I took down the other story, because not a lot of people seemed to like it, and came up with this terribly emotional oneshot instead.
I wrote this early in the morning, so it might be crappy.
Oh, and they can be whoever you want them to be. OC, a canon character, anybody. You can even replace the pronouns in your head as you read.
Please leave a review.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound fills the room, sounding at an interval, heralding each heartbeat. It dominates over every other random, quiet sound, making its presence known and bringing with it an ominous threat. Every sound taunts with the possibility that it's the last.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He's been here for more than two days now, awake and keeping vigil, though he doesn't know it. He only watches her body, perfectly still but for the slight rise and fall of her chest. She looks perfect like this, ethereal—and that's what's so wrong about this whole scene. It's all a cruel mockery.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Everything is in chaos and he can't understand a thing going on. The only thing he knows is that she's back, but he's wondering where she is and he's almost in a panic.
Chiron finds him outside the Big House, pale and nervous. Quietly, the centaur explains to him that she's in a very critical state, having suffered some attacks. Chiron then asks in a much quieter voice if he wants to hear more. He nods.
Chiron then says that she might not make it through the night, that her body might not be able to take it much longer. He says that right now, she's in a coma, and should she pass, she won't feel a thing. He says that if she makes it, she might never wake up. Brain death, he says, is something you can't cure. He says that Apollo's children haven't a clue on what to do and gods aren't supposed to interfere with things like these.
He stands there, simultaneously reeling from shock and staring numbly. Without a word, he brushes past his mentor and heads for the infirmary.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound welcomes him into the room. There she is, lying on the bed, surrounded by all sorts of medical equipment. Her features are peaceful. She's just asleep, he thinks, but the beeping tells him otherwise.
He sits on a chair beside the bed and his mind goes blank.
He might've been able to see the sun rising out the window, had he not been staring blankly at her. He doesn't even notice Chiron come into the room until he puts a hand on his shoulder. He only notices her and the constant beep.
"Have faith," Chiron whispers, but he doesn't hear it. He only hears the constant beep, beep, beep.
Chiron sighs and leaves, but he doesn't pay attention to any of this. His focus is on her fragile-looking, doll-like body, so weak-looking that a gentle breeze might smash her apart.
He tries to ignore the beeping—oh, how he loathes that sound, with its dreadful connotations and its ominous warnings!
Chiron comes back into the room bringing a tray that holds a glass of juice and some food. He sets it down on a table, but he still doesn't notice. With another sigh, Chiron leaves.
At one point, other people come in. Her best friend is hysterical and slobbering all over the floor, her sobs so loud they drown out the beeping. But not to him, no; he doesn't see the best friend and all he sees is her, with her life hanging on a thread, and he hears the beep, beep, beep.
The sun climbs to its zenith and starts its descent, but the passage of time is nothing to him. Other people come into the room, much quieter. He still ignores them. They're about to tell him something, but they see his face and they fall silent.
Night comes and outside, the camp is noisy with its game, but he doesn't hear them. The beeping is everything in his auditory vocabulary now. Sometimes the sounds reach his ears, but now they're alien and unknown.
She remains the same: still, unmoving but for her breaths, fragile and weak, her heart beating slowly—beep, beep, beep.
Chiron calls his name but he doesn't respond. The centaur suddenly grabs his shoulders and shakes him. He only looks up at the intruder, looking slightly annoyed.
"Eat," Chiron says. "It's been four days now and you haven't eaten anything. She'll be fine."
He shakes his head.
"I said eat!" Chiron rarely loses his temper, and somewhere inside he knows this, but he doesn't care. "Just because she's hurt doesn't mean you have to be, too! She wouldn't want to see you like this! And for the gods' sake, go bathe, have a change of clothes and return to your activities. Your father is worried."
He speaks for the first time in days. "Don't talk about her like she's dead," he murmurs. "She'll want me to wait for her to wake up. Then we can eat together and train together and stuff." Chiron is somewhat creeped out; his voice is dead and robotic.
