A Fallen HomeKin

PART XII

Itchy. Fralith's ribs were itchy. He growled, shifting to the side in attempts at itching it. It was as successful as last time — which was not at all. Another growl rumbled through his throat, intertwined with a whimper. Soooo itchyyyyy.

Clenching his fingers into a fist, he tried — again — to pull his hands free from their soft, but very annoying, bonds. The bonds didn't budge. He bared his teeth, wiggling his feet and suppressing the urge to thrash. That would only make his chest hurt and his ribs itchy.

He turned his head and glared at the soft, black cuff pinning his hand to the bed's rails. It had shown up after Tim had left for what he called "due-tee" and he'd fallen asleep. Who had put these on him? Why? Was it the RedShirts? He shivered at the thought. But if it was, why had no one shown up to...do things to him?

The urge to thrash and fight and flee as far as he possibly could get rose up and it was all he could do to stay still. Where was Tim? Tim would protect him. Tim would take the cuffs off. Did the...did the RedShirts get him too? His stomach squeezed and he swallowed hard.

Itchy, he reminded himself. Your ribs are itchy and everything else is fine. It's itchy and Tim will be back soon. He shook the thoughts away and wiggled his fingers, stretching them as far as they could go. Thinking about the itchiness was better than thinking about the other things. Thinking about anything else than the other things was better— that's what Jatmap told them.

"When you're waiting to be questioned and panic is taking over, think about something else," the weathered, scarred drill instructor said, pacing before them. "It doesn't have to be useful thoughts; just different ones. Focus your attention on something near you or something you feel, like being cold or hungry."

Fralith wasn't cold or hungry — thanks to Tim — but he was itchy. Very itchy. It was probably the big black bird's (who still sat on his chest) fault. Feathers could make one itch, and the PainBird had enough of those.

He huffed and glared at the PainBird. It kindly shoved its clawed foot into a sore spot. Wincing, he flicked his gaze to the dismal green curtain surrounding his bed. Where was Tim? When would he be coming back?

As if his thoughts summoned the flame-haired man, Tim threw back the curtain and strode in. "Good morning Brave Bud!"

Tim! He grinned. "Tim! Yumoammi!"

Tim put his hand to his heart. "Oh my, was that my name I just heard? English? You're speaking!"

Fralith wiggled his feet, tugging at his hands and ignoring the strange, sliding feeling in his chest from the tubes. "Plaothblmalli." He paused and screwed up his face, casting about for some of the words Tim had taught him. How could he say 'let me out'? Or 'get them off' or 'I'm itchy'? He didn't know any of those words — Tim hadn't taught him many concepts like 'out' or 'off' or things like that — and the closest words he could come up with were, 'beep bed,' which wasn't very clear.

Thankfully, Tim, after some indecipherable talk, strode over to his bed and patted his hand. "Now, if I free you, will you promise not to pull on the tubes? You cannot pull on them; it will hurt very badly. Okay? You only have to tolerate them for the rest of today and then we can take them out. Do not pull on them."

Baring his teeth, Fralith wiggled his fingers, tugging again at the cuffs. Couldn't Tim hurry up? His rib itched so badly for so long and he was so close to finally reliving it.

"Hmm," Tim remarked, studying him. "I'm not sure that look means what I hope it is." He glanced down at the cuffs then to the tubes in his chest. "Well, for your sake, I hope you understood some of what I said." Seeming to come to a decision, Tim undid the cuffs with a skrrrrpt!

The second his hand was free, he darted his fingers towards his itchy rib.

"Wait— Brave Bud!" Tim captured his hand and pulled it away. "I said do not pull on the tubes."

Fralith froze, the small feet of fear scampering down his back. Was Tim angry? Why? What had he done wrong? Did he act out of place? His stomach flipped over. I'm sorry! I didn't know— I didn't— don't yell at me! Don't touch me. Please.

"Oh— no, no, no," Tim exclaimed in a softer voice, eyes wide and...regret tilting his brows. He leaned forward, hand reaching for his face.

A flinch jerked his face away, instinct blaring at him and shadows swarming under his skin. Don't touch me.

Sorrow flashed in Tim's eyes and he pulled his hand back, patting his hand gently. "Shh, shh. I'm not mad. I won't hurt you. It's okay, Brave Bud, I'm not mad. I just don't want you to hurt yourself, that's all."

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. Was Tim going to— no, he wouldn't. He was— he was good. Safe. But Davith was that, too, and he hurt me. Father was supposed to be that but he wasn't. Tim could...could... Frigid fingers grasped his heart and crushed it, sucking away every bit of warmth left in him.

"Oh, Brave Bud." A hand touched his shoulder. He flinched. "I'm sorry. Who...could have done this to you?"

An empty ache swelled where his heart used to be, throbbing in time to the pain in his chest. It was dark and void of everything, a pulsing, writhing mass of shadows. They melded together, smokey shapes solidifying into a scaly lizard menace that stared at him with bejeweled eyes.

It was back.

It — the monster —was back. It was the same one that writhed in his belly when Father berated him. Same monster that hissed at Davith's empty room. Same monster that slithered over his feet when he sat alone in the dark. Same monster that was there when he ached. Watched. Decided. It was the same monster that had sat on his shoulder as he walked towards the house. As he told. As he betrayed. As he hurt and was hurt.

The MonsterShadow hissed at him and slithered into his stomach, turning the taste in his mouth sour. Fralith squeezed his eyes shut tighter, holding down the shadows. The darkness. The pain. The MonsterShadow was back. It sat in him, heavy and foreboding. What would it make him do? What terrible choice would it lead him to make? What thing would it witness Tim do?

A rustle of movement sent shivers through his body. Warm fingers brushed his other hand, undoing the other cuff. He held his breath, dreading the tirade that was to come.

But it never came.

Instead there was...softness. Tim's fingers rubbed warmth into his hands, brushing over his knuckles with touch as light as feathers, and a low rumble of words equally soft underlying his actions. They were words he didn't understand — meaningless jumble of sounds — but those sounds...they were soft. Tender. Comforting.

Comforting, like the low rumble of words Davith Before would murmur into his ears whenever he was upset. Tender, like Davith Before's hands tending to his wounds. Soft, like Davith Before's warm royal-magenta gaze whenever he looked at him. And it was almost...almost...almost loving, the way Tim spoke. Rubbed. Comforted.

Fralith's breath stuttered, wet heat prickling under his eyelids. Tim...he...he...loved him? The lonely shadowed emptiness loomed over him, its watery depths crashing against his eyelids.

Arms slid under him, lifting him up and wrapping him in an embrace. Whispered words fluttered past his ear while Tim rubbed circles into his back. Tim was hugging him. Comforting him. Being there when his brother was not. It was too much.

A sob broke from between his lips and he caved, the final gate collapsing at the first sob. He turned his head away and let the tears and sobs flow, each moment lined with wetness and pain.

And through it all, Tim was there.