Author's Note: School's starting, so I'm aiming to fall into a once-a-week pattern (probably going to publish every Sunday). I'd also like to say a huge thank you to LeoChris, who has agreed to be my Beta reader (and has done a fantastic job so far!) So, please welcome him to the Loving The Darkness team! Please take a minute to let me know what you think. I do not own Glee nor the characters involved. This story does not necessarily reflect the sexuality/relationship of Rory Flanagan and Sam Evans (we can only dream) or the actors who portray them. Enjoy! :)
...
Mr. Bennett had already begun his lecture when Rory stepped into the room, Sam following at his heels. The olive-skinned teacher stopped mid-sentence and rounded on the pair.
"Late," he mused. "Not a very good way to start the second week of school."
"Sorry, sir," Sam answered smoothly, "I was helping Rory find his way. He's a new student."
At those words, every pair of eyes in the room gravitated towards the Irish boy. Rory looked down at his scuffed up leather shoes and set his mouth in a hard line. A vicious blush ought to have overtaken his cheeks, but it did not.
"I see," Mr. Bennett said. "Quite understandable, then. Thank you, Sam."
"No problemo," Sam replied with an easy grin. He nudged Rory on the arm—causing the smaller boy to jerk anxiously—and said, "Come on, I'll take you to your seat."
"Perhaps our new student would like to take a moment to introduce himself?" Mr. Bennett suggested before the boys had a chance to move.
Immediately, Rory began shaking his head. There were mean-spirited sniggers from his classmates; growing louder the longer he remained silent. As the sound grated on his nerves, Rory clenched his hands into fists and finally retorted out of anger. "Fine! The name's Rory Flanagan, foreign exchange student from Ireland. I had to leave because my Dad's an abusive son-of-a-bitch and probably the worst man to walk this wide world. So I came to this little speck on the map town to escape. Is that enough for you?"
While his peers blinked rapidly in shock, Rory felt a strong hand on his back as Sam prompted him to head towards a set of two empty desks near the back of the room.
As he slouched down into his seat—Sam settling in beside him—Mr. Bennett readjusted his spectacles on the thick bridge of his nose. The man cleared his throat gravely. "Yes, well, um…why don't we continue with the lesson?"
Rory opened his biology textbook to the specified page, finding a labeled diagram of the human respiratory system.
"Like we discussed last week, lung cancer is a deadly condition that affects one in twelve men over the age of forty and one in seventeen women of the same age…"
As the teacher droned on about the precautions to be taken against the disease, Rory took a grim sense of satisfaction as he bitterly tried to figure out what percentage of his unkind classmates would die at its hands. He marveled at the vulnerability of the human body.
Just then, he noticed Sam sliding a sheet of lined paper across to him. Along the top, the blond boy had scrawled a message in messy, blocky handwriting:
Did you mean what you said before to the class? About your father?
Rory pursed his lips and rolled his eyes before hurriedly adding a line in his own elegant slanting script:
Yes. I lost my brother Shamus because of him.
Sam sucked in a breath of air. He bit his lip as he scribbled a response:
I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that must have been like. I want you to know that I'm here for you if you need to talk.
Rory frowned when he read that part:
You don't even know me.
Sam hurriedly wrote out:
I want to, though. I know what it's like to be the new kid. I know everyone needs a friend.
The word looked so foreign to him. 'Friend'. He had never had one of those before.
I don't need a friend.
He pushed the paper back over the Sam and tried to concentrate on what the teacher was saying, but it was impossible. Thoughts of his father crept up like a vile poison, choking out everything else. He could hear his Dad's cold voice in Mr. Bennett's words. He was acutely aware of everyone surrounding him, the fiery heat of their bodies, the smell of them, the violent thudding of their heartbeats.
Beside him, the rhythmic pounding as Sam leaned over his notebook, exposing the clear skin of his neck—
Rory scraped back his chair and called out, "Sir, may I please use the washroom?"
