Forgivin' Ya
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The figure wearing his brother’s face grins, just the way he used to, crouching down beside the broken man. His entire body shimmers like he’s incorporeal. “You ain’t givin’ up that easy. Won’t letcha.”
“You’re…this isn’t real. I’m hallucinating.”
Brok scoffs. “‘Course you are. Lookit you. What’d ya think was gonna happen?”
———
Sindri’s path to healing, and to forgiveness.
--
Chapter 1: Pulling His Head Out of His Ass
Sindri isn’t sure how long it’s been. He can’t tell if it’s been hours, days, or weeks, but he doesn’t particularly care, either. Gentle waves crash against the shore, the smell of embers having not left his nose since he appeared here. It’s almost peaceful, if he’s not counting the high pitched ringing that hasn’t left his ears.
He’s laying on the floor of a cave in Svartalfheim. It’s dark in the cave, and he’s far away enough from the mouth that he can’t tell if it’s dark outside, too. He had lit a torch when he arrived, but it had long since burned out, so he just lay in the dark, staring up at the same rock formation he’d been staring at for what seemed like forever.
Resisting the urge to hurl again, because there’s nothing left in his stomach at all, he licks his dry lips and closes his eyes. He can’t eat and he can’t sleep. His “friends” led his brother to his death. What is the point of living anymore?
Sindri doesn’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, either. When he closes his eyes these days, he often hopes he won’t open them again. But here he is, day after day, still here, still alone.
He doesn’t have any tears left.
“Get the hell up ‘n pull yer head outta yer ass.” A sudden voice makes his eyes flutter open. Above him, a blue figure swims into his blurry vision, and Sindri bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. His mind and heart races, but his body is sluggish and he can’t move besides slowly tilting his head.
“Brok…?”
The figure wearing his brother’s face grins, just the way he used to, crouching down beside the broken man. His entire body shimmers like he’s incorporeal. “You ain’t givin’ up that easy. Won’t letcha.”
“You’re…this isn’t real. I’m hallucinating.”
Brok scoffs. “‘Course you are. Lookit you. What’d ya think was gonna happen?”
Sindri knows he looks worse for wear. After he left the funeral, he looked at himself in the water. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him, accompanied by matted hair and beard. Even his face looked thinner.
Even so, he’s annoyed that his hallucination is pointing it out. He places his arms over his eyes. “Go away. I don’t need a figment of my imagination to tell me I’m crazy. Let me lay here.”
A hand grabs his forearm, startling him so badly he can’t help but yelp. Wide eyes meet achingly familiar ones, though they’re full of a concern he isn’t used to. “No. Don’t you remember what I said to ya, or are ya so dense you already forgot?”
Of course he remembers. He plays that moment in his head over and over again.
“Y’gotta stop. Y’gotta let go.”
Sindri’s grief is replaced with anger again, giving him enough energy to sit up and swat hallucination-Brok’s hand away. “Shut up! Shut up!” His voice echoes off the walls. Chest heaving, he forces himself to be quieter. “It’s easy for you to say. Why do you get to give up, but I can’t?!”
“I already died once,” he answers softly. “You ain’t get to go out like this.”
“But I can’t do it. I can’t. You were all I had left.”
Brok gives him that look, the one that calls him stupid with just his eyes, and shakes his head. “Naw, I’m not. Our friends was our family too.”
Anger flares again, his voice icy cold. “No. They’re not. They’re the reason you’re gone.”
“You hit yer head or somethin’?” Brok sounds annoyed now, and it makes Sindri’s chest tighten. “It ain’t their fault I turned out to be smartest of the bunch. Hell, if even the Smartest Head in the World couldn’t see Tyr was a shady motherfucker, how was anyone else supposed to?”
Sindri’s eyes well up with tears, much to his surprise. “Why’d it have to be you? Why?”
Staring at him for a moment, Brok suddenly rears back and smacks Sindri across the face. Much to his surprise, his cheek stings, as if it wasn’t just a hallucination that hit him.
“Sindri! Christ, listen to yourself!” His hands move to his shoulders, so their eyes meet. Brok is still fuzzy, but Sindri looks at him anyway, as if he could disappear at any moment. “You can’t do nothin’ about the past. You and I know it better’n anyone. I’m glad it was me. Finally got the honor that you took away from me, mind.”
Sindri releases a sob. Brok sighs.
“I forgives ya, remember? But look. My death meant something. Odin’s the reason I kicked the bucket, sure, but I’m also the reason he kicked the bucket. Well, me and you together.” Brok smiles, a little more genuinely. He reaches forward, wiping a tear from Sindri’s cheek. “Just like always. Pickin’ up after everyone else.”
Sindri squeezes his eyes shut, sick of crying, sick of this burning hatred, sick of being. “How am I supposed to keep going? We’re not together anymore.”
“You’ll be fine,” Brok promises, surprisingly gentle, “‘cause you’re my brother, and I ain’t really gone.” His hand moves to Sindri’s chest. “Whenever you got a feelin’ in yer scrote, you know it’ll be me.”
Sindri chokes on what sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sob. “You’re so dumb.”
“Yer dumber.” Brok grins again, standing up. He turns his back, then sighs, his voice almost inaudible. “I love you too, y’know.”
When Sindri blinks again, Brok is gone. Sobs echo off the walls until he’s dry heaving, left on all fours, shaking rather violently. He breaks into a sweat, suddenly feeling as if he’s on fire.
He’ll die here if he doesn’t do anything about it. He doesn’t think he’s ready to face the others, but he also doesn’t have any other choice. Brok was always the only one who could talk sense into him.
That hasn’t changed, even now.
Hauling himself to his feet, vertigo shoves him against the cave wall. The entire world spins, and it feels like his stomach is eating itself. Pressing his palms against the cave wall, he squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard.
Midgard.
When he opens his eyes, he’s standing in melting snow. Wolves bark nearby as his vision darkens around the edges. “Help,” he whispers, sure no one can hear it.
“Sindri!”
He sways, but instead of falling face first into snow, strong arms support his body, a familiar white face swimming into view above him, looking the most concerned he’s ever seen. Kratos turns his face up as more footsteps approach.
“He is burning up.”
“Hang on, Sindri. Hang on.” Freya’s voice sounds like it’s underwater. He tries to say something, feeling Kratos lift him like he weighs nothing, but all that comes out is a gurgled noise in his throat.
The world goes black.
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