Alastor was the same as he'd left it--dark, and empty.
Cold, and lonely. Desolate.
He didn't have the delusions that made him so hopeful anymore.
The second he landed on his world, everything came undone. He could feel the seams of his consciousness tugged apart, and the thread pulled so violently that his mind felt like it was burning. Everything was tumbling out, violently. He'd arrived outside, in the grassy area between the Hall and the protective walls built so long ago.
So long ago.
Years. He knew it had been years. Decades. Centuries.
He felt sick, and though he heaved his body wasn't willing to part with anything.
Everything was spinning so violently; he dropped to his knees and dug his fingers into the ground like if he got a good enough grip he could right everything.
The grass was green once, fresh. Beautiful. He'd liked picnics out here, before the darkness rolled in. Now, the grass was brown and brittle. It had sucked out the last of the nutrients a long time ago, and now it was barely hanging on.
Sort of like him.
The sickly yellow glow behind the clouds told him it must have been daytime there, but the clouds were so dark. He'd gotten spoiled on Earth; the days were bright and even the nights were full of light.
But it was dark here.
He wanted to focus on that, or the way the grass crunched when he touched it, or the way the dirt felt under his nails.
Except, it made him remember digging a hole. A grave.
He remembered it vividly. Remembered that he'd done it alone, with only his hands. Someone could have helped, he could have gotten tools. He hadn't wanted help. He hadn't really been thinking right back then, but he wasn't now, either. So maybe a few centuries hadn't changed much.
No, it was more than that. But a thousand years? It felt wrong. That couldn't be true. When he looked in the mirror--sure, he was tired, but he was the same. But then--
They'd all said that it was strange. His memories weren't structured properly, they trickled into his mind without any order or consistency.
Atrius, who he'd known since a child. He remembered his black hair going silver. He remembered watching the lines form on his face as the years went on. Always handsome, he never lost that. He remembered visiting him, shortly after he retired. Sitting on the porch with him, looking out over the water, Atrius had said he looked good for his age. They used to see each other once a week, maybe more. Devyn had been the one to pull away, so their visits grew fewer and further apart.
Atrius grew older, but Devyn hadn't really. He'd never grown wrinkles, never got any silver in his hair.
Atrius wanted to know his secret, but Devyn hadn't known. He hadn't stopped to think about it.
Losing Atrius had been hard. But he hadn't gone alone, at least. A line of graves flashed briefly, and Devyn dug his fingers into the ground again as he tried to brush them out of his mind.
His breathing was erratic, too deep, too shallow. There was wetness in his eyes but maybe it was from choking on air.
Losing Atrius had been hard, but it wasn't the hardest loss he'd ever had to go through.
He was estranged from Marius when he passed, but it wasn't because he wanted to be. They had different paths. Marius had his own village--town--city--to take care of. He had a legacy to tend to. And, things really hadn't been the same after--
Well, Percy was always going to be the one who was good with kids. He was Marius' favorite, but as far as Devyn was concerned, he should have been everyone's favorite. Percy was the one who championed him, who wanted to take him in, who made sure he got the education and support he needed.
He was always proud of him. He should have been. Devyn was proud of him, too.
He wasn't the best at showing it.
He hadn't been good at showing much of anything after--
After Percy died.
The chaos in his mind stilled. It wasn't comforting, it was unnerving. Every thought he could grasp onto and hide himself in was suddenly out of reach. He felt like he was floating and falling and alone.
He forgot how to think. How to breathe. How to function.
He existed, in that moment--however long it was--alone, and empty.
Percy was dead.
Percy had been dead, before Marius, before Atrius. He'd lost more than that, and a list of names scrolled in his mind suddenly, like a brick being stacked directly atop his head.
And then, everything broke.
A storm in his head, in his heart. The muscles in his body tensed and strained, like he’d been struck by lightning. There was no sense, no reason; every thought was jumbled in a stormy sea, tossed about to crash into each other.
He remembered little things. He remembered lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, fingers curled around the first of Percy’s letters when he was younger–so much younger. He remembered being hunched over his desk, diligently embroidering something. Remembered conferences that were nothing more than an excuse to spend a few hours together.
He remembered big things. The first time he saw Percy and wondered if he could get away with using a caution for the spicy snack on his plate as a good excuse to talk to him. The first time they kissed. Confessing to him. Getting married.
Percy getting hurt.
They weren’t all good memories. Those, he kept at the surface. Those, he had easy access to. Even now, it was like his mind was trying to keep him afloat by showing him those.
But, exposed now, he remembered.
