A laugh...the knife...the pain...unending...he begs, pleads, screams for it to stop, but with every scream comes another stroke of the white-hot blade, another intricately carved symbol. More blood runs down his sides as his father hums tunelessly above him. It pools around him, he can smell it under his nose-taste it in his mouth as he chokes on the gag. He screams again-
"MARIK! WAKE UP!"
The last scream rips through the silence of the apartment, waking the neighbors who swear and stomp angrily on the floor above them, or kick the walls or bang the ceiling with a broom handle. They're still not used to living near him, not used to the constant screaming and the nightmares.
To the boy, their shouts are nothing. They'll never know what happened to make him this way, what he's been through. He sits up, sweat-slicked palms clutching the sheets to his chest. His hand shakes as it reaches for a glass of water on the bedside table, spilling a trail of droplets across the bedspread. More skitter down his chest as he raises the cup to his lips and sips it slowly, trying to calm down. He can feel the ruddy-brown eyes of his partner watching him, as cool and calculating as any other hour in the day. He may have been already awake before the screaming started, watching the boy writhe and whimper in the thrall of his nightmare. He would only wake him if the screaming got too loud, too painful to listen to. The boy knows it, and that his partner would never admit to the latter reason.
They say nothing, as the cup is returned to the table and the boy settles back into the pillows. He doubts sleep will return to him, even more that it won't be tainted once more by nightmares.
A pale hand takes his, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him closer. The boy flashes a weary smile up at his partner, nestling closer and clutching the hand in his. Lips press wordlessly to the top of his head as a tear or two smears between bronze face and pale chest. His partner would deny ever seeing him cry.
"Thanks."
No response but being pulled a little closer, held a little tighter as the scarlet eyes close. The boy smiles. It's not a perfect solution, but that's not what he's asking for. The nightmares aren't vanquished, but that's not what he wants either. What he wants more than anything, what he begs the heavens for in the darker hours of the night, is to always return to this embrace, no matter what happens.
For their part, the gods grant his wish.