Broken Wings
“Hey, man.” The young man sat on the ground in front of the Battle of Beacon memorial, facing it. He didn’t know if the person he was talking to could hear him at all, but if he could, this seemed like the best place to try to reach him. Or well, the second best, but somehow going to the place he died didn’t seem like the best idea. Especially since the construction crews hadn’t cleared the rubble yet.
“How’re you doing?” his face screwed up as soon as the question left his mouth. That was a stupid question. Even if he was somehow hanging out in the afterlife listening, he couldn’t answer. He tried again, this time keeping the focus on him—he’d always been good at that.
“So, uhh… Things are pretty much the same at Beacon, now that everything’s fixed up. I mean, the classes are smaller, and the professors are more tired than usual—Oobleck actually taught a class at a normal speed, can you believe it?—but besides that it’s pretty much the same.”
His mouth twisted into an ironic smile as he continued, “So the Headmaster put together some kind of… I think he said ‘inter-kingdom peacekeeping force’ or something like that, and he wanted us in on it. I mean, he talked to everyone who fought in the battle, but still. We told him we didn’t wanna do it until after we’re finished at Beacon. The guys said we’ve still got a lot to learn, and I… yeah, they’re right.” His face fell as he shook his head, “We shouldn’t have even gone out there. If we hadn’t…” No, he couldn’t keep talking about that. He wasn’t visiting his dead partner to get all mopey. Maybe he could change the subject.
“They put a new guy on our team so we still have four. His name’s Robin, and he’s alright, I guess. Not you, though. He’s quiet, but I’m not surprised. Poor asshole lost his whole team during the battle. I don’t know how he keeps going. I mean, one’s hard enough…” The young man leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. He wasn’t going to cry. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t cry. He didn’t cry, ever.
“Look, Russel, I am so sorry.” Cardin Winchester pressed his forehead against the memorial wall, tears trickling down his face, “I was an idiot, and I… I got you killed.” Now that he’d admitted it, the words came pouring out of his mouth, “If I hadn’t charged at that Ursa like a moron, you wouldn’t have had to shove me, and it wouldn’t have… You’d still be alive, and I wouldn’t be here crying on a damn wall.” He punctuated the last few words by pounding his head against the memorial, “Damn, man, I am so sorry.”
Cardin sat there for he didn’t know how long, his forehead and hand resting against the cold stone of the memorial. When he was finally able to pull himself away from his vigil, the sun had gone down. He stood up on shaky legs from sitting too long, bracing himself against the wall.
“I’ll come by again,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets, “tell you what’s going on. Might bring the rest of the team along next time.” That was probably a lie. He didn’t want the others to see him being this pathetic. It’d ruin what little credibility he had left.
“See ya.” With those last two words, Cardin turned and began the long walk back to Beacon.