An injury that should have been his. It wouldn’t heal. It poisoned him. Broke apart inside of him, broke him apart inside.
The only doctor he’d ever trusted, telling him he wasn’t going to make it. Preparing Devyn for what would happen. Devyn had trusted him–a prideful man who hated to fail as much as he did. One who would have done anything to save a patient.
He couldn’t save Percy. They’d tried. But Devyn had seen him getting sicker, quicker. Losing himself.
But that wasn’t what killed him, and Devyn threw up when he tasted the poison on his lips again.
He’d been through this once before. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to watch Percy die.
This time, there wasn’t anything he could have done anyway. The memories played, as raw and real as they had been the first time, and every time afterwards, before he’d buried them away.
He remembered staying with him. Remembered when the heat left his body, and Devyn thought, maybe, if he could just warm him up–
But, no. He knew.
He couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. It had been torture to raise his head up, just to look.
In the center of the hill, surrounded by dead and dying grass, an oak tree. Once, it was beautiful. Devyn hadn’t known it would grow, but he’d hoped. He’d picked it up on their second date at Sessrumnir, from the tree at the center of the largest atrium. Once, it had been a little golden acorn, with faint gold flecks on the shell. It had grown into a tall tree, and that gold had grown into the bark.
Percy hadn’t gotten to see it grow.
Devyn had carried the acorn with him for years, with the promise that he’d plant it when he found the perfect place for it.
He’d spent years thinking he’d never find it, because the perfect place was always by Percy’s side.
When he put Percy in the ground, he put the acorn, too.
Only, the tree was still here and he wasn’t.
He’d seen the tree a hundred times, a thousand. It was there for as long as he could remember, but he’d hidden the meaning. He knew it existed, he could always see it in his peripheral. When the wall was built around the Hall, he’d extended it so much jus to make sure that the tree could grow and be safe within it.
But, Devyn hadn’t looked at the tree since–
He couldn’t remember when he stopped looking. He couldn’t remember when he gave up on reality.
It wasn’t a beautiful tree now. It was tall, it was big. It could be a thousand years old. It didn’t have leaves, he couldn’t remember the last time the hill had been covered with them. He couldn’t see the gold flecks in it, it just looked dark.
He threw up; this time he couldn't hold it back. He couldn’t hold anything back. He threw up until he had nothing left. He pushed himself up but couldn’t make it more than a few feet before he fell to his knees again.
His muscles weren’t working. Nothing was working.
He didn’t want this reality.
He didn’t want a world that was dying. Dead? No, he was still here. He hadn’t seen anyone in–
In so long. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone’s voice. In his head, he’d just replayed Percy’s.
He didn’t want to live in a universe where there wasn’t Percy.
He shouldn’t be here now, not when everyone else was gone.
There had been faces, so many faces between Percy, and Atrius, and Marius, but that’s not the life Devyn wanted. He hadn’t been himself after he lost Percy. He hadn’t been anyone.
He had been Sailor Alastor, who had sworn to protect his world. Who had promised to spend the rest of his life devoted to his world, to fixing it. To protecting it. To changing what the universe thought of them.
And, he had.
Sort of.
He was alive. The world was here.
But he hadn’t changed their legacy–the universe had just forgotten about them. And then, other worlds had fallen. There wasn’t anyone who knew of the old Sailor Alastor, or the war faring world they’d grown from.
Everyone on Earth had said that everywhere else was dead.
But, he was still here.
And, for what–his promise? It couldn’t be that simple, a promise didn’t have that weight. Others must have made bigger promises. He’d made other promises, why didn’t they count?
Was it because he wasn’t able to give up? He’d have given up in a second if it meant he could have been with Percy.
Was it a punishment, then?
Because he’d failed him? He hadn’t kept him safe? He’d–
He could feel his muscles spasming, like the pain in his mind had to have some physical outlet, and the only way it was getting out was if it had him thrashing on the ground.
He hurt. Everything hurt.
He felt lighting, and fire, and ice and water, and rocks, and poison, and sickness, and festering wounds, and everything. None of it hurt as much as losing Percy the first time, and now he was doing it all over again.
He’d have done it all over again, taken every injury, every wound, every bad day, everything--ten fold, a thousand fold, whatever it took if it meant he had a chance to go back. To fix things.
To change one thing, to change everything.
He knew Percy was gone, but he didn’t want to accept it. He didn’t want that. He wanted him back. He wanted him by his side, helping him solve problems that seemed impossible before. He wanted him here to tell him it was going to be okay.
He wanted to tell him he was sorry.
He wanted to tell him he loved him.
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