remnants and fragments | {woodsmen v nevermore} day 4

we're all broken
it's  f a t e
all the pieces are there
they just aren't in their p l a c e

He'd been alone for a long time. Self-inflicted isolation cutting away at what was left of a foolish little boy. He'd been hopeful, then they told him he'd die. He'd been angry, then he'd found relief in liquid gold. He'd been empty, then they'd made him smile.

It figured that would be just as fleeting.

Noel mentioned home. He'd done his best to forget that mansion on that cursed island where only they existed. She summoned bitter memories of better days, when he at least had something on hand to make the pain go away. "We were dead men anyway," He narrowed his eyes, searching for something familiar within her. A pain that only she'd understand. They were bound not by blood but by suffering. This body was his now, at the cost of having every last bit of it broken. Did she feel the same? He couldn't tell. "I didn't want to watch anyone else die."

Fate was funny like that.

Noel spat poison, simpering sweetness that cut to his core. Come on now, let's all fight nice. Her blade erupted through Silas' chest and the canon fire only deafened a strangled scream. That must have been Beck, it sounded like him but he didn't feel how it tore through clenched teeth. "Silas?" Strong and safe as a lighthouse standing tall through a terrible storm. The boy from District Ten was invincible. They were meant to be friends until they weren't. It wasn't time for that to end.

But Silas didn't answer. Beck knew he couldn't. "Silas?!"

Panic was cold as a blade to his neck, drawing blood with every labored gasp. His chest was tight, his throat tighter. He wanted to look at his enemies, to will their faces to twist into those of the monsters they'd faced the day before. He wanted those hands to belong to anyone but Noel and for the voice he heard somewhere far away to be a beast's howl and not Laurent. Holy shit.

He couldn't look away. His eyes stayed, fixed, upon Silas. This wasn't happening. This was a nightmare. They were somewhere in the desert watching the sunset and waiting for it to rise again.

Loss was unbearable and euphoric all at once. His eyes threatened to burst as something warm collected in their corners. He bit the inside of his cheek until he drew blood because he knew he couldn't cry. They'd eat him alive. Beck was scared. He supposed he always had been, but this time he'd nowhere to run.

He stumbled back, snapping like twine stretched thin. "Sophie?" There were probably a thousand things Beck was supposed to do. Perhaps he was meant to pick up his blade and charge at Silas' killer screaming of vengeance. Perhaps he was meant to run as far as his legs could take him and hope the next time he saw any of them they'd be haloed against the night sky.

But he didn't. Beck didn't know what to do now.

His hand found her shoulder, the touch little more than a phantom's as he struggled to find the eye of this storm now that everything had gone pitch black. "I think Silas is hurt."