From the West
By Kay
Disclaimer: EW owns me, not the other way around.
Author's Notes: Fairly gen fic, but can be seen as David/Christopher in implication if you want it to be. Weird style.
Waah, happy late Valentines Day, guys! Have some morbid ficcage! (hugs happily)
He stays until the feel of Christopher's chest, still and unmoving, becomes unbearable.
David knows what fear tastes like. He's washed his mouth out enough with it to gather permanent implants of sour, stale aftertaste in the crevices of his gums. There isn't enough alcohol in the world to numb it; not enough water to rinse it away. He feels it now, knee deep in the mud, still pressing his hands to that pale, warm skin like it's going to come to life any second now, just another moment, as the sun starts to rise from the west.
Everworld. Home of the unfamiliar. What a fucking joke.
He swears he's been here before, blank-eyed and tired. Lost. But he can't remember, and won't. Christopher is painted white and black and red, maybe iridescent because of the growing sunlight, maybe because he's coming back in just another minute. Because he has to-- David needs him to, is banking everything on it, wants the stupid bastard to make obnoxious jokes about him, to be a coward and a pulley pushing him upward, the first and last comedian with bitter eyes of Everworld.
It's this world, David is thinking, this world gives him everything he wants and then takes away the things he swore he didn't. Except it's turning around. The sword, the leading, the war isn't as much, and now he's here, and Christopher's below him, and all the waiting is doing murder to the gaping yawn where his heart was beating two days ago. He can't feel it anymore. Can't feel much of anything.
Everworld. Home of the loss. What the fuck were they doing here? Christopher may have known the answer, but he's not giving it up.
"Wake up," David says to Christopher, and stays until the feel of Christopher's chest, still and unmoving, becomes unbearable.
End