Story belongs to me, characters don't.

Warnings: Story contains violence, offensive language and mentions of rape (nothing graphic)

I have 3 chapters written and will upload them, I'm posting now so I can be motivated to continue this story. I have a bunch of other wips too, so expect more from me. I'll write most ships from AoS so feel free to prompt me. Anyway, on to the story!

Thanks for reading!

Prologue.

It was a muggy afternoon, the heat prickling the skin of the woman sitting in the chair in the corner of the small motel room. She was tired, but full of adrenaline at the same time. Who knew killing someone really took it out of you. They made it seem so easy in the movies. But in reality it was anything but. She figured the stifling heat had some affect on her bone weary state.

She was sure taking someones life was meant to have more of an affect on her than it did, wasn't she supposed to feel remorseful or scared or anything that would indicate that what she'd taken part in was not okay? She had helped kill a man. She shouldn't be sitting there reliving it and wanting to do it again. This wasn't normal, but she didn't care, she had a taste for it now and it made her feel more alive than anything ever had before. Ironic really, what with a dead body just inches from her, laying on the floor at the foot of the bed, blood pooling underneath it.

She stood up and stretched, putting the bloody knife she was still holding on the dresser beside her. Walking towards the bathroom, she stopped just outside the doorway, knocking lightly on the doorframe, watching as the other woman tried to scrub the blood from her hands and arms.

They didn't speak, just locked eyes and went back to focusing on the water mixing with blood in the grimy sink. They hadn't planned any of this, murdering him wasn't something they'd even thought about, at least not seriously anyway. There were times she'd thought about it. Every time her friend came to her in the middle of the night crying, a new bruise fresh on her face or arms. She hated him. From the moment she met him she'd never trusted him. She'd wanted him to pay for the things he'd done, wanted him behind bars where he belonged because she knew it was just a matter of time before he killed her best friend.

But, as it turns out, they had killed him.

Better him than them, she reasoned. Technically it was self defense, he came at them, drunk and angry, yelling about how they were dyke bitches and he was going to kill them both.

She turned to face the room, thinking that they needed to get out of there. But they had a lot to do before they could. They needed to clean up and then get as far away from this cheap, dirty motel room as they could. She didn't hear the water shut off or notice the other person standing next to her until they spoke.

"We need to get out of here."

She nodded her head in the affirmative. "We have to clean up first. Strip the whole room, the body, everything."

She started looking around the small space. Her nose scrunching up in disgust as the smell of the blood drying in the heat assaulted her senses. They needed to hurry.

"Okay...uhm, we can't go out and get trash bags so we're going to have to use the sheet from the bed and just bundle everything up in that." She looked over at the other woman who was just standing there watching her pace as she tried to think of all the things they had to do.

"Come on, help me."

They got to work, very little else was said. Just instructions on what to do.

Strip the bed; pillowcases, comforter, all of it. Pile it up in the middle of the sheet. Next, the body. Take off all of his clothes, his shoes, watch, and anything else he had on him.

Empty his wallet first. They'd need the cash. Take his keys. Add everything else to the pile. Take the knife to the bathroom, clean it, add it to the pile.

Grab the towels, use them to wipe down every single surface. The headboard, the doors, lamps, the TV, the dresser drawers, inside and out, door knobs and handles.

Empty the trash can into the pile too. Then wipe that down. Clean the bathroom. Put the towels on the pile.

Carry the now naked body into the tub, turn on the shower and let it wash away as much blood and evidence as it could.

"We're not going to be able to get rid of everything, they'll find something here, but we aren't going to make it easy for them."

Carrying the body was not easy. He was heavy. Literal dead weight. But they managed.

There wasn't much they could do about the blood on the floor. Other than try and destroy any evidence of them both by covering it with cleaning products from the bathroom. Hopefully it would work. After that, they packed up all of their stuff, they didn't have much, a few changes of clothes, toiletries, stuff like that.

They tied the sheet and carried it to the door. They had to wait for it to get dark and then one of them would go out, get the car and pop the trunk so they could throw it inside. Then they'd climb in and drive away. Dump it somewhere, burn the stuff in the trunk, and the clothes they were wearing.

She knew they were both way too calm about this. Neither one of them was upset or unable to do any of the things they needed to. They just got on with it, working in tandem like they'd done stuff like this everyday.

They barely spoke while working, but they did catch each others eyes a lot, and she knew with each look that they were both on the same page. They both felt the rush, the power. They both had enjoyed what they had done on some level. They both knew it wasn't a normal reaction. They knew that no matter what, they were in this thing together.

That they would now have to go on the run.

Leave their old lives behind. Friends, family, work, everything. They knew and they didn't care. They had each other. They could survive. They knew their lives were about to get radically different. Killing someone changes everything, they knew.

And they knew they were going to do it again.