...written for Samantha Winchester because, well, she asked me to.
Malls. I hate them.
As soon as I walk in the door, I remember why. How many damn clothing stores do there really need to be? Stores for shirts, stores for pants, stores for shoes, another store for shoes, more pants, this one has party dresses... God. There's a goddamned war going on outside the door and two teenaged girls are about to start pulling each other's hair out over the nearest rack of sequins.
Cute though. The girls that is, not the sequins.
"Come ON, Joe!"
Jun looks back at me over her shoulder, her hand firmly tucked under Ken's elbow. She's efficiently moving him along and I'm following along behind like any tame puppy, because damned if I want to be up next to them.
Watching her touch him. Watching him to make sure that he's oblivious what's going on.
Fuck. Get it out of your head.
Distraction, I need a distraction. So I make eye contact with the nearest of the teen harpies, giving her the practiced once over. Not bad. Not bad at all, even considering the pout has to be solid twenty four carat princess. She's got some serious curves to drive over which is more than can be said for her luckless friend. Genetics can be such a bitch.
She smiles back at me, the coy little twitch that says she's interested. Then there's a pink flash of her tongue as she wets her lower lip. Oh yeah, this could be really good. Start drifting in that direction, thinking I can always offer my services as referree and costume judge. Going by the lack of material in the dress in question, I could be seriously entertained for quite awhile and I'll even throw in the friend for free.
Away from Ken, the hell away from Jun.
"Now, Joe!"
Fuck. There's no arguing with that tone of voice. The object of my attention flicks a sneering look to Jun and then makes the mistake of looking over at Ken. I can see it hit her between the eyes. The almost glassy eyed, jaw dropping stare. Obviously bored out of his tree, Ken can still stop traffic just by breathing and he's so totally fucking clueless about it.
The distraction proves costly to the princess though. Her friend gets the dress off the hangar in one piece and damn near runs with it. Talk about instant karmic balancing.
Jun shoots me another one of those looks over her shoulder. I'm obviously not moving fast enough. Lengthen my stride to catch up, losing the two girls behind us faster than you can say twenty percent off. Dig my hands deeper into my pockets and stare at the back of Jun's head. I hate it when she expects me to behave myself because then I sort of have to.
It's just so messed up. I love Jun, I know I do. Losing her would be like losing my left arm and half my heart. She's sister, partner, mother to us all, at the same time more than capable of kicking our asses when they need to be kicked. We'd be lost without her.
But she's got this thing for Ken that pisses me off and on my good days I can pretend I don't know why. On my bad days... on my bad days I kill Galactor.
Today though, I think I've got the perfect right to be a little pissed at her. I'm not even sure how the hell she talked me into this exactly, but Ken must have been an even tougher sell. I can see the precise placement of her fingers on his arm, just above the nerve centers. He's not going anywhere else unless he's willing to lose the feeling in his fingers for an hour.
Jun's a pretty girl. Smart. Clever. One of these days Ken's gonna wake up and realise he's totally outclassed. One day he's going to look up and really see her. He's the messiah of the known world and she's his right hand angel. Even Ken can't be that clueless forever.
Just please God, not today.
"Okay, here's the plan you two." She stops us in the crossroads of the mall streets, ignoring the serious shopping traffic as it immediately starts to swirl around us. "I'm going to get Jinpei over at the arcade and take him sightseeing at the zoo, like we planned." We planned? When the hell did I get involved with this? "The party's at four o'clock sharp. That means you have exactly two hours to find a gift, buy it and get it wrapped. No excuses."
"No problem, Jun. I can be done in twenty." Don't look at Ken. Maybe I can get back to Indy 500 girl if I hurry. Maybe I can even convince her to go lingerie shopping.
"A gift Joe, not something you grabbed off a shelf. It needs to be thoughtful, functional and above all, not tacky. This mall is the best in the city; I'm sure that somewhere in here is the perfect present and I expect you to be able to find it."
She ends the last few words by poking her finger into my sternum. That's hard to ignore; she's got sharp fingers.
"Christ, Jun..."
