Spirit Animals One-Shots

Why? [Dawson]

  I just felt like writing some angsty-ish stuff so here's a very anxious Dawson for you. Again, it is very short.

    Everywhere he looked, he saw his father.

    Dawson hated it. He wanted to tear apart his entire house, break his father's belongings into little bits and throw them away. He was ashamed for not realizing how much of a coward that man truly was until it was too late, when he ran off that fiery night with most of the Trunswick family's valuables.

    Dawson sat alone now at the small table, rubbing his face. I am not my father, he thought. He was right, he was far from being similar to Eric Trunswick. In fact, he may have been his polar opposite. But he couldn't shake off mistrustful glares like Devin could. Each and every single one of them felt like a stab to the heart.

    The house was quiet, the only noises were Rumfuss somewhere nearby, probably Dawson's room, and the occasional hoot of an owl, or very faint howl of a wolf caught in the wind. He knew it was long past midnight, but he just couldn't sleep.

    I am NOT my father, Dawson thought again, this time firmer. Why did this feeling always creep up on him when he just wanted to live normally? Why did his father still haunt him as if he was standing right beside him? Dawson took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Like that did anything. One of his tutors had tried to show him breathing exercises when he'd gotten anxious about an upcoming test, or really anything. They didn't work all that well, but they were something.

    Suddenly, Dawson couldn't stand sitting down. He wanted to move, wanted some noise. The chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood up, pausing there to stretch for a moment. He began to pace, finding it was disappointingly easy to cross from one end to the other. His footsteps seemed heavier at night, so much louder.

    Dawson nearly jumped out of his skin as Rumfuss made an abrupt noise nearby. If he hadn't decided to make some sounds himself, he was sure he actually would have. Rumfuss settled down again. Dawson now stood over the boar, studying him. He remembered that first night Devin had come home, and ended up getting into an argument with their father. Dawson had released his spirit animal to stop it.

  I am not my father, and I never will be. Dawson felt a little more satisfaction at the addition to his thought. Why did he always get like this? He'd been trying to stop his nervous habits. What was an earl if all he did was bite his lip and get anxious over everything? Why was he born like this?

    WhywhywhywhyWHYWHYWHY-

    Dawson raised his head, which was clutched in his hands, at the sound of a rhythm of soft knocks on the door. He didn't have visitors this late, or rather, early. It took him a moment to process what was going on. "Who is it?" He croaked.

    "Tellun the Elk," a familiar, comforting voice responded, muffled by the door, "who else do you think would use our secret knock?"

    Dawson's eyes widened. His anxiety soon faded, replaced by his sheer happiness. He quickly lit a candle, stumbling over to the door. He unbolted it, creaking it open. A grin crept up on his face.

  "Devin!"

  I wrote this at 2 AM. - Dash