The look behind those tired eyes

Chapter twenty five - Dilated

A/N

This will be a long chapter, just a heads up!
It is also a very important one.

Will Vinny

The mutt snorts as he's held against my grip. My tone is no welcoming with him in the fucking slightest—not when it comes to him mocking Rookie.  He can go ahead and bitch to me about myself or my haunting past, but in no fucking way can he make fun of Rooks right in front of me.

"What kind of insult is that? Come on, Vincent. You know better than to threaten me with my home," He snarls right back at me with those ugly menacing eyes staring right into my soul. I don't have enough strength in me to care; it's only anger I feel with him. In this moment, I want to strangle his fucking neck and bury him with his deceased wife. Just like he had to many years ago.

"I know more about your past than you let on, hound."

I watched his breathing become rapid. I heard his heart beat a million beats per second. I saw the guilt in his eyes. I noticed his tensed muscles. I felt him reach for his hidden knife.

Just as he pulled it out...

I made a swift mood and took it from him like a slice of cake.

He tried to go for my throat, and realized nothing was in his hand. Then he started moving towards me, slowly raising his fist to my face. Then. Boom.

How the tables have turned.

I was the one holding his knife to his throat. I pushed him back once again towards the wall, the wall that was covered in mold and rust. I could hear him struggling to breathe with the smell radiating around us behind him. I, on the other hand, held my breath.

He was trying to pry the knife out of my hand with his right one—my wrist was his next target. He was yanking my wrist—well, tried to—with his free hand as I was pressing it against his skin. Nothing was working for him.

Maybe if you weren't a weak prick, Bruce. Maybe you'd be able to succeed.

He was groaning, wheezing, on the verge of crying. All while I was seething with anger. I wanted to kill the bastard.

"Vincent." He croaked out. "The...boy over...there," He says with his wheezing breaths. In between his words were the sounds of him struggling to breathe. I don't know if it was because of the metal against his throat, or if it was because he was panicked. By the looks in his eyes; he's definitely not doing so well.

But the mention of the boy—meaning Rookie—has me looking at him angrily pressing the weapon more, and whipping my head over to the figure. The small body of knocked out boy, lying on the bed with his eyes closed. He was out cold. And my grip, nor my close eye on Bruce in the corner of my vision loosened up. If anything, it made me press the object more. Now, he was bleeding. I could feel the warm liquid drip onto my hand. I could feel it, but I wasn't bothered with it.

My focus is entirely on Rooks.

I don't give a fuck about Bruce. Not that much to spare for him when it comes to Rooks.

So I tightened my grasp around his stupid collar and throw him across the room while still holding my panicking gaze on the out cold boy who has me stopping myself from a fight for. Only little C could do that to me.

I rushed over to him and immediately put two fingers together and checking his neck for a pulse. There still was, thank god. if he wasn't knocked out he certainly wouldn't have one, Will.

He was still warm; not cold like I had thought he would be. He was still breathing, too. Obviously, Will. I am most certainly losing my shit at this point.

He stirs a little bit and starts making a muttered crying sound. Was he crying? Or is he just having a bad dream? Either way, my first instinct was to hold him until he woke up. I didn't let go of him the entire time, but also kept keeping an eye on him and was prepared to brutally beat Bruce if he ever came in.

Yeah, he fucked off.

Moments go by and I'm scared Rookie may not wake up. But then he did, and I couldn't be more happier in my life. I held him tighter, wanting him to know that I was here for him. I wanted him to feel presence here, holding onto him. I needed him to know that I was here. With him.

When his eyes fluttered open they weren't the same colours I'm used to seeing. It wasn't him. His eyes were dilated and then...

He started screaming at me. Screaming that it was all my fault. That I'm the reason we got caught up in this mess, how it was my fault that his ankle was sprained. How it was my fault that Bruce was telling him shit he didn't want to know.

Everything was my fault.

I didn't know what to think. Or do. I was stunned; I thought it was just a simple nap. But now, it was like a whole new person was in front of me. He told me about this; how he blacks out. How he doesn't remember what he does or says when he does.

He won't remember this. 

This isn't him.

I constantly reminded myself those two things as he kept yelling at me. And I let him.