Revelation

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A/N: Hmm. This was written for a few reasons. Mainly out of my need to write some Liquid/Solid that was squishy, my love for angst, and because first person Snake is just too fun to write for its own good. Even though both he and Liquid are rather out of character here, I had to write this when I found a few really sad pictures while looking for fanart. So despite the fact that it isn't very in character, I did it for myself. Not sure whether I like the results or not… I'm also considering doing a second chapter from Liquid's point of view, but I'm not sure yet. You can tell me whether or not you think I should if you review.

The shounen ai is very light and only slightly implied, just as a warning.

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1: Prayer for the Dying

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I never really hated him.

Like I had told Naomi about Gray Fox – no, about Frank – we were just people fighting on opposites in my mind, an enemy not because of personal reasons, but just because that's how it turned out. He may have hated me, but I didn't hate him. I was more interested in this person that was supposedly my brother, my twin, the story lying behind that. And he's cleared all of that up for me.

How could I hate him? I was hardly aware of his existence until recently. I wasn't like him, loathing me from when he was a kid, building up his hatred for me until he finally got to meet me. I wonder what he wanted to do when he finally saw me face to face. I wonder what he thought.

I wonder if I was all I was chalked up to be.

I'll give him something, though; he was damn persistant. I had to kill him, what, five times? I've lost count. He has more lives than a fucking cat.

Somehow, though, it felt like he didn't entirely hate me. That in some way, his envy had turned into something more like… admiration, strangely enough. The only reason I say this is what he did when he was finally taking his last breaths.

Hunched on the ground, clutching at his middle as he felt the FoxDie virus attack him, he was right in front of me, at my feet – you wouldn't want to know how many people have died at my feet in just the same way. And yet somehow this affected me the most.

What he did, he looked up at me and reached for me, tried to get a hold on me; if you had been a spectator, like Otacon was, it probably looked like he was doing it because he wanted to harm me, drag me down with him, so to speak, but I saw the desperate, almost longing look in his eyes.

I saw that they were brimming with tears, a glistening in his eyes that was barely noticeable; in fact, the only reason that I even saw was because I always examine myself in the mirror when I cry because I want to remember how it looks. How it feels. After all, it's not a common occurrence.

Like I told Otacon, I didn't need her handkerchief. No more tears to shed.

Then he fell down, collapsed into the snow, and a bit of the white powder that was tossed up from his cold skin impacting with the ground sprinkled onto my shoe. I stared down at it apathetically for a moment. The small sound of Otacon shifting uncomfortably, standing a few feet away, snapped me back into attention, and I glanced up at him. I gave him a look – it was probably cold and numb, but frankly, I don't remember how any display of emotion, when it comes to me, looks anymore – and then said detachedly, "Go on ahead. I'll catch up with you in a second."

He gave me this sympathetic look and I wanted to slap him in the face. He thought I was sad for Meryl, that I needed a few seconds to grieve over her. That wasn't it at all. Everyone seemed to think I was in love with her, but like I had said, after so much war, so much death, it's hard to trust anyone. Even a green little rookie with an obsession for legendary heroes and becoming a soldier – but in the end she couldn't handle it. She got too close to me, found some reason to fall in love with me, though I can hardly understand why she would – I guess it's that hero worship again – and they used it against her, thinking it would hurt me. And maybe it did, a little, to know that I was the reason she was killed, and maybe that's why I felt bad, because it may have turned out differently, she may have been given a real chance at life had I not screwed up, but being the pessimist I am, they probably would have killed her anyways. If anything, I feel bad for Roy.

Regardless, after giving me that goddamn look, he walked off, making large crunching noises in the snow with his tennis shoes; it made me want to cringe. I had just spent eighteen hours masked in stealth, and such a loud action raised my nerves a little. Sometimes it takes a while to get used to normal life again.

No, the reason I wanted some time to myself was to try and get some closure with my brother.

