Chapter Sixty Four

Hugo and Emilio are the first to reach Bryon's side. It's Hugo that flips Bryon over, and Emilio that presses his hands against the wound. They both shout at each other, Hugo in some language that sounds similar to Arabic, and Emilio in guttural Spanish. Neither seems to understand the other's language, but they communicate just fine through exasperated gestures.

Bay appears by my side, his hand closing around my upper arm. "Penryn, this is going to get nasty very, very quickly. If you want to leave, now is the time."

"No…" I shove him off of me, crashing to my knees beside Bryon.

"Bay!" Hugo looks up from Bryon, his pupils fearful pinpoints, his face one of utter panic. "Crowd control! Now! And get Scruffy out of here!"

"Okay, Hugo."

"Pillow his head and get me something to stem the bleeding," Emilio orders. His voice is cold and without a fragment of emotion. "Hugo, give him air. Not too many people around his face. Don't hang over him. Let him breathe!"

"I'm little enough." Audiat appears by my side, pillowing his head on her lap. "Squeeze my hand, Bryon, if anything hurts."

"Oh, all of you, stop your fussing." He sighs, cupping his hand over Audiat's and bring hers to his face. "Give me some time to say my final goodbyes, please. I don't want to have to shout over you."

"You're not dying!" Emilio shouts irately at him. Anger claws at the ice in his voice, the combination almost creating notes of desperation. "We can figure out a way to get this done! Don't you dare give up!"

"Audiat, do you remember how, when you held me in your arms, and you felt like I was dying, I told you I wasn't?" He shrugs weakly. "I am now. I can feel it. The bullet's already mostly dissolved, and the poison's already entered my bloodstream. I'm done for."

"I will slap you," Hugo threatens seriously.

"I'm going to try and die on an inhale," my uncle sighs glumly, looking up at the sky – despite his words and the lighthearted tone he says them in, there is something there that's just beginning to build, like a calm before the storm. "Everyone always seems to die as they breathe out. I'm going to be different. Watch me. If you feel me starting to slip off, Hugo, and I exhale, you have permission to slap me."

"I will slap you, too," I say quietly, wishing my voice didn't quaver as much. I lean forward and grab his hand – his calluses are rough, his hands knotted after years of work, but they're his calluses, calluses I've grown to love. Emotions well in my eyes, and I clutch his hand close to my chest, strangling the life out of it, blocking his insensitive words from my mind.

"Oh, Penryn." He feebly kicks out at Emilio, nudging the boy backwards, away from his wound, but his eyes remain trained on mine, filled with emotions I fear I'll never quite understand. "There's so much I still have to tell you. This weight that's going to fall on your shoulders… oh, God."

He pants for air, shaking his head against Audiat's lap, panicked eyes combing aimlessly through the stars, a shocked tear tracing down his cheek.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to. Please, please, God, no…"

Each breath of his is a shuddering gasp, his eyes, always so calm, collected, and warm, so utterly beautiful, dart around wildly without control or care. He returns the grip on my hand, and it feels like he's going to break my bones. And everyone is lost for words.

"Oh, Penryn." His face screws up, as if he's trying to contain sobs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You're going to have so much stress on you now. And I –" His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes, forcing another tear down his cheek. "I won't be there for you, after all."

Again, there is silence – the awful, terrible sort of silence. I don't understand what my heart is doing in my chest – whether it's beating too fast for me to tell or whether it's stopped altogether. Either would make sense. I don't know if I'm crying or if I've got my own little cloud drizzling my cheeks in raindrops. I don't know if the world's started pitching and bobbing or if a dizzy spell has slammed me in the gut.

Ever so softly, Emilio takes Bryon's hand from me. "I will watch after her, sir. I will… I won't let you down."

"Poor boy." Bryon attempts a smile, his teeth gritted with the pain of it. "Please, do. Look after my family, Emilio. And know that you're a part of it. Understand?"

Bryon's shot at a stern glare is more or less pathetic, considering his feeble state.

"With all due respect, sir…" I've never seen so much expression in Emilio, ever, as he struggles for words. "I've always considered you a part of my family, even if I was never part of yours." He lifts his hand in front of his face, staring despondently at the fingers still soaked with Bryon's blood. "Te amo." Curling his hand into a fist, Emilio whispers, "…Tu eres mi luz en la oscuridad."

"Emilio, te amo mucho." His smile has a faint trace of his old self in there somewhere. "Eres mi hijo, y te amo para siempre jamás."

Emilio rubs a thumb across Bryon's hand, like a parting gift, staring down at their entwined hands. "Voy a soñar contigo. Nunca me olvidaré de ti."

