𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄

Pt 25: The real Monster under Kingston's Bed

Kingston wasn't sure how he'd ended up in front of the knife. He'd realised what was happening first, and he didn't have a whole lot of time to think, so he jumped. He didn't feel it until he looked down and saw red blossoming across his sweater in a macabre rose, the hilt jutting from his chest, and then pain lanced through his body. Everything sounded underwater and far away. He heard his name, but he couldn't even recognize who was saying it, though he figured it was Griffith. He never hit the ground as he fell but was caught and lowered gently. Hands held his face. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion as his vision blurred in and out, in and out. He tasted blood in his mouth and wasn't sure where it was coming from. He felt water droplets on his face.

"Is it raining?" he asked, blearily opening his eyes. Griffith's face was above his, eyes red and puffy.

"No," the Atlantean said quietly, his voice quivering. "That was a very stupid thing of you to do," he sniffed.

"I know," the other mumbled. "Orion's dead, though. Probably, anyways...ingesting that amount of boiling water would kill you, I think." He coughed a bit, tasting more blood.

"You're not going to die," Griffith said with fierce determination. "You're not."

"You managed fine without me before," Kingston pointed out.

"You can't know you're missing a friend until you find that friend," Griffith retorted. Kingston could see something flying in the sky above, made completely of flame.

"A phoenix," he observed. Griffith looked up behind him, nodding slowly. Then he nodded faster.

"I'll be right back," he said suddenly, getting up. "Quentin!" his footsteps faded, the sound of the ongoing battle taking over, though he could barely hear it. Kingston felt incredibly cold, and he could barely hold his eyes open when Griffith was back again.

"Hold on just a little longer," he breathed. "Just a little bit longer. Don't close your eyes." Kingston's body shivered in a last attempt to keep him warm, but to no avail. Yet he felt warmer a few moments later as Quentin showed up, the phoenix lassoed a few feet behind him. He untied the bird, and it hopped up to Kingston. He gazed up at the fiery creature, its black eyes gazing intently at him. Feathers of fire covered its body, flames of red and yellow licking at its skin that never burned. The librarian lifted a hand, and to his surprise the phoenix nuzzled its head against it without burning him. He weakly stroked the feathers, but he felt like his body was turning to stone and his hand dropped. A small droplet of fire formed in the corner of the phoenix's eye and began to run down the plumage on its face. Griffith caught it on his finger and carefully let it run into Kingston's chest wound. A burning sensation replaced the numbing pain as the phoenix continued to cry, lowering its beautiful head onto Kingston's chest.

Tear after tear entered the wound. Griffith grabbed the knife and pulled it out as the flesh began to knit, causing Kingston to gasp in pain and clench his fists. The injury slowly but surely closed up, leaving a pink scar but nothing that indicated the wound was fresh. Able to breathe again, Kingston tried to sit up and coughed up the rest of the blood in his throat. A moment later, Griffith was hugging him tightly, his breathing hitching terribly as he squeezed him.

"I told you not to come out for a reason," he scolded. "You almost died."

"But I didn't," Kingston pointed out. He returned the embrace, his right arm aching. He pulled away after a few moments, Griffith helping him up. Kingston steadied himself, looking up at Quentin.

"Why do you have a lasso?" he asked. The elf frowned.

"That's the first thing you have to say to me?" he demanded. "No 'hey thanks for getting the fire chicken down here so I didn't die a terrible death'? No 'I've just spared you from sulky Griffith'?" Kingston raised a brow.