Sanders Sides One-shots

Broken Promises (BROT4/OT4 - Poly) [2/4]

Ship: OT4/BROT4 Poly

TW: Blood, references to self-harm (non-explicit), swearing

Word count: 1375

In this second part of the series, Roman is the focus character.

Note is at the bottom!

His first memory is standing, higher than safety condones, upon a sturdy tree branch. Face tilted up, eyes closed, basking under the flush of warmth that washes over him in a steady current. The sky looks as if it's been painted by Picasso himself; abstract, strange, rich, vivid, beautiful.

The clouds are parted in a way that frames the fading masterpiece, and the sun beams upon him. A natural spotlight; with its brilliant light, it shines upon his hazel hair, and with the wind rushing playfully at him, he swears that for a moment there's a halo hanging above his head.

The air is fresh, crisp, and filled with the scent of autumn. The night will soon be chilly with the cusp of winter rounding the corner, but for now, the warmth envelops him. The trees sway gently, leisurely, as if sensing the thrum of his heartbeat and the hum of his spirit, and dancing along to it.

The birds have long since retreated to their families, but off in the distance, if he listens close enough, he can hear the quiet chirps, the shy peeps, the joyous twitters. The squirrels are still frisky and exuberant, pouncing from branch to branch. He wonders if they can sense nature's happiness as well.

The leaves on the ground shift in sweeps when the wind comes, chasing after them teasingly. The river's streams run, the water glistening like crystals when the light dips along it. The rocks remain steady, like guardians who watch in silent pride as their home thrives with life.

And he feels it.

Feels the seed implant itself into his soul; it takes place and its roots embed themselves within him. The thrill of adventure, the eagerness to seek more, more, more.

He feels the seed sow itself, and already, it grows. It blooms.

Age 16:

The free spirit within him yearns, and more often than not, he finds himself indulging it. He's seen the sun when she's gloomy, heard the forest when he weeps, comforted the animals when they fear, watched the moon seek solace in the darkness, mourned the fall of the trees, serenaded the flowers as they bloomed, and hummed in harmony with the bees.

He's become attuned to the calls and cries of the Earth, and made it his mission to be at its beck and call.

Along the way, he's gained battle wounds. They leave uneven streaks upon his skin, sting when the antiseptic makes contact, and decorate him with more bandages than he can count upon his fingers.

He regrets none.

Nevertheless, he does not enjoy the bittersweet touch of pain.

So when he sees Patton trip down the stairs and fall heavily, his heart catches in his throat and his breath suddenly leaves. He sees the father figure of his life suddenly sob like a child, his face suddenly so young that he remembers that they are of the same age, and it seizes his muscles where they are. He watches in mute horror and worry and distress as Patton curls into himself, pulling his arm towards his chest, his wrist twisted in a perturbingly unnatural way.

He blinks, and feels it again. The seed sowing itself next to the other. The desire to heal, to fix the broken, and heal the pain that flows in others, as well as himself.

Later, when Patton is asleep, forehead creased in pain despite his unconsciousness, Roman promises to forever be their healer.

Because a prince, a king, may save their people and their kingdom, but what of those they are too late to help?