Charlie knows that paranoia. He went through it for years, where even in a catatonic state, he couldn't look in the eyes of the people around him. Not even the angel was strong enough to fight through that -- not if the man was too broken in the first place. Or maybe the problem with Charlie was that there was never the angel and the man, two separate entities that could never meet in the middle. He was raised to believe that your Calling was a part of you, and whatever it was there was no separating the two
( ... )
It's almost crippling, the fear that takes over at the thought, the thought of looking into the eyes of people she knows and cares for, and seeing their deaths. It almost makes her not want to see them again at all, which is a horrible thought. She has helped people die before. Death has always made sense to her. One is born and one dies and in between, there's something like life to get through. She had never, ever helped a friend die. She'd never had friends before, and she's starting to remember why.
It's harder to care. It's harder to love than it is to be alone.
She doesn't know if she believes him or not, doesn't quite look him in the eye still, but there is so much relief at the sound of his voice. Charlie is the first gentle and familiar face she's seen all night, and it's enough for Sarah to want to latch on. Not the angel, who's almost cold in the face of the devastation
( ... )
Caring does make everything harder, and he knows that the world can be a bleak place with this Calling when you're only sixteen and you had just lost your best friend. Losing your best friend is hard regardless of how old you are, but without caring there is no life. Without caring, what do you do with the time in between?
Sarah's arms slide around his middle, and puts his arms around her as well, one hand resting to the top of her head as he keeps her close. Charlie is more than willing to be something to hold on to, something that can shield her from the rest of this. It's another one of those illogical thoughts, but it's a comfort to him, and hopefully a comfort to her as well.
"I know," he whispers back, keeping her close. "I know she is." He's not sure what else to say, but there is grief there, grief that needs to be released. Anything else can come later.
There is nothing else to say. Not while she holds on, hiding her face against his chest. She'll later register he did know, that he was looking for her, but for now there's only holding on. There's comfort there, and comfort in the reminder Elizabeth wanted this, and she was there, as much as she could be.
She closes her eyes as if the action alone will blot out everything. The gunshots, the sight of Elizabeth looking anything but Elizabeth-like, the blood everywhere, everywhere, all over. A small sob stumbles out of her throat, but she doesn't break into tears. She remains strangely still, her hold tight, scared to reach out but there's a greater part of her that needs it.
"It really hurts to lose," she says, fingers digging slightly into the sleeve of his shirt.
She can hold on for as long as she likes. She's so young, which is the case with most angels, but for Charlie, he hardly remembers what it's like to be this young. It seems like a lifetime ago, and he was a different boy back then. Too much had happened for him to ever be the same.
He also knows she'll never forget what she saw tonight. She'll never forget how she lost this friend, and when the deaths start to blur together, and they start to lose their faces, this is probably the one death that will stick. He doesn't know how the death happened, but he knows that knowing the person makes a difference. Knowing the person makes it yours, not your Calling's.
"It does," he says softly, one hand moving to rub her back gently. "Feels like it rips your heart out, doesn't it?"
Sarah's face twists painfully and she nods against him again.
That's... exactly what it feels like. She's not surprised he knows. It is like someone has literally ripped her heart out of her chest, and left the gaping hole there while somehow, she remains standing. She would never want to tell him how it happened. She would never want him to have to think of Elizabeth and all those bullets flying into her.
"It's different when you know them," she says thickly. Everyone matters in the grand scheme of things. Every death matters and no one should die alone, but when you know them, when the hand you're holding is one you want to hold on to instead of lead forward, it's different.
"It is," he nods, his voice still soft. "And it will hurt for a long time, but it will get better."
And it does. She'll see that, especially in the case of Elizabeth. She died before she lost everything that made her who she was. Watching her slip away into madness would have been much more painful to watch for those that knew her, and in a sense, death this soon is a blessing. Though that doesn't make it hurt any less.
"She's in a better place. No death, no dying. Just peace." He's trying not to make it sound like a platitude, but when it comes to that, sometimes no matter what you do, it always sounds the same.
It doesn't feel like it will get better. It doesn't feel like it would stop, but Sarah logically knows that isn't true.
Time can be unforgiving but it can also be merciful. It won't hurt like this forever. Nothing hurts like this forever. If it did, people wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and go on, which doesn't mean Elizabeth will matter less someday.
Elizabeth will always matter.
"It's what she wanted," Sarah agrees quietly, finally stepping back to look up at him, small. It doesn't sound like a platitude at all, it reminds her of just that--it's what Elizabeth wanted. "She was getting sicker and she didn't want to lose her mind--I know it was better for her. I do."
She will always matter. She will always be that first friend, the best friend, and that will never go away. It just takes time to be able to look back on the memories and find happiness, not grief.
