He could hear his blood rushing in his ears again only this time it wasn't because of adrenaline. He had to get to Jake. This couldn't happen. This wasn't happening. He was not about to lose someone just because he couldn't think of a way out of a simple fucking death match. He shouldn't have hit him that hard. He should have stayed close because at least then he could have grabbed him, stopped him. Anything.
"Bullshit! Heroes don't blow their fucking brains out all over the fucking floor!" He didn't like how his voice cracked. He didn't like this place or how the people watching leaned forward in anticipation as they wondered who would brutally slaughter who. His grip tightened on his sword. If he did it first then-
No. Jake thought of that. He was smarter than he led on. He let the blade fall and finally just pushed himself through the lessened spray of bullets. By some miracle none actually pierced the skin, just skimmed by. It stung but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. It couldn't, not if Jake didn't make it through this. What worth was he if he couldn't save one of his own goddamn friends? How was he supposed to save a world if he couldn't save one person?
"No! Jake don-" His words were cut off by the final shot. He stumbled as he watched what should be inside his skull burst out and all over the ground. He scrambled to catch him, as if that would help. He couldn't breathe past the lump that formed in his throat. He pulled Jake's corpse into his arms and shook him.
"Jake! God no please...Jake." He knew it was no use but he couldn't help it. He wiped desperately at the blood and matter clumped at the bullet wound but nothing he did made it any better. Nothing he could do would change what just happened. He didn't realize how much he was shaking as he desperate searched for a pulse or how the tears had already started to spill down his dirt and blood encrusted cheeks.
"Jake." He croaked, blood covered hand smoothing his unruly hair back, "Jake." The sound from the audience washed over him like a stifling blanket as he held Jake to him, "You stupid, self-centered asshole." He didn't even hear the men coming to take the body, to remove him from the arena so they could start the next match, "Come back."
By the time the men got to him the fight had left him. He stood without much cause and retrieved his sword, but when the men made to take Jake he put the blade to their throats. The audience fell silent in anticipation, "Don't. Touch him." He slid in and knelt down, taking Jakes lifeless body in his arms. If anyone was going to give him a send off, it was him, not the bastards that orchestrated his demise. Of course, they would come later and take Jake by force, but not until Dirk had cleaned him up and prayed to every single god that ever existed that when they next saw each other again he wouldn't turn into some sobbing school girl and that Jake would be okay and maybe not even remember what happened.
Regardless of what gods Dirk had prayed to, it wouldn't bear any results till nearly a week later. Jake's body went through the early stages of decomposition, but after rigor mortis passed it began to slowly heal.
The island boy wasn't the type to think far enough past the 'killing' part of his last moments. He didn't know that his body would revive and expected to have his remains burned, much like he had to do with his grandmother when she was impaled. Inside Jake's own subconscious though, it was entirely possible that he knew everything would be okay after he offed himself. To what extent he understood that feeling was up to debate.
The first signal that something was off should have been the incredible throbbing in his head, the second being the delirium following in suit when he tried to roll over, but this was Jake-ever aware of his surroundings-English. It wasn't till his hand knocked something that he even opened his eyes (still unaware of his revival) thinking he was simply back in his room after a rough scrum with the bro-bot. Everything was blurred and he was (slowly) groping around the bed he was laying in to find his glasses.
The week had been a long one, one with even less sleep than he usually had. It was a week spent researching and collecting information on the likelihood of Jake's resuscitation. Everyone reassured him that everyone came back here, that the moderators of this bloody game wouldn't let their precious pieces be done away with so easily, but as time passed he started to believe those words less and less.
Each day he would clean Jake's body, keep it as preserved as he possibly could, but nothing could stop the growing doubt in the back of his mind. The body would continue to decompose in his bedroom. It was a health hazard. He needed to dispose of it if it got any worse. A couple of times he almost did but he couldn't bring himself to do it. 'Just one more day' he would say to himself. That was three days ago. He couldn't bring himself to burn the only person whoever truly believed in him. If he were in that bed, would Jake do the same?
