i see the light [a tangled oneshot]

i see the light

It takes Eugene two hundred forty-five seconds to die. It's not that long, really; less than five minutes. But Flynn Rider—the thief, the scoundrel, the felon—knows there's a plethora of things that can happen in five minutes. Two hundred forty-five seconds is long enough to woo a lady, to make a bargain, to steal a crown. It's long enough to seal a fate, to change a fortune, for someone to live or die or forgive or destroy. He supposes some of his finest, most sensational adventures were the results of swift decisions, those split-second choices made between heartbeats that can alter a destiny forever. Heartbeat-choices. He also supposes that taking Rapunzel to see the lanterns was a heartbeat-choice.

And now, as Gothel's dagger plunges into his side, the countdown to his final heartbeat-choice begins.

Eugene's no stranger to pain. He's witnessed and experienced a lot of it in his life, some of it emotional, some of it physical, some of it an unpleasant combination of both. He treats it similarly either way. Patch it up. Shove it down. Lock it up where he can't feel it, where it can't hurt him. Press on. But this is different. This kind of pain he can't just cage up like some sort of feral beast, determinedly ignored. This kind of pain is fire: blinding, white-hot, and deadly. He's curled up, arm clamped to his side, shards of glass flashing around him like a sky full of stars. And casting a shadow over him is a woman, the one he assumes Rapunzel calls mother. He has some other, less complimentary names for her.

"Now look what you've done, Rapunzel," she's saying, her voice cool and sleek as fine silk. Rapunzel's calling out, but her voice is coming from the other end of a long tunnel. Eugene cannot draw enough breath to reply. "Oh, don't worry, dear. Our secret will die with him."

Eugene has a hard time understanding her through the haze clouding his senses. Black frames his vision, uniting with the agony in his gut that eats away at his consciousness. He just wants to curl into a ball and stay there until the pain goes away. But Rapunzel needs him—she's restrained, struggling, a prisoner of that witch—and the very notion is enough to fight the pain and blackness descending on him from all sides. She cries out through the gag tied over her mouth, and oh, if only he could focus long enough to crack a joke to comfort her—or even better, knock the woman out with a frying pan. But the fire is spreading, consuming him whole, and he's fading, fading, fading fast.

"And as for us," the woman snarls, and Eugene faintly hears the rattle of chains and the swish of cloth, "we . . . are going somewhere no one . . . will be . . . able to find you . . . again!"

With what feels like astronomical effort, Eugene shifts his head—watching horrified, helpless as a worm on a hook—as the scuffle grows louder, more frantic. Green eyes wide with terror, Rapunzel struggles against her captor, screams of protest muffled by the cloth wrapped around her mouth.

"Rapunzel, really!" the woman snaps, teeth bared as she yanks on the chains. Even from his limited vantage point on the floor, he can tell Rapunzel is giving it all she's got. The woman's frustration is proof enough of that. "Enough already! Stop. Fighting. Me!"

"No!" Rapunzel's voice rings out, clear and strong and resolute. This is the girl who had defied the woman who raised her, who had tamed the patrons of the Snuggly Duckling, who had chased her dream even when everything and everyone else (himself included) tried to convince her otherwise. This is his bright and merry sunshine girl. "I won't stop! For every minute of the rest of my life I will fight! I will never stop trying to get away from you!"

If Eugene had the strength to cheer he would, except all of his energy seems to be leaching out of him with the blood oozing from his wound. Nevertheless, admiration for this luminous ray of light wells up inside him.