AN: ****SPOILER ALERT, Y'ALL. If you have NOTyet read United As One, you MIGHT want to avoid this fanfic until a later time as it does contain references to the last six or so chapters / epilogue!
This one I'm too proud of to shove into the drabble collection so have a post UAO story. Enjoy!
Nine was sure he didn't bleed. But, in his current state of shock, he can only imagine how much blood everyone was seeing. There would always be horrified looks on his friends' faces now.
The pity in their eyes.
Nine barely remembers what came next after feeling his limb submerge into a cold beyond frozen lake tides, feeling the frost coat his every last tissue. It didn't feel real. It wasn't something that could happen to someone as powerful as the ninth Garde. Seeing his beautifully sculpted bicep dissolve and blacken before his eyes as it was ripped from his shoulder and melted into black sludge. He can hear the weak voice of Marina trying to save his limb.
The little he does remember is lending Marina his strength using his legacy but for some reason he couldn't remember.
After that, practically all he can hear are the frantic voices of Six and Marina; he can hear the footsteps of someone leaving though.
Most of all, he remembers Marina's exhausted, horrified voice. He remembers the five words she spoke.
"John is still down there."
It was the last thing Nine heard as he plunged into darkness. Of course it was. Another reminder that he was of no help to the cause. As he lay, accepting his crippled fate against the hard, cold surface that pressed into his back, he left John to die alone, facing their greatest foe.
He would wake up with a fifth scar. Without a proper goodbye.
He would remain alive after failing to save someone for a fourth time. How fitting was it that his fourth failure was Number Four.
Was he dead too then? Was he unconscious? Was there a place after death? His Cepan nor any of his fellow Garde ever talked about an afterlife for the Loric but the way Marina and Six spoke of the way the Lorien Entity temporarily revived Eight gave him hope. The better question was would he be forgiven for everything that he caused.
Who would be the first soul to greet him from beyond? Would Sandor slap him on the shoulder and tell him he was proud? Would he be disappointed that the Garde he pushed to be great endlessly was one of the two to die first? Would Eight smile and pull him into a tight hug, thanking him for everything? Would Eight apologize for being reckless or would he be angry that it was his fault? What if he saw Maddy, in her eternal, youthful beauty and every member of her family his sole existence got butchered? Who would approach him first?
Would the burly Garde see Five? The heavy fall of the bastard's steel body into the depth of Setrákus Ra's black sludge still haunts him. He would always find a reason to disregard Five but now he could only find himself feeling pity. There still is a darkness inside of him believes the traitor deserved to drown slowly for what his stupid little dagger and trigger finger did to them. He doesn't remember the scar burning into his leg but he couldn't envision Number Five surviving. Five would die slowly, maybe ever after him.
He's been lying in darkness forever, surely he was dying. Why wasn't someone coming to meet him halfway and take him beyond? Was his hope for nothing? There was no answers for him now.
A loud honk suddenly echoed in his ears.
He wasn't dead.
He was so still that he could feel his pulse beat against the vein in his neck.
Alive. Alive.
The darkness gradually lifted and his world was bathed in light once again. Then, Nine felt the cold touch of air. His sight didn't register the moonlight overhead until the light breeze tickled his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He was laying on top of the Hancock Center. In disbelief, he rose to his feet as quickly as his body would allow him, doing a full circle of the scene around him. Chicago's night cityscape was breathtaking as always, with every shop he could see from the middle of the roof lit with the flashing colors and the lifestyle that only this city knew. His feet carried him to the side of the roof, pressing his stomach against the icy touch of the metal railing. He gripped it tightly, letting himself take in the cold air and the stirring of city life below him.
Nine closed his eyes.
He missed this place. His missed this stupid city so much. To his core, he was never going to find a home away from this city. Maybe one day, he would be able to finally reunite with the place that stole his heart harder than any man or woman ever would. He opened his eyes once more, taking in the impossible twinkles of the night sky. Stars were rare to see in any city with the light pollution evaporating against the particles of the sky but tonight was one of those occasions. He could see the towering office buildings, the grand hotels, the Sears Tower with every glass cube full of tourists. Even from here, he could see all of the people loving his city.
