Hidden and Silent (SpyxFamily)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Author's Note:

Merry Christmas!

I know, I know, this chapter is super late and I'm sorry. :( Somehow the writing went really slow and was rushed at the same time. I got tired of this one so it's rough in a couple places, but I can't care anymore. :P

Anyway, the next chapter will be updated on a Wednesday like usual. Enjoy. :)

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"Again."

Salt lined Demetrius' lips as beads of sweat trickled over the contours of his face to plop, plop, plop, on the concrete floor. He was so tired. His body shook from exertion and his bowed head preferred to idly consider the new, little, splattered stains rather than to scrounge up the nonexistent energy to force his head up. To force his body up. He wasn't sure if he could. His muscles burned with aching relief from where he'd finally collapsed and it was simultaneously the best and the worst feeling. Had he destroyed his muscles? Had they been ripped apart? It felt like it. It felt like he'd never be able to walk again, but he might not care if he could be allowed to lay down right here and never move again. Never wake up again.

He breathed the air greedily, never minding that he would have preferred it less stale. Fresher. He could feel small eddies swirl around his face as he exhaled and the muted, uncomfortable itch of hot sweat coating his skin. He might've wiped the most unbearable of it off his face that crept over his eyelids and sheened wet over his cheeks if he thought he could waste the energy left in his arms to do it. Even if he could, he wasn't all that steady to risk it as it was.

The quiet was a buzz in his ears. His breathing was probably loud, but he didn't feel like it. It was lost in the stillness finally settling for however short it would last. His huffing echoed off the walls and somehow accentuated the quiet all the more.

How many hours had he been down here now? Demetrius wondered passingly, though it was a pointless thought. It didn't matter. He didn't really want to know. Not until he was actually done and he wouldn't have to torture himself thinking about how much closer he was to finishing. How far he was from finishing.

The basement was cool, the only balm to the miserable heat thrumming in his rushing veins that urged him to keep going. His thumping heart, lying and telling him that it was possible. The basement had always been cool. The floor had always been the best place to lay flat on his back during the hottest summers when cold showers and fans just didn't cut it.

That was when he was young. Now there was a faint whiff of Demetrius' own, fresh sweat tainting the air that hadn't graced the obstacles and sparring gear in weeks. Where once the area was mostly empty; mats, a punching bag, an obstacle course, and even holds and knobs that created a sort of rock-climbing assimilation along the walls, had taken over the large, open basement of the manor. It had grown worn over the years. Old bloodstains from split knuckles still splotched the floor here and there. The punching bag was replaced every now and then, but the sand in the latest one had begun to make the bottom slightly wider than the top. The climbing ropes—though still strong—had begun to fray. The sheer, wooden hurdles of varying heights were scuffed and marked with the ugly shallow gouges it had earned from Demetrius' nails when he hadn't quite been able to make it. The monkey bars set three feet apart from each other had lost their sheen.

Still. It all remained intact. No good sense in replacing any of it if it still served it's purpose just as well as when they were new. Sometimes the course would change; rings instead of bars, a pole instead of a rope, one type of hurdle for another, and a slew of things Demetrius couldn't be bothered to remember at the moment. Whatever wasn't in use was put in storage until it was brought out again. Weren't thrown out. Still carried the bits of evidence and proof of thorough use when retrieved.

Escaping to the cooled basement in the summer didn't bring the comfort it once had when his training had started.

If Demetrius had to choose, he would always prefer the training courses out in the woods. Where the extensive obstacles, climbing and such ranged from all over the ground to in the trees. It gave another kind of skills to add to Demetrius arsenal and if Donovan was anything, it was prepared.

At least Demetrius got to be outdoors on those days.

Passing his tongue over the salty water that had strayed to his mouth, Demetrius managed to lift his gaze to the two men standing in the centre of it all. His father's gaze burned into him, eliciting more unease from his son than words ever would. Letting the single word hang uncomfortably between them. He wouldn't repeat himself. Donovan didn't like to repeat himself. He didn't need to repeat himself.

The trainer had let some uncertain expression briefly pass over his face, but it was gone too quick to be sure. If he was questioning Donovan's demands, he wouldn't voice it.

It wasn't uncommon for his father to come and oversee Demetrius' training. Every now and then he'd show up to see his son's progress and discuss his routine or any changes to be made with whatever trainer he currently employed, and—like his personality—he was always very meticulous about it. There were benefits to keeping exercise to a limit. It was important to moderate how far Demetrius pushed himself or for how long. To insure that he had time to rest. To insure that he didn't wreck his body in Donovan's pursuit of perfection.

But not today. His father wasn't happy with him. And to top it off, Demetrius' best time through the obstacle course had fallen by six seconds. Hence overworking him. Donovan knew it would take time to make those six seconds back up, but he wanted it back now. His son was regressing rather than progressing and he needed it fixed.

Demetrius knew better than to let his father wait for long, but he was just. So. Tired. After running, strength straining, sparring, and running through the course who-knew-how-many-times, Demetrius was having a hard enough time to not just disassemble right there. His leg shook something terrible when he planted a foot in front of him, intending to get up. He let out a huff when it gave out beneath him.