(Untitled)

[decayingly]

Characters: Agravaine (nevermercy) & Gawain (decayingly)
Date/Time: June 1st, afternoon
Location: Mercy Hospital, Long Island
Rating: TBA
Warnings: TBA
Summary: One died. The other thinks this one's a fake. Stuff of legends.

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[nevermercy]

There was no one emotion that could accurately describe how Agravaine was feeling as he drove his way from Brooklyn to Long Island. Confused. Angry. Relieved. Every emotion was jumbled up inside his heart, skipping from one to the next without warning. He had no way of knowing if this was a trap, or if it was real. Considering how everyone in the city seemed to return with no knowledge of where they'd been, it looked like 'it was a dream' was the best conclusion.

But reviving the dead? That was new. And this son of Lot had no idea how to take it.

Once he reached the hospital, his journey up to the floor where his brother was being kept slowed the closer he got there. By the time the door was within sight, he froze in order to remember what he was doing. Gawain had died. And now he was alive. If it was even really him. The door was pushed open rather desperately.

[decayingly]

No one knocked and there was no warning - just like that night - when the door opened. Gawain didn’t even wait to see who it was. The second he heard the lock, his hand was ripped from his chest and placed to the side, almost instinctively searching for a weapon. That feeling crushing his chest, it would take a while for the knight to admit it was actual fear. When in battle, he could forget it, push it aside in order to act. To be afraid of shadows, of every corner, this was all new

[nevermercy]

Words became difficult to form. Agravaine despised being at a loss for words, because he could always think up something to say, even if it was only a violent curse. But his mouth was dry, and no speech came. It looked like Gawain. It talked like Gawain. Made sense that it had to be him, but it was hard to be convinced.

He shut the door behind himself, leaning his back up against it as he eyed the figure on the bed who looked like his older brother. Had to be Gawain. And yet disbelief still plagued him. So much shit was possible, but bringing people back from the dead was a new one, and the wariness was clear in his eyes.

A deep breath was taken in.

"If this is a dream, I wanna know right now."

[decayingly]

He looked… Gawain wasn’t sure how his brother looked. There was a time in the past where he could have looked at his face and understood his mood without worrying, or so he had believed at the time. In that moment, in this modern world, he could claim nothing. But he could guess. He had seen enough on the community to know those people - to use a general term - had lost no time to communicate his death. It would have been easier if they hadn’t. This way, he could pretend everything had been a mistake, a game of theirs. Now, he had reappeared, breathing and alive if worse for wear. He wouldn’t believe it that easy either.

“If this is a dream of mine, i wouldn’t be hurting,” he stated almost logically. “And if it is one of yours, I sincerely hope you don’t dream of myself in a hospital bed.” Keenly aware this was hardly enough, Gawain tried to shift, pressing the button to the side so the bed would lever itself enough to allow him to sit. As before, it jostled his scar as if there was still an open wound beneath the hospital gown. His

[nevermercy]

No words. Just no fucking words. What was there to say? Agravaine stared in disbelief, still not able to process everything. None of this was possible. Then again, neither was losing body parts and rotting away like goddamn zombies. Hard to say what was and wasn't possible anymore, not after the last few months, the last few weeks.

The steps forward were automatic, uncontrolled. He found himself at the side of his brother's bed, meeting those eyes and scanning the rest of him. He looked real. But dreams could be real, as could hallucinations. Clenching his jaw, Agravaine reached out and placed a hand just above Gawain's knee, resting it there as if he needed tangible proof this person really was who he said he was.

Then the anger began to surface. "You died, Gawain." A glare followed. "You don't get 'dropped back' after you die, what the fuck is that?"

[decayingly]

After the reaction he had gathered online, Gawain should have expected this. How could he explain this though? He had died. Every moment, every second, the body beneath his, the blood, so much blood, the stench. The knight could swear he could sense it when he woke, all around him like it was chasing him even now. Again, his hands closed tightly, both of them now, and he closed his eyes. A few breaths and his focus on that hand, real physical contact, that was all he needed. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Gawain had died by a friend’s hand. The fisherman in the sea. The guard protecting his queen. He had known death several times

[nevermercy]

Dark eyes fell to that scar, tracing over the white-pink flesh, before they were drawn back to Gawain's face. A scar could mean so many things. It could've been an old scar, if not for the fact that it looked so fresh. No move was made to touch it to gauge its authenticity, and instead Agravaine wrapped both hands around the metal railing, both staying close and keeping his distance.

It should have been easy to accept. But it wasn't.

"Yeah, you died. And I had to hear about it through some broad I didn't know." That was about all he could manage to spit out. He didn't know who he was more angry at: Gawain for dying, whether or not it was his fault, or that woman who'd announced his death so casually, so mockingly. All he knew was that hearing about it had set him off, triggered something so deep inside that he didn't know it until his brother had returned.

The loss of someone he cared about.

[decayingly]

Funnily enough - or maybe not funny at all, the man covered the scar as soon as his brother saw it. He wasn’t ashamed per se. Warriors lived with scars, that was how the story went. This one meant more though. It meant he had failed when he shouldn’t have and Gawain didn’t want to look at it any more than he had too. Not yet. For now, he was all too happy to take as many painkillers as necessary to forget it existed and sleeping pills if it meant two hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He had a conscience though and that never slept. Saying ‘I didn’t mean to die’ sounded pretty hollow even in his own mind.

“I wish they had said nothing. Kept silent. You didn’t need to know anything at that moment, not when you were also in danger.” A logical, cool assessment. Once they were out, then they could continue with their normal lives. Maybe mourn him a little but he had no illusions. “I would apologize if that would make anything different. I tried.” Tried really hard not to die. If only he hadn’t been as stupid as to fight alone.

[nevermercy]

The anger that had just begun to simmer away returned. "You think hearing nothing would've made it better? We come back, abracadabra, you're fucking alive, and then what? You lie to us about you dying in the first place?"

It was entirely possible that Agravaine was going off on a tangent in some other illogical direction, but he didn't care. Selfish as he might've been, he would've wanted to know if his elder brother had died. Those things made a difference. The sudden death of someone you loved either made you give up or fight harder, and he'd opted for the latter once his fury had subsided and Morgan had brought him back.

"An apology doesn't make a goddamn difference," he hissed, pulling away from the railing.

[decayingly]

There was anger in him too now. Not at Agravaine, who spoke out loud things he didn’t, but at himself. Be more careful, do things the right way. What had he been thinking? He threaded his fingers through his hair, gripping for something normal. Again, he didn’t know what to do and he disliked that feeling.

“Wouldn’t it be better?” Gawain allowed his brother’s words to roll off him like each was deserved. This was deserved, expected even. “They hurt mother by speaking. Mother. We had just begun patching things up. And then suddenly, they say that was wasted effort and harm her. I hurt others. If it meant none would need to go through that, you can be sure, I would have lied until the moment I was back in that grave.” He never lied, he always played by the laws and followed the rules. Some things though, some things were worth it. It was almost uncharacteristic of him to say such thing.

“It would have been easier for all of you.”