He was home. With excitement, Nine tightened his hold on the railing with both-
He had both arms. Why did that feel wrong? Practically everyone had arms, they were for survival, for strength, for showing off. As he stretched the stiff fingers of his right hand out above the railing, it was as though something struck him in the temple. A memory. The images hit him hard, from the dagger, to Ra's hand, to watching the muscle deteriorate from his bones and colliding against the cavern wall, he remembered it all. His stomach took a fall so far it's as though he had just leapt over the side into the traffic.
This was a dream. His home, his peace, it was all now just a distant wish.
As if on cue, the beautiful city disappeared around him and he was in darkness once more.
But now the only thing he had left to himself, the city where he found what he was in his legacies and in his person, was warped by war. Toxic. Dangerous. Damaged.
Nine regained his consciousness at the worst time.
What was a dream and what wasn't anymore? He remembers Marina's words but… he's back inside the mountain.
He recalled the previous events before his lapse in a flash. First thing he saw was black eyes. The piercing, soulless pits of Setrákus sparking for the first time in centuries as he freezes and rips the life out of his arm, pulling it entirely from his socket with a sickening tear of flesh. He sees his blood coating from the floor of Setrákus Ra's feet to the wall in the cavern he collided with. When he looks down, he's covered in the sticky, red liquid. He hears Ra laugh, he can feel the scrape of the piercing cackle rack every part of his ear.
He was defeated.
Why couldn't he move?
He's supposed to black out now. The shock of his condition, the surprising lack of pain in his shoulder. The blood loss.
Something wasn't right.
Next to him is Marina trying to use her healing ability on the pit where his arm once was but to no avail.
But she's supposed to be on a ship somewhere.
The monster charges forward, throwing Marina away from his injury into the wall with a simple, flickering maneuver. He watches her body fall against the cold pavement next to him, he sees her pull herself to her feet and stand up. Marina was always such a tough girl. Setrákus charges forward at the same time as Marina, stopping her ice legacy before she can even think to use it. The dagger was no longer a threat as it fell to Ra's feet completely limp. It was as though it was only with Nine's power that gave weapon had any use. Marina meets Ra halfway as the dagger bounces off of the ground and the same moment Ra throws aside both of Marina's arms and impales her entirely. The sound of sliding flesh fills his ears. He lifts and tosses her body aside like a ragdoll. She rolls backwards until her lifeless body is laying face up, staring directly at him.
He could have helped her. But here he was, paralyzed in shock. Lost.
She shouldn't have been defeated so easily, how is this... possible? His thought broke out, muting the battle around him.
Six appears next; there was no way Six would be held back by any Mogadorian if it meant missing the fight of her life with Setrákus Ra. She was exacting her revenge, she was going to be the one to finish him off, to finish exactly what she started.
Six locks eyes with him, clearly registering his condition. Six of all Garde looking down on him almost set Nine on fire on the stop. But then, she saw Marina, and took her attack. Six landed a heavy punch into Ra's face, knocking his face to the side but it wasn't strong enough to unbalance him at all. Ra immediately counters, grabbing her arm and landing a blow to the side of her head and sending her backwards into the dust.
Six skids against the gravel with impact, but quickly catches herself and jumps up to her feet. The side of her blonde hair was sticky with fresh blood as she wiped the stream that dripped from her mouth. She threw her palms in front of her, trying to force a small storm to swell in the chamber encasing them and Ra. A sudden bolt of lightning crackled and drilled Ra in the chest, an attack Nine found himself weakly impressed by. How she managed to create a storm in this cave was beyond him.
Though the element does no damage. Ra merely shrieks with laughter, deflecting the remnants of the bolt into Six, knocking her down once more into the dirt. She starts to stand up but Ra pins her to the ground with a heavy stomp. His laughter is wild as he moves to raise his blade to slice through her as well but a small burst of fire flushes the air and knocks the Mog leader backwards.
John.
The blonde was on his feet, leaning heavily on the side of a stone column. His face was covered in blood but his blue eyes glowed with a flurry of emotion. John doesn't see him, he concentrates on Ra and Six as he weakly advances. Johnny would never look down at him. Ra tries to pay his newest challenger no attention but when Ra turns his back and attempts to lightly use his telekinesis to disengage John, he's met with a wave of fire once again. The Mog leader hisses with impact, whipping around this time to face him.
Ra shrieks something at John. His friend appears to ignore it.
