Trigger warning: Death, loss of a loved one, and some pretty morbid descriptions.
Warning: In case the previous warning wasn't enough, I've been told to add the following: By reading this, you will lose pieces of your soul.
You do not need to have seen Supernatural to read this. Everything will be sufficiently explained in the context of the story.
May 25, 1998
There is darkness everywhere, like nothing exists, ever existed, or will again. I'm a part of it, I think. I must be, because I can't tell where it ends and I begin. If I could stay there forever, in that unfeeling expanse of nothingness, I would, but already I can see a light in the distance.
Someone is calling me. The voice is soft and warm, drawing me in like a siren's song, and even though I fear crashing on the rocks, I can't turn away.
"Georgie."
The pinprick of white draws closer, and the darkness parts to make way for it. It begins pulsating, a flickering light that keeps time with the pounding in my chest. I can hear his heart beating, a steady drumming of life, and it's the most beautiful music that ever existed; I never thought I would hear it again.
"Georgie." The voice is closer now, and the light is swallowing the darkness. "What's happened to your smile, Georgie?"
I shield my eyes as the darkness finally breaks, and for a moment, I mourn for it as the harsh light unveils those pesky feelings that the blackness has kept hidden. My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break free. For a moment, I forget how to breathe. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can't free them from the familiar face. He's alive!
He's alive, and I can't stop my body from trembling as wave after wave of emotion tears through it—relief, happiness, disbelief, anxiety. He's back, and this time I'll never let him go.
"Fred," I whisper, afraid that if I talk too loudly, the illusion will shatter. But this is real. It has to be real, because I don't want to imagine what will happen if it's not.
He smiles, and his face brightens as his eyes—no, ours, because we're the same person and have always been—fill with light. I want to smile, but I can't force myself to, because he left, and he took that part of me with him. But he's here now, and we can be whole again.
I reach out to him, because I know that if I can just touch him, everything will be fine. He mirrors my movement, and our fingers brush together, and I feel him, like he never left. We are a part of each other.
Then, the ground lurches and the connection is lost. I try to grab on to him, but the earth is shifting under us, cracking, surrendering to a large fissure that starts to pull it apart. It takes all my concentration just to keep my footing as the ground bucks and pitches under me. The chasm is too wide now, and there's no way to bridge it, but I can't let him go.
"Fred!"
He mouths something, but the thunder of buckling rocks swallows the sound. The tremors slowly subside, but the damage is already done. He's little more than a shadow in the distance.
"Smile, Georgie."
The voice is too far away now; I know I've lost him.
I can't smile—not anymore. Without my twin, I've forgotten how.
I'm jerked awake by the harsh reality of hitting the cold, hard floor, hopelessly tangled up in bedsheets and drenched in my own sweat. I can't move, but who would want to? What's the point?
The dream is slipping away slowly. That's all it was. I'm in the Burrow, where I've always been, in the same room that we grew up in. The top bunk looms over me like a giant in the night. Even though I can't see it from where I am on the floor, I know it's empty. It has been for three weeks now.
I manage to sit up, still struggling against the sheet. The clock on the nightstand says 2:39—too early to be up; if only Fred would let me sleep. Beside the clock is a picture of the day we opened up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and I pick it up as I watch the moving figures. Fred has his arm around my shoulder, ever the older brother, and I'm clutching at his waist.
I should turn it to the wall, like I've done with all the mirrors, but I just can't bring myself to do it.
"It seems I've fallen, Fred, and I can't get up."
Normally, my brother would be at my side in a heartbeat. That's how it always was growing up. When one of us was hurt, the other would come running. Even now, I would run to you, if I could. If it would make a difference. This time, I have no choice but to pick myself up.
I set the picture back on the stand, and my eyes linger on the small vial of dirt beside it. I run my fingers over the smooth, cool glass as I turn it over in my hand. My little piece of Fred—dirt from his grave.
I never imagined I'd ever use it for anything, but now...
...o0o...
June 12, 1998
A kaleidoscope of colors flashes in my peripheral vision. The ground explodes in front of me, and I stagger backwards. The hailstorm of rock and dust fills my lungs, and I collapse against the first wall I can find, coughing and spluttering. My eyes burn, and I can barely see. Where am I?
Once my vision clears, I look up at an endless expanse of rock. I'm at Hogwarts, which means this battle is...
"George!" Ginny's at my side. I can feel her anxiety as she digs her fingers into my arm. Where did she come from? There's fear flashing in her wide, blue eyes, and she's dressed head to toe in dirt and debris. "George, have you seen Harry?"
"I don't know where he is, Gin. Have you seen Fred?"
