Never Forget
Summary: Two men trapped in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Inspired by the photograph of two men leaping hand in hand from the building.
Rating: T, for sensitive themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
"We're trapped!"
He crawled back toward the open window, trying to stay beneath the roiling layer of acrid black smoke. His eyes watered, not just from the sting, but from despair.
"The stairs are collapsed. I'm sorry."
"No worries, mate," said the raven-haired man, lounging awkwardly against the wall. His wounded leg, bandaged hurriedly with a now bloodied shirt sleeve, splayed out in front of him.
Arthur took a few gulps of air from the window, catching a glimpse of the panicking crowd below. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened—a bomb, maybe, considering all the fire and smoke, and that horrendous explosion that had shaken the tower only half an hour before. He returned his attention to the man, the one who had stayed behind when everyone else had run out, and helped Arthur, who had been trapped under some shelving.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
The tall, lanky man grinned at him. "Don't think so. But it's nice to meet you." He extended a sweaty hand. "I'm Merlin."
"Merlin," Arthur said, taking it. "I'm Arthur."
"Pleasure."
They sat in silence for a moment, inching closer to the window when the smoke became thicker. Distant sirens wailed, and people far below them screamed.
"D'you think we'll be rescued?" Merlin asked.
Arthur hesitated, glancing back toward the exit. The orange, flickering glow of the fire lit up the smoke, and grew brighter as it climbed.
Merlin merely smiled sadly. "Could be worse," he said softly. "We could die alone."
Arthur scoffed. "You could have lived, had you not stopped for me."
"The guilt would have killed me."
The building shook ominously, the steel beams holding the skyscraper up groaning. Arthur made a hysterical noise in his throat, prompting Merlin to reach out and grasp his hand.
"Arthur…"
"Yes?"
"I…You know, my worst fear—burning."
The blond glanced back at the exit, where the fire's crackling fingers grasped the frame of the door and spread hungrily. He licked his lips.
"Never thought I'd go out like this," Arthur said faintly. "My father will be so disappointed in me. But perhaps I'll meet my mother in the afterlife."
"Are you Christian?" Merlin asked, desperately trying to take his mind off of the encroaching flames.
"C—Catholic, yeah."
"Me too. I—should we—d'you want to…?"
"Pray?"
"Yes."
"I would like that, Merlin."
The young men bowed their heads together and clasped hands, drawing their knees up as the fire rapidly ate up the papers scattered across the floor and neared them.
"Amen," Merlin choked out. "Arthur—Arthur—listen, I—we—"
"Oh, God," Arthur gasped, sticking his head out of the window so he could breathe. The world was hundreds of feet below them. "Damn America!" he cried. "Damn it, I never should have left England!"
"Is that a plane?" Merlin said faintly beside him, looking down.
Sure enough, Arthur looked down and saw the wing of a plane, battered and destroyed. So some jackass had flown into the World Trade Center and killed them all.
"Oh, it's hot!" Merlin cried, shuffling forward so that his shoulders were hanging out.
Arthur grasped his hand bruisingly.
"I don't want to burn," Merlin sobbed. "I don't want to burn!"
"We have to jump," Arthur said. "May Mary save us, Merlin, we have got to jump!"
"Okay," Merlin said, drawing himself shakily up to his knees. "Dear God!"
"Don't let go," Arthur whispered, the wind snatching his last words. But Merlin understood them and tightened his grip.
They leapt.
END.