"You've left it to the last minute again and this year there will be no excuses. You either, Ken Washio. I expect both of you to find wonderful, different presents and you have two hours to accomplish it. I'll be back in the parking lot at three thirty to pick you up and you'd better believe there's going to be an inspection. Got it?"
I hate it when she's like this. I especially hate it when she's right. Growl out something in the affirmative because I know a bad tactical position when I see one. Ken's already come to the same conclusion and nods his head too. She looks at us both suspiciously but finally lets go of his arm. "Okay. Two hours." She looks at us both. "Heaven help this place." Then with a last warning glare she's gone in a swirl of black hair and energy, her slim form visible for only a few moments before being swallowed up by the crowd.
Ken waits until she's out of sight before he rubs his arm. The look on his face is priceless.
"How'd we get into this mess again?"
His eyes are laughing at me, rueful. Something eases inside just as something else winds up a little tighter. I've gotten pretty good at ignoring both feelings. "Don't know about you, but I'm blaming a lack of an early warning system. Next year, I'm going to remember to dig myself a foxhole."
He's still grinning at me, hair falling into his eyes. "Foxhole for two."
"Done. You're in charge of decent rations." The reply is automatic, my brain doing whatever the hell it does when I have no clue what to do next. Realise I've moved closer to him without thinking about it, the clean heat of his body barely touching mine. Shit. I hate it when I act like Jun. Step back and he doesn't notice that either. "I'll bring the entertainment."
For a second, I almost think he's going to ask what I meant but of course, he doesn't. "So... got any ideas?"
"Nothing. She said thoughtful, functional and untacky. I guess that rules out a matching pair of elephant footstools."
"You can get those here?"
"How the hell do I know? What do I look like, a furniture salesman?"
Ken runs a hand through his hair and looks around, seemingly oblivious to the people staring at us. I can almost see a plan of attack forming on his face.
"Let's run this by the numbers. We'll start south, southeast and quarter up. You want left or right?"
A coin comes out and I end up with the left side. I'll say one thing for Ken; behind that pretty face lurks the mind of a seriously focused mallrat. We've got half the place covered in less than forty five minutes, including the time it takes to pitstop at the food court. Then we're back to the central courtyard and it's starting to look a little grim. If that's all this place has to offer, we're going to be lucky to find just the wrapping paper.
Look back over my shoulder, like I can see the last store again. "Shit, Ken. I still think we should have gone for it. He'd have loved them."
"No. She said functional."
"They were functional!"
"You wanna explain that to Jun?"
When he's got a point, he's got a point. Dig my thumbs into my belt loops and try not to look too frustrated. I want out of here. I want out of here now. My idea of getting something is to pick up a phone and order pizza. I'm damned near buzzing with the reaction of just... watching him. Seeing him out of the corner of my eye when I'm trying not to look, catching the faces of women that stare at him while he... sees nothing.
He takes everything so damned seriously most of the the time, even this stupid shopping trip. He's nearly glowing with concentration.
"Come on, we'd better get... huh?"
Unexpected sound jerks both our heads around. Near the east end of the mall, there's something strange going on. I can hear it, something suddenly arcing upwards in a muffled roar. Screams? Underneath that odd tremble, there's a sound that I can't quite place. Shit. Is the building collapsing or something?
I can feel muscle tensing under my skin and I automatically look up to see if the way is clear for a jump. There's a circular skylight above us, trickling in a diffused color. The sound rises, washing over us and I realise that its actually coming from all directions now. Most of the people have frozen around us, not sure of what to do. There's movement in the broad corridors though, people running back towards the center. I can't see a damned thing over everybody's heads.
Shimatta.
"Ken, let's get out of here."
He doesn't want to go. He hesitates, looking around us, trying to figure out what's going on.
"Now, Ken!"
Reach out and grab him by the elbow, the way Jun did. He automatically resists, stiffening in my impatient grip.
"Joe, we have to save these people!"
"How? I think the building's coming down. Let's go."
It's getting louder and louder. People are screaming now, fear and terror in individual voices. Then something else picks itself out from the cacophany.
Machine guns. What the hell?
It's not the building collapsing. We're under fucking attack.
