Icarus Laughed

Icuras Laughed

TW: Death and Suicide

Has canonical points but does not stick to canon

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Everything is grey. Grey, just grey no black no white just simple grey. Yeah there were colors but what was the point in seeing them when his brother couldn’t? What was the point in anything without his brother. For all he cared the world stopped spinning, time stopped ticking, colors stopped existing when that sword cut off the next beat to his brother’s heart. When he looked into his fathers eyes and down to the red blood ruining his brother's favorite yellow jumper everything just... stopped.  

He never felt his other brother grab him and hold him close to his chest. He never heard him whispering apologies for something he never did. Because in that moment even as his face was pushed into the cream colored poet’s shirt in a useless attempt to shield his eyes from the horror of his own father killing his brother, the only image that played through his mind was his brother’s ugly yellow jumper turning red oh so quickly while his bright blue eyed father stood there holding the sword that took his brother’s final life.

He never got to see his father collapse to the ground next to his brother and pull his limp lifeless body to his chest or to hear him sob spewing out apologies that would do no good now. 

The last thing he truly saw was his brother's final breath because now he never truly saw anything; it was blurry and grey and time just didn’t exist. 

Then day or maybe it was a few hours. It could have been a month for all he knew, he saw his father and everything snapped back in place. Suddenly color was bursting through everything shooting straight to his brain. The quiet breathing and creaking of the floorboards was suddenly overwhelming and time returned with a sudden punch. One second he was fine, numb, gone to the current world. The next he was screaming and scrambling for his fathers throat while someone pulled him into their soft white poet's shirt and carried him out of the room while whispering soft soothing words, their arms slowly turning into a bloody mess of scratch marks but they never once let go.

Eventually everything just turned black and he escaped back into the welcoming, cold arms of sleep. When he awoke no one was around and everything was grey and subdued once again. Nothing really made sense to him anymore, it was all kind of just there. So he sat with his legs dangling off the bed for hours feeling heavy and numb, not that he knew how long it had been to him it felt like seconds, without seeming to process it he went to the bathroom and as the cold water ran over his hands from the sink he glanced up into his own reflection and met his own bright blue eyes but all he saw was the cold blue eyes of his father from that fateful night. Then he was screaming as his hands shot up to his face, scratching and tearing at his eyes. Stumbling back into the wall as he cried and screamed  as his nails dug into his once unmarked face that his brother loved so dearly.  It didn't take long for him to hear feet pounding up the stairs and his door opening with a bang and for bandaged arms to wrap around him and gently but firmly pull his hands away from his face. All he could do was curl up into his other brother's chest and sob while he held him and whispered soft soothing words to him as he combed his fingers through his golden curls.

After his episode there was always someone in the room with him. Although that person was never his father and he never actually noticed them. He just sat there staring at the wall face blank. All he was, was a living corpse and he couldn't help but hate himself for it. Him being alive and his brother surely buried under the own dirt he tried blowing up. His other brother had figured out what happened without him ever saying anything and soon enough all reflective material where he could possibly see own reflection was gone. It isn't like he cared or even noticed though. He never moved from his spot on the bed unless absolutely necessary or his brother came in and stayed with him. During those times he was curled up against his chest while he read some story about Theseus and combed his fingers through his hair. That was the only time he ever really seemed to respond if you could even call blinking and small tears running down his face responding.