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His body was cold.
Everything was cold.
It had started snowing some time ago. Barty had no clue when but by the brightness of the white flakes against a darkening sky he would have to guess around 8 pm. The sky in the city was never quite quiet; ambulances flashing lights, flashes of cameras, the glow of a thousand apartments staring into you like a mass of eyes — all of it started to wear into you at some point. But as Barry laid there, half frozen and slowly withering away on some half demolished rooftop, he couldn’t help but find it peaceful.
Maybe… maybe he could just shut his eyes. Just for a moment. Just a little…
No. I can’t. I promised Remus I’d wait until he could get help, Barty chided himself. But…
Barty tried to turn his head to the side, see the skyline for one last time in his life, but any connection he had to his body was gone. It hadn’t snapped; it had just worn away. Between the gunfire and the blood rapidly leaving his chest Barty hadn’t even noticed.
When’s Remus gonna get back? Barty wondered, mind already drifting into a heavy sleep. His eyes blinked drowsily, snowflakes trailing down his cheeks like tears. Maybe the sky was mourning for him too.
He had just wanted to help. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.
It was never supposed to turn out this way.
—-
When Barty had gotten home from a grocery run earlier that day he had expected Remus to be sitting at the kitchen table, cozy with a book and a kettle heating on the stove. The man was ridiculously predictable; his routine was almost sacred to him. But when you lived in the world they did, every bit of normalcy counted.
Usually Barty would channel a last burst of energy to put away whatever bags he had, dramatically dropping into Remus’s lap like a scorned lover afterward. Remus’s lip would quirk upward and Barty would reposition himself to be tucked up against Remus’s chest, head burrowed in the crook of his husband’s shoulder. Remus would hum approvingly, flip a page, and rest his hand possessively on Barty’s back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Everything felt easier like that. When Barty could pretend he didn’t spend his nights dreaming of burning corpses and his days scrubbing blood off every inch of his body. Remus said he was likely developing something like OCD; Barty just said he wanted to feel clean for once. Not like either of them could see a normal doctor let alone a psychiatrist. They’d be dragged off to the looney bin if they tried.
Nobody talked about how they got into the business because in the end it didn’t matter. All of them carried guns with the safety on and strapped knives to their chests for emergencies.
But when Barty was with Remus… When Barty was with Remus he felt like he could breathe. Like maybe the world had good people in it. Because Remus Lupin was the best motherfucker this city had ever had the god granted chance to see, no matter what anyone else had to say about it.
That’s why, when Barty got home and spotted a nearly penned note taped up on the fridge, he knew that Remus had done something too kind hearted for this fucked up world and pain would come soon after if Barty didn’t act fast. Dumping the grocery bags on the table, who cares if the milk goes spoiled when my husband could be dead, Barty ripped the note off the fridge, hands trembling as he frantically read it.
Gone to the Plaza to deal with some Animals who were harassing Marlene and the other Mox.
Barty didn’t read further as he crumpled the note and stuck it into his pocket. He wouldn’t realize that a scrap of the note, torn in his fury, had fallen to the floor until much later. Maybe if he had paused for once in his god damn life, if he had stopped for just a moment and breathed, Barty would’ve read the whole note. Maybe if he trusted Remus more, hadn't been so hasty to jump to conclusions he wouldn’t be where he was. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Fat load of good it did him now.
No amount of maybes in the world could stop the cold from creeping into his bones, could bring the world back into focus as Barty slowly drifted away. In the distance he could hear shouting and police sirens. Were they coming for him? Who knows. This city was so full of crime it wouldn’t matter if one lousy bastard if a merc bled out on a rooftop.
Where’s Black and his gang of fucking goons for backup when you need them? Barty cursed to himself as the pain started to throb and his head started to ring. He let out a weak groan, wishing he could move his limbs to ease some of this stiffness and the ache.
When he had gotten to the scene Remus had been in the middle of some very tense negotiations with Mulciber and his crew — filthy Animals the lot of them. Remus hadn’t shown any signs of fear; back straight, voice calm and level as he tried to get the thugs to stop harassing the street girls just trying to do their jobs.
Lily would kick his ass for calling her girls as good as whores but Barty knew it was all bark and no bite. As feisty as she was, she wouldn’t kill the best merc in the game… who just so happened to be married to the top netrunner in the city.
He’d likely hear the whole story from Remus later, after a thorough lecture about not following directions and just staying put. Barty would take it and all the coddling and chastising because it meant he was alive and that Remus was safe; nothing else mattered. It had probably just been some regular property feud, or some debt or some other overinflated mess of gang politics that Remus saw as his duty to smooth over.
Bleeding heart bastard, Barty cursed fondly, trying to keep his thoughts on the burning inferno he always felt when he thought of the scarred man dressed up in baggy sweaters and oxfords. He was starting to slip, he was sure of it, because just as his eyes fluttered closed and into the sweet release of sleep Barty felt worn, warm hands cup his cheeks and a soft voice beg into his hair.
“Stay with me, love. Please. Stay with me.”