.:;World of Gray;:.
CHAPTER 1 - ECHOES
It was an unusually dark and gloomy evening, even for New York. The air was sharp and chilly, and Alfred often found himself tugging at the ends of his jacket sleeves seeking the extra bit of warmth it would bring him. Barely anyone else was out on the streets, save for a few middle-aged women huddled in groups here and there, whispering frantically to one another, and a couple of suspicious-looking men standing at the corners, smoking.
A shiver ran down Alfred's spine as the wind picked up. He tucked his chin down into his collar and tried to ignore the piercing cold, but to no avail. Eventually he gave up and ducked into an alley to take the back roads home, which he knew from experience would be much faster. After all, the sooner he got back to his apartment, the sooner he would be snuggled up on the couch with a latte from McDonald's, surfing the TV channels for a cheesy Christmas special.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a scream jerked him from his thoughts. He picked up his pace a bit, despite trying to reassure himself that it was probably just some teenagers goofing off. Usually, Alfred would be jumping at the chance to play hero, but after what had just happened he wasn't in the mood. A second later, he heard the screaming again, this time dotted with cries of, "Help me! Help! Somebody!"
Alfred knew that no decent hero could ignore cries for help - that was most definitely common knowledge. And so he, being the hero that he was (albeit self-proclaimed), reluctantly traced his steps backwards and soon found himself standing at the mouth of the alley. He got a nasty feeling in his gut that he desperately tried to disregard as he peeked around the corner and surveyed the area for any signs of a nearby damsel in distress. Nothing. Disappointed, the young blonde turned to leave and continue home when the scream sounded again. Alfred jumped. This time it was cut short, but if he strained his ears, he could still hear muffled screech. He knew he'd have to hurry if he was going to be saving anyone.
He sighed and decided to call 911, but a quick search of his pockets revealed that his phone wasn't on him when he needed it most. He was struck with the sudden realization that he must've left it on the counter at Arthur's. Stupid Arthur. Alfred let out a groan. Could he possibly have worse luck?
"I'm coming! Hang in there!" he shouted on a whim, although he knew it wasn't the most intelligent thing to do. The criminal was perfectly capable of ditching his latest victim and coming to get him instead. That's okay, though. Bet he couldn't last a second in a fight with me, Alfred told himself. He paused to listen for a moment and noted with relief that the shrieking had since ceased. Good, he thought, letting out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding. I probably scared the guy off, hah.
He still had time to save the girl, then!
Perhaps if he'd been in his right mind at that particular moment – or rather, if his mind hadn't been glazed over with the promising image of him bowing in front of a million pretend spectators with the girl swooning in his arms – he would have noticed the slick sheet of ice that covered the ground, making it a miracle for him not to slip and fall.
Unfortunately, it was not a very miraculous day.
Alfred had attempted to make a sharp turn, but ended up skidding on the ice and stumbling forward towards the opening to the underground subway. At the last minute, he reached out and clutched the railing hard, holding on tightly even though it, too, was covered in ice, and his hands were burning from the cold. He leaned over the edge of the stairwell to catch his breath for a second. His pulse was rapidly beating against the thin skin of his throat.
While in his daze, shaky and heart beating out of his chest, Alfred hadn't heard the slush of boots trudging through the muddy snow behind him. In fact, it had never even crossed his mind that he was in any sort of immediate danger, let alone a life or death situation. He suspected absolutely nothing at all until two wide, strong, gloved hands dug into his back and shoved with all the strength they could muster. Alfred was sent straight into the metal railing. He could feel the air rush out of his lungs as his rib made a deadly cracking noise and broke, no doubt. He stopped to collect himself – well, as much as he could with a broken rib – and mentally planned out turning around to face his bully and kicking him square where-the-sun-don't-shine. But that was another move he never got to make.
Before he could right himself, the man had pushed him again - even harder. But this time, Alfred wasn't holding onto anything. This time, he was leaning too far over the edge to have any hope of saving himself.
And so this time he fell.
He toppled over the edge of the railing and plummeted headfirst towards the rapidly approaching cement. In those feet that felt like miles, Arthur's words replayed themselves over and over in his mind like a broken record that wouldn't shut off no matter how badly he ached for it to. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Make it stop, he thought dimly. His head was screaming.
