the book of revelation || wade & beck

It's a tragedy that life goes on. Breath by trembling breath the seconds bleed into centuries and even stubborn hearts stop beating and collapse into dust. He thinks too much about the puzzle pieces that put them together and blames it on his childhood so he doesn't have to think too deeply. Lungs that burn and stomachs that ache and brains that'll kill you if you're not careful. A mosaic of melancholy, fit together in the places they don't really belong.

Wrong. He's felt that way for a while now. Covered up all the mirrors in his mansion with black cloth because catching even a glimpse of his reflection is like a punch to the gut. A bitter irony, he thinks as he walks on feet he's not sure exist, that he fought so hard for this body only to despise it in the end.

In the end. There's one of those thoughts, the dangerous ones that feel like a knife pressed against his throat. (And it's memory, not a figment. He's felt it. In the forest. He knows the sensation intimately.)

Beck figured he'd go numb. In fact he was kind of counting on it. That loss by loss this agony would begin to ebb until all that was left of his pain was a shriveled, callous little memory of what it was like to mourn. A small mercy, but one that never came. There's a list of names now and each is highlighted in rusted crimson, painful and sharp whenever his fingers catch upon a fond memory.

He's come to expect it, he cannot help tangling his heartstrings with every little bit of good he finds and waits with baited breath for them to take a knife to it. Unfortunately, resignation to the pain makes it no easier to bear. Luke's dead and he misses him so fucking much. Luke's dead and he didn't have to be. Luke's dead because he asked for it.

Just like Beck did.

He can't bring himself to hate him, that's just making a murderer into a hypocrite.

There's so many demons rattling around in his skull that he can build a scapegoat out of each tattered memory. It's not him, it's the nightmares. It's not him, it's the Capitol. It's not him it's-

Hailsham.

The academy looms above him, a threat and a promise. It forces itself through the misty horizon, ocean waters gone frothy and grey like they can sense the malice coiled within. Bowing to the presence of a bad omen.

Its pull is magnetic, a siren's song that pitches falsetto and coaxes a migraine into building behind eyes he shuts to stave off nausea. Cold and clammy hands tremble enough that he's got to shove them in his pockets to find the strength to keep walking. It's a wonder this place can still hurt him after so many years away.

He can almost see the ghosts coiled on the ground, old friends and enemies reduced to tendrils of fog with sticky fingers. Nobody but the survivors remember them, their names, their voices. Now there's one less shoulder to carry the burden and that thought stings so bad he can feel his knees go weak.

He sticks a cigarette between his lips and it's only then that he can breathe again.

Traveling through the decaying decadence is eerie, he's never been one to fall for campfire tales but it's not hard to believe that something could linger within a place so filled with tragedy. Or maybe that's wishful thinking. "I miss you guys." Half a laugh, mostly a restrained sob.

He hates that this feels a little bit like a homecoming.

It's not long before the walls start to suffocate him, leg aching because stairs aren't exactly a strong suit when one of your feet is fake and you were this close to losing the other. Still, he soldiers on toward the light at the end of the tunnel because that's all he knows how to do anymore.

Hope that there's something better on the other side.

Instead he finds a ghost on the roof and suddenly feels a whole lot like jumping off it. The plants around them cling to life, fed by rain and sheer force of will. Yellow around the edges, drooping as they search for sunlight - but alive. Barely. A stream of smoke curls in the corner of his vision, mouth dry as his lips wrap around a bitter smile.

"Wade fuckin' Hailsham." He takes a seat next to him, not bothering to ask for permission nor caring if he minds it. His head falls back on his shoulders, letting out another cloud of smoke to obscure the beauty of the heavens above. "You know how hard I tried to save that little shit?"

Hollow words pretending they belong here. Like everything's normal and his eyes aren't tinged red around the corners with tears yet to escape. Hopefully Wade won't even look at him, he doesn't like being seen. "But no, of course he went and -"

A beat of silence.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you'd rather see him here than me right now."

Not accusing, resigned.

He knows it's true.

"Me too."