Work Text:
Percy was always taught that death is something that can come both as a friend and a foe. For some, death is warm and welcoming, visiting to free them from their misery or to lead them into better planes of existence. For others, it comes when it’s least expected, cold and ruthless, leaving behind a gaping hole of sorrow.
What he wasn’t taught lot about was the afterlife. He never given it much thought either, knowing his soul was doomed since the day he’d sealed the contract with the demon. The only thing he hoped for was that it would come for him once he’s ready. How ironic.
Death came for him in a form of betrayal. Granted, one he deserved for his foolishness, but a betrayal nevertheless.
When darkness first washed over him, he was almost relieved. That is, until the quiet void filled with fire and Percy was awake again, with familiar weight of hammer in his hand and smoke burning in his lungs.
He wasn’t aware of what he’s doing at all, his consciousness wandering somewhere in the darkness as he crumbled it away with every rise and fall of hammer against the anvil.
Then, somehow, Vax’ildan appeared to retrieve the gunslingers soul, and Percival went with him. How could he not? Not only had the Raven Champion called for him, snapping him out of the stagnation, but he also wandered into the rotten depths of Orthax to drag his friend back into the world of the living.
(“Do you trust me?” he asked back then. What a foolish question.)
(“You know I’m in love with you, right?”)
Percy wheezed, his chest heaving with a stuttering breath. He blinked. The light blinded him and sounds were muffled and distorted, as if he was underwater. He could more-less make out sounds - people either sobbing or laughing beside him, shuffling of the shoes against the stone. Someone was leaning over him, but it took him a few more seconds of rapid blinking to make out the facial features of the dark figure.
“Vax?” he mumbled. “What…?” he tried to ask, but his words slurred as he tried and failed to win over the weight of his own tongue. The room suddenly stilled and fell silent, but the figure let out an airy chuckle, which sounded more like a relief than a tease, before speaking in a soft voice.
“I meant it, Freddie.”