Fade

Part 11

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

I’ve been in similar situations before --trapped in spiraling weakness, lying prone and waiting for death-- and I’ve never had my life flash before my eyes. I’ve never seen a white tunnel, had an out of body experience, or felt a blanketing sense of peace. Dying was hard enough without such dramatic bells and whistles.

There was a grain of truth in one of the rumors, however. The many reports of lost peripheral vision, coupled with a strange and irresistible fascination with even the most mundane of things, was a familiar phenomenon. These could be our final moments, instinct whispered, so let’s take in everything, every detail...

Tunnel vision, it was called, and I felt it acutely now.

My struggles had dwindled almost to nothing, the pain subsiding to a dull ache as my body began to shut down, and the sight of blood had become my whole world. The feel of it sliding down my skin was not a new thing, nor was its taste, or the cloying way it filled my nostrils with the distinctive scent of metal… yet I was mesmerized by the tiny rivulets seeping from the tears in my skin, frozen at the edges of consciousness by the faint splash of droplets falling into the pool of red below. I was noticing things I never had before, how dark and strange it looked against my skin; the way a hanging drop trembled with the miniscule vibrations of a living body, shining bright ruby in the fluorescent lighting; and how the expanding edges of the blood pool stained the concrete a deep, rich red, like the color of ripe cherries.

It was strange and morbid, this sudden enthrallment, but I could no more look away now than I could fly. It was the only thing that kept me conscious and aware, the only thing that kept me alive. That… and a profound core of anger, burning bright and hot enough to keep the darkness at bay. Anger directed mostly at myself.

Raphael, the great ninja, a victim of accidental suicide. What irony. What a fucking stupid way to die.

It would be a few days yet before April, used to my long periods of silence, would think to call. Perhaps another day before she grew worried enough to make the dangerous trek to the lair. She would notice the quiet first, and then the hallway’s trail of dried blood, staining the walls and floor with a spattering of rust. And in following that grisly path, she would find me.

I didn’t want the sight of my decaying corpse to be her last memory of me. And I didn’t want to die without telling her… so many things. How much we’d appreciated everything she had done for us. How we had admired her, our first human friend, for her rare courage and unshakable loyalty. How very much we had loved her.

God, April, you deserved better than us. Better than me…

My wound twinged and I shuddered in reaction, the brief pulse of agony yanking my fraying mind in a new direction. Another highlight of regret from a list already painfully long.

Still trapped within his own mind, Leo would stand obediently in the hallway until he either forgot my order or was found by April. He was still not fully recovered from his injuries; he couldn’t afford to go three or more days without food, water, or any sort of care at all. His body wouldn’t be able to handle it.

In killing myself, I might have just killed my brother, too. Fuck.

And if Leo did survive, and by some miracle eventually found his way back into sanity, would he remember the last month? Would he remember every rotten thing I’d said to him, all the awful things I’d done? God help me, I hoped not.

Another thick bead fell from my skin and dropped into the crimson puddle, and I felt the warmth as it rippled and lapped against my chin in tiny waves. I could do nothing but watch, sickened by its beauty, as the light played bands of bright scarlet and burgundy across its shifting surface.

Christ, I needed a cigarette…

It was a small sound, almost too faint to detect, but I nevertheless heard the rasp of a callused heel scraping against concrete. A slight shift in the air and a change in the texture of light only served to confirm what I already knew: I wasn’t alone in the room anymore.

I rolled my eyes up and squinted furiously, as if peering into sunny daylight from the bottom of a dry well. A figure swam into focus before my failing vision, silhouetted at the threshold by the stark hallway lights. With a compact body, rounded shoulders and distinctive baldpate, the figure was terribly familiar.

Drunk from blood loss, my mind much too fogged for clarity, I ran a tongue across my dry lips and murmured hoarsely, “Donny?”

