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Nothing felt right. It was even harder to breathe; his air came in irregular bursts, sometimes rapid and jagged for a few moments, then impossible and nonexistent while he struggled to make his ribs move. The hoodie was way too warm but he couldn't take it off. He couldn't even risk flipping the hood back, and he probably couldn't actually do it if he tried.



His crouch slowly degenerated as Cafas left until he was just sitting on the ground. The edge of the sole of one of his shoes dug into his thigh. It didn't matter. His shoulders seized as a raindrop dotted Conri's i. He brushed it aside. Not rain. Rain wasn't warm. The plaque was, though. It must have been sunny earlier in the day. His other hand found the edge of the stone too. He tugged weakly at a bit of grass, dead but still trying to reach over the stone for the sun's fading warmth. It shredded between his fingers.

He wanted to insist that this was a mistake. Conri shouldn't have a grave. Aiden didn't really have any proof he had died, not really. All he had was what the doctors and nurses had told him, what his parents hadn't refuted. He wanted to just deny it all. He'd been denying up until now, hadn't he? He'd told himself that Conri was dead so many times. He'd come to believe it, hadn't he? And then he'd thought he'd started to move past that.

A distantly rational part of his brain took no pleasure in noting that he wouldn't be in such physical pain and Conri's headstone wouldn't be quite so irregularly reflective if that were really true. Couldn't he refute that? It wasn't as if he could really see the stone anymore, even if his sunglasses had slipped off at some point. Or maybe he'd pulled them off to rub at his eyes. If it were the latter, the action had been utterly useless. He still couldn't see. Conri...

Some of the slabs had names that rang vague bells. Relatives of people he had known, or maybe just relatives of relatives. The headstones of the family whose car had ended up in one of the lakes back in middle school. He hadn't known any of them, but vaguely remembered being bored with the ceremony the school held. He regretted that now, if only for knowing how those who had known the victims felt and wishing he had at least respected it more. There'd probably been one for Conri. There wouldn't be too many bored people for that.

He figured he even knew which photo the school would start the thing with; it was an easy one to see even before his waking eyes. Conri -

Oh. Aiden had to swallow, even if his mouth and throat were dry past rasping, before he could even nod shakily. Okay was not a word he would use, but it was a nicer one. He could pretend to be okay. Maybe he could even convince himself that he was okay and not a few steps shy of bolting, of just running until this all receded back into the mists of imagination and memory and he could breathe again. He couldn't run, though; there was someone, just some elderly stranger, working their slow way past them, and at any rate he wasn't particularly confident in his knees at the moment.

He kept himself turned away from the other visitor until they were well past, keeping his right side furthest away just in case. He didn't recognize the face, but that was no guarantee the reverse was true. Reading the tombstones was the perfect excuse for disregarding the senior, even if it made his stomach contort itself almost as energetically as staring them down would have.

And even if he were too well attuned to his own name to not notice it beneath a scattering of leaves just one row away from the path.

He couldn't bring himself to walk closer. He couldn't bring himself to look away, either, not until his desperate eyes found some way to brush the excess leaves aside. He couldn't see all of the name. He couldn't see the date or the first name, but the plain, flush-set slab of polished rock looked new. So many things he couldn't do, and all he could do was stand frozen. Please let it be wrong. He shouldn't have come. This.. this made things way too real.

Aiden stared out the window. It wasn't quite raining, but the clouds scattered around had a certain gloom that wasn't at all out of place. Most of the trees weren't losing their leaves yet, but enough had given up on the season to collect in corners in that way that only dead leaves seemed to be able. It certainly was an appropriate mood, and the temperature was low enough to shrug off Aiden's nondescript hoodie, or so he'd been assured. He just knew he wasn't quite uncomfortably warm in the heavy clothing. What a way to wish for winter...

The drive had been awkward. Quiet. Aiden hadn't been feeling particularly talkative, even by his usual standards, though it was a very... level sort of reservation. It wasn't that he wasn't nervous; if nerves had nothing to do with it, he wouldn't be sitting here with his seatbelt on in the silent taxi. Still, he knew he'd get up eventually. And when he did, he wouldn't rush. He knew full well what was waiting for him. Today wasn't supposed to hold any surprises, though he did still worry that a certain few would show up anyway. That was part of why Cafas was there. To fend off any violent mobs rising out of the shifting brown leaves.

He may have also been there because Aiden really didn't want to walk through the graveyard alone, much less stand there alone. He hadn't quite realized that until they had reached the town. He'd started to feel a bit uncomfortable as they passed buildings he hadn't realized he'd known so well. When the road gradually shifted back to highway, trees cropping up again, some of the uncomfortableness had started to shift into a vague almost-nausea. They weren't going all the way down that highway. The graveyard was just at the north end of town. There was no need to go that far north.

It was going to get stuffy in that taxi eventually, though, and he didn't really need to be prompted. Ai's expression was neutral but for a slightly set jaw and a steady gaze that flicked around just in case someone, especially someone recognizable, showed up, even if his sunglasses had been tucked firmly into place as soon as he thought they were getting close to town and he knew very well that his scars were completely hidden. It was with a quiet, slow breath that he tucked his hair into his hood and pulled it firmly over his head, checked that his sunglasses were still properly placed, and climbed out of the car.

