It was almost impossible to compare the pain in his chest to anything he had ever felt before. Most children his age complained about scraped knees and paper cuts. They whined about high fevers and their throat hurting after a bad cough. They latched onto their mothers for dear life when they went to the doctor for a routine checkup.
Even though his eyes were closed, he could still see; still remember the small, almost unnoticeable amount of pain he felt every time the needle slipped through the flesh of his bicep to inject yet another medicine the doctors hoped would cure him. He could still feel the hands of his mother's clasped tightly around his own, praying silently that everything would be okay; that her only son would be okay.
However, when he opened his eyes everything was different. He couldn't see the doctor in front of him, his mother was not beside him, and he was no longer a fretted after only child. No, the scene before him was much different. His emerald eyes roamed the familiar room; one that he had been occupying for his entire life, and one that he would inhabit less frequently, beginning on that very day.
"Rory, are you finished packing?"
Rory looked up from his suitcase, his expression changing from one of pained musing to startled awareness. His mother stood in the middle of his room, her silver streaked fiery curls tucked into a neat bun, her chocolate brown eyes wide and curious. For her age, she looked young.
"Yes, I'm done. Is Aine finished yet?"
"At this rate, you two will miss the train for sure. I'll go check on her. Hopefully we'll make it in time," as she turned, Rory coughed, making her stop, looking as though she had suddenly remembered something. "Dearheart, have you taken your medicine today?"
"It doesn't help," he muttered, shuffling his feet as he wiped his mouth.
"It eases the pain and the burden," his mother said softly. "You really should take it, Rory, or else you won't get better. Have you used any magic today?"
This question caused the youth the shuffle once more. "Maybe a little bit here and there⦠but I feel fine, Mam. Don't worry about me; you have enough on your hands already as it is."
"I'm going to go check on your sister. I want you to go downstairs and get your medicines ready. I'll be right there to watch you and make sure you take them. If you haven't taken them already, I assume that you also haven't packed your extras for the school year?"
"No, I haven't."
"Rory, you know that because your condition is rare, your medicine isn't widely distributed. It will be difficult to supply you with more once you're at school. What if something happened to you during class? You're going to be using a lot of magic for the next few years, and you know very well how much it hurts you."
Rory waved a nonchalant hand. "Yes Mam, I know. I just don't think I need it. I've gotten better since I was a little boy. I've been able to get out more and do more stuff. I think I'm over it. Maybe it was just a phase."
"And if it isn't?"
He grinned and walked past her, giving her a quick hug. "I've already picked out my casket."
She gripped his shoulders and pulled away. "Don't you dare."
"Don't I dare what?"
His mother's eyes brimmed with tears, "Don't act as if you're already dead." She gasped and shuddered lightly. "Your condition is already hard to deal with."
Rory rolled his eyes and pushed away from her. He had long since figured out that there wasn't going to be a cure for his condition any time soon, and since that was the case, he could tease about his condition all he wanted to. It wasn't like anything he said he took seriously; he hadn't actually chosen a casket. The way he so carelessly spoke about his demise was his own twisted way of lightening the mood.
Somehow, by forcing himself to remember that he was only human kept him grounded. Rory was reckless by nature, and every now and again he needed to be reminded of certain things, like the amount of time he had left.
"You and dad and Aine aren't the only ones who have to deal with this," Rory snapped, stepping out of arms reach. "I'm the one who has to wake up every morning short of breath. I'm the one who can't use magic because in the long run, I cough up blood. Don't act like you're all the only ones who have to deal with this."
His mother's hands clenched into fists. "You're not the only one who has to deal with this either." She took a few steps forward and gently poked her son's chest, right where his heart was. "We're here for you, so just accept the fact that when we ask you to be careful, to take your medicine, and to stop acting like you're already dead, you need to listen. And besides," she smirked, "if you don't listen, I'll snap your wand and ground you until you move out. Do I make myself clear young man?"
He ran a hand through his short ginger hair and sighed. Merlin, why did he have to pretend? Pretend as if nothing is wrong? That wasn't his style.
"Whatever." Rory said in a clipped tone.
His mother shook her head and turned on her heel. "I want you downstairs in five minutes."
"What if I don't want to go downstairs?"
"Well then, we'll leave without you. It'll get awfully lonely here all by yourself," she smirked. "Don't test me, boy."
"So you're saying I can stay?" He cocked his head a bit, a smile pulling at his lips.
His mother narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying you want to stay?"
"Are you implying that I can?"
"Downstairs; five minutes. I'm not playing with you, Rory." She gave him one last stern glare before leaving his room, closing the door behind herself.
Rory stared after her, a familiar warm feeling taking center stage in his chest. If everything else, he at least knew some things would always stay the same.
Awesome! First chapter! I hope you enjoyed it :) My partner and I worked pretty long on figuring out the details. So...
Review if you like! Hell, review even if you don't like it. We are open to suggestions.
