sometimes an angel is found in the dark

by Wakahisa D. Manami

He had to hurry or he was going to- he didn't know what. Scream, throw things, attack Law, or – worse than all – break down and cry. He couldn't handle the humiliation of crying in front of the Alpha. He'd rather die. Law was sitting up, frowning, but Kid couldn't bring himself to look at him. If he was disgusted with himself, what did Law think?

2. Chapter 2

The snail phone was ringing. It'd been ringing on and off for what seemed like forever. He just hadn't been aware enough to hear it until now.

He was curled up in-between the roots of a gigantic tree somewhere in the middle of nowhere, coat pulled around him for warmth.

He'd been there for a while. Maybe hours. Maybe days. He wasn't sure.

He'd slept most of the time. Woken up screaming or crying, sometimes scrambling to move so he wouldn't throw up all over himself, sometimes shot up to realise he was pounding his fists into the ground or the tree itself like his arms had a mind of their own. He could never quite grasp where the desperation came from, why he was screaming or throwing up even as he was doing it. He couldn't remember the dreams. Not fully. Only tiny flashes. He wasn't sure whether it was memories or just plain old nightmares. Maybe both.

Most of the time, when he wasn't this badly off, he remembered every detail of the dreams, but nothing but vague feelings or ideas of the nightmares. They always seemed to follow and acerbate each other, and only served to confuse and upset him when he was feeling bad enough already.

He got up regularly. Usually every other time he woke up, sometimes every third time. Depended on how tired and disoriented he was. He always drank water from a nearby stream, ate some berries or fruits, passed water, then returned to the nest he'd chosen for himself. He liked small spaces he had to squeeze his bulk into to fit when he was upset. Made him feel safer, like the tiny gap between the forge and the wall he used to squeeze into when he didn't want his mother's mate to find him or the kids had been especially cruel or he'd got blood on his clothes fighting them off and didn't want his mother to see it. The roots were a good place, firm and grounding, softened by the falling leaves. He'd have to try to remember that.

He didn't have much of anything with him. He only had the snail phone because he kept it in a specially made pocket in his coat, weight supported by the bandolier. It'd been uncomfortable no matter how he shifted it so he'd ended up taking it out of the pocket. Else he probably wouldn't hear it. He didn't have any fire-making materials, so he didn't bother trying to catch anything to eat. He wasn't eating anything raw.

He was deranged, not a barbarian.

He didn't know where he was. Had no idea which direction was which or where the town lay, and at the moment, he didn't care. He was comfortable in his little nook between the roots and wasn't ready to deal with or face people quite yet. He needed more time before he tried to get back.