Berwald

He had but one feeling—panic. It was physically impossible to tear his eyes away from the man who had employed him without question. He had given him living space and a salary. Amidst his racing thoughts, he felt a pang of anger for his boss. He had called the police. He had labeled him dangerous. And now, his phone rested on the floor, with the very people trying to find him on the other end of the line. He knew they could trace the call to this location. They could find him easily, and they were probably on their way. He had to move, but his legs were stuck. Glazed, unthinking brown eyes burned in his mind, locking his joints. He felt a thousand feelings at once—anger, guilt, anxiety, fear—yet none of them enabled him to leave. The police would have to carry him away if they really wanted him in custody.

He had read the newspapers before: If found, Oxenstierna shall be returned to St. Joseph's, under even stronger security measures. His blood ran cold; those words slapped him in the face. He needed to move. Who knew what would become of him if he didn't? Slowly, with a pounding heart, he turned away from the victim, only to find something worse in its place. Soft hair. Wide, traumatized eyes. Pale, shaking arms. There was nowhere he could look. He had to run towards the exit and away from the forces coming to drag him to hell. He'd be damned if his guilt stopped him.

A selfish part of himself seized Tino's arm, without a backwards glance. A yelp of surprise escaped the shorter boy, but he was no longer thinking. Blood pounded in his ears as his legs broke free of their restraints. Eyes locked on the back door, he dragged Tino away from the statue of what was once a kind man. Now wasn't the time to debate whether Mr. Hansen deserved his fate or not. Now was certainly not the time to focus on the way Tino's hand felt in his, how they were warm, with fingers that slipped easily into his. His head ached as the door came closer into view, the sunlight nearly blinding him . . .

"Berwald!" Tino cried, pointing to his distant left. Several tall, uniformed figures spotted the pair; black and white police cars were parked behind them. Whereas earlier, when he found that he could not move, he immediately bolted in the opposite direction, hoping to hide behind parked cars. With small, quick strides, Tino fought to keep up. Out of breath, he mentioned he had a parked car, but could not remember where. Berwald grunted, his legs propelling him forward, into the unknown. Memories flashed through his mind; the feeling of his nerves on fire as they strapped him to a chair, showing him picture after picture of sweet, innocent young boys. Over time, the pictures evolved into Tino, who had always appeared to have walked straight out of one. Another look at his smaller frame would send another bolt of pain. He had always resisted. Resistance was supposed to cure him, to release him. Berwald had never been more horribly wrong.

Closer and closer they came, yelling and cursing. Tino seemed nonexistent to them; it was only the escapee they cared about. He felt his momentum slow, enough to terrify him and motivate him. The gap between him and captivity was growing smaller. Berwald's grip on sanity was growing weaker. Any less distance and his hand would slip.

"Hey, what the hell are you after? Are you after my friend Tino here? He's done nothing wrong, idiots!" Berwald had to keep going, but the sound of a loud, assertive voice made it nearly impossible. A couple of men began to yell profanities at him.

"We've got Oxenstierna, you dimwit! Quit fucking with us and do your shopping, kid!"

"Fucking with you? I haven't done anything to you yet." Berwald had to turn around and see. A couple of the police cast him evil looks, but his eyes saw maniacal blue ones on a young face, holding out fairly muscular arms as a barrier. "You're not getting anywhere near my friend. I just met him today. Hotwired his car. We're pretty close, you know."

"Just move!" The young man was struck by an elbow, knocking him off balance. "You are preventing a dangerous man from reentering the safe, isolated institution he belongs in!" He clearly didn't care. He looked completely offended. Rage quickly washed over his face as he slammed his palm into the officer's face. Instantly, the officer yelped in pain and fell to the ground, others suddenly rushing to his side. Berwald felt a push in his side. Tino ushered him to the side of the building's wall, a place less likely to catch the police's attention.

"Who's that?" Berwald whispered, the mysterious man sending a couple more people to the ground, using nothing but bare hands.

"Mathias Kohler," Tino offered, stuttering a little. "My car broke down, and he hot-wired it, like he said he did. That's why I'm so late, I'm so sorry—"

"'S alright," Berwald promised, watching the scene play out. Piles of officers lay on the ground; those remaining conscious pulled out their guns, freezing this Mathias in his tracks. Instead of cowering, however, he simply maintained eye contact and tightened his arms. In a fit of agony, the gunners fell to the ground, joining their friends in the pile. Without looking back, he ran towards the pair, suddenly exhausted.

"Tino, oh my God, that was weird! Fuck those police; you need to get out of the area!"

"They aren't looking for me," Tino explained. "We need to get Berwa—Bernard—"

"Think he knows who I am," Berwald muttered grimly. Tino simply nodded.

"We need to get him out of the area, but I forgot where I parked—"

"I parked yours next to mine," Mathias reassured him. "Follow me."

Heart still pounding, Berwald sat in the passenger seat of Tino's car, with Tino gripping the steering wheel with his life. Nothing about him appeared relaxed; the tips of his fingertips shone silver. Nervously, he pulled out of the parking lot, Mathias trailing closely behind them. Once they left, the driver began to floor the car, causing Berwald to lurch forward uncomfortably. Tino drove like a maniac, and while he needed to be as far away as possible in a short amount of time, he wished they could go a little slower. His thoughts wouldn't rest as he stared out the window. Today was supposed to be normal. He wasn't supposed to hurt anyone, or steal an innocent boy away from safety. He was supposed to continue to work, while the fear of recognition tormented him. He wasn't supposed to run out the back door. They weren't supposed to find him.

