Warning: Minor Canon Character Death

Despite the fire burning all around them, eating away at the foundation of the house, it's still not warm enough to stop the biting cold from chilling him to the bones. He used to love winter, with the snow, white and crisp, covering everything in sight. The days spent inside with his family, overbearing as they could be at times, when the temperature was too low to set foot outside. The shimmering of the holiday lights on the icicles, granting a touch of something almost magical to the otherwise bland season.

Now he hates it.

"Hey," he asks when he can't take the silence anymore, voice rough and weak. "You still there?"

"'Course I am. You think I'd leave you alone like this? I know you can be a real brat sometimes, but you're not that annoying. Yet."

Any other time, he'd probably protest like the entitled teenager he is, rolling his eyes so hard it'd be a miracle they didn't fall from his face while bemoaning the fact that he has worst big sister in the universe.

Any other time, though, his home wouldn't be totally caved in, carelessly smashed to pieces by a fucking metal monster while the destroyed town burned to ashes with his parents nowhere to be found. Any other time, he wouldn't be hanging on his sister's hand like his life depends on it, trying – and mostly failing – not to cry from the sheer terror he could feel rising in his chest.

He's fifteen, dammit. Crying is for girls and little kids.

And he's not a kid anymore – he's not -, but he can't feel his legs, crushed beyond repair under a fallen beam, and he knows, he knows his eyes are open but he can't see anything. Half his face is just a mass of pain, blood mixed with sweat and tears dripping down his temples.

It's terrifying. He doesn't want to admit it, least of all to himself, but he's so, so scared.

And yet, he knew it'd be a lot worst were he alone, stuck like this in the dark with only his own thoughts for company.

His sister starts humming faintly, a song he heard his mother play a thousand time on their old second-hand radio and suddenly it's too much; a sob tears from his throat and he just can't stop.

It's too long before he realizes she's not signing anymore, her voice having faded out who knew how long ago. He opens his mouth again, choking a bit on the smoke, words tumbling out before he can stop them.

"You there?"

He doesn't care that he just asked the same question not even a moment ago. Or was it? How long has it been? He can't even tell; time doesn't seem to make sense anymore.

Nothing does.

Her only reaction is to squeeze his fingers, gentle enough to avoid hurting his broken body any more than it already is, but it's still enough to let him know that yes, she's still there with him, she's not leaving him alone, everything will by alright, I promise.

He wishes he could believe that.

"Do you..." he whispers, unsure of how to ask. Of if he even should.

"Mh?"

"Do you think... mom and dad are okay?"

She doesn't say anything at first. The weight of her silence is suffocating, heavy with tension and building anxiety. Why isn't she saying anything? He didn't get to see what happened after the roof of their house came down, the world around him disappearing with a sharp, blinding pain in his eyes, but she did, and surely-

"Yeah." Her voice is light, even with the underling strain hiding in it.

"You... you think so?"

"'Course, idiot. Have I ever lied to you?"

She did. She does it all the time, because she's older and she can and she likes to make his life miserable. She's lying right now. He can tell by her voice, by the barely there hesitation in her tone, but he doesn't say anything. Maybe because for once, he doesn't want to appear ungrateful when she's only trying to make him feel better.

Or maybe because a small, childish part of him is still hoping.

Hoping this is just a nightmare and that everything is going to be fine once this is over. Who knows, maybe he's still sleeping, stuck in the grasp of a never ending fever dream. If he goes to sleep, here, now, will he wake up from this? He should, right? It... it makes sense, right?

He might as well try, he's so tired anyway.

"I..." he starts before stopping to catch his breath. He's already winded, sick and dizzy with fear and pain and blood loss, unable to get his bearings in the overwhelming darkness pressing on him like a lead blanket. He doesn't even know which way is up anymore. "I don't... I don't feel good."

"Keep your eyes open." Her voice is sharp, frantic despite her exhaustion. She probably feel as bad as he does, and yet, she's trying so hard to hide it. He hates her and he loves her for it. "You're gonna be alright, you hear me? Just-"

"Yeah..." He swallows, throat dried out by the dust and the smoke, too drained to cough. "Yeah. But I need... I just need to... to close my eyes for a sec'. M'tired."

"Hey, no, you have to hold on, listen-"

He passes out, her voice dissolving into nothingness.

When he wakes up, minutes, hours – it could even be days for all he knows – later, it takes him a while to actually remember where he is, what happened. The screams, the smoke, the sound of shattering glass, twisting metal and concrete breaking. How the afternoon sun glimmered on the slick metal head of the monster when it turned it's red eyes on their street, not a single hint of hesitation before it ripped everything apart.

The memory of the fire in the sky before the darkness came.

It hurts. It's almost as if he's underwater, limbs heavy and sounds slightly distorted, head stuffed with cotton and needles. The pain is becoming so bad he's shaking from it, and he feels too sick to talk but he has to, he needs to ask-

"A-are you still there?"

It's not until there is no answer that he realizes how much he was expecting one to come. There was just no reason not to. For a moment, he lays there, frozen on the ground, shocked to his core in a way he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel again after his life got torn to pieces in the worst way possible because this simply cannot be happening. She was supposed to always be there, why the hell isn't she saying anything?! She couldn't do this to him!

He doesn't want to be alone.

"Hey, st-stop playing," he says, his eyes filling with burning tears, salty drops falling from his face like acid on the dusty ground. "It's not- it's not funny!"

He tries to focus, because maybe she's just asleep, maybe she's just too tired to answer but if he waits long enough and listen hard enough he might hear her breathe, but it's just so hard with the deafening beat of his heart in his ears, the faint crackle of wood eaten by flames and he just... he just...

Despite the destruction around him, everything is still. Quiet.

"Come on." He's pleading, now, his voice cracking while he's tugging weakly at her arm, ignoring the stabbing pain from his left shoulder. "W-wake up. Please."

Under his trembling fingers, slippery and wet with warm blood, her hand feels cold, stiff, heavy.

Lifeless.

He knows. He knows, but he doesn't let go. He can't.

Not when the last thing she told him was to hold on.

A/N: First time posting anything, so I hope you liked it! Also, english is not my first language so don't hesitate to point out all my shitty mistakes.