He awoke, pain seizing and writhing within. He choked on his scream, scrambling as he fell from his bed in a tangle of sweat and sheets to the floor. He clutched at his gut, groaning as he felt his insides pull and twist and BURN.

The pain always came like this, as inevitable as the ticking hands of a clock. Ever since that day in the forests, when he lay in a pool of his own blood and tears burned his vision. The day Arthund De'lawnuwe died.

The pain was a reminder of what he had lost, of what that wretched creature had taken from him- his parents, his brother, his niece, and his lover. And although it had only been a few months since the slaughter- those words haunted him now as he gripped his gut in pain- feeling his very inside rip apart and flesh turn solid, rock hard.. to stone.

'You will kill them for me,' it hissed in reply when he howled in anguish at what had been done. He protested the accusations, startled that he, of all men, were accused of such atrocities.  The being was livid he'd refuted, pushing back against his charge before forcing Arthund back in a howl of pain as its gnarled claws touched his flesh, sinking inside and ripping out his heart.

Arthund remained on one knee for a time, too stunned to do much else but look at the bloodied hand that held his pulsing heart.

"Interesting.." the creature hissed. "Your heart still beats.." it turned towards Arthund as the man clutched at his chest- a new knot of pain all but consuming him- the sensations indescribable as organs and muscles and blood were pinched and ripped off as a hole sunk in and melted into stone.

He could barely see, barely breath as the world swirled around him...

"You will prove your worth, prove my mistake, stone of heart.." the being hissed. "Slay those who are deserving and prove your hearts defiance of me and I will give up my life to restore yours."




He lay there, swallowing back the pain that turned into a wheezing whimper as he managed to get onto his knees. And as the cloud of pain subsided, he lifted his hand- which was wet, and frowned. He had vomitted again- vomit mixed with blood.

Picking himself off the floor, he took him time to clean himself up. Each morning it was a similar routine, where he'd awaken, a lurch of pain gripping his insides and he'd scream through the painful transformation of skin to stone, organs being stifled.. changed.. and his body pumping what remained of his blood.

He paused beside an old, dusty mirror, catching sight of the grey skin and sunken hole of his chest as his fingers tenses on the laces of his open shirt. It was a horrible and ugly thing.. HE was a horrible abd ugly thing, something unnatural, inhuman... a walking curse.

And the only way around it was to prove to the ruthless being who did this to him that he was even worthy of being saved.

Did he even want to be saved? A part of him felt he died that day in the slaughter- a beast of black and darkness, tearing out from the shadows and tearing apart his world. A faint, dusty light caught the ring of his finger- and be touched it, grimacing at rhe memory of her dying face. She had been so beautiful, even in death.. his light.. his love.. his world...

Gone.

His whole family was now gone. From the jovial jokester he had as a brother, to his patient mother and his wonderfully smart and naive, niece.

Laney.. she had been just a child- and had been so excited to travel with her father and family. They had lost their mother a few years ago and it seemed they were all finally recovering....

And now they too, were laid to rest in the ground.  He visited the graves only when he dared, for most the world knew not he was still alive. There was a grave for him, no body was buried, but most presumes the worst- the rumors had spread his body must have suffered the worst of all- or had been lost to the river near where the carnage was found.

It was weird to see his own gravestone when he visited- although it was fitting in its own way. Arthund was no longer than man he had been before- now scarred by the creature who had stolen his heart.

He turned away from the mirror and finished lacing up the front of his shirt. He was unable to look at the hole any longer and didn't want to dwell on his lost. But the pain... it still felt too fresh and for it, he still mourned.

But today was another day. He had to get up, despite the pain, despite the agony, and try to survive. That's all he was doing anymore- surviving. He felt so ill.. so numb so often. He was no killer- and infact, never killed outside of the battle field. But this creature, this merciless beast who desires blood...

He requires blood for vengeance..
And for proof of why Arthund defied the curse that his own heart fought.

A part of him wished to simply die and join the rest of his family, but that would be too easy- and although he wanted just to reunite with the dead...
Who he was could not allow him to take his own life. It was even difficult for him to take the life of another, so cut throat and cold.

After the first killing, he wept. Over the second, he was sick for days. By the third one he was growing angry, agitated. The creature had told him he would lift the curse if he proved his heart.. honored the beings vengeance...

But as he looked towards the wall, where a pinned list of names was hung...

How many more would he need to add to the list to appease this being? Was he tricked into this? Could this creature be sated?

He approached his list on the wall, staring at rhe names to the point he wasn't seeing anything. He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath. He needed to steel himself. He needed to remind himself.. he needed to reassure that these men.. these women.. these people had been corrupt.. these people were hurting others, being a detriment to their society and while they lived.. so many others suffered.

Sometimes it took him weeks to find a name.. justify the means...
It was easier at first- the obvious ones most if the city knew. But as he continued to suffer under his condition, he began to grow desperate. What was he missing? How could he be sure he killed those this creature desired?

What made HIM the executioner? What have HIM the right to take a life?

It ate away at him.. day by day.. night after night...
He was surprised the blood didn't stain his hands as it did his soul.

He turned away from the list and looked over at the opened envelopes and piles of papers on a desk in the corner. The room wasn't large, he lived in a small shack in the woods, so a few strides had him looking down at his notes... his research.

He lifted up the piece of paper..
His next target.
The Saronieth family.

He was working on this one for a while. He needed justification . He needed answers..

