Many, many thanks for the reviews! I love reading them. The second chapter - I wish I could expand on the story there. Maybe one day, if my head thinks of something juicy.
There is a mild bit of profanity in this one (one word), but I think it's forgivable for the subject. Just a warning.
When do you stop fighting for a brother?
The moment he slumps against your shoulder as you carry his injured form to safety?
The brief measure of time when you call "John?" by his ear, and receive no response?
You jostle his arm higher up onto your shoulders to better the iron grip you have on his body. There is no groan of pain, no flinch, no complaint. Do you resign your battle then?
The sharp stab of terror that strikes your heart still as his breathing ceases. Does it kill your resolve?
"No no no no no... Come on, John. Don't do this to me you bastard..."
The way you drop his body to the floor is panicked, ungentle. You'll apologise later when he's sat in the medical bay chewing you out about the ache in his shoulder and back from the impact. But you won't apologise for the impending bruises and broken rib you're about to inflict performing compressions on his chest.
Is it the bile that rises in your throat that presses you to consider ending the struggle? Or maybe the gargle that bubbles in John's throat as he lays sprawled out in front of you, limp, vulnerable, lifeless, cold?
Is it the icy wave of shock that whispers in your ear, 'let him go. He's dead, dead, dead...'
NO!
You smack away a stray tear that has the nerve to flow down your cheek. You're not leaving me to tell Scott I couldn't save you...
So when do you stop fighting for a brother?
When Hell freezes over.
When the moon crashes into the sun.
When there's not a breath left inside your own body to offer to the brother you love.
When you don't see a gasp erupt from his lips as he claws for his own unaided breath. When his heart – the heart filled with so much love and patience and understanding and need and hope and protection and family – when his heart beats within, with the power and intensity of a million stars.
When you don't stop rallying him to breathe and wake up and show you his ocean-deep, soulful, ultramarine eyes. When you don't anchor yourself to his shoulder with an iron grip so tight you almost wrench it out of its socket.
"That's it. Breathe, Johnny. Breathe."
You never stop fighting for the ones you love. You never give in to Fate and it's temptation of forgiveness for surrender. Because while Fate may forgive you, the ghost of memories and love lost never will.
The memory of a weak smile. The memory of a comforting hand reaching up to pat a cheek by a washed out grin. The memory of a whispered gratitude that pushes a tear to fall.
"Thanks, Gordon."