One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Killer

Thunderstorm could only watch.

He could only watch Cyclone and Quake's bodies hit the ground.

And they didn't wake up.

* * *

The burial was private. Only the other five elementals were present, which was a relief for Thunderstorm. Of all the people they met in their adventures, Thunderstorm had left a poor image in all of them.

What should he do? Thunderstorm stood in front of the two half-open caskets. His best friends' faces were serene and cleaned of blood. Somehow, however, he saw blood and their faces twisted in agony as their final moments arrived.

It was midnight. Everyone else was inside and in bed. Only he remained outside for hours.

Thunderstorm bowed. His head hung low. His eyes were closed, but no tears came out.

They deserved that much. He wouldn't cry for their deaths. They wouldn't want to see him cry.

Still, his calm expression was forced. His face ached from his façade.

But it was not the time to cry.

There were four others waiting for a leader.

* * *

You're not going to make it! Just stay back!

I can still fight. Let me go!

Thunderstorm, you can barely walk! Just let us handle this. For us, okay?

... fine.

* * *

Thunderstorm couldn't close his eyes.

If he did, he would see them.

He would rather take their place instead.

After the burial, everyone mourned. No one spoke a word. No one talked to each other. Thorn and Blaze didn't speak. Solar and Ice didn't either. they communicated through gestures, which was enough.

Everyone was afraid they would lose control of their emotions.

Thunderstorm glanced into the house window. He saw Solar stroking Thorn's back. He could hear soft crying, and perhaps even some curses. Not at the killer, but at himself.

He turned back to the front. His hands felt dirt and grass. His legs were stained with soil.

"Hope you're in a better place," he said to the twin gravestones. He laid on his back and fell asleep by them.

He was woken by his nightmares again.

* * *

Blaze started the day explosively. Thunderstorm walked into the living room to see Solar restraining Blaze. The furniture was burnt. The room smelled of smoke. Ice raised his hand, and the remainder of the flames was snuffed out by layers of frost.

They didn't deserve to die, Blaze screamed. They can't be dead. Not that easy.

Thunderstorm returned to his room and closed the door. Yes, they are dead. It was that easy.

But waking up by Quake and Cyclone's empty beds was hard. The two beds on his left, condition pristine and unused.

Their caps remained on their pillows. The burns and scars on the fabric still visible.

He began to sleep in the living room instead. He would much rather wake up to a messy living room than their belongings.

* * *

Do you want to see them again?

* * *

During the nights, he was alone. Solar didn't stay up. Wise choice.

Thunderstorm could barely count the times he fell asleep by their resting place. It made his nightmares worse. But he didn't stop coming.

Once upon a time, they made a promise. A childish promise that lasted for a decade, until that one fateful day. We'll be a team forever, was what Cyclone said with a lollipop in his mouth. I'm not sticking with losers like you, Thunderstorm had retaliated.

However, the promise was never broken. Now, Thunderstorm would like to keep it. Maybe staying by their sides would fulfill it. Maybe not. But it didn't matter. Nothing did.

He could still remember their childhood smiles.

* * *

Do you want revenge?

* * *

Thunderstorm's memory wasn't perfect. It was nowhere close to that. If someone gave him a picture of a puppy and asked him to pick it out from a sea of cats, he would not succeed even if his life depended on it.

But he remembered the face of their killer. Clear as day.

Those red eyes sickened him. It reminded him of his own.

He'd heard from Blaze that he was once disgusted with himself because of his powers. Was this how he felt? The urge to throw up when you're in your own skin? The nausea you suffer whenever you look in a mirror?

Thunderstorm chuckled dryly. So this was how it felt when you hit a new low.

He sighed, covering the mirror with a towel.

* * *

Time to face reality, Thunderstorm.

* * *

Thunderstorm had another nightmare. But this time, something was different.

He was no longer bleeding out, restrained and helpless. Instead he stood tall, his body void of wounds and strength renewed.

But there were blood on his hands. Still warm and dripping to the floor.

He looked down. There were two bodies laid dead beside him.

He saw his own reflection in the pool of blood. Only this time, his eyes were brighter, his hair stark white.

This time, he was the killer.