In the Shadow of Stanton
Disclaimer: I didn't come up with these characters (although you all already know that so I really shouldn't have to say it)
This story is slash. 'Nuff said.
***
Part Four: Hatching
Simon was running, running, from great danger behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a great swirling of Light and Dark, both of them terrible. Names floated through his head: Will, Hastings, Merriman, Greenwitch. Suddenly he felt the presence of something in front of him- something solid and secure. Safety. He ran into the arms of the boy with the gleaming white hair, who held him tightly and protected him from the swirling mass as he drifted back into a dreamless sleep.
When Simon awoke he remembered nothing of his dream. It was early enough that the sun had not yet risen, and he wondered to himself why he had let Bran convince him to go on a walk at five in the morning. Reluctantly, he pulled on a pair of corduroys, a new shirt, and his blue and yellow school sweater, and headed outside.
Bran sat waiting for him on a low stone wall in front of the house, wearing black jeans and a dark grey sweater that set off his skin and hair dramatically. It was early enough in the day hat he didn't need his dark glasses to protect his eyes. He had been whittling a stick with his pocket knife, and looked up as Simon came out of the door. His tawny eyes caught Simon by surprise; in the misty morning air they looked as if they truly shone with their own light. Simon resigned himself to never truly getting used to them. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your sleep," Bran said in a cold voice, "because it had better have been worth my waiting here." Simon said nothing, startled by Bran's arrogance. Then the seated boy's face broke into a grin and he stood up. "Oh come on, don't tell me you couldn't tell I was kidding? Let's go." And he set off at his risk walking pace that by now Simon was able to keep up with. Simon followed behind him, thinking. That was the trouble with Bran, he couldn't ever tell when Bran was kidding. Or when he was serious, or angry, or anything else for that matter. He was beginning to realize that...
the boy lived inside a shell...
That was the conclusion that Bran had come to about his guest. He was annoyingly polite in that way that only the English seem to have truly mastered, and could talk intelligently about anything he had learned in school or read in book, but his heart was not in it. They had talked relatively little in their time together, but even so Bran had sensed Simon's detachment from the day he arrived. He tried to push Simon from his head and concentrated on the path ahead of him
***
Bran stopped dead in his tracks, and threw out a hand to stop Simon. "Do you feel it?" he whispered harshly. They had come to the top of a ridge that stretched a ways in either direction.
"Yes," reponded Simon softly, and a slightly hunted look crept into his eyes. Then he spoke another word, so softly Bran could barely hear it: "Will." He gathered enough courage to start saying something else, but realized Bran wasn't paying any attention to him.
"On Cadfan's Way, where the kestrels call..." the voice echoed in Bran's head. With an effort he tore himself away and grabbed Simon by the arm. "I think we should get off of this ridge," he said, very deliberately. The two of them took a few steps, and like a bubble bursting, everything was back to normal. They continued on in silence until they reached the destination of their walk. As they crested the top of the hill, all of a sudden a panorama came into view in front of them. There was the town of Tywyn below them, and miles of the Welsh coastline to either side, curving around the great blue-grey expanse of Cardigan Bay. Without saying anything they both stopped.
"Now is when something happens, right?" Bran said finally, a nervous smile on his lips. "Will comes, and..."
"Or Gumerry," Simon pointed out, then silently reprimanded himself for using his childhood nickname for the man.
Bran's smile vanished. "But Merriman is dead, and Will's not here." The two stood side by side staring out at the bay. "Still, it feels like something is going to happen."
"Well, maybe this time it's our turn to make something happen ourselves," Simon stated simply.
"Like wha...?" Bran began to ask, but was interrupted by Simon's arm reaching out to wrap around his back and pull Bran towards him, so that their faces stood a few inches apart.
"Like this," Simon said, breathing heavily, and kissed Bran lightly. For one startled moment their lips remained together, then Simon pulled away, turned, and ran down the path. He slowed his steps only when he was sure Bran was not following, but did not stop until he had reached the farmhouse. There he shut himself in his room.
***
Bran staggered over to a rock and sang down onto it, a dazed expresion on his face. He touched a wondering finger to his lips, then stared at it for a moment before letting his arm fall limp to his side. What had Simon been thinking? That was crazy! It was gross! Except...
It felt good. Well, maybe that was what all kisses felt like- Bran wouldn't know, he'd never kissed anyone before. Still, he didn't think so. Alright, think rationally, he told himself. Answer these questions, and you'll know what to do: How did it feel when he kissed you? Do you want to feel that way again?
Bran didn't know how long he sat on the rock before deciding, but after a while the answer settled inside him. He realized when it did that it had really been there all along. There was no question. Yes.
He ran most of the way down to the farmhouse, and was out of breath when he reached Simon's closed bedroom door. He pounded on it, and yelled for Simon to come out so they could talk, but all his efforts were met with silence. He walked slowly back to his house and shut himself in his room as well.