These Wars Of Ours {MiniStar/Sidepack AU}

Simon {End}

Vikk watched with bitter eyes, his face glued to the stage as he watched Preston climb the wooden steps.

It had taken them all to long to rebuild the little town they grew up in, and took more then persuasion to have anyone move to the little city, but the effect it had on Vikk was astounding. The town was almost a exactly copy of what it used to be, the same colourful banners and dark houses, the same cobblestone that lined the paths, and the same house designs that the little town had not to long ago. It look exactly the way it did when he grew up, almost a carbon copy to even the fine details. His house down the road was built almost the same was as it was before it was destroyed, the scent of pastries from a bakery he knew all to well waking him up every morning.

A baby was crying a few rows down, the father trying to shush the child as he bounced the small thing up and down in his arms, whispering small nothings to it as the mother watched, her eyes seeming to stare at the man and the child in a way Vikk could only describe as love. Vikk could feel himself subconsciously bite his lip, his hands getting sweaty and nervous as he stared at the couple. The girl looked to be about in her twenties, platinum hair falling past her shoulders in a perfectly straight line, as if she had ironed it. The male looked almost the exact opposite, he to in his twenties, his pale hands reaching up to scratch his scruffy beard, the hair dark and dotted with gray streaks here and there.

They looked so similar to Josh and Freya, a name Vikk had heard Josh say many times while talking about his departed wife, that it was scary.

But alas he knew it wasn't them. It could never be them. Josh was dead. Simon had seen Josh be slaughtered right in front of him, and Josh was gone. Freya and the baby were dead, burned in the fire that raged across the town, blown up in the destruction that ruined their homes. They were gone.

Looking around, he couldn't help but notice how everyone he looked at in the crowd looked like someone he had lost. A boy with bright blue eyes and a sickening smile sat on the right side of him, his height almost a good head taller and his voice having slight accent, maybe an Australian one if he had to guess. Two boys were fighting behind him, although their voices were soft and Vikk could tell they were most likely just messing around with each other, for they seemed like good friends by the way they talked. A son and his father sat in the back row a few feet away, the boy clad in a dark blue hoodie, one similar to Harry's although this guy had much more facial hair. All to similar to his friends, but not similar enough.

He shuffled slightly in his seat, picking at the collar that was all to tight around his neck. He could feel the sweat fall down his face as the sun burned his skin, giving his already dark skin almost a golden tan. He watched as Preston gave his speech, although he wasn't really listening. His mind was in other places right now.

"And now, as my first act as King, I would like to hand out out awards for those who fought in the battles so bravely with out surrender. To honour those who had died," Preston spoke into the microphone, his voice booming across the stage. Vikk could feel himself inwardly shudder, the thought of going up the stage making him want to die. He was never to sold on the idea if public speaking.

They must hate him. He let all his friends die, seen their blood paint the town red as he sat and watched. The amount of times people have told him about how lucky he was on surviving or thanking him for his service wasn't exactly soothing either, because all they did was remind him that he had the nerve to live the rest of his life as if nothing had happened while the other lay forgotten somewhere without a final goodbye. It was sickening. He wasn't lucky at all.

He wanted to die.

He sat quietly, pulling his black and red checkered hoodie closer to him. It was one of Mitch's, one of Mitch's prized possessions actually, and Vikk wore it with pride. After all, it was much much warmer then the black and white checkered hoodie he had back at home that he used to wear everywhere, and at least this one reminded him of a friend, a friend who was gone.