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"I can't do this with my own hands..." the man before him sobbed.
It had been a while since Christian opened up to him like that. He was the Christian Dean after all. It didn't matter if he had been by his side his entire life, or taught him everything he knew, he always had something better to do. And that "something" had slowly turned into Ethan, as of late.
He knew exactly where this was going. And he didn't like it one bit. After that night, almost 10 years ago, he swore he would never kill someone without good reason — despite the justice he brought forth that day, the blood on his hands still hadn't gone away in his mind.
"I know you haven't killed anyone after your father, but..."
He stilled. There it goes.
"...no one has that strength except you and me. Please, Xander."
He didn't know what exactly came over him, but as soon as Chris said that, he broke his long silence only to agree, even to his own sruprise.
He stayed for a while longer comforting him, and the brunette was gone after a few hours, not looking any less distraught than he did when he came in.
His house was quiet. Eerily so. Blake was out on a metting with the Elders on his behalf to plan the details of the jail break (that boy became more and more trustworthy of taking his place, and Xander was every bit proud about that), since Chris had specifically asked them to let Xander skip the meeting for "an important discussion". He didn't expect it would be for this.
Him and the cop had a... complicated relationship. Ethan was not at all shy on breaking several rules of the prison just to help him. And Alexander was no less appreciative of that than he was skeptical of his intentions years later.
He wondered what changed between them. And he loathed this fact; couldn't he just hate him and end it there? It didn't matter what he'd done before or what he'd ever do for him, it wouldn't erase the pain, the incessant and insistent need to break every mirror he came across because he'd only ever see himself as a shadow. And that's all he'd ever be. Thanks to him.
He almost preferred dying than facing the humilliation of Ethan saving his life, the one he wouldn't have tried to take away if he never existed.
But something inside him refused to let it end there. Maybe he deep down knew he was better for Chris. Or he envied the fact that he'd never had to kill a soul beyond what his job demanded. Or how he felt he owed him something after the admittedly horrible thing he'd said about Michael's case back in one of his rage-induced alley fights. Whatever it was, it drove him up the walls.
Whatever it was, it made his heart beat so loudly in his chest when he stepped foot in the prison.
His vision was blurry, his hearing muffled. Police orders, people bumping into him as they ran. All he knew was that there was only one thing he had to do, and that was killing Ethan without spilling a single drop of blood.
He waited until the signal was given, after Zeyn had opened up his cell. Everything inside of him screamed to leave, to leave, to not be the reason someone he cares about —for as much of a bitter taste as it left in his mouth to admit it— dies. To leave because everyone would be much better off if he did. But what Chris had asked him to do, what the Elders demanded him to do, didn't care about how he felt about the matter.
The prisoner looked up at him with a mix of confusion and terror (emphasis on the latter). He didn't know what came over him that made him feel he had to explain himself, even though he could barely hear his own words or form a sentence without feeling excruciating pain.
"I..." he started, feeling his throat go dry, but continuing despite it "...came here to kill you, Ethan"
All Ethan could do was scramble. He started screaming, begging phrases Xander couldn't even register. All he could do was repeat his objective in his mind to keep himself from fleeing in that exact instant.
Kill him. Kill him kill him killhim killkillkill doitnowgetitoverwithkillhim
He grabbed the man by the arms with one hand, pinning him to the ground, and choked his neck with the other. He concentrated all his strength so he could finish the work as quickly as possible, using both hands as soon as he was sure Ethan wouldn't escape.
But he. Just. Wouldn't. Die.
Ethan kept trying to escape from his grasp, begging in tears and screams, gritting his teeth and clawing his shoulders with enough strength that he was sure it'd leave a scar.
He could hear the muffled "Let me go! Alex, please! LET ME GO!", but that was it. The thoughts in his head were louder, the tears that ran through his face, that he didn't have the energy to contain, ran through his cheeks and dripped onto his hands, both men's uneven and fast breathing. Those were all louder.
Blood started spewing out of Ethan's mouth. He coughed uncontrollably. And Xander saw the blood in his own hands. His father's blood, Christian's blood, Ethan's blood. He didn't know where one ended and where the other one started, he didn't have the energy to try to analyze if the blood was anyone else's other than his victim's.
Only one phrase made it through the chaos his senses were:
"A-Alex, please... I don't wanna die..."
He didn't know what came over him, but he needed to comfort him so bad it hurt him. He didn't care about grudges, or the pain he'd caused before, the way he called him Alex, the desperate yet quiet "I don't wanna die", the way he begged like he never thought possible from him... he'd crossed a line this time he wasn't sure he could ever go back to.
"...Forgive me for everything..."
He didn't know what shameless spirit came over him, but he let his hands go after the man had stilled, and he leaned over his body, hesitant to touch him again, but still disobeying his better judgement and putting his forehead on his chest, crying endlessly. How could he have just done this and act so disgustingly concerned now!?
He knew what the plan was. He knew what would happen afterwards, that he wasn't gone forever. But nonetheless, he delicately lifted up his chest — his lifeless, cold and weak chest—, and cradled him. As delicate as he'd ever handled someone. He didn't want to hurt him any further.
What have you done. What have you done what have you done whathaveyoudonewhatiswrongwithyou.
"I am so sorry. I'm so sorry Ethan please forgive me..." he sobbed, as if he hadn't just done what he did.
The following days or so (he didn't know how long had passed, because the screams kept him from focusing on anything else, especially the passing of time) , Blake excitedly called for him as everyone gathered around the bed where Ethan's corpse laid. He was back.
And the world moved on. He had to act unfazed for them. But only he'd know, that there was now someone else's blood sitting on his hands in every nightmare.