From every direction, people are running into the center. Tripping, sprawling, falling all over themselves to get away. I can't see anything, damn it, I can't see a fucking thing but the surge of bodies pushes me apart from Ken.
One girl falls, nearly at my feet, pushed from behind. She's just about trampled in the instant before I can get her up again and by that point I've lost him.
"Ken! Ken!"
Nothing. It's getting tighter and tighter in here, people being herded in from the outside. Cast desperately over everyone's heads but I can't see him.
"Shit!"
Then I get my first glimpse of the green at the edges of the civilian bodies and my blood runs cold. What the hell does Galactor want with a mall? What the fuck do they think they're doing here?
The girl I picked up is crying and her fingers are ice cold on my arms. "Oh God, oh God, they shot Jimmy, they just.. shot Jimmy..." She's shaking and when I actually focus on her face, I realise she's got spatter across her face, her shirt. The slogan says "49 Bitch" which doesn't seem to match her white expression. She's trying to make me understand. I've got news for her.
I don't have time for this. Cast around and there's a fountain behind us. It's raised faux marble edge curls slightly outwards in what the designer probably thought was a trendy architectural statement. It's perfect.
Shove her down behind a bench, under that concealing overhang. "Stay here." She doesn't answer, just huddles as far against the stone as she can and grabs her knees.
Standing up is harder, I'm being jostled from all sides now. The machine gun rounds are bursting at the edges in ragged volleys of intimidation. Jump up on the edge of the bench arm, needing to find Ken more than I need to stay inconspicuous.
From my new vantage point, I can see we're in serious trouble. The last of the people are scrambling into the central area and down every avenue I look, I see Galactor green. There aren't that many of them, even fewer machine guns but every goon I see has a rifle in his hands. This is insane.
Then, far to the right, I see Ken. He sees me too and his arm flashes up, his fingers curving in swift signals. His bracelet catches the light overhead.
Raise mine to signal acknowledgement. No idea what's going on here but Ken's got something in mind. Jump down off the bench and start shoving my way through the crowd to his position.
"We know you're here!"
What? A single voice cuts cleanly over our heads, drifting down on us like a cold snowfall.
"We know you're here so there is no point hiding. Show yourself... and we'll spare the rest. Come on, don't be shy."
Fuck. Fuck. It's like moving through molasses, trying to get through. I'm fighting for purchase every step of the way. Too many people, too frozen with fear to move.
"No? I'll give you thirty seconds to come forward, or someone dies. I think perhaps ... you."
There's a scream at the edge of the crowd and I can see it as clearly as if I was there. Whoever the cold voice is, he's grabbed somebody. And from the sound of the strangled shriek, a girl.
Then another sound rises into the air, complaining and unhappy.
Fuck. A girl and a baby.
That's it. Start shoving my way through everybody like they're paper. I have to get there. I can't let them do whatever they're going to do because Ken's going to step out of the crowd in a moment and then they're going to shoot him.
Fuck, where is he?
A trashcan appears in front of me and I'm on it, looking around in a gestalt sweep.
Ken's almost there. I can see the hard curve of his shoulders as he slides through the people, barely disturbing them even though they're crammed shoulder to shoulder, trying to get away from the killing line. The Galactor captain is freakishly tall figure in red and black, a cape falling to his heels. He's got the girl by a casual wrist as she huddles on the floor at his feet, the kid in a carryall on her chest. The baby is crying, the sound hitting everyone in piercing shocks.
I'm too far away to do anything. Think desperately about changing, right here, right now. Take out the captain before he can kill the girl, but damn it, there's too many of them with guns, and all these damned people in a conveniently tight little herd...
"Stop. Stop, Rocacet. I'm coming."
The voice is old and it wavers, but there's still strength in it. Ken slides into a gap that opens in front of him, looking for all intents and purposes that he's been pushed into that position. Try desperately to figure out what his plan is, because I've got to be there to back him up. Tense on my perch, everything arrowing down into the tunnel vision of combat focus. My eyes are glued to the glowing color of his shirt.
An old man stumbles out of the crowd, holding up one hand towards the Galactor captain. "I'm here, damn you. Let her go."
