Author: Artemis Rain
Fandom: Hex
Prompt: Wergeld
Warnings: None, really. Unless you count a character death that happened in canon.Pairing: None, but hints of a one-sided Tom/Leon
Spoilers: LOADS for the last two episodes of the series. Major stuff given away.
Rating: K
Feedback: It's what's for dinner.
Summary: After "Seven Deadly Sins", Tom finds himself back at Medenham, with no idea what happened to him. Luckily, Thelma is there to help.
Author's notes: This story was written in response to a prompt from the LiveJoural community Taming the Muse. Okay, and it's also a repsonse to my own desire to see Thelma and Tom meet properly.
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Tom turned in a slow circle, surveying his surroundings. He was standing in his room, the room he shared with Leon, except his bed was missing, along with large sections of carpet.
He couldn't remember getting out of bed. He could barely remember stumbling back from Malachi's party. He had passed out on the bed and then… then he was standing in the middle of the room, wondering where his things had gone.
Something was wrong; something besides the immediate question of what had happened to his room. He felt different, disconnected, like he was dreaming, only he knew somehow that he wasn't; that he'd never dream again. He was cold. He reached out a hand toward Leon's jacket, casually discarded on the remaining bed. He encountered it, but didn't feel it. The fabric seemed to have no texture, only solidity. As he held it, his hand began to itch terribly, though there was no friction.
Tossing the jacket back onto the bed, he walked to the bathroom and glanced in the mirror.
A long jagged scar ran all the way around his neck. He reached up and touched it, but felt no pain. He staggered back.
Reaching the door, he threw it open and stuck his head out into the hall. James was walking by, gazing down at an open book, as usual.
"Oi!" Tom called. "James, over here!" James didn't respond. "Hey, have you seen Leon?" Nothing. The other boy kept walking without so much as a glance in Tom's direction.
Tom stepped out of the room, frustrated, and strode down the hallway to the large staircase leading to the classrooms. Alex and Malachi, walking hand in hand, smiling wickedly and gazing darkly into each others eyes, were on their way up the stairs. As he approached them, Alex grinned at him mockingly, and Tom wondered for a moment if he had missed seeing the word "Wanker" written across his forehead. Malachi shook his head. "I just can't get rid of you, can I?" Alex giggled at this as the two passed him. Tom extended a hand to stop them, but found that it froze in the air, just above Malachi's shoulder. Try as he might, Tom couldn't force his hand to drop the rest of the way down, and Malachi chuckled and kept walking as Tom stood, surprise and confusion freezing him in place.
Finally, he inhaled, and realized he hadn't breathed in all the time since he'd seen James in the hall.
Trying not to think about it, he moved down the stairs. The lower floor was deserted, and Tom guessed it was late in the afternoon, long after classes were finished for the day.
He looked all around, surveying the familiar hallway lined with lockers. It was odd, but he felt somehow disconnected from it, as though he hadn't seen it in many years, or as though it had been described to him so accurately that he had formed a perfect mental picture of the place without ever actually seeing it.
He spotted his locker and stared at it for a long moment, wondering what would happen when he looked at the objects inside. Would they still feel like his? Nothing in this place did anymore.
"Tom!" The voice came from behind him. He whirled around to find a girl he'd never seen before. He would definitely have remembered her playful features and dark asymmetrical haircut. She looked surprised to see him.
"Do I know you?" He frowned at her. The surprise on her features softened and turned sympathetic.
"No, I suppose you've never really met me. Thelma Bates." She extended her hand cheerfully. Tom reached for it, then hesitated, remembering what had happened with Malachi. He steeled himself and let his hand extend the rest of the way to meet hers. Their hands clasped. Unlike the jacket, Thelma's hand had softness, texture. Her name sounded familiar, and with a start, Tom pulled his hand away.
"Thelma Bates? The girl who died here last year?"
She grinned wryly. "That's me. Still wandering about. Good thing this school makes great desserts, or I'da been long gone."
He stared, aghast.
Slowly, her grin faded. "Wait… you don't know, do you?"
"How am I seeing you? What's happening to me?" His voice remained surprisingly steady.
She looked distressed. "Oh, boy. You're going to want to sit down for this. In fact, we should really talk in private. Your room's empty, right?" She started up the stairs, glancing back at him, indicating that he should follow her.
Reluctantly, he did so, until they arrived at his room, pushed the door open, which was thankfully still ajar, and closed it behind them, cutting them off from the sounds of life in the corridors.
Thelma moved to Leon's bed and sat down, patting the spot beside her. Tom joined her, fear and confusion written plainly across his features.
