A/N: My first Sweeney Todd fic! I wrote this out of boredom on the bus this morning, while listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. (Relevance...?) I finished this in one day! Also in French, where I'm actually supposed to be working on my Naruto fic, Lightning... Eh. Whatever. I like the formatting of this fic, simply because it's so different from my usual style. I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Credits: As I'm not sure who owns this thing, I'm just going to flat-out say that I don't own Sweeney Todd. How about the long-dead guy who wrote this? Yeah. Let's go with that.


Hellfire

Mrs. Lovett had wanted no more than his love, his attention, his notice. But he refused to pay any of these. His mind was bent on revenge for his Lucy, and she was a mere tool to get there. But she never backed down. How could she, with her dreams living, breathing, beautiful beside her every day? Her only hope was to one day bring the judge down so that her beloved could move on, and think of the old beggar in the streets as a stranger forever, never noticing that the bonnet around her grimy neck was the same Lucy had always worn to church. If Mrs. Lovett was commanded to give her soul to anyone without regret, she would easily donate it to Benjamin Barker.

--xoxoxo--

Mr. Todd yearned to feel the tremors of dying men under his blade, to have the cool drops of revenge fly onto his face, basking him in the sweet oasis of death. There was nothing more delectable than tasting the salty fluids of his victims on his lips, to drink from their reaps of sins, feeding his own. But during this, he was not blind to Mrs. Lovett. She claimed that she merely wanted to assist him in his quest for revenge, but he knew better. He never missed the longing looks she discretely sent him, which only made his heart pound more furiously for vengeance. He knew that look from Lucy, when he was still courting her. Her clear blue eyes so different from the murky, brown ones of Mrs. Lovett, seemed to pierce him every time the pie-maker looked at him, and he detested this. He didn't want to muddle his memories of Lucy with this other woman.

--xoxoxo--

Her blood pounded through her veins faster than ever before, when she felt his hands on her waist, steering her about the pie shop in a macabre sort of waltz. She was only dimly aware of the butcher's knife held in his hand above her ear, but it didn't perturb her. Mrs. Lovett's entire attention was fixed on those cold, black eyes, shining down on her. The world spun about them, and she felt as if she were in a music-box. A twinkling ballerina's music-box, perfect in every way, graced with the veil of love. Yes, she loved Sweeney Todd, Benjamin Parker, the barber of Fleet Street. It mattered not his title. Only that she stood, dancing in the window, entwined in his lovely, blood-stained arms. Yes, she loved him. With every breath of her existence, she loved this callous, cruel man. For she had kept her heart free, for his taking and no one else's.

--xoxoxo--

The rhythmic slashing of flesh echoed in his ears, accompanied by the dying gurgles of scores of aristocrats. He loved it- every minute of his delightful, intoxicating vengeance. How blindly, O how foolishly they all fell into his trap, like cattle being prodded to the slaughter house. He politely answered the door, the famous smile of the late Benjamin Barker curving his lips in a most welcoming way. The banker hung up his coat and hat, and sat himself in the chair- his final throne from which he would cast demise. Here, Mr. Todd had quite a fun game. When, he debated, should he strike? It was always different. Sometimes, before he even wrapped his customer in the shawl. Sometimes, as the man stood to leave. In this case, he cocooned the banker in the clean shawl, and slathered on some of the shaving cream. He began a kindly conversation about taxes, and how excellently the upper class's decision makers, ('Such as you, my good fellow,') were handling London's finances. Then, as his client began to drone about the comparing American profits, Mr. Todd grew bored, and silenced the lecture with a flick of his wrist. He sent the man down the chute, his last moans still sounding in the air. 'All for you, Lucy, my love.'

--xoxoxo--

The hissing of fire filled the cellar, her steps sounding hollow in the large chamber. As she busied herself cleaning her knife, there was a sudden creaking noise, and she started in alarm. There was a loud thumping noise, and she released a small scream as a body crumpled down. Mr. Todd was at it again. Just before the trapdoor slid shut again, she caught a slight glimpse of her beloved's blood-drenched features. The coal eyes met her brown briefly, and she could see a flicker of distaste in the irises before the door separated their contact again. Mrs. Lovett felt a stab of agony in her bosom, and she sat down weakly next to a long-dead corpse. She reached beside her to take the cold, limp hand of the deceased man. ("You and I, sir. We aren't too far different, you know. Mr. T slaughtered me too.") Heaving a sigh of defeat, she sat there a moment, before dropping the unresponsive hand. She lifted her skirts to stand up, reasoning that there was no point being useless as well as disliked. She still had work to do.

--xoxoxo--

His final revenge was near. He knew it. Toby would be back soon, with his mission complete. And then, at last, he could slice the judge's throat open, gloat in his bleeding face, how justice had prevailed after all, and the demented aristocracy would fall. But not yet. He had to prepare for his customers. A genuine smile was ruling his face, but it was a new smile. It was twisted and crooked, slightly revealing his teeth, a leer. It belonged to Mister Sweeney Todd, murderer and bringer of bloodshed. And while he polished his knife, removed the top frothy layer of his shaving cream, and oiled the barber chair's gears, the dangerous smile grew larger, filling his body with a deadly excitement. The sooner he brought this man to hell, the sooner he could be put at ease. Judge Turpin was the core of all his hatred, all his dissent. Oh, but how he would die, tumbling down to the place he'd sent so many others before him. Oh, how he would die!