The two stand a few feet from another when the blast goes off. The powerful gust of heat and air fills the room. Sam must have collided the plane with the mountain and Nine feels himself snap back into reality.
A hand slaps onto his skin as it grabs his only arm, drawing his attention. Marina was alive next to him, healing her gaping injury and screaming something at him. Six was suddenly in front of him, her face full of an unreadable emotion.
Something still wasn't right. This wasn't like them.
Six bent down and picked Nine's currently useless body up, supporting him entirely under his one good arm. Why was he still paralyzed? He was still unable to take any control of his legs, his arm, not even his eyes. It was as though he was being forced to watch whatever happened next. Nothing else around him mattered except the death duel. His gaze was locked on Ra and John as they stood apart. Though their mouths moved, like with Marina, he still heard nothing, even with his legacy.
How useless had he become?
Nine heard the footsteps, assuming it was Marina fleeing before the wreckage worsened. She was the healer, she was the one who needed to get out.
But she isn't that kind of fighter.
Why isn't Marina staying?
The stones came in like a drizzle, starting with waves of rock dust and white hot pebbles. They deflected off of Nine's head, off of his skin and littered the ground under his feet. The stones only grew bigger with the tip of the cavern caving in on the battlefield. But still, John and Ra didn't move. They let the hell raining down around them to happen.
John was letting himself be blockaded. He was letting himself die for them.
Nine wanted to scream but he could only watch. What he wanted to scream boomed in his thoughts.
COME ON.
The stone waterfall began to blind him from the battle, the same moment Ra made his first move. John blocked it with a quick cut of his arm, pushing Ra back and charging him. They clashed, meeting blow for blow, and legacy for legacy. It was as though Ra developed every power he needed to match John, to distract him long enough to make it impossible to save him. Ra slashed John across the chest as John burned one entire side of his enemy's face.
Nine felt himself move. Six had jumped up with his broken body over her shoulders and ran. In Six's first step, John's head turned and locked eyes with him.
He smiled painfully as a boulder crashed in front of him, sealing him inside the cavern.
We need to go back. Why are we leaving.
He's in there, let me go, he's still in there!
Nine felt every word he needed to scream caught between his teeth and pressed against his lips. Not even a little grunt made it past his throat.
Six would never leave him. Marina would never leave.
You should have let me die.
I would never leave him.
Did I… leave him… behind?
Was John dead?
Nine's eyes snapped open. The ceiling above him was composed of delicate, foam tiles with a fan that softly cut the air and bathed him in a breeze. The only things he could hear were soft beeps coming from the side of him and the running fan. He turned his head to his left side, spotting the source of the noise. A heart monitor. Moments ago, it was racing but now it was gradually dropping back to a normal pace.
Nine realized slowly that he had just suffered from a nightmare unlike any from his darkest times before. He thought he was done with the night terrors.
He was finally awake after the battle with Setrákus Ra in West Virginia and honestly he never wanted to sleep again. What time was it? What day is it?
Nine grunted as he tried to sit up but collapsed backwards into the wall of pillows behind him. Whoever ran this place loaded his bed with them, all supporting his back against the heavy backing of the bed. He stretched his good arm instead of trying to sit up again.
His good arm.
That's right. He did in fact lost his right arm.
The last scene from his dream came back. How much of his dream was real and how much was fake, he didn't know. All he had were the bits and pieces that made the distant memories of voices dance inside of his thoughts.
He lost his arm and he left John behind.
He didn't want to reach down and feel the fifth scar. He would leave the fucking mark to bleed onto the sheets and let the nurses figure it out.
Nine let his head drop backwards into the soft fabric, stunned. The bastard went through with his little facade and sacrificed himself. Number Four stayed alive for so long only to be wasted in the end by his own stupidity.
Nine felt he knew John well enough. A lot of things about John Smith pissed him off and he's learn to put aside what he hate and focus on what he admires. In time, all of those traits the older Garde loathed turned into nothing; John's downsides did not make him any less in Nine's eyes. He admits he found the snap inside of his friend disturbing but not necessarily without reason. The image of John covered in Mogadorian ash and puncture holes with a cold glint in his now dull blue eyes won't leave his memories.
