Perhaps if Hester had known better he would have gotten them out in time, maybe he could have given them an extra second, or maybe not have tried to blow it up at all.

Perhaps he should not have left Wilbur alone with Alexander that night, or should have warned Alexander of what he thought would come, maybe he should have tried to get there faster.

Or, maybe he should have never left.

Maybe he should have never left that night, in the storm. Maybe he didn't deserve death, but instead a torturous existence of purgatory, maybe he should have continued to be the Angel of Death.

Perhaps it would have hurt less, knowing he's a monster and not wanting to change, he was a living embodiment of 'lived as he died' a selfish monster that hurts everything he loves.

There will be no:

Reasoning.

Justification.

Redemption.

Yet here he was breathing, and still very much alive no matter how much he prayed, he hurt Wilbur, saved him just barely—he was alive, and so was his son, but the pain of losing something to find it again was one he had never prepared for.

Hester is Wilbur's everything, Wilbur is Hester's whole world. Yet there are three things they are the most like, more similar to them than that.

They are two stars pulled by each other's collapsing gravity.

They are two ghosts trapped in limbo for all eternity.

They are a father and a son, a cruel father and an unforgiving son.

Trapped inside a raven's wings, as the building cracks around them, the ember splintering the wood travels and rotting it from the inside, if it was anything it was beyond beautiful, hearing the stone pillars crush under the weight of rubble. Justice in one loud tumble finally served.

Hester's ears rang from the explosion, it felt like the dust that kicked up cracked his skull and permeated each and every one of his thoughts making them dissipate like trying to cup sand in his hands they slipped right through his finger tips.

Hester smelled the air, it was sickly sweet that became brittle and turned sour, the side of his mouth ached and had the metallic tang of blood from where his teeth bit into his tongue from the force of the explosion.

For a moment all was still, the world took a breath in and out again. And then the sky opened up and the heavens wept like it could wash the burn with water and cover it. The area was salted and gone, nothing remained and nothing would regrow for a very, very long time.

He heard movement, but did not open his wings to see if it was friend or foe. He needed to keep Wilbur warm and safe and never would let anything happen to him again.

He felt the rain beat on his wings, the pounding anger of the Gods Hester slid his wings ever-so-slightly making a cut of moonlight drip in.

He was meant to be in debt to the Gods, to Death, for giving him and his family something only few could ever dream of, flight. Hester opened his wings, and was free.

His wings, his wings were broken, burned and gone. He was free, and he was trapped.

His wings were gone.

But Wilbur was not.

He saw the silhouette of Alexander, alive, and somehow well. Digging in the rubble, a small pale hand greeted him in response. The kid Wilbur had gotten attached to, -might as well let them say goodbye- Hester thought his body and mind both felt like something had broken because Hester did not move—exhaustion was a heavy blanket and adrenaline leaking from his veins.

Their eyes found each other in the darkness and Hester wished he looked away, as Alexander took out some medicine. His face was a frustrated disappointment—as if Hester should have known better—should have been better.

Anger, it seemed, was a stronger emotion than sorrow.

But there was one above all, who reigned supreme.

Hester did not feel guilty or scared, he felt tired yet he did not worry over the consequences and would be long gone before the aftermath. What he felt laid on his chest suffocating him was something different.

Shame.

Brittle and heavy.

Shame for his family—his Goddess, His ancestors and the name they gave him, the debt he must one day pay. Shame for every single hatred thought and manic moment and frenzy fight, for every halcyon day he wasted letting his madness fester and grow until his judgment was clouded enough to make the same mistake he ran away from in the first place.

Hurting people—but not just that—hurting innocent people.

These people, his maybe-not-so-long-ago family, were innocent people, had been until he came and stirred the pot. When had they ever looked for him? Did they even care about him? Still what little does it make? They're home had been destroyed and shattered into revenants—a shell of its former glory.

They were still going to render him from limb to agonizing limb and let the ravains feast on his remains—if he even still had any after.

But that was fine, as long as Wilbur was safe.

His thoughts traveled to the stillness of his arms and looked down, rain dripping from his hair falling across his dirt covered face leaving a pure trail behind. He look at his son, his pride and joy would not be reduced to nothing by one single mistake

He wished he cared, even a little, of the footsteps of frightened feet and of limping winged warriors he wished he cared for Alexander tending to the child Hester hurt he wished the rain turned to flames when it hit his skin, the cold rain pouring in from his mangled wings. Anything, he wished to care about anything at all.

Anything to distract himself from Wilbur's unmoving chest and peaceful sleeping face.

His son's lifeless face, his body was cold, so very cold, biting into his skin. Hester became suddenly very aware of the extent of Wilbur's injuries: new scars lined his hands and bare arms, burn marks on his face. His pale unmoving face.

Hester stared too long, and his breath became caught in his throat. Wilbur looked so, peaceful in his death. Like his eyes would flutter open any second now showing it was all worth it, proving this was not how it ended, that he would still be here, even after he closed the book.

He shook him ever-so-slightly, quietly whispering his name. He opened his wings fully and the cold darkness of the rain washed over him. He felt he was suffocating, and feverish—that his son was not getting colder under his touch but he was getting warmer.

In the darkness he heard footsteps slow and deliberate, he looked up for a moment—a split second and saw demise, looking right through him. Then felt the warm welcome of Death.

