All about control

the shadow (september)

There's been a shadow following Theo around since he was nine years old. A dark and looming thing that sits in his peripheral vision, a constant and threatening reminder of where he came from. Of what he can be brought back to. Some days it looks a lot like the Dread Doctors, more specifically; The Surgeon. The shadow will shift and morph into a figure that resembles something from his worst memories, the ones he wishes were ripped out of him the way everything else was. Other days it morphs into something smaller, something dripping with icy ravine water, the smell of dirt and mud coming with it.

Now, though, the shadow isn't as menacing. It looks a lot like blue eyes and shoulders that are pulled too tight. Smells a lot like gunpowder residue, dried blood and the fading scent of fear. This shadow followed him from the hospital corridor, staying close enough to be in reach, but far enough not to touch. That seems to be the only way he finds Liam these days; always in his reach, but just far enough away that he slips right through his fingertips. It leaves an unscratchable itch under his skin.

Liam sits in his passenger seat, unbuckled, staring down at his hands. They're clean, well, as clean as a hospital bathroom sink could physically get them. The only blood lingering in the truck's cab is their own. Theo's eyes flick over the too-still beta next to him. The wounds are unnoticeable, skin already seamlessly stitched back together, like he was never harmed in the first place. All remaining cuts and bruises, the less serious damage, are slowly fading, leaving no trace behind. By the time he gets Liam home, because there's not a chance in hell he's letting the idiot get out of the truck like this and the rest of the pack's cars are already pulling out, there will be no marks to say I survived this. I made it through, can't you see? It leaves an unpleasant taste on his tongue and tightness in his throat. They've survived something, they lived. Shouldn't they have something to show for that?

Some days, Theo swears to himself, he can still see the scars left behind, the discoloration under his skin from years of torment. Years of being cut into and ripped apart, his body torn apart in the name of science. When it's a particularly harsh winter, his ribs ache, the phantom feel of being spread apart never quite fading, not unlike the cool air tickling his organs in a way that sends a shiver through him. He's not sure he could ever forget. It's a thing of nightmares, something that keeps him staring up at the roof of his truck most nights as his body shakes from the memories.

"Do you need a ride?" Theo speaks first, needing to break the silence. He's spent too many years in his own tormented silence, too many nights spent wide awake with only the beat of the stolen heart in his chest to listen to.

Liam's shoulders tense in a way that's bound to snap something, every muscle pulled taut and tendon wound too tight. He's still staring down at his hands, his blood-free hands, breath coming out in short bursts, head bowing lower. If Theo didn't know any better, he would assume it was a position of prayer, but the entirety of the beta's being is screaming exhaustion, not adjuration.

Dread fills the truck as each minute passes, pressing heavier and heavier on his chest, leaching into him. Liam continues to sit in silence, unmoving in his own grief and inner turmoil. It's suffocating. Getting the stench of it, just from sheer volume alone, is going to take more air freshener and details than he can afford. Yet, he can't even bring himself to fight against it as the beta's anxiety sinks into the mess of chemosignals, winding itself between and around them. Why would he? This fucked up version of a hug is the closest thing he's had to an actual one in months.

Theo rolls his shoulders to help ease the tension growing under his skin, to resettle the animals clamoring in his head.

"I don't know." Liam says, finally. The what I need goes unsaid, but Theo hears it all the same.