Disclaimer – If you don't recognize it, then I don't own it.
*Notes – This is one of the longest chapters yet – around 6000 words. I hope you like it!
--
Trees loomed overhead, arcing inwards, creating a tunnel of sorts. The foliage above was too thick for light to pierce through, turning the dark night coal black, the kind of black you only see in crayon boxes. Luke walked along the dirt path, one arm extended slightly in front of him reflexively, in case something loomed in front of him, masked by the night.
Luke had never been a fan of the dark, sleeping with a night light until the embarrassing age of twelve. His family had always reassured him that it was fine, that it was normal – after all, what boy wouldn't be afraid of the dark with a past like his? – but still, Luke hated it. It wasn't because it reminded him of being locked in that tower in Malta, cold and bleak and dark, treasuring whatever light came in through a cracked door. No, Luke's fear of the dark had centered around the fact that in the dark, shapes loomed. You didn't know what they were, if they were good or bad… you only knew that they were there, and you couldn't do a damned thing about it.
Something cracked behind him, and Luke was snapped out of his thoughts, whirling around, only to make out the faintest glow of blonde hair illuminated by a rare break in the trees. Damian, he thought, exhaling slowly and steadily, ignoring his thudding heart. It's only Damian.
They'd parked the car a mile and a half back from the house, something Luke had protested stridently to. Damian had been insistent, saying that driving any closer could put Winston or his cronies on alert, and Luke had nearly snapped. Nearly. He'd been gathering his breath to yell, to scream, to make Damian drive the car when his father had asked a simple question, one that sucked the breath right back out of him. Luke stumbled slightly as he thought back to that conversation.
"I know you don't trust me, son," he'd said, pained sincerity in his voice. "But here's my question – does your distrust in me weigh out your love for Noah?" Luke had sat back, outrage lost, staring at Damian with eyes as wide as saucers.
"I love Noah!" he'd protested, all raw sincerity. "How can you even think otherwise?" Frustration, anger, fear, terror, hope; they all boiled together into that one sentence, enough force for Luke's voice to crack.
"Then you need to decide if you hate me more than you love Noah," Damian had replied simply, looking oddly sincere, genuinely truthful. "I swear, Luke, I swear on my love for you that this isn't a trick to delay our arrival. It's necessary. Okay?"
Luke had grunted a weak affirmation before pushing past Damian and demanding to know where to go. Damian had simply pointed at a path to the right of the road, nearly hidden by overgrown shrubs and bushes, and Luke had been off like a shot. Forty minutes later and Luke was still leading, Damian on his tail.
--
Shaking his head back to the present, Luke looked ahead and opened his eyes wide when he saw a break in the trees, the thinning of branches and leaves. He picked up his pace, only to trip over a root inlaid on the forest floor, narrowly avoiding smashing into the ground. Righting himself, he felt Damian's hand on his shoulder, a light and cautious touch. Luke shrugged it off before heading towards the end of the path.
When he reached the clearing, he gazed ahead to see a log house, complete with a white fence surrounding it and a manicured lawn. A garden bed was off to his right, and Luke could make out garden statues, hovering along the edge of the garden.
He turned to Damian, knowing his expression was hopelessly confused. "Are you sure this is the right place?" Luke asked, casting his gaze around. "I mean, Damian… there's garden gnomes here. It doesn't make sense."
Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair and sighing as flakes of gel showered down around him. "Yes, I'm sure this is the place, Luke," Damian replied, weariness in his posture and voice. "This place… Winston's borrowing it." Luke could've let it pass, but something in Damian's voice, in the way he nervously ran his tongue across his lips, caused Luke to ask.
"Borrow?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows in suspicion. "What do you mean?" Damian's regretful gaze was answer enough, and Luke stepped back, his back pressing against the rough bark of a tree. "He killed the people that this house belonged to," Luke whispered, only to be drowned out by a hooting owl. "Didn't he?"
No answer was needed, but Damian nodded anyways before trying to explain himself. "When my suspicions about Winston began to grow, I followed him out here one night. I recorded the address, and had my contacts look into it." Damian sighed, looking off into the distance.
"And?" Luke pushed, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. Hell, he already knew what Damian was going to say, but vocalizing it would make it too real, too inescapable.
