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He had felt this rage before. What he had never felt was what it meant to have his stomach fall through the floor, his breaths cut short by the horror before him, for his heart to hammer in his chest so hard that he felt the need to tear himself open and let it run to the one suffering before him. This level of fear, worry, anxiety was so deeply profound that no hot tears could flow if he could cry or that his stomach would empty itself had he been able to vomit.
The picture he and the Legendary Stalker Lea had found next to the stiffened dangling arms of their most precious person had been soiled in his blood. As Lea sank into a dark abyss of her own desperation, mourning what could only indicate Romeo was dead, P went on ahead. Anger, deep-seated anger, filled him. He walked the scarred and bloodied halls of the Monad Charity House Boarding School. He had always thought that it was the eruption of Petrification Disease that had destroyed the place, but now he was sure it was more than just that.
Deep slashes in the walls and floors, red and blue blood splattered everywhere, and an eerie stillness that usually accompanied death painted a picture that only the Blood Artist could have done. And still, through all of that blood, P could almost sense Romeo's presence, the streaks of his bright red blood cutting through the dark stains.
“Don't lose heart, pal,” Gemini supported P, feeling every ounce of hatred that his Stalker friend emanated from his form. “We won't let Arlecchino get away with this.”
“I will make him pa-ay for what he's done to Ro-ome-o,” P growled. “He…doesn't dese-erve this!”
The deeper he went into the school, Carcasses that haunted the emerald halls wailed in agony as they tried to attack him. Dispatching them was barely an inconvenience. Down he went until he finally came to the Rose Garden.
Arlecchino had been defeated, and he fell where he had collected the blood of his victims. P knew that it wouldn't be the last time he'd see him, or at the very least he hoped to find where he was in the present time. He wanted to make him pay for what he had done to poor Romeo. But revenge wasn't important at that moment.
“We need to get him down quickly,” Lea panted and coughed. The fight against the serial killer puppet and the Petrification Disease had dragged her down to the brink, but she was still well enough to rescue Romeo. “The last thing I want to do is cause him any more pain.”
“I'll get hi-im down,” P volunteered.
He leapt up to the very top of the arch from which Romeo was suspended with cloth and spears. He felt sick seeing up close how Arlecchino had crucified him and humiliated him with a mask. His heart ached, and he heard a quiet whisper, like the fluttering of a white butterfly's wings:
Carlo…help me…please…I'm so tired…so in pain…
Whether or not the wish came from Romeo's dried and bloodied lips while he was up there or if it was the whispers of Romeo's Ergo inside the P-Organ beating in his chest, P promised him that he was there to help him. He grabbed onto one of the many spears aimed at who would, by another twist of horrible fate, become the King of Puppets. With the spears as footholds and grips, he carefully cut the cloth strips holding him up.
Romeo was unconscious and probably, P hoped, numb to the agony he was feeling right now. If there was a god, that would have been the least he could do for him. Shielding him from any more pain…that was what Lea wanted, and P tried his best to grant it. P held him up while precariously shuffling around him to cut the ribbons on the other side. The weight of his mangled body was a lot to hold so high up. Lea watched, helplessly nervous as her lungs struggled to draw in air when it smelled and tasted so much like metal in the Rose Garden.
“Careful with him!” was all she could say.
P grabbed one of the strips of cloth, sliding down it like a rope with Romeo over his shoulder. Once he was back down on the ground, he carried him more comfortably in his arms as he flopped. Romeo let out the tiniest sound of discomfort.
“He's in real bad shape…” Gemini said. “I mean, you know this, but even I can sense how desperately he's trying to cling to life.”
“He ne-eds to lie down,” P said. He wanted to hug him to wash away his pain.
He brought Romeo to Lea, who was sitting on the edge of the second tier of the fountain overflowing with blood. Carefully, the two of them lowered Romeo into her lap. Lea started to organize his hair, but P looked at her bright green eyes. It wasn't the best place to have him, but the most important thing was to get him to lie down.
“Le-a, could I…” he shyly asked.
There was a transformation on her face. She finally recognized the face before her. As it dawned on her who P really was, P gently combed the hair out of Romeo's face.
Romeo's hair, so brilliantly blond, was streaked with red with his blood. His skin had always been pale, but this shade of it was so white from the blood loss, the torture, and the fear and hopelessness instilled in him. Dried blood caked his nostrils, and there were bruises everywhere. Particularly around his neck, where Arlecchino had used some sort of ligature to strangle him repeatedly. Romeo's life, during those stranglings, teetered on the edge more than once if the Blood Artist had sought to play God. From his neck, the flowing white blouse that Romeo wore was drenched in crimson. His arms had been severed at the shoulders, and Arlecchino replaced them with crude puppet hands shoved into the bones and somehow grafted like prosthetics. Rope tied off the arms, but it was so crudely done that it was a wonder how he hadn't already bled out. Lea had destroyed Arlecchino's body, and she knew he was trying to do that to Romeo as excruciatingly slowly as possible.
