Team Weird|Walter Beckett X Reader (Ongoing)

GTA: Thirty-Two

Blood.
.
.
.
In a weird way, he felt relieved.
.
.
.
Even though his clothes and hands were splattered with blood he felt more relaxed then he has ever had in his entire life. But when he realized what he had done, every inch of him froze and he started trembling with fright; fear of his own self, and fear of what is to come.

Of course, he was only fourteen at the time and didn't understand the inevitability of death. All he knew was that his father wouldn't be able to hurt them anymore.

Brett dropped the dull and bloody knife to the floor, staring at the blood on his palms while shivering at the sight. He never liked violence. He was the type of boy who would help out in his father's workshop, to help clean, to help take care of his sister, to play with toy dinosaurs and video games. Was it even necessary to do what he did?

Yes

There was sudden loud crying coming from another room in the house, to which Brett immediately cocked his head. "Aggy, " he called out quietly, shifting his body and almost tripping on his father's beer bottles. He hurried out of the room, making sure not to step in broken glass or any strange smelling liquid.

The house was always a mess, Brett cleaned it often but it just kept getting more and messier the more his father drank. Not only that, but his vision wasn't all that good as well, he thought he might need glasses; he always manages to trip on something even when he was careful.

He walked through the small hallway, stepping over dirty laundry and boxes that laid aimlessly across the floor. "A-Aggy, " he called again, stopping near his sister's and his bedroom. His sister was sitting on the floor, her little hands covering her face as she wailed.

"BETT!" She cried when she saw him. "BETT, BETT!"

Brett rubbed his aching eye and knelt by her side, stroking a bloody thumb over his little sister's large bruised cheek. She had clumps of her black hair missing, and her hazel eyes were red with tears. "Aggy. . . You've lost more hair. . ."

"Betttt, " she cried more and coughed. "My-- I don't feel nice."

"I-I know. . ." Brett responded. "I-I'm going to get you help. . . I-I promise."

Their room was the cleanest place in the house. He and his sister shared a mattress and she also shared his clothes, (which were way too big for her). They spent a lot of time in this room, even though they barely had anything. Often, they would lock themselves in and make tents out of their sheets and play house.

Brett stood and inhaled, wiping his hand on his clothes. 'Change, ' he told himself.

"P-paint?" Anguilla questioned while sniffling and glancing at the blood on her brother's hands. "I-i wanna paint."

"Yes. . . Paint. . ." He said to her. "And no. Paintings no fun. . . I-I'll be right back."

He went to the kitchen area, turning off the stove. The pot was over boiling with noodles, it looks like their dinner had spoiled, but he didn't mind. He grabbed whatever he could from the fridge and cabinets and shoved it into a bag. He searched through the pants of his father's corpse as well, finding his keys and a dirty brown wallet.