"The house belongs to a couple who just returned from their honeymoon," Damian replied, his eyes locked on Luke's, trying to make him understand through his gaze. "They'd been here for a week when Winston… well, you know."
Luke tried to speak, but his throat closed off, something heavy blocking it. "How old?" He managed, before choking out one more word. "Why?" The last question was rhetorical, but Damian answered it anyways.
"He was twenty-three, and she was twenty-one," Damian said, watching Luke's face pale under the moonlight. "Winston… he needed a place remote, and he couldn't risk anyone stumbling upon it. This must've seemed perfect."
"Perfect?" Luke stuttered out, "perfect? You mean he killed two innocent people just for this?" He knew that he shouldn't be so surprised, but he was. Every time he thought he had Winston figured out, he found out something that sent his comprehension rocking away from him.
Damian didn't answer, running a warm hand down the length of Luke's arm, shoulder to wrist. "Come on, Luke," he whispered, slightly urgently, "we need to figure out a plan."
"Any ideas?" Luke asked, too tired, too sick of everything, to fight with Damian over what to do. So far, the older man had been right on every count. Even though every stubborn bone in his body protested it, Luke reluctantly passed control on to Damian.
Damian seemed to recognize it, and he stood up slightly straighter. "I'm going to go into the house, and you're going to stay here," Damian said, quickly continuing when Luke stiffened in surprise. "I need to make sure it's safe, and Winston will be more… receptive, to me then he would be to you."
"Are you sure?" Luke asked, back still scraping against the bark of the tree. Damian hesitated before nodding, long enough for them both to know it was an obvious lie. Instead of arguing, which would just waste time, Luke nodded before stepping forwards, not sure what he was going to do. Hug Damian? Instead, he extended a hand in a handshake, squeezing Damian's hand when he grabbed it. "Thank you," he said, before whispering a last piece of advice under his breath, watching as Damian nodded his head in understanding.
Damian ran a hand through Luke's hair in a brief, affectionate gesture before he was gone, edging along the trees as he made his way to the house. Leaning back against the oak, Luke decided to wait. Truly, he did. But seconds ticked by, turning into minutes, and restlessness surged his body, demanding that he move, do something, anything. He couldn't just sit like a good little boy while Damian risked his life, and while Winston had Noah, Noah, captured and possibly hurt within sight.
Straining his vision, Luke could see Damian's hair glimmering in the darkness, barely visible against the line of trees. Whispering a quick apology for betraying Damian's trust, Luke began to weave his way through the edge of the trees, circling around the house in search of… he wasn't sure. A way in, other people, anything that could help him.
He was facing the garden when whistling reached his ears, faint as if it had traveled on the air. Luke froze, palms perspiring and breathing heavy, as he tried to locate the source of the noise. He thought he saw a shape in the distance, by the house, hunched over ever so slightly, but he couldn't truly tell.
Luke continued to stare, and continued to hear that disembodied whistling float towards him, into his ears. It was almost merry, completely out of place in the eerie surroundings. Following a rash impulse that demanded for him to find out what was going away, Luke stepped away from the cover of the trees, immediately feeling exposed, helpless.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears until he couldn't hear anything but roaring, louder than waves crashing onto a beach. Continuing forwards, Luke stubbed his toe on something metal, something hard, and nearly cursed out loud. Looking down, he saw an aluminum baseball bat, out of place on the soft grass.
Leaning down, he picked up the bat and held it steady in his hand, realizing that it was probably left on the lawn from the house's former owners. The vision of a happy couple, now dead, playing baseball with friends without a care in the world filled Luke's head, and an almost primal rage swept through his body – all directed at Winston.
The bat by his side, Luke trekked forwards, following the whistling until he could see that the hunched shape was a person, a person who was shovelling dirt onto a shallow hole in the ground. Not a hole… a grave, Luke realized, cold flooding him as he realized what he'd just thought. A grave. A grave. For N-, his thoughts cut off, refusing to even contemplate it.
He must've gasped, because he saw Winston's shoulders stiffen through the camouflage material he was wearing. He made the slightest motion, and Luke had the bat over his head and was swinging down before he even realized it, aiming for the back of Winston's head.
