(More angst written by Legend. Thanks again!)
TW: self-harm
“It’s down to two. Those are good odds. Hang on,” he mumbled under his breath. Owen and Ceru walked into the final arena, filled with screens and a massive roulette spanning the room. Redd looked to V, who looked equally concerned over their coworker.
The moment Owen started projectile vomiting Red wondered if perhaps it would be best to say something. Something to soften the blow he could feel was coming. But the wild desperation hanging over the dark bags below Eight’s eyes made him hesitate. Desperation that surged into something too hopeful for his own good when Ceru lightly tapped Owen’s shoulder with his sword.
“Eight, have you made your choice?” Red asked softly. “This is the last chance you’ll get.”
Eight waited to hear Ceru’s bet before speaking in a low voice. “I’m putting my trust in him.” Red could practically see the gears turning in Eight’s head, the calculations, weights and balances that lead to that decision.
Owen called out a high bet. No one in that room was the praying sort, but Red sent a prayer up for good measure in case some entity was listening. Not that it seemed to matter, as the bet fell just short of the roulette’s spin. Eight’s stricken face as Owen’s score shot to 19 broke Red’s heart in two. It was over no matter what the kid did. Owen cried out for another bet.
“You have to take that bet,” Eight hoarsely whispered. “You don’t stand a chance if you don’t…” The reality of the situation was starting to hit Eight. Ceru talked him out of it. A sense of finality settled over the room. A brief scuffle and it was over.
Red didn’t know what to expect from Eight when Owen fell. An anguished cry, a mumbled denial of what was happening, even a scream were in the realm of what he expected. The way Eight fell apart was like watching a video of a building collapse with the sound muted. His back trembled with repressed sobs, and his shoulders fell slack. Tears started running down his face uncontrollably. And all the while he was completely silent. Red put a hand on Eight’s back, but the action seemed to topple him. And yet Eight couldn’t look away when Owen begged Ceru to take care of his mother, held his friend’s hand and gave it one last squeeze before moving no more.
Eight laughed, loud, bitter, and ugly. “It didn’t matter, did it? Just the whims of fate at its purest, right? Tugged around by nothing but luck. What the hell is the point of my research anyways? What time traveling rebel would come to fix a timeline as fucked as ours is? Who gives a shit?” Eight was standing rigid and manic.
“Be careful what you say-“ Red tried to stop Eight but it was useless.
“We’re supposed to protect. Keep the peace.” Eight stated with quiet intensity, his fists balled at his sides. “If that were really true, tell me why we just watched a friend kill a friend on national TV. Tell me why we had to watch something so unfair and cruel. Why would anyone good or sane let that happen?”
“It’s not the first time that’s—“ V tried to interject to no avail.
“Oh I’m well aware it’s happened before. But not like this. Not. Like this,” Eight snarled darkly. His chest spasmed with sobs in between each sentence. “Tell me why it came down to someone who fought every step of the way to stay with his mother and keep her alive on a shoestring budget and someone who’s been neglected by the system and forced to function within it. Why the fuck did any of this happen in the first place?”
“Eight!” Red barked. “Stop! I understand you’re upset, but it’s not like you were close with that guy. You met him once. You understand, don’t you? You need to stop.” Red winced a little at the harshness of what he was saying but it was a necessity. Their boss wouldn’t see it in a kind light if Eight had to take off time to grieve someone he met once. And their boss would do worse than fire him if they heard what he was saying now.
Eight was flooded with his own pathetic memories. The way Owen, despite being scared shitless charmed the pants off of Eight. The phone calls Eight made to Queen, arranging funneling part of his paycheck to Owen through Queen without him realizing. The money he had set aside for two years to try to spare Owen at his auction, but instead getting reaped. Always helping and observing just out of view like a helpful creep. Too scared to get any closer to him like a coward.
The chance to talk to him gone like dust in the wind.
“Someone I only met once,” Eight’s voice broke. “You’re right.” He was laughing again. It chilled Red and V to the bone. Eight shuffled out of the lounge and back toward his office. Red and V were at a loss for words.
Eight walked into his office, shut every curtain and locked the door. He just couldn’t stop the torrent of tears. But if he had to endure it alone just to keep his godforsaken job, so be it. He would need it to stay afloat trying to steady himself in the coming days…not that he felt he would be okay for a long time.
It was stupid to feel like this over someone he had met once. It was beyond stupid to feel absolutely devastated over someone no matter how kind or how much they were beaten down by life. No matter how much he wanted to be someone in Owen’s life, he didn’t have the audacity to when he was alive, and now…
Eight put his head in his arms on his desk and submerged his head in grief, still trembling as uncontrollably as he had for the last few days. A pathetic, grieving, creep and coward. That’s all he was. The kind of person who gets paralyzed by indecision. The kind of person who won’t take a risk.
But what difference did it make when the person who risked it all was dead and he was still here?
When a dark, sultry voice at the back of his mind made the suggestion, he smashed the glass case on his desk, picked up a shard, and started to carve into his very skin.
Memento Mori.
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