The figure stiffened at the name, cocking its head to one side in a surprisingly birdlike fashion, before taking its first hesitant step through the doorway. Passing beyond the radius of the hall’s fluorescent lighting, new luminescence fell across his shoulders and cast shifting, ominous shadows along the planes of its face. A glimpse of livid scarring, a slight shift of perspective, and then I suddenly understood who it was.

My breath froze in my throat, heartbeat quickening with shock almost profound enough to send me over the edge into oblivion. It couldn’t be…

“Leo?”

He took another step, his heel scraping against the floor in a stilted manner that was almost as incongruous as his sudden appearance. Grace was an inborn trait for him, as much a foundation of his identity as the katanas he used to wear, and was one of the few things the explosion didn’t take away. Not even insanity could quell his fluidity of movement, that natural grace, which put even the most accomplished dancers to shame.

But now… Now he moved with the jerky, robotic motions of a marionette, as if each step was forced from him unwillingly and at great cost. In his twisted features was the expression of a man who had hang-glided over the gates of hell, and was now looking down into the pit of horrors below.

Something I’d said or done must have gotten through to him, something that had somehow forced him to disobey a direct order. I knew what he was trying to do, but considering the state he was in, I didn’t see how he could help me.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but found that I couldn’t force a single word passed my lips. I knew I should talk to him, say something, anything, but no words came to mind. There was no expression adequate enough for what I was feeling now.

At least I got to see this before I died, I thought with odd gratitude, at least I got to see him move once under his own power. Perhaps God has a sense of mercy after all.

Halting about a foot away from me, he fell without ceremony, abruptly collapsing to his knees as if the puppeteer had cut a few select strings. I winced at the sickening crack of cartilage against concrete, and wondered if he’d just succeeded in injuring himself.

He apparently didn’t feel any pain, however, for he reached out with his scarred right hand and hesitantly ran his fingers across the surface of the blood pool. It coated his digits and palm, and left thick streaks across the untouched concrete. Blood eagerly sought out these three new channels and flowed into them, creating tendrils of red across the gray stone and expanding outward like the arms of a starfish.

With those same halting motions, Leo brought his bloody hand to his face. Brow ridges drawn together in an expression of puzzlement, he watched with strange intensity as it flowed slowly down his wrist, before becoming blocked and entangled by the deep scarring that ran the length of his forearm. He made a noise low in his throat, a sudden high-pitched animal whine of incomprehension.

The sound was so unexpected and so unlike anything Leo had ever done before, that I was quite unable to stop him when he suddenly licked his wrist, pink tongue darting out and lapping up the blood like a small child catching a line of melted ice cream.

My stomach churned at the sight and I stared wide-eyed at my brother, a feeling of surrealism washing over me in a dizzying wave. Blinking in disbelief, I slurred, “What th’ hell are ya doin’?”

Without the slightest indication that he had heard, he slowly rolled his tongue around in his mouth, taking in the taste with that same curious expression of bafflement. His jaw worked as he swallowed and for a breathless moment he simply stared into space, his head cocked, before his eyes widened in sudden, terrible understanding.

He shuddered hard and rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his plastron. Hugging himself tightly, hunched in a shivering ball of misery, he whispered, “Blood. It’s blood.”

Those simple words were forced out slowly, grudgingly, his cracked and ruined voice trembling with the beginnings of tears. I couldn’t begin to guess what was going on in his head right now, but the world of hurt in his tone was enough to give me strength to move. My arms trembled with the effort and black spots swam in front of my narrow vision, but I nevertheless slid my good arm under my chest and heaved upward. Breath coming in shallow gasps, I reached out towards Leo.

I don’t know what I’d thought I could do, for I didn’t have the slightest idea how to help him, but the point was rendered moot when the heel of my hand encountered a smear of blood and abruptly lost traction. I collapsed for the second time that evening, my chin smacking against concrete… and for a moment my world blanked out.

The sensation of movement was what brought me back to the edges of awareness. Familiar hands, scarred and still deceptively strong, were under my arms, lifting me up and shifting my body around. I felt, distantly, the slight impact as my shell hit brickwork. Unable to stop myself, I moaned in weakness and pain.

