the 12 days of christmas // bastille

the 12 days of christmas

A/N: so this whole story is in HUGE thanks to ao3 user Bastee for the idea that inspired this story, and for him keeping me properly motivated to write it at all. we bounce dyle ideas back and forth so he's basically going to be to thank for most of the things i have planned haha. thank you dear. <3 also i was a bit iffy with it but i'm glad to get it done and have something short out for christmas. so hope you enjoy and have a good holiday season!  (PS, i'm posting it without editing. SORRY!)
also important: i am not religious. i was raised christian. but i am doing my best to represent the catholic religion as accurately as i can! i did a lot of research but if i get something wrong, feel absolutely free to correct it in the comments. i mean no disrespect at all. 

Day One

"I've been reading up about a Christmas carol that gets stuck in my head every year. I thought I knew what it was, but it turns out that I never properly learned."

My audience was a man in a coma, and he just lay there like I hadn't spoken at all. He was faker than the holiday cheer that the nurses tried to force, working late into the night when they would rather be at home with their families. A selfish desire, to be living their lives instead of saving others. But was it really selfish? Who would anyone be to say which life mattered more? It all depended on whether you were an exhausted nurse napping behind your desk whenever you could, or a man comatose on a stiff bed. 

I was pacing around the room in the dark. The only light that still buzzed through the gloom was one above my present company's head, shining off the plastic tubes and his mask. His eyes were purple with bruises, and his head was wrapped in a bandage to protect the delicate spot where his skill was reconstructed. He didn't tell me to stop, so I didn't.

"Growing up, I was always under the impression that the 12 days of Christmas were leading up to Christmas. I guess I don't really know what made me think that. Maybe it was the fact that we always sang it before the holiday, but never after. Because as soon as the day passes, we let it go and move on to the next one.

"But that's not the case. The 12 days actually start on the day of Christmas itself. It ends on January 5th, the apparent day Christ was born. So that would make today the first day. The partridge in the pear tree."

My wandering feet took me to his beside. His hand was there to touch, but I was almost certain if he were awake, he would slap me away. So I sat at the very far corner of his bed and gazed upon his shattered face. The dim florescent light made him look pale and dead. I thought briefly that some Christmas lights might brighten him up a little. He had completely missed all the festivities while laying here.

"You ever wondered what the fuck a partridge is going up in a pear tree?" I whispered, leaning forward. "I always did. So I searched, and I found a lot of different answers. The song has Catholic roots. A partridge will fake being injured to lure predators away from their young. Kind of like Jesus being crucified. I mean, it's a stretch, but isn't all of religion?"

Only my laughter responded. The comatose man just lay there, breathing and nothing more. I rested my hand on his ankle briefly, then I turned my face to the window. My reflection in the glass faded into the background of the city lit up with Christmas lights and parties. We were both missing out.

"The pear has something to do with a battle of religion, I think. I don't remember. I don't really understand the bible or religion. But it seems to me like I should start trying to find it. 'Cause if you die, I'll be damned for sure."

We sat in silence, but not one that was peaceful or holy. Outside, fireworks were being shot into the snow sky. I watched the reds and greens spread across the clouds, trying to become stars and take their place in the sky. But they died out as fast as they came and plummeted back towards the earth.