Warnings for violence and gaybashing
*o*
You're running. That tooth-aching kind of running where you can feel the air being ripped from your lungs like it's a part of them, where all you can hear is the frantic pounding of your heart and your feet on the sidewalk, and you don't know which one's which any more – they're both so fast, but not fast enough, you've got to run.
They're catching up – you can feel it, you start to shake as their shouts get closer, twisting, turning, running through the dark streets. If only there were somebody who could help, but there isn't, you know there isn't – there never is. Suddenly the cramped streets give way to open ground and you let out a choked sob because now there isn't anywhere to hide and they're coming they're coming they're coming.
They're here. They're here and you're trapped and there's nothing you can do because you're pathetic, you're weak, you're a fag, but right now you're nothing more than scared scared scared. This is the worst part – when they've got you trapped, huddled in a ball on the floor, cowering away from every move they make, trembling, crying, scared. Because you know what's coming. You know it's sixteen kicks to the ribs, though you usually lose count after three are broken, a particularly violent stamp on the wrist which leaves it cracked in two places, a glass bottle smashed against the back of your head – you're lucky you've still got your sight, young man – the jagged tearing of the soft skin of your stomach F – A – G, the bile rising in your throat to mix with the mucus and the blood and the tears and you can't breathe oh god oh god oh god you can't breathe oh my god –
"Blaine! Blaine, c'mon, wake up, Squirt, you've got to wake up … hey, hey, it's fine, I've got you, you're fine, you're safe. That's right, just breathe, it's okay, it was just a dream. Here, here's some water. There we go, good man. Better?"
"Thanks, Coop." You wish you could make your voice sound less small, you wish you could get a proper lungful of air, you wish your heart would stop trying to hammer a hole through your chest. Cooper rubs your back – he knows by now not to try and hug you when you're like this.
"I'm sorry, B. I wish I could fix this. I wish I could make it better for you. You know if I could take the nightmares for you I would."
"I know, Coop. It's okay. You've got work in the morning – you should go back to bed."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, go on. I … I didn't wake mum and dad up, did I?"
"To be honest, there's no way you couldn't have done." His voice it bitter.
"Oh."
"You know I'd change that too, if I could."
"I know. Go on – I'm fine." He leans over and presses a kiss to your sweaty curls.
"Sweet dreams, Squirt." You let out a shaky laugh.
"I'll try."
