Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.
Author's Note: Tommy is not a vampire. I know the chapters are short. Sorry. Most of them will be staying that way. Most of this was written in 20 min intervals as an exercise for my writing class. If you want to know about the original task let me know, it was rather fun! Thanks, as always, to the most amazing beta on the planet. :-)
It Was Warm...
It was warm. Tommy felt it fleetingly as he glimpsed the light inside the tiny house, sheltered by the forest spreading out on either side. It seemed so small, almost shabby, but it was so filled with warmth he could hardly bear it even from where he stood on the dirt path.
He could see how the Others would overlook it. If he had not known where to find it, had not been drawn to the remembered warmth like a moth to a flame he would have missed it, this tiny, insignificant house. He thanked whatever god or goddess there was for that.
He knew of the cozy, welcoming, interior. The humble, even shabby, outside was little more than a ruse. Tommy knew the inhabitant, his love, would putter in the garden around the back on warm afternoons. He remembered how they would laze in the hammock, a gift from an old friend after his love first moved into the tiny house, as the cool evening breeze settled over them, rustling the leaves in the tall trees that surrounded the cottage. He knew what love existed there, what care and peace. The outside mattered not.
Once upon a time his love had not lived so. Once his love had been part of a large firm, had owned an apartment downtown, and had planned on buying a house with him in the suburbs, near all their old friends. Once his love had not lived like this.
Then, a change had come of his love. He had become, in a way, the opposite of what Tommy had fallen to, he had been lifted. Unlike Others, his lover was not made into a demon but had been born as a creature that was lesser than an angel but more than a man. His powers had manifested in his twenties, but they had always been there. He had used them subconsciously before they had manifested and he became little more than a vessel.
After that is had become... painful, for him to live the life he had been content with. Tommy had stood by, helpless, as the newfound and uncontrollable empathy and telepathy took control, making him violently ill on the bad days, unconscious on the really bad ones. It got to the point where he could not watch the news or pick up a paper because the guilt of having the power to heal, but not being able to save so many, made him so queasy he had lost weight for lack of appetite.
In the end leaving, living away from the rest of the world, had been the only option.
His love had never been one for such isolation; he had always been friendly, open, warm with everyone. Losing that interaction, even with strangers he passed on the street, was hard.
Their friends had made sure to visit him often, rearranging schedules so he never went more than a day without seeing at least one of them. His smile upon their arrival, so joy filled and bright it was almost blinding, was always reward enough for any pains it took to get there.
And Tommy, well, the plans for him to move in had been made. He was more than happy to make the commute into town everyday, no matter how long it took, if it meant he could be with his love and lessen his loneliness.
Then Tommy had fallen, been plunged into shadows that cared not of former plans and hated his love for what he was.
His love had been crushed when he had gone missing. Tommy had watched, carefully concealed by the night, his mind shielded from his love with his own, unwanted powers, as an old friend had told his love he was missing, vanished without a trace. He had watched, his heart heavy and broken, as his love simply collapsed, folding in on himself and allowing himself to be held as he wept, his carefully constructed, fragile world shattering. The shred of happiness he had held on to after the change dissolved and fell like grains of sand through his fingers.
Tommy had watched him many times since that Night when his damnation had torn his love to shreds. Had watched while his love wept, spilling his sorrow into the lonely, listening night. Had watched their friends try, without success, to comfort him. Had watched the strained heart crack a little more with every day he did not appear.
Finally, he could not stand it for another long, desperate night. He knew he was weakening, knew without feasting or perverting the soul of another soon he would cease to burden the world. He had to see his love, say good-bye, beg forgiveness, before that moment came.
He was hidden. The black cloak of night held him in her phantom embrace. The ghostly grip chilled him further with the tears of rain that caressed his already cold body. He was unsure, nearly scared, of going any closer. It might hurt too much. He wasn't sure he could deal with the warmth now, if he could stand it now that he had been claimed by the darkness... but he had to try.
The rain mixed with the tears that strained his face, though he would never admit to their presence. He had not wanted to be claimed by anything or anyone but the being that resided within the tiny warm house, the only light in the forest that surrounded it.
Looking at it though tired eyes he realized how much of a hovel it must have looked to others but to him it was a palace where love had been born within his shielded heart and his soul had once been redeemed. He had chosen, one night, that the change in his love was not enough to force the love from his heart, that nothing would destroy that. What if he was turned away, now, when it was not a change of good within his love but his own damnation?
What if what had been done against his will was enough to banish him from such a pure, unblemished sanctuary?
It was warm and growing warmer still as he knocked on the door. He could feel it through the walls, emanating from some point inside. It just couldn't be contained, not fully, and he could feel it easing around him, tender and soothing, trying to comfort the hurt it found deep within him.
It hurt. It hurt so much that he bit his lip until he could taste the copper tang of blood on his tongue, as cold as the rest of him. He knew it would hurt more if he was turned away.
He was hidden, still covered by Night's shadows when the curtain fluttered and two kind eyes glanced out. The sweet brow creased in confusion before those eyes caught sight of him, hiding in the darkness, and cleared, being replaced by a haunted, worried look that stabbed him deeper than any attack he had ever suffered. The door was flung open and he stiffened, ready for harsh words and violent actions as, at the close contact, his mind fell open to his beloved's questions.
Instead a hand rested gently on his shoulder, another reached up to touch his maimed face, scarred from his battle against the darkness, and the warm eyes looked at him with sorrow and love, not fear.
The rain mixed with his brutally hot tears, tears that bubbled up from somewhere in his gut and ran in scorching rivets down his face. He fell into the embrace waiting for him, melted into that warmth he thought he could no longer touch, and let his incoherent sobs wash away the meaning of the whispered words of comfort.
It was warm and he was safe, loved, home, in Jason's strong arms.
