Chapter Text
Cold…yeah…yeah, ‘cold’ was the best way to describe how he was feeling as he climbed back out of the sewer into the street. But it had nothing to do with the ice coating the ground, nor the chill to the air around him.
No…’cold’ because there was nothing. He was usually warm...the fire in his heart setting his mind ablaze and making his blood boil with purpose and hope and–
But…he was cold now.
Cold, empty, numb…
His legs nearly gave out when they were sure he was really gone, but he couldn’t…couldn’t fall, couldn’t falter. Not with his little sister sobbing, Cole trying to comfort her while his own eyes grew red and teary, Jay looking more lost than ever as he just stood there…and Lloyd looking crushed, expression giving everything away as the child showed through the convincing outer shell.
No…he couldn’t fall.
And maybe that was why when Cyrus came to them all sitting in the same silent room a few hours later, and asked which of them would like to speak at the memorial, his heart sank.
His heart sank because Nya hadn’t stopped sobbing and when he looked at her, all he saw was that little three year old girl crying her eyes out as she wailed for her mommy and daddy. All he saw when he looked at Lloyd was that little boy in the volcano looking like he had just been condemned to death. All he saw when he looked at Jay was a kid without a hope in this world, too lost to know which way to turn. All he saw when he looked at Cole was a self-conscious boy that seemed to be carrying the whole world on his shoulders without even meaning to.
And when they all looked at him as soon as Cyrus had asked the question…he knew they saw something he couldn’t fathom, but knew they needed right now.
So no, he couldn’t fall. He couldn’t even afford to stumble.
“I’ll do it.” His voice came out weaker than intended, but their eyes still shimmered and he couldn’t bear to face the relief and…hope in their eyes at his words.
How could they look at him like that? Didn’t they know? Didn’t they see? See how horribly he had failed, how grievously he had messed up? Didn’t they…didn’t they understand that he was worthless now? If he couldn’t protect them, if he couldn’t save them, then what–what use could he possibly have?
Shit…
He could…he could comfort them…even if just a little?
He didn’t sleep that night, even if he went through all the motions of getting ready to do so, and he would have retreated to his bed, if not for Nya entering with a desperate sort of look on her face.
Cole, Jay and Lloyd were all apparently feeling similarly to her as when they each came knocking, shooting him looks he wasn’t sure he could handle deciphering at the moment, he made room and they smushed themselves onto his bed.
Nya pressed against his right side and Lloyd curled into his left, Cole and Jay struggling for a moment before they settled around the middle of the bed, both about equal distance to Nya.
He didn’t know why it mattered now…didn’t know why anything did, but if it was petty things they chose to occupy themselves with instead of guilt and self-hatred, he wouldn’t complain.
Nya sobbed for a long while, his hand combing through her hair as she did, both Cole and Jay crowding closer to her to offer further comfort. Apparently they would rather focus on her than their own thoughts on the matter.
His left arm was draped around Lloyd and he couldn’t help but hold him tighter. He didn’t know why really, maybe it was because this kid was the youngest and he had a hell of a lot on his shoulders without the added weight of Zane’s…yeah.
Regardless of the reason though, it seemed to be enough to make one thing happen.
Choked sobs sounded from his small frame in response to the tightening of his hold, shaking fingers clutching his clothes desperately as his face buried itself into his chest, the tears soaking through and making him shiver but he ignored that as he tugged him closer.
The boy curled into his side, ear pressing hard against the center of his chest as he took deep frantic breaths and Kai was, once again, hopeless to help him.
He shouldn’t say what he was about to, he really shouldn’t…it would be wrong and cruel…but they seemed to need it…of course he could see the sheer pleading of the glances they sent him, of course he could see it…but if he said what they wanted him to, what did that make him? And…did it matter? Did it matter when they clearly needed it so much that it was tearing them apart from the inside out? Did it matter…did it matter what he would turn into, in their eyes?
He sucked in a shuddered breath and let it out just as shakily.
If they needed it...of course not.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
The lie tumbled from his lips too easily…too smoothly for the clenching of the heart in his chest…too fluidly for the weight of what he had just done.
But when Lloyd hugged him tighter breathing slowing enough for him to hear the thudding of the heart he was so frantic to get close to, when Nya’s sobs quieted as she rested her red, tear-stained cheek against his stomach, when Jay’s face contorted as tears streamed freely and he reached out to clasp his hand in his shaking ones, when Cole’s shoulders slumped like a weight had been lifted off of them as he hung his head, fingers brushing his knee and then grasping it tightly as if it were his life-line, when all of them finally felt as though they could mourn…how could he regret such a lie?
Eventually, exhaustion caught up to them all, except him. Nya fell asleep with her head on his lap, Lloyd settled against his chest, Jay on his leg holding his hand, and Cole against his knee.
He didn’t think he would be able to move if he wanted to, he was effectively pinned down, but he didn’t try, staring forward blankly like he had been throughout the hours of the night.
“Kai?”
He blinked, turning his stiff neck to the door where Garmadon stood, compassion alight in his eyes and he realized daylight was peeking in through the curtains.
His brow furrowed, a wordless question on his face.
“Have you slept?”
His eyes narrowed, a challenge gleaming in them and Garmadon waved him off.
“I cannot fault you for that.”
His fingers twitched. That makes for the only thing that wasn’t his fault then.
“Cyrus wants to hold the memorial soon.” He glanced down at the others scattered about the bed. “Would you like me to wake them?”
He followed his gaze, something unknown causing his heart to sink deeper. “No…” His scratchy voice answered.