And then suddenly, finally, Alfred heard a thud. He felt nothing but a dull, distant pain as the world of gray quickly turned to black.
"That bloody idiot," Arthur murmured into his drink. He took a small sip, but ended up spitting it back into the cup. American tea was less than stellar in the first place, but it was made even worse now that it had become disgustingly room temperature in the extensive amount of time the Brit done nothing but sat there, complaining about his day. His horrendous, atrocious day.
"So you've said, mon cher," Francis replied in a bored tone. The blonde was seated casually next to Arthur, legs crossed, twirling his empty wine glass between nimble fingers.
Arthur growled and absentmindedly brought a pale hand to his forehead, as if to comfort the unpleasant ache that had accompanied quite a bit of sobbing and not nearly enough breathing. Francis had seen him crying. Over Alfred, nonetheless! As if things weren't already bad enough; he was never going to live this down.
"You could be a bit more consoling," he said, although he knew not to expect as much.
"My dearest apologies, Arthur. I am deeply conflicted over the miserable pain you are feeling at the moment. My heart goes out to you."
"Frog; like you even have a heart," Arthur snarled. He picked up his tea and downed half without a second thought - better than nothing, although he could admittedly go for some alcohol.
Francis made a show of yawning and checking his watch.
"It's late. I'm going home. If you want a ride, now is your chance; otherwise, I sincerely hope the manager doesn't kick you out. …Actually, that might be amusing. Be sure to call later so that I can laugh at your expense."
He gathered his belongings and slid a crisp fifty onto the table, probably in effort to make up for his friend scaring off most of the customers earlier.
Arthur huffed and crossed his arms. "I never said I wasn't coming with."
"Are you?"
"…No."
Francis sighed. "You do realize Alfred is not coming after you?"
Arthur scowled and shifted his green-eyed gaze to the floor.
"Yes."
"Very well. Next time you wish to act like an unruly, dramatic teenaged girl, please do forewarn me."
And with that, Francis paraded out the front door of the restaurant. A cool rush of night air hit Arthur in the face before the door shut, leaving him alone in the somber, hostile building with only a half empty cup of lukewarm tea and a heavy heart to keep him company.
Or so he thought.
Ring, ring.
Arthur raised a moderately large eyebrow. Who on Earth would be calling him at this hour…? His mind went immediately to Francis, but fortunately that option was ruled out. Maybe it was Alfred… calling to apologize… No, he mustn't get his hopes up.
Ring, ring.
He sighed and shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out the phone that his younger brother, Peter, had gotten him for his birthday. Quite unnecessary, really - his old phone had been just fine. (Five years old, yes, but otherwise perfectly fine.) He was still figuring out how to work this thing… where was the talk button again? He decided on the green one and pressed on it. Touch screens were such a useless invention, really. He held the phone up to his ear and cleared his throat.
"Hello?" he ventured, quickly realizing he hadn't bothered to check the caller ID. The voice that replied was unfamiliar - female. She sounded upset.
"Um, hello, sir," she started shakily, clearing her throat. "It seems that… Well, um… Ahem. I am sorry to inform you that an acquaintance of yours - Alfred Jones, I believe - has suffered a fatal injury and is currently in the h-hospital. Um, the doctors have been trying to get him to speak… they're trying to keep him from entering a coma, but… all he can manage is your name… We looked you up on the database… I mean, I thought it best to inform you."
Surely this is a dream? Surely I'm having a nightmare? Surely it isn't for real? Arthur's mind was spinning.
The girl cleared her throat.
"S-sorry?" he managed. No way. No bloody way was this happening.
"You're welcome to visit, sir, but I'm sad to say his chance of survival is slim," she said grimly.
At first the unwelcome words failed to register. When they did, Arthur's grip loosened and the phone slid from his hand, hitting the floor. The screen shattered, and the sound echoed throughout the building.
For a split second, Arthur could have sworn his heart had been brought to a dead stop.
The next second, he was long gone.
A/N: To anyone who lasted this long: thanks for reading, guys! This is my first published fanfic, so go easy on me. XD Constructive criticism is definitely welcome, though.
Please review, and let me know if you wanna see another chapter!
-Socks