Aaron never doubted his survival skills, but he expected to die before the rest of them. Perhaps a part of him did. The part that never fully recovered from the pain and somehow selfishly hoped it would befall someone else next. As his friends - his family - grew stronger, as strong as him, stronger than him, so did that part that held on to the silent wish; maybe next time, the odds wouldn't be on his side again. Against him, again.
Maybe that was a feeling that made sense when the world was different. When the gift of being alive wasn't so heavy from the weight of the corpses whom helped creating it. When loss wasn't so etched into the very air and earth, into the bones of everyone he knew and cared for. And clearly, so etched into him.
It was easy to let that part take over on times like this. When he had to be so forcefully reminded of the pain and unfairness of it all. Doubts and regrets creeping over and grabbing a hold of his body, numbing his senses and hurting him with all of things that he should have done different, mistakes he should have avoided, because something had to be wrong if he was still here with the gift of life others kept leaving him.
That weight was the harder thing about it all. It made him want to give up, before it showed how selfish he really was, that part of him really was. How could there be room for such thoughts in a world like this? It was just wishful thinking, not even befitting the world as it used to be, let alone what it was now. It was an offence to the dead and to everything they had fought for when they were still alive.
Maybe he hadn't got strong after all.
Aaron didn't look at Jesus's body many times. The fact he thought so impossible to happen, to him of all people, was now the heaviest over all the other losses on Aaron's shoulders. That part that longed for freedom of this pain breathed one more time in his body before Aaron pushed it away under the weight, holding on instead to the works they had done and left to the living. All the things that had to be honored for them, otherwise their deaths would be meaningless.
Even if the concept of hoping to see someone again had been stripped and distorted in this world, he'd keep holding on. With loss etched into his bones and his fleeting wishes and silent pleas. Next time, someday, away from humanity and insanity, he'd see them somewhere and tell them how it hadn't been all in vain.
Maybe one day.
.
the end
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Author's Note: The last of the fics that creeped their way into my list. Took me one month to get rid of what should've taken 1 week. Title comes from Epica's In All Conscience. Thanks for reading.