Work Text:
Michael knew there was no reason he should still be thinking about Fritz. Fritz had betrayed him, the boy HE trained. Of course, Fritz had his reasons. Of course he did. Yet, that wasn’t an excuse. He hated how Fritz occupied his mind so much.
Fritz was dead. Fritz. Was. Dead.
It sounded so weird to him. The boy he once bonded with, the boy he had saved countless times. The boy who had saved him. It was over. Michael knew he had to move on, but he couldn’t. The look in Fritz’ eyes. The cry of pain and shock. Michael, you’re a spy. You did what you needed to do. Is what he kept reminding himself, but it didn’t help him.
He lay in his bed; his mind on Fritz. He missed Fritz, as much as he knew he shouldn’t admit it. Losing Fritz was horrifying, hearing him cry out when the avalanche struck him. It was for the best. He would tell himself that constantly, Fritz wasn’t a good person. He was violence-hungry, bloodthirsty, savage. His mind drifted, succumbing to his exhaustion.
The dream started with him and Fritz, on the cable car. The suitcase in Fritz’ hand. Oh dear god, not this. Michael stood with his dagger in hand, staring at the scrawny boy. He taunted the other boy, "Come get the suitcase, Michael." The pale boy froze, his head reeling. Fritz knew he had a horrible fear of heights— he had been the one to help him during the courage tests.
He lunged at the other with his dagger, going right into his bicep. Fritz screamed, grabbing the dagger from Michael and dropping the suitcase. The suitcase had the bomb. They had both practically forgotten. The suitcase had fallen from the cable car. Right then; it detonated.
It all went by in a blur for Michael. The detonation of the bomb had caused an avalanche. He couldn’t see in front of him, the snow whipping around the two boys. They were mid-air, the perfect target for the avalanche. He heard a scream, Fritz. Fritz had fallen, the avalanche taking him down with him. The gut-wrenching, agonizing screams broke something in Michael. It disgusted him, it made him sick.
He woke up in a cold sweat, his mind whirling. He just relived everything he hated, his ‘best friends’ death. He hated saying that. He hated thinking about it. He hated thinking about Fritz. Fritz Brendler, the boy who he saved. The boy who saved him.