"Face the facts," he says, much more gently. "She's on the verge of slipping into brain death. The best we can hope for her is to... pass away painlessly and peacefully. No matter how long you stay here, she won't come back."
Somehow, Chiron's words reach him through the haze that's blocked out everything else. He turns into someone—something—else, and suddenly he's standing and yelling.
"No! She will come back! She's just—asleep, and soon she'll wake up," he says. Desperation, insanity, everything is there. Outside, the camp falls silent, aware of his outburst.
"Please, hush—" Chiron starts moving toward him in an effort to calm him down, but he interprets it to be a motion to go after her—to hurt her, to stop the machines that would support her and no, he can't have that.
"No! Don't touch her!" He moves as if to protect her, blocking Chiron from the bed but being careful not to touch it.
Chiron gives up and leaves the room, and he returns to his faithful vigil. He returns to the blank haze.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
It's been a week. His body is hungry, sleepy, tired, but he doesn't notice.
Chiron walks in again, and he suddenly becomes alert.
"Your father is going to explode," the centaur says. "You have to take care of yourself."
Beep. Beep. Beep. The sounds are the accompaniment to his lonely wait.
"No," he replies. "The moment I leave you'll turn off the machines and then she'll be gone."
Chiron thinks even the insane desperation is better than this dead monotone.
"Of course not," Chiron says. "You can eat right here. It'll be fine. But you have to bathe, and that means you have to step out of the room."
"I'm not going."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
One day, something changes.
One of the machines flat-lines, but the beeping is still steady. He stiffens and stands up, unsure of what to do.
Chiron and some people, presumably doctors or medics, whatever, rush in and start fussing over her. This angers him and he starts shouting at them to leave her alone, because she'll be fine and the machine is still beeping. The centaur assures him that they know what they're doing and tells him to calm down.
Hesitantly, he sits down, finding comfort in the beeping that he had once hated.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Then the medics leave, but Chiron stays. The beeping continues, but he glances at the machine and the line is still flat and he starts tapping his foot, nervous.
Chiron is silent for a while, staring sadly at her. She hasn't moved or changed in any visible way.
Finally, Chiron speaks. "I'm sorry," he says. "She was a good fighter, you know? She hung on as long as she could." Chiron paces, not looking at him. Or maybe avoiding his stare. His mind cannot make sense of anything.
"She tried," Chiron says, and he thinks that maybe his mentor is gonna cry, and he grows more worried. But nothing can be wrong, can it? He can still hear the steady beeping.
"It was too much for her body to take. Her mind gave up and just... gone. She's only alive in the most technical sense now, with machines keeping her heart beating. But she's gone. Soon enough, the machines won't be enough." With great effort, he turns to look at him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
He suddenly hates that sound. All along it had been a beacon of false hope. The news itself hasn't fully penetrated him; he feels as though he might be the one brain dead.
"The best thing we can do for her now is to switch the machines off. End the suffering for her—her body."
But he doesn't know what to do anymore. What would she have wanted?
End the suffering for her.
With a sigh, he nods and leaves the room.
The fire crackles in the middle of the assembled campers, lighting up the dark night. A beautiful shroud is draped over her beautiful body. Everyone is silent.
He stands only a few feet in front of her, about to speak, but he can't find any words in himself to say and suddenly he feels reality catching up with him, hitting him hard.
His knees buckle and he falls to the ground. "You didn't have to leave," he says. All the tears he's been keeping inside fall. "You didn't have to leave!" he repeats, louder, more desperately. Then he's weeping, and other people are around him and they're weeping, too, and everybody cries.
"You were the best thing in my life," he cries in anguish. "I loved you, but you left and now that you're gone..."
The exhaustion soon follows and he passes out. The last thing he sees is a beautiful shroud.
End
Yeah, well, she couldn't just have magically recovered, right?
It's been a while since I wrote something with a tragic ending, though this one isn't that tragic because the main character was coming back to his senses. I imagine he moved on after a few years and learned to love again, blah blah blah. Hey, maybe I'll do a sequel oneshot.
So this is a Christmas present (although the content isn't very holiday-like) and please leave a review!