He tried not to think too much on such things and continued to take care of Jake as if he were still alive. Finally his body was starting to give way and he found himself dozing longer than intended. It wasn't until Jake's hand fell into his lap that Dirk sprung to alertness. His sword was half-way out of his sylladex when he realized what was happening. He mumbled a quick rhyme to put it back before putting Jake's glasses in his hand and sitting back down in the chair next to his own bed.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
"Bullshit! Heroes don't blow their fucking brains out all over the fucking floor!" He didn't like how his voice cracked. He didn't like this place or how the people watching leaned forward in anticipation as they wondered who would brutally slaughter who. His grip tightened on his sword. If he did it first then-
No. Jake thought of that. He was smarter than he led on. He let the blade fall and finally just pushed himself through the lessened spray of bullets. By some miracle none actually pierced the skin, just skimmed by. It stung but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. It couldn't, not if Jake didn't make it through this. What worth was he if he couldn't save one of his own goddamn friends? How was he supposed to save a world if he couldn't save one person?
"No! Jake don-" His words were cut off by the final shot. He stumbled as he watched what should be inside his skull burst out and all over the ground. He scrambled to catch him, as if that would help. He couldn't breathe past the lump that formed in his throat. He pulled Jake's corpse into his arms and shook him.
"Jake! God no please...Jake." He knew it was no use but he couldn't help it. He wiped desperately at the blood and matter clumped at the bullet wound but nothing he did made it any better. Nothing he could do would change what just happened. He didn't realize how much he was shaking as he desperate searched for a pulse or how the tears had already started to spill down his dirt and blood encrusted cheeks.
"Jake." He croaked, blood covered hand smoothing his unruly hair back, "Jake." The sound from the audience washed over him like a stifling blanket as he held Jake to him, "You stupid, self-centered asshole." He didn't even hear the men coming to take the body, to remove him from the arena so they could start the next match, "Come back."
By the time the men got to him the fight had left him. He stood without much cause and retrieved his sword, but when the men made to take Jake he put the blade to their throats. The audience fell silent in anticipation, "Don't. Touch him." He slid in and knelt down, taking Jakes lifeless body in his arms. If anyone was going to give him a send off, it was him, not the bastards that orchestrated his demise. Of course, they would come later and take Jake by force, but not until Dirk had cleaned him up and prayed to every single god that ever existed that when they next saw each other again he wouldn't turn into some sobbing school girl and that Jake would be okay and maybe not even remember what happened.
Or that he wouldn't punch his fucking lights out.
no subject
The island boy wasn't the type to think far enough past the 'killing' part of his last moments. He didn't know that his body would revive and expected to have his remains burned, much like he had to do with his grandmother when she was impaled. Inside Jake's own subconscious though, it was entirely possible that he knew everything would be okay after he offed himself. To what extent he understood that feeling was up to debate.
The first signal that something was off should have been the incredible throbbing in his head, the second being the delirium following in suit when he tried to roll over, but this was Jake-ever aware of his surroundings-English. It wasn't till his hand knocked something that he even opened his eyes (still unaware of his revival) thinking he was simply back in his room after a rough scrum with the bro-bot. Everything was blurred and he was (slowly) groping around the bed he was laying in to find his glasses.
"Blasted...where the devil did they go..."
no subject
Each day he would clean Jake's body, keep it as preserved as he possibly could, but nothing could stop the growing doubt in the back of his mind. The body would continue to decompose in his bedroom. It was a health hazard. He needed to dispose of it if it got any worse. A couple of times he almost did but he couldn't bring himself to do it. 'Just one more day' he would say to himself. That was three days ago. He couldn't bring himself to burn the only person whoever truly believed in him. If he were in that bed, would Jake do the same?
He tried not to think too much on such things and continued to take care of Jake as if he were still alive. Finally his body was starting to give way and he found himself dozing longer than intended. It wasn't until Jake's hand fell into his lap that Dirk sprung to alertness. His sword was half-way out of his sylladex when he realized what was happening. He mumbled a quick rhyme to put it back before putting Jake's glasses in his hand and sitting back down in the chair next to his own bed.