Alan knew he was going to die. He knew the first time it hit him, that flash of fire and lightning through his whole body, constricting him like a hungry snake choking the life out of its prey. He knew he'd have many days ahead spent half-conscious and clinging to life. Connected to machines with cable-veins that bled chemicals into him to keep him from tumbling off that dangerous cliffside he wouldn't be able to climb back up. At least the view from that cliff wasn't so bad.
When the doctors told him he was the first case like this they'd seen in centuries, Alan felt his heart sinking like a rock, his frantic beats like skips across the water until everything came to a final stop, and frigid realization took him. He was glad Eric wasn't there to hear any of this. There would likely be a time in the near future when Alan would tell him softly, over a mug of tea, to keep him from storming away or breaking all of the furniture in their flat. Eric would be upset by everything about the situation. What Alan would never tell his lover was that the doctors blamed Eric for everything. That was why Alan always insisted on coming to the doctors' offices alone, no matter how many flights of stairs he had to drag himself up.
They said, upon investigation into Alan's condition, and hearing Alan's own explanation of the incident—that if Eric had simply paid more attention, or even taken Alan and ran (in which case would have been the acceptable decision), he wouldn't have had to engage in a fight with the demon that had its eyes locked on the soul they were sent out to retrieve. That left Alan, an inexperienced reaper, to collect a soul on his own. He hadn't been able to control the unexpected immensity of cinematic record reels that spilled forth from the body before him, and they pierced him like hundreds of needles, slicing down to the deepest parts of his mind and tangling themselves within him. Alan could see everything, down to the victim's first memory. Their whole life had been full of nothing but pain, and Alan could feel it all as if experiencing it himself. He was experiencing it himself.
Alan remembered nothing after that, only screaming. Wordless, just a plead to the skies in agony for the pure despair he felt, the pain that only belonged to him in transference. This one human's final fight against Death. The cries left his lips against his will, and he watched with blurred vision as the demon lunged over past his crumpled body to snatch hungrily at the stray memories before disappearing into an alleyway. The next thing Alan could hear was Eric calling to him, telling him to hang on, and Alan hadn't heard Eric swear so much in one sentence until that day.
Alan, he'd said, his voice trembling. Alan could hear Eric's intermittent struggling breaths in an attempt to stay calm for both their sakes. As he began to lose consciousness he could hear Eric's desperation saturating every word. Hang on, jus' hang on, it'll be alrigh', you'll be fine, jus' stay with me…
He didn't know far Eric had carried him that day. He knew it was too far, too long. And when Alan woke up the first thing out of his mouth was an apology. To Eric, to his superiors, to the lost soul, that everything was his fault and he was sorry. It wasn't even close to the guilt he felt, but it was the best he could manage at that moment. But no one was around to hear, so his apology was meaningless.
Life had changed even more when people began to realize something was wrong with him. He didn't want anyone to offer him pity. Yet people went out of their way to open doors, some sent wary glances his way, and he knew he was a topic of discussion at the office. Alan hadn't even had a chance to tell Eric before he heard. He heard it from William. And secretly, he was glad he didn't have to tell Eric himself. Not by the reaction that followed. Alan had been making his way up the stairs and he heard the sharp slam of a door, heavy footsteps trailing down the hall, and furious shouting. He almost walked into Alan without realizing it and the scowl that met Alan's gaze was frightening.
Though upon seeing Alan, Eric immediately seemed to calm down somewhat. Without much other thought he pulled Alan into a spare office room and closed the door behind them, flipping on the light switch and sending a light cloud of dust to the air.
It was then that Eric broke down in front of him. Tears streamed freely from his eyes. Alan had never seen Eric cry before. It was completely heartbreaking. One of Alan's hands rested over his heart, and he tried to keep together, but before long they both were sobbing into each other, embracing tighter than ever, and all that Alan could say was that he was sorry. That this was the price he had to pay for not being careful enough. Eric had warned him that reaping would be tough, but it was an understatement to say he hadn't been expecting it to be this hard.
