a/n: this is a fic for NaNoWriMo!
as a disclaimer, i would like to mention a few things; this fic is technically set in a noncanon universe of warriors, where certain rules are different and certain customs are different - this clan and this setting is not the exact same as the canon books. there are also plenty of LGBT characters, and their pronouns and sexualities should be respected - if that's of any problem, you kindly don't have to read.
but regardless, i hope you enjoy a gay, depressing fic for the month of november!
prologue.
"i think it might be fear - of the world, and the way, it makes you feel afraid."
IT'S HARD TO LISTEN to her breathing; the ancient molly is losing strength, with every exhale coming out in a soft gasp - she's weakening, fading, with hardly any of her former energy left in her. She's always been the face of BrackenClan, ever since any cat can remember, ever since any cats parents can remember - Patchstar's legacy spans seasons.
It's unbelievably hard to imagine succeeding her.
The old molly searches the darkness, blind gray-green eyes dim with exhaustion as she tries to find a face, a scent, something to cling to - finally, though, she speaks:
"Lightningpelt," she whispers in a soft, quiet voice. He has to strain to hear her; he does so, pricking his ears and moving closer to his leader. "Lightningpelt."
"Yes?" is all he can say, struggling to find anything else to verbalize; he doesn't know how to console her, he doesn't have an elders wise, thoughtful words to help stifle any worries she might have - he has nothing to offer the poor molly.
"Are you afraid?" Patchstar's whiskers twitch slowly, and her blind gaze is shifting again; she's looking for him, trying to sense him.
He doesn't know what to say - he knows he should be honest, to confide in his leader and friend in her last moments, or to help ease any worries she might have about the fate of the Clan she must finally leave behind.
Unsurely, he decides to just wing it, to play on the border between coy and humble, and say: "It's a little daunting, but I wouldn't say I'm afraid."
Patchstar has never been easy to fool, and she twitches her tail-tip slowly. "You're not appeasing me."
Lightningpelt's ears draw back; he frowns, lowering his head to rest it on his forepaws, nose close to his leaders nest. "I don't….know what 'appease' means, Patchstar, but I'm going to-"
"You're not tricking me," the molly says slowly, sighing; it sounds like it takes so much out of her, as though she's exhaled every ounce of breath from her body, and she takes a moment to begin speaking again: "I'm not a fool, Lightingpelt; you shouldn't try to con the dying." She says it with a smile, letting him know she is half-joking, but he still feels a nugget of guilt in his belly.
He sighs, blinking slowly at the thin body of his leader; she looks so frail, her black-and-white fur tinged with more gray than he can ever remember seeing - is this his first time truly noticing how old she was? His first time really seeing her?
He suddenly feels like he doesn't know her very well at all.
Frowning, he murmurs: "Fine, I'm….I'm worried, yeah," It feels wrong to even admit it, but Patchstar deserves the truth; she's trusted him, believed in him, and honesty is the least he can do, he finally decides. "I'm just so. Young, Patchstar; I know I've experienced a lot and all that, and that I've been deputy for a while, but-" He cuts off, sighing.
The old molly makes a soft noise that sounds like a purr. "You are young. Young enough to be my great-grandkit," she jokes. "But you have incredible courage; you are thoughtful, wise. You will be a fine successor."
He flattens his ears. "I can't even be honest about my feelings," he mumbles, twitching his whiskers and thinking; about his whole life, where secrecy about his emotions were what he thought would protect him most; about a ginger face, a bitter fight during newleaf; thinking about now, about lying to Patchstar about his true feelings. "I'm not even half the warrior Dustheart was - let alone an inch of the deputy he was."
Patchstar's breaths get a little more ragged; Lightningpelt feels awful for mentioning her old deputy, for potentially bringing back painful memories - he knows that Dustheart had been her deputy for seasons, since Lightningpelt was a kitten, and for him to have died took a massive toll on her.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, pushing his nose into his paws in shame. "I'm sorry, I-"
"It's alright, Lightningpelt," the molly murmurs, voice ragged; her flanks rise and fall a little slower now, and Lightningpelt knows she's nearing the end of her long, long life. "I chose you as his successor because I believe in you, Lightningpelt."
She says it so simply, with such a finality to it that Lightingpelt almost believes in himself, in her, for just a moment - Patchstar says it as though it were a fact: the grass is green, the sky is blue, Patchstar believes in Lightningpelt and has faith he'll be a good leader.
"I don't believe in me," he tells her, voice soft.
Patchstar's blind eyes turn to him then; they are not making contact with his gaze, but staring through him in a way that makes him almost uncomfortable - it's as though she's seeing him for who he is, searching him, finding his rawest emotions.
Slowly, a small, bony paw touches his own; her paw gently rests on his. He notices the way it trembles, shaking from her old age and sickness.
"I believe in you," she says again. "I always have."
He wants to repeat himself, to remind her that his own self-doubt is what's causing him pause, hesitation, but there is something in the old mollies voice that causes him to be silent, to think back on the moment she chose him to be deputy-
"-and it is never easy to choose another deputy, not after I have served alongside one for so long; Dustheart and I have been friends ever since he was a warrior, when I was a much younger leader, more spritely; it is hard to cope with his loss. But we will carry on - and I would like Lightningpelt to aid me in helping BrackenClan deal with our loss."
His ears shoot up, and he looks up at the black-and-white molly; her gaze is final, her face at ease.
-and he frowns, bowing his head.
"You always have," he murmurs, finally bringing himself closer to her, and putting his muzzle against his leaders neck.
He rests with her then, curled against Patchstar; her own kin has died by now, already waiting for her to join them in the stars, and Lightningpelt calmly listens to the old molly list off their names as her breathing slows.