At the last second, the implications of what he was doing hit him, and he slowed his blow ever so slightly, Still, the bat rang as it crashed into Winston's head, almost drowning out the crunching noise of bone meeting aluminum. Almost.
Winston dropped immediately, hitting the dirt with a soft thump. Shaking, Luke dropped the bat, seeing the slightest hint of red blood on the silver surface. He dropped to his knees, something in him needing to check Winston's pulse, needing to know if he had killed. A steady beat beneath his fingers assured him that the man was still alive; Luke didn't know how he should feel. A quick look at his face, however, showed Luke that the force of the blow had knocked him unconscious, at least for the time being.
Luke stood up and was about to leave when he caught a glimpse of skin peeking out from the ground. The grave. The bat fell from his grasp, and Luke dropped to his knees so quickly that they stung on the impact. He clawed around the dirt until a hand was visible, the hint of an arm showing through the dirt.
Flipping the hand palm up, Luke tugged ever so slightly until a forearm was visible. Eyes scanned the skin, almost crying in relief when smooth, unblemished skin was revealed. Noah had identical scars running up the length of both forearms, a result of 'falling off his bike' as a child. Luke hadn't believed his excuse for a heartbeat, but the razor thin and faint scars were still there. And this body, this man, didn't have them. It's not Noah.
Not even having it within him to feel guilty at his relief over the death of a stranger, Luke grabbed the bat again before standing up, heading into the house. Not noticing as Winston's arm twitched, icy grey eyes opening.
*
**
*
Noah's hand was steady, his trigger-finger still, his body under his complete control, a sharp contrast to his out-of-control mind. Random thoughts would flit through, distracting thoughts, and Noah would push them out of his mind only to be bombarded with another horde.
He was sitting with his back curved the wall adjacent to the door, knees drawn up with elbow and forearm resting against them. The gun was in his hand, aimed at the door. Noah had calculated Winston's height and the swing of the door, and his gun was aimed precisely where Winston's heart would be. A kill shot.
Noah repressed the urge to shudder as the phrase floated through his head, knowing it would alter the trajectory of his shot. He didn't want to kill his father – god knew, he didn't want to. He hated him, but he was still his father, his only family. But he didn't have a choice. At least this way, Noah had rationalized, it'll be quick. Painless.
Painless was a state that Noah definitely wasn't in. His back was aching from both the cold stone and the awkward position, his arm was beginning to burn from being held ramrod straight and still, and his legs were cramping from being bent without reprieve. But those were just paper cuts compared to his head. It throbbed, his eyes tearing up from the overall pain of the punches and the bashing against the hard wall.
Yet Noah refused to move, refused to give himself even the briefest reprieve from the bordering painful position. He knew he couldn't be taken off guard again. Every time the thought of relaxing against the floor and taking a break crossed his mind, one word would echo through his mind until that urge was gone. Electroshock. Clips of people strapped to machines, writhing and screaming in agony, would flash through his mind until adrenaline pumped high, keeping him awake and alert for at least another hour.
But now his method was failing, his eyes drooping shut despite his best efforts. He could feel his pulse in the back of his head, a hard, steady beat that ricocheted pain throughout him. The desire to let it all just slip away and sleep was too strong, and Noah's breathing became more even, regular.
He was on the edge of sleep when he heard the slightest thumping coming down the stairs, someone trying to walk quietly but failing. The noise pulled at him, grabbing him and begging him to pay attention. Noah drearily forced his eyes open, straining his ears in an attempt to see if the noise was something conjured by his imagination, like the images of Luke he'd been seeing behind closed eyelids since Winston left.
His question was answered when he heard footsteps moving towards the door, sounding almost… hesitant. It's not Winston, Noah realized, although he refused to loosen his grip on the gun, readjusting his angle instead. He didn't know if he could kill one of Winston's cronies, since that was the only person he could think of who would be coming for him. What if they have children, a wife, parents who love them?
Noah's hand was shaking when the door opened, and he couldn't keep his aim steady. The light bulb overhead swayed as the door opened, as if the two were connected. A shape stepped into the room, and Noah noticed the defensive position the person was in. He could make out a tint of blonde through blurred eyes, sharp cheekbones…. "Luke?" he asked, eyes blurry. Blinking harshly, he realized that no, the person wasn't Luke. "Damian?" he tried again, watching as he took another step into the room.
