Devil's Smiles
Now that I vaguely know John and Tom's characters I'm attempting an actual story. Well, a realistic one anyway. Leave me and my attempt at realism be.
Pairing(s): John/Thomas
Summary: Thomas contracts typhoid fever and in his state he can't tell what's real and what's not.
Thomas was cold. So very cold. Despite the mountain of blankets and layers of clothes, to mock the very shaking of his body in an attempt to heat itself. The auburn haired lad knew he was sweating from the sweltering heat both within his body and without. For some reason that he couldn't recall the warmth didn't register. Closing his eyes, the young Englishman let the dull ache of his muscles and chattering of his teeth lull him to sleep.
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"Thomas," the voice was strong, deep, and the young man felt he should know who was speaking. "Thomas, c'mon wake up. Tommy!"
The use of his childhood nickname was enough to startle Thomas out of whatever lingering drowsiness he had. Two amused blue eyes gazed down into his own.
"Feeling better?" John Smith asked, amusement almost covering the concern in his voice. Dumbly Thomas blinked in response. Frowning, John reached around to feel the back of Thomas' head, his fingers lacing in the red hair. "The bump's almost gone. Still, get up. You shouldn't be sleeping after a fall like that."
With a positively vulpine grin, the blonde man pulled the younger to his feet, placing a swift kiss on Thomas' lips. "You'll have to start riding with me again if that's what you call 'decent,' Tom."
"What's…what's going on?" The redhead asked hurriedly. John looked decidedly more concerned at the outburst.
"You fell off your horse, Thomas. Don't you remember yesterday?" Thomas narrowed his eyes in thought, noticing for the first time that he was not in his own tent. He wasn't in a tent at all. The walls were wooden, and Thomas himself was still standing by the large bed in the middle of the sparsely furnished bedroom. Sighing Thomas shook his head.
"No, I thought I was sick. I…John, where am I?" Thomas asked curiously, stepping away from the taller man to explore the room. There was only one dresser, John's helmet resting atop it. Spilling forth from one of the askew drawers were clothes. Some Thomas recognized as his own, and others, which were far too big. Cautiously the younger man picked up a blue piece of cloth, discovering it was one of John's trademark shirts.
"We're at home, Tommy." John said gently, stepping up to rest his hands on Thomas' shoulders. Slowly he turned the redhead to face him, pressing the younger boy firmly to his chest. "Please say you remember us Tommy."
"I…my head hurts John." The blonde nodded, guiding them both back toward the bed. He pulled Thomas down slowly; keeping the redhead close to him at all times. Once they were both settled on the bed, Thomas' head rested comfortably on John's shoulder, the elder man began running his hands through red locks.
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"Settle lad, settle." The voice jarred Thomas awake. His head hurt badly, throbbing in time with the aching in his chest. It hurt to feel the light stinging pain of his heartbeat. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy realized he was moaning from the rapid, almost consistent thrumming in his chest. There was a hand on his forehead, burning his flesh briefly before it was removed.
There were murmurs of unintelligible words all flowing together, mixed with moans and screams. Thomas' stomach burned, a sharp pain stretching and cutting into him from the inside. Shifting, Thomas attempted to make himself more comfortable, only succeeding in gasping as his breaths shortened from the pain.
"What is it?"
"Dysentery? I'm not sure. I'm not a doctor!"
"Will he be okay?"
There was silence. The pain ebbed slightly, allowing Thomas to close his eyes without too much complaint. The next thing he was aware, there was a cool hand brushing through his hair. His eyelids felt heavy, and Thomas' throat itched.
"Oh, Thomas, lad." John sighed softly. The sound seemed to echo from everywhere, muffled as it was. "You need to wake up soon."
Convinced he was once again in the dream world the young Englishman forced himself to sit up, hissing as he did so. Blearily he noted that he wore nothing more than loose slacks and the pile of blankets pooled around his waist.
"You're awake." Smith man noted with evident surprise. The redhead shook his greasy hair from his eyes, forcing the heavy weight of his chin up so he could meet the worried gaze of his comrade. John blinked in surprise at Thomas' glazed eyes. The young redhead was weak still. His arms were shaking with the exertion of holding himself upright. Fretting slightly, John stood to help support the sickly boy.
"You shouldn't do that Tom, you need to take it easy." The smaller boy grunted in response, practically collapsing onto his elder. The blonde eased his burden down on the cot, pulling the blankets back up.
"M'fine," the redhead insisted, trying to force himself up to go help with the care of the camp. John snorted in mild amusement, pushing the feverish boy back down.
"No, you're not. Best get those foolish thoughts out of your head." John ordered, placing his hand on Thomas' forehead. It was still terribly warm, and clammy. Standing the captain frowned, going to fetch a wet cloth. The blonde watched the younger man out of the corner of his eye. Thomas made a weak attempt to get up, only to slip and fall back on the cot.
"Am I dreaming?"
"Not that I'm aware. You dream of me often?" Teased John, chuckling lightly. He walked slowly back over to the cot, footsteps echoing on the floor. The next thing Tom knew there was a cool fabric laid across his head, and a strong hand combing though his hair. The younger Englishman sighed, inwardly grimacing at the thought of how greasy his hair must be.
"Sometimes," answered the young man at long pause. The hand stilled a moment, but continued its ministrations a moment later. For the first time in a good while Thomas fell asleep, wishing he could stay awake.
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"Are you sure?"
Thomas found himself nodding though he had no recollection what he was affirming. Startled he blinked, glancing around the mountainous terrain. What had he just said he'd do? Before the redhead could question himself thoroughly, he found his feet scrambling up a slick rock surface, hands clawing for a hold. Despite all common sense, Thomas looked down.
The occasional bush dotted the steep rocky incline, no visible path seen. His grip slipped leaving his right hand flailing as his weight shifted. This caused his boots to slide from their places. Heart pounding painfully against his chest, Thomas gulped. Large drop. Very large drop. A wave of nausea overcame him. Reflexively his nails attempted to dig into the rock, only succeeding in breaking or pulling his nails up. Then the only solid thing he'd held was gone, and Thomas was falling. His heart jumped as he watched John grow smaller. The blonde man's hand reaching toward him.
----
Thomas screamed shrilly, rolling from the cot to the floor. He flailed about helplessly for a moment. Slowly it dawned on the boy that there was solid ground beneath him.
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Okay, and that was my pathetic attempt at realism. Hehe dream falling, it sucks. Honestly, I think that's it, not sure how much more I could get from this story. So unless any of you wish to give me ideas I hereby leave this story to rest, though there were only slashy hints and such. Eh.