"Seventh floor with Percy, last time I saw him. But I have to go find Harry!"
She's gone as quickly as she has come, but I can't worry about her right now. I know she'll be just fine. If I'm here again, and if he's here...I can save him! This is my second chance.
Heart pounding in my ears, breath coming in sharp gasps, I weave in and out of the chaos. My hands are sweating so bad that I don't dare draw my wand just in case it slips from my grasp. I pass a few Death Eaters along the way, but their attention is elsewhere, and I'm free to slip on by.
When I finally make it to the grand staircase, I take the stairs two-by-two. I have to hurry—I know this—but my whole body aches, despite the adrenaline coursing through it. I'm worn out and tired, but I can't give up. Why are there so many bloody stairs? Why does it have to be the seventh floor and not the second? Why...why does he have to die?
I have no answers, but it doesn't matter, because I've arrived at the seventh floor. I will my legs to go faster, feet slamming against the stone floors, pumping my arms hard to propel me forward. Please let him be alive. Faster! Please don't let me be too late. Faster! I can't go through this again.
I skid around a corner, nearly crashing into the opposite wall, eyes searching the darkness in-between flashes of spells. He has to be here. I have to find him. I rush down the corridor, taking another sharp turn, and I stop dead in my tracks. He's here! Even though I can barely breathe, even though my heart is pounding so hard it's fit to burst, he's alive, and nothing else in the world matters.
"Freddie!" I run up and grab his arm.
"George? You look like you've seen a ghost."
He laughs, and it's all I can do to blink back the tears that are threatening to fall. I can't let him see me cry. As long as he's here, in front of me, there's really nothing to cry about, is there?
"We have to go. Now. I'll explain later, promise. Right now, just, let's go, all right?"
I tug at his arm, but he refuses to budge. He laughs, but this isn't funny. I pull harder, but it's like he's cemented in the stone, like he's a part of it. Damn it, why won't he move?
"You can't save me, Georgie," he whispers, a smile still plastered on his face. "I'm already dead."
I shake my head. No, he's wrong. He's just confused is all. How can he be dead when he's right here? I can touch him, feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips.
"Y'know, I'm glad it was me, because I could never live without you."
Bastard! I want to shout. How do you expect me to go on if you're not there?
But the words never come as the wall to my left explodes, and we're buried beneath a mountain of rock.
There's a huge pressure bearing down on my chest, and for a second it feels as though I'm being smothered by the darkness. I bolt upright, hands at my throat, gasping for air, but there's nothing on me. It's just my imagination. I glance at the clock—5:38.
There's no sense in trying to get back to sleep, so I throw the covers off and make my way to the bathroom. The stillness that's settled over the Burrow is unnerving, especially for how many people are here. The life has been drained from this place, and it's hard coming back every night, but I have nowhere else to stay. There's nowhere that doesn't remind me of my loss.
A quick shower, a shave, and some fresh clothes, and I'm at the fireplace, stepping into it with a handful of Floo powder.
"Diagon Alley!"
Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is dark and lifeless, especially this time of day. It looms above me like a gargoyle, warding off visitors. I like to arrive early, while there's a stillness in the air, before the world comes alive and the bustle begins. It reminds me of better days, when I was still whole.
I pause for a moment with the key in the lock, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. The emptiness is the worst, but I've come to expect it, day after day. I push my way inside, letting the door click closed behind me. Everything is in order inside the shop, just the way I left it yesterday. I wander through the products, touching them lightly, letting the memories flow freely.
"Raised quite a fuss, didn't we? They still talk about it, y'know, the way we left Hogwarts. We're legends, in our own right."
Silence answers me, and even though I'm alone, sometimes it's nice just to talk aloud. But the sun is just starting to break in the distance, and soon it'll be time to open. Today promises to be busy, and there'll be plenty to keep me distracted.
But today, I think, I'll close early, and visit Knockturn Alley, like I've been meaning to. I have no choice; it's the best place to get the ingredient I'm looking for.
...o0o...
June 29, 1998
I'm staring into a mirror, though I'm not sure where I am or how I got here. It's not a special mirror, I don't think, since I'm in some bathroom somewhere, but my reflection has two ears, and he's smiling, even though I'm unable to.
I press my hand against the cool, smooth glass, and my reflection mirrors my movements until our hands are parallel—but they never meet. Even now, as close as we are, there are still worlds between us.
Our eyes meet—identical, except there's a light in his that left mine two months ago. As I watch, my reflection slowly starts to change. He's still smiling, but now there are deep gashes dragging across his pale features, blood smudging along his face, and he's covered in dirt and dust. I know this face. It's one I've tried, unsuccessfully, to forget for two months. This is how Fred looked when he died.