Nine thought he knew John after that. He suspected the fourth Garde to throw himself away in the final battle but it wasn't going to be done quietly. Sam tried and failed, Six didn't attempt to seek out John, and Marina only wept with him. Adam got frustrated, Ella fought with him, and Five never helped out anyone else except himself unless he was forced into it. Nine had been the final straw.
It didn't work and Nine was going to have to live with that for the rest of his life. Number Four was a special kind of stupid; his stubborn nature and his need to argue drove the group mad. But completely shutting down to everyone else was far beyond his character.
Still, even he couldn't do it. He smacked his fist against the thin bedsheet and grunted, then gripped the sheet like he was threatening to rip it out from under him. Nine had no adequate way of letting out every last drop of feeling that built up against his bones and dammit if he was going to cry one more time. The world around him was quiet, like it waited for him to snap. The only noise he could hear, even with his legacy, was soft stirring to his right side, probably from an open window. He didn't bother looking, he could feel the air delicately brush the parts of his skin that was exposed. The rest of him was either in bandages or under the sheets. Marina must not have had the energy to fully heal him after the battle and with the amount of human and Garde alike that needed her help, he didn't blame her.
Nine closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek. Hard. He needed to be better.
And because he wasn't already better from losing Sandor, he'd lost John too. Nine lifted his hand to his head and cupped his face. He didn't even have two hands to cover his mistakes with. A few tears dripped from his eyes as Nine finally allowed himself to cry, even if it was for a moment. The world around him seemed to stand still so no one else would really know his pain. He could keep it quiet, just how he liked it.
A rustling movement to his right side caught his attention and he froze. Someone else was in here with him. He wanted to turn his head to the side and see for sure but that would mean also seeing what was left of him. That would mean having to acknowledge the fact that Setrakus Ra took his arm and defeated him with ease. Nine would never get that rematch, he would just have to live with the scars. He wiped his eyes with a single swipe of his forearm and looked to the left.
I'm a fucking baby.
He shut his eyes one more time and concentrated on moving his right shoulder. Baby steps. The worst part was being able to feel the joint stiffen and crack but being unable to feel the crack vibrate down his arm to his fingertips. It wasn't the thought of grappling with a crippled lifestyle that hurt him. He would learn to balance and live his life again. After all, he's Number Nine. He has spent his entire life coping with losses and his missing arm was one he would grow to live with.
It would be how he lost his arm that would haunt him forever.
One day he will let himself heal.
Nine let out a confident breath of air as he turned his head to the right. He opened his eyes, keeping them away from looking at his body. He wasn't ready to see it.
On the right side of the room, next to the open window he'd picked up on earlier, was another bed tilted upwards at the same angle as his own. The body underneath the fluffy white comforter slept soundly, breathing against the sheets quiet enough that Nine's acute senses just barely picked up on it. One arm hung limp off of the side of the bed, displaying swatches of gauze stained in old blood. The face was partially submerged in endless pillows but still turned towards Nine enough that he could see the shape of the nose and the corner of the mouth. It was covered with enough dried blood and bandaging with tips of blood still dried in the dirty blonde hair that he almost didn't recognize it. But he knew that face. God did he know that face.
John.
Alive.
He could cry a second time but he found himself stunned. It was like his dream again except instead of being paralyzed with shock, it was solace. His mouth slightly parted but he couldn't find the words to say. John was asleep so whatever he said wouldn't matter anyway. His chest, however, felt as though it was being compressed. All of the tension was gone, like it never happened it all. The boy in the bed didn't look like the John he has come to know now but more like the one he first met. This was the most peaceful he has seen John alone since the night at the Chicago hideout. It looked so good on him. Minus the blood spatter.
Just a dream after all, then. I must have filled in the gaps. Fuck this shit.
Nine's thoughts evolved into words, turning from a soft whisper to a low growl.
"Shit John, you do that to me again and you're a dead man. Not just a dead man, a fucking goner, in pieces scattered across the globe, dude. Holy shit, never again."
The worst part, was when the blonde boy's mouth perked into a small smile. He had been awake the entire time. He must have heard him crying earlier.
You bastard. I hate you.
John's voice echoed in his head and caught him off guard.
I know.
His words sound weak and tired but it's his tone all the same. It could even be described as soft, as though the two of them had transported back to that night in the penthouse.
Correction. The thing Nine hated the most was not just the fact that John could now hear all of his thoughts but that just the sound of his friend's voice calmed him completely.