Chapter Text
Luis doesn’t want to die, but then again, does anyone? Does anything? The crux of life was that it always attempted to prolong the inevitable end. From the largest of animals to the smallest of plant cells, every being attempted to remain. Duplicate, divide, deny death. Leave a stamp upon the world, some sort of impression or distant genetic memory in order to prove one existed. Something to say: ‘I was here. I existed. I was important.’
Luis doesn’t think he’s managed to leave anything. At least not anything worth remembering, that is. It’s possibly the thing that hurts most. His father had been right to leave and never know him. His mother and Abuelo were correct to flee into death’s embrace while he was still so young. They’d never had to see the disappointment he grew up into. The memories they had of him, however fleeting, got to linger on hope rather than the bitterness his own did.
He misses them. He’s not sure if he believes in life after death as he once did, but he misses them enough that perhaps he can convince himself it does exist. If only to see them again. That’s selfish, isn’t it? No wonder he won’t be allowed access through Heaven’s gates. No wonder he’s heading straight below. He can burn just like Abuelo did all those years ago. There’s some sort of irony in that.
Speaking of burning, his back burns so bad. It’s such an unpleasant pain… not to say any pain is exactly pleasant. Sharp, shooting starbursts which seem to lance each and every nerve his aching body possesses. They stab down into his toes and spike up into his temple along with each fading beat of his heart. The blood which pulses out of his back rapidly seems to draw the heat out of his body alongside it. He’s starting to feel so cold. So weak. So lonely.
Leon is with him, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair that he only just met this person who he really likes. This person who listens to him, despite the gruff exterior and rolled eyes. This person who bothers to extend a hand and pull him up. This person who looks at him and actually seems to look at him. Through the mask of the jester and through the shell of the monster. Leon looks at him and despite all the demons shackled upon Luis’ shoulders, he seems to manage a glimpse past all of that.
He knows they’re there, of course. He can see their awful, twisted faces leering out from their perches. He knows they’re there, but he knows Luis is there too. Still trying desperately to move forward despite the way their wicked talons drag him down. Leon had seen him, extended a hand, and wordlessly helped to pull Luis up when his knees had been crushed from the burden. After everything Luis had done, after everything he’s hoped for, this is perhaps what lifted him the highest. Someone who seemingly, despite the impossibility of it, believed in him.
It’s not fair because Luis wants to know Leon better. He wants to have more time with him. He wants to keep him. It’s probably for the best though, that Luis is to die now. He seems to corrupt anything he gets his grubby hands upon. If he goes out now, before Leon falls victim to his touch, then he can rest assured he didn’t ruin yet another life.
Although that’s exactly what he’s done, isn’t it? Ashley and Leon were only in this situation because of him. Even when he wasn’t trying, he fucked everything up. His ghosts always caught up to him. His legs were just so weary and tired, so exhausted from running. Perhaps it was time he stopped running and faced them head on.
“Take this. The key to my laboratory.” God it hurts to talk, to breathe, to even hold his head aloft. His tongue is lathered thick with copper and he fears he may drown on it. Actually, if his lung is punctured, he will. Funny how they’re the organ to finally give out on him. He’d always thought they would be, he’d just believed it would be of his own hubris. May as well have a final smoke, make himself into one last cosmic joke. “Go there… and remove those damn… parasites. Help… Ashley…”
Leon helps him light his cigarette, because of course he does. He’s too sweet and too kind and too good for those like Luis to even bear the presence of. It had really started to feel like Leon appeared into his life to guide him down the path of that light. He’d really started to believe he’d get out of this hellhole. Really started to believe he could resculpt himself into something better. It’s not fair and Luis doesn’t want to die.
The pulpy, ashen taste of the cigarette masks the taste of blood on his tongue. He should be content with this. He should breathe in deep, fill his lungs completely with corrosive blood, and then drown. He should be content to die here with Leon at his side.
Still, he’s always been selfish. Ignorant and a coward. Still that lost, miserable little boy desperately praying anyone would bother to take a second look at him. He had nothing then and he has nothing now. Always greedy. Always stretching too high for what was impossibly out of his reach. The hero’s end was never befitting for him. He was meant for things far darker and far less noble. Delusional right until the end, just like his beloved Don Quixote.
“What do you think, Leon? People can change, right?” At least he could allow his weary eyes to slip shut knowing that Sancho Panza and Dulcinea del Toboso long outlived him. There was only one problem. One major altercation to the narrative that Luis hadn’t anticipated.
Don Quixote was not supposed to survive.
So why, then, did Luis wake back up?