He releases Bryon's hand almost sort of reluctantly – and I hate to see it happen, I hate seeing Bryon's hand lying on the ground, groping at the grass. They clench with a sudden burst of pain as a grimace claims his face, and then go limp again against the ground, quivering wildly.

Wordlessly, I lace our fingers together again. He attempts to give me a comforting squeeze, but the frail try at comfort provides none.

"Dear Lord, this hurts," Bryon gasps, chest rising and falling. "Are painless deaths a thing of the past? Can we bring those back?" A hysterical peal of laughter leaves his lips, and he thrusts his head back, peering up at Audiat. "Oh, my dear, don't cry over me. Save your tears. You're going to need them."

"Don't you tell me what to do." She runs her hands through his hair, petting it out of his face, staring down into his eyes. "I'm going to fucking cry. And you're not dying. You're not. I won't let you, alright?"

He croons softly, closing his eyes, tears streaking down his face. "Oh, my Audiat. My little" – his breath shudders – "my little angel. Please, please don't… don't take this poorly. I don't want to… oh, God, I'm selfish, but I don't want you to be mad at me as I slip away."

"Dude," Hugo chokes, "no one on the face of the planet would ever call you selfish."

"It seems I'm not going to go out with the admiration of my people." Bryon inhales painfully. "Oh, dear Lord, after all I've done, they're going to hate me. All I ever wanted was… was…" A sob rips out of his chest, seeming to surprise even him. "They're going to hate me, Audiat. I won't have the chance to explain, to make anything right. I'm going to die with the world hating me."

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces as Bryon breaks down. He weeps uncontrollably and curls up on himself. Softly, Audiat brushes his hair back and shushes him, whispering words of comfort to her distraught husband, growing more and more panicked with each failed soothing word. No matter how much he tries to hide himself from me, to conceal the broken man he's become, I can't stop staring down at my uncle. His eyes grow red and puffy, his nose runs slightly, and tears course down his face.

Through a veil of silent tears, Audiat leans down, pressing a kiss to his temple. From her pocket, she draws an old, battered beanie – it's back in color and covered with lint. The only thing that separates it from any other beanies is the plush flower sewn onto the front, made to hang down in front of the wearer's eyes. However, the stitching making up the flower's smile has begun to unravel, giving it a grimace of pain instead of a cheerful grin.

With gentleness only found in the hands of an angel, Audiat eases the beanie onto my uncle's head, kissing him comfortingly.

"Penryn." Bay's hand lands on my shoulder, jarring me violently back to reality. "Are you absolutely certain you're ready for this?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Baelan." Hugo looks up at him, his grief turning to anger in the blink of an eye. "Leave us the fuck alone. I told you to take care of the crowds. He doesn't want people to see him like this. Go do your fucking job."

"O-okay, Hugo." His face confused like a scolded puppy's, Bay retreats, shooing people off but always glancing back to Hugo, as if hoping he'll be called back by the boy's side.

"Don't be so harsh to him," Bryon croaks. "He's trying to help."

"I fucking gave him a way to help." Hugo shakes his head slowly. "Oh, shit, man, please don't have your last words to me be a lecture. I'm still having troubles processing this, and I don't want to relive a shitty speech about loving neighbors when I think of you."

Bryon laughs. With his ugly crying face still intact and his chest still bobbing with hiccups, he frees his hand from my grasp and cups Hugo's cheek. "Oh, my little boy. You've changed so much, and yet…" The corners of his eyes crinkle. "You're still almost exactly the same. Do you know that you got pissed at angels in general because their wings were so boring? You just wanted an angel with dragonfly wings. You were so angry with the lack of angel originality. Makes sense that you'd fall in love with a Fallen angel."

"You know, baby stories aren't much better," Hugo sighs, grinning. "And I prefer to think of him as a bat-man when compared to bird-brains."

"The exact same boy," Bryon muses, rubbing at Hugo's chin, as if caressing a cat. "My Hugo, my little Hugo. You know, when I envisioned a son that I wanted, I thought of your everyday sort of boy – a kid to pass a ball with, someone to do boy things with. I didn't really get that."

"No, I can safely say you didn't," Hugo agrees with forced cheer.

"I couldn't be gladder for it." Bryon sadly hums a laugh. "I think I've taught you about life – I hope, at least – but you've taught me more than I ever could. You showed me just how overrated normal is, and my God, you're right. There's nothing normal about you. Not one little thing. But it makes you so – so you. I love that, Hugo. And no matter how much criticism you get, I want you to never, ever be normal." He cracks a smile. "Be normal and I will haunt you. Don't doubt me."

"Underestimating Nephilim royalty is something I'm not going to try," Hugo says with a dry smile.

