So I am obsessed with little Harry. Anyone can tell, this is my third little master of death story. All of them are on going and if anyone likes this story i'll keep this one going too.
Disclaimer: Ugh I own nothing. Honestly if I did, I would be super rich and super famous aaaaand I'm not so... Oh and this is an un-betaed story so I do apologise for any mistakes made in advance.
The sounds of war filled the air. Guns shooting off in every direction, at this point it didn't matter who you hit as long as you fired. The screams of the dying were like a fire cracker in a small empty space, devastating but if you looked in the other direction you could ignore it well enough. The dark red of blood splattered almost artistically marked the disturbed sand as a land of war. Those who knew it's terrors were well acquainted with death, at least that was what they liked to think.
Humans were quite stupid but what was he really expecting, they just didn't understand. He couldn't blame them though, while he was human he didn't see the full picture either. Life was a war for him and wars can be contained in small spaces, but living as long as he had made you see things that short periods of time just didn't allow. They were all like that, the humans, like fireworks, in his opinion, rising from birth, shining with age and experience, scattering and finally fading. Perhaps they didn't make a loud bang but he could watch the exploding colours of their so called mundane lives in rapt fascination for eternity, not that he had a choice really. Still he rather liked it.
Emerald eyes observed the chaos from above. He loved watching from above, being on the ground made him feel apart of the chaos. It was fun when he wanted something to do but observing was more of his thing. Interfering with life wasn't his job, he could if he truly wished but they deserved the right to pave their own paths, even if they were paving in the direction of a cliff top. So what was it that nobody ever sees when they are caught up in their so called lives? Sometimes the questions are the complicated part and the answer is the simple part. That would be his response if anyone were to ask him.
Looking down he watched as a single soldier who had captured his attention for weeks now darted across the field. He smiled to himself, this one, this one was going to be great someday. He didn't know how, he couldn't see the future but he knew it with a smirk of confidence that this one was going to make it. All he needed to do was survive and he was going to make sure he did.
John Watson ignored the deafening echoes of bullets hitting live bodies in favour of keeping the soldier he now held alive. Blood gushed out his chest were a bullet had nicked the mans heart. He knew that this man wouldn't survive, he didn't have the equipment or space to preform the needed surgery. He knew this but instead he kept a large wad of fabric pressed onto the wound trying in vain to stem the bleeding. Even if he did though it would never stop the internal bleeding. This man was going to die and he knew that but still he never gave up. He had seen many die and very few had he saved. This man who he didn't know, whose name he could never bring himself to remember, he couldn't say he cared at the time, this man he wanted to save more than anything.
It was selfish he knew that, because he didn't want to save this man for anything but himself. He wanted to bring life into the battlefield. He was sick of people dying, he hated it. Tears of frustration and sorrow made their way into his eyes as he tried to restart the mans heart. It was useless, he knew this as well, the man had been dead for at least forty seconds now, he was gone yet through blurred vision he kept trying to bring back the life to this corpse.
Sobs racked his body as he finally pulled his hands away. It just wasn't fair, things weren't fair, life was not fear. He pushed his blood soaked hands over his face leaving long strips of red to mingle with salty tears as red rimmed eyes closed. He just wanted it to end. He needed it to be quiet, he needed silence. He needed to sort his thoughts out and he couldn't do it with the death that surrounded him. He kept his eyes closed afraid to see the splattered blood along the sand, he didn't want to see the corpse of the man he had failed, he wanted to keep his eyes closed like a child hiding from the monsters. And to be honest that was exactly what it felt like, only now he didn't have mother's warm hugs and soothing voice to run to at the end of a nightmare. Because this wasn't a nightmare, this was reality and nobody could run from reality.
The screams of the people suddenly intensified but he kept his eyes closed. It was odd even in this setting to see a man next to corpse kneeling with his eyes closed and blood streaked through his wild mousy blonde hair and running down his face. He blocked out the sounds rather well, he was enveloped in his own silence. It was...nice. He didn't know if it made him a coward or not.
A single gunshot was the only thing he heard, strange considering he had managed to block out every other noise. His eyes flickered open to take a glance before they swiftly shut again. It was him, he had been shot. The adrenalin coursing through his body was numbing any pain he would have felt from the wound. It wasn't critical, not at all, it had hit somewhere along his shoulder line. He couldn't say accurately the blood covered it up and he was too tired to take another look. He knew he would die though, he was losing blood quickly and soon he would die of blood loss and he would let himself.
He didn't want this anymore, the fighting, the danger. But then again that's what he always told himself and in the end he would find himself craving the adrenalin rush that war gave him. Living on the edge, never knowing if you would live to see the next day, that's what he wanted, no, what he needed. He was sick, at times he felt revolted at himself for wanting war and danger like a druggie on heroine but what could do? He craved it with a pathetic passion. And now he would die, because if he didn't the army would never let him back on the field with his wound.