All I can think of for the moment is that he doesn't know we're here. He's not after us, he's not looking for Ken.
The captain laughs and it's an ugly sound. "My dear friend! It is so good to see you, and on such an occasion! Have you enjoyed your sojourn in the outside world? Has it been worth it?" The baby suddenly stops crying and I realise it's because the mother's smothered it to her chest with one hand. God.
The old man hobbles forward into the dead space between the Galactor forces and the frightened crowd. "Let... let her go. She's done nothing wrong."
"Her?" The captain looks down as if in mock surprise and raises the girl's arm until she's half hanging by it. "How do you know?"
"Please. Please, Rocacet. You got what you came for. I'll go back."
"You are so tender hearted. No wonder you have no stomach for the glory that is Galactor."
The captain lets go so suddenly that the girl crumples at his feet. The worst thing is the baby's not making any noise at all anymore. The Galactor leader prods her with a booted toe but she's riveted, too terrified now to save herself. Ken tenses but he's still not moving.
"Run." Incongruously, he crouches down until his face is nearly on level with hers. I can see her panting from here, the fear flash of her eyes as she looks up. "Run," he croons and his long, long fingers reach out to stroke over her hair as gently as any mother.
That does it. She breaks, scrambling away in a crab motion, screams reduced to a stuttering, panicked exhalation. The old man lowers his hand.
It happens so fast it's nearly freeze frame.
The leader standing, his hand flicking out in a lazy motion. Three rifles coming up like they're on strings. The girl scrambling for the crowd. And the old man who's raising both hands in sudden understanding, as if he can ward off what is to come.
No.
Ken is suddenly, impossibly there. Green uniforms on the floor and I didn't even see him move to kill them, he's whirling in front of her, thrusting her to safety ahead of him... putting his back to the captain and the death squad.
He's looking at me. I can see his eyes over the crowd even as his arms spread out and over, covering the girl.
If he had his wings, it would work. If he had his wings, they'd both be safe. Hurry up Ken, say the words.
He jerks then. Once, twice. Three times. I can't hear anything at all but a faint ringing in my ears.
Ken?
He looks down, as if curious. Flowers paint a batik on his shirt.
Wet, red, nightmare flowers.
Ken?
Oh God. Ken.
I'm on the ground with no memory of jumping. Faces blur in front me, melting into one long accusing color.
Somehow, he's still on his feet. Looking down at his shirt like he's not sure he's got it on right or something, a faint frown between his eyes. He touches his chest.
He looks at his hands then like he's trying to figure it out and they're covered in red. Drenched in life. He looks up at me and his expression clears like he's just discovered something wonderful.
His lips shape my name.
He falls. To his knees in slow motion and I'm there with no memory of the intervening space. He's so warm. Wet and shining in my arms.
Like an old film skipping along its track, time resumes its accustomed motion.
"Fuck, oh fuck Ken! Hold on!" My hands aren't big enough to close the holes, they just aren't big enough. I can feel bone under my fingers, splinters and fragments of hot, shredded meat. "You're not allowed to fucking die! Damn it! What the hell did you think you were doing? Asshole!"
He laughs, silently and blood gushes over his tongue in a tidal wave.
"Such a way... with words."
"Fuck, Ken! Why didn't you change?"
"No... time."
His lips struggle to shape something more but there's no air left. He chokes, blood swelling in red bubbles on his lips and all I can think is that he's been lung shot, lung punctured and I need a doctor, I need a tank. I've got to get him to a tank. Look around in a panic, like I'm going to see one. Nothing.
"Don't say anything, fuck, Ken, save your strength. Damn it!" I'm shaking him, rocking him. "Damn it, don't you dare leave me!"
His lips move but nothing comes out. He raises his hand. Laboriously, slick with gore, his fingers shape words. One. Two.
Sorry. Joe. He's trying for a third but his fingers spasm, uncontrollable. I can barely see his hand through the tears in my eyes.
"Well now. This is... touching."
The words drift through the air like rain on a fire, sizzling as they fall. Look up blindly but I can't see anything. The world is a fragmented mirror of itself. Ken is furnace warm, tight against me. Look down again just in time to see his eyes close.