"Noah?" an accented voice asked, and something in Noah relaxed as he realized that it was Damian. But still, he refused to loosen his grip on the gun, refused to lower it to his sides. Not until he was sure that this wasn't a trick or a ploy.
"Noah?" Damian repeated, tentatively stepping forward. "Put the gun down, it's just me." Noah was just about to follow the advice when Damian added, "It's going to be alright, son." Just like that, the gun was pointed directly at Damian's heart, and his lips parted in shock.
"You called me son," Noah blurted out, gun steady. "That's what he calls me… how do I know you're not working for him?" Noah's words were firm, but his eyes were desperate, begging Damian to give him a reason to trust him.
"I came with Luke," Damian said softly, hands by his shoulders, palm up. "Luke and I are here." Damian repeated, thinking it would reassure Noah. Instead, Noah's hand tightened almost convulsively on the gun, finger temporarily off of the trigger – not that Damian could tell from the distance.
"Luke's here?" Noah asked, horror filling him. He'd come to his father, sacrificed himself; the only thing making it bearable was the knowledge that Luke would be safe. And now his efforts were all for nothing. "How did he find out? Did you tell him?"
"No, I didn't," Damian replied, hidden tension and worry in his voice. "I don't know how he found out, but he's here, Noah. I promise."
"Prove it," Noah blurted suddenly, keeping the gun trained on Damian as he awkwardly made his way to his feet, leaning against the wall as his world began spinning. "Prove it to me," he repeated.
A long pause, then Damian sighed and brought his hands to his sides. "Luke told me, that if I saw you and you didn't believe that I was here to help…" Damian trailed off, wrinkles appearing in his forehead as he thought back. "He said to tell you that 'Java's been overworking you.' Does that make sense?" Damian asked, confusion tinting his voice.
Noah released his pent up breath in a slow sigh, letting the gun fall to his side. "Obviously it does," Damian chuckled, causing Noah to look up sharply. "I mean, the phrase obviously means something. Care to explain?"
Noah brought a shaky hand to the base of his head, resting it in his palm as he thought. "Sure… it's just, remember when Zac and Zo– Gia kidnapped us?" Noah asked, Damian nodding in response. "Well, it really freaked Luke out. Now I know that's in part because he'd been kidnapped before." Noah saw Damian visibly flinch, and he hastened to continue; he hadn't meant to insult the man.
"Well, Luke insisted on having a 'safe phrase', as he called it. Something that we could work into a casual conversation, to let each other know if we were in trouble, or in danger, or anything like that." Noah shrugged a shoulder as he said, "I thought it was kind of dumb at the time, but I guess he had a point. He always does."
"That's true," Damian said, "and he'll hit you over the head with his point until you realize it." The two men shared a chuckle over Damian's rather true statement, before Noah staggered forwards until he was directly under the light bulb, keeping himself upright only by bracing his hands on his knees.
"Noah, are you okay?" Damian asked, quickly correcting his question. "What's wrong?" Damian watched with a sense of awe as Noah straightened upright, holding himself as stiff as a soldier. His eyes screamed pain, and Damian saw the hints of blood flecks laced in the dark hair and on his shirt, illuminated by the weak light.
"I'm fine," Noah replied automatically, not seeing the frown that Damian sent him. "I just… I hit my head, and I felt a bit dizzy for a second." The lie hung thick in the air between them, but Damian chose to ignore it in favour of making his way over to Noah.
"Come on, let's get out of here," Damian said, standing hesitantly in front of Noah, looking as if he wasn't sure whether he should help him walk out or not. He reached a hand out, and Noah was about to clasp it when a sudden thought jumped into his mind. He jerked back, wondering how he hadn't asked before.
"Where's Winston?" he blurted out, unaware that raw fear was making his pupils expand until they swallowed deep blue.
"I don't know," Damian replied honestly, watching Noah stiffen further at the words. "He wasn't in the house – I checked. We should go while he's not here."
"And where's Luke?" Noah added, needing to know that he was safe before he could process what Damian was telling him. "Is he okay?"
