Shattered

Turned Tables

A/N: This chapter will contain several depictions of abuse to a minor. Read with caution.

Jonathan woke up covered in sweat and tears, the distorted visage the dream's remnant memories still echoing; the screams still echoing.

As quietly and hurriedly as he could, Jonathan scrambled to get out of the bed and out of the room before he woke Mayson. He ran through the dark, grateful he knew the house, his breathing the loudest sound, and slid out to the back deck. He made it to the bottom of the stairs before collapsing, no longer able to refrain the wracking sobs that kept pushing for escape. He bowed his head, his arms supporting it, as silent screams came forth from a mouth hung open in agony.

Mayson, who had awakened upon Jonathan's hasty exodus from the bed, slowly slid open the glass door that led to the back deck. He'd only known to go this way because the glass door wasn't properly shut, standing open about half an inch, as if shut too hard and it slid back open a fraction.

Mayson stepped outside the wind and smell of the salt-water air all around him, pulling him over to and down the stairs. He stopped at the sight of Jonathan sitting at the bottom of the staircase, his back hunched as he curled in on himself. Slowly he lowered himself beside him, close enough only now to see the shaking of his shoulders as they sat in shadow.

"Jonny?" Jonathan didn't answer. He didn't move to acknowledge that Mayson had spoken, or that he even knew Mayson was there. Not knowing what to do to comfort his friend's obvious distress, Mayson slowly slid his arm around Jonathan's back. Half expecting Jonathan to start at the contact, Mayson was surprised when Jonathan turned suddenly to his left and held Mayson close to him. Mayson wrapped his arms tightly around him, offering what support could be gained and offered.

Mayson said nothing, for what could he say? Jonathan pressed his face harder into Mayson's shoulder, trying to shield his mind from the bloody images that refused to release their grip on him. He couldn't stop the tears. He couldn't stop the blinding rue that overwhelmed him as a child screams for help that was never to come.

After several, long, and arduous moments, Mayson finally began to feel Jonathan start to calm. Jonathan didn't move from Mayson's embrace, but held himself there, getting lost in the feeling of having those arms wrapped securely against him. Finally, Jonathan sat up and wiped his eyes. Mayson's arm dropped from around his shoulders, though contact was not completely lost. Their shoulders touched, giving away warmth and electricity.

"Did I ever tell you about Max?" The question broke the silence, spoken low as it was.

Mayson glanced to his right and shook his head. "Not really, no. Once when we were younger you were telling me something...said "And one time Max and I..." but you trailed off...when I tried asking, you shut me up, shut me out, and wouldn't talk the rest of the day."

He nodded but remained silent. "I never talk about him. It...hurts...to even think about him. I wish I could think about him, duck. I miss him so much."

Mayson said nothing but instead simply let Jonathan talk. He watched Jonathan struggle to maintain control of himself as he prepared to tell him something he'd never before spoken of. Not even to the police when they took him away. He didn't need to...the evidence spoke for itself. Jonathan wiped his eyes before dropping his head in his hands. He couldn't look at Mayson while he was telling this tale, but he needed to finally free this burden from his soul. He had felt the memories starting to clutch at his heart a few weeks ago as the anniversary of that night started to loom over him. He'd managed to shove it from his mind while Mayson was in the hospital, focusing only on the one person left that he loved that still lived. Barely, but lived. And now that Mayson was safe and healing his physical wounds, the tremulous and beset memories of old ghosts began to return with vengeance, and without mercy.