Title: Games We Used to Play

Rating: T for thematic (psychotic) elements and cursing

Spoilers: Oh yeah, up through 2.22

Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own anything. I used some lyrics from the song "Veronica" by Elvis Costello.

A/N: I don't know exactly how this popped into my head. It's very stream of consciousness no format. Just a look into Cassidy's life and what he thinks about before he jumps.


Beaver is no stranger to games. He teeters on the top of the Neptune Grand. Dangerously close to the edge. No, not dangerous. Scintillating. It's seductive, he thinks, the choice of living or dying. It's enough to get him up and moving when Mac couldn't seem to a half hour before.

Jump rope, hopscotch, hide and seek. He's about to jump to his bloody death all he can think about is games.

Not those kinds of games. Those innocent games. Those games are for children. Beaver has never been a child.

Suffocation, hyperventilation, games we used to play.

When he was small, too small to fight, Dick used want to play games. Hideous games. Games like throw Beaver in the pool when he's too small to fight against the water. "Anyone want to see a wet beaver!" Drowning, drowning. Can't keep afloat. Water…(suff-o-ca-tion, hyperventilation, games we used to-).

There were other games. Games like lock the Beav in the closet until he passed out from the screaming. (Air goes in, air goes out. Bell. Bells? Ringing in his ears. Games we used to play, play, play, weehee). Dick would drag his limp body out of the closet, leave him lying on the floor. There were years of misdiagnosed anxiety attacks.

So many games. Hey kids have you tried this one yet? Have you big brother sit on your face with a pillow, wait until the claw marks in his arm start to burn? How long can you keep the fear? How long before you crack? (Crack like an egg, that boy, so good, his brother, a bad egg. If they knew! If they knew! They will know, boom! Goodbye bus! Boom, goodbye Woody! Poor Veronica, poor, poor Veronica. Too smart.)

First you take a pillow case, then you wrap it around your face. Go to bed, wake up dead, weeheehee!

Woody liked to play games. That's what he called them. It fooled the other boys, but not Beaver. Beaver knew all about games. He didn't like them. He didn't want to play. But everyone had to play, Woody made sure of that. And these games…these games had new rules. Completely new rules. (Silence, rule number one. Suffering, rule number two. Broken, cut in half, just like a magician's trick. Feel the sensation of the rubber saw cut through the organs, the viscera, the sinew, the flesh. That's what it felt like when Woody played his games. Not even Mac could put him back together.)

Mac, poor Mac. Naked, alone. He only wanted to help. He took everything so that she would be safe? Would she see that? Veronica, stop crying, stop crying! Your life isn't over! Veronica, pretty little VERONICA.

There were pills, an endless supply. The teachers asked questions. "Are you alright Beaver?"

My name is Cassidy. Cassidy.

"Do you need to go the nurse, Beaver?"

C-a-s-s-i-d-y.

"Beaver, is everything alright at home?"

y-d-i-s-s-a-c.

Home was all about games. There was no hopscotch, no jump rope. There were moaning noises from Dick's room. (Games: How long can I stand the moaning before my ears start to bleed? Does anyone in the audience have a timer?) He'd put a pillow over his face to try and stop the sound.

First you take a pillowcase, then you tie it around your face, go to bed, go to bed, wake up? Wake up dead. Weeheehee.
There were games with his father. How many months could he go without speaking to him?

Suffocation, hyperventilation, suffocation, games we used to play. First you take a bowling ball, then you roll it down the hall. Hit your dad, wake up dead (no, no, not right, hit your dad, make him mad. That's the way it went. Why dead?). Weeheehee.

Beaver (Cassidy, my fucking name is Cassidy!) thought after it the year before. He decided to drown. He heard it was painful. He wanted pain.

He was sick of the games. No more games down in the water. No more games up in the sky.

He filled up the bathtub.

One foot in. The other foot in. Legs. Arms. Stomach.

He laid on his back and let his head rest on the bottom of the tub. The ceiling was painted blue. Had he never noticed?

ONE mississippi. TWO mississippi. THREE mississippi. Breathe in.

Pain and the fullness of water in his lungs all at the same time.

He tried for two days. Never could get it right.

Suffocation, hyperventilation…

First you take a garden hose, stick it up in your nose, turn it on…how did it end? He couldn't remember.

If he's couldn't do it his way, he would play some games of his own.

But he'd lost those, too, hadn't he? Veronica Mars (God of War?).

There were no more games. No more Neptune (God of water. Everything came back to water.)

"Beaver! Don't!" Logan calls. (Beaver, forever and ever, Beaver always).

Logan. Logan, Logan, Logan, Logan.

Why, Logan, why? What good am I, Beaver thinks. To who? Take care of Dick. Take care of Veronica. I'm sorry Ronnie. Sorry about your daddy. Was he good? Did he play games? VERONICA, IS IT ALL IN THAT PRETTY LITTLE HEAD OF YOURS?

Goodbye, Logan, see you on the flip side.

He leaps and falls. He pretends that the pool is beneath him and he'll break the cool blue surface any minute.

MAC, he thinks as he hits the ledge. A rib breaks in half, sticks his right lung. The rest of the way down he finds it hard to breath.

Then there is water and he feels the fullness, but there is no pain. No pain, and no games.

Suffocation, hyperventilation, suffocation, games we used to play.