His lower half was seemingly better off. P was afraid to touch his legs for fear that maybe they were broken under his clothing. He noticed that his pants were soiled. Under intense duress, the human body might not be able to hold its wastes in. It was humiliating.
“P-Poor Romeo…” P uttered. “My poor Romeo…”
“He's still alive, but…if I'd gotten here sooner, maybe he would be in better shape,” Lea regretted. She held a hand over his chest. “He needs rest.”
P saw how much he was sweating and trembling from the shock. With nothing else, he took the ruffles of his sleeve onto his palm. Gently, with all the tender love and care of a songbird's chirp or a flower petals fluttering on a breeze, he dabbed away the sweat and tears. Romeo shuddered.
“It took me so long to realize…” Lea coughed. “Even now, you're still so gentle with him. He used to cry for you every night because he missed being able to hold your hand or tease you or hug you.”
P wondered if she knew and approved of their relationship. She had taken both him and Romeo under her wing as apprentices. The memories with the Legendary Stalker were hazy at best, but if they lived together, did she know that they were lovers? She had to, based on how she spoke.
Romeo twitched just a little in pain, and Lea placed her hand over his puppet hand. So weak, so exhausted, he needed someone to hold his hand even if he couldn't feel it. P wished he would wake up to see him. Maybe it would have changed something in the present and Romeo wouldn't be forced into a fate cruelest than what he was tricked into handing down on him. Or maybe he was simply being a little selfish.
“I can see you want to wake him, but…we all need to rest…”
“I…just wan-ted him…to see me here…” P's voice cracked. It was the only thing to indicate how he felt. “I want to tell him…”
Carlo…my star…I know…
The Ergo whispered again. He wondered if Romeo could sense himself. No, not while he was still human. Romeo wasn't a Listener like Sophia. He currently wasn't a puppet yet to communicate with Ergo waves.
P pushed the hair out of his face again and stroked his head. Carefully, he tilted his face up. Lea held his head on her lap. All the pain and sadness and love that he felt for him manifested in a small and chaste and apologetic kiss on Romeo's deep pink but parched lips. Then, he pressed his forehead to his.
“I'm so sorry, Lamp-wick,” P whispered to him. “I'm so sorry for every-thing…you know, I…I will always love you.”
Lea's blue-tinged face softened. The love she saw between P and Romeo reminded her of happier days. Then she remembered how inconsolable Romeo had been when Carlo died. It was somewhat cruel for someone to appear like him, but only Carlo would have cried for him and kissed him like this. Yes, the person before her was…
“I'll do whatever it takes, my King,” P whispered even more quietly. “Lea wishes it, too. I'll help you find happiness.” He turned his cheek onto his head. Quietly, he hummed him a tune that Antonia played for them when they were younger.
Romeo let out a shaky breath. Lea squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she told P. There was so much she wanted to say, but the blue spores in her throat and Romeo's shallow breaths kept her from it.
Thank you for helping us. For helping him. Thank you for loving him and letting him love you. Thank you for inspiring me to protect the innocent again. Thank you for trying to comfort him after all this pain. Thank you…thank you…thank you…
She looked down at Romeo's contorted face once P stepped back to let him breathe. He felt a change. If only he could hold him just a little longer, if only he had seen this all before their confrontation and before he had struck him down. Seeing him now resting so peacefully despite Arlecchino's torture, he vowed that he would do what he could to help him be happy. He had to find a way, and he had his Ergo…
Time was drawing near. The sunrise colored the blood-stained snow in a golden pink hue. As Lea turned her eyes upward once more to look at Carlo, her eyes welled with tears. Blue lights glittered and sparkled, but there was no boy anymore. Only his footprints in the snow remained. Still, she couldn't be sure that he was simply a ghost or if he was really there.
“Thank you…Carlo…”
Lea and Romeo stayed there for a moment longer. Neither of them could move due to the pain and fatigue. Lea was coming to terms that their time together was coming to an end as well but hopefully not so soon that she couldn't return to the base at the bottom of the cliff to care for him then to die in comfort. Romeo didn't wake, but in somniloquence, he called to the boy he loved so dearly:
“Carlo…please…wait…for…me…”