cock. Or dancing on it, perhaps. Maybe both.

Stay focused, come on! It still doesn’t make sense. Maybe another angle?

With careful steps, you navigated the room and examined the gruesome display at every angle imaginable. At last, you found it - the viewpoint that brought it all home. 

Again, the remains created a single letter, but it was a different one. 

W.

This, this was his point. Not a single nugget was left out, the perfect reformation of a person. Nothing wasted, all to build a message meant for the world.

But why W?

It seemed arrogant to assume it was a reference to your name, but you couldn’t think of another option that made sense. Winter, warrior, wendigo, watershed…

No. It stood for Waras.

The realization sent a shockwave through you. There was no denying the madman had a disturbing fixation on you, especially after the incident in the museum. But to see it laid out for all to see, if only they were clever enough to look, forced you to face it head on. No more hiding. This went way beyond professional curiosity now.

What am I going to do?

Your heart pounded, goosebumps prickling your skin. Blood rushed in your ears and the urge to laugh almost broke free. Of all the people in the world to have interested in you, you got the serial killer. 

Shit, and what about me? Am I interested in him?

Despite his flaws, it was comforting to know someone truly cared. Loneliness was a constant undercurrent in your life and you’d long ago accepted that. You were a freak, incapable of connecting on a deep level like everyone else did so easily. Others couldn’t be trusted, and if they saw beneath your facade they’d surely run away screaming.

But he wouldn’t. The artist already saw past your mask and he was still here. That fact alone brought a smile to your lips and warmth to your heart. Not to mention he was clearly more fucked up than you. For him to run would be the height of hypocrisy. Maybe this was your chance to have it all. Maybe he could finally ease the isolation.

Maybe you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

---V---

To his credit, he tried to be respectful. He really did. It seemed immoral to abuse the trust you placed in him, by leaving him alone in your home. Not that there’d been much choice, but that wasn’t the point.

Yet inevitably, his curiosity overpowered his reason. There was so much he might learn about you, who knew what secrets he’d uncover?

First, he pawed through the kitchen drawers. Nothing of particular interest; only the usual collection of kitchen utensils met his wandering hands. 

Next to draw his attention was the hall closet, where he found cleaning supplies and coats. A few pairs of boots and stylish heels, a box fan and a crate of basic crafting supplies rounded out the packed shelves.

C’mon, there’s gotta be something interesting here!

I’d prefer something useful…

He had to admit, he was disappointed by the mundanity of your home. He’d imagined it to be a more truthful reflection of your personality, but instead it was simply another layer of falsehood to peel through before he could expose your true value. So many masks, why did you bother with them all? It must be exhausting. 

On to the bedroom. Maybe he’d discover a secret hoard of filthy novels or a box of buckles and straps. He certainly hoped so.

But no, even your bedroom lacked any glimpse beneath the surface. It was infuriating, to imagine the circumstances which led you to hide your true self even in your most private of spaces. He would shred whomever built your cage, tear them to pieces as slowly as possible. Drawing out the process wasn’t something familiar to him, but surely it couldn’t be that difficult to keep someone alive and in excruciating agony.

It was in your bedside table that he found it - a stack of photos showing you and several recurring faces. There you were, graduating college. And there, a birthday. Another showed you planting a kiss on an older man’s cheek. Was that your father? You had the same nose. Perhaps the meaning behind your earlier expression hid in the image. 

He took a seat on the bed and examined every pixel of the photo. A drink sat by the man’s hand, a haze of drunkenness evident even in a simple snapshot. Sheets of paper kept the half-full glass company, some kind of form if he had to guess. 

And you… though your lips pressed against the man’s cheek in an unmistakable gesture of love, your eyes remained on whomever took the photo. Worry tainted your lovely eyes and your body angled away from the man, as if you craved an escape. The dark artist wondered why you kept this photo when it was so clear you didn’t want to be in it. 

The man must have forced you. Reprehensible; he’d never hold you back. 

He would set you free.

You should do something nice for her, Van Gogh. Show your good side for once!

The artist frowned and flipped to the next photo, where you played with a dog. A retriever?

“What would you suggest? I can’t exactly go out and buy her flowers.”

Right… maybe… uhh…

V rolled his eyes and looked at the final photo, where a childish version of you stood in a large group of children. A class photo? 

Oh, for heaven's sake! Cook something!

Ugh, cooking… he hated cooking. Some compared it to art, but why bother creating something if it will only be consumed moments later? Food lacked the lasting impact his paintings held.

It might still make a nice gesture, though..

He sighed and carefully set the stack of pictures back in your drawer. What would he even cook? Did you have ingredients? If only he had the freedom to visit a grocery store himself, but it wasn’t worth the risk. 

In the end, he found some pasta and vegetables. A pair of chicken breasts and a jar of sauce rounded out the meal. Simple, but enough to deliver the message. Truthfully, he was a bit excited to see your reaction. This might be the most normal thing the two of you ever shared; at the very least, it was so far.

He set the table and lowered the heat of the stovetop, keeping the meal warm until you returned. 

Now what?

There wasn’t time to figure it out, as the click of a key in the door signaled your arrival. The artist grinned and stirred the pasta, sending waves of savory scent wafting through the air. He hadn’t been this excited for something other than art for years.

“What the…” you murmured, stepping through the doorway with a weary look, shoulders drooping. 

“Welcome back,” V replied.

“You… did you cook?”

He smiled and nodded, gesturing at the spot he set for you. “A token of my gratitude, for all you’ve done for me.”

The corner of your lips twitched, a sound he couldn’t translate slipping through. He’d never seen your face with this expression, what were you thinking? Did you find his message? Perhaps he hadn’t been clear enough, but he could try again soon enough. 

“Alright. I give up, this is too much.”

You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag, striding toward the table and taking the indicated seat. Perplexed, the artist didn’t move. 

“You give up?”

“Yup. This can’t possibly be my life.”

That… is not the reaction I hoped for.

Chuckles bubbled from your throat as you stared at him, intensifying with each heartbeat. The artist’s heart warmed; he’d never heard you laugh like this before. Choking, holding your stomach and tears forming on your eyelashes. You’d never looked so lovely.

He smiled and took his own seat, the pasta forgotten on the stove. It didn’t matter, he’d rather enjoy your face right now. 

At long last, you managed to calm down, though an occasional snicker still broke through. Slim fingers wiped away the moisture leaking from your eyes, lips still twitching. “It’s insane, hehe, the hands responsible for what I saw tonight also made me dinner. It’s hehe, it’s goddamn surreal.”

With that, you broke down in giggles once again. Something about the sound of your laughter and the wide grin on your lips summoned snickers from V as well, and within moments his own chuckles mixed with yours. When was the last time he laughed, truly laughed?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Right now, all that mattered was the flickering joy in his heart.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~