First time posting to livejournal... hope I did this right.

Summary: 'A long, long time ago, back before he’d met Them, Death had been something he’d desired with every fiber of his being.  Every day of his dark, haunting youth, he’d done nothing but hunger for the salvation… the sheer relief that Death would bring in her wake.'

Warnings: angst, depression, suicidal thoughts/actions, death of major characters, extreme personification.

enjoy...

...a bloodless embrace...

insomkneeack1

A long, long time ago, back before he’d met Them, Death had been something he’d desired with every fiber of his being.  Every day of his dark, haunting youth, he’d done nothing but hunger for the salvation… the sheer relief that Death would bring in her wake.  Every night, as the moon crested, her white-gold glow casting an ethereal shadow on the unworthy lands below her, he’d hide away in his dark, ratty room, wishing and begging and pleading for Death to come and wrap arms of bloodless ice around his frail body as she lulled him into an eternal slumber, forever ensconced in her unyieldingly solemn embrace.

It was the only wish he’d ever believed could come true.

Then, he’d met Them.  They were everything he wasn’t – bright, happy, warm, alive.  They took him in and made him one of Their own, welcoming him into Their tight-knit group despite his eccentrics.  They, with Their glows of life, changed him.  They made him a better person, changed him in ways he’d never imagined he could be changed.

They made him want to live.

With every day he spent in Their group, his lust for Death’s frozen embrace faded away until all that was left behind was a quietly whispered suggestion, echoing softly in the dark recesses of his cracked mind. 

That tiny voice in the back of his mind was easily ignored. 

Everything had been going fine until That Night – the night he and his deepest, darkest secret were bared open for all to see.  There was no escape from the accusing eyes of those he worshipped – how dare he keep something like this secret how dare he be allowed to live how dare he try to befriend us what a monster a horrible monster a disgusting monster a murderous monster a monster monster monster.

But when he’d looked up, finally chanced a glance into Their eyes… he didn’t see the hatred, the anger, the revulsion and fear that he’d expected to see.  All he’d seen was unwavering trust and friendship…

… and that was the first time he’d ever allowed himself to cry.

After That Night, Their friendship changed, but not in the way he’d thought it would.  Instead of becoming distant and fearful, They instead became protective and closer.  They stood up for him, laughed with him… stayed with him.  If anything, the four of them became even better friends – the best, closer than brothers.

Those days were the happiest days of his life.

Then… the night his shattered mind replayed for him every single night of every single day of every single month and year happened, and nothing was ever the same.

They died.

He was gone.

And he was left all alone, his mind crumbling into a million bleeding pieces as his soul shredded itself apart, and his heart turned blacker than Death.

One night changed years of work, and he once again longed to drown in Death’s arms.

Every night from then on, he spent huddled in his room, blinking worn, dead eyes up at a grinning moon as he avoided the terrors sleep would bring.  But, eventually, his body would give in to its desires, his burning, insomnia-stained eyes would droop, and sleep would greedily suck his exhausted conscious into her depths.

Those nights, dreams haunted him, ravaging his mind and tearing apart his sanity with sharp, blood-stained claws, the scent of decay and betrayal oozing from gushing wounds.  He would wake screaming and sobbing, yanking at his sweat slicked hair as his dry eyes stared unblinkingly wide at the wall, the echoes of his nightmares cackling in manic delight.

Nights like those made him desire Death more than any human could possibly imagine.

Nights like those, he would crawl to the window and stare up at the moon with a wild, desperate glaze in his haunted eyes and beg and beg and plead and pray for Death to come and save him from this abominable, lonely, fragmented existence.

But she would never answer, just like she never had, and probably never would.  Death was, apparently, too good for the likes of him.

He would have been horribly angry… if he didn’t agree.

But one night, the terrors that haunted his sleep were too much.  He’d woken to the echoes of his horrified screams bouncing around his shoddy room, gashes bleeding glistening red dragging down his arms, nails caked with skin and blood, and harsh, racking sobs ripping through his frail body.