"Thelma," he began, "what's happening to me?"
She sighed, and looked at him sadly. "Well, Tom, the thing is… you're dead."
He didn't believe her. He didn't want to believe her. He couldn't be dead, and yet it made so much sense. He certainly didn't feel alive. He reached up and ran a finger lightly across the jagged scar around his neck.
"But… how? I mean, who? Why?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Um, well, it's a very long story. For you, though, it starts with Malachi. He's the son of Azazeal, a fallen angel." She nodded matter-of-factly. "He's been turning all the students here into demonic power sources to help him conquer the hearts and minds of mankind or whatever." She winced at the inadequacy of the explanation. "He does this by finding out what your deepest desire is, then fulfilling it for you. You lose your soul to him, get a lovely new tattoo on your neck, and that's it. It's over for you." She glanced down. "Malachi didn't know what you wanted; he couldn't get a hold on you." She frowned at him sympathetically. "So, he had you killed."
"Malachi did this?" He wrinkled his brow in disbelief.
She closed her eyes and sighed. "Well, actually… Um, Ella is a witch. She's fighting Malachi, and I'm helping, and so is Leon." She paused, trying to find the words to express her story a little more coherently. "Malachi drew his mark on your neck, when he dropped you off here. He drew it on with a marker and when Leon came in and saw it…"
Tom looked floored. "He thought I had been turned."
Thelma rested a hand lightly on his knee. "He knew that it was too late for you."
Tom nodded wildly, eyes wide. "Leon killed me. He killed me, and it was Malachi's fault." He stood up. "Where is he? Where's Leon? Is he alright?"
Thelma hesitated. "He's… Ella's with him, keeping an eye on him."
Tom inhaled deeply. "Good." He looked Thelma in the eye. "What can I do? How can I help?"
She grimaced. "I know you don't want to hear this, but the best thing you can do for Leon and for us is to leave. Go somewhere Malachi can't reach you."
He stared, incredulous. "There must be something I can do to help you fight him!"
"Listen, Malachi uses people. Turns them against each other. I've tried working against him, only to find myself suddenly working for him. I've done things to hurt him that only ended up helping him. He plays people like fiddles, Tom. If you stay, he'll find a way to use you, too."
Tom sank down on to the floor, leaning his back against the bed. "So, what, I just leave? Leave Medenham? Where am I supposed to go?"
"Anywhere," she said kindly. "You can go anywhere, do anything. Most people can't see or hear you. The world is your candy store. You've got the run of the place." She paused. "Well, for a while, anyway."
He leaned his head back to rest against the bed. "What does that mean?" He asked tiredly.
"Um, the thing is, we're working on killing Malachi, and when he dies, so do we. Well, die properly, anyway. 'The dead shall no longer walk with the living.' Sort of the main downside, really."
Tom chuckled, bitterly. "So you're telling me that I'm dead, killed by my best friend who was set up by some sort of fallen angel, hardly anyone can see or talk to me, I have to leave Medenham, and I only have a short time before hopefully I'll be killed again?"
"That's pretty much it, yeah."
"It's too much." He lolled his head to look at her. "Thelma, I can't do this."
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, it is a lot to take in all at once. Tell you what, let's just take a break. Do something normal."
"Normal? Like what?"
"Is that Viking Conquest I see on your shelf?" She grinned suggestively at him.
Relieved that he finally knew what she was talking about, he smiled back. "So all this was just a ploy to get at my video game collection?"
She bit her lip mischievously. "Come on, I've always wanted the chance to beat level three."
He chuckled, pulled himself up and walked over to the computer, flicking the monitor on. Reaching back behind the computer, he pulled out two joysticks and set them down next to the keyboard. He settled back in the computer chair, grinning confidently as Thelma sat down in Leon's chair and rolled herself across the room to join him with one strong push off.
The game started and they each grabbed a joystick. Tom was, unsurprisingly, the better player due to his constant practice, but Thelma held her own. As their band of Vikings navigated a stone castle looking for the hidden treasure, Thelma remarked, "You know, the Vikings had this thing called Wergeld, where everyone has a value placed on them, like in money or livestock or whatever, and then if anyone kills you, that person pays your value to your family, and no hard feelings."
Tom's joystick slowed. "Sounds so simple. Could people really live like that?"
"I don't know. They're not still around, though, are they?"
Tom grunted in response, and hit the button on his controller a little harder than necessary.
Thelma gritted her teeth as a castle guard fell under her sword.
For hours they played in silence; two ghosts looting and pillaging, wondering how it was possible that death had brought more complexity than life had ever offered.
Perhaps that was the way it was meant to be.
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