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abax thought-ironing
In the dark, it looks like he's sleeping.
It doesn't take Kobra long to smell the blood, for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and see the true scene before him: his brother, face-down, not surrounded by dark blankets, but by pooling, seeping, fresh blood.
Kobra Kid feels like he's watching himself from the outside.
He feels himself stumble to Party Poison's side, feels himself shaking - rage or grief, he doesn't know -, faintly hears Jet speaking behind him, but the words don't matter -- Party, Party, are you okay, wake up, wake up, what happened, why aren't you -- no, no, no, no. It's all just noise, and he can feel it bubbling out of his throat, spilling without direction or thought as his hands scramble to roll Party Poison over, to find a heartbeat, to feel a breath. But there's nothing. Nothing. All too suddenly, tearing out of the back of his mind, he sees the Exterminator, hears the sound of chaos around him, helplessly watches his big brother slump to the ground, and this wasn't supposed to happen. Not now, not again.
Kobra feels a sob rip through him. He can't hear Jet. He doesn't want to. He doesn't care about the blood coating his hands, the ache in his throat, the twinge in his leg from the way he's kneeling with Party's head in his lap. It doesn't matter. His fingers shakily slip through Party's hair, over and over, and it doesn't matter. He's dead. He's dead, and there wasn't a damn thing Kobra could do about it because he wasn't there.
How could he? How could he leave, even just for a fucking smoke, when he was the one who said they had to stick together? How the fuck could he let this happen? No, how the fuck could he let this happen again?
Fun Ghoul. Fucking Fun Ghoul, where did the fucking snake slither off to --
But Kobra can't move. He can't leave. If he does, his brother will disappear, he's sure of it. So he stays, he doesn't know how long. Ghoul can't run far. They'll find him. They'll fucking find him. But for now, his big brother needs him. It's the least he can do.
Party Poison's body is ice cold and ashen before Kobra moves again -- and when he does, it's to wrap him in his own bright yellow blanket.
"I'm sorry."
Throat constricting, Kobra pushes himself back far enough so that he can carefully lean down to kiss his brother's cold, pale forehead, before fully pulling the blanket over the body.
"I'm fuckin' sorry."
Kobra's shoulders shudder, the last sob he'll allow himself, and he places his hand on top of the blanket, on the side of Party's face, mutters:
"I love you."
It doesn't take Kobra long to smell the blood, for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and see the true scene before him: his brother, face-down, not surrounded by dark blankets, but by pooling, seeping, fresh blood.
Kobra Kid feels like he's watching himself from the outside.
He feels himself stumble to Party Poison's side, feels himself shaking - rage or grief, he doesn't know -, faintly hears Jet speaking behind him, but the words don't matter -- Party, Party, are you okay, wake up, wake up, what happened, why aren't you -- no, no, no, no. It's all just noise, and he can feel it bubbling out of his throat, spilling without direction or thought as his hands scramble to roll Party Poison over, to find a heartbeat, to feel a breath. But there's nothing. Nothing. All too suddenly, tearing out of the back of his mind, he sees the Exterminator, hears the sound of chaos around him, helplessly watches his big brother slump to the ground, and this wasn't supposed to happen. Not now, not again.
Kobra feels a sob rip through him. He can't hear Jet. He doesn't want to. He doesn't care about the blood coating his hands, the ache in his throat, the twinge in his leg from the way he's kneeling with Party's head in his lap. It doesn't matter. His fingers shakily slip through Party's hair, over and over, and it doesn't matter. He's dead. He's dead, and there wasn't a damn thing Kobra could do about it because he wasn't there.
How could he? How could he leave, even just for a fucking smoke, when he was the one who said they had to stick together? How the fuck could he let this happen? No, how the fuck could he let this happen again?
Fun Ghoul. Fucking Fun Ghoul, where did the fucking snake slither off to --
But Kobra can't move. He can't leave. If he does, his brother will disappear, he's sure of it. So he stays, he doesn't know how long. Ghoul can't run far. They'll find him. They'll fucking find him. But for now, his big brother needs him. It's the least he can do.
Party Poison's body is ice cold and ashen before Kobra moves again -- and when he does, it's to wrap him in his own bright yellow blanket.
"I'm sorry."
Throat constricting, Kobra pushes himself back far enough so that he can carefully lean down to kiss his brother's cold, pale forehead, before fully pulling the blanket over the body.
"I'm fuckin' sorry."
Kobra's shoulders shudder, the last sob he'll allow himself, and he places his hand on top of the blanket, on the side of Party's face, mutters:
"I love you."