Was dying supposed to hurt this much? The pains that plagued him clawed at his chest like a startled cat. His ribs felt as though the thundering hooves of horses were crushing them, but he knew it was no such thing. He was dying, that was about the gist of things. It was a fact he realized almost immediately.
The hands of his companions were gripping his shoulders tightly. Two worried faces peered down at him; the evidence of tears still remained. His lips tugged up in a smirk.
"And you should you ask for me tomorrow you would find me a grave man." Surely that wasn't his voice? It was he, for he sure for neither of his companions had voiced anything. The darker blob that was the elder of his friends turned away.
It had been hard enough to hear himself through the hazy fog that veiled him from the real world, but his companion's words were lost on him. It was something, something about hurt. Of course he was hurt, didn't anyone else realize he had a piece of steel shoved through his chest?
"Benvolio, take me inside…please" He was sure his friend hadn't heard the plea. Regardless, he felt himself being lifted. The weak legs that trembled beneath were as stable as a newborn fawn's. Benvolio had understood. All the arrogance, all the wisdom the young man had had in life, it was all wasted now. And yet, and yet he wouldn't die in the street. Not where masses of maids and children could spy him. Not where the Capulet's could mock his last breath and brag that they slew the arrogant Mercutio. Not where Mercutio could stare back, defiantly, defeated, despairing. He did not have control as he normally did, but he refused to die like a dog. Bleeding to death on the street as people pass by and wonder.
His vision grew blurry. The numerous aches and pains becoming more so. His throat felt like the crushed pebbles that made a rough gritty dust. The burning sensation that spread like wildfire down his throat and into his aching lungs. A hacking cough racked his weakened frame. Tearing his throat, droplets of blood flying outward. A few managing to land upon his friends' clothing, decorating them with a sick sort of fancy.
He heard a door shut. Hurried footsteps ran back to his side. He muffled the next cough. Can't let them see the pain, he thought grimacing despite his words. The wounded boy glanced about nervously. A tavern. A bloody empty tavern. The cousin of the prince was about to die in a filthy place of drink and gossip. He would have laughed had not the coughing started again. A hand nervously grasped his own.
His hearing was worse now. Only able to pick out a few of the words here and there.
"Don't…Romeo….lost…said….leave." The muffled sound of sobs came from the corner.
"My fault. It's all my fault." Why he heard that clearly he hadn't the slightest.
"No…" He wheezed out. Breathing was painful. Every breath was harsh and strained, but despite that shallow. "I…I," He turned his head, more blood painting the dirty wood table he lay on. "For…forgive…me." He closed his eyes, wishing to fade and let the pain be done.
The sharp sound of footfalls rang about his head before two hands snatched him up from the table.
"Don't you dare die on me!" A voice, harsher than he'd ever heard it, snarled. Pale hands began to tremble causing the grip on his shoulder to tighten. "No! You're not allowed! You can't die on me! Not now! Mercutio! Open your eyes you son of a bitch!"
With a great amount of effort he forced his fading orbs open. Lifting his head slightly he stared into his companion's eyes.
"W-Why?" The arms pulled him forward. Wrapping themselves about his back as tightly as ivy hugged the tree. Tired muscles relaxed, leaning his full weight on the other boy he became lax.
"A surgeon's coming. You'll be fine, just hold on. Or I'll…I'll never forgive you." He smiled slightly. The younger one, Romeo, always the dreamer.
"I'm going to die you know…" A heaving breath. The embrace tightened, almost knocking the last bit of wind from him.
"No. No, Mercutio. You talk of nothing. You talk of nothing." The whispered words caused him to smile the last of his strength gone.
Romeo laid his body back upon the tavern table. The once blurry world turned clear, bringing everything painfully into focus. He noticed the lines of worry that creased Benvolio's brow, the frightened look in young Romeo's eyes, the pale brown of dulled wood the table he was sprawled on was. Everything, every single color and smell and, and just everything became clear. The blood that adorned the table courtesy of him, being the most frightening. The all too real taste of copper that stung his now sensitive tongue.
"I'm sorry. I…" Gulping down a last breath he continued. "I can't…hold…on…" Dulled eyes closed softly. Mercutio's cold hand slipped from Romeo's own.
There was a deft cry. Romeo collapsed to his knees, Benvolio placing a comforting hand on his shoulder despite his own grief-stricken look. As Mercutio's hand hit the softwood, the surgeon entered, a moment too late.
Romeo quivered with anger, and sadness, too many emotions to count. Betrayal, how could Mercutio give up? Mercutio never gave up, never. Sobs emerged from his throat just before the anger bubbled up in his chest. This was Tybalt's fault. Tybalt the nephew of Capulet, the cousin of his love, but Romeo did not remember this. Romeo remembered the blade as it pierced through brave Mercutio's chest. The blood, Romeo looked down upon his own garments, speckled with blood. The dark flecks that once gave Mercutio life. The blood that stained Tybalt's blade.
A savage roar ripped through his throat, the sobs subdued for now.
"Damn him." Romeo murmured. Benvolio stopped his grieving to gaze upon Romeo's face. Hot with anger, fists clenched in rage.
"TYBALT!" Romeo cried, the young Montague raced down the streets. To find Tybalt, to find Mercutio's murderer. To repay the curse that they had so willingly bestowed upon him. Tybalt would die, and so would he. Do not fear Mercutio, you shall have much company in the afterlife.
