A/N - Yay for another first_order fic...because I felt rather like after doing the happy scene with Gideon before, I ought to go ahead and give him a death scene. I'm actually thinking of doing so for all the Order members, especially the ones who didn't get death scenes in the books. So read, review, let me know what you think, all that good stuff. I still don't own anything, jut in case you were wondering.
Inky darkness had utterly drowned the world, broken by the sheen of starlight on silver masks and by the flurry of lights that sizzled and snapped through the air. There were two pairs of running feet, two identical men sprinting down an alley, wands raised and pointed backward towards their masked attackers. Sharp, harsh breaths punctuated each step and spell, a rough and primal rhythm to the chase. Gideon Prewett skidded to a halt just inches shy of the rough stone wall that appeared in his path as if summoned from the shadows. Beside him his brother pounded an angry fist into the wall, blue light scorching the stones between them.
"I do believe," Gideon said slowly, closing his eyes and willing himself to speak, to breath. "That this is the end."
"I'd have to say you're quite right," Fabian agreed,a loose smile forced onto his face, and Gideon had never seen a smile look so hollow, so wrong. "Pity we couldn't just apparate out."
"Neither can they," Gideon pointed out, ducking as another spell flew out him and blasted a chunk out of the wall. Fabian grinned wickedly now, his pale face glowing a sickly green in the light on another spell.
"We'll be taking them with us then."
"Naturally."
Footsteps echoed down the alley, the snap of spells and the roar of furious words, but everything faded to a faint buzz in the background as Gideon first shook his brother's hand, then embraced him tightly. No words passed. None were needed. Always in life they had been extensions of each other, merely one person split in two. At least, Gideon noted, they would die together.
Then they broke apart as the Death Eaters closed in, cutting off the only escape. And Gideon could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, knew his hands were shaking badly and he was covered in a cold, sticky sweat. Fear snaked through him at the thought of dying, at the realization that he would never again see his sister, his nephews. His cozy home in London or the boys from the Order. That pretty Muggle girl he had been meaning to invite to dinner. Gideon clenched his jaw tight, willed himself not to cry, not to be afraid, even though the thought of death terrified him. He had never wanted any of this endless fighting, this nameless death in a far away place. Any of this ugly, awful war and the aching helplessness of watching someone you loved die. He had only wanted to fix a world that lay broken at the feet of a man who embraced the darkest parts of humanity. Fury now twisted up from deep inside him, drowning out the fear, roaring and racing through him and Gideon raised his wand and fired into the crowd of shadows and masks. Hexes and jinxes and stunners ripped the air, driving the Death Eaters backward, back toward the narrow lane that led to freedom. But then the fighting intensified, and the air burned and swirled with ash and smoke and Gideon was half-blind, firing into choking darkness that squeezed the very air from him. And then, after what seemed like an eternity of fighting formless shadows, the darkness began to fade.
Night slowly edged back in a blur of twilight colors, orange and gold and rosy pink stretching across the sky in thin tendrils like fingers reaching up over the horizon. Within seconds, the deep inky sky had disappeared, replaced by a burning blood red that cast the world into strange hues. The view, for a moment, of the crimson sky and the trailing glow across the street lamps, the sidewalks, the rooftops, was mesmerizing and strangely, silently beautiful. Day was dawning, marking the horizon in a bold line of light and crimson and gold, Gryffindor colors blazoned over the world. Gideon Prewett breathed a silent goodbye to Molly, to his nephews, to everyone else. He breathed a silent prayer for himself, for the Order, for his brother. And then Fabian screamed and fell in a blur of purple light, and Gideon was struck by a staggering pain that drew a gasp from his already burning throat. His wand hung useless at his side, and he barely saw the same slice of purple light arching towards him.
For an awful, wrenching moment, everything inside him seemed to twist in on itself, utterly wrong and misplaced and painful. Gideon fell to the ground, eyes squeezed shut and hands clutched to his stomach, uselessly trying to heal the unseen injury. And then he could taste coppery blood in the back of his throat and his breathing faltered, feeling shallow and wet. His heart thudded once, twice, achingly slow. Above him were five masks, painted blood red in the morning light, shimmering and insubstantial. Then a warm beam of sunlight fell across his face, the smell of spring air and the pain faded to nothing as Gideon closed his eyes and fell away into darkness.