"I told him to wait at the edge of the forest," Damian said, not understanding why Noah's face paled, highlighting purple shadows, hints of bruises to come. "What?"
"You left Luke alone, and expected him to stay?" Noah asked, his voice rising. "Do you even know Luke? No way in hell would he stay put!" Noah took a quick step, intending to head out the door, but lurched forwards instead, nearly falling. "And now my father's not here… oh god," he whispered, sheer will keeping him upright.
Damian had paled too, eyes darting from Noah to the door. "I'll find him," Damian said suddenly, taking in Noah's weak physical state with worry. "You stay here. You have a gun, and you can protect yourself. You won't do any good hobbling around, trying to find Luke."
Noah looked like he was about to argue when the door swung open, banging against the wall with a bang loud enough to make Noah wince as his head throbbed with the noise. Before he knew what he was doing, the gun was up, aimed level with the intruder's heart.
And there was an intruder. Noah allowed his eyes to work their way up the person's chest, travelling upwards, slowly upwards, until pained blue met with concerned brown. Noah's grip on the gun faltered, and his arm lowered ever so slightly, only to be brought back up with a snap. He couldn't relax… not until he was sure. "Luke?" he asked, his voice quavering.
"Noah, Noah baby, it's me," Luke soothed, taking slow, gentle steps towards Noah. "It's me, bubby, so please put down the gun." Noah absently looked at the gun in his hand; he'd nearly forgotten it was there. He let it drift to his side, then slowly bent down and set it by his feet. He'd barely stood upright again when a mass of limbs and blonde hair hurled itself into his arms.
Noah staggered backwards even as his arms tightened around Luke, burying his face in his hair and inhaling the pure, clean scent that was Luke. He smelled fresh and citrusy, but it was more than that; he smelled like midnight walks at Snyder pond, gentle caresses late at night, laughter and gentle teasing, sunshine… he smelled likeLuke.
Noah could've easily stayed in the embrace forever, but the fear that had been gnawing at his gut since their visit to the police station resurfaced, causing Noah to pull back, but not before he felt the splash of hot tears on his neck.
There were a million things Noah meant to say – I love you, are you alright, I missed you. Instead, the words that were choked from his throat were, "What are you doing here, Luke?"
A garbled noise echoed through the room, Luke's mix of a shocked laugh and disbelief, before Noah's head was cradled between Luke's hands. "Why am I here?" he echoed in disbelief, eyes shining up at him. "Noah, you stupid, stupid idiot!" Unexpectedly, Luke pulled Noah in for a hard kiss, hands running through his hair. Noah winced when Luke's fingers grazed the wound at the back of his head, a motion that didn't go unnoticed by Luke.
"What's wrong?" Luke asked immediately, ghosting his hands just over Noah's body, scanning for injuries.
"Nothing," Noah replied, still staring at Luke. "God, Luke… you're here, How did you…" Noah trailed off, not sure what he wanted to ask. How did you know? How did you get here? How are you okay, and here, and still looking so damned perfect?
"We can deal with that later," Luke said, "but I saw the DVD." Noah winced, muttering under his breath how he should've destroyed it. Luke's hands made there way back to Noah's face, urging his eyes to meet chocolate brown. "Noah, don't you dare regret me coming here," he said forcefully, "just regret not telling me. Why didn't you tell me?"
Noah could hear the hurt and worry in Luke's voice, and that prompted his answer. "I couldn't let you get hurt," Noah replied simply, the last half of the statement not spoken aloud, but there nonetheless. So I came and let myself be hurt instead.
"You idiot," Luke repeated in awe as he leaned forwards, catching Noah's lips with his own, so softly, so gently. Noah fiercely blinked back tears that were forming in his eyes, running his hands over Luke's body as a distraction.
"You're okay?" Noah asked when the kiss broke, concerned. At Luke's nod, he said, "Promise?" Luke laughed in response, the innocent sound odd with their bleak surroundings. Looking around, Noah realized that he hadn't asked the question, yet.
"Luke, did you see Winston?" Noah asked, noticing when the skin across Luke's face tightened, and his hand clenched into an automatic fist. "Hey, hey, hey," Noah murmured, grabbing Luke's hand and opening the fist before kissing his palm, ignoring the ugly score of red lines marking it. "What happened?"
