Danny Caldwell was not ready to die, despite the fact that he lay buried under the tangled metalwork beneath the bleachers that once made up half of the school gymnasium.
Danny Caldwell did not want to die, despite the pool of blood he lay in, his own, fresh blood.
And Danny Caldwell was not going to die, despite the burns on the left side of his body and severed limbs on his right. The fingers that twitched without any connection to his body, and the suit-clad leg that hung on with a sliver of muscle and skin.
Not today, anyway.
Prom hadn't been miserable. Despite protests, Danny did appreciate it when his brother doted over him, straightened his tie and gave him advice. He'd almost managed to stick some gel in his hair, but that was a no-go. A boy's gotta keep some of his pride, even if that pride entails the swept back bed head that does as it pleases. The edges of his left eye were tinted blue, a black eye that had yet to fully disappear. His knuckles were still purple.
Pick you up at eleven, Jack had said. Maybe if he'd come on time for once of his life, they would've avoided this mess.
No, Danny did not have any glossy-lipped girl waiting for him, with perfectly curled hair and shimmery dress that she'd spent weeks aching over. That had been a lie. Tongues danced, but in the back of the room, behind the bleachers. Not on the dance floor, not near the refreshments, not anywhere in the open. Because Danny and his rather close friend kept to the shadows, since neither of them were out. And hell if they'd ever be.
Still nice. Still so nice. Everyone was so wrapped up in their slow dances, no one spared a glance. A perfectly secret yet somehow public moment with fingers intertwined, where no one could pull them apart. Nothing. Except something did.
He wasn't numb, but he wasn't fully conscious. His own pain was a strange whisper in the back of his brain, calling out, begging to be heard, but not earning more than a sideways glance. Yet, he was awake. Awake enough to hear fires crackling, more and more pieces of the dreaded Cavalier High fall to bits. And Jack's screams. His brother.
Danny opened his mouth to reply, but rather than words, blood spilled out. He coughed, and more blood came, what was left of his body shaking and convulsing with the effort, any effort at all. Through blood stained teeth, Danny managed to sound out the first two letters of his brother's name, but could get no further. His eyes flickered, just for a second, a strange glowing green hue.
He shouldn't have been alive. There was simply no way, with the amount of damage, with the amount of blood lost. But he still trembled on the ground, trying his hardest to murmur his beloved brother's name. His memories were in scatters. He couldn't clearly recall what had done this to him, to everything and everyone. But he could see Jack. That was all that mattered.
Did this count as going down swinging?