Would watching crime shows help with this? Maybe it would at least give him an idea of what was normal. He was fairly sure that babies weren't usually involved. Especially apparently brought-by-the-criminal babies. What was up with that? Were they trying to give the kid lifelong issues? Being used in bank robberies probably did that. Aiden was no expert on kids, he'd never been closer than passing on one the street or anything like that, and he really didn't want to change that, but it had to do something to them.

The gun was still on Mirror. It hadn't fired? There was no shattering or dying, and he should be able to hear gunshots from here. Probably. They were loud, weren't they? They tended to be in games. He didn't want to find out. Especially with the whole general area in front of the gun's muzzle. Please no bullets.

Colder. Hah. Aiden was just glad it wasn't hot anymore. They'd have to see if there was such a thing as cold left. Aiden hoped so; feeling cold was a normal thing. Normal things could be appreciated, especially while there were big giant abnormal things lurking around. Abnormal things did like hanging around here.

He waved awkwardly, and then Cafas left and his room was empty again. It somehow seemed more awkward than it had been a few moments ago, and Aiden just stood there for a while looking around before eyeing the door and grabbing Conri's picture back out of the drawer. Too much thinking dreaming to do.


///END///

Cafas... sold swords on the internet? Or maybe the emphasis should be on the swords. Either way: what?

Or was it all a joke?

... Cafas really wanted him spending more time with people? He couldn't even figure out if that was a joke or not, and he was pretty sure he couldn't blame it all on his head. He held his blades out for inspection, though, trying not to feel too nervous. They were just swords. Ugly, clumsy, horribly beaten swords that hadn't been designed for anything more than sitting in a corner or hanging on a wall to gather dust. There was nothing Cafas could say that was worse than the truth he already knew.

Or Cafas could go and say something like that, and take away what little scrap of footing Aiden thought he'd maybe found. But he just - he couldn't let them break. They were all he had, and if the people who controlled his money didn't even know he was still using them, how could he possibly find replacements?

He hid his confusion with wary interest, still not completely convinced about Cafas not reassured by the constant barrage of too-good-to-be-trues. His fingertips twitched, though, far more eager to handle new, proper blades than he let himself be. "You... would... do that?" he said slowly. Come on! Couldn't either Cafas prove himself to be a liar or, oh, do something to let him trust him? It would be so nice if it were true......

Aiden tried to nod. It wouldn't have fixed everything, wouldn't fix everything now, but it was better than nothing. It was one less glaring hole laughing at him trying to get by. It might not even be the biggest, or maybe it was, he really couldn't tell anymore... but it was one he should have been able to close at the start and he didn't get that chance.

He shifted a little at Cafas' words. Did he want to believe him? Did he want to believe it was all talk like the others? If he trusted Cafas, and then he was lying... Something sharp pricked him inside at that thought. No. Not that. But the words were the same. Was the tone different? Was that just Cafas' accent? Better acting skills? He was in a movie. He had to be able to act. But... Maybe he did want to believe him? Some part of him?

Aiden didn't know what to do when he felt Cafas' arms settle around him. People didn't hug him. He didn't hug people. People didn't... he swallowed. It didn't work; he tried again. He remembered people at the hospital telling him how sorry they were for his loss, and he'd more or less believed them. He figured that they saw it enough to be sad whenever someone young died, even if they didn't know them. It was still distant, though. Like they knew they should say something but couldn't make the connection to get it all the way. Cafas didn't know Conri. The closest he'd ever been was that picture.

He really wanted that picture out, all of a sudden. To see his brother in more than a memory. Even just in a standard school photo, not doing any of the things Conri actually did. There were no soccer balls or games in the picture. He didn't have any pictures like that, even if there were probably some in existence, at least of him and soccer. There'd be pictures like that somewhere. He rubbed the back of his hand against his leg, not sure if he felt hot or somehow cold again. There wouldn't be any pictures of Conri doing anything else, though. There was a lot Conri had held back from the rest of the world. Sides of him he only brought out when it was just the two of them.

Abruptly distracted, the look Aiden shot at Cafas was almost pure disbelief, with a fragment of hope he couldn't bear let grow. Would... would he really do that? Just like that, no strings attached? Everyone had strings and motives and desires, if not outright agendas. Everyone wanted something. But... could he take the chance?

At the thought of going alone, though, the thought of coming across someone he knew struck him, and he couldn't mask the flinch of fear he felt at being recognized, be it by a neighbour, someone from his old school, someone who knew his parents. No, he couldn't go back. People would see... they'd think... who knew what they'd do? At towns went, Aiden had never considered his own to be particularly conservative, nor particularly liberal. But now, with the chance to find Conri's grave dangled in front of him, all he could see was people he used to know gathering, rising up, coming after him. It was impossible to live in a place like this long without hearing stories of mutants getting run out, attacked, outright murdered. He couldn't... he couldn't...

He pulled away from Cafas, shaking. No. No, he couldn't risk that. No matter how things should have gone, throwing his life away was stupid. Going to Conri's grave wouldn't really change anything. It would just prove how dead he was, how gone. It would just make it more real and permanent and inescapable. No, he... he couldn't get himself killed for that.

But...