Scrathing at the back of my neck for a moment, I heaved out a sigh and seated myself next to him in the snow. After examining his seemingly lifeless form for a moment, I grabbed both of his bare shoulders carefully, being overly cautious so that I didn't bruise his soft skin – accidentally bruising a corpse seemed wrong somehow; they had already lost their life, why cause them more pain in death? – and pulled him into my lap, sort of, his shoulder blades gently digging into my crossed legs. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. Felt kind of nice, almost.

I ran a gloved finger down his chest, looking at all the cuts and burns I had given him in our fights earlier. I kind of wished that he could have had a proper burial, so those morticians or whatever could clean it all up, but that wasn't going to happen. Like he had told me, we were the country's dirty little secret. They'd probably chop his body up into so many pieces each one would be as small as a fucking grain of sand.

I reached across his chest then to grab his left arm and pull it over so that I could see his tattoo, examining it for a moment before letting go and allowing the limb to fall back into place. I didn't really know why I was even doing all of this, why I for some reason felt I had to grieve over him when I had been able to walk away from all the other people that had died by my hand, but maybe it was because he was the one person I could actually relate to. We were practically the same person; hell, he had had it even worse than me. I should feel lucky that I've had it so good up until now. Sure, I may have to deal with the guilt of being a murderer, but at least I didn't have to grow up knowing that there was someone out there that was ten times better than me, that there was always someone I was going to be compared to, and that no matter what, I would never be able to win over them.

He had gotten so close a few times, too. That was probably the most painful part for him. If things had gone just a little differently, the tables could have been turned at this point. Though for some reason, I don't think he would have held me in his arms.

I then lifted my hand to his hair, running my fingers through it. Seeing strands of it kept getting caught on my glove, I grumbled and reached my hand up to my mouth, pulling the covering off with my teeth; sure, my bare skin being exposed did prove to be a little cold, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I mean, Liquid had no shirt on.

Oh wait. He was dead, so it didn't really matter for him. Right. That's why I was doing this whole make-myself-feel-better-by-mourning-his-death thing. Gotcha'.

With that done, I returned my hand to his blonde hair and tried again, my fingers running smoothly through it this time. He actually had pretty soft hair; nice, too. It was obvious he had taken good care of it – not like me. There were no knots that my fingers got caught in, and I got the feeling he took pretty good care of himself when he was alive. Liked to look presentable. Narcissistic, maybe, but I doubt that. He was too insecure for that sort of thing, even though he tried to act all high and mighty.

And I'm the reason he had such an inferiority complex. I'm the reason he grew up knowing he was dirt. I kind of want to apologize, but I know that would be silly. People can't hear you when they're dead. I lost my chance a long time ago; I was too busy trying to kill him.

It was just a part of the job. No personal matters involved. Not like him. His blood probably boiled every time he saw me, but I was cool and apathetic, as usual. Sometimes I have to wonder if anything will ever really get a hold on me, jerk me into some state of feeling. I know I should be hurting, I should be sad; he was my brother, a blood relation, and I killed him, the same as my father. But nothing hurts. There's no pain.

No more tears to shed, no more tears to shed.

I then moved my hand from his hair to his chest, rubbing some of the blood and dirt off carefully. Absentmindedly I pulled him a little closer, into something almost like a hug. It was an awkward one, though, and I probably looked pretty stupid, especially since my face was most likely clean of any emotion. It's sad when you get so good at keeping your walls up that you forget how to take them down, how to let go. How to relax and… live.

"You're nobler than I thought."

I must have been hearing things. Hallucinating. It was those damn nanomachines or something else that Naomi had put in my shot. Or maybe it was FoxDie, coming to claim me in the same way. It makes sense that I'd fall soon after him. Either way, it can't be. He couldn't have said anything because he's dead. He's dead. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to clear it and hoping I'm not going insane. I don't really mind the dying part; that I can live with. Or… die with. Heh.

I feel cold, hard fingers placed against my cheek, and I force my eyes to open. He's awake, alive, and he has a rueful smile on his face.

I guess I must have miscalculated. He wasn't dead yet. He really did have more lives than a cat. Then again, it wasn't like I had checked his pulse. I just sort of assumed he was dead. I don't know what my reasoning for that is, since I've never really held a dead person in my arms like this.

Usually… I just walk away.

