[Phoenix]

He would never forget the chill that ran over him the moment he heard that they had died. It always took a moment for the brain to comprehend the news, to realize what it meant and how it affected those dearest to him. And then the horror and pain caught up to him, and his throat constricted, preventing any words from escaping. He could only stare, mute, and draw back, away, as his heart seemed to stop beating. He couldn't think. It wasn't possible; it couldn't be possible. It wasn't supposed to be possible. He was too young to lose them. But this wasn't something anyone would joke about. It was too cruel.

In a crowd as he was, he could hardly break down. Instead, the shock slowly swept through him, seeping into his bones and every fiber of his being as he waited for the clan meeting to end. He had asked where his friend was, and in four words, the worst had been confirmed. "Oh, his parents died." He became mechanical, hearing but not listening, seeing but not there. None of the words reached him. His best friend's parents had died. He thought of how he would tell their other friends, who had been worried as well. He would be composed, collected. There would be no broken voices as he relayed the information they had all been dreading to hear.

And the announcement was over, and in a daze, he picked himself up and left the crowded camp behind. He hardly knew where his paws carried him until he reached the shore of the swollen river. There he sat, tail wrapped around his paws, appearing so calm in the face of the storm raging inside of him.

Staring at his reflection, he felt the tidal wave of emotion wash over him and he didn't fight it - he couldn't fight it. The lump in his throat grew and his fur prickled and he could no longer sit still. He rose to his paws, pacing back and forth slightly, tail flicking as he stared at himself in the river.

"I know what happened to Russetpaw," He managed, forcing the words past the knot that had formed in his throat. They were barely audible. He swallowed, and his heart thudded.

"His parents…"

Two words before the whisper became a mix between a croak and a whine and a moan and the emotion became too powerful. He shook his head, turning to face the river completely and standing still. His chest was tight. His throat was tight. Every muscle in him was coiled, as if it could strengthen him against the intangible pain.

He tried again, determined to say it.

"His parents died."

Three words and he said it. His voice had broken but he had said it. The last one was inaudible, and had any other feline been there, they would have had to lean in to hear it. They would have recoiled, horror on their faces as the idea chilled their heart. Gasps. Whispered denials. Silence would have followed; silence did follow. Horror and grief and pain crashed over him and he threw himself to his paws again. He paced violently, teeth clenched as he stared resolutely ahead of him, tail flicking and ears against his head. Thoughts and sensations and emotions bombarded him, mingled together but separate, indistinguishable but each identifiable. They hit hard and fast, knocking the breath from his chest as if they were a physical blow.

They would miss all of his life. He would be alone for the rest of his life. First crush. Warrior ceremony - a whine escaped him; he was so young, not even a warrior. It wasn't fair. And when he would get his first apprentice or find a mate, settle down and have kits. Who would he turn to for advice on raising a family? His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed, turning fiercely to face the river. He would have a family and there would be no proud grandparents to show the kits to. There were things a son could only ask his father or mother, secret things, fears and and stupid things that would be ridiculed by anyone else. His mother wouldn't be there to fuss over his fur at his ceremony - he closed his eyes, limbs trembling and lips quivering - and there would be other cats of course, because he had Roselight and Razorfang and him and all of RainClan to support him but it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same, because parents were irreplaceable and their roles could never be completely filled by someone who wasn't them and there would always be that hole in his heart and that empty space. And he wasn't alone but he was so very much alone.

Jaws parted and he wanted to scream but all that came out was another whine as his throat closed up, preventing everything from escaping. He had had a bad feeling since the start of the day and he had hoped and hoped and prayed to StarClan or whatever higher power that whatever his intuition told him had not come true - If there is any mercy in StarClan, please please not his mother or father. Not that. Anything but that. But he had guessed - known, had a feeling - and he had hoped that he wasn't right, that maybe he had found something interesting or gone exploring. Maybe just maybe he was wrong - please, he wanted to be wrong. But he was right. He was right and he never wanted to be right. It wasn't fair. He did nothing to deserve this. He was an amazing cat who did amazing things and he was an amazing friend and he did not deserve to lose his parents so early when they had so much more time to spend together. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. He wasn't even a warrior.

And he couldn't fix it and he wanted to so badly. If he could fix it and bring them back and spare him the pain and restore the world to its proper order - if he could work magic.

How could he face him? What do you say? What in the whole entire world could you possibly say to someone whose world was just torn to pieces? Nothing was good enough. Nothing would bring them back. Nothing would fix it. I'm sorry for your loss. But everyone said that. Everyone said that and it no longer meant anything because everyone said that and all he would have to do was nod and say thank you and the other cat would feel as though they had done their part and offered condolences - and it just wasn't enough. He was so important to him and he didn't want to be so easily dismissed and forgotten like everyone else.

A semblance of control emerged, slowly as his shuttered breaths evened out. It was delicate, fragile: a thin partition between him and the storm of emotion, and if it were simply touched, then it would shatter and everything would come crashing down on him again. If he did so much as think the wrong thought. Or if it struck him all over again just what everything meant, the effect and the pain - everything.

He wanted to be there for Russetpaw, to be the strong shoulder he could cry on if there was no one else. He couldn't be that if he was an emotional wreck just like him. But his parents. His mother. His father-- His throat constricted again and he turned away, starting to pace again.

He would distract him. He would offer refuge from the barrage of emotions, respite if only for a little while. He would keep him busy and prevent him from stopping and thinking because thoughts like these had a nasty way of sneaking in without one's permission. He would get him out of camp, away from the river and other cats. His goal would be to get him to smile and maybe even laugh it he was lucky. He would avoid bringing up-- He couldn't think it without collapsing again. He would let him do it on his own terms.

He would be there, whatever he needed.

With horror in his bones and pain in his heart and grief in his throat and his composure so delicate - ripped to shreds but pieced together - he would somehow, somehow be strong for Russetpaw. Because whatever he felt - all of the crashing emotions and thoughts and everything - it was merely a fraction of what his friend felt.




Notes: Bravebird, then Bravepaw, and his reaction to hearing about Russethawk's, then Russetpaw's, parents' deaths. I tried, but I'm not quite sure I did the emotion justice.