This is it, he thinks.
We're done. We're finally done.
Leaves are pressing into his face, a crispy, flaking bed underneath him – more comfortable, perhaps, than some of the hotels that they've stayed in. He turns his head slightly, trying to open his eyes, and they gently scratch the side of his cheek.
Everything aches. Jay tries not to move too quickly, or at all, in fact. The breeze tickles his hair, winding fingers through the individual strands and teasing out the soil caught between. It ruffles his clothes, it wipes the slight sheen of sweat from his forehead; it lifts up an earthy scent from the forest floor and lets it seep into the fabric of his shirt. Above him, pollen floats lazily, illuminated by the stars. Even the insect world has retreated into sleep, it seems, and the surrounding woodland is silvery and undisturbed around them, under the moonlight.
It's beautiful.
Breathing in suddenly – an involuntary, jarring breath, which makes his whole body shudder – Jay feels a stabbing pain in his chest, and it's probably serving as a warning to refrain from repeating the action. Liquid metal, vermillion against pale skin, trickles in a thin stream from the corner of his mouth. The taste spreads across his tongue when he drags it across chapped, cracked skin; maybe he split his lip. Or busted up his mouth somehow. Or had a coughing fit, one that tore up his throat. But he can't remember now, and he probably won't have time to remember anyway.
Like he'd waste time on trying to recall what had happened, when lying feet away from him was Tim.
Jay's knee clicks painfully as he bends his leg. He winces, feeling his shoes sink into the ground – he moves forwards a few inches, so he tries it again, and again, pushing himself further towards his friend. "Tim," he whispers. It doesn't come out like he'd hoped. Too quiet. "Tim," he repeats, croaking hoarsely through the pain and exhaustion.
Tim is laying at an odd angle, his shoulders hunched over and his arms over his face, as though he'd been protecting himself before unconsciousness. It wasn't outside of the realms of possibility. Jay says his name again, blinking back desperate tears –wait, wait for just a second, please. And to his colossal relief, Tim rolls over.
He waits until the heaving stops. Tim is wheezing in a way that wracks his body violently, and Jay wishes he could help, but he want to use his energy on taking in Tim's face. The other man is smeared with blood and dirt. It's caked across his arms and back; it's been wiped across his face from where he's evidently rubbed his nose and mouth with a tattered sleeve.
Tim's expression grows painfully, quietly distraught when he focuses on Jay. He whispers Jay's name so miserably, and Jay knows he looks like hell because he certainly feels that way, and all he wants to do is curl up and wipe away the layers of grime that seem to have built up on Tim's cheekbones.
He's not strong enough for that. Instead, Jay stretches out his hand.
"We're done…" he murmurs. Tim reaches out his own hand to meet Jay's cold fingers, and responds with a questioning noise. "We don't have to—" cough "have to do this anymore," he explains.
Tim begins to cry – the moonlight illuminates wet trails down the front of his face as his eyes brim over. "It's okay," Jay breathes, pressing down a little more firmly with his fingertips against Tim's own, "it's okay."
"…Let you down," Tim manages to choke out.
"No."
And right before the recording light in his pupils flickers, before the battery in him feebly putters out, and the shutter of his eyelids closes for the last time, Jay smiles. He uses his remaining energy to smile, as wide as he possibly could, and Tim might have smiled back, had he not already closed his eyes. They both die knowing that they're finally done, on a bed of leaves amidst the silence of the forest and with blood on their lips.
Out of charge.