Bryon's gaze again shifts to me. "Then don't underestimate her. Penryn, I'm so sorry for this. I'm… I'm abandoning you. Penryn" – he shakes suddenly, stiffening and grimacing, gasping for air, before continuing with a weaker voice – "you've – you've got to take care of your mother and sister now. Protect them. From Ogden." He gasps, and I watch with horror as his face pales and his lips turn grey. "You're all on your own now. The last Young blood. I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't be." I cuff his chin gently, forcing myself to use past tense. "I'm glad I knew you, Bryon. I hope one day I can be as good a guy as you." With difficulty, I swallow, watching the life slip from my uncle, watching it pump from him in the blood that waters the ground. I've seen people die, but never like this. I've never watched death slowly claim a person, climbing upon them limb by limb. "Come to think of it, you're not just a good man. You're a great man. And I don't care what anyone else thinks."

"I love you, Penryn." His smile is so gentle it almost allows me to ignore the wild bucking of his chest as he coughs, and the fresh tears of anguish slipping down his face at the pain it invokes. "And you, Hugo, my little boy, my little son. And… oh, my Audiat."

The little angel strokes at his cheek, tracing the shape of his jaw, her tears leaving speckles throughout his stubbly beard. "Please don't die," she pleads softly. "You're my big dragon. You've finally come to steal me away from the knights in all their armor. Please, please. Just don't die."

"I don't want to." Another sob builds in his chest. "I don't want to leave you here. I – I want to stay here, by your side. Please, stay by mine. Don't let me die here without you. Don't let me die alone."

"Bryon…" She leans down and kisses him on the forehead. "Bryon, it's okay. It's going to be okay. Look, you're going to heaven. Everything will be good there." Sighing, Audiat rakes her hands through his hair. "I'm going to be as good as I can and pray that I'll meet you there one day."

He regards her with a fierce determination. "Listen to me. You do whatever it takes to be happy. If that means being with another man, so be it. Listen. You're not going to damn your social life because of me, and I know you will. If some man makes you happy, really happy, don't you even stutter. I support it. I want you to know that. Alright?"

"Okay, Bryon." She wipes his forehead worriedly. "You need to relax, calm down, this instant, okay? You don't have energy to waste."

He nods, his ferocity fading into weariness. "I've got no energy to waste. Got it." Sudden fear sweeps over him, the fear of death claiming him more swiftly than I can bear. "What if – what if I'm wrong, Ah-ch'at?"

"I don't understand, Bree-aw'." Tenderly, she cups his jaw, focusing his gaze on her. "What if you're wrong about what?"

"About heaven?" His eyes grow misty. "About… about my God? What if he truly doesn't care? What if heaven's a lie?" A tremor again rocks through his body, and he laughs bitterly. "We always see ourselves being brave as we die, don't we? I certainly did. And here I lie in a puddle of my blood, afraid of death like a snot-nosed coward. Funny, how the tides can turn."

"There's nothing funny about it," Hugo says gravely. "And… look, don't tell anybody, because then my atheist street cred is going to suffer, but we live in a world with fucking angels and celestial mutts. I'm pretty damn sure there's a heaven. I'm also pretty damn sure you're getting in."

His eyes are bereft of satisfaction, but he smiles all the same. "Thank you, my boy –" With a bugle of pain, he throws his head back. "No, no, no… not yet…"

"Bryon? I throw a hand out, resting it at his upper arm. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to leave!" Desperation claws in his voice as it garbles and thickens. His body rocks and shivers, and his breath grows increasingly shallow. "No, no, no. Please, please, good God. I – I –"

My heart hammers in my chest as he speaks wordlessly, his lips moving with only a breathy exhale. His eyes grow distant, focusing on the sky above. It is a beautiful sight, with a deep, dusky blue painting the sky and only the faintest ring of gold encircling the horizon, with not a star yet to be seen, nor the moon to yet appear.

"Oh, no." Audiat leans down over him, her tears falling on his face. "No, focus. Focus on me, Bryon. Look at me."

"Just hold on, man," Hugo urges, following Bryon's gaze to the sky. "Stay strong until the moon comes up, alright? Because of the wolf thing. If you survive just a bit longer, man, you'll be reborn like Scruffy or Ivan or whoever the fuck he is. This is your best shot."

"He's not going to make it," I murmur, unwilling to get my hopes up, unwilling to have them crushed.

"Don't say that!" Audiat whispers, clutching at his hand with newfound determination. "Come on, Bryon, hold on, please. I don't want to say goodbye forever."

