Work Text:
It was cold. Homura was shaking and it was cold, she was so cold. The frigid air bit at her finger tips, her face was flushed in by the cold. Her knees were soaked as she kneeled in the snow.
Madoka was cold too. Her body was cold, but in comparison to Homura she looked almost peaceful. She wasn’t even shaking the way Homura was. No, she wasn’t shaking. Bodies don't shake. Dead bodies don’t shake.
It was a fact. Madoka looked so at peace, she was at peace. She couldn’t feel the way the snow practically sank into her bones. She couldn’t admire the stark contrast of the red dripping from her body, from her clothes, against white of the snow.
Homura leaned back, pulling Madoka into her arms. She stared, admiring her friend. The hollowness in her eyes, air around them felt stilted. Almost as if the world had stopped moving with Madoka.
In a way, maybe it had. Her world, at least. Her world was gone. Once again.
Homura’s hands cupped Madoka’s face, fingers running down her face. Gentle till the last, even if Madoka couldn’t feel the grace with which Homura touched her. The gentle hold on her head weakened as Homura’s eyes blurred. Her head shook, she refused.
She lifted her bridal style, arms hooked under her knees as she hefted her out of the snow. Rising to stand as sturdily as she could. She wouldn’t drop Madoka, even as the cold sank deeper into her body and the wind grew icy as it hit her face. She wouldn’t disrespect her dearest in such a sense.
She doesn’t want to think. She feels dizzy. Her steps faltered, she nearly tripped herself. A weight settled into her head, a pressure resting behind her water-blurred eyes. The feeling was all too familiar. She could nearly call it comfortingly familiar.
It engraved itself into her brain; the crushing weight of failure, pulling her down as she carried Madoka’s body, once again, in her arms.
Her face was tinted with blue, the telltale signs of death wisped across her body. She was heavy. It never stopped being heavy, it never stopped hurting like the first time. The agonizing pain never eased, never let up, not even for a second.
Tears welled up in Homura’s eyes, burning infinitely more than the wind whipping her face. She was soaked to the bone in blood and grief, but she couldn’t let her tears slip.
She didn’t deserve to cry, not after letting the one person who cared about her down, again. Not after failing to save the one person in this world who knew kindness better than Homura knew agony.
It would be shameful to cry.
Homura knew shame all too well.
It followed her around like the ghost of a dead lover, she could hear its whispers and taunts as she trudged forward. Her steps dyed the snow red as she made her way to dry ground, blood staining her soul.
She held Madoka’s body close to hers again, sinking down to her knees as slowly as possible. She laid Madoka’s head down on the concrete, taking another moment to comb her fingers through her rose hair. Oh, how beautiful her girl was.
Homura’s fingers trembled as she brushed her hand across Madoka’s eyelids, she wanted her to rest. She slipped her arm from under Madoka’s dress, now completely sitting by her side.
It was hard to move. Homura’s limbs felt as if they had locked her in place as she sat besides Madoka, just watching. It was so silent, she allowed herself to mourn. She gave in. Just for a second, just for a miniscule amount of peace. She still wouldn’t cry. She mourned though. A moment of silence for the fallen. For her fallen.
She was moving again. She hadn’t even realized it. She was leaving. Homura didn’t turn back, she never turned back. If she turned back she wouldn’t be able to leave, she’d let herself cry if she turned back. She couldn’t turn back, so she dragged herself through the snow.