No. Hester thought, or said or maybe screamed.

"No. No no, no no no no no—" He held Wilbur tighter, curling in on himself holding Wilbur to his chest and not letting go. Never letting go.

He was met with the same Godsdamned stoic silence as she gracefully moved closer, her dark eyes freezing Hester where he was, her demeanor penetrating the air and showing an end with no return.

Hester had one last hope.

And it was her.

Hester looked up and prayed. "Give him wings." He whispered, voice fraying and broken Death did not falter her walk.

"Give him wings!" He yelled, his voice echoing off of the ruins, for a moment thunder clapped and the world was swallowed in a bright white light. "You took mine away!" Hester couldn't look down at Wilbur again but instead begged for his return.

"Give him wings!" He yelled louder "You gave Tallulah wings, why not William?" He screams the rain splashing on his face, washing away blood, dirt, tears, and spit from him.

"Please. . . Please just give him wings." He pleaded.

"I wanted him to learn how to fly."

Death looked down, and shook her head slowly, steadily, deliberately.

After all that,

The Angel of Death, Guardian and protector of Death's soldiers and former general of her army.

Screamed.

He held Wilbur's lifeless body, protecting someone keeping them warm—but they did not feel it. And let an ugly wail break into sobs, screaming, screaming for his Wilbur, willingly accepted that this was the end. Maybe not for him, but to all he loves.

"Oh Hester," She said, the name being filled with sympathy and a soft tranquility in the midst of a storm. Hester looked up at her, his eyes filled with despair but still a stubborn and unreasonable flicker of hope.

"When will you realize I am never here for you?" She questioned softly, more to herself than the Angel that begged before her.

Kneeling for her forgiveness, to give everything he has so unrightfully earned in the first place—even for Wilbur to breathe one more breath would make him give up everything and return to her—anything for his Goddess as long as it's for his son.

She turned to go, Hester did not understand—did not get this trial—this ending. Did not realize its meaning if it had any at all other than to make him an example to the others, to never stray from the path. Never disobey Lady Death.

Death,

Such a small word for such a big thing.

Death took three steps away and turned to face her formal Angel. "It is out of my hands." she said showing both hers, Hester did not understand—would never understand, it didn't make sense. Nothing made sense unless Wilbur was breathing, but then realization dawned when he couldn't see the familiar shine on Death's hand.

In the end, all it took was four seconds.

One: Death turned away, disappearing in the mist of the pelting rain.

Two: Hester dug in his pocket for a moment producing a small golden ring and showed it to the sky the rain washing the blood and dirt from it shining brightly.

Three: He found Wilbur's cold, small, sleeping hand and oh-so softly letting the fingers open. Taking the ring and gently slipping it on.

Four: Wilbur held his breath, Hester closed his eyes.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Until—

Bright honey golden eyes drowsy blinked up at him, seemingly glowing in the darkness and met Hester's icy blue ones.

Hester pushed his forehead against Wilbur's and hummed softly, shutting his eyes like casting a spell.

He heard Wilbur's heart beat steadily—alive—it said happily—alive alive alive—he softened his grip on Wilbur.

Hester could not believe this—that any of it had happened to begin with. That any of it was true that he was simply dreaming or in a fairytale, that his son—his son was alive and well, heart beating and lungs breathing.

Hester continued humming—the simple song, his voice cracking and dry but it was no less perfect then he started before.

And just like that, the spell was over. Hester opened his eyes and light returned to the world.

His Wilbur, quick to cry—even quicker to laugh, soft kind-hearted and gentle. Brave and thoughtful, strong and perfect son.

His Wilbur.

His Wilbur.

Hester looked up, and found two people watching him. Alexander looking lost and scared—but joyful and relieved—all of what Hester was feeling.

Turning his focus he watched where she had disappeared. Knowing she was there, watching, somewhere in the shadows. She, after all, was death, a cold and quick moment that—if, when, he saw her again he would be ready the next time.

Hester stood up stumbling holding Wilbur, clumsily walking to Alexander. Odin had stayed put and the blonde boy was knocked out cold—the winged child still breathing deeply and steadily. "What are you going to do with them?" Alexander asked softly, the words still felt far too loud from his mouth.

Hester gingerly put Wilbur on Odin's back, the animal seemed somewhat annoyed. Still Hester bent down and scooped up the smaller kid, smiling slightly. "I'll take him home." Alexander rolled his eyes already hearing what he was going to say next 'I'm not running an orphanage' was his guess, but to his surprise Alexander simply shrugged and watched Hester slowly place the kid next to Wilbur both already unconscious by some Godly miracle.

"Let's go home." Alexander whispers softly to Hester showing a small smile, not the one either of them were used to, a secret almost reserved, something sentimental being hidden, a long fought war finally being won.

Home

It almost feels like a distant memory.

"Let's go home."

Hester said.

Hester smiled.

Hester lied.

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Art by Wolfy on X
All written using Novelist
So much happened I don't even know what to put here, but I will say, the 'give him wings' may or may not have been one of the soul reasons I kept writing this and I won't confirm nor deny that I had written most of this while working on chapter twenty, another thing 'Hester said, Hester smiled' is also from that same script I was mentioning last time, it's really good trust me lol
© Unavailable
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