Chapter Text
Red petals faded into the grey gravestone, making him peel them off the name. So much for trying to bring Jericho something nice.
Declan stared at the gravestone until his vision and surroundings went blurry, as it often did. Especially on the days Declan came to Jericho’s grave. He kept picking at the petals stuck to Jericho’s name until his grave was smooth and pretty.
“Hello, my love,” Declan said quietly. He kissed his fingertips, then brushed the headstone softly. “I didn’t have a very good day. I haven’t for a while. Sarah and I bussed here. Um… I had another one of those fantastic breakdowns, the kind where I want to hang myself from a chandelier and see if they call it a murder or a suicide. The Assembly hasn’t gotten any smarter since you left, Jerry.
“But hey, I’m joking again! Kinda. But it’s better than before. Huh?” Declan smiled, running his other hand through his hair. “A lot better than before, actually.”
Then, finally, the words he says every single time he comes to the graveyard. The graveyard that holds his father and his boyfriend.
“I miss you,” he said softly. “I love you. And… I think the more I say it, the more I mean it. And the more it falls on silent ears, the more I wish to scream it.
“So… I hope this letter reaches you somehow, like always.”
Declan bussed to the Magisterium with Sarah. They told Master Rufus that they’d returned, and hadn’t been kidnapped by Constantine or something.
“Do you normally write him letters?” Sarah asked him, walking to their dorms.
“Only when I remember him dying.”
When he remembers it all.
When the memories of Jericho’s death leaves a lingering feeling that was only comparable to Jericho’s touch.
…
Dear Jericho, my love,
I can’t stop thinking about you, as always. Sometimes it’s you in my arms, and sometimes it’s me reading your obituary in the paper that someone stole from the normal world. “Jericho Madden, a boy mysteriously killed” blah blah blah.
I can think of the man who killed you. In fact, Jerry, he shares your last name. AND his teacher shares the first letter of your name!
Constantine tried to… I don’t even know. It was the other day, maybe a week ago. He was levitating you and all that and it just hurt to hear about. I’m glad I wasn’t there.
I just wish I got to say bye to the real you. Not a headstone.
I hope this is good enough for whatever version of you sends me good memories every once and a while. I thank you for that, love. You’re a blessing and a curse in my head. If you were here, God would truly have blessed me. (If God’s your sort of thing. We never really talked about religion, did we?)
This won’t be my last letter, it just might be the last for a little while until the Magisterium decides whatever the fuck they’re doing with Constantine missing – again, I might add. Your brother is still a psychopath.
Alright. Well. I love you more than I ever should, and I hope this reaches you. Everything you’ve sent me, all the memories; even if it’s not you right now, I’m just glad I got to make those good moments with you. There were so many.
With enough love to overwhelm Heaven itself, (am I smart for saying that?),
Declan Novak
…
A ring, a blanket, a glowing orb, and several of Jericho’s photos.
Constantine already burned the diary.
Jericho’s words within that book were fucking treasonous, he deserved it.
A ring – from Declan, Constantine assumed. Hidden well under his shirt and kept by a necklace, but the gold chain had been easy to spot after a couple minutes.
The blanket Constantine would sometimes give Jericho after particularly bad nights with Mother, or nightmares, all the likes. Jericho would thank him for keeping it when he was alive again.
And finally, the glowing orb. While it was meant to go to he and Jericho, someone put it in Jericho’s room. Along with he and Jericho’s father’s suicide note.
It was just he and Mother now.
And Jericho, later on.
Two family members killed because of that school, leaving him alone.
Constantine held the blanket close to his chest, breathing it in. The rest of the tomb held Jericho’s most personal objects, photos, books, anything of the like. Everything Constantine wanted to keep preserved inside the tomb alongside Jericho, until he could bring Jericho back.
Now, there was no one to stop him.
Constantine would never forget how his power sucked the life out of the person he thought he could never hurt. Not as badly as he did.
But he knew that he didn’t hurt Jericho that badly – he would never do such a thing. It was the Magisterium’s fault, the Assembly’s fault.
The Mage world will remember the Enemy of Death, so long as the death of Jericho still rung in his ears.
Everyone had sacrifices to make.
They’d all pay.