Chapter Text
Octavius sighed, this was not a fun place to be in, when it comes to defending himself his shotgun works well enough, even if it's a bit of a gamble to shoot, he supposed that he wouldn't feel as bad about it if he didn't have a pharaoh glaring daggers into him, the nightgaurd tried, they really did, but trying isn't really good enough when it comes to life and death. He had insisted with that pharaoh that the two were going to come back and save him but as time passed on, he began to doubt that himself.
He focused more on his breathing, breathe, breathe gods damnit! He wasn't a stranger to sand, his side of the diorama was filled with the stuff, but the more sand that piled on, the dustier the glass container became, sand grated his throat and shred his lungs, each breath in was painful, it was eerily, painfully, agonizingly familiar. He coughed, and coughed again, and coughed some more, tying his bandana around his mouth and nose to help but he still coughed, he still burned, he was still dying.
His eyes watered as that damn pharaoh kept shaking him around, he was definitely gonna bruise from this, when the tremors stopped he fell, dazed and lightheaded on the pile of sand, he forced himself up, to keep standing, he leaned on the wall of the container, he had to get on top of it, keep moving, keep being alive. He coughed again and wheezed in breaths, his eyes ran with tears, the pharaoh mocked him but he could barely hear a thing, his consciousness fanning in and out, pulling him enough to be on top of the sand but it never felt like enough
It was never enough
It was never enough.
He wheezed out a curse, he was back in that damn room, that same damn old rickety white room that bastard of a man he once called his father locked him in. He tried breaking the door down, kicking it in, yelling for help, it did nothing but make it worse. He thought about smashing the window but it was too small, too high, he would die either way, he looked around, ill-willed with his fate. He found a paper and pen, and, with shaking hands, wrote his final words, ripped the brooch off his vest and threw it out the window, he dug his flask out of his pocket, he didn't drink much anymore, couldn't, but with careful engraving, it read
‘A.G Octavius
Then applaud as I exit’
He coughed out a laugh, setting it gingerly next to the note he left, he didn't know if anyone would find this note, find his body as illness stripped away all he had, but he felt better if he thought that maybe they'd know what happened. Slowly, carefully, he walked up to the bed, stiff and drenched in illness, and instead kneeled before it, looking to the ceiling “take care of her, take care of my little girl” he didn't know who he was praying to, he was just desperate to know that the only person he cared for in this life of his was safe, technically she wasn't even his. Her mother dropped her off at his door- well, tentstep and insisted that he take care of her, because of what his father had done. He cared for her as if she were his, he got attached, Lords knows he can't get attached. He took his stetson off, placing it on the nightstand beside him, alongside the pocket knife he has on him at all times, and laid his head down for the first in a long time.
In the end, it was the Illness that killed him first, it progressed quicker than he thought, honestly he was surprised he could still move, he fell into an illness-ridden sleep and never awoke. In that body that is, now he was reliving it, and all he wanted to do was fall asleep again.
But he didn't, he finally, finally got a single inkling of hope before he was rudely pushed back down while everyone fought around him. “OCTAVIUS!” He could cry with the relief he felt, but in the end, he knew they couldn't do anything, as much as he hated to admit it, they were too small, they couldn't do much but say some final words “just, remember me when you get back, huh? Maybe make me a statue in that Rome o’ yours” Jedediah looked saddened “no” he said, determined, demanding, Octavius laughed sadly “awful rude to ignore a dyin’ man's wish, ‘Diah” Jedediah shook his head again, tugging at the straps of his helmet “no, because you are going to live!” just as the last of the sand pushed on his back, he was being thrown out, scrambling for some sense of attachment to the world.
Jedediah pulled him up, the cowboy stumbled, holding onto the Roman as tears streamed down his face, he looked up with a terrifying amount of emotion and Jedediah led them someplace safe, under the cool shelter of shadows, just enough light to see, Octavius ripped off his bandana, he hacked up the awful gritting feeling from his lungs, spat out anything he felt was wrong, Jedediah stayed by him the entire time, rubbing his back, setting his stetson aside, brushing the sand off of him softly. Octavius cried, terrified, but breathing, he was breathing, he wasn't asleep, he was alive, he wasn't alone, he wasn't alone
Octavius realized this with a startling jump of his heart, he turned and dragged Jedediah into a bone crushing hug, one he reciprocated gently, Octavius his face in the crook of his neck, breathed….breathed
He smelt of sea salt and leather, something sweet and musky at the same time, something comforting, something real, of Jedediah, of home. They stayed until Octavius’s breathing evened, until he could feel the grit from the sand burning into his skin, until he felt like he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled away, and Jedediah was still there, as patient as ever “are you alright, Octavius?” He wasnt, he doesn't think he will be in a while, but right now, he was alive, so he nodded “do you need anything?”
“You” the answer was instant, involuntary, he hadnt even thought about it before he said it, but it was the truth, maybe that's why it scared him so much. “Me?” Jedediah asked, like he was surprised, Octavius nodded again. “How?” The general asked, the cowboy pulled him into a kiss, it was crushing and desperate and harsh. He pulled away, fear piling up in his chest like the sand did moments ago, before the Jedediah brushed his thumb slowly across his cheek, pressing their lips together again, softly, warmly, like he'd always wanted to be here, like he was meant to be here, he pulled away pressed a kiss to the cowboy's forehead “you're okay, you're alright” he cooed
“Think I already know that ‘Diah” Octavius joked, but he saw the tears shining in the generals eyes “I know, that was for me” Jedediah laughed, pulling the cowboy in for another kiss, one that filled his lungs with something suffocating in the best way, in a way he could definitely get used to