No. God no, Ken. You're not allowed to leave me.
"You seem very attached. Your lover, perhaps?"
I find that I'm shaking my head, slowly. Not in answer to the question, or at least I don't think so. Once upon a time, I'd have smashed in the face of anybody who'd said that to me. Anybody who'd have thought that about me.
Open my eyes wide, trying to see again. I need to be able to see.
"No? A pity. He seems handsome enough. Nevertheless, a noble gesture, don't you think?" The gleeful satisfaction in the voice is solid enough to be seen. "The world needs more humans like this, to throw themselves away so willingly. It will make our conquest so much easier."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." It's the old man near my shoulder. He's close enough to touch me, but he doesn't. "I never meant it to come to this." His voice is so grief stricken that it's almost unintelligible.
My vision is starting to clear, too slowly, much too slowly. A swath of red and black smudges itself together in front of me. The Galactor captain, standing akimbo.
"Dead man. You're all fucking dead." My voice sounds like it's scraping itself out of darkness, chunks of stone rubbing themselves together under white, white water.
"It speaks! But dear me.. I think it's speaking nonsense. Perhaps its mind is shattered."
Look down, and his hand is still touching my shirt, his fingers still trying to tell me something. Blood overwhelms everything, the scent of copper so thick I can taste in my throat, roll it on my tongue. I'm covered in it.
His hair is stuck to his face, dark streaks across his skin. He's so fucking beautiful, even now.
"Dead man." A whisper. "Fucking dead man."
The Galactor hesitates. I can see it in the way he holds his hands, in the tilt of his head under his mask. I think he's right though. I think I've shattered and it's okay. In a minute, nothing's going to matter anyway.
The leader coughs, a surprisingly delicate noise. "And how are you to accomplish this miracle, my demise?" He spreads his arms out in mocking gesture. "I think perhaps you are mistaken. I think it is you that is going to die." His voice firms up, cocky again. Confident. His hand comes up and guns start to rise. "This will teach my dearest friend not to trust in the fragility of humans."
Shake my head again, this time because I have to get the hair out of my eyes. It takes no time at all to move from here to there. No idea what the hell his problem was.
Bird go.
Distortion licks over me, climbs into my mouth, crawls over Ken. Everything breaks and builds and for the last time I welcome it, dance in it, howl with it.
"Gatchaman!"
Open my eyes and the world is lit in shades of destruction.
Look down. Ken's in his Birdstyle one last time, achingly pure. One more time I've pulled him along with me, skin to skin, heart to heart. He seems lighter now.
I can see the blood on his face still, smeared over his cheek but that's all. I think he'd have been pissed off if he'd transformed and not taken the blood with him. I can feel it on my hands though, under the gloves and it's comforting.
It seems wrong to put him down but I have to. Spill him onto the floor as gently as I can and he sprawls, the precise grace of his body lost forever. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.
I'm on my feet and I don't remember standing. The Galactor captain actually has a dramatic hand flung out as if that's going to mean anything. The support troops have fallen back, every single one of them farther away than I had them tagged. My hands flex.
"Don't move! Stay just where you are! Or I'll kill them all!"
The confident arrogance is stripped from his voice. Now it's just ugly and frightened and it strikes an atavistic chord in me. His hand flashes up and rifles follow it, machine guns raise.
It takes a moment but then I realise what I'm hearing is my own laughter because it sounds like concrete breaking. The leader coils back a step from it.
"You'll let them die?" He'll do it, too. I can hear it in his voice, calculation of how he'll get away in the chaos. "You are their protector!"
A shrug brings three needles to my right hand, four to my left.
"Wrong."
Not even for you, Ken. A white angel at your right hand but I'm the one at your left. Her name is Purity but mine has always been Vengeance. And without you, there's nothing to hold me back. Without you...
The Galactor captain must realise it. He has to realise it because his hand punches out and he whirls in black and red and terror.
I don't think I've ever moved so fast in my life. He is the first to fall, two shuriken through his ankles, striking him to the floor. And then I'm across the line of reason and the slaughter on both sides begins.
When vision clears again, the screaming has stopped. I'm covered in blood, in things thicker and wetter.