Luke paused, inhaling deeply before rushing the words out, as if speaking them faster would lessen their blow. "I hit him over the head with a baseball bat." Luke's face was hard, remorseless, but his eyes showed a world's worth of doubt and insecurity. "I'm sorry, Noah, but I had to. He was burying… and I didn't know, and he heard me, and I…" Luke trailed off, looking at Noah beseechingly.
"It's okay," Noah whispered in response, before asking, "Is he… dead?" Despite everything that had happened, he still had to choke out the last word, hating the complicated emotions that rushed through him at the thought.
"No!" Luke yelled, causing Noah to flinch, then wince. "No," he repeated, quieter this time. "I checked; he had a pulse. He was just unconscious."
"Oh," Noah murmured, hating the relief that filled him, hating that he even felt it in the first place. "So, you tied him up?"
Luke looked at his feet, refusing to meet Noah's eyes. "No, I didn't." At Noah's shocked expression, he continued. "I checked – he was out cold. And I knew you were in here, somewhere, and I just had to come find you. He'll be out for a while; don't worry."
Worrying was exactly what Noah was doing. For the first time he noticed Damian, standing awkwardly in the corner, alternating between watching Luke and Noah and staring at the opposite wall.
"Luke, Damian," Noah said tersely, "we need to get out of here. Now."
"Why?" Luke asked, realizing how stupid the question sounded out loud. "I mean, obviously we have to get out of here soon," Luke corrected, "but what's the sudden urgency?"
"Winston has a medica–" Noah's sentence cut off as he swayed on his feet, hand resting on Luke's shoulder to keep him upright. "He has a medical condition," Noah continued after a moment, "and he doesn't feel pain. Barely. It's one of the reasons he made such a good soldier, and was so…" Noah trailed off, not sure how to continue. So cruel, so remorseless, so violent? "So harsh with physical punishment," Noah continued, avoiding the swift glance Luke gave him. "He never understood why pain would hurt, why a belt's crack would make me cry out, why…" Realizing he was rambling, Noah shut his mouth plaintively.
"What does that matter?" Luke asked, tiredness and frustration slowing his brain.
"It means," Damian said, walking over to them with an urgency in his motions, "that you hitting him over the head isn't going to keep him down for long. Right?" Noah nodded in agreement, and Luke paled, immediately blaming himself.
"I'm sorry," he moaned, hand clenching once again. "I should've.,.."
"Should've what?" Noah asked. "Should've known? How could you've known? I've never mentioned it." At Luke's doubtful gaze, Noah decided to let the subject drop. "Come on, we've got to go, before he comes down here."
"It's too late for that," a voice echoed from the doorway. The three men turned around, Noah shoving Luke behind him in a desperate attempt to protect him. Damian stood slightly to the left of them, looking down the barrel of Winston's gun with an almost indifferent look.
"Now," Winston asked, "which one of you would like to die first?" The words sounded like those of a B-list horror movie, but they still sent shards of fear straight into Noah's heart. He felt Luke's breath puffing on the back of his neck, and could hear his breathing, hitching and uneven.
Noah opened his mouth to speak, but found the words frozen in his throat. He wasn't scared for himself; not really. Part of him had already resigned himself to the fact that he could die down here, in this hell hole. But Luke was here, Luke was in danger and Noah couldn't cope with that.
Luckily for Noah, a different voice spoke into the silence, relieving him from his duty to speak. "Now, Colonel, don't be rash," Damian said in what he believed to be a placating voice. Noah winced as soon as the words were said; Winston did not appreciate being talked down to.
Just like Noah had predicted, Winston took a step forwards, an angry sneer twisting his features and marring his face. "I really don't think you should be giving advice, Grimaldi," Winston said, arrogantly gesturing at the gun, "not when you're staring down the barrel of a gun."
"I'm not scared," Damian said, and to some degree, it was true. Noah could see from the way he stood, from the way that he talked, that he was calm – confident, even.Maybe staring down the barrel of a gun enough times decreases your fear of it. He hoped he never had to find out.
