Killing Is Forgiving - (Killer Croc x Reader)

15. - The Burial Ground

"Perpetual peace is only
found in the graveyard."

- Immanuel Kant -

━━━ ✙ ━━━

(Waylon's P.O.V.)

The soil was sodden. Gotham had just been endowed by an unpredicted downpour seconds ago. The wooden cross Waylon had assembled and erected on the head of Fred's tomb hidden in the forest went aslant due to the slippery ground. The worms, millipedes, and other insects underground impacted by the downpour squirmed their way out of their homes. Some unsuspecting insects were crunched by Waylon's weight underfoot.

As soon as he placed down a wildflower which he didn't know the name of, he leaned against a trunk of oak which was in its abscission state as he murmured about how hard it must have been for (Y/n) to have to spend (their) life with someone who didn't even know how to live life properly.

But then, he looked at himself.

He could have ended up like Fred, but thank goodness that despite his bestiality, his heart still longed to be human. He used to have his heart beating only for June, even after her death. He'd vent out a fit of anger for her, reminisce his memories with her in an attempt of a reminder that he still could be happy and live a normal life with her.

However, the second he's reminded that June was nothing but a corpse, he realized that his hopes and dreams were now dead too.

That is until (Y/n) appeared in his life.

And God, he misses (them) every single night and day.

He couldn't help but hope that (Y/n) would someday reciprocate his love. He couldn't help but recollect the time (Y/n) brought him a box of warm pizza that tasted better than expected and hypothesized that it tasted that way because his eyes couldn't let go of off (them) as he wolfed it down. He also couldn't help but love (them).

He realized that love is such strong a word. Nonetheless, he believed that that's what he felt.

"Fred, Fred... Sorry for chopping off your limb, Buddy," Waylon murmured, crossing his arms as he stared upon his grave intently. "At least I returned them to you, yeah?" He laughed, but it dwindled like the rain that evening.

The rain was ceasing. The blares of thunders were fainting. People began collapsing their umbrellas and let the cold trickles damp their fabrics or, perhaps, slid down their raincoats. The scent of Gotham slowly restored; benzopyrene, vehicles' exhaust, dogs and men's urine, the putrescible junks all around, warm coffee...

Waylon liked it here better, hidden behind the trees, ensconced in tranquility and petrichor. Had his sense never been this strong since the smell of the sewer pipe meters away from his position was still able to penetrate his nostrils, the peaceful feeling would be much more pleasing. Still, this was enough, and "enough" was something rare in his life.

He sat down, letting himself connect with nature. There were no birds or any other animals, just frogs croaking and the remnants of the rain cascading the tips of the leaves. He sighed a relief as he crossed his arms behind his head to cushion his head. He didn't have this chance of quietude every so often. Thus, making use of the opportunity available for him sounded like a necessity. Besides, a little rest didn't sound at all too bad.

Waylon closed his eyes and let his surroundings hypnotized him.

However, his mind stayed not hypnotized.

His mind couldn't stop wandering back and forth; (Y/n) and Fred all the way. He imagined his peace, but not long after, he imagined (their) hurt. He imagined (their) peace, but not long after, he imagined (their) past. He imagined his peace, but not long after, he imagined himself as Fred.