Shake my head and something unidentifiable falls to the floor. Look up and all I can see is carnage. Mostly green but it's so hard to tell.
There are bodies everywhere.
In twos and threes on top of each other, there's one slumped against a bracing wall. A pattern of destruction in a circle farther out and I can almost remember how I did it. Sprays of blood in my mouth as their throats exploded.
Every single one of them is torn apart. Bodies destroyed, lives smashed to the floor. I remember shoving my hand under a ribcage, ripping. I remember ... I remember...
It doesn't matter. None of them survived, not one of them got outside. Not one of them got away.
Walking is harder than I expected. My right leg keeps trying to collapse under me and fire shoots through my shoulder, neck, eye with each step. Memory shakes itself out of the white noise in my head, popcorn bullets blowing chips out of the floor. Shrug it away as unimportant.
He's just where I left him. Red and black, pinned like some weird butterfly, he's gotten one shuriken out but the other is still struck clean through bone. The feather is incongruously white still, barely marred by darker stains. He tries to crawl when he sees me.
Between one step and the next my wings shiver, crumble, fall back into their cold vacuum. For this, I want my hands, not gloves. I want him to look at my face. My tee shirt is plastered to my chest still, and oddly wet. It occurs to me that it hasn't been long enough for Ken's blood to dry.
He stops trying to move when I'm nearly on top of him, pressing his shoulders back to the floor in a weird angle. Reach down and rip the mask off in a single motion, tearing the delicate skin around his eyes.
He's blond, thin, nearly insane with fear. Spittle flecks his lips.
"You'll die!" he screams, a thready splinter of a voice. "Galactor will kill you all! We will triumph!"
Pain lances through my head, my eye feels like its on fire. Blink away the knife and focus on his face. He looks human, he may even be human. Sosai recruits, when he can.
"You first."
He spits at me. A last, desperate courage fills his scarecrow frame, braces him up on his elbows as some shining light fills his face.
"So I die. But I killed Gatchaman! Our enemy has fallen! I will be forever remembered... All hail... to Galactor!"
My foot connects and he falls back, his face a crimson ruin. Straddle him as he hisses at me through his broken mouth, muscles cording in protest as I try and lift him straight up by the throat.
I can't get him up high enough. He's scrabbling at my fingers, trying to breathe and I realise in a haze that the problem is the shuriken, still doing its job, pinning his ankle to the floor.
It's one of Jun's specials and they can be twist delayed. And they can be voice activated.
His eyes widen as I whisper the word. He doesn't even have the luxury of screaming when his leg blows off.
It takes him a while to die.
Drop the body only when I'm very, very sure of it. He's nothing more than a pile of bone and red at my feet now, his black cape like some weird question mark on the floor. His straw hair soaks up the blood like a pale wick.
I'm having a hard time seeing. I think maybe it's because my hair is plastered in my eyes and I raise a hand to rake it back. I can feel something dry flaking on my fingers at the motion and I look stupidly at my hand. It's shaking with exhaustion, muscle tremors.
Ken's dead. Ken's dead. His blood is all over me and Ken's dead.
There's a weight on my chest, a giant hand crushing me, making it hard to breathe. Look up with vision flat and distorted, one eye nearly closed with pain.
There are still people alive. More than I might have expected, if I'd thought to expect anything. They're still in their little, mindless herd, clutching each other like it's going to make a difference. Huddled in groups on the floor, most of them are trying not to look, hiding their faces against each other. Some are staring around as if they've been transported into another world. Men and women. Children.
Ken's still where I left him, a clean demarcation between the living and the dead. And there's somebody there. Crouching over his body, daring to touch him.
Fury explodes, washes everything red.
"Leave him the fuck alone!" Don't realise I've even moved until the swift arcing leap nearly collapses my leg on the landing, making me stagger. I've got shuriken in my fingers though, ready to kill.
There are panicked screams from those still alive, terrified, traumatised. Those that can still move surge backwards en masse in a wave of fear, pushing at each other, almost climbing over each other to get away from me. They can't go anywhere though, recoiling back on themselves like a school of fish.
They've probably never even seen the meat they eat killed.
