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Time seems to slow as the blade slices across his throat.
Pete sees it unfold in front of him, fingers loosening around the handle of his iron axe at the sight, heart dropping quick and fast from his chest into his stomach, a quick moment of shock being replaced with a wave of dread.
In a way, it’s almost sickeningly beautiful; red is drawn from Grian’s throat, leaving a trail in the air as it followed his movement, blood spilling as if it were a can of paint being knocked over, falling, falling-
His body grows numb all over, pain no longer present as adrenaline floods his body, panic and fear following suit. Pete barely hears himself scream, weapon dropping from his grasp as he sprints towards the Yellow, face paling and chest tightening and eyes beginning to burn. It’s almost as if the havoc around him stopped, his mind only registering the hard thud of Grian’s body hitting the grass underneath them.
“Fuck-…fuck.” The Red splutters between heavy breaths, voice hoarse, arms immediately scooping underneath, shakily supporting the winged man. The green grass underneath was staining red quickly, blood pouring from the deep, deep wound in his neck and chapped lips. Spare droplets found themselves into the ends of his fluffy, golden-brown hair, disheveled from running and dodging blows of swords aimed at him and him only.
“No, no, no…” Pete murmured, red eyes frantically flickering from the deep, deep cut in his neck to Grian’s eyes, hues of yellow fading, the shine beginning to disappear. He held him closer, cold iron brushing gently against his skin, the metallic scent of blood making its way to his nose. His hands were careful to avoid his wings, feathered appendages that just hung loosely from his back.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Grian was supposed to get back home. Grian was supposed to be okay. Grian was supposed to go back to his friends, and just forget about him all together.
Grian wasn’t supposed to stay with him. Grian wasn’t supposed to die.
“You’re going to be okay, y-you’re going to be fine-”
Grian shook his head to the best of his ability, eyes staring into his own. His expression was soft, his previous sense of fear washing away, replaced with calmness. The blood was draining, quicker now, his skin nearing ghostly-pale.
Tears began to blur Pete’s vision, his grip tightening, ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, I-I never meant-” His voice broke, wavering as his tears finally began to stream down his face, as he gasped out, “Please don’t go, please don’t leave-”
“It’s okay,” a soft voice whispered, strained over the fluid filling his throat. Pete felt his hand—it’s so cold, he shouldn’t be this cold—shakily trace over his face, wiping away a few tears. “I’ll-…I’ll come back.”
His chest shook with nearly every word that weakly forced itself out of his mouth, strength fading fast, voice becoming muffled from the wound in his neck.
“It’s just-…it’s just another life.”
Grian smiled, blood dripping and color draining and it made Pete’s heart hurt just looking at his friend.
“No- Grian, you can’t-”
“You’ll-” He gasped harshly, struggling to breathe, “-you’ll find me. You’ll-…be okay.”
Carefully, with all the strength he could muster, he pulled the small rose out of his hair, the one that Pete had given him a week earlier. Originally, he had gotten flowers to dye Grian’s clothes red, as to blend in more with the people around him. But with a few extra, some snuck their way into his hair.
The petals used to be a bright, vibrant red at first, full of life and passion. But now, the rose seemed more drained, color fading closer to crimson.
His hands found Pete’s sage-green hair, and he slipped the rose at the side, just underneath his beanie. Grian smiled once more, but this time, it was smaller, more fragile.
The color in his eyes darkened, faded.
Thank you, he mouthed, blood growing cold. The hand that was still in his hair began to go limp.
“Grian, don’t go- stay with me, please-”
But he didn’t move at Pete’s words. His eyelids closed, breathing coming to a halt.
His hand began to slip away, Pete catching it with his own. His fingers intertwined with ones that were cold, freezing to the touch.
The yellow in his heart flickered, Pete waiting for the color to grow warmer, to fade into red. For Grian’s body to dissipate into thin air.
He didn’t. He- he didn’t.
Pete closed his eyes, trying to ignore the weight carried in his arms. He tried to ignore the dread pooling into his stomach, horror seeping into his thoughts.
He’ll respawn, he’ll respawn, he told himself, desperation clawing at the back of his mind. He’ll find him, he’ll find him, a blank canvas with nothing to his name, memories wiped clean.
Surely. Surely-
The weight in his arms didn’t let up. Something was wrong.
The limp weight in his arms made Pete feel sick to his stomach; his body’s been here for too long, why- why hasn’t he-
From behind him, he heard a blade unsheathe.