Most nights, he heard VIrgil cry brokenly. Hell, he always knew when his lover was going to do it, it wasn't hard to figure out after four years together. VIrgil would somehow manage to wiggle out of the grip he had at night before going to the bathroom to cry and repeatedly wash his hands. Virgil was always disgusted by what he had seen as a hero, it had damaged the gentle soul that Virgil had. The innocence that the red head had loved about Virgil seemed to be fading somewhat. That thought was terrifying in its self. Virgil was supposed to stay innocent, gently, loving, was supposed to be everything that Francis himself was not.
Francis sighed as he heard the bathroom door click shut. It was the third time this week, and it was only Wensday. The flame wielder then heard a grunt a pain and got even more worried. For the first time, Francis got up and walked to get his lover. Francis and Virgil had never discussed the darker skinned hero's pretty much nightly ritual, but Virgil knew that Francis knew he did it. Virgil never knew how to discuss it, but was thankful that after every session, Francis would curl around him, and clutch him even more tightly then before. For the past four years, Francis had been the hero's stability. Francis knew this as well, but never knew how to fix it.
The red head went to the bathroom door and went inside abruptly. The sudden movement startled the sobbing hero from repeatedly washing his hands in scorching hot water. Francis let out a growl at Virgil's blistering hands and in a quick movement pulled Virgil out of the water and turned off the taps.
"Fr-Frank, I can explain," Virgil stuttered out as Francis went about to put bandages and burn cream on the hero's hands.
"Explain what? That your hurtin' yerself? I would love it if you'd explain that, cause I really want to know," Francis growled out.
"The blood wont come off," Virgil said in defeat, head looking down. Francis stopped what he was doing with a confused look on his face.
"What?" Francis said, green eyes worried.
"The blood. I know its ridiculous, but I can still see blood on my hands, on my body. It wont come off. It's the blood of both victims and the assailants, and I cant get it off. I still hear their screams and hurt. It kills me inside Francis, that people suffered so much." Virgil responded, still looking down, though he did manage to raise his gaze to his hands. Francis gulped, it seemed that Virgil's innocence wasn't as gone as he thought it was. The red head pulled Virgil into a tight hug, thick arms rapping around Virgil's waist.
"Look, Virg' if you ever have one of these episodes again, tell me. I don't care if I'm dead asleep, knocked out or in a coma, tell me. I'll take care of it, I promise. I don't want you sufferin' at all, all right?" Francis said soothingly. Virgil wrapped his own arms around Francis's neck and nodded into his chest.
"I promise I will. I didn't know how to broach the subject of my break downs." Virgil said into Francis's chest, sniffling. Francis tightened his grip a little bit more and then pulled back.
"Come on, lets get your hands bandaged and lets get back to bed." Francis said. Virgil nodded, a somewhat happy smile on his face. Francis really had become the rock that was missing in Virgil's life, and the hero loved the man even more then before. As they curled up under the covers, Francis enlaced their hands together, the other arm wrapped securely around Virgil's trim waist. When the next night came, and Virgil's panicked break downs began, he woke Francis, who sat up, pulled the hero into his lap and rocked and soothed him back to sleep. After about three weeks, Virgil's nightmares managed to recede some, much to both of their relief. Francis was pleased with the prospect of Virgil depending on him even more, and smiled whenever he thought about it. It was times like these when the red head remembered the promise he made Virgil's mother, a promise to always take care and be there for Virgil. He would keep it until he died, he knew for sure. And now, Virgil knew it too.