[Dixon's personal Dementor-repellant emotions buffer him from the effects of a handful of Dementors at a time, but he's got a whole gaggle surrounding him now, and he can feel the happy memories getting ripped away from him. They all just start to bleed away, sand out of an hourglass, memories of getting comic books from his dad, of waiting for Columbia House CDs in the mail, of sleeping in on weekends, of the first time he got to wear his badge-
-what fills the void is despair and emptiness, a black hole that's always been there inside him but now is multiplied in gravity, sucking the light out of everything. The black hole that occasionally creaks open in him, that he tries to satiate with liquor and sleep and anger, now yawns wide.
He curls up on the ground, huddling behind his shield not strategically but like a child who believes that if they can't be seen, they can't be found. Until Jon comes to the rescue.
Dixon doesn't really believe in angels - his momma does - but for a second the thought crosses his mind. The Dementors scatter away, while an innocent-faced child bathed in light emerges from between the one still-standing archway in front of him.]
No, I'm not...
[Then the rest of his brain kicks in.
Jesus Christ, what is this kid, like, ten? And dressed like a superhero? Dixon's alarm bells go off - he hopes to God that this child isn't about to try and play hero and get killed. He couldn't handle that.]
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-what fills the void is despair and emptiness, a black hole that's always been there inside him but now is multiplied in gravity, sucking the light out of everything. The black hole that occasionally creaks open in him, that he tries to satiate with liquor and sleep and anger, now yawns wide.
He curls up on the ground, huddling behind his shield not strategically but like a child who believes that if they can't be seen, they can't be found. Until Jon comes to the rescue.
Dixon doesn't really believe in angels - his momma does - but for a second the thought crosses his mind. The Dementors scatter away, while an innocent-faced child bathed in light emerges from between the one still-standing archway in front of him.]
No, I'm not...
[Then the rest of his brain kicks in.
Jesus Christ, what is this kid, like, ten? And dressed like a superhero? Dixon's alarm bells go off - he hopes to God that this child isn't about to try and play hero and get killed. He couldn't handle that.]
We got to get you out of here.