Electricity wasn't supposed to save him.

Berwald spent the rest of the day in a nightmarish daze. Far away from the unconscious officers, he sat in a diner off the highway, wearing a beige ushanka and red tinted sunglasses. Mathias had met up with his family; though it was difficult to explain the delay and a lack of cough drops, he successfully fabricated a story about a flat tire and a lack of the correct brand of cough drops. With a wide smile and a cheerful tone, he left the two, after Tino thanked him excessively for his help and bravery. Berwald kept his eyes fixed on the menu, which he could barely read due to his farsightedness. Tino played with his silverware absently, as indicated by the sounds of clanking. Berwald sighed, feeling as if a void had taken over his stomach. Tino shouldn't have had to see this side of him. It was easier when he was just aware, but when he dared to risk a glance at the boy, Tino averted his eyes away immediately, shrouding Berwald in guilt. How dare he look at Tino, after what he'd done? After what Tino had seen him do? Though he didn't dare express it, he wanted to lock himself in a room and cry. He needed to bang his head against a wall, or take a beating, or submit himself to those awful electric pulses, but he was trapped in a simple restaurant, with no way to punish himself for his crimes. Maybe they should've taken me—

"Would you like something to drink?" a waitress asked sweetly. Berwald shook his head, but Tino ordered a Coke with a smile. He didn't understand how his companion could smile like that. When he did, his insides grew fuzzy, and his head felt lighter. After she left, he took his butter knife and held it into the air. He shook his head as he slammed it down, over his hand—but a sharp pain didn't come. Instead, firm silver fingers held his wrist back. Angrily, he threw the knife down, hyperaware of the hard surface against him.

"Don't," Tino commanded, his voice as strong as his grip. He sighed, in a vain attempt to release tension from his chest. Tino's eyes watched him; they were the color of fresh lavender . . . he shook his head, pulling his hand away from Tino's. What right did he have, to stop him from punishing himself? He deserved it, yet Tino was too good to let him have his way.

"Why d'you care?" he muttered angrily. Tino should hate him. He dragged him into danger. It was his fault they were in this mess, not to mention what he saw—

"I'm not letting them catch you. It could easily be me, you know. We're not the only weird people in the world." He spoke with such conviction that Berwald couldn't help but be captivated. He was selfish and kind, and innocent. Berwald was unworthy of him, but Tino barely seemed to notice. Tino leaned back in his seat, wrapping his hands behind his head. "Mathias knows others. I want to meet them."

He was unsure of how exactly they would get ahold of his savior; Tino had his phone number but he was staying hours away, where these 'others' resided. It sure would help drive him deeper into the country, though at this point he was unsure if that was a blessing or a curse. He nodded absently, the last thing on his mind meeting more who shared the misfortune of superhuman powers.

Tino's soda arrived, and he began to drink it absently. After taking orders, a thick silence formed. It was almost suffocating, and it rang in his ears. It could easily be me. Berwald begged to differ. How could it be Tino, who was the opposite of him? Tino never did anything wrong, while Berwald had been locked away for years, only to come out a dangerous fugitive. Tino couldn't hurt anyone the way he did. He wasn't hardened. He wasn't broken. He wasn't Berwald.

"Ber . . . nard?" Tino asked, shattering the silence. God damn it, why did he have to speak that name so softly? His head felt sickeningly light again. He needed air; he was choking on his guilt. Maybe he should have ordered a drink after all.

"Nn," he grunted, unable to think. His eyes were reluctantly glued to his utensils. They caught the light of the room; he was reminded of the sunlight hitting Tino's arm that fateful day they met, when he realized he wasn't completely alone. He drew in a slow, long breath, and exhaled all at once. If he had learned anything over the years, it had been controlling his emotions. Tino didn't need to know what went through his mind.

"Um . . . I know it was kind of awkward today at IKEA, but you're acting strange, and I don't think you're listening to me. I'm sorry I ran into you at that time, but we got out of that, and you're safe." Tino fidgeted with his hands as he paused. "Well . . . I just thought I'd make that clear, and I really think we owe Mathias one, don't you? I was thinking that we could get together with him and his friends, maybe treat them to lunch or something, everybody likes coffee, right? So we'll take them out to coffee one day, and maybe talk more about what we can do . . ."

"Mm," Berwald offered, less than helpful to the conversation. He was being pursued by cops, and Tino wanted to go out to lunch. "Whatever you want to do."

"You agree?" Tino waited for an answer this time. Slowly, Berwald nodded. He wasn't quite sure what he was agreeing to, but he knew his friend had a point about Mathias. He wasn't much of a people person, and he was anxious enough around Tino alone, but it was what Tino wanted to do. He owed Tino, too.

"'M sorry," he apologized, his voice low and shameful. Tino responded with a look of confusion.

"What for?" he asked, though both of them knew it was obvious. At least, Berwald thought it was.

For putting you in danger. For taking you with me. For having to see who I really am.

"You shouldn't have seen that," he finally settled on. "Any 'f it." A hand rested on his shoulder, now soft and comforting. He felt his chin lift, and those lavender eyes stared into red lenses. Berwald's heart skipped a beat, realizing that Tino was looking at him in the eyes, something he barely did, something he should be terrified to do. Instead, his gaze only grew stronger, and the corners of his mouth turned upwards.

"It's not your fault."

Berwald didn't think he had heard those words in years.

ushanka - those hats with the ear flaps. They tend to be furry.