PROLOGUE
Something felt wrong.
Axton wasn't sure what it was quite yet, but it gnawed at him like there was a mean mother of a grizzled Skag lock-jawed on his forearm. A nasty cold feeling he couldn't pry no matter what he did, no matter what warm happy thoughts he put in his head.
They'd stopped Handsome Jack! The war was over! Dirty whiskey and even dirtier women for days!
All right. He'd admit. Really fucking premature. But for all intents and purposes, that asshole was done.
No Angel. No monster. Gang still one-hundred-percent. Just the way he liked it.
Of course he mourned Angel's death. So she was working for the dickweed after all. Even turned out to be Jack's god damn daughter. But a sweet pea like that didn't deserve the end she met. She had a good heart, far surer than the black festering coal that resided within Jack's chest.
Axton would remember her.
Those sad thoughts aside, they'd essentially won. The closing seconds of an already decided ball game. Right?
So why this feeling?
He could hear Roland's excitement coupled with some hesitation. A slow baritone. Disbelief slowly turning into belief. The work of five long war-fatiguing years with Hyperion coming to fruition.
He could hear Salvador's loud ass. An eclectic mix of English and Spanish, spitting out words so fast he'd start merging the two into a brand new bastardized language.
Maya's soothing timbre. A fine balance of delicate and firm musicality.
Zer0's fucking haiku bullshit. Mechanized and filtered. Sometimes senseless. Ha! No real hate here amigo.
The actual words passed Axton by completely, into a formless background of white noise. Desperately searching in his mind why he felt this … fear? Was that even the right word? Something was misplaced. Awry. Weird.
He slowly walked toward the morbid Eridium pedestal Angel lived and breathed on for all too long without really meaning to, lost in his thoughts. The bone-white plating stained vaguely of a horrible purple.
He stopped. His combat boots mere steps away from Angel's still warm body, his eyes staring hard. She was a broken toy soldier. Limbs splayed out, head down in what looked like a nap after a long day.
Death was nothing new to him. His ten years serving Dahl taught him real fast how to compartmentalize his emotions. How to handle the passing of his best friends. Especially those best friends who got killed because of him. The decisions he made in the heat of battle. He'd failed them, as a leader and a friend.
Oh, he most certainly learned very quickly.
That was when he'd decided he had to work alone. Commando.
His ex-wife was none too pleased with that. She saw it as warmongering. Glory-seeking. Attention hunting.
He never denied those accusations. Never played them up but never put the fire out. He knew, deep down, he never denied them because he was too busy denying facing his own reasons. He never went commando to seek wealth and glory. He was running from his responsibilities. His fears.
He'd never admit that to anyone. Perhaps not to himself either. The glory seeking bit was just an easy cover.
Even when he really did run and ended up on this god forsaken rock, the misfit quartet he'd fallen into looked to him as their defacto leader. They all had their expertise. Their own skills. But he had an innate quality about him. A leader. Piss scared of getting his good people killed but they never seemed to sense that.
Some nights, he wondered if he should just leave without waking them. Disappear into the comforting folds of a lonely darkness, dimly lit by the hazy stars above.
Somehow, he never did.
And he'd gotten them this far.
Maybe he could learn to trust himself again.
It only just occurred to him that he had his hand on his revolver the whole time.
Fuck it.
Maybe he was worrying for no real good reason, but that tingling feeling got him out of more sticky situations than he could recall. He'd learned to trust it. Hate it, but trust it.
He turned away from Angel having partaken more than his share of death today. His eyes looked straight, seeing the tired but happy faces of the crew.
Roland was still speaking. Some nebulous notion of the next step. The next phase. That was always the case with Roland. Thinking forward.
Fuck it indeed.
Axton took one step forward when he heard it. Or maybe he saw it. Maybe both. A combination of a blue flash and muted pop. He glanced over his shoulder.
Handsome Jack!
That motherfucker had a pistol in his hand, and he was raising its lethal face toward Roland's back.
He knew it. That twisting curling feeling in his stomach was right again. He didn't know whether to be thankful or tired of that shit.
I don't think so fucker!
Axton, without thinking, lunged toward Roland.
"What the h-," yelled Roland, interrupted by the bodily collision of two titans. He fell to the ground, arms out to save his fall and roll into a crouch.
Handsome Jack seemed surprised. How could anyone possibly reacted that fast? No matter. The gun was already pointed at Axton's chest. He pulled the trigger just as Axton rushed to bring his own revolver up toward Jack.
A cacophony of shots rung harshly in the metal-plated chamber. A bad organ hit with sledgehammers. Once. Twice. Paired up in harmony.
Two bodies hit the floor in a heap.
Handsome Jack stared into the rusted ceiling, blinking away his bewilderment. He raised a hand. A fine patina of red covered his digits, the excess rolling down the crooks and grooves of his skin. He looked down to see an ugly hole where his blackened heart should be. His strength was quickly leaving him.
