The Last One Kills
AN: The characters aren't mine, the writing is. . . which is surprising as I hope to end this one happily. AD / GG
Enjoy.
-
When Severus tells him, he isn't surprised. He's not shocked, he's not even worried, because, to be honest, Al has been waiting for this for a long time. His last great failure. He smiles at the Professor, who he can still recall as a student, and inspects his withered hand curiously, "How long do you think I have?"
It was his own stupid fault; he may be wise but that doesn't stop him being foolish. He can't help but wonder sometimes if he wasn't thinking or if knew what was going to happen and did it anyway. He can't look Severus in the eye without seeing that he's wondering the same thing too; Albus Dumbledore isn't perfect, but he's not an idiot.
It takes a year, but Albus has lasted nearly a century with only half of himself so he expects it, anticipates it, and tries not to let on how relieved he'll be when he can finally stop. Then he does.
-
Al was always a phoenix; he could always rise again, even as a boy. When his father was imprisoned, his mother and sister died, his brother turned his back on him, when Grin left, and the whole world tore apart; although Al isn't sure if those last two weren't the same thing. Still though, he'd find his feet, he'd survive, he'd let the scars fade. . . as much as he wanted them too.
Grin was strong but he never let old wounds heal, not properly anyway. It made him foolish and reckless and, in the end, murdered with guilt. Sometimes Al amazes himself; he didn't give up, he didn't stay down. But he's astounded that Grin always managed to stand back up again.
-
There are lots of people to say goodbye to when he dies, and he has to wait almost another year before he can completely finish at the station; the beginning and end of it all. There are lots of "hello"s too though. Of course there's his family, and as his friends fall them too, but he waits until his final goodbye to reconcile with the last, but never the least, on his list before he'll finally rest.
He doesn't need to muster courage. . . decades have worn away at his pride, his fear, and his shame. So it is easy, something almost practised, when he stands before Grin. He doesn't need to look down to see that he is young again; he can feel it through every inch of whatever he is now. He's still tired, but that'll be over soon too. . . one last hour; and he's been saving it.
When he finds Grin, somewhere dark out there, he's still an old man. That is, until the moment he looks up. He raises his head, a gesture he's had years to alter but is still as familiar as the day they first met, and as he does the years and the regret wash away, like ripples on a river. There is nothing of the age and ache they have spent apart. And there is nothing in the way when Grin rushes forward to finally embrace him one last time.