It's the Rush You Get
Jack lay back, watching the ash grey cloud of his breath fly and curl; wispy, like a spirit of some kind, a ghostly cry of pain from his tar stitched lungs. Jackson coughed next to him, his hazel eyes bloodshot and his smile was beautiful.
If one could call the grimace on his lips beautiful. Jack took another slow drag on his last cigarette. He exhaled again, fighting the urge to laugh at the rude shape it twisted into briefly before it was swept into nothingness by the not so stale air. It was much cleaner up on the roof. Jackson hiccoughed and clawed angry bruises into his spotted, bloodied forearms. Jack barely spared his twin brother a glance. It was pathetic, but he reached down anyway to rake broken nails and sharp scabbed, calloused fingertips through patchy brunette strands of hair. Jack sighed as he pulled out a clump by accident and Jackson moaned sadly at the loss.
Oh how the mighty fell.
One bullet left.
Jack wanted it to be Jackson.
Jackson wanted it to be Jack.
Jack could feel the dull heat as his cigarette began to burn itself out near his fingers. He nudged Jackson back a little as his twin wrapped cold hands round his elbow. Jack contemplated the knife in his boot but distracted he addressed Jackson, who drooled complacently.
"Not now Jackson."
Jackson sighed at the answer and mumbled something incoherently. Jack clenched his jaw. By the time his fag blew out, time would be up and he would have to make a choice. He peered over the edge of the building, the fall was a long one. Jack knew survival was not an option. Jackson choked gutturally on his own tongue, his expression comical, Jack smiled down at him fondly and tapped his younger brother on the nose gently. Always until the very end he would stay with him. Jackson's unnaturally strong fingers clenched Jack's wrist in an uncomfortable grip.
Jack smiled.
The gun lay between them and Jackson looked at it with a surprising amount of clarity. Jack shrugged, drawing in a greedy lungful of smoke as he willed his pitiful butt to burn a little longer.
Anything to give him a bit more time with Jackson.
Jackson looked over to Hiccup's body with a low sob, his eyes sliding in and out of focus as his muddled brain tried to decipher what he had done. Jack said nothing, and quietly sunned himself as an ironic blood red sunrise greeted them. Jackson sobbed louder, pressing his trembling hands to Hiccup's frozen green eyes, his expression etched in a final twisted cry of shock. Jack threw a careless glance over to where the younger male was hunched over the corpse, twitching spastically as he tried to comprehend that Hiccup was in fact, dead.
"Jackson leave him alone. You don't want to disturb his rest."
Jack said quietly and Jackson stopped his noise and crept back to the silvery haired male, tucking himself sensibly and neatly, strangely subdued into his twin's side. He was shivering, Jack did not make any move to comfort him.
"Sleep?"
Jackson queried and Jack nodded robotically.
"Yeah, Hiccup is sleeping Jackson."
"Oh."
Jackson's voice came out in a snarl, Jack paid it no attention and focused instead on the tiny glowing stub of his too quickly consumed cigarette.
Time was short.
One bullet.
"You loved him."
Jack continued, his throat tightening as he spoke, Jackson looked up at him, his hazel eyes flickering in understanding, confusion, pain and animal. Jack didn't blink as he stared into the ruby orb of the sun, hoping to find some kind of strength or solace in its brightening glare.
"He gave up a lot for you, like I have."
Jack continued and Jackson crooned softly, upset, knowing. Jack swallowed, his mouth dry.
"Pass me the flask?"
Jackson obeyed. Jack hadn't expected anything, sighing he tossed the useless container aside and rested his chin on top of Jackson's head. Jackson growled, hands forming rigid claws. Jack kept himself calm.
"He loved you too."
Jack whispered, closing his eyes as he heard Jackson pick up the gun to inspect it.
One bullet.
"He wanted me to get you to safety."
Jack continued, feeling lighter than he had since the beginning. He furrowed his brow slightly as if squinting, but with his eyes closed. But he had failed.
Failure.
The rush of adrenaline and then the sobering punch called failure. It had been no one's fault. Jack opened his eyes and looked at the tribal marking he had etched into his palm with a pen, Aster was taking a long time... Jackson spat, a whimpering snarl leaving his lips. Jack found the dead hand holding the gun and held on tightly. Jackson twitched.
"I just..."
I failed to keep you safe.
Jack said and then trailed off and Jackson lurched forwards with a soft cry. Jack watched his twin through stone cold eyes, yet his voice only held love for his sibling. Jackson looked at him mistily, his expression was savagely forgiving. Jack pet the brunette on the head again, this time with more vindication. Jackson's thin chest heaved as he fought the dusty smoggy air.
Jack I'm scared.
Jack held Jackson's hand tight.
"I guess it was the rush of blood to my head, I got careless."
Jack mumbled.
Jackson said nothing.
"I-"
Jack stopped.
He didn't need to explain himself. Or at least, he did, but now he didn't. Gently laying down the body of his unturned brother Jack picked up the gun with its last bullet. The weapon felt ready, it felt right in his hand. Jack didn't look behind him, for the fear he'd be sentimental.
Jack dropped the ashen stub of his cigarette. Aster wasn't coming anymore. He smiled as he weighed the gun upwards.
Jackson was always right.