He was going to die.
There was no way around it, no cure, and he knew that. From the look in Eric's eyes, he knew, too.
Alan hadn't gone to work in a whole week after that. And for once, it was permissible. When he'd returned, finally, he looked considerably skinnier, paler than before. It was hard for him to eat without getting sick. Nothing sat well with him anymore, barely even water. And William could see that. He had to practically order Alan to go home. What good was a reaper at the office if he couldn't work?
So Alan stayed at home. Eric stayed too, until Alan called him in one evening and told him, they wouldn't be able to do that forever. One of them had to go to work, to keep their flat. Eric protested greatly but Alan told him, they were reapers at heart. They had to work, if they wanted to live comfortably.
The doctors prescribed some painkillers for Alan to help him, and while it didn't make the pain go away it made things manageable once again. So Alan returned to work. And the stares were back, and the pitying faces were back, and the whispers in the hall grew in volume until Alan thought he'd be deafened by it. But Eric stayed close to his side, glaring at anyone he overheard talking about his partner. Kept a hand wrapped around Alan's shoulder protectively and walked together with him everywhere. To prevent anyone from asking anything stupid that might hurt Alan's feelings or make him upset. And Alan had been in a good mindset that day, finally glad to have a chance to return to his job and be useful once again.
One remark from a passing member of General Affairs changed everything.
"Sorry to hear about what happened, mate, I hope you feel better soon. There's gotta be something someone can do to help."
The next moment Alan found himself bracing with a flat palm against the wall, his heart pounding and eyes clenched shut tightly as pain ripped through him. He knew people were staring, and he could hear all the confrontation despite the tightness in his chest causing him to sink to his knees and let out a wounded cry.
"Ye bloody arsehole, look what ye did t'him!" He heard Eric growl and through his palm on the wall felt an impact against it, and a yelp of protest.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I just wanted to help—"
"Ye've done enough." Another shout from the terrified reaper and the sound of a punch hitting home, and then Alan felt himself pulled up by Eric, who wordlessly carried him off to the infirmary. He muttered soft encouragements to Alan, among apologies, to keep him calm. The whole time Alan had a hand clutched tightly to the fabric of his jacket at his chest, and he whimpered quietly after small shuddering breaths.
"Alan, 'm so sorry. Bloody fuckin' arsehole, ought to keep his mouth shut… ought t'have shut it for him…" Eric grumbled, giving anyone who looked their way a terrifying scowl. The rest of the evening was spent there, closed off by curtains surrounding the small cot that Alan laid in. He'd calmed down enough to remember to take the medicine they'd given him for emergencies, and it helped considerably. He was able to breathe without feeling like a fish trying to breathe the last bit it could out of a drying puddle.
The days went by and Alan found himself in the office less and less. It was too painful to be there. Any time he went, they stared. Or talked. Or just pitied him, he could feel it in the atmosphere any time he simply entered a room. He thought of giving William a formal letter of resignation, but Eric told him not to. That he'd look for a way around it. Alan asked Eric to take his papers home so he could help, but Eric refused. Told Alan to focus on staying healthy, and kissed his forehead gently.
Since the incident, they hadn't made love. Alan was in too much pain half the time to consider it, so he slowly got used to the idea that he wouldn't be able to do it ever again. He hoped Eric would understand. The one night they tried, Alan almost went to the hospital. After that long he'd become too nervous, too afraid, and all Eric did was put his hands on him. The glass of water and the pill at his lips didn't register, only a numbness that swallowed him whole, those cursed thorns with their grip still piercing into him but he just didn't care anymore. He fell asleep in Eric's arms that night.
That next morning, Eric brushed Alan's tangled hair into place with his fingers and gave him a weak smile which Alan returned. Eric mentioned going to work and Alan nodded silently, knowing Eric had to do what he had to do, even though Alan hated being alone. He had his medicine, so he'd be fine. That's what he told himself. So Eric left and Alan spent the day sleeping. Catching up on the restless nights he'd spent staying awake to keep his nightmares away.