Author's Note: Tommy is not a vampire. I know the chapters are short. Sorry. Most of them will be staying that way. Most of this was written in 20 min intervals as an exercise for my writing class. If you want to know about the original task let me know, it was rather fun! Thanks, as always, to the most amazing beta on the planet. :-)
It Was Warm...
It was warm. Tommy felt it fleetingly as he glimpsed the light inside the tiny house, sheltered by the forest spreading out on either side. It seemed so small, almost shabby, but it was so filled with warmth he could hardly bear it even from where he stood on the dirt path.
He could see how the Others would overlook it. If he had not known where to find it, had not been drawn to the remembered warmth like a moth to a flame he would have missed it, this tiny, insignificant house. He thanked whatever god or goddess there was for that.
He knew of the cozy, welcoming, interior. The humble, even shabby, outside was little more than a ruse. Tommy knew the inhabitant, his love, would putter in the garden around the back on warm afternoons. He remembered how they would laze in the hammock, a gift from an old friend after his love first moved into the tiny house, as the cool evening breeze settled over them, rustling the leaves in the tall trees that surrounded the cottage. He knew what love existed there, what care and peace. The outside mattered not.
Once upon a time his love had not lived so. Once his love had been part of a large firm, had owned an apartment downtown, and had planned on buying a house with him in the suburbs, near all their old friends. Once his love had not lived like this.
Then, a change had come of his love. He had become, in a way, the opposite of what Tommy had fallen to, he had been lifted. Unlike Others, his lover was not made into a demon but had been born as a creature that was lesser than an angel but more than a man. His powers had manifested in his twenties, but they had always been there. He had used them subconsciously before they had manifested and he became little more than a vessel.
After that is had become... painful, for him to live the life he had been content with. Tommy had stood by, helpless, as the newfound and uncontrollable empathy and telepathy took control, making him violently ill on the bad days, unconscious on the really bad ones. It got to the point where he could not watch the news or pick up a paper because the guilt of having the power to heal, but not being able to save so many, made him so queasy he had lost weight for lack of appetite.
In the end leaving, living away from the rest of the world, had been the only option.
His love had never been one for such isolation; he had always been friendly, open, warm with everyone. Losing that interaction, even with strangers he passed on the street, was hard.
Their friends had made sure to visit him often, rearranging schedules so he never went more than a day without seeing at least one of them. His smile upon their arrival, so joy filled and bright it was almost blinding, was always reward enough for any pains it took to get there.
And Tommy, well, the plans for him to move in had been made. He was more than happy to make the commute into town everyday, no matter how long it took, if it meant he could be with his love and lessen his loneliness.
Then Tommy had fallen, been plunged into shadows that cared not of former plans and hated his love for what he was.
His love had been crushed when he had gone missing. Tommy had watched, carefully concealed by the night, his mind shielded from his love with his own, unwanted powers, as an old friend had told his love he was missing, vanished without a trace. He had watched, his heart heavy and broken, as his love simply collapsed, folding in on himself and allowing himself to be held as he wept, his carefully constructed, fragile world shattering. The shred of happiness he had held on to after the change dissolved and fell like grains of sand through his fingers.
Tommy had watched him many times since that Night when his damnation had torn his love to shreds. Had watched while his love wept, spilling his sorrow into the lonely, listening night. Had watched their friends try, without success, to comfort him. Had watched the strained heart crack a little more with every day he did not appear.
Finally, he could not stand it for another long, desperate night. He knew he was weakening, knew without feasting or perverting the soul of another soon he would cease to burden the world. He had to see his love, say good-bye, beg forgiveness, before that moment came.
He was hidden. The black cloak of night held him in her phantom embrace. The ghostly grip chilled him further with the tears of rain that caressed his already cold body. He was unsure, nearly scared, of going any closer. It might hurt too much. He wasn't sure he could deal with the warmth now, if he could stand it now that he had been claimed by the darkness... but he had to try.
The rain mixed with the tears that strained his face, though he would never admit to their presence. He had not wanted to be claimed by anything or anyone but the being that resided within the tiny warm house, the only light in the forest that surrounded it.
Looking at it though tired eyes he realized how much of a hovel it must have looked to others but to him it was a palace where love had been born within his shielded heart and his soul had once been redeemed. He had chosen, one night, that the change in his love was not enough to force the love from his heart, that nothing would destroy that. What if he was turned away, now, when it was not a change of good within his love but his own damnation?
What if what had been done against his will was enough to banish him from such a pure, unblemished sanctuary?
It was warm and growing warmer still as he knocked on the door. He could feel it through the walls, emanating from some point inside. It just couldn't be contained, not fully, and he could feel it easing around him, tender and soothing, trying to comfort the hurt it found deep within him.
It hurt. It hurt so much that he bit his lip until he could taste the copper tang of blood on his tongue, as cold as the rest of him. He knew it would hurt more if he was turned away.
He was hidden, still covered by Night's shadows when the curtain fluttered and two kind eyes glanced out. The sweet brow creased in confusion before those eyes caught sight of him, hiding in the darkness, and cleared, being replaced by a haunted, worried look that stabbed him deeper than any attack he had ever suffered. The door was flung open and he stiffened, ready for harsh words and violent actions as, at the close contact, his mind fell open to his beloved's questions.
Instead a hand rested gently on his shoulder, another reached up to touch his maimed face, scarred from his battle against the darkness, and the warm eyes looked at him with sorrow and love, not fear.
The rain mixed with his brutally hot tears, tears that bubbled up from somewhere in his gut and ran in scorching rivets down his face. He fell into the embrace waiting for him, melted into that warmth he thought he could no longer touch, and let his incoherent sobs wash away the meaning of the whispered words of comfort.
It was warm and he was safe, loved, home, in Jason's strong arms.