Garmadon gave a nod and took a step back, only to look uncertain for a brief moment, as though he wanted to say something more, but decided against it as he turned and left.
He was glad for it, comfort was never something he had ever been any good at receiving...not that...he had ever had it...or had he? He...couldn't remember.
He shook his head, tossing the thoughts aside. It didn't matter anyway, it didn't change anything.
He let out a sigh, moving his arms and legs, clenching and unclenching his hands, and soon the others were roused by the movement in their respective captured appendages.
They all grew a few shades paler when consciousness had returned to them, and, for some reason, they seemed to have the same idea and all turned to him.
Again, he didn’t know why it was him they were looking to, but he forced himself to ignore it and move on as he cleared his throat.
“Cyrus wants us for the–” He stopped short, swallowing thickly as he pushed himself up and off the bed, the soft noise of protest from each of them not going unnoticed but…well…what could he do? “C’mon, we don’t wanna be late.”
Gradually, they all left his bed and got themselves ready for the memorial. It was a slow process, but they eventually got themselves together enough to make it to the designated meeting.
There was a tarp covering a large something, and it didn’t take a rocket-scientist to guess what it was. He was sure Cyrus had taken the entirety of the night to build it, and while it was impressive that he had gotten it finished so quickly, it was a cheap prize considering what they lost. Still…he appreciated the sentiment, even if the bitterness overflowing in his hardened heart disagreed, he wouldn’t admit the truth of it. At least not out loud.
Nya sniffled, and he glanced her way, pained as he was to see her cry, the looks on the faces of each of the others was biting enough to cut through the heart because he had never had to grow accustomed to their tears...seemed that was changing now, just like everything else.
Cyrus was speaking, some kind words he was sure, but he couldn’t bear to listen to someone speak about Zane who didn’t even know him, who didn’t even understand what was lost.
A butterfly passed, its yellow wings fluttering with the breeze that weaved through his hair. He shivered, the sun on his back doing nothing to quell the ice settled inside his heart.
It was a nice day…the weather was all…sunny.
He looked down, fingers twitching as his head felt heavy. Everything felt heavy, like everything had fallen to ruin and the remains were crushing him into the dirt.
He supposed it didn’t matter though…he had failed…failed in the only thing he was good for and that…that was something he could never make up for.
“So…what happens after this?” Nya’s voice drifted in through his thoughts.
And that was the question wasn’t it? The one that made him so scared he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t bail right here and now.
“I don’t know…” Cole’s small, uncertain voice didn’t help.
The voice of reason came from the last person he would have expected though. “And I don’t care. Today’s about Zane...”
He was right…now wasn’t the time to think about anything else.
Just Zane.
Cyrus saying his name brought him out of his head, dragging him back to the situation at hand. At first he didn’t know why Cyrus was wheeling himself away, but then he remembered.
His heart withered inside him as he pushed himself to his feet and walked over to where Cyrus had been.
Standing in front of them all, he felt like an imposter. Someone posing to be something they weren’t…something they could never be.
Worthy.
Worthy of standing here and giving some shitty speech so that he could console them and honor his friend, but for what? Why? Why did he get to stand here and Zane didn’t? Why did he have to die and leave him in the rubble to speak words that didn’t fucking matter because Zane. Was. Dead.
…He was dead, and now…now he was supposed to give everyone hope to carry on.
He was supposed to stand here and preach.
He was supposed to turn into a hypocrite…
And that ‘supposed to’ was all he had left…all he could do, but after this…after…then what?
He soldiered on.
“Everyone wondered what powered Zane…I don’t know if we’ll ever know…” His eyes burned, but he refused to falter. “But I like to think it was brotherhood...” He glanced up at the others. “Because he powered me.”
He hadn’t realized it, not really, but he was so empty now that…yeah, maybe he didn’t have the power to keep going. But he couldn’t let them think that.
“And he’ll still power me!” Maybe he had rushed to say that too quickly… “As his memory lives on.”
He swallowed, he couldn’t let them know he was falling apart, couldn’t let them know the shaky something holding him up was about to give.
“Ninja never quit–” He nearly choked as a pit formed in his stomach. How terrifying a thought…that it would never end… “And ninja will never be forgotten.”
How could he be that? But…what was he…if not a ninja?
He sighed, raising his eyes skyward for an instant.
“Wherever you are, Zane…”
Was he watching…? Could he hear this pathetic attempt at making amends? Could he see him, after all this time, for what he really was? And…did he hate him for it as much as he did?
“You’ll always be one of us.”
His head lowered at that. ‘Us’...yeah, as if he was included. And it felt like a knife jammed in his gut at the words…how could he put himself side by side with him? He wasn’t sure he could do this anymore…wasn’t sure he could still be a ninja…be a part of this brotherhood.
It started to snow then…and he wondered if it meant something. If it meant forgiveness…if it meant loathing.
He just barely repressed a shudder, but didn’t let it show as he smiled when the others stood up and walked over, their returning smiles unknowingly praising his victory in deceiving them, but he felt no joy for it as he turned to the statue and his smile faltered.
Oh how he hated it. Hated the way it stripped him of everything he had. Hated the way it stood there, a daunting, looming, glaring sculpture representative of not a lost friend, but…but of his failure.
When they finally turned from him and left him standing there, covered in snowy retribution that held the weight of all his sins as the titanium mass in all its glory made him puke up what little he had in his stomach because of the sheer wrongness of its mere existence…he wept.
The snow kept falling.