She hasn't moved, staring at me out of a shocked, tear streaked face. It's the girl with the baby. She's got her hands on his chest and there's a single smudge of fresh blood on her face, high on her cheekbone.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Don't touch him!"
Death trembles on my fingers. I want her dead. I want her dead most of all because she's the one that killed him, she's the one that was too slow to get away, the one that he sacrificed himself for and she's not fucking worth it, none of them are fucking worth it...
"Tr..trying to h..help. Took CPR in h..high sc..school."
The baby hiccups. A fist waves in the air and she pulls back then without thinking, wraps her arms around the squirming bundle. Comforting it. Shielding her baby from harm.
From me.
Trying to help. God, trying to help.The shuriken fall from my nerveless fingers, pinging against the floor.
Look down and I don't know if I'm ever going to breathe again. He looks asleep, although Ken would never sleep this way, not in a million years. Sprawled out like a child that's never been afraid, never had a nightmare. She's pulled him over somehow, trying to breathe life into him. Occurs to me that the blood on her face is probably from his visor.
Drop awkwardly to my knees, ignoring the hot scream of damage that rips up my side. It's hard to gather him up but I do, a piece at a time until I've pulled him back into my clumsy arms. Away from her, away from them. He doesn't fit but I do what I can.
His helmet rolls awkwardly against me. I fumble with the releases one handed until it falls away, unheeded and unnecessary. Freed, his hair is a dark cloud, sticking in streaks to his face, his mouth. He's still warm.
He's never going to get mad at me again. Swear at me, fight with me. Tell me to mind my own goddamned business as he storms away.
"Screw you too, Ken. When you fuck up, you really fuck up good, you know? What the hell kind of plan was that, huh? What the hell..."
Reach to touch his face, brush my shaking fingers over his eyelids. Illusion makes them flutter with the caress.
Fuck. Fuck, I'm getting blood all over him. My hands are almost dry but the rest of me is smearing the clean white of his Birdstyle, blood that's his, mine, others that shouldn't touch him, should never touch him. Rising panic beats at my ears, thunders in my head. He'll be pissed at me if I get his Birdstyle all dirty. Junie'll yell at me.
Jun. Oh God, Jun. She'll be back pretty soon. Look up wildly and my eyes settle on the fountain, water. I'll wash him there, get the blood off.
Slide an arm under his knees, under his shoulders and stand.
The pain is instant and severe. The leg buckles under the weight and I crash back to my knees, nearly blacking out, nearly losing him. There's a keening sound in the air, my breath whistling between clenched teeth and I'm pressing my face to his chest, blinking away the tears and vertigo.
Fuck. Fuck. I've got to get him clean. I can't leave him like this.
Try again, a second time and it's worse. I've fucked my leg over so bad I don't think I'm going to be able to do it.
"Damn it... damn it!" I'll crawl if I fucking have to.
There's pressure under my elbow.
It's the girl again. Her face bird bright and determined even through the tear tracks, even though I yelled at her. She plucks at my sleeve, urging me up again. She's trying to help me stand.
"I have to get him clean." She has to understand. "I've got to get the blood off." I don't know that I even recognise my own voice, it's so strained.
She nods. Her hands are so small but she sets herself, trying to take the weight. Brace my leg and try again to stand.
The old man is there, suddenly. A dark woman built like a tank, her shapeless dress billowing oddly around her knees. She's bleeding from a deep gash on her arm but she doesn't seem to notice. A young man, a series of tattoos writhing up his arm. Then other hands reach out, touching, supporting. It's hard to let them touch me, to lay hands on him but I need help, I can't do this alone. And somehow.. somehow they carry us.
Cold. The water is so cold. Half slide into it and suddenly we're in a pool of spreading darkness. Sit down, cradle him half in my lap with my back against the edge. It's not deep, its not meant to be, management probably scared to death of drowning somebody's stupid kid.
It's deep enough for this though. The ends of his hair trail in the water, spilling in a fan.
Struggle to splash water on him, to get the blood off the white. I can see the color of my shirt starting to come through again.
