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Language:
English
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Published:
2020-07-06
Words:
613
Chapters:
1/1
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8
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35
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•The Sinners and The Saints•

Summary:

“𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕤”

 
Malcolm Bright hates that phrase.

 

He had first heard it from his father at age ten right after his arrest, in the small room with looming walls that made his quivering voice eco. He had heard it again during his first case with the FBI, when he was questioning the Unsub. He had heard it a third time from the Priest when he stood next to Gil while Jackie’s casket had been slowly lowered into the gaping, deep dark hole the was the earth.

The phrase has always irked him. He understood that death doesn’t discriminate. He understood that at the end of the day it doesn’t matter if you are in fact a sinner or a saint. One thing he never got was why good people died, or better yet why he hasn’t.

Notes:

Hi everyone!! This is my first Fic (well not first but first on AO3!) and all I wanted to say is I hope you enjoy this short little one shot, and if you want to see anymore one shots in the future to tell be in the comments! I love writing and I love taking requests! All I ask is that it’s in the Prodigal Son fandom and no sex,incest,rape! So ya I hope you enjoy the fic!!!

(Title was inspired by Hamilton)
(I don’t own Prodigal Son in any way or form)

Work Text:

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥

 

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥

 

𝘿𝙧𝙞𝙥

 

The constant sound of water hitting the cold concrete floor was enough to make any man go insane. If the small, cold, dark room didn’t drive them crazy first.

 

Maybe it was the stab wound bleeding profusely from Malcolms side that made the room appear to be getting smaller

 

𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳

 

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙧

 

or maybe this was just his breaking point.

 

Maybe he had finally reached his limit due to the years and years of horrible memories that haunted his mind like monsters haunted a scared little boy.

 

Maybe this was the day that would draw Malcolm Bright, or truly Malcolm Whitly’s story to a close.

 

A story of a scared little boy that defeated the big bad monster, saved the nice kind man that gave gifts of little green candies, and saved an unknowable amount of people.

 

A story of a little boy who saved everyone but himself.

 

Looking back on it Malcolm always knew this day would come. Granted he didn’t know it would be a knife to his lower abdomen, but losers can’t be choosers, or that’s how he thinks the saying goes. With all the blood loss he can’t really think straight nor does he have enough energy to care.

 

He has more important things to think of right now. Like trying to stop the red that was pouring out of his stomach at an alarming rate.

 

He ripped off a portion of his shirt and hastily put pressure on his wound. He recoiled at the touch, crying out in pain, but quickly put the fabric back on the daunting hole staring right back at him.

 

He tried to think of all lessons of the human body that his father taught him all those years ago but he was drawing a blank. Maybe it was due to all the blood loss, or the fact that he hasn’t slept in two days, or maybe it was both.

 

So Malcolm sat there on the cold, dark floor, crying silently and clutching his side where the knife wound lay, hoping that Gil, Dani and JT would find him. They had to find him. Gil has never let him down before, and Malcolm knew deep down that he wouldn’t be changing that promise today.

 

Suddenly his mind brought him back to the conversation that Watkins and him had just an hour ago. To a particular phrase that Malcolm had heard before.

 

“𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤𝕟’𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕤”

 

Malcolm Bright hates that phrase

 

He had first heard it from his father at age ten right after his arrest, in the small room with looming walls that made his quivering voice eco.

 

He had heard it again during his first case with the FBI, when he was questioning the Unsub.

 

He had heard it a third time from the Priest when he stood next to Gil while Jackie’s casket had been slowly lowered into the gaping, deep dark hole the was the earth.

 

The phrase has always irked him. He understood that death doesn’t discriminate. He understood that at the end of the day it doesn’t matter if you are in fact a sinner or a saint. One thing he never got was why good people died, or better yet why he hasn’t.

 

Here he was, Malcolm Bright laying on the floor crying and clutching his abdomen just waiting for death.

 

Hell at this point just waiting for anything. Or anyone.

 

So that’s what he did he sat and cried and waited

 

𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥

 

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙

 

Waited for Gil, for Dani, for JT, because he knew that they would come. They would have to come for him.

 

 

R̶i̶g̶h̶t̶?̶