Thousands of pinpricks of lights gleamed and shimmered in the black blanket hanging over the world's head. They flickered and a few of them danced across the sky in random discord, lashes of white across a sea of darkness. Each shone with varying light, but each struggled across space and time to be seen.

Violet eyes peered upwards, crinkled slightly at the slight press of roof tiles against bare shoulders. She wouldn't have known her silent companion was next to her if his cool fingers weren't laced within hers; he radiated no body warmth, he took no breaths and he never once shifted in the natural discomfort of humans.

By all standards, he was dead.

But he wasn't.

He sat quietly at her side, neon green eyes stars in their own right, unable to meet the cold stares of the heavens. Instead, he watched the town below them from their dark perch on City Hall, the stoic protector without a voice to defend himself from vicious hate.

Something curled within her, an instinct that seemed to flare whenever the boy who held her heart even as his refused to beat (but she knew that she held his anyway) and she sat upright, refusing to wince at the tug of flesh against roofing material. Turning her gaze from above, she stared at the boy, internally urging him to speak, to let out whatever had his shoulders slumped.

"Did you know, that every year, nearly a million people kill themselves?" Danny asked softly, legs swinging in discorded rhythm over the edge of the roof. "I guess they just want to find some sort of escape," he added in a mutter before snorting wryly.

A cold weight settled at the back of Sam's spine. Before she could speak, he continued.

"There's only one problem. Being dead is infinitely worse than anything life has to offer. Always dark and cold. Always … infinite and stuck."

There was a cold rage burbling in his tone.

At a loss for words, she wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder.

He stiffened in her grasp but didn't move (either closer or further).

A tear trickled down her cheek as she grieved for her broken warrior.

July 1, 2013

Beginning of Scattershots, my summer challenge of short ficlets.

To keep myself writing, even when it hurts.