"Yes, of course," Mr. Bennett answered as Rory dashed from the room. He sprinted down the hall and burst into the graciously empty men's room.
Rory gripped the edges of the sink in his shaking hands and gulped down deep breaths of air. He fumbled with the tap and let the cold water run, splashing some onto his face, hoping it would help. It didn't, of course…Rory's skin remained cool as ever.
Still, the memories were a painful grinding in his head. So he did the only thing he knew to try keeping them at bay. He sang.
"On the wings of the wind o'er the dark rolling deep,
Angels are coming to watch o'er thy sleep,
Angels are coming to watch over thee,
So list to the wind coming over the sea."
He was looking out the window of his bedchamber, resting his chin on the cool stone sill. The small village at the base of their hill was painted in the orange sunset, lazily slowing for the night.
He pitied them. Peasants, farmers, smithies…toiling their pointless, short lives away.
"Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Lean your head over and hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Hang your head over and hear the wind blow."
Riding his horse nearby the village one day, he felt an enormous hand on his shoulder. As his father pulled up beside him, the imposing man said, "Disgusting, aren't they?"
He nodded and replied as he had been taught so many times, "I am better."
"Oh, winds of the night, may your fury be crossed,
May no one who's dear to our island be lost,
Blow the winds gently, calm be the foam,
Shine the light brightly and guide them back home."
One evening for dinner, Deirdre—the servant—overcooked the venison. It arrived at the table a light shade of pink.
And he watched as his father rose up in fury and brought his hand down across the young woman's face.
And they ate the gamey meat as she lay crumpled on the floor, neck twisted at an obscene angle. Nothing could be done as the family sat beneath the frightening glare of Desmond Flanagan.
"Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Lean your head over and hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Hang your head over and hear the wind blow."
He was falling asleep to the muted wails from the cellar. People who would never again see the daylight, would never again taste the purity of air, would never again touch their loved ones.
"The currachs are sailing way out on the blue,
Laden with herring of silvery hue,
Silver the herring and silver the sea,
And soon there'll be silver for baby and me."
Shamus and his father were arguing, nothing new. And he was hidden away in the corner of the room, being soothed by the calm hands of his Mam.
And Shamus turned his back to his father, cursing the whole family for their ways.
And Desmond roared in anger and snapped his son's neck from behind.
"Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Lean your head over and hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Hang your head over and hear the wind blow."
Though he begged to know where his brother was, his father would only answer, "He is dead."
But he knew the truth. Shamus could not be dead from a snap of the neck any more than he himself could be. But he never asked again.
"The currachs tomorrow will stand on the shore,
And daddy goes sailing, sailing no more,
The nets will be drying, the nets heaven blessed,
And safe in my arms dear, contented he'll rest."
As the years trickled by, he adopted the opinions of his brother. He grew to resent his father and the life he had been given.
One day he learned the extent of his father's madness, and the dark magic he was studying.
And he ran away, vowing never again to look back. Never to become like his father.
"Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Lean your head over and hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow,
Hang your head over and hear the wind blow."
"That was beautiful, Rory," came a voice from behind him.
Rory whipped around and saw Sam standing with his arms crossed by the bathroom door. The blond boy's eyes sparkled with tears.
"What in God's name are you doing here?" Rory thundered, advancing on the other boy.
Sam held up his hands. "I just came to make sure you were okay. You left in a bit of a hurry."
"I told you before," Rory snarled, "I don't need a friend. I don't need anybody."
Sam took a few gentle steps towards the enraged boy and smiled, "Of course you do."
"I think you should go now, Sam."
"Just, do me a favor. Come to Glee club with me later today. You have an amazing voice, Rory."
"Glee club?"
Sam nodded. "It's a place where we all get together to sing."
"No."
"Yes," Sam replied with a cheeky grin.
"No."
Sam chuckled and grabbed for Rory's hand, pulling him from the bathroom. The brunet didn't put up much of a fight. "Yes."
...
Song: Connermara Cradle Song - traditional Irish lullaby