We could be immortals (SBI found family fic)

1

"Shit, sorry!" Tommy laughs, bouncing off the man's arm who swipes at him lazily.

"Off with you, little vagrant!" He yells and Tommy yelps, ducking away and picking up his sprint down the street. He can't help but laugh, adjusting his bag and tucking the stolen bread into the ripped material. He should really patch that up- he narrowly avoids a cart with more yells as he ducks down another cobbled alleyway.

The wind blows straw around his feet and he jumps a broom, giggling as a woman scoffs and pulls her children closer. Any other day and he would be more careful, more methodical with his thievery and urge to run, but today was Sunday.

Tommy just laughs off the tension from the aggravated villagers, beating the familiar path behind the town, gravel crunching at his feet as he spots the tiny white building in the distance.

To the untrained eye it was, well, an eyesore.

Dilapidated and neglected, the church was a hindrance easier forgotten by society- but not to Tommy. To him it was sanctuary, a haven of safety and a place he could be, with no one accusing him, spitting at him or yelling obscenities. It was home.

He slows to a steady walk as the village shrinks behind him, drawing his thin jacket around his skinny frame. He twists the bag onto his front without breaking step, delving it and brushing deft hands across the four items inside. Warmth from the freshly baked loaf tickles his finger tips and the boy feels his mouth water. He swigs some water from his canteen and eyes the church again, significantly closer but not close enough just yet.

He glances over his shoulder, grateful for his solitude as he wipes his brow, curls bouncing around his ears. He was a little early, he couldn't expect movement until midday but it was Sunday- and he always woke up extra early on a Sunday.

The church appears through the treeline and Tommy feels his heart leap, he was so close! He breaks into a gentle jog and reaches the doors, tripping over his broken laces as he ducks round the side, easing through a wooden trade entrance barely on its hinges.

He breathes out, stepping into the broken light as dust beams light the church. The benches were swept back and the carpet moth eaten, and, most notably, in front of the alter was the small evidence of his existence.

A couple of blankets he had acquired through the months, a change of ill-fitting clothes, a book, another canteen and a small tranjea for cooking- when he got that lucky.

He throws himself onto the pile and hastily empties his bag, littering the floor with what some may regard as junk, that he (and others he hoped...) would see as treasure.

Inhaling the bread once more, he sets it to the side and delicately lines up the other two items- a faded shell and a cracked rabbit skull. He gazes at them lovingly and pushes the blanket to cover them slightly.

The offerings were laughable, but he had nothing better. And the shell alone had cost him yesterday's grain. He feels a heavy weight settle on his shoulders as he stares at the lump of covered items.

Maybe he shouldn't bother, would they laugh? Would they grimace awkwardly and hand them back? Could his fragile heart take that? He doesn't know, but at the very least they may pretend for his sake to accept their gifts.

He takes a sip of water and stares at the bread. He had to wait, he had to be patient or he would go hungry later. He tucks it away and curls up on the blankets, rubbing his feet together and wincing at the blisters beneath his boots.

He blinks lethargically and waits, just thinking, hoping. Maybe he could close his eyes for just a minute...

...