"Fuck, Ken, you're an idiot. I always told you you weren't goddamned invincible. But you don't listen. You never fucking listen to me." Run a wet, shaking hand over his face, into his hair. "Now your fucking dead and what am I going to do? I can't live without you."
This isn't a fairy tale, he's not a prince. He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't answer, doesn't turn to any magic mirrors. The skin at his temples is heartbreakingly thin.
"I always thought you'd get together with Jun, you know? Raise sixteen kids, goats, weeds, whatever the hell you wanted. I'd be Uncle Joe." Start to laugh, but it turns into a cough, into a searing rush of warmth. Broken ribs, I think. I can't seem to breathe and his face swims in front of me. "Damn it, Ken. What am I supposed to do now? I can't be you. I don't want to be you."
Pain stabs me through the eye, a piercing spike in my brain. It runs down my body in shivering waves to set the water trembling around us. So goddamned cold. Would it have cost too much to heat the damn thing?
My hand tangles in his hair and it looks like he's just sleeping in my arms, that he's going to move a minute, wake up, look at me, see me. Something hard spasms in my heart, a layer of frost shatters. Forget that we're not alone, that the wail of ambulances oscillates on the very edge of hearing, that he can't hear me, that he's never going to hear me again.
"Love you, you asshole. Never told you, too damn fucking scared to tell you, figured I'd just watch you and Jun and that was enough, damn it, enough to see you happy, watch you laugh, no more death, no more having to wade through this damned fucking war every day until we're damned near choking on it, no more having to watch them try and tear you apart from the inside out, and you fucking letting them, trying to be so damned perfect all the time..."
I'm crying. Like some fucking primadonna in a fucked up made-for-tv-movie, I'm crying over the asshole.
I'm holding him so tight my arms are shaking. Or maybe it's just me shaking, shaking so hard that piece of me are falling off, falling away, leaving me bleeding in this water like he is, washing us both clean away.
"Don't leave me!
The scream echoes, bouncing off the water and walls, off the whole damned fucked up world, ringing me in my own pain and grief. Press my cheek next to his, bury my face in his hair, in something I was too damned stupid to ask for, too damned fucking scared to even try for.
Something tugs on my hair. Hunch my shoulders and ignore it, not willing to pull myself away from the smell of his hair, the cold weight of his body in my arms. The small pain is insistent, urgent, pulling again and again at my attention. Raise my head and I'm going to kill whoever it is, they're not taking him away from me yet, fuck no, I'm never going to let go, they can fucking well bury me with him...
Ken's got his hand tangled in my hair. His eyes are slits in his face but he's looking at me.
I must look like I've been shot. His hand falls away and he sighs. His fingers sign a single word.
Idiot.
"You too, asshole." Then something like a nova explodes in my mind, blanking everything to white for a moment. Alive. He's fucking alive. I don't fucking believe it.
A ghost of a smile crosses his lips and then his eyes close again.
"Fuck, Ken! Wake up! Don't leave me!" I'm shaking him again, the water breaking apart around us.
His eyes slit open again and a hiss of pain trickles out. He tries to say something but nothing happens. Then his fingers move again, signing.
Hurts. Cold.
"Tell me something I don't know!" Resist the urge to clutch him, hold him, kiss him until the world ends. "Just hold on. Help will be here soon." Please God, hurry up. Strike the tears from my eyes and try to figure out if I can still hear sirens. "Don't leave me." Don't leave me, don't ever leave me, I can't live without you...
Heard you. First time.
"Yeah, well, if you'd fucking pay attention better..."
Sorry. Joe. And this time he finishes, his fingers slow and deliberate in their cold movements. His lips shape the words athough no sound comes out. Love you.
"Asshole. I'm going to fucking kick your ass when you get out of the hospital, you know I am." I'm crying again, but it doesn't seem to matter so much. At least he doesn't seem to mind. His eyes never leave mine. Even when the ambulance guys try and tear him away from me, even when they end up having to take us both together, even when I can't see him anymore because they're working on putting him back together, I can still see the light of his eyes on mine.
They're putting the mask on me when it occurs to me that Jun won't know where the hell we are. We never got a present either.
She's going to kill the both of us.
Love you.
She's going to have to wait her turn.