Four more steps...two...there! Kratos burst onto the second floor and immediately turned on his flashlight, sweeping it back and forth across the hall to check for--
Brown hair. Blood, dark red against pale grey.
His heart stopped.
Someone - it wasn't him, couldn't possibly be him - whispered a choked "No!" into the still, night air, and just like that, all of his anger had drained away into a vast pit of despair.
"Lloyd!" His legs were moving, carrying him forward even as his brain refused to cooperate, taking one step and then another, his previous fatigue forgotten as he broke into a run, and then suddenly, he was across the hall, bending down as one of his hands gently moved Lloyd's hand out of his face while he wiped away the blood smeared across his nose with the back of a finger.
"Lloyd," Kratos repeated hoarsely. His hand moved now to shakily brush a stray piece of hair out of Lloyd's eyes; the other had since dropped to his shoulder. "You...you're..." He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away and look down, to see what they'd done to his son. To his boy. "I..."
And then, ever timely, the last of his self-imposed barriers flared to life, sharply reminding him that he was going too far, that he and Lloyd were enemies, and that he was coming very close to crossing that line he'd clearly marked for himself. He flinched and hastily backed away, his hands jumping away from Lloyd as if he'd been burned. "I..." Kratos stared at his son for a long moment, looking as if he desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't. He swallowed hard. The words was right there, right on the tip of his tongue (I'm sorryIfailedyouIt'smyfaultIwastooslow), but they were stuck in his throat, and abruptly, he turned and slammed his fist into the wall with a strangled shout of frustration.
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Four more steps...two...there! Kratos burst onto the second floor and immediately turned on his flashlight, sweeping it back and forth across the hall to check for--
Brown hair. Blood, dark red against pale grey.
His heart stopped.
Someone - it wasn't him, couldn't possibly be him - whispered a choked "No!" into the still, night air, and just like that, all of his anger had drained away into a vast pit of despair.
"Lloyd!" His legs were moving, carrying him forward even as his brain refused to cooperate, taking one step and then another, his previous fatigue forgotten as he broke into a run, and then suddenly, he was across the hall, bending down as one of his hands gently moved Lloyd's hand out of his face while he wiped away the blood smeared across his nose with the back of a finger.
"Lloyd," Kratos repeated hoarsely. His hand moved now to shakily brush a stray piece of hair out of Lloyd's eyes; the other had since dropped to his shoulder. "You...you're..." He couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away and look down, to see what they'd done to his son. To his boy. "I..."
And then, ever timely, the last of his self-imposed barriers flared to life, sharply reminding him that he was going too far, that he and Lloyd were enemies, and that he was coming very close to crossing that line he'd clearly marked for himself. He flinched and hastily backed away, his hands jumping away from Lloyd as if he'd been burned. "I..." Kratos stared at his son for a long moment, looking as if he desperately wanted to say something, but couldn't. He swallowed hard. The words was right there, right on the tip of his tongue (I'm sorryIfailedyouIt'smyfaultIwastooslow), but they were stuck in his throat, and abruptly, he turned and slammed his fist into the wall with a strangled shout of frustration.