He coughs roughly and some blood is expelled from his mouth, clinging to his cheek. I'm reminded faintly of Sniper Wolf and I quickly wipe the sticky substance away, dragging it onto the white snow so he can be untainted as he truly dies.

I realize I have to say something. I have to explain myself. I have to explain why I have my enemy in my grasp, why I had been sitting there and stroking his hair, cleaning his skin. He wants to know. And how can I deny him that? These are his final moments, and I doubt I'm the person he wanted to spend them with. I can at least give him what he wants, now that we are no longer destined to fight one another.

I'm sounding like Frank.

Taking a deep breath, I search for something to say. "…I figured I could tie up loose ends, now that I had the chance. I didn't expect you to talk back, though." I chuckle a little. Just to lighten the mood. It's kind of cold, but I'm horrible with this sentimental stuff, and I don't want to buckle down.

"And I thought I was going to be left here to die on my own…" he said, grimacing slightly. I could tell it hurt for him to talk, but he wouldn't allow his words to be chopped up from the pain that was most likely attacking him, ripping him apart from the inside. He hadn't reacted as violently to the virus – it hadn't really looked as much like a heart attack. It seemed more long-term of an assault, rather than immediate. Hey, at least he was given a chance to say goodbye to the world. Though I'm not quite sure he wanted to.

"You probably would have been better off that way, but I figure that this might make me feel a little better about myself later. I can say I bonded with my older brother right before he died. I won't even have to mention the fact that we were hell-bent on killing each other." I gave him a sad smile. I was a bit surprised he wasn't still yelling bloody murder at me, but for one, I don't think he had the sort of energy, and for two, people tend to get very docile when they know their end is nigh.

His blue eyes seem a little glazed over, but I think his mind is still clear. I hope. This talk with him is meaning quite a lot to me, for whatever reason. Maybe because the only other family member I ever knew I killed as well. At least I was given a chance to work things out, if only a little bit, this time. "You can act like we were the best of friends…"

"I'm no better than you." It just came out, fast and sudden, and I was surprised at myself afterwards for saying it. It seemed to come out of nowhere, but now that I look back on it, I think I had wanted to say that the entire time. Just get it out in the open, because really, it was true.

He blinked up at me, shaking his head. "Don't say that just to make me feel better. You are better. Anyone would say so. Look at who's the one that's dying in the end."

I growled in protest. "Genes don't matter! The fact that I had the dominant genes and you had the recessive ones doesn't make any difference, Liquid. I may have been given all the 'good' genes, but what did I do with them? Nothing. I killed people."

"…the ultimate soldier…"

"No one wants to make friends with the ultimate soldier. They're scared of him, they avoid him, they're intimidated by him."

"All fear the ultimate soldier."

"Is that what you wanted?!" I shook him a little, and mentally, I was sort of scared about how emotional I was getting. "For everyone to be scared of you? For people to think you're inhuman?" I closed my eyes and sighed. "No. No."

He was quiet for a moment, and I was glad I had made him think. "If… the tables were turned now, I wouldn't have done what you're doing…"

"I'm only doing it to soothe my own soul. It's selfish, really. That I'm the last person you see when you die. It's just…" I opened my eyes and looked off into the distance. Otacon was probably wondering what was taking me so long. Oh well. He'd have to wait.

"I envy you, Snake… You didn't need genes to be a better person. Even if you were the… inferior one, you still would have beaten me." He closed his eyes, and I shook him a little to make sure I didn't lose him. I couldn't. Not until we had really worked this out.

"You're the most persistant bastard I've ever known, Liquid. And it wasn't me that killed you. That's FoxDie's doing." If only the vaccination was nearby, if only…

"…so close…" He opened his eyes again and traced his fingers down my cheek, and it was only then that I remembered he had even had them there. Uncharacteristically, I blushed.

He smiled.

"I never thought I'd see the great Solid Snake blush."

"Don't say that. I'm not great. I'm no legend. No one seems to understand that. What kind of legend kills people without caring?"

