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@bluesdln000
Grief is a strange emotion to comprehend.
Fortunately, Informant had experience.
When Russell had selfishly decided to end his own life, Informant had drowned.
He couldnāt move, couldnāt think, Informant couldnāt even say a word. He simply watched from Russellās eyes, waited for it all to end in a pool of red. Informant could still remember the sluggish pull, the prickly drain dragging whatever was left of him, a mere thought into nothingness as Russell bled out.Ā
But Informant wasnāt scared at the time. No, he was dragged by the weights of failure. Informant has never breathed before but at that moment; it was as if he could, and oxygen was something he would never be able to achieve in a world of grief.
Keep reading
His smile burned.
Informant has never wanted to inflict so much hurt on someone who no longer existed.
Well, no, that is a lie, but past ties are not important, like this very thread which threatened to strangle him every time the Not-Blues opened his mouth. Itās the same string that flew Informant into a furious rage the first time he came to terms with losing someone again.
And the fact he hadnāt been there.
The moment Informant shot himself backwards, Blues did the same, as if a static shock had forced the two of them away from each other. He supposed years of domestic living couldnāt rid himself of the very programming in his code that told him to fight.Ā
He allowed his defenses to lower quickly, remembering that he was supposed to be the one holding it together- the one to supply comfort. Blues had never known if he could be qualified as a good older brother, but he did try.
Thatās all he really could do.
