Title: Too Much In Love
Disclaimer: Me no own, You no sue.
Warning: Slash, character death
-z-
What-what did you want?
He stumbles over his words and you know that it won't be much longer now.
Just to live a normal life.
He looks almost sad and you can't stop your heart from tearing itself apart.
There is no normal life, Wyatt. There's just life. You get on with it.
Don't know how.
You'll always remember the first time that you met Doc...
Sure you do. Say good-bye to me.
You were young and cocky and you had gotten yourself into a fire-fight with some gang or other. You'd run out of ammo and could feel the blood trickling down your thighs and shoulder.
Go grab that spirited actress and make her your own. Take that beauty and run.
The leader, Vivacious Vinny, was renowned for his taste in younger men. You remember the fear crawling up your spine and how much you wanted to call for your brothers, but you were alone this time and with a rapist slinking towards you, pistol drawn and loaded.
Don't look back.
Vinny was kneeling in front of you, his surviving goons laughing and giggling behind him as he pulled back the hammer and leaned in too close.
"Don't worry, boy," he smiled, revealing crooked teeth, "You won't live to feel a thing."
Live every second.
"Don't touch that man," said a silky smooth Southern drawl just behind you. You watched in awe as Vivacious Vinny looked up, his face startled at first and then angry and then afraid.
"Doc, I-"
"Go, before my mood changes," was all the voice said and you never knew that Vinny could run as fast as he did then, leaving his men behind without a glance backward.
Live right up to the hilt.
You were young and cocky and your audacity had almost cost you your life until Doc Holliday came along and, with his very presence, saved you.
Live, Wyatt. Live for me.
You're not really sure how it happened.
You only remember the smell of incense, the taste of alcohol, the heat. That fuckin' Arizona heat. You remember it mingling with your just-a-little-too-much buzz.
You remember lying on the bed as Doc stumbled into the room. You remember a little bit of talking. You remember trying to tell him that he should get some sleep. You remember the dark look that passed over his eyes and then the sudden heavy weight of another body pressed over your own and how good it felt.
Wyatt, if you were ever my friend...
The first time you introduced Doc to Vergil, Vergil took Doc's hand into both of his and pulled him close and whispered in his ear. You never found out exactly what was said; only that Doc was a little less touchy-feely than usual for the rest of the day.
...if you ever had even the slightest feeling for me...
He runs his hands over your face, neck, chest, arms, always trying to memorize the new scars that show up during his absence. It's your favorite game. He's pouting now because you're starting to fall asleep. You tell him it's because he won't stop singing and you never were one to resist a Southern drawl.
...leave now.
He's dying. He's dying now and you can't save him because it's never been your job to do the rescuing and a part of you wonders: if you had had more practice, would you be able to save him just like he's done you so many times before?
Leave now.
They say that when a dog is truly ready to die, he will leave his master and home and travel to some place far away in order to spare his master the pain. You never believed it, thought it some fairy tale parents told their children when the dog ran away. But then again, you never really like dogs since the night Morgan died and the nightmares began. Nightmares of nothing but rain and howling and all that fucking blood on your hands.
Please.
You want to say no, say no, you're not going anywhere and that he's just gonna have to deal with it. But you know that you could never deny him anything. And that you would never be able to take his death face-to-face because you're in love with him too much for that and despite the rumors, you're not strong.
Thanks for always being there, Doc.
Nope, not strong at all.
-z-