Work Text:
Away from the crowds, Bigby could regain his breath from distress, that padlock could only restrain for so long the volatile beast inside, dormant for now. Is this what he wanted for freedom? Better than nothing, better than being stuck in that Hamlet. A wandering vagrant, receiving the unpleased looks of others, but not now, his sense said otherwise, someone looking upon his shrouded form, making his posture tense at the notice of another presence than his own.
He did not want to look back, but if the occasion desired, he would. To his dreadful surprise, he was met with a face from his past, if so, he could call the deteriorating figure standing behind him. Something familiar about it, a faint scent of vinegar that he remembers so clearly, now mixed with the stronger scent of putrefying flesh.
“You have not changed a day…”
Now Bigby was frozen in place, Damian? It was clear in his eyes now, some things never change, the collar he borne as a symbol of the burden and punishment, the flail, but there was something different—no, everything, except the before mentioned.
“Damian?”
Bigby was not excited, far from it, taking a step back as about to flee, until that deathless being extended its hand, as it would be enough to stop him. The last of his memories by his side were bitter, it died, didn’t it? Swore by his life that corpse was out of pulse when he held its hand for the last time. Damn Damian, yet dear Damian, stopping him once again.
The one being that offered him shelter, a sense of ease, even if Damian was so peculiar in his pious ways— it was the same being that made him mourn and dread, Bigby blamed himself over something out of his hands and held that guilt to his chest. What have you done to yourself now, Damian? Was it him?
“No, stay back…”
Growing only more conflicted as he thought about it, he missed Damian, except there lived a feeling of resentment, how could he speak as if it did not happen, was his death nothing else than another punishment? Unshackled by the consequences of that past the outcasted man was part of, now hand in hand of penance and memories, some abhorrent, others, too good to be true.
Where were you hiding, Bigby, what was it that you always hid from? Damian complied with the request, keeping distance. Those chains, the olive cloak on his shoulder, even with a worse vision, there he was and could recognize him.
“Bigby…I thought you—”
“Died? Someone didn’t, I see.”
Damian noticed that rancorous tone in his words, hurting in a way he had forgotten. Unable to remember the details of that regretful day, taking it too far could be a small word to describe it, a lamentable day, wishing to hold his hands once again, trace his fingers in his hair once more since then. There was something sure of it, he regretted it happening.
“I do not expect you to forgive me.”
Damian was honest, he had to if he wanted to show some remorse, even if it would not work out. To show there was that sense of being still there, maybe not as Bigby could remember, that could not be done.
“You’re damn right, why did you have to do it? Leave me?”
Finally, it was the abomination approached, he could beat in his face if wanted, and finally rend what remained of that carcass—but no, instead, Bigby grabbed an arm, circling Damian’s wrist.
“But…you are here.”
“I never meant to leave you behind.”
None of them would say sorry openly.
“…foul.”
Bigby expressed, unconvinced by those words. Terrible, still needing of his grab once more, even with resentment, even if his remaining skin was cold with gaping scars, no longer crimson but a green substance seeping through the wounds.
Bigby wanted to insult him more, but for how long would they stay there? Good things can only last for so long, this was as good as it could get.
What is done, is done, damage beyond repair, yet craving the remains of fondness, maybe, just maybe. It didn’t matter if it was for only a few minutes, anything could happen from now. Damian would not refuse this, the sensation of someone’s life, those calloused fingers were more alive than his, he did not deserve it, yet Bigby did it, in such dire circumstances, even a dim light is appreciated.