Eric would come home exhausted, beads of sweat still lingering on his skin. He would hold Alan in his arms, ask about his day, and they would chat about small things before Eric fell asleep. The heavy feeling in Alan's chest lingered, the thorns dancing threateningly against his veins, as if to remind him that any little thing he did would give them an opportunity to take over. In his readings, what little there was, about the Thorns of Death, he realized that this was his punishment for letting the soul into himself. Even though it had been an accident. As his punishment he wasn't allowed to feel any emotions, lest the thorns take their toll on him. When they inched their way through his body, attempting to gain control over him, he felt every motion. He knew what was coming.
Over time the medicines did less and less, despite having to take more of it. Eric would be gone all day and Alan would get upset but say nothing, take his medicine and stay still, just barely breathing, hoping the pain would end soon. It got to the point where he was having attacks on a regular basis and the last time Eric came home he begged Eric to take him to the hospital. At least then Eric would be able to worry less about taking care of him. And be able to work properly.
So Eric did just that, took him in without any mention of the fact that Alan hated hospitals. It was true, but Alan had reached the point where he just didn't care. If he stayed numb to everything he would be fine, that's what he told himself, his own little mantra.
Nothing the doctors did helped. He could feel himself getting worse. And all he wished he could do was go in to work to help Eric. He'd heard some of the nurses talking one day, rumors of souls going missing, rumors that there might be a demon outbreak, and that they might have a war on their hands if this continued. The toll was in the 900's now. How awful, Alan thought to himself. One day when Eric came to visit, he mentioned it, and Eric just shook his head. Told Alan he was one of the team assigned to the case, and that they were making progress. So Alan felt slightly relieved at that.
To clear the room of the negative atmosphere from discussing work, Alan asked Eric to read him something. Eric pulled a book from his work bag and started at chapter one. It was a story about a man and a woman who gardened and grew flowers, yet they never made any money off of their efforts. They gave everything they grew away for free. Alan wanted to know more about this couple, but he'd fallen asleep as Eric started the second chapter. Eric's voice was enough to calm him, soothe him into dreams.
One of his last attacks put him into a coma for a week. When he woke up he refused to speak to anyone, he refused to eat. Refused to move. He wouldn't do anything unless Eric was there, and even now he was visiting less and less often. Alan hurt, both physically and emotionally. When Eric finally came, Alan snapped at him and asked where he'd been, that he'd been worried sick that Eric wasn't going to come back, and before he could say anything else he forced himself up out of the bed and felt the cables dragging behind him in protest. He went over to Eric and slapped him in the face.
"Do you understand what I've been going through lately?! I can't do anything. I was out for a week. A week, Eric. How much longer before I'm gone for real?! Another month? Next week? Three days from now? I don't know, Eric, but it hurts. I'm sick and tired of living like this."
He shuddered as he collapsed against the windowsill, the faint sight of flowers in the garden below speckling his vision with color.
Eric had said nothing when he was hit. He silently accepted it, he wasn't even angry. Instead of retaliating, he reached down to Alan to embrace him gently, to hold him as he sobbed against Eric's shirt. To keep him calm, to try to prevent another attack. And it seemed to work for the time being.
The cables tugged at Alan's skin and he bit his lip before struggling to stand, Eric there to help him, and just laid back down in the cot in defeat.
"I want to die. Just get it over with."
At that, Eric gripped his shoulder tightly, preparing to cut him off by saying something, but Alan added something else that stopped Eric in his tracks completely.
"I want you to kill me. Please, Eric. I can't keep doing this much longer."
That was the one thing that finally tipped the scale, pushing Eric over into anger. But he clenched his fist, breathing in a shaky breath before sighing.
"No, Alan. I promise, I've been searching for a cure. That's why I've been gone all these days. I promise there's something I can do to help you. I just need a little more time."
