Nothing is Thicker Than Blood - Appetite For Destruction Sequel

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry

They say grief comes in five stages.

Developed in 1969 by Swiss-American psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, the Kubler-Ross model details the range of emotions that people facing death of their loved ones experience as the moments tick away and death slowly comes forward. The model isn't the final word when it comes to grieving - certain people enter a stage only to remain there for the duration of their grief; some people skip stages entirely. What the model does provide is some insight for those caught in grief's iron grip.

Those that are left behind.

Denial.

That was the first night. Sitting alone in the loft, sobbing like a fucking child. Derek Hale had never felt so pathetic in his life. He wasn't sure when he stopped crying, he wasn't sure if he stopped at all, all he could remember was how useless the word 'fuck' seemed after he'd used it the fortieth time.

Ginger wasn't dead. No, Derek wouldn't let her be dead.

Fuck the spell.

Fuck it all.

Ginger Hale wasn't allowed to up and leave her brother. That wasn't the deal. That wasn't what they'd talked about. Derek didn't give a damn about sanity, because it didn't make sense to anyone that he would've allowed Ginger to sacrifice her life for his.

Ginger wasn't dead.

End. Of. Story.

He could remember repeating that in his mind. Remember as he spent the next few hours curled up in a corner, shifted and digging his claws into his arms.

Ginger wasn't dead.

Anger.

Strictly speaking, he never stopped being angry.

He'd slam his hands into the wall like a child not getting what he wanted. He'd swear, and yell until his throat was hoarse. He yelled at thy sky, at the TV, at the couch, at the radio, at the world. He destroyed everything in the loft and punched the mirror in the bathroom. When he ran out of words, he just screamed.

He couldn't remember when he'd started crying. It was probably half between cursing himself, then cursing Ginger for going through with the stupid idea in the first place - for convincing him that it was the right thing to do. That he shouldn't hunt down Deucalion and rip him limb from limb for giving Ginger the means to do the spell.

It was his job.

He was the big brother.

It was his fault.

Bargaining.

"Deucalion! I know you're in there!"

It hadn't taken long to find the Alpha's address, to find the apartment complex. It hadn't taken him long to start hunting down Deucalion, and if anyone could bring Ginger back, it'd be him, right? Deucalion could fix this – that fucking demon wolf owed him anyway.

"I don't care what I have to do - just bring her back! Bring her back - bring Ginger..."

And again he was a pile of useless syllables, collapsed on his knees outside the apartment, beating his fists against the door until his knuckles were bleeding and he couldn't summon anymore energy to move.

Someone had to fix this.

Someone could.

"Is this what you wanted? We spared you! Stopped Jennifer from ripping out your useless heart, and this is how you pay us back!" He snarled at the closed door. "I lost my sister because of you!"