In the aftermath of the battle, there are no casualties. But death might've been kinder.
He lays there like a child, with a body he will never use again. This is his price and this was his war.
She kneels beside him and coughs blood on to his shirt, knowing she'll spend the rest of her life taking care of him now. This is her price but this was not her war.
He sits on the ground, his dark skin covered in sweat and unable to stand on his own shattered kneecaps, his katana lies across his lap and he's shocked to find it covered in blood. He'd taken lives today. This is his price for the war he forced his way into.
She sits beside him, talking quickly through her fear about an ambulance and five more minutes and -you better not die on me, you ahou!- and pants, her breath still harsh and her heartbeat still fast, though the battle's been over for nearly half an hour by now. She'd been slipped some kind of poison while here and she knows all of her jumping around didn't help matters. This is her price but this never could've been her war.
She sits across from them, holding her bleeding side and murmuring sweet nothings of assurances to the children huddled there next to her on the ground. They shiver and whimper and she doesn't stop speaking to them for even a second. She tells them stories and truths and lies and prays she doesn't die and -they've seen enough, damn it- and the girl of few words speaks more that day than anyone else. This is her price and this was always, always her war.
She sits there like a good girl, like her mother always told her she was, and stays quiet and out of the way, even as the police men and ambulance workers finally show up. She doesn't cry in relief at seeing them but, instead, shrinks away from them as they try to reach out to her and check her bumps and scraps and that one crease on her arm and -it hurts, it hurts, make it stop!- she doesn't want them to touch her or her friends. Adults are the enemy now, no matter who they are because adults who look nice could be anyone and she was forced to learn that today. All she could do was listen to her friend's soft voice as she told them fairy tales with happily ever afters and hope for a better world. This was her price and children weren't meant for war.
He sits close to his friends and doesn't let them move their reassuring weight from his side. They don't try either, because he's big, the biggest, and they like how solid he feels, even though his shirt is sticky with blood and even though his stomach moves up and down and forces them to move as well. He likes the feel of them there, leaning on him, breathing, because they're all alive and they made it. He feels small amounts of victory in that, as he too listens to that little girl voice that is telling lies abut everything being okay. But they are nice lies and he would like so much to believe them. So he does. This is his price and children still weren't meant for war.
He leans against his friend heavily, even as he winces at the movements of the bigger boy's chest. They aggravate his leg, which he thinks is broken but he keeps his face strong and doesn't cry out and -don't think about it, don't think about it- and he forces his eyes across the room. The ambulance workers carry away a body that he can only remember being his size and he shivers at the way he is limp on the stretcher, even though his eyes are open and they look at him knowingly and tiredly. He never knew that body to be limp when awake and he thinks to himself that the teenager broke something worse than a leg. His longtime crush is still speaking, telling them things that they don't want to hear, but he listens anyways because maybe he already knows, deep down, that the world was never such a nice place. This is his price and the truth of the matter remains that children were never, ever meant for war.
He sits still as the ambulance workers worry over him and keeps his eyes on his daughter. His heart aches for her. This is his price and he only wishes it could've been his war.
He cowers in the darkness, knowing the light means discovery but also knowing that he'll die in this place if they don't find him. And they will find him eventually, he knows, but it might be too late by then. He glances around and sighs before groaning loudly to attract someone's attention. The white tuxedo -red now, damn it all, it's a damn red tuxedo- throws them off for a moment but it's their job to help without question and they're good at it. He smiles at them, and it's not his normal smile, before passing out blissfully. This is his price and it's been his war for a long time now.
She sleeps the sleep of the knocked out, hidden there with him once he realized she had managed to follow him here and she is the luckiest of them all, for she saw nothing, heard nothing, and will remember nothing but pink gas in face as she fell. This is her price and she didn't even know there was a war.
She is not dead yet and she knows they won't allow her to die, but she only wishes the boss had lived, because she will take the blame without him and she curses him for it. She is bleeding from more places than she can remember having and they take her away in an ambulance, same as everyone else. But the man who rides with her dangles his handcuffs from one finger and tells her that she has a lot to answer for. This is her price and she fervently wishes it weren't her war after all.
Hmm, yeah, I still don't have an explanation for this one. My external hard rive has been kidnapped by my older brother, so please, if you're one of the one's waiting on that next chapter of Velocity, be patient while I try to steal it back. In other news, I have a summer fandom!!! It's called Soul Eater and it's awesome. Check it out if you have the time, great show, really.