Obviously this was written before the season finale became clear, so it's not canon. But still, please review...
The defining, perhaps final, moment is close. Everyone in this life knows when the moment is before them. To turn away is simple. To ignore it assures survival. But it is an insult to life, because there can be no redemption. No second chance. Beyond death there's nothing. Just darkness and cold.
-Doc Johnson
I stand at the end, not willing to fall to my knees. That would just give them another reason to gloat. I won't let them see my weakness, or my fear. I didn't let my fear chase me from this moment. I came willingly, knowing that it would probably be the last choice I ever made. So I won't let my fear give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.
I can taste blood in my mouth, thick and tangy with iron and copper. Funny that when you hear the word Iron, you think of strength, of invulnerability. It's one of the foundations on which civilization was built. But when you taste it in your mouth, it doesn't taste like strength. It tastes like fear.
I could have walked away. I could have hidden, lived life on the run, could have avoided this moment, at least for a while. But the biggest thing my dad ever taught me was that running from a battle only postpones the inevitable. And I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't hold my head up and come to this party, to this game. It's just not in me to run from a fight. It's not who I am. Call it pride; call it stupidity (Sammy would). Whatever it is, I'm not running.
The shredded flesh on the side of my face twinges with pain, but I don't wince. It's a good pain, a pain that stabs you awake, that narrows focus and heightens the senses. It's a pain that says you're still alive, and where there's breath there's hope. I can feel blood oozing from the wounds, and have a sick feeling that if I stuck my tongue into my cheek it might just poke out the other side. Brings new meaning to the words tongue in cheek. Heh. That's a good one.
That's my style, anyway, to laugh in the face of danger. I won't let today be any different. There's no reason to change strategy now, even the fact that I'm holding my guts in with my left hand, being as the right one refuses to cooperate anymore. One of my eyes is swollen shut, and I have an idea that the damage goes beyond cosmetic. It's bad. Bad enough that I'm glad Sammy isn't here. I don't want him to see what's coming. 'Cause death is ugly, and I don't want my kid brother to see this. It would break him. Sparing him this sight is my last gift to him, because my death won't come easy.
It won't come with gently noble music. It won't end with strings and harps. It'll come with the sound of my own breaths rasping in my ears, with the sound of my enemy laughing. But it's okay. The last laugh comes later. My death won't end this war. If anything, it will make Sam fight harder and harder. And if I know one thing, I know this. Sam is the key. Sam will win. He has to.
More blood. It's a different kind of blood, a blood from deep inside, the last dregs. A man doesn't lose this kind of blood and live for long. I've seen it more times than I like to think about. First you start to feel pale, clammy. Your heart starts to beat more quickly, battering away in your chest, trying to warn you. You start to breathe faster, to compensate for your loss, until all you can hear is your own breath, your own ragged gasps. Eventually, you become drowsy, confused. Your body starts to shut down, tries to preserve your heart and your brain. But by this time it's too late. You know what comes next.
It's snowing now, big fluffy flakes like you see in movies. But I don't feel cold. I don't feel too much of anything anymore. Things seem to be narrowing, fading in to a pinpoint, so it's just me and them, no memory of what went before, only knowledge of what's coming. And the only thing I can hope is that I'll be brave in the last moment, that I'll make my dad proud. Because that's all I've ever wanted.