Chapter Text
Rogerigo lay on his side, gasping. Searing pain ripped through his side and something warm and sticky trickled out from between his fingertips. He didn’t have to look down to know it was blood. Cassio’s cries of pain rang in his ears. Had he managed to get him? He thought, fuzzily. Or had Iago stepped in? A shadow crossed his face and he pried open his eyes, desperately trying to ignore the wet tears streaming down his cheeks. Iago stood, looking down on him and relief washed through Roderigo’s body. His friend would help him, surely? Iago had always been by his side, protecting him and offering him advice and he was been very fond of the honest man.
“You failed me.” Three words. Spoken quietly, but they chilled Roderigo to the core.
“I tried.” He managed to gasp out, the taste of blood in his mouth. “I told you I couldn’t do it.” The tears were coming harder now. “Help me. Please. My friend. It hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Iago said, not quite meeting his eye as he drew his sword.
“No,” Roderigo whined helplessly, “please don’t do this. I trusted you. You were all I had. I loved you.”
Iago paused.
“I loved you too.”
A flicker of hope lit in Roderigo’s mind.
“A long time ago.”
The flicker died.
“Villain!” Iago cried, loud enough for all else to hear.
“Please!”
Iago drove his sword into Roderigo’s throat.
Roderigo gasped, his vision beginning to blur and fade. This was it? This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. It was meant to be him and Iago, against the world, like they always had been, but now he was to die at his hand? It wasn’t right. Blackness overcome him. He was falling down a rabbit hole, deeper and deeper and faster and faster. Colours and patterns flashed and a cacophony of sound grew in his mind. He was aware of someone screaming and was shocked to realise it was his own voice. Abruptly, the pain ceased. He could have sobbed with relief. Had Iago changed his mind? Was he going to help him now? He dared open his eyes a fraction.
He was standing. Iago stared at him, but it was like he looked right through him. Roderigo turned around, what was Iago looking at? He was horrified to see that it was his own body, neck and face dripping blood, eyes unblinking, staring at the sky.
He was dead?
Was he a ghost??
No. Ghosts weren’t real.
He watched Iago lean down and close his eyes gently. If you disregarded the blood, it almost looked like he was sleeping.
Roderigo felt a heavy sadness overcome him and realised he was not only feeling his pain, but Iago’s too. Why was Iago sad? He had murdered him in cold blood. His best friend. The one who he had feelings for that he just couldn’t explain.
Roderigo looked down at his hands. They looked normal, but slightly translucent. They still shook. He was overcome with a memory of Iago, dragging him home from the tavern, late at night and holding him close. He would always say the same thing.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Roderigo. You’re worth more.”
“Never again.” He would promise, always intending to keep it, but a week later, he’d be drunk and alone again.
Roderigo shivered, clearing his mind. He brought his hand to his face and was relieved to find it free of blood and bruising. He looked up to see that Iago had left and Cassio been taken away on a stretcher. He felt a pang in his chest. What was he meant to do now? He was lost and all alone.