He paused, admiring me as he thought over this. He seemed so honest, now, and I wondered what my state of mind would be during my own last moments. If I was even allowed them. I shouldn't be. "But you're here, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"That's just because—"

"Don't lie."

I blink, and stare at him for a moment. His hand falls back down weakly to his side, and I feel a small lurch in my chest. He's so weak now, and suddenly… the fact that he's dying in my arms hits me like a ton of bricks. It was like it didn't process before, and suddenly, my emotions are kicked back into gear again. My heart rate increases, but I try to look the same.

He notices, though, and nods. "I feel honored. Snake shows his soft side for me…?"

I grit my teeth because obviously, I don't want to admit it. I hardly even know the person and yet somehow, here I am, feeling some sort of weird bond for him. I guess it's because he's the only person I can really relate to. He's been through what I've been through, and worse. He's my brother. I know that didn't stop me before, but somehow, Liquid seems more real.

I know. It doesn't make sense to me, either.

"Maybe…" His eyes were getting more clouded over, and his breathing was becoming more erratic, to the point that it became apparent he wouldn't be able to speak soon, the pain too crippling to form words. "…maybe neither of us is as great or as bad as everyone's told us."

I turn my head towards the grey sky and smile sadly. "Maybe we should stop listening to what everyone tells us we are." I look back down at him and give him a serious look. "If anything, we're equal, okay?" Comfortingly, I brush my knuckles against his cheek. "Don't worry about genes. Or fate. Or any of that."

He shook his head. "It didn't get me very far… did it…?" He coughs. Choking on his own blood.

My eyes narrow, half-lidded and expression sober with something like pity for the man. Only now does he realize how he could have spent his life, that he could have ignored the hissing remarks and whatever else everyone told him, and truly lived. Not that I've done any better. But I'm not busy dying, am I? Once again, though, I wouldn't really mind. Maybe he doesn't, either. Maybe he wants it. It's too much to ask him about in the short amount of time he has left, and I'd rather he gets to say everything he needs to.

"If we're equal, then… Snake…" He looks up at me and there's a pleading look in his eyes, an expression I hadn't imagined him capable of. "…live to be better than I ever was. And if they ever ask about your brother…" He closed his eyes, and I winced. Once they close their eyes, like that, slowly and acceptingly, you know it's near. "…tell them the truth."

My hands were shaking as I slowly pulled him more genuinely into my arms, and I felt him make a weak attempt to return the hug. This is probably the sappiest I've ever gotten. But hey, he deserves it after being forced to hate me his entire life.

"One more thing…" he chokes, and I can practically feel the life seeping out of him. "Call… me…"

There it comes, it's attacking his lungs and he can't breath. Can't talk.

But… I know what he wants. I give him a tight squeeze and finish the hug and then lay him on his back in the snow, kneeling next to him as I lay a hand gently on his chest. "Sleep well… brother." It was just a whisper, but I see him relax as I say it and I know he's heard it.

He gives a final nod, and I also know that he wants me to finish it, much like I did with Wolf. I don't really know how I'm able to understand him. Maybe it's that supposed psychic bond that twins are supposed to have.

I get shakily to my feet and grab my SOCOM out of its holster, holding it down towards his heart. I turn my head away, looking off into the distance, as I press down on the trigger and feel the bullet leave the barrel and find a new home in his chest. My hand clenches around the handle of the weapon as I return it to its place and then stare down at his finally dead form.

I know I should walk away now, go find Otacon and the snowmobile, but I sort of stand there and stare at him for a moment. I kneel down next to him one more time, and dig my bare fingers into his chest to remove the bullet, placing it in my pocket. I also take his dog tags and put them around my neck. I fish for a bandage and wrap the wound tightly so that he doesn't bleed all over the place. It's all I can do.

Once that is done, I get to my feet again and stare down at my hands, which are now covered in his blood. My lips turn up in a sarcastic smile. One more person that's died thanks to me. One more reason why these hands won't cleanse themselves. And I have to wonder why my smiles are never truly happy?

As I pace away, through the snowy tundra, I feel my shoulders try to shake with sobs lost somewhere in my chest.

But I don't cry.

No more tears to shed. No more tears to shed.