"Well then," Winston said, drawing out his words, obviously enjoying the power rush, "how about I dispatch you first?" The gun shifted its aim from Noah to Damian, pointing at Damian's head. "It'll be quick," Winston said, and Noah couldn't tell if he was trying to reassure Damian or torment him. "Unlike that deviant son of yours," Winston continued, a mad smile lighting his face, "he's going to be alive for a very, very long time before I kill him."
Noah could feel Luke begin to tremble behind him. Slowly, as to not draw Winston's attention, he reached a hand behind him and linked it with Luke's, automatically stroking a thumb over the back of his hand.
Damian stepped forward, a cuss word dying in his throat as Winston jerked the gun again. "Shut up, Damian," Winston said, "you wouldn't want to irritate me right now. No, you wouldn't." Winston's taunting caused him to temporarily change the aim on the gun, and Damian lunged forwards.
Everything happened so damn quickly that Noah could do nothing but watch helplessly. A loud crack boomed through the room, and a bullet whipped just centimetres by Damian's head, drilling into the walls; a warning shot. Damian staggered for the slightest second before lunging forwards again, moving to attack Winston.
He was within feet of Winston when a rush of people stormed through the door, the echoes of "Oakdale PD!" almost as loud as the gunshot, echoed with a woman's cry of "Luke! Noah!" In the time it took Noah to blink, there were officers everywhere, led by Jack Snyder, Dallas Griffin at his side.
Guns were everywhere, people were everywhere, noise was everywhere… Noah stepped back into Luke, both shielding his lover and drawing strength from the warmth of Luke behind him.
The noise faded into silence almost as quickly as it had risen, and soon only one voice could be heard; the hard tones of Detective Jack Snyder.
"Put down the gun, Winston," he said, his gun trained on Winston's head. "Don't give me a reason to shoot you – god knows I already have enough motivation." Jack's gun was quickly joined by Dallas's, and another nameless officer's. "I know you're not a stupid man, Winston," he continued, "and if you put that gun down, we can work something out. If you don't, well…" Jack's voice trailed off, the threat clear.
Winston's eyes trailed the ground before realigning with Jack's, the slightest hint of victory in them before he dropped the gun and kicked it over to the police. No, not victory, Jack tried to convince himself, more shaken then he'd like to admit. He motioned for the police to move in, but Winston staggered to the right and collapsed, hitting the floor with a sickening crack.
*
**
*
Winston gritted his teeth against the cement floor, waiting for the right moment. Waiting, always waiting. He disgusted himself that he was playing possum, but he knew that it was necessary. Just as going in hiding had been necessary, just as everything had been necessary.
He was pretty sure that his fall had cracked a rib, but he couldn't feel it. It ached dully, but no more than a slight toothache would. He nearly snorted as he remembered being told as a child that he had a medical condition. A problem. No, he thought, the hand under his stomach wrapping around cold metal. I was marked, to cleanse this world. Pain is weakness, and I am not weak. Never weak. Not like Noah.
His son's name was all the motivation he needed to continue to lie still on the cold floor. He'd hoped, truly hoped, that Noah would come to his senses, realize that this life of perversity, of deviancy, was not for him. Instead, he had betrayed his blood, betrayed him, and turned his back on what was right.
All of Winston's thoughts raced through his head within microseconds, in the short time in which the police were motionless, shocked. Knowing his time was limited, Winston slit his eye open and saw a blonde head to his right, within shooting range. Before anyone could blink, he smoothly lifted himself onto his side, bracing his weight on his elbow as he extended his other arm and fired off a shot, satisfaction coloring his face as he saw the shot sink into that chest, deep red quickly blooming through the t-shirt. Kill shot, he knew, almost instinctively.
That's what you get, Noah, for not keeping your weapon on you. Winston thought, the gun that Noah had brought in firmly in hand. Of course he'd known about the gun - the hiding place, the constant glances at it, had been more than enough evidence to convince Winston that Noah had been armed. He hadn't been worried, though; he knew his chicken-shit of a son was too cowardly to use it. And I was right.
Hands flipped him over, roughly cuffing his hands behind his back before hauling him upright. A low hiss of "you bastard!" played in his ear, but Winston didn't care. He heard exclamations of horrors, his own son cry out in shock, and he knew that no matter what happened to him, he could be content. He'd done his purpose.
---
Sorry for the cliffhanger (again!), and please review! It really keeps me motivated