Jack looked up to see the smirk on Axton's face. He wasn't doing too good either. Thick blood was dribbling down the front of his military uniform, a quiet wheezing sound accompanying each spurt.
"Got you good you piece of shit."
Jack didn't have the energy to respond. He lay back out of his own accord, his last sight the twisted features of his killer, and the astonishment of those damned Vault Hunters.
How could he die? He had the upper hand! How the hell did that loathsome commando get the shot off? He had so much to accomplish! A world to unify, a universe to ratify…
Blood continued to pool around his body. Black as night.
Happy that Handsome Jack was no more, Axton slumped to the floor with a wet groan, his life force spilling out of his mouth.
"Axton!"
He wasn't too sure whose voice that was. His hearing wasn't all that great suddenly.
He felt soft hands hold his head up, gently brushing away his hair, his sweat as if they could squeeze and rub away death itself.
It took a Herculean effort to look up, the lids of his eyes dangerously close to shutting forever.
Wet golden eyes, tears threatening at its edges. Blue lips moving to form words.
Maya.
"Axton. Can you hear me? Please…" he heard her plead.
And like that, the world had sound again.
"…hey," he replied weakly.
She laughed nervously. Short. Breathy.
"Stay with me, you hear?" she demanded softly.
"I'm tryin',"
"Maybe I can try heal-"
Axton grabbed her hand with his own. Tightly. In comfort. For whose, he was not sure.
"Maya, I think even you know you can't fix me."
"No! I refuse to believe that," she said urgently, desperately, "I just can't…"
He didn't even know she felt this strongly about him.
"Sorry to tell ya honey,"
He could see her face. Really see it this time. A real honest-to-god angel. A goddess. A cobalt blue halo framing a heavenly face. She was trying so hard not to cry, bless her. Too bad he was only noticing her now. Maybe in another life.
Oh, he couldn't have possibly known what was coming.
Axton heard shuffling to his left. Roland's face came into his rapidly narrowing view, grief and confusion etched on his features.
"Axton," he started quietly, "How'd you know Jack would be there?"
Axton caught Roland's sight changing from his own to the dreadful cavity that perforated his chest only inches below his heart. He might've avoided Jack's quick fate but dying like this wasn't exactly pleasant either. He could feel the blood filling in his lungs. An inevitable death.
"I didn't. Just felt something wrong in my bones."
Roland kneeled, and placed his hand on Axton's shoulder. A gesture that accompanied so many things; thankfulness, amazement, wretched anguish.
"Whatever it was, you saved my life," said Roland, grounding out the pain from leaking into his normally reserved voice, "I can't ever pay you back. The price you paid was too high."
Axton tried to laugh but ended up in a coughing fit, more of his blood spraying all over his uniform. Fuck, he'd just cleaned it yesterday.
"S'all right man," he replied finally, "Just promise me something."
"Anything."
Axton could really start to feel the sluggishness digging its claws in.
"You take Hyperion down," he slurred, "You make… you make something of this world."
"I promise."
Axton could only smile.
"Good."
"Amigo."
The other Vault Hunters slowly formed a circle around him, a vigil over his weakening breath and body.
"Sal."
"This is some bullshit man," ranted Salvador, "We had plans cabron."
Salvador's own way of mourning. It amused Axton.
"I know. You'll just have to double up on everything for me eh?"
Salvador didn't have it in his heart to muster his usual cackle.
Axton let his head lull to the side, his sight catching the tall figure of Zer0. His faceplate showed nothing, no usual signs of his own brand of humour or even his current state of mind.
"Zer0."
The assassin said nothing. A slight nod of his head acknowledging Axton. His posture betrayed nothing. A true assassin.
That would do.
Lilith wasn't sure what to say. They hadn't really known each other all that well. Between the fighting, planning and general craziness of the whole war, they never really had a chance to sit and talk. All she knew was that she was immensely grateful. Axton had saved Roland. Hell, he'd even killed Jack. Two birds in one day, but it would seem the price of that stone was too much.
She glanced down at Maya, still holding Axton in her arms. Her fellow siren's grief was all too palpable in the air.
Too high indeed.
Axton's eyes began to close for the final time. His smile never quite left his face. The world around him faded to black, and the calls of his name from his demented adopted family seeped into nothingness. A complete vacuum of his soul.
It was only then Zer0 finally uttered his parting words for Axton;
Blossom on the breeze
Settles on the face of a friend
Beauty masking death
The vault hunters stayed there for a long time, entranced by one of their own in death's embrace on the floor. When they finally left, they made sure to take Axton with them, held up as if a part of an honour guard along with Angel.
They left Handsome Jack to rot alone.
What they could not know, as they returned with heavy hearts to Sanctuary, was that this would be the first time Axton died.
Somewhere in the not so far past, a pair of steel blue eyes opened to the sight of blue-and-yellow sunburst sign emblazoned with "Welcome Vault Hunters".
A/N: First story. I suck.