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One thing Elliot finds himself missing the most is silence.
He had never really appreciated it, back before—well, before. Before the quest, before the deal, before the whispers of a being older than time itself—before, silence had felt oppressive, frightening. The lack of noise used to scare him, like a blanket of anticipation—like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He had always hated being alone, had always sought out his mother during the nights that got too quiet. He would curl up in her lap as she sang to him, brushing through his hair and holding him like the most precious thing in the world. She would rock him so, so gently, promising that she would always be there, that she would always keep him safe, and he had always wanted to believe her.
In a way, maybe the silence had helped. After all, those nights were some of his best memories with his mother. After…after, she never sang to him. She never held him. She never promised anything.
She barely spoke to him, anymore. At least his father didn’t bother to pretend, before or after.
…Elliot was beginning to miss them both even more than silence.
But ever since then—when before turned into after, when his mother stopped singing for him, when his head became a constant cacophany of murmurs and whispers and flashes of images he could never begin to understand—since then, nothing has ever been quiet, and it might just be the worst thing in the world.
Elliot sometimes wishes that then had never happened.
He knows it’s selfish. This is a gift, he reminds himself day in and day out, one that his parents sacrificed so much to give him.
He’s not sure if the thought is even his anymore, if it ever was to begin with. But still, some little part of him lies awake at night, staring up at the top of the tent, wishing for nothing more than to just…exist. Alone, at least in his head.
He wants to lay back and close his eyes and listen to the faint chitter-buzz of cicadas outside. He wants to hear as much as feel the whistle of wind tousling his hair and shaking the treetops. He wants to be able to lay in the quiet and hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears, if only to remind him that, despite it all—because of it all—throughout it all…he’s still here.
But he can’t. And after all this time, he’s learned to accept it—but it still aches, on those late nights when the thoughts that are his and the thoughts that aren’t begin to twist together too closely, when images of ash and blood burn themselves into his eyelids whenever he dares to blink.
Sometimes, it’s easy to block the whispers out with the sound of Pepper’s laugh, easy to forget the dizzying visions in exchange for a glimpse of Jackson’s smile, easy to smile in the face of Rayne’s teasing and Mara’s kindness. Other nights, he thinks back to that night, and he wonders how much longer this will go on for. How many nights he’ll lie awake, stewing in his own misery, before it lets him go, lets him finally get to hear silence once again.
He wonders if it ever will.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Elliot can’t change anything, after all. He’s known that for a long time—destiny has carved her path into the world, and now he just has to let it take its course. It’s simply the way it has to be. After all…
No one gets a choice.