#amalia would die for any one of her friends | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

abelflints · 1 year

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Some Lincoln x MC Angst

Heal What Has Been Hurt (Change the Fate’s Design) Part 1 of 2 (part 2 available here)

Fanfic about the @itlivesproject game...

Basis: Vax is dead. Matthias McQuoid is the root of all problems. Killing him isn’t enough. (or, Lincoln uses the watch.)

Pairings: Lincoln x MC (mine is called Vax!), but intermittently (they don’t break up or anything, but well, look at the basis...)

Warnings: chapter 20 spoilers, lots of angst, swears, death, blood, injury, there’s going to be body horror in the next part, but it’s not in this one (except for the blood.) this is going to be dark!

Part 1 word count: 1834

Part 1 under cut!

Vax hated red.

It followed him everywhere.

Festering in his flesh–

In the flare of his nostrils, in the force of his fists.

Festering in the forest–

In the frown of his face, in the flounce of his feet.

Vax hated red.

Red was always hot. Burning, scalding.

I don’t want to be red anymore.

(be careful what you wish for.)

Tonight, red was cold.

He didn’t know what it was to die.

To stare the reaper in his face, and lift his unshaking gaze to it.

Red answered him…

When no one else would.

Red was loyal. Curt. Efficient.

Tonight, in these hallowed hills, red was cold.

As it spills out from him.

And he doesn’t know what it is to die…

Because there’s no authority figure left to curse. No finger left to point.

Finally, he finds, he doesn’t have any red left in him.

Not in his veins. Not in his head.

Red doesn’t blanket his fall, when he tips into the icy fingertips of the plunge.

Red doesn’t hold him, and cry, softly, softly, softly, with shuddering shakes.

Red doesn’t sneer:

“I told you so.”

The line they both thought (both dreaded– ) would be on their lips.

But red doesn’t hold him. Not tonight. Not like that. Instead, blue holds him, and all he squeaks is “I’m sorry, Abel.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry– ” he stutters, over Lincoln’s shaking shoulders that hold him tight, staring out at Abel, frozen across from them.

“Please take care of Lia. Please. You’re kind – and good - and everything I’m not – please, please, please, please.”

Abel shakes out of his reverie, giving him a determined, tear-filled nod. Amalia’s sobs sound against him, falling into Abel’s side.

Lincoln’s uttering to him softly, softly, softly, so, nonsense against his lips, as he clutches at the red spilling from his fingers.

It paints him, now, in a twisted imitation of an angel’s wings, red against the black of the night.

Vax didn't know how to say those three words.

Not to his friends. Not to Lia. And certainly not to Lincoln.

He didn't know then… He doesn’t know now.

Red held so many words in his throat.

“I am sorry.”

“I love you.”

“I was wrong.”

The trilogy of words he could never say.

But he’s tired of being red. He’s so tired .

Red didn’t permit him to say “I love you.”

But it was there in the way he nodded to Lia, when she did something worthy of his praise.

But it was there in the way when he bristled, when someone said something off to her.

But it was there in the way he grunted in response when Lia asked if he liked her outfit.

In the way how he remembered just exactly how she liked her breakfast, even though the last time she told him was half a decade ago and he’d rolled his eyes in response.

Or in the way his hands went for Lincoln’s own, even as both their teeth gritted, looking into the eyes of a viper.

In the way he’d rest his head against Lincoln’s shoulder, when he thought everyone wasn’t looking, then tear apart with a jump when people teased him about having gone soft.

Or in the way his jaw worked in the way that Lincoln knew to be him swallowing down a smile.

And in the way he followed the man like some lovesick puppy, then, when Abel pointed it out, grumbled how Abel ought to wear glasses all the time, because he was not staring at Lincoln’s ass, thank you very much.

Red didn’t permit him to say “I love you.”

But it was in the way he was there for Abel in the blink of an eye, guarding his side without question.

Or in the way he let out a hmph of laughter at Abel’s jokes, quickly covering his mouth to replace it with a scowl.

In the way he silently bandaged Jocelyn’s leg, against her protests, promising to break her leg if she jostled it again, even as the momentary frown betrayed the false threat in his eyes.

Or in the way he turned to the side, stifling a smile, as he complained about how chipper Connor was.

…So he didn’t know how to say I love you.

And so maybe neither did Lincoln.

But they knew. They knew.

Even if they never said it, they knew.

“Lia - I’m sorry - I’m sorry- ” Vax says, shuddering.

And he means it.

He means it.

Because he doesn’t know what else to say. Because it’s all he knows how to say. Because it was one of the only words red would not permit him to ever utter, the only words red ever snatched out of his lungs.

Lincoln holds him closer, and Abel stares, frozen in horror as his oldest friend and his oldest friend’s lover watch the red wash out of his veins.

“Do you want to try again?” Lincoln says suddenly, voice raw. He pushes a locket into Vax’s red-wrought hands.

Vax stares back at him, confused.

“What?…”

“Your psychometry. We were practising. Do you want to try again?”

“... Why ?” Vax rasps, slumping his head against the stone.

The light haloes him in ways gods could never. Lincoln prays those same gods won’t take him now. Not now. Not yet.

“There’s a message on this. You’ll… you’ll want to hear it.”

The mis-matched eyed man looks at him with his usual petulance.

“If it’s too much…” Lincoln reaches for him.

“No,” comes Vax’s determined voice, all but melting into his touch, “I’ll do it,” he says, a fire in his fluttering eyes – never one to back down from a challenge, even now.

Even now. As he lay dying.

…It hurts. Vax winces as his fingers wrap around the necklace, and Lincoln isn’t sure if his brows are furrowing in concentration or in pain (probably both.)

He shouldn’t have jostled him, shouldn’t have given him–

But a faint smile blooms on Vax’s lips. Unrestrained, free of his usual red.

And he falls back with a laugh, chuckling at some hidden message.

“So?”

“Love you too.” Vax utters, quietly, but he hears him.

He hears him.

For the last time.

It would be a mercy if they truly closed their eyes.

But that’s not how it happens.

Vax is smiling up at him one moment, and the next moment, his gaze goes distant, and in that moment, he is gone.

………

He doesn’t think, when he cries for him.

Doesn’t question how, what or why–

But his name - his best friend’s name - is on his lips, as soon as Vax’s head falls against the tapestries of his embrace.

Because Abel is smart. Abel is sweet. Abel is kind.

Because Abel knows everything.

Abel knows all.

…But this time, Abel has no answers to give.

Not one.

…Not this time.

Nothing to offer, but his companionship. But his shoulder, to cry upon.

And Lincoln’s head fits. Like a piece of a puzzle. It fits into the tall man’s shoulders, like it was made for them. Like that was always where his head was supposed to lay.