I try to wrench my gaze away as bile burns the back of my throat, because I just can't bear seeing him like that—lifeless and lifelike. Gone, even while looking so much like himself, with a grin etched on his face. But I can't look away. It doesn't matter how hard I try, I can't get my eyes to cooperate, and so I'm forced to watch, trembling now and with sweat stinging my eyes, as he starts to change.
His skin turns a bluish-purple—the touch of death. A single fly buzzes past his face, and then another, and then another until several have claimed his flesh as their own. His face bloats, and maggots begin to emerge from cracks in it, crawling across his skin. They pour out of his eyes and ears, like a writhing, white facial mask.
The maggots begin to fall away as his skin becomes sallow and rubbery. As if the fat's being sucked from his body, his skin shrivels up around his skull, sinking into his hollow eye sockets and exposing the juts and angles of the cranial bones. His skin blackens, bits of it flaking off and exposing the yellowing bones underneath. Those blue eyes wither, and I'm left staring into nothingness.
I try to scream, but I'm suddenly aware that I've been screaming all along. My body is shaking so hard that I'm not sure how I'm even still standing. Still, I can't look away. Even as Fred's face becomes mere bits of flesh dangling off decaying bones. Even as his bones begin to chip under the weight of time and darken from yellow to an ashen gray.
Even as my stomach churns and I feel the nausea rising, I'm transfixed by the horror of it, and all the while I can feel a part of me darkening and withering at the same time.
I'm jolted awake by the burning in my throat, and I manage to roll to the edge of my bed just in time to retch all over the floor. My body seizes, forcing everything I have in me to come spilling out, and it continues even when I have nothing left. When it finally stops, I drag my sleeve across my mouth and slowly sit up, gasping for air. I'm sticky from my own sweat, and nothing I do will steady my nerves. I'm too far gone for that now.
I grab the picture off the nightstand, allowing myself to stare at it for a moment, if only to get the image of his decaying face out of my mind.
"I can't live like this anymore, Fred. Please forgive me."
Opening the back of the picture frame, I carefully pull the picture out and tear it down the middle. I slip my half in my pocket, and I leave Fred still in the frame, but I turn it to face the wall. I can't stand to see him anymore, and I don't want him to see me like this.
In three days, it will be the two-month anniversary of his death. I know what I have to do.
...o0o...
July 2, 1998
The dirt is cool to the touch, clumping together even as I carve out a hole in the ground. The soil compacts under my fingertips, staining them black, which is oddly fitting. I stop when the hole is just large enough to fit my box. I check its contents again to make sure I have it right—a picture of myself, some dirt from the graveyard, and a bone from a black cat. Everything's here.
I heave a sigh and shiver as the night air slithers across my neck. This isn't what Fred would want; I know that. But what about what I want? I just...I just want us together again. With trembling hands, I set the box in the hole and pack the moist earth back in around it.
I stand up and wait for...something, I suppose. I'm not really sure how this works; I've never exactly had to do it before. A minute passes, then two, then five. Did I do something wrong? I'm sure I followed the instructions, so why is nothing happening?
After another minute, a cold wind kicks up and a dark figure emerges from the shadows. He walks slowly and deliberately, like he has all the time in the world, and maybe he does, but I sure as hell don't. His black suit is immaculate and neatly pressed, his black locks slicked back against his head. He looks like a Malfoy, and I hate him for that, but I still need him.
"Young Mister Weasley. I have to say that I'm surprised to see you here. I hadn't pegged you as one who would fall so easily."
"How do you know who I am?"
He chuckles, and my body tenses up at the malicious, ominous sound. This man is dangerous, and I know it, but there's no other choice. I have to do this. So I take a deep breath and count to three, steeling myself.
"I know every soul that walks down the road to damnation."
"Who are you?"
He pauses, trailing his gray eyes over me as if he's sizing me up. For a second, I swear they turn a deep, endless black, like I'm looking into an endless abyss of nothingness, and death, and despair. But it must have been a trick of the light, because when our eyes meet, they're still that cold, indifferent gray.
"I am Mephistopheles. Oh, but I know how you humans like to shorten things to make it easier for your tiny, little brains to comprehend, so I suppose you can just call me Mephisto. More importantly, I'm the one who can give you what you want. But I wonder: exactly what are you willing to do to get your brother back?"
"Anything."
"Anything?"
He raises his eyebrows as if that's piqued his interest, and my breath hitches in my throat as a tendril of dread constricts around my heart. This may just be the dumbest thing I've done in my life, and yet there's no helping it. I've run out of options.
"Yes. My heart. My life."
