A/N: Warning: canonical character death, depression


Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

Narnie stares at the scene outside the car window until the image is seared into her retains like a brand, red-hot and scarring. Every muscle in her body screams for her to shy away from the horror. It would be so easy to turn her head into her brother's shoulder and give into tears bubbling behind her eyelids. Whenever she's felt down in the past, he's been there to cheer her up, shining like the summer sun until her pain has passed.

But she can't, not this time. A hug isn't going to make this all go away.

Amidst the noise of her father's laboured breathing and Webb's panicked questions, her mind is calm and still. She can't move, so she won't. It's that simple. Instead, she counts the seconds and then minutes they're trapped there.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

No matter what she does, it's too late for her. This moment will own her for the rest of her life, whether that's a couple of minutes or several decades.

This doesn't have to haunt Webb. He hasn't seen their mother's head. He doesn't have to be branded by this, to have his own light snuffed out.

So Narnie doesn't move a muscle. Not when the girl from the other car clambers through the wreckage to be with them, introducing herself as Tate. Not when, one hundred and thirty-two minutes later, her father falls silent and Narnie's breath catches in her throat and Webb's warm hand closes around hers. She stops counting then because there's no point anymore, but she stays as still as the graves she knows will need to be dug after this.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

Her nostrils flare with the acrid stench of leaking petrol, but still she stays. A boy pokes his head through the roof and tries to coax her to climb out, but still she stays.

Webb first, she wants to say, but her mouth can't form the words. If she moves even that much, she can't guarantee she won't break and just start running right then and there. So she waits silently as the boy instead tugs Tate out, then Webb, before coming back to plead with her again.

'Are you injured?' he asks.

The danger of Webb seeing has passed, so she looks up at him. Freckles dot his face like constellations, and his eyes are as wild and mercurial as the moon. She doesn't even know his name, but she loves him for saving her brother.

If only he knew it's too late to rescue her.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

'Come on,' he says, his voice gentle like she's the wild thing – a scared animal needing to be lured out. Doesn't he realise she isn't scared anymore? Just… flat. Empty. Alone in a way she never has been before, even in her darkest moments. 'Are you injured?'

Only her eyes and her heart and her spirit. Only everywhere. Her throat is dry, but she croaks out, 'Just leave me here.'

'My name's Fitz. How about you just unclip your seatbelt for me while we talk? You don't have to hop out if you don't want to.'

Narnie shakes her head. She won't let him trick her into leaving.

Sighing, he leans back until he's sitting cross-legged on the roof. His gaze lifts, sweeping the area, and then suddenly he blanches.

She knows where he's looking – what he's seeing. Even staring up at him, bracketed by clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds, she can't scrub out the sight.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

Fitz swallows, and she feels guilty that her hesitation means he had to see it too. But then his expression hardens as he looks back down at her. 'Your parents are both dead?'

Her heart stutters as the word slices through her. She's known it for hours now, but it's different hearing it aloud. 'Yes.'

'So you're the only person your brother has left.'

'He has Tate,' Narnie shoots back, but even as she says it, she knows it's ridiculous. From the snippets she heard of their whispered conversation, it feels like they've known each other their whole lives, but that isn't enough to counterbalance losing your whole family.

'Do you really want to leave him alone?' Fitz asks.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

Comforting shoulders. Summer sun. Warm hands.

Without saying a word, she unclips her seatbelt and clambers up onto the seat. Pins and needles shoot through her feet, but she refuses to wait in that car even a second longer because he's right. She may have saved him from the horror of their mother's decapitated body, but if she condemns him to a life alone, is that really better?

Fitz reaches down for her again, and when she jumps up, he grabs her hand and pulls her up into the fresh air. Webb is pacing the tree line as Tate stands behind him, watching anxiously. His face slackens in relief when he sees her. Narnie wishes she could say the same.

In the distance, a lone bike rider approaches, his legs pedalling so fast it's like the wind.

Pooled blood. Torn flesh. Lifeless eyes.

Second chances.