He’d shot out of bed and torn through all his belongings, searching searching searching until finally, finally, he’d found what he’d been looking for – his wand.

He’d pointed the wand at his temple, the tip tapping against his skull as his hand shook violently from the aftereffects of the night terror.  He’d swallowed painfully, before opening his mouth and whispering the words for the most unforgivable of the Unforgivable Curses…

… “A-A-Avad-d-dra K-K-Ked-“

“This is my son!  Looks jus’ like me, don’t he?”

“He’ll be a handsome one, for sure!  Jus’ like his dad.  He’ll ‘ave all the ladies pinin’ after ‘im when he’s older, jus’ you wait an’ see.”

“Say ‘ello to your Godfathers, son.  They’re my brothers in all but blood.”

His softly muttered words had stuttered to a stop, the memory of Him and His Child flashing spontaneously through his mind.

With a broken sob, the wand fell from his limp fingers and clattered to the floor, thoughts of suicide being shoved brutally to the back of his mind.  The Boy still lived; His legacy was still out there, and he just couldn’t let The Boy grow up without knowing His father.  It was his duty as The Boy’s Godfather to make sure He knew what His father was like.

So he would live another day, fighting against the desire to just… give up and sleep, untroubled, for all eternity.  For The Boy.

Then, years and years later, he’d met The Boy and fallen in love instantly.  He looked just like His father, and was just as stubborn to boot.

Then… He had escaped.  He was coming after His Boy, but he would do everything in his power to protect what was once His. 

Even at the cost of his own life.

But then, oh Merlin, then, he’d found out that He wasn’t the one who’d betrayed Him.  It was Him, the rat bastard, and He’d just been framed.  He’d spent years and years and bloody fuckin’ years rotting in that hell hole, enduring kiss after kiss, and for what?

For NOTHING.

He had spent all those years believing Him to be a traitor – he’d been so stupid.  How could he believe that He could betray Him?  The two of Them were the closest out of Their group; He would never betray His brother like that.  He would never murder his brother like that.

He’d been so, so stupid.

But they were together again.  Out of the Four only Two remained, but he was no longer alone and He was no longer suffering.  Things were as close to the old days as they could possibly be considering the circumstances.  Thoughts of Death and suicide were once again pushed to the back of his mind as he enjoyed what time he could with Him.

They laughed together, ate together, lived together.  He was happier than he had been in a long, long while.

Then that fateful night came.  They’d gone to rescue the fool children from their foolish act of believed heroism, and he had watched as Death had taken his last brother away from him.  She clutched at Him with her bloodless fingers and yanked Him back into her frozen, eternal embrace.  It happened so quickly and so quietly, that had he not been watching… he wouldn’t have believed it had even occurred. 

But it did happen…

… and as he watched the boy chase after the snake, he realized he was alone once more.

He was home, staring hollowly up at the crescent moon, his heart and soul empty of everything.  He was hollow through and through.  There was nothing left for him.

He was gone – betrayed by Him and murdered by a snake.

He was a traitor – alive? dead?  He didn’t know… he didn’t care.

He, He was dead – taken as silently as he’d never been in life.

And he was so, so alone and so, so broken and so, so tired.  He was tired of all the death and all the hatred and all the loneliness and all the pain and agony and sadness and horror and everything.  But he was mostly tired of life.

Life held nothing for him. 

This time when the wand was pointed at his temple, there was no shaking, no hesitation, no stuttered fear.  This time, when he whispered the unforgivable words, there was no memory jumping up to stop him…

… there was nothing holding him back.

“Avada Kedavra.”

As the dark magic shut down his mind, body and soul, he could hear the mournful howls of Moony mingling with the hysteric laughter of his broken, shattered mind.

And a small smile pulled at his thin lips, a sad mimic of the moon’s own gleeful grin, but a smile nonetheless.

And Remis Lupin finally allowed himself to fall into the bloodless arms of Death’s embrace.

In the end, the only wish he’d ever believed could come true… finally did.