He managed a humourless smile when he felt the edge of his conscious blur. So this is what it's like to die. It didn't feel to bad.
"It never does." An amused voice sounded into his hearing range.
His eyes shot open with the speed of lightning, darting around the place to locate the owner of the young voice. He had to be going crazy. No way was there, in the middle of a battlefield between two different sides, a child. But there he was, crouched in front of him with shining emerald eyes and a mess of pretty black curls. He looked to be no older than nine maybe ten with pale skin that didn't quite fit in with the current location with it's ever present harsh rays of light.
He watched completely dumbfounded as the child poked his bloodied wound with mild interest.
"I may not be a doctor but I do believe that you are losing a lot of blood and does that not lead to death?" His voice was smooth and teasing despite the killing that was going on around him.
His head cocked to the left slightly but John was too busy marvelling at the extended vocabulary that the boy used. His voice lacked the slurs and mispronunciation that children his age tended to have. It was almost scary, he observed, how the boy ignored all around him and looked at him as if greeting an old acquaintance he hadn't seen in a long time. Calm but with a tinge of excitement.
Trying his hardest he spoke over the loud noises but not coming close to the quiet yet loud voice the child had used.
"What are you doing here." It was a stupid question and he blamed his fading conscious for it but it seemed to amuse the child further.
"Ahhh, I don't know. One day I was with my two best friends in London and the next, well here I am." He replied with a happily flippant smile causing John to start.
Kidnapped! This boy had been kidnapped and just like that he had found a reason to keep living for a while longer. He needed to get this boy to safety, he need to bring him home to the family who was no doubt looking for him. They were probably breaking apart right in this moment, tears streaming down their faces and plain denial in their countenance. In this land of death there still stood a spark of life in this crazily calm child whose life now rested in his hands. He needed to get him out of the gunfire.
Ignoring his own blurred vision he unsteadily got into his feet surprising the boy slightly.
"Hey, I don't think you should do that." He pointed out still crouching but now looking up at him.
He ignored the remark and focused solely on grabbing the child's hand and half ran half limped to the trench. He pushed himself to the limit. He heard the noise of gushing blood. It was most likely his, he couldn't feel anything, in fact, he couldn't see anything but still he kept at it no matter how many times he stumbled. But It was not meant to be as he soon lost control of his legs and he found himself blind, paralysed and his face half in the sand.
Tears streamed down his face once more. "NO! No, no, no, no. Please god, please. I CANT! DAMN YOU, I CANT!"
Couldn't he do anything right? Was he to fail another innocent, spill more blood on his hands. He just wanted to save him and here he was dying and leaving the child in enemy hands. Rage filled him, he was pathetic. Why couldn't he do this at least!
"Hey, I didn't get your name." came the calm voice of the child he could no longer see.
His sobbing lessened but he didn't give his name instead he spitted out apologies over and over again. "I'm so sorry. I cant- sorry, sorry, sorry. Please forgive me! No don't forgive me I don't deserve it. Oh god I'm so sorry."
The child just listened, waiting before speaking again. He most likely didn't know his fate. Of course he didn't a child could never understand death.
"Your name." he asked again. This time he couldn't keep down a smile in between his body racking sobs. Only an innocent child would think a name was important during a time like this.
"Names are important. A name can tell us who people really are." the child said. Did he say that out loud, he must of if the child answered.
"John, my name is John Watson." He choked out with a laugh.
"John...Well John, do you want to live?" The child asked.
Did he want to live? Of course he did! He had to get this child home, he wanted to save people, be a real doctor. He wanted to meet a pretty girl and fall in love with her, they would get married, it was going to be a garden wedding. His best man would be his best friend who was annoying but loyal and the two of them would have the greatest type of friendship. His wife and him would have children, well mannered and smart, maybe they would be like the emerald eyed child. He would happily through the years with his wife and friend, watching as his children got married and have their own kids. He would then die happily in his sleep of old age.
But what did that matter now? He would die here in the dessert sun surrounded by people he had failed, including the innocent child next to him.
"Yes. I really do want to live." He said a whole new batch of tears appearing.
The child was silent but he had the oddest feeling that he was being smiled at. Just as he though the child was no longer there he felt a small hand pet his hair soothingly.
"Go to sleep John. When you wake up everything will be all right." He said as if there wasn't a war going on around them.
And just like that he gave in to the dark fog in his mind, praying to a god he no longer believed in that this child who didn't deserve death, survived.
So there you go! Tell me if you like it? I don't know...
Stolen with the Night~~