He wished he was hurt – because that would make more sense to him. He had never cried about a cut or a scrape or a bruise. It bled, and it hurt, and it healed: he knew the cycle. He didn’t know the cycle here.
(His mother had died when he was even younger, so it wasn’t entirely grief he meant – but Great-Gran was the last actual relative he’d had in his life. And she had been a surprisingly steady presence for someone who had seemed close to senile seven years ago already.)
He registered Hestia flitting about and gently forcing him to sit – his knees bent obediently, otherwise close to buckling anyway – and he managed to shake his head. “I dunno,” he tried, his face screwed up at remembering it, and a slight flinch in his shoulders as he pictured it again. “She tried to get out of bed – she looked weird, like she was in pain – and she shook a little, and – I don’t know. I’m not a healer.” A heart attack. A stroke. People died of old age, didn’t they? But wasn’t that supposed to be peaceful, in their sleep? Great-gran had been awake, and agitated, and then confused; and then all signs of her had slid away with the life going out of her. He made a retching noise somewhere deep in his throat, and clutched at his stomach, feeling as pathetic as he sounded. “Hestia, I don’t want to go home.”
(His mother had died when he was even younger, so it wasn’t entirely grief he meant – but Great-Gran was the last actual relative he’d had in his life. And she had been a surprisingly steady presence for someone who had seemed close to senile seven years ago already.)
He registered Hestia flitting about and gently forcing him to sit – his knees bent obediently, otherwise close to buckling anyway – and he managed to shake his head. “I dunno,” he tried, his face screwed up at remembering it, and a slight flinch in his shoulders as he pictured it again. “She tried to get out of bed – she looked weird, like she was in pain – and she shook a little, and – I don’t know. I’m not a healer.” A heart attack. A stroke. People died of old age, didn’t they? But wasn’t that supposed to be peaceful, in their sleep? Great-gran had been awake, and agitated, and then confused; and then all signs of her had slid away with the life going out of her. He made a retching noise somewhere deep in his throat, and clutched at his stomach, feeling as pathetic as he sounded. “Hestia, I don’t want to go home.”
