Its been a long time coming, but we're finally done.
I must say. I am so glad to be done. So without further ado:
"This is...a gift..."
The blade and the red strand meet.
The words echoed, becoming fainter with each repetition. The white light that surrounded him ebbed out of focus, and was replaced with the gray sound of rain. The scene in front of him was blurry and hard to make out. The gravity was only slight, but growing.
The rain fell from the sky, pounding the pavement. The sound was familiar to him. In the middle of the street, a boy lay on his back, unmoving, while another kneeled next to him.
The gravity tugged further, but Richie did not move.
The eyes on his body were closed, he recognized.
His body…
His senses were all flooding back to him, he could hear the thunder rumbling over head, see his body below him; yet the body they were flooding back to had yet to reawaken. He wasn't sure how this was possible.
There is contact.
Virgil could not move. Richie was dead, lying beside him like a broken plaything and all he could bring himself to do was sit next to him, brushing his partner's wet hair out of his eyes. If he didn't know better, Richie could have been sleeping.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he should probably call the authorities. He should get up, and move Richie out of the street. They would need to take Richie's body away. They would find out who Richie Foley really was, and by extension, who Static was. Tonight would be….complicated.
But the facts of Richie's death were only minor thoughts in Virgil's mind. Like a television left on mute in another room; he registered that they were present, but did not dwell on them. He stayed where he was; ignoring the rain falling around him and hardly taking his eyes off of the boy in front of him. He stared at the broken body, willing the reality of it to sink in. He willed himself to feel something, anything, other than this sinking awareness.
There was a weight on his chest, like it was caving in. Virgil's eyesight blurred with tears.
He hung his head, burying his face in his hands.
In that moment, a ray of light, bright and pure breaks through the darkness. There is a great tremble as the blade cracks right at the point of impact.
Suddenly, Richie felt it. Gravity pulls him, and yanks him forward.
The rain is deafeningly loud on Richie's ears. He had not realized how soft and quiet the world he had just left had been. The water was hard on his skin, beating it relentlessly with each droplet. There's a weight within him, far from the floating sensation he had just left. And there is pain. More pain than he could have ever thought possible. Every cell in his body was screaming.
The trip back to earth was uncomfortable, to say the least.
But along with the harsh gravity, there was the soft whoosh of air in his lungs. He had been holding his breath this entire time; his lungs ached for oxygen. It was exhilarating, even with the harsh cold air around him, and Richie breathed deeply. His chest expanded with his lungs, irritating the burns there. But he didn't stop.
He could feel his life returning to him.
Virgil's face was buried in his hands and he could not see Richie's movement.
Richie opened his mouth to speak, but his voice had not yet returned.
The light emitted is like no other strand in reaching distance. It burns the blackened hand with its intensity, glowing white-hot until the very hand of fate is forced to let go.
Painstakingly, Richie reached out a hand. He felt wet fabric around his fingers and tugged, as hard as he was able.
It took Virgil a moment to feel the gentle pull on his trench coat. It was weak, almost barely there.
When he opened his eyes, he expected to see backpack. The little robot must have returned from its inspection of the bang baby they had just defeated.
But what faced him was not Richie's small invention.
But…Richie.
His grey eyes were open, looking directly at Virgil.
His chest was moving, expanding and contracting with every deep breath he took.
And he had the faintest smile playing on his face. One corner of his lips was still bleeding.
He was…Alive.
The blade disintegrates, turning to ash and falling away until, like before, there is only nothingingness.
Before Richie could say a word, Virgil was upon him, hugging him until the air was pushed out of his lungs.
"V-Virg…need…breathe" Richie sputtered weakly, fully aware at the raspy sound of his voice. He winces at the feeling; it even hurts to speak.
"Oh!...Sorry..." Virgil doesn't let go of his partner completely, but loosens his grip. He props Richie upwards, so that he can sit upwards while still leaning on Virgil for support.
Richie tries to smile at him, but the only expression on his opposites face is pure, unrelenting disbelief.
The strand falls away, taking its partner with it, far out of sight and out of reach of the empty blackness. It joins the endless ranks of countless other threads, simply lost.
"Rich?" Virgil's voice is no louder than a whisper. If they hadn't been so close, the sound would have been lost in the rain.
Richie takes a deep breath, readying himself for speech and hoping his voice will hold out.
"I gotta... say...Virg. Your CPR could…use some work." He rasps, trying to smile. He is sure it looks like a grimace.
A tear escapes Virgil's wide eyes. He attempts to wipe it away, his gloved hands rubbing over his masked eyes for a moment. It doesn't matter, more tears come to take its place and Richie reaches upward to grab Virgil's hand.
"I'm alive V. Please... stop crying, you're freaking me out." Richie was never good at being serious at the appropriate times.
"I'm not crying" Virgil lies, attempting to wipe away more tears. Richie rolls his eyes half heartedly. He is still in a great amount of pain.
Technopathically, he alerts backpack to signal the police and an ambulance. The little robot has already done so by the time he requests it, sending a silent confirmation to Richie's helmet.
Richie turns his attention back to Virgil, who is still trying to compose himself. He squeezes Virgil's hand in his own, calming him down. Around them, the rain lets up somewhat.
"You…you were..." The dreadlocked boy cannot bring himself to say it. "How?"
Richie's mind was fuzzy as he attempted to answer his friend. How was he still alive?
No sooner had he thought about, had the answer come to his tongue and spilled out of his mouth before he could logically process it.
"Its…this is a gift." He said without blinking.
He knew Virgil would think he was delirious, but he knew that he spoke the truth. He could…feel it. He could not remember where that truth had come from; the only indication in his mind was a picture of Virgil's mother that he was sure he had never seen before. Why was he thinking of her? He had never even met Jean Hawkins.
Maybe he was delirious.
Lost for the moment.
But Virgil's smile was warm, and understanding. He looked down at the boy below him, and could do nothing but smile. A choked laugh escaped from his mouth. It sounded more like a sob than anything.
Somewhere in the distance, they heard the familiar sound of sirens approaching.
The hand retracts, unphased by the shock.
Richie felt the corners of his mouth tug upward despite himself. The pain in his chest was still present, throbbing in time with his heart, as was a slight migraine pounding in his head. Under all circumstances, he should be upset, frowning at the pain in his body and the oncoming task of hospitalizing a hero with a secret identity. Hell, by all logical means, he should be dead.
But he smiles, and runs his fingers along his Virgil's cheek, relishing in his warmth, despite the rain that falls hard around them.
For no one mortal can avoid their fate for long.
Overhead, the thunder rumbles softly. The rain continues to fall, covering the street in its downpour and washing away all that was there before.
End
Hope you guys liked this! It was fun to write, even if it took me about 3 years to finally finish it off. Don't forget to fav and review m'dears!