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Darkness. A never ending night that spread on endlessly - impossibly, without the boundaries of reality. It wasn’t nothing , however. There was… a sound. A movement. In, then out - inhale, then exhale. It was soundless, but it was there. Breathing, almost moving the shadows along with it.
It was controlled. Calm. Unimpeded and uninterrupted, just like the restful sleep that could only be achieved by a being without a care in the world.
For a brief, blissful moment, time stood still.
.
.
.
Then, one inhale hitches, before it explodes into a chase for oxygen. In a blink of an eye, the darkness is chased away by light - burning light, flame that blinds the naked eye.
The air stuttered in the man’s lungs, coughing - hacking in the midst of the smoke. He tears the ground, the rubble, the world apart. Where is she? Where is she?
He knew the older men were already gone (dead, already buried six feet under and for what ), but - but he had to find her.
He hoped, begged, prayed to anyone who was listening that his little girl could just be waddling around somewhere safe and sound, under the safety of a space in between the collapsing structures, or maybe in a protected hole in the ground. Just anywhere.
Another harsh cough, yet this time blood spits out without warning. He doesn’t even have time to worry about it- where is she?
The fire licks up his arms - where is she - his fingernails chip painfully, bleeding as he tries to move the charred wood of his home off of each other- where is she? - tears sting his eyes, falling only to be swallowed up by the ever rising temperature. He can feel reverberations through the ground, raining from the sky and digging up their soil for some mineral that doesn't even matter.
Where is she?!
The thought screams in his head, and his actions follow along its intensity. With a heaving grunt he yanks the piece of log out from the ground. His fear, his rage- it fuels his body to push beyond its limits. His chest heaves from breathing in more carbon than oxygen. His eyes frantically search the ground for a sign-
And-
A small form - form, he says. He can’t tell what it used to be. It’s so unlike what it was before - lively and happy and smiling and only barely walking. It’s unrecognizable, this is not his-
Despite it all, it still fits perfectly in his arms. Charred and burning to the touch. He doesn’t let go, he only holds it closer. The tears that filled the corners of his eyes fell, one after another - drip, drip, pour. It was an overwhelming wave of heartbreak as he poured over the small thing. Trying to protect it from a fate that was already set in stone.
He couldn't accept it
His sobs were a quiet, silent mourning for a long while as the terrible sounds of his surroundings fell into unimportant white noise. The world burned all around him, eating at his strength - but as long as she was safe (safe, safe, she had to be safe she's fine-) in his arms, he’d cry out to the world in blinding rage. He could no longer hold back the screams, squeezing the small thing impossibly closer to his chest.
Another wail was cut off in the presence of someone behind him. His breath quickened, face turning to fury. Who dares to try and approach him when he has something so precious in his arms? Who do they think they are, to even think they could get close?
He digs his own fingers into his arms, mouth splitting into a sneer as he whips his head around - ready to take fight the Aeons themselves if he so needed to, all so that she would be safe.
He only catches a single fleeting glimpse of glowing white before time slows to a sudden still - his surroundings blinking away in an instant.
A silent gasp is heard in the - room? Dimension? Plane? - and he doesn’t even realize it was him who made it until it reverberated in his ears again with a haunting echo.
His vision was blurred, but the white figure was clear as day against the pitch-black darkness that enveloped them. The light was… comforting. Is it going to take him away? To where?
Is he… dead?
A touch as soothing as a cool breeze in the hot summer blaze reaches him, and it takes a second for him to realize he’s being embraced.
No , The figure says with her hands alone, wrapping around his neck and falling over his shoulders. His eyes widen, stray tears that stayed stubbornly in his eyes finally falling with the feeling.
You’re alive. It reaffirms, and he can only sit pitifully on the floor in shock, blankly looking ahead even as the soothing white fills his vision. Something else - something painfully soft wraps around him as well, engulfing him in warmth
You can feel it, don’t you? And... for some reason, he can. He's become accustomed to the emptiness of his cybernetic body, however reluctantly. He has to, even if sometimes it makes it feel like its more trouble than its worth. But this feeling... like a blanket is shielding him from the world. He can feel every fiber of the soft material...
