The echoed screams resounded through the area long after Morgan died, somehow making themselves heard above the thunderous crashing of the waves.
Diego stared from above at the foamy water long after they swallowed up his body, leaving just the implication of it being dashed against the rocks over and over again, tossed like a ragdoll.
He took a few stuttered steps away from the edge and stumbled, fell on his back, collapsed onto the dusty ground with a thud.
And in the moments after, giddy laughter trickled out of Diego's throat, almost but not completely overwhelmed by the ocean roaring and laughing with him. He was alive.
Almost every square inch of his face screamed, moaned. Almost every square inch of his face had been bruised or broken in some manner, but he was alive.
Blood continued to trickle from his rib, the daylight stars continued to twinkle at him from the overcast sky, the world turned and turned around him and there was a growing urge to expel all the contents of his stomach, but he was alive.
And that was something Morgan couldn't say now.
For once, he was left speechless.
What Henry and Morgan didn't get — what they would never get — was that survival without integrity was still survival. It still meant something
to him. He might not be able to look at himself in the mirror anytime soon, literally, metaphorically, but there would still be a mirror to look at at the end of the day. If he survived, then there'd be time to feel bad, there'd be time to atone for everything he'd done.
Not that he was feeling bad just yet. All the broken bones and teeth aside, he felt
great.
That feeling subsided, of course. Everything good did.
What eventually set in was that the pain, the dizziness, the nausea that wouldn't go away. What set in was that he was missing three of the teeth on the left side of his face, that he tasted nothing but blood, that he couldn't breath through his nose now. Even just touching his nose, cheek made him whimper a bit.
The blood that trickled out of his side had dried by the time he sat up. Just another tear to bandage now.
He placed a bandage where the bullet had grazed him, wrapped around his torso with gauze to secure the bandage. This has been done with difficulty, the wound on his arm protesting as he reached around his back to perform the task.
This would've been easier with someone else.
He didn't like dealing with this stuff on his own. It would've been nice if Marceline had been around to help him with this. Or Ty. Or Cam. Or Theo or Declyn or Drew or Stephanie or really anyone.
He was so sick of thinking of people in past tense.
He stared at the ocean beyond the cliffs. Had Marceline jumped off here? Had she shot herself elsewhere? She had walked off with a gun, he remembered. He could still see her taking her mile-long walk, alone, shrinking. Another sight to be imprinted on the back of his eyelids.
His sight drifted over to Dane, Mike, their eyeless corpses still staring at him.
He'd put in the work. This was what Ty had meant.
He'd told himself this a million times before, but this time he really meant it. No more allies. He'd meant it all the previous times, but he'd mean it again too. Maybe this time it'd stick. He knew what he had to do now, he knew what he had to face.
After work, of course, one had to clean. He traipsed across the area, cleaning up the aftermath of the fight. The grenade launcher again found its way around his neck. Ty's gun had been where he dropped it, near the rock. His bag, along with it Marceline's gun, the shovel, was still near the tree he'd left them. If he hadn't dropped the bag, the fight would've been over quicker, would've been less costly. Served him right for abandoning them.
Walking felt difficult now. He hoped to God it wasn't some sort of concussion, traumatic brain injury, something he could fade away from. He hoped as if he had any right to.
He'd stay awake for the night, he decided. Concussions were only bad if he fell asleep during them, right?
They were close enough to the end anyways. One, two days away, at most. The sleep he'd gotten last night would have to sustain him for the rest of his time.
Leaving the manor had been a mistake.
He went back into the woods to seek another shelter. He knew a place nearby.
((Diego Larrosa continues
elsewhere))