"What about your soul?"
"My...soul?"
"That pesky thing that humans have that carries them into the afterlife. Ring a bell? Would you be willing to give up your soul after you die in exchange for me returning your brother?"
It's a heavy price to pay, and there are alarms in my mind sending out a warning. I can't trust this man, whatever he is. But my heart, with every loud, painful beat, answers for me.
"Yes."
"Then I suppose we should shake on it."
He extends his hand, and with faltering movements, I take it. A warmth radiates out from his palm, creeping up my arm, and before long it overtakes me. I'm smoldering on the inside as though a fire has been lit under my skin and the tongues are vaulting for their freedom.
My first instinct is to scream, but my body aches so much that when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. What have I done? How could I be so stupid? I'm gasping for air, but my lungs feel charred and withered, and my body feels like it's melting. Through blurry eyes, I see Mephisto laughing. It was stupid to trust him, but the realization has come too late.
The darkness is pulling me under, and I struggle to stay conscious. I won't go so easily. I have to fight it! I won't give in.
I won't...give...up...
...o0o...
Someone's shaking me, calling my name, and I feel like I'm waking up from a nightmare that I can't quite recall. I mumble something, hoping it'll convince them to let me be. My body aches all over, and I just want to lay here and feel sorry for myself. Just a little while longer.
"I'm not Mum. Haven't got the figure for it. Now, will you wake up?"
The voice sounds familiar, but it takes a little while to sink in. It sounds like...me. But not quite. I peel one eye open and find that there are two clear pools of blue staring back at me.
"Fred?"
I'm almost afraid to say it out loud, because I want it to be true—oh, how I want it—but what if it's not? I can't take any more of these nightmares. I can't stand how he tortures me every night, and I'm tired of pretending like I can exist without him.
"Who else would it be? Do you have another twin I should know about?"
He laughs, and the sound is so beautiful. I know it's real. I reach out and grab his arm. I can feel him. He's here with me. This isn't a dream. Before I can stop them, the tears pour out, and I'm crying and laughing at the same time. I can laugh again! It's such a strange feeling, one I never imagined I'd experience again.
"Hey, you OK, Georgie?" He knits his eyebrows, and I instantly regret making him worry.
"I'm fine, I just...I mean...What's the last thing you remember?"
"Huh, now that you mention it, not much." Fred chews his lip as he thinks, and I smile at the familiarity of it. Merlin, how I've missed all his quirks. "I remember the battle. Sorta. Did we win?"
"'Course we won. Would we be here if we didn't?"
"Speaking of that...Where are we?" He glances around, but I'm sure that for him it looks like little more than a clearing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and darkness. "And what are you doing on the ground?"
"Slipped and fell."
"You're so clumsy. Get up, will you?"
He offers his hand, and I let him pull me back to my feet. As I brush the dirt off myself, I realize that my forearm burns and itches. I want to look, but I'm afraid that he'll catch me in the act, so I wait until he's distracted by our surroundings to sneak a peek.
There's a symbol scorched on my skin, still smoldering slightly and reeking of singed flesh. I've seen it before, in a book Mum used to read to Fred and I when we were little. It's a circle inside of a triangle with a line cutting through the middle of both. I'm not sure what it means, but it itches something fierce, and it takes all my willpower not to scratch at it.
"Whatcha got there?" Fred asks.
"Bug bite," I answer, pulling my sleeve down lower so he can't see. I try to tell myself that it doesn't itch, but, Merlin's beard, it bloody does! It's something I'll have to worry about later.
I'm not sure how I'll explain this to Mum, and Dad, and all the others. Guess I didn't think that far ahead. None of that's important, though, because we're together again, and everything will be just fine.
"Let's just go home, 'k?" I say, and he nods.
I leave the box at the crossroads where it's buried, because I don't want Fred to know what I've done. He's alive again, and, for now, that's all that matters.
Author's Note: Written for the Talent Show in The Duelling Club (an awesome forum – check it out!). Round: singing. Prompt: "Run To You" by Pentatonix. Unfortunately, it ended up too long to enter. But I wrote it anyway, because the plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. This totally destroyed me to write, and, if I did a decent job writing it, hopefully it destroyed you, too. I need alcohol after writing this. And lots of chocolate.
Reviews are my life blood! I'm not sure this is an idea anyone would be interested in, but I decided to test it out. Feedback is always loved. I want to improve, so con/crit is appreciated, as well. :) I even have cookies! *sets out cookies*
Image Credit: I'm not actually sure who to credit. I've tried to search all over for its origins, but it seems to just be "out there". It was posted by Suou on Zerochan. I'm not sure if that was the original posting, though.