Re: Downtown Repose: Alex/Kratos &c
Alex raised his head weakly as the faces hovered above him in the darkness, almost like they were disembodied, just floating in the blackness, bracketed by the gray sort of fuzziness that was already encroaching into the edges of his vision. His gaze fixed on the boy's face, and he felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes when he saw the arrows peeking out over his shoulder, the ashen complexion, the worry there. Oh Jesus, he's a boy. He's just a boy, can't be more than Annie's age... "It's okay," he rasped, feeling a whistle in his breath, wetness that spoke of a lacerated lung. "It's okay, it's okay," he told the boy, no idea if he could understand; the noises the two were making to each other were definitely not English. It didn't matter. His expression made it clear that what had been done wasn't intentional. "It's okay. When I die, you'll forget..."
His head fell back to the pavement, gravity making the tears spill sideways from his eyes, tickling his neck. He needed that to be true. It had always been true, and he had no reason to believe that would change. Not that he knew even who Kratos was, or that he wasn't a regular human, and who was to say if it would work the same on him, or on his son? But Alex was sticking firmly to the realm of things he knew. Sure, if he died, and didn't come back, there wasn't anything he could change about that. But: if Alex's death would spare this boy a lifetime of guilt? One life was a fair price to pay.
He groaned again as the gigantic man rolled him onto his back. He was easily the largest person Alex had ever seen, and that stony, near-expressionless face comforted him. Here was someone who knew, would understand what needed to be done. Because: Alex couldn't feel his legs. Had the arrow gone deep enough to hit his spine? To paralyze him? Was he going to be crippled for the rest of his life, or was he just in shock? If he died again after that, would his body reset itself to working order? Alex had never been injured seriously enough - without dying - to know if any of those things were true, and he certainly didn't want to find out now.
"You need to let me die," he pleaded, weakly gripping the man's massive forearm with blood-slick hands, blood bubbling on his lips as he spoke. "For him. For me. It's better this way." He closed his eyes, an encroaching languor seeping into him slowly. "He'll forget, I'll live again, be right again..." He trailed off. All this talking was exhausting. This lingering at death's door even more so, and that was to say nothing of the pain, tearing him up inside. He had rarely lingered when he died, the end of most of his lives mercifully short.
I can't miss story time tomorrow, came the unbidden, absurd thought.