“STAY AWAY FROM HIM!” Father shrieked, his face red and his expression twisted with greed and anger.
“Keep them safe.” Matthew pressed against the rippling barrier, whispering his sacrifice. “Don't let them come back for me.”
He fought back selfish tears of pain and fright, still able to taste Father's clammy lips against his, still feeling the rough hands that had touched him in places no one was allowed to touch him.
Father was all wrong, and Matthew could only imagine how bad it would be without his brothers there to stop him.
But this was all his fault.
“Tell them I love them.”
It was always his fault.
And then the bed was wrenched off the floor, sending Matthew tumbling against the barrier.
“NO!” Father screamed, banishing the barrier and pulling Matthew to him with a surge of magic. “He's mine! You can't have him!!”
It wasn't Father's arms that caught him. Instead, Matthew found himself plucked from the air and enveloped in strong arms, unnaturally large and hairy to the touch, but generating a protective warmth that had him curling into the sensation.
“Why-” Why hadn't the strange beings left him behind? Why had they faced Father's magic for him? Why did they seem to think he was worth protecting?
PROTECT MY BROTHERS!
The familiar voice echoed in Matthew's ears, bringing tears to his eyes as the world spun around him.
Lukas had saved him.
**
Matthew was set down on cold dirt in a darkened cave, surrounded by six unconscious swans in, their feathers skewed and bloody. Two of the swans were huge, apparently full-grown. Three of them were smaller, roughly the same size as Matthew's torso, and the smallest silver one – Emil, Matthew reminded himself – was hardly bigger than his head.
His brothers.
Wiping away his tears, Matthew shivered, looking up at the closest shimmer in the air. “Thank you.” As Matthew bowed his head in gratitude, the shimmer moved closer, the feeling of a large, strangely shaped hand patting the top of his head gently. Images appeared in Matthew's mind as the Being touched him.
Safe here. It seemed to say, filling his head with a warm reassurance. Safe now.
And then it was gone.
Matthew swiveled around, hoping to catch sight of another Being, another shimmer. But they were either completely gone, or hiding more thoroughly than before, and Matthew quickly gave up the search.
He didn't want to be alone – already Father's insane eyes were beginning to stare at him from the back of his mind, laughing and touching and- Matthew cut the thought off before he lost himself completely, trembling and swallowing down the bile that rose up in his throat.
He couldn't think about it.
He had to be strong, like Berwald, and just keep moving.
He needed to do something, to keep himself too busy to think.
Gently, like lifting the most delicate of ornaments, Matthew lifted the smallest swan – silver-feathered Emil – into his arms, not caring that the blood smeared against his skin. The quick beat of the swan's heart against his hands was reassuring, and with careful, shaking fingers, Matthew began to card through the horribly mussed feathers. There was very little he could do about the blood, he had no cloth to wipe it away nor any water to wash it off, but he could make his swan-brothers as comfortable as possible.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered as he finished with Emil's grooming, laying the unconscious swan beside him to rest. “I'm so sorry.”
Never before had he wished so strongly to have never been born. Without him, Dad – a man he knew only through stories – would have lived, Father would not have gone insane, and his brothers would not have been tortured and turned into swans.
Scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Matthew tried to ignore his self-loathing, the tiny voice in the back of his head scolding him in Berwald's deep, clipped words. Not yer fault, Matt. Ya didn't ask t' be born.
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The Power in Silence - Part 3b/?
(Anonymous) 2013-06-06 01:41 am (UTC)(link)“Keep them safe.” Matthew pressed against the rippling barrier, whispering his sacrifice. “Don't let them come back for me.”
He fought back selfish tears of pain and fright, still able to taste Father's clammy lips against his, still feeling the rough hands that had touched him in places no one was allowed to touch him.
Father was all wrong, and Matthew could only imagine how bad it would be without his brothers there to stop him.
But this was all his fault.
“Tell them I love them.”
It was always his fault.
And then the bed was wrenched off the floor, sending Matthew tumbling against the barrier.
“NO!” Father screamed, banishing the barrier and pulling Matthew to him with a surge of magic. “He's mine! You can't have him!!”
It wasn't Father's arms that caught him. Instead, Matthew found himself plucked from the air and enveloped in strong arms, unnaturally large and hairy to the touch, but generating a protective warmth that had him curling into the sensation.
“Why-” Why hadn't the strange beings left him behind? Why had they faced Father's magic for him? Why did they seem to think he was worth protecting?
PROTECT MY BROTHERS!
The familiar voice echoed in Matthew's ears, bringing tears to his eyes as the world spun around him.
Lukas had saved him.
**
Matthew was set down on cold dirt in a darkened cave, surrounded by six unconscious swans in, their feathers skewed and bloody. Two of the swans were huge, apparently full-grown. Three of them were smaller, roughly the same size as Matthew's torso, and the smallest silver one – Emil, Matthew reminded himself – was hardly bigger than his head.
His brothers.
Wiping away his tears, Matthew shivered, looking up at the closest shimmer in the air. “Thank you.” As Matthew bowed his head in gratitude, the shimmer moved closer, the feeling of a large, strangely shaped hand patting the top of his head gently. Images appeared in Matthew's mind as the Being touched him.
Safe here. It seemed to say, filling his head with a warm reassurance. Safe now.
And then it was gone.
Matthew swiveled around, hoping to catch sight of another Being, another shimmer. But they were either completely gone, or hiding more thoroughly than before, and Matthew quickly gave up the search.
He didn't want to be alone – already Father's insane eyes were beginning to stare at him from the back of his mind, laughing and touching and- Matthew cut the thought off before he lost himself completely, trembling and swallowing down the bile that rose up in his throat.
He couldn't think about it.
He had to be strong, like Berwald, and just keep moving.
He needed to do something, to keep himself too busy to think.
Gently, like lifting the most delicate of ornaments, Matthew lifted the smallest swan – silver-feathered Emil – into his arms, not caring that the blood smeared against his skin. The quick beat of the swan's heart against his hands was reassuring, and with careful, shaking fingers, Matthew began to card through the horribly mussed feathers. There was very little he could do about the blood, he had no cloth to wipe it away nor any water to wash it off, but he could make his swan-brothers as comfortable as possible.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered as he finished with Emil's grooming, laying the unconscious swan beside him to rest. “I'm so sorry.”
Never before had he wished so strongly to have never been born. Without him, Dad – a man he knew only through stories – would have lived, Father would not have gone insane, and his brothers would not have been tortured and turned into swans.
Scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, Matthew tried to ignore his self-loathing, the tiny voice in the back of his head scolding him in Berwald's deep, clipped words. Not yer fault, Matt. Ya didn't ask t' be born.