"Yes, there is a cure, after all. I want you to kill me. Nothing's been helping. My medicine doesn't work anymore. I don't want the Thorns to take me. I'd rather you do it."
Eric scowled. "Alan. I'm not gonna kill ye. I can't."
The next words left Alan without him thinking.
"Then I'll do it myself."
In response Eric stepped forward and Alan was expecting to be hit, the way Eric looked at him, but instead his strong arms closed around him again and clung to him tightly.
"Promise me ye can hang on a little longer. I jus' need another week, Alan. One more week. Tha's it."
Alan began to sob softly, but he struggled out a nod before he felt the telltale signs of an attack stirring in his chest. In his last moment of coherence he called for Eric, a plea for help. He didn't want to die after all. He wasn't ready. He was just in so much pain he didn't know how to handle it. He just wanted the pain to end.
And it did.
He died in Eric's arms, a thankful smile on his face.
The whole department was in mourning when they heard the news. One dreary day in fall, some time after Alan's passing, they held a service for him. It wasn't much, but everyone brought their flowers and condolences. Eric accepted them silently, stood over Alan's grave and placed each flower on the freshly pressed dirt. A field of colors spread before him, and a thousand different hues of every color made the grave seem just a little brighter. Alan would be pleased, Eric thought to himself. And then he went home and smoked in the strange silence of the flat. Everything was still in its place just as Alan had left it, untouched since the day he went to the hospital. It was as if Alan still lived there.
Eric spent his days after work there amongst the flowers, talking to Alan. Telling him how the garden back at the flat was faring, how his violets had bloomed and were staying strong. One day, however, Eric showed up with a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bouquet of freshly picked Ericas in the other. Dropped them in front of the grave and kneeled before it, finally breaking down. He had to stay strong at the office in front of his coworkers and friends, not let them know how hard he'd taken everything. Until today.
This was his first true moment of mourning. His first true realization that Alan was gone. It hit him harder than his next sip of whiskey.
He cried, head pressed against the cold stone with Alan's name engraved on it. He had been so close. Just two more souls and he would have been able to save Alan. It was hard, to try to work around being assigned to the very case he was responsible for. He blamed it on the demons and it was convenient, but caused chaos as a result. He'd been in many a bloody fight with the demons as well, constantly reminded that he was stealing their only source of food for a selfish purpose. It was selfish, but all for Alan. He'd do anything. Commit any sin, if it could allow him to ease Alan's pain. And he felt it, the weight of the 998 souls still lingering inside of him, aching for freedom. This was the consequence of his actions. He had to let them stay.
It was hard for Eric to do much of anything that didn't involve his destructive habit. He spent so much of his time drunk it was causing problems at the office. But he didn't care anymore.
One early morning, Eric got out of bed, didn't even bother smoothing his hair down before grabbing his scythe and heading out the door. He knew where he was going. Today, he'd show Alan that he regretted everything he'd done. On this day, this day one year ago that Alan had died in his arms, and Eric could do nothing to stop it from happening.
The walk was silent, not even the birds were singing yet. Eric made his way to the graveyard, to Alan's grave toward the top of the hill. All the flowers he'd received he planted there around his grave, these thousand blooms keeping watch over Alan for Eric while he was gone.
Before long he was standing in the middle of this sea of flowers, by the bouquet of Ericas that he'd placed there last week, in front of Alan's grave. The rains had treated it well, its petals were still all together as if preserved. Raising his scythe, Eric brought it down against his chest and sunk to his knees against the cool stone. Gave a soft smile to the sky as the pain of freedom took over, and watched as the souls left him. They glittered against the dew on the flowers before fading and disappearing into the gray clouds. With one last breath, he said,
"I love ye, Alan, but I won't be able t'see ye, not where I'm goin'. 'm sorry."
I love you too, Eric, came Alan's voice, as if floating in the air against the remaining souls.
The last thing Eric heard, was Alan's soft voice, and he almost felt Alan's hands against him, on his shoulder, in a reassuring gesture.
I forgive you.