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Serge felt the knot in his stomach grow. Chuck continued to point to the clouds, blathering nonsense about fabric or something of that like. The rest burst into raucous glee at his less-than astute observations. Dan even spat out his milk and clasped Chuck’s thigh. Serge felt a sharp stabbing in his gut. He forced out laughter to blend with the others, though he found nothing entertaining about this turn of events. Félix caught his eyes from across the fire. A bitter smirk crossed his lips. How does it feel? his eyes asked, to know you’ve been replaced?
Serge looked away.
Beneath the laughter the leaves quietly sang a husky, hissing song of decomposition. The air held the chill of oncoming sleep, and apart from the warmth of woodsmoke, Serge could still swear he smelled the terrible reeking of a cigarette. Ridiculous, of course, no one present would be caught dead smoking, especially after Georges. Still, the lingering feeling that something wasn’t quite right refused to leave him. Maybe Félix and his silent gloating had something to do with it, or the base, vulgarity of Chuck. What could Dan see in that simpleton besides a pretty face and a supposed blood debt? The man was a murderer, for God’s sake, not a Chivers! No, Chuck was nothing more than imperfect idiot who had no right to wear their jacket or occupy Dan’s affections.
The Chivette seated next to him provided at least some distraction, and when Chuck pulled out the stapler, Serge made quick excuse to steal away with her. Even that, however, provided to be a failure.
Was it him? She felt distant, uninterested even as their lips met and his hands made quick exploration of her body. This too was met with no more reciprocation than if he had been kissing the tree she leaned on. Had he really become so stale, so passé that they could no longer even pretend to care? When she left, Serge hardly noticed. A whispering of cigarette smoke met him once more.
Georges still haunted him, it seemed. Before Georges, everything had been fine. How that ugly idiot had ever actually been allowed the chance to become a Chivers, Serge did not know. He expected Max had something to do it, or perhaps Félix had spun some lie just to spite him. See how easily Dan’s attention shifts? Don’t you realize you aren’t special, Sergey boy?
Bullshit, the whole lot of it. He had dedicated himself more than the others. He never showed up with his jacket bobbled, he always aided the batter faithfully, taking his blows with a smile. It had been him who carried the switchblade, and had he not been the one to discover Georges was no more than a filthy smoker?
There had been a time Dan had noticed his efforts.
But now he had Chuck.
It happened so fast. Serge returned to the fire, a false smile plastered on his face. It had melted into something genuine when he realized Chuck had disappeared into the shed. For one shining moment, it was almost like the old times.
Then he showed up.
Georges, yelling and sneering and daring to blow smoke in his face. Serge had foolishly promised Dan to leave his switchblade at home this weekend. Defenseless, all he could do was fight back with words that were ignored by Georges and Chivers alike.
It wasn’t until Chuck returned with the gun that things really went to hell. Serge didn’t mean to flee. He saw the girls run, and without thinking his feet followed after. It was a cowardly move, one Dan would surely punish. The hellish crack of the gun ripped the air behind him. Everything turned to chaos and screams.
He had the wits at least to follow the Chivettes into the cabin and wrestle the phone from them, taking control of the situation once more. As the phone rang he watched out the window. Georges and Chuck ran past their trucks, gun still in hand. He was surprised none of the others chased after. For a second it seemed Max would, but he hopped into his truck and sped off in the opposite direction.
As the phone connected to the police, Félix burst into the cabin. His shirt and hands were covered in blood- from the staples perhaps- his normal surly face wild with fear.
“Dan. He- Chuck- the gun, oh fuck.”
Dan?
Wait-where the fuck was Dan?
Serge shoved the phone at the nearest Chivette and pushed Félix out of his way. He bolted out the cabin and around the side.
The fire pit was in disarray. The radio had been knocked over, milk and eggs spilled everywhere. The embers still crackled, but everything else hung still and silent, a bated breath. Dan slumped unnaturally over one of the picnic tables, face turned to the sky. Serge called his name to no avail. He wanted nothing more than to rush to his leader, but his legs refused to move. Each step seemed an eternity.
“Dan?” His own voice sounded high and strange, distant.
Dan was dead. He knew it before he even touched the body. Serge was afraid to shake him, instead leaning over him, feeling in vain for a pulse.
Something fluttered beneath his fingertips.
“Dan? Dan? Are you still with me?”
A faint rasp came in response. Serge gently cradled Dan’s head, stroking his cheeks as Dan often had done to him. Dan’s eyelids fluttered, eyes unseeing.
“Danny?” his voice cracked, “it’s me, it’s Serge.”
“Sergey…” God, his voice was so faint, so pained. Serge leaned in until their foreheads touched. He cried openly now, even if Dan would have found it shameful.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I ran away. Oh god, Dan, please. I need you. Please, Dan.”
“Serge.” He shuffled his sobs in an effort to hear the straining of Dan’s voice. He felt Dan’s hand reach up, clumsily cupping his cheek. It was so cold, trembling in its effort. Serge held it with his own.
“I’m so proud of you. You.. you really are a Chivers. Chivers are.. You are perfect… are perfect..”
“Are perfect inside and out. Chivers are perfect inside and out. Come on Dan, say it. You can do it.” But he felt Dan grow heavy in his arms, felt the hand relax against his skin. Serge pressed against it all the more, the hysterics hitting him again.
“Dan, Dan no. Dan, please say it, I need you to say it. Dan!”
Dan was gone. His body lolled, and Serge held him all the closer. He trembled and screamed- screamed until his lungs could scream no more, sputtering on drool and tears and the incomprehensible pain of knowing he had lost Dan. His Dan.
Serge took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He brushed the hair from Dan’s forehead and kissed it with trembling lips, as Dan had done for him. Holding him close, his lips now against Dan’s ear, he whispered the long held truth, the thing they had both known from day one,
“Please, Dan. I need you. I love you.”
He pulled back, trying to smooth Dan’s hair, his thumb tracing the sharp bone structures, soaking in every detail. It almost looked like he could be sleeping- a foolish thought. Serge felt himself shaking violently as he cradled Dan’s head.
“I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.” Now he dared to kiss Dan’s lips, feeling no whispering of breath in them. Serge moaned, hiding his face in the cold crook of Dan’s neck.
Dan had been his everything- how he had clung to every word, every command, hungry for the smallest of affections in return. And Dan, his darling Dan, had given them so freely in return.
His Danny boy.
Gone.