--xoxoxo--

She could read the warning clearly in Toby's eyes. They foreshadowed something horrible, she realized this. Instantly, her heart raced in passion for Mr. Todd's safety, but it just as quickly dissipated. He would be fine. The judge stood no chance against her love, against someone so fueled by tragedy, someone so valiant and beautiful. But Toby continued to sing loudly of protection, and she couldn't conjure the cruelty to silence him, so she listened sweetly, and returned the melody, as any mother ought to do. Her fears were put at ease though, despite Toby's mournful warnings. Mr. Todd would prevail. He always did. And then… after this night, then he would be satisfied, and have the peace of mind to pay a little more attention to other people and matters. He would see how giving and sacrificing she was willing to be for him alone, and perhaps, he would truly move on… Sitting there with Toby in her arms, a dreamy smile floated onto her dark lips.

--xoxoxo--

Each erratic stab vibrated through his entire arm along with the gasping judge, the thick blood spurting quickly out of each wound, coating both sinners in a thick sheen of the crimson. The person behind the cloudy black eyes shivered in wonder at the red that he was bathed in, relishing every lick of hellfire that ran through the murder. Revenge at last, with every thrust his blade carved into the judge's leathery flesh. Satisfied at last, he stared in triumph at the man, before sliding his foot to the pedal, sending the man down, down where he belonged. But this feeling still lacked something… He was not yet done with his killing. There remained someone who raised unsettled feelings in him, but he couldn't think who. He'd made a sixth of the aristocrats in all of London, mysteriously disappear; there didn't seem to be much left. But the hollow feeling remained in his stomach, yowling for more violence and bloodshed. Then, his attention was drawn away, by the presence of a young man in the room. A witness to murder, who would have to die as well.

--xoxoxo--

A shrill scream escaped her throat as a hand clawed at her ankle weakly. She turned wildly around, dark eyes wide in terror. At first, she thought it was Lucy, damning her for stealing her husband away. But it was only the persistent judge, a film slowly masking his irises. When she heard the footsteps move across the ceiling, she knew that Mr. Todd was coming down to investigate. A sinking feeling of horror dwelled in her chest as she looked down at the flaxen-haired woman, neck sliced open by the very same man who had once trailed soft kisses over it. Panic controlled her movements as she tried, struggling, to heft the body into the oven, where only flames could testify to the corpse's existence. But only halfway there, the heavy door to the cellar swung open, her love silhouetted as breathtakingly as ever in the frame, even when smeared in carnage and death. Mrs. Lovett thanked the heavens that it was too dark to make out any faces, and as believably as possible, informed her associate that his enemy still lived. But when he commanded her to open the oven so he might cremate the judge's body, she froze in her tracks. Her eyes slowly calculated the distance of the floor, and she knew that to open the door, the flames would just perfectly illuminate Lucy's pale, dead face. Her entire future collapsed in on itself.

--xoxoxo--

Only furious rage lived inside of him now. The knife was clutched tightly in his gloved grip as he stared down in so much regret, at the chalky corpse at his feet. Everything, all his life, he could've stolen it back. But he had been deceived, controlled, to take it all away by his own hand. And the only one to blame for this was… He spun on his heel, facing the terrified woman with frigid, flat eyes. Yes, the judge was finally dead, and he'd gotten his revenge. But it was all for naught. He could've taken everything back, if not for the wench before him now. With an ominously calm air, he approached her, backing her against the wall. He could sense the fear and devotion, mingling and rising from her, and he greedily inhaled this scent, relishing his turn to control her. He placed his hand on her shoulder and waist, and steered her about the cellar, leading her to her hopeless demise. They were all going to hell today, and they would all go together. But as he waltzed closer to the end, he realized, with a blanch, that he wasn't casting this beautiful woman into death for spite and revenge. He was disposing of her, because she was too much like his Lucy, too dear and too close to him. And he didn't think he would be able to stand it if she disappeared too. So he would take care of that problem beforehand.

--xoxoxo--

When the artist's hands fell on her again, Mrs. Lovett found herself swirling in her own dreams. No, it didn't matter that he would obviously have to take vengeance on her severely for what she did. It didn't bother her either, that his knife was positioned so dangerously close to her head. She wouldn't mind much, if she were to die this way, anyhow. For if the knife was plunged into her neck, she would collapse into the warm, strong arms of Mr. Todd, and of course, she would willingly die that way. If the last moments of her life could be spent in his company, she would be pleased to go in that manner. She'd done her task for him, it was alright. But still, she wanted forgiveness and love from him, a chance to hear him speak soft, soothing words into her ear, at least, before she passed into hell. She leaned her head forward to finally confess to him in the plainest way possible- 'I love you'. But then, the scalding heat of fire pressed upon her back, heating her too much, and she knew that she was too close to the inferno to be merely passing by it. No, that was not Mr. Todd's intention. She opened her mouth to speak then, before she really did die, but what came out was a scream of agony and sorrow. His perfect hands that she so craved to feel dance across her bare skin; they pressed into her shoulders, and she tumbled backward into the fire. But the rage of heat on her body was nothing to the ache in her chest. How could he throw her away so easily? How could he, how dare he? But as he swung the door shut on her struggled protests, she saw him look at her through the sliding screen, and there, undeniably, were all the answers, right in his eyes. They replied, 'I love you,' and it was clear that his love overpowered his hate for her, though he was so misguided in how to show this. And, burning to death, Mrs. Lovett realized that he dare not strip away the life of another that he'd loved, by his own hand again. And when the screen door, too, was shut, a smile curled her chapped lips. So he didn't want her blood staining her fingers. That one thought accompanied her to the gates of death, while her body disappeared into the fire that engulfed her, and she then died in love.