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It’s been five minutes and he’s not breathing and the blood’s stopped dripping, started coagulating inside his veins and his face is ashy, blue eyes glassy and lifeless as they stare up at the darkening sky and no no no it can’t be heroic, it can’t it can’t be, and you realize you’re repeating the mantra, “no no no no john john john wake up wake up haha what a funny prank john. john. JOHN.”
“Dave.” That’s Kanaya at your shoulder and you’re shaking so hard you’re surprised her hand hasn’t slipped off. Maybe you’re suppose to shout, shake her off, yell at her to go away and leave you alone but you can’t. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, all you can do is stare at his face and hope. You’re gods, right? Gods can’t die. John can’t die. John can’t—he can’t—
Can you pray to yourself? Because that’s what you’re doing. “Please,” you murmur. “Please please please please-” even as she drags you away, even as his lifeless body slumps against the ground, skin and muscles moving in ways they shouldn’t, and it figures he’d be the first to die, except no, he’s not dead, he’s not, he’s not. He can’t be, John can’t die, anyone else can but not him, not him, not him,
not
Jade is slumped against the ground, face red and blotchy with tears, trying to contain her sobs and failing and you want. You want to punch her for the look of genuine acceptance on her face, for the way she looks at you like the world is ending because John’s gone except he isn’t he’s not he’s not he’s not gone John is not dead John is not
he’s not dead.
He can’t be.
You want to cry. You want to scream and bawl and rip your hair out and rip the ground up and he’s still not moving, not breathing, heir of breath, breath is suppose to be his strong point, he can’t even hold his breath because the air always circulates in his lungs, can’t drown because the oxygen in the water is drawn to him like moths in a flame. And now he’s not breathing. And you can’t move, you feel numb, you feel like one of your bro’s puppets and you can’t move by yourself, you can’t think, you’re a blank slate because John was the better half of you and now he’s gone.
Rose hugs you, and her tears soak through the unstained part of your shirt. She’s shaking, silent and broken and you can’t even lift your arms to hug her back because you’re not.
You’re half and none and even during those three years when you had no way of contacting him he was always there somewhere in the not-universe and now he’s not and he won’t come back (no no no he will he will he will you just have to wait, just a moment, a moment longer and he’ll start doing the godtier revival thing and you’ll punch him in the face for scaring you like that and he’ll laugh and rub his sore jaw and apologize and it’ll all be okay)
(it’ll be okay)
(it’ll be)
(it)