bambi eyes || tradley

5. singing stomachs

"Stop fighting, Tristan," a deep voice spoke. The blond ignored it, thrashing his frail body around, struggling greatly to free himself from underneath the faceless man's tight grip. "You're not going to win."

The words of disencouragement only motivated him to fight harder. "What did they do with him?" he screamed, his voice demanding and strong, in complete disparity with the poor condition he was in. He flinched as the words left his chapped and bruised lips, pain coursing throughout the dislocation of his jaw.

"Exactly what we've been waiting to do for a month," the man simply replied, tightening metal cuffs around his wrist and ankles. The blond couldn't make out a face, but he could clearly see a devilish smile, like he was staring into the face of the Cheshire cat.

Tristan felt his faltering heart drop;although, his pulse thumped faster in his neck, blood wildly pumping throughout his body. "No! This is wrong!" he protested, struggling to fight against the metal clinging him to the table. "Everything you're doing is wrong!"

"I hate to do this, Tristan," the man unapologetically told him, darkness audible in his deep, mysterious voice. Suddenly, Tristan could hear the sound of gloves snapping onto skin and a large needle was then visible, slowly inching towards his neck. "But I simply told you not to get involved."

"NO!" Tristan screamed so loud, pain shot through his throat and his jaw felt like it was going to snap. The metal cuffs stubbornly dug deeper into his pale skin, refusing to let the boy free. "LET ME GO! THIS IS WRONG!"

He wanted to finish screaming at the top of his lungs how he'll never get away with it, how he could never ruin what they had, how it won't change anything. But something sharp was suddenly stabbed into his neck, widening his eyes as a cool sensation travelled throughout his body, like a bucket of cold water suddenly dumped over him on a hot, summer day. The cold painfully engulfed him, slowly paralyzing each limb it touched before he was slipping away into darkness and falling fast asleep.

Suddenly, Tristan jumped awake, inhaling and exhaling heavily as he took in his cloudy room. Rubbing two fist over his heavy eyelids, he blinked his vision back into normalcy, running a hand through his tousled, blond locks. Dreams were a rare occurence for Tristan, and when they came, they slipped away as soon as his eyes would flutter open. But the dreams he had-two nights in a row-they were etched in his mind, and they both felt inexplicably real. Tristan remembered each word and every little detail vividly.

"Tris?" a concerned voice quietly spoke from beside him. The twenty-one-year-old glanced over to the small boy lying in his bed, his innocent features laced with concern. "Are you okay?"

Tristan sucked in a breath, automatically nodding his head in response. "It was just a bad dream," he reassured him. "Go to sleep."

Bambi ignored his instructions, snaking his arms around the older boy's torso and pulling him into his chest. "It is okay, Tris. There will be better days."

The blond shifted uncomfortably in his arms. "Um, what are you doing?"

"I am helping you find the good," he said, patting Tristan's cheek. "Was the bad dream scary?"

"Um, kind of," Tristan slowly replied. "Can you get off of me?"

"Tell me about the bad, scary dream."

"I rather you get off of me."

The curly-haired boy frowned. "But I am trying to take away the bad, and replace it with the good."

"How?" he asked, rolling over onto his side. He tried wiggling himself free of the small boy, but he was too strong.

"It is simple; I will be here for you."