A day may come when I will write a 00 fic not centered around the Dylandys...
BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY.
Happy 10-year Fanficversary to me! I was just a tiny child back then, new to the site, a simple middle schooler spewing Harry Potter fanfic into the abyss...
I wanted to write an HP fic to commemorate the occasion, but I tried like 3 of them and none worked out, so...have 00 angst instead.
This fic is an AU of the end of 1x23, but the outcome is still the same, so there are most definitely spoilers.
Solivagant: someone who wanders alone
—-—
Lockon is nearly delirious with pain—besides the dull throbbing that has been a constant in his head for the past several days, he can feel tears in his suit—feels his skin slowly burning from the bitter cold of space as it's exposed to the elements. He knows—he knows, clearly, that he isn't making it out alive, knows that even if Setsuna makes it to him before the Arms explode, his wounds (because he can feel things broken within him) are likely beyond fixing.
But Ali al-Saachez is dead, and that is all that matters—and Lockon will die, happily, for the fact that that monster is gone.
The Arms is in bad shape beside him, and though Setsuna has sent him an ETA, it is nearly five minutes away, and he knows he will never last that long. Space is enormous, he realizes as he stares out among the stars—unprotected from the elements for the first time—and despite the sharp pain arching across his entire body, he's able to recognize exactly how beautiful it is.
But, he also realizes, it's unbearably lonely.
He hesitates, wincing against a throb in his head, before reaching up with a shaking hand to the side of his helmet. A switch is flipped, and a menu appears on the glass plate of his helmet.
Ten seconds later, he's selected Lyle Dylandy from his contacts, and then call.
He knows—he knows Lyle hasn't wanted to talk to him in almost a decade; he knows his brother probably would never pick up an unknown number calling at all hours of the night—he doesn't even know if Lyle is still alive. But he is dying, and he does not want to die alone—Haro is long gone, far from the blast radius; Setsuna will never make it in time, now that his Trans-Am has reached its time limit. He is alone in the vast blackness of the sky, and he is selfish and though he will never admit it he is scared——he is full of rage that though he has killed al-Saachez, he has not managed to change the world—he—after all this time, after everything they've sacrificed, the world is still full of disgusting humans and unfulfilled dreams and too many dead children and—
There is a click in his ear and then a groggy voice mumbles something that might be a hello?, and Lockon—Neil, for that is who he will die as; that is who he will be, in these last moments—could sob in relief.
"Lyle?" he says, and he knows his voice is shot to hell but hopes his brother can yet understand—or even recognize—him. "Is that you?"
"Who's this?" Lyle says, his voice still thick with sleep, though there are the sounds of shifting, and Neil can tell he's slowly waking up.
"It's –me, it's Neil."
There are a few seconds of silence where he wonders whether his brother is going to hang up on him anyway, but when Lyle speaks again, there are few traces of sleep in his voice; instead, it's sharp, shocked, and Neil can tell he's pulled his phone away from his ear, attempting to pull up a video link. "Neil? I thought you were—"
Neil knows he won't succeed, on either end—though he wishes he could see Lyle's face, he knows his helmet is not equipped for video. He'll have to settle with simply talking with the brother he hasn't seen since he was nineteen.
Lyle huffs after a few seconds, clearly recognizing his failure, before his voice becomes sharper again. "We—we thought you were dead, you haven't called in years—what are you doing? Where are you?"
Neil almost laughs, glancing again out toward space—toward the Arms surely moments from exploding, toward the faint trail of GN particles heading his way…toward the vast planet beneath him that he has grown to hate. "I'm in space."
He can imagine his brother blinking in shock (though he hasn't seen Lyle in years, he knows him as well as he knows himself) before he says, his voice even more incredulous—"What are you doing in space? And—you sound like absolute shit, what have you done to your voice—?"
Neil does laugh, this time, and swallows thickly against what he thinks must be blood creeping up his throat. "Well, at the moment, I'm dying—doesn't matter so much what I was doing before, when you put it into perspective."
"You're what?" Something clunks, on the other end of the phone, and Neil can easily imagine his brother standing abruptly, his eyes wide. "You can't just—call after six years and then tell me you're dying—"
"I could lie," Neil suggests, even as he falls into a coughing fit against the thickness in his throat—and sure enough, the inside of his helmet is soon splattered with blood. Lyle makes a strange noise in his ear as Neil struggles to breathe, and he attempts a smile. "Figured you'd appreciate the truth…"
"You—" Lyle's voice is strained, horrified, and Neil can hear him moving quickly, down a hallway, though he has no idea where his brother is staying anymore. "Can't you get to a regen pod, or anything? You can't be out in space on your own—"
"Help's almost five minutes away," Neil says, his voice calm. He's thought this through already, thought through every possible permutation, and he knows there's almost no chance the Arms is stable enough to last until Setsuna arrives. "The machinery nearby is ready to blow, and the thrusters on my suit are burned to hell."
