dream again, dream better

i

warnings: semi-graphic major character death, crushed to death, blink-and-you-miss-it implied dubcon

~

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's all okay, you did so well, sweetheart." The words are slurred and soft, whispered into his ear. Nathan is holding him from behind, inside their mutual tomb of rock. Daemon knows Nathan's dying as quickly as he himself is, knows he has before, knows he will again. He could count the seconds, but he wants to savor this, drink in every touch and word before they're sent back to the start.

Nathan's hand clumsily cups his cheek. He's trying to clean the blood that dribbles from Daemon's mouth, but his thumb keeps missing. It's endearing; no matter how many loops they go through, he's sweet and caring under a layer of snark.

Now, they're dying. He's lost count of how many times. It's another first for Nathan, blessed to forget after every draw of death.

This time, they've been crushed beneath boulders, forced into each other's arms. (Though it never feels forced with Nathan, he muses, remembering scarlet eyes and violent pleasure. But that's another loop.) Nathan had tried to grab him, protect him, a selfish effort that cost them victory. He's still trying to wipe the blood away.

Daemon can't say much of anything. He's barely breathing, rock threatening to give way and completely crush him at any moment. So he lets him try to wipe the blood away. He keeps trying. Their breathing grows shallow and slow.

The welcome respite of death arrives messily, but it arrives.

Death sees four souls show up at her gates again. A lone cobalt shade shines next to a cluster of green-lime-yellow. They never enter, simply loiter at the edges of the garden, angels tied to their mortal duty by godly chains.

She checks her ledger. This is the seventeenth time. Four more times, and she'll be able to take them by force.

Death has never taken a soul by force before. Once, when the world was young, it was decided that if a soul reached her gates twenty-one times and did not enter, she could force them in. It was a decision made by a pantheon who did not know their world and a goddess who did not know herself nor her role. Now, she understands that everything comes to her in time. Even the world itself will.

It should have already, in fact. The skies should be dark, the land barren, the rocks dust. All the gods died centuries ago.

But the threads that remain tie themselves to one of two beings: an angel called Fleur, and a monster called Chaos. Despite their frail nature, they hold the remaining power of the gods in champions. If Death were any younger, she would hate them.

For now, Death waits. The end will not come cleanly, but it will come.

A/N:

yeah

i'm over at starry-storm-writing on tumblr, if you'd like to see more of what i do