"It doesn't make it any harder to help a friend," he replies. "I'm so sorry, darlin'. I really am." Because he knows, and that feeling of knowing never goes away.
Sarah is able to step out of her own head long enough to hear the words. They don't sound like platitudes. So many people will say I am sorry for lack of anything else to say, or maybe because they mean it even, but they're just words and words feel so empty right now.
Except he says I'm so sorry like he really understands.
"Sounds like you're talking from experience," she says quietly, and that would make sense. It's only a matter of time before they see the death of someone they know, isn't it? That's what they are meant to see.
Sarah follows him, sitting on the swing beside him, swinging herself lightly back and forth. The air does her good, and so does listening to his voice, despite knowing how horrible it must've been for him. She knows keenly now how horrible it must've been for him.
She listens quietly, and then she asks, "What was he like? If I may ask."
"He was like a brother to me," he says, his eyes drifting a bit as he thinks back to memories he hasn't thought about in a while. "He was smart, funny. Big heart. We grew up together -- I'd known him since I was old enough to walk."
Sarah tilts her head as she listens to him. The smile faintly outlined across her lips is bittersweet, sad. She pauses as she thinks back to the week everyone made journal entries. "... Was he the one you played pranks with?" Sarah asks, her voice still very quiet. "Elizabeth and I were gonna play a prank on someone. Or well, we thought we'd both be really bad at it but it might be fun."
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It's harder to care. It's harder to love than it is to be alone.
She doesn't know if she believes him or not, doesn't quite look him in the eye still, but there is so much relief at the sound of his voice. Charlie is the first gentle and familiar face she's seen all night, and it's enough for Sarah to want to latch on. Not the angel, who's almost cold in the face of the devastation ( ... )
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Sarah's arms slide around his middle, and puts his arms around her as well, one hand resting to the top of her head as he keeps her close. Charlie is more than willing to be something to hold on to, something that can shield her from the rest of this. It's another one of those illogical thoughts, but it's a comfort to him, and hopefully a comfort to her as well.
"I know," he whispers back, keeping her close. "I know she is." He's not sure what else to say, but there is grief there, grief that needs to be released. Anything else can come later.
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She closes her eyes as if the action alone will blot out everything. The gunshots, the sight of Elizabeth looking anything but Elizabeth-like, the blood everywhere, everywhere, all over. A small sob stumbles out of her throat, but she doesn't break into tears. She remains strangely still, her hold tight, scared to reach out but there's a greater part of her that needs it.
"It really hurts to lose," she says, fingers digging slightly into the sleeve of his shirt.
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He also knows she'll never forget what she saw tonight. She'll never forget how she lost this friend, and when the deaths start to blur together, and they start to lose their faces, this is probably the one death that will stick. He doesn't know how the death happened, but he knows that knowing the person makes a difference. Knowing the person makes it yours, not your Calling's.
"It does," he says softly, one hand moving to rub her back gently. "Feels like it rips your heart out, doesn't it?"
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That's... exactly what it feels like. She's not surprised he knows. It is like someone has literally ripped her heart out of her chest, and left the gaping hole there while somehow, she remains standing. She would never want to tell him how it happened. She would never want him to have to think of Elizabeth and all those bullets flying into her.
"It's different when you know them," she says thickly. Everyone matters in the grand scheme of things. Every death matters and no one should die alone, but when you know them, when the hand you're holding is one you want to hold on to instead of lead forward, it's different.
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And it does. She'll see that, especially in the case of Elizabeth. She died before she lost everything that made her who she was. Watching her slip away into madness would have been much more painful to watch for those that knew her, and in a sense, death this soon is a blessing. Though that doesn't make it hurt any less.
"She's in a better place. No death, no dying. Just peace." He's trying not to make it sound like a platitude, but when it comes to that, sometimes no matter what you do, it always sounds the same.
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Time can be unforgiving but it can also be merciful. It won't hurt like this forever. Nothing hurts like this forever. If it did, people wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and go on, which doesn't mean Elizabeth will matter less someday.
Elizabeth will always matter.
"It's what she wanted," Sarah agrees quietly, finally stepping back to look up at him, small. It doesn't sound like a platitude at all, it reminds her of just that--it's what Elizabeth wanted. "She was getting sicker and she didn't want to lose her mind--I know it was better for her. I do."
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"It doesn't make it any harder to help a friend," he replies. "I'm so sorry, darlin'. I really am." Because he knows, and that feeling of knowing never goes away.
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Except he says I'm so sorry like he really understands.
"Sounds like you're talking from experience," she says quietly, and that would make sense. It's only a matter of time before they see the death of someone they know, isn't it? That's what they are meant to see.
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And that isn't even a stretch of a lie. No exaggeration, no hyperbole. That day is the day he lost his mind, and nothing is ever going to change that.
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She listens quietly, and then she asks, "What was he like? If I may ask."
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