Lyle swears harshly, and briefly, Neil regrets putting this on his brother. After all, with Celestial Being's secrecy, he knows they would probably never tell Lyle that he was dead. His brother could continue thinking his brother died in some mysterious way, years ago—he shouldn't have to hear from him after years of nothing but radio silence, only to find out he's dying after all. But he is selfish, and he does not want to die alone—and so he does not regret calling his brother; he feels only relief that Lyle picked up the phone.
Lyle has never liked him; he will mourn, probably, but he will move on with his life…just as he did after their family was killed.
Just like Neil never could.
"I'm sorry you had to find out like this," he says—chokes—and Lyle swears again, only quickening his pace.
"What were you doing?" he demands, his voice harsh, and Neil has to choke down another bloody cough—knows his brother won't easily handle hearing it. "What the fuck are you doing alone in space that would get you killed?"
Neil chokes a laugh, because this, at least, should be good news to his brother. "Killing the bastard who murdered our family."
Lyle's quick, heavy steps stop short, and he inhales sharply; Neil listens patiently (though he knows his minutes—probably even seconds—are numbered) as his brother digests this information. "It was a suicide bomber," Lyle says eventually, his voice strained. "The kid's been dead for years, Neil—"
"Not him," he says, his gaze flickering to the Arms again—electricity is sparking across charred wires and twisted metal, and GN particles are diffusing around him as the stores are breached—he knows he doesn't have much time. "The leader of the KPSA. I—I got, him, Lyle, he's dead."
"You stupid son of a bitch," Lyle chokes, his voice muffled as he runs a hand down his face. "You—why did you have to go after him? They're dead, Neil, nothing's going to bring them back—don't—"
"I know that," Neil says, as his vision begins to blur and his hands feel a bit too heavy to lift, even in empty space. "But he wasn't done—he's been killing people for years. I had to…"
"Fuck," Lyle says, his own voice choked, now, as he seats himself heavily on something. "You—you could have left well enough alone, you didn't—"
"I couldn't," he says honestly, and falls into another coughing fit before he's able to continue—"I couldn't let anyone else go through what we did—I don't regret it for a minute."
"And what about me?" Lyle demands harshly, his wavering voice betraying the angry tears he's trying to hold at bay. "You can't just—damnit, Neil, you can't just call me up and tell me you're dying—"
Something jumps across the Arms, then, and Neil does his best to focus on it though his vision is starting to go black around the edges. "I know, I'm—"
.
.
Lyle jerks his phone away from his ear harshly as the audio link explodes with noise for a split second—and then there is static, nothing but white noise to tell him the call has been dropped—and though Lyle shouts into his phone—screams for his brother at four in the morning without a care for his housemates sleeping upstairs—he hears nothing but the emptiness of space in response.
The comm link cut out, then. Something just exploded, destroying Neil's phone—his helmet. He—his brother just—
He screams, then, desperate and agonized as he flings his phone across the room. He doesn't watch it break into pieces against the refrigerator, doesn't hear the footsteps pounding down the stairs, his roommates now wide awake and clearly wondering what's happening—he doesn't care about any of these things.
Neil is dead. Neil just died in space and—
"Lyle?" Klaus' heavy hand falls upon his shoulder but he does not feel it—his face is in his hands and he is desperately trying to stop the flow of tears from his eyes. He—he's thought his brother was dead for years; this shouldn't be as traumatizing as it is—
But Neil's voice had been unrecognizable, hoarse and choked, and Lyle's sure he had been spitting up blood and—
Damnit, his stupid stupid brother—he isn't allowed to die, not when they were the only two left—Lyle hadn't especially liked his brother, in their teenaged years, but after years of separation, he's grown up—he's realized that even if Neil wasn't a perfect brother, neither was he. His first thought, when he realized Neil was on the phone, was to reconnect—was to catch up with him, find out where the hell he's been for the past six years—but he can't now, because—because—
"Lyle?" Klaus asks again, a little louder this time in his worry, and he can hear his other two roommates in his periphery, too—but they are nothing—they are nothing—and he shakes off his friend's hand suddenly, standing abruptly and heading for the front door.
"Lyle!" Klaus says, his voice sharp. "What's going on?"
He does not stop to answer; he only pauses to grab his coat off its hook. "Who was on the phone?" Klaus presses, taking a few quick steps forward to block his progress out the front door. Lyle can barely see through his tears, can barely think through this fresh wave of grief; he needs to get out.
"My brother," he chokes, tugging at his arm though Klaus has an iron grip, now.
His friend's face contorts in confusion. "I thought you said your brother was—"
"Well, he is now," Lyle says viciously, blinking rapidly and turning his face away as the tears fall faster down his face. "He just fucking—he called me, and then he died, and—"
Klaus' eyes widen, and his grip on Lyle's arm involuntarily loosens—and Lyle seizes his chance, slamming the door open and stepping out into the darkness of the night.