This isn't... this isn't real, is it?
The being rests its head on top of his, and that action felt so unfamiliar, and loving that it makes his breath catch at the back of his throat, scratchy with the will to continue letting the tears fall.
And you still have reason to live. So, keep living.
He doesn’t know if he hears the voice in his ears, or if he just feels it resonate deep in his soul - but nevertheless the message was received, and it nestles warmly in his chest. It makes his breath stutter, hardly even remembering what had him so shaken up before.
Its voice was like a lullaby to his worries, his anxieties, his fears.
His vision focuses only the slightest bit - beautiful wavy strands lightly drifting in an unseen breeze, with odd appendages sprouting from its - her, it’s a person… right? - back. That must be the thing that was wrapping around him now, cocooning him, shielding him from the memories. They're... wings, his brain supplies him after a moment at just gazing at them.
Fire, ash, burning and charred remains - why was he thinking of that? It doesn’t matter any more. The ideas chase away like fresh water falling through his fingertips as he breathes deeply, smelling a beautiful faint fragrance from her and nothing at all at the same time.
Shakily, he tries to reach up a hand. A show of reciprocation, of appreciation, to cling to this fleeting source so that it wouldn't go like all he loved before - something.
Strangely, he can sense a smile coming from the ethereal being next to him before he even sees it. She retreats from the hug, and it almost makes him panic with the want to bring her back in until he sees her face up close.
Loving turquoise eyes gazed upon him in a way he knew he didn’t deserve (he didn’t save them, he wasn’t fast enough, he didn't save her- ), and yet he couldn’t reject it - he couldn’t turn away.
Closer, she moves. And before he knew it, she wiped away his black and white bangs to press their foreheads together. His lips tremble with the feeling - solid and reassuring as she was against him. He was supposed to be stronger than this - had to be stronger or else he’d fall into his own emptiness and lack of humanity, and never get the revenge he so desperately desired.
But… her touch makes him forget. Even if just for a moment. It makes him vulnerable.
His fingers twitch, the want to hug her back - whoever she was - overwhelming him. He wants to feel her with her own hands - maybe then he could fool himself into thinking he could stay.
…Never one to hesitate, he goes for it, closing his eyes and trying to bite back the tears.
And right before his fingers could even graze her wings-
They both vanish into a vortex of darkness, and he is left alone once again.
.
.
.
Boothill gasps, lurching forward in his bed as his hands reach out listlessly like something - some one - was supposed to be there in his arms. His eyes are blown wide, mouth making a mockery of heavy breathing (He doesn’t need to breathe anymore, not really. But old habits die hard, and the familiar movement feels like he could be considered human for just a moment.)
After a few minutes of just staring ahead without really looking at anything, his arms fall uselessly in his lap. The room is swathed in a dark hue of blue, with swaying dust particles floating through the air that can be seen with the moon shining a ray of light through the window.
His back slumps forward like the weight of the world was weighing him down, glancing out said window with a scary sort of blankness. His eyes are impossibly dulled in spite of the moon's shine, no light reflecting from its surface.
With a look like that, you wouldn’t question that the man was nothing more than a reanimated corpse.
And yet, he still sees, and he still thinks and somehow he can at least mimic the movement of breathing if he didn’t think about it.
You’re alive.
…That’s a bit hard to believe, ain’t it?
He jabs the base of his cold hands into closed eyelids, letting out a groan that was tinged with sleep as he flops backwards into the bed. He feels detached to the unfeeling metal of his hands numbing his face with its chill, grieving the loss of the inexplicable warmth from his dream.
As he tries to settle his mind, he can’t help but feel like the light of the moon is enveloping him in a hug. The light wrapping around his figure, and somehow finding itself on his face to where he can see the white light from the back of his eyelids.
He takes another mimicry of a deep, shaky breath.
And for a brief moment it makes him feel like he could fool himself into thinking he was still truly breathing.
...At the very least, he wasn't willing to succumb to the darkness just yet.