His smile is frail, more a twitch of the lips. Eyes once so beautiful, so deep, looking like pools of molten bronze upon his face and flashing in the light like mirrors, now barely gleam at all – it's like seeing a penny dull with age, worn down by time, slowly losing all that made it so brilliant in the first place. His handsome face is ashen and wan, and each of his breaths sound wet and unsteady, like a man already dead panting for life.

"It seems…" He gulps down a big gasp of air, his mouth open like a fish's. "It's time to say goodbye. Permanently." Slowly, he shuts his eyes, and a shadow from above falls onto his face. "I've had a long" – he rumbles out a quick cough – "long run. Life has been good to me. I'm not – I'm not ready to go, I don't want to." He laughs bitterly, the sound like window through a field of dead grass. "Good lord, I don't want to. And I'm scared. But…" A tear rolls down his cheek with a sense of finality about it. "It's time to say goodbye."

He doesn't open his eyes, but his lips lift in that warm, affectionate smile, that smile I've grown to love.

A moment of terrible nostalgia wrenches my heart from my chest.

He first gave me that grin as we met, and then to Paige, consoling her about the chunk she'd taken from his back. He comforted me in that little room in the Chaza when I first learned the roots of our family with that smile. Again, as Raffe and I endured our arguments and I eventually told him my heritage, his smile shone through. He laughed cheerfully and shot me that exceptional smile as we navigated the streets of Secrem Domu, selecting my special hat that'd gotten lost somewhere along the way. When he'd comforted me after my first terrifying encounter with White Wolf, that smile had been there. He beamed as he bode me farewell as we split paths to Lucius and the Seraphim and as we reunited. When he told me of my patron, he gave me his grin. When he left to fight the Horse and when he returned, that smile was spread over his lips.

Just a day ago as we sat together in his apartment at that table, exchanging our thoughts and relieving our tortured souls if only for moments before they piled up with worries again, I basked in his smile.

And now this sickly, grey-lipped grimace.

"Please don't do this." Hugo sobs once, but no tears run down his cheeks. "You can't. I won't let you."

My uncle's smile crumples slightly, but whether it's with pain or a response to what Hugo's said, I can't tell. Something seems to change – he relaxes every muscle in his body, exhaling slowly. It dawns upon me that Bryon's stopped fighting. The rest comes very quickly now. He doesn't have much time, not much time at all.

"I love you, Bryon." I nearly choke trying to swallow, my eyes locked on his as they fade, growing distant and foggy. "I love you."

"We all do," Audiat whispers quietly. "We all love you. You're so very loved. Don't you ever forget it. You are so loved."

She says something else, too, but I'm not paying attention. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, waiting for something that I do not want, tears blurring my vision. It's tiny, the movement caused by his breathing, and it reminds me acutely of how Paige would sleep upon his chest and bob up and down like she was drifting with the ocean tides. He promised he'd die on an inhale. I'm only watching to be sure that he does, for some sort of closure, I suppose.

Audiat cradles his head and sings softly to him, her voice quavering so badly that I can only barely recognize that Spirit song he loves so much. Hugo strokes at his father's hair, his face one without emotion, without any sort of inflection. And I watch the rise and fall of his breathing. Waiting, all of us, yet dreading, all the same, dreading something none of us have quite come to terms with.

We're all so absorbed we hardly notice the shouts and cries and beckons to the shadow over our heads. I, for one, don't hear the sound of wings scooping the air and feet hitting the ground. I don't hear Emilio's exclamation of greeting, nor Bay's cry of warning.

Sariel's weary voice nearly jars me from my stupor. "The barrier is down, guys, we need to get moving. I don't know why, but the angels are sounding the drums of war."

Bryon's eyes peek open ever so slightly, and his breathing picks up in the smallest way possible.

Audiat lifts her head, staring up through a sea of tears to where he presumably stands. "Oh, God, Saw…"

"Eh?" The Watcher sounds oblivious to the entire scene, oblivious to our tears. "Oh, what's that? Did some poor bastard get shot?"

As a tear streaks down Bryon's cheek, his eyes open wide, those gorgeous lashes framing his dull bronze eyes. He stares blankly up at the sky. His lips twitch in what I suppose is a smile, and his hand jerks, as if he's envisioning himself waving to the golden angel.

"Dad," he croaks gratefully, another tear tracing down his cheek. "You're… back."

He exhales with a happy sigh, as if quietly celebrating the fact that his family has finally all gathered, his dull eyes waning closed.

I wait for him to inhale, to breathe in one last time and complete his dying promise.

Translation of Bryon and Emilio's conversation: "I love you. …You are my light in the darkness."

"I love you very much, Emilio. You're my son, and I will love you forever."

"I'll dream of you. Never will I forget you."

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh