As the Fall Comes

Poisonous

It started small. The time when Gilbert was poisoned.

When he first stood up from the banquet table, the room spun, a little too fast, a little too far. And when almost everyone present turned to him with worried faces (after everything that had happened, why wouldn't they?) he assured them he was fine, that maybe he had had a more to drink than he thought, or perhaps the gravity of all that had happened was catching up to him.

Next his head. Small, sharp pains. Like someone was knocking to get in, like a doctor was sticking a needle in different places to see where it would hurt most. Then it was everywhere that hurt most, and the knocking was on every door and window to his mind. He could do nothing but hold his head in his hands, curse, and pray whoever it was couldn't get in, and would stop trying.

Then he was coughing, and when he pulled his hand from his mouth, crimson remained. And then he was even vomiting, and Vincent ran to his side, saying his name like he was dying—because, of course, he was. At least, on principle.

Vincent had made sure that the whole house was frantic, on fire, that they were calling the family doctor, using anything and everything they had to save his life.

And somewhere in the middle, he heard Elliot swear under his breath something about the Headhunter, and how one day he would kill him for what he had done to their family.

He didn't remember much of that night, fever, and blood, and...

And after all that, after all he had put them through, after all his own wonderings Is this really it? Is this where I die? Will I never get to see Oz again? He...was fine.

Fine. Not even a scar, a cold, a leftover cough. When the morning came, and his pillows, sheets, and clothes were changed, all that was left was white, and he could breathe fine, and there was nothing to show he had almost died the night prior.

Everyone said it had to be a miracle, (Bernice said something about how the Abyss had saved him), that there was no other explanation, as no one (or almost no one) comes back from behind poisoned, and they should thank the heavens that the Nightrays hadn't had to lose someone else.

At the time, he believed it was the worst thing he had ever had to experience.

Until he learned there's one other thing that works the same way: thoughts can be poisonous too.

They too, started small.

It started with Vincent whispering things in his ear, (things about Alice, and Chains, and killing) and "Why won't you kill her, Gil?"asking him questions about things Gilbert denied, but he realized quickly had always been there, somewhere, in the back of his mind. And he supposed it must have started much earlier than this. His brother's words brought them to the forefront, started a record of them playing on repeat. He didn't know how, or where, or when, but somewhere in the middle, the thoughts decided to change directions, decided to stop saying No, of course I won't, I can't. I would never kill Alice, how could Vince even suggest something like that? to Maybe he's not completely wrong, it's her...She's the one destroying my master's body...This is her fault, and the answer's so simple, if I just got rid of her... skirting around the single word, until he was admitting it full well: If I just killed her, if I just got the chance, then my Master would be safe, he'd be okay, all I need to do is kill her, and it started sounding less horrible bit by bit. And then somewhere, somehow, somewhen, that one word started filling up his mind, until it was all he could think, the record of questions replaced with some dark chant of kill, kill, kill my Master's enemies, kill...

Then Sablier. Sablier, where his head, his hand, ached, and where he got so very close.

That knocking in his head, growing in intensity the longer he left the door unopened.