A figure moved about me, his footsteps measured and almost mechanical, and I listened absently as I tried to place my surroundings. I was now sprawled gracelessly against the wall, my right shoulder lightly brushing against the cool metal of the medicine cabinet.

Well, this was an improvement. At least now I wouldn’t die flat on my face.

My head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds and I was no longer capable of lifting it, so I let it list uselessly forward, my chin nestled in the join between my skin and plastron. Exercising a great display of will, I opened my eyes, peering fuzzily out at the world through barely slitted lids. My vision was nearly useless now, but I was still able to make out the blurred silhouette of Leo, moving away from me and coming to a halt in front of Don’s bed.

He stood there for a long moment, simply staring at the sheets as if waiting for some clue how to proceed. Then, in a swift move I couldn’t follow, he yanked the top sheet away. The entire bed frame squealed forward slightly with the force of his tug and the mattress was nearly pulled from its foundation, but Leo didn’t seem to notice as he bundled the sheet in his arms and turned away.

Collapsing in front of me with the same graceless motion he’d previously displayed, the white sheet billowed before settling over his legs like a shroud. He gripped one edge of the dusty cloth with both hands, and frowning in concentration, pulled hard in opposite directions. Months of sickness and prolonged inactivity had withered the once-prominent muscles in his arms, but the strength in them had not entirely disappeared, for the cloth tore with relative ease.

Sometime during my brief stint of unconsciousness Leo had apparently regained some measure of control. In his gaze was still the expression of one who had seen far too much, but at least now calmness and rationality were bubbling closer to the surface. If I didn’t look too closely, it was almost as if Leo had finally crossed the line back into sanity.

Once half the sheet had disintegrated into strips, Leo reached out and gripped my injured arm, pulling it closer to himself. I sucked in a breath against the hurt and watched as, with clumsy fingers and rough motions, he began to bind my wound.

He pulled and tugged at my arm, binding the cloth strips too tight around my injury, but I didn’t mind. There was no malice in his expression or movements; rather, it was as if it was taking everything he had to help me, and he just couldn’t broaden his concentration enough to be gentle.

Even in the depths of his self-made hell, my brother was still willing to come to my aid when I needed it. That thought was enough to warm me and keep the pain away.

It seemed like much longer, but in reality it took only about two minutes to securely bandage my wound. Tying a final, awkward knot, Leo ran his hands speculatively over the dressing. Seemingly satisfied, he sighed once, a trembling sound that might have contained relief, and then bowed his head.

He looked back up at me and I saw his eyes flicker, clarity blanketed for a split second by a look of vacuity. His fingers tightened around my arm and he shivered, fighting against it, but I knew it would be a losing battle. Unconsciousness was fast approaching for us both, but when I woke up again, Leo would still be gone. Lost inside his own mind.

I could feel darkness pulling apart my psyche, but I struggled against it, willing myself to stay awake for just a few moments more. There was something I had to know first. Something important.

Curling my fingers around Leo’s forearm in a feeble grip, I took a deep breath. My voice was terrible, so rough and garbled that I barely recognized it as my own, but I nevertheless forced myself to speak. “Who’m I, Leo? Say ya remember me. Please…”

Leo was shivering continuously now, his whole body shaking as his soul was inexorably pulled away, but he still had enough presence of mind left to hear me. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he swallowed hard, turning his gaze up to meet mine one last time.

He squeezed my arm with fingers nearly as weak as my own, and incredibly, he smiled. The expression was fleeting and slight, and it pulled at his facial scars in disconcerting ways… but it was still the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen.

“Ototo,” he whispered.

My eyelids slid shut of their own accord, my fingers losing their grip on Leo’s arm and falling away. Unconsciousness beckoned insistently, and this time I obeyed without hesitation, my heart light with an emotion I thought I’d never feel again.

Brother. He’d called me brother.