When he found some solid evidence of rhe trash this family had done...
Next all he needed was to find the time to strike.

He crumpled the paper, staring off towards the list on the wall.


Today was the day.

His heart ached deeply. What kind of man had this Ven been? A sick one truly. One drowning in his own self-medication, and the thought scared Theodore because wasn't Fletcher doing the same? It was thoughts better left for later. Right now his beloved needed more of him than concern that would sound like admonishment.

"I'm sorry. Can I...may I touch you? May I provide comfort? Or do you prefer space?"

Fletch looked horrified as it finally sunk in exactly what he'd done to Theo. "No. No no no. That's not — that's not what I was doing — I wouldn't. We're past that. I respect you too much. But you left me, and all I could see was you trying to start another fight when I still needed air from the last one. That was all, Theo. I'm not like that. You know I'm not."

Fletch looked away for a moment and took a deep breath, blinking away the burning in his eye. "I'm sorry. I was awful earlier. Dragging you in like that. I...really don't want to relive this shit right now, but I think you deserve to know. I think I erm...I think I need to sit."

He returned to his chair, head hung, and slumped into it. He closed his eye for a moment, willing himself to focus on the very thing he avoided day after day. When he thought he had a tenuous hold on it, he returned his gaze to Theo. "You need to know where this is coming from, love. I think it's the only way I'll make any sort of sense to you. Ven and I were together for over ten years. That part you know. Here's what you don't.

"He was a healer from the start. He...got into his own supply when he was younger. Poppy. It was what he used to keep from feeling, I think. Like me and drinking. And maybe he quit back then, but once you've started something like that, you never really quit for good. And then when we finally had some peace, it was like everything caught back up to him and he couldn't handle it. And he started in on it again. And he pulled away from me. Started having tantrums when I took his poppy or asked anything of him. So I took care of him through it. Made decisions for him. Made sure he ate, you know. Washed him. Kept him safe. And then he just...finally...left. Left me. Left everyone. By his own hand."

Fletcher ground his teeth and clenched his jaw and looked away again with such fierce and bitter agony. Only when he'd controlled it did he look back. "When you act like him, I do what I know. And that's making the decisions and keeping you safe and holding everything else in. I didn't know you were sleeping. I thought you were trying to...I thought you wanted me to watch you hurt yourself. To hurt me. I'm so sorry, Theo. I didn't think. I wasn't thinking."

"No one's ever?" He whispered, hands reaching out to Fletcher before he realize what he was doing. He curled his fingers back into his palms and lowered his arms.

"You're right. I pushed you and I shouldn't have. I'm also sorry. And that wasn't even how I wanted to tell you that I just...I was so focused on trying to provide you with space in our life that I didn't give you any in the moment. And when I realized and we were just being angry I retreated to give you the space you wanted. I even said to you before I left that just because we were frustrated and angry I still very much meant what I said. I do feel that way for you, even now. I thought you'd come back inside calmer and we could try again and I could apologize. Or you'd need more space and take it—which is fine! 

"Instead though you came in and you silenced me in the middle of talking to you. In the middle of me telling you that I love you, you turned your back on me and walked away. Then today you won't tell me what's wrong, you yell at me I'm being childish, treat me again like I am incapable of being an adult making grown decisions, and expect me to just know and understand things you left unsaid.

"I am not trying to hurt you. But I acknowledge that I very much did. And I am very sorry, Jack. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to push your boundaries and I didn't mean to abandon you when you needed me there most. I know it's the time of year when you're not your best either. And I respect that and am staying no matter how bad it gets. But I need you to talk to me, Jack. Write to me, talk to me, sign with me, something so I can alter course in time with you. I want this to work, but I need help...it's all new to me too."

Home?

Was home supposed to hurt like this? He supposed it always had, in some way or another. If there was ever a place he had to watch his own back, it was home. As he passed over Theo's threshold, he braced himself for what he knew he was too raw to face. But he had to do this. He wouldn't drag this man down with him.

He put some distance between them, opting to stand beside the fire, hands still clasped behind his back like anyone else could see him. He stumbled over what to say, but with no armor left, everything was a jumbled mess, and no one part of it was clear enough to focus on. "Theo, I'm sorry," he blurted out instead. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to. I thought you..."

He stopped and thought on what the man had told him by the window and tried again. "You said you're not him. Good. I wouldn't want you if you were. But you went and did something that was so like him that it..."

There was another pause as he wrested control of that sick anger. "You dig in like you're trying to tear my damned skin off to see me. And I say stop, and you say you will while you dig in deeper. And then you go and say a thing like that. Something — no one's ever — and I say it back, and then you leave? And then you just leave me with it? Like you got what you wanted and damn what you do to me? Don't do that. Don't be him. I can't do this again. I can't have another man just — just pull me apart and break me like this."

"You matter. I don't want to hurt you either. Come home," he signed back before moving to head back to his room. He made sure to maneuver his body just so to hide as he gave Fletcher's arm a reassuring squeeze in passing.

He kept his stride even paced when all he wanted was to bolt back to his room, dragged Fletcher into his arms, and hold on tight until they were both better. Instead he opened the door to his room calmly, stepped in and waited long enough for the other man to enter before closing and locking it.

Fletch shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Now. I'm hurting you. I don't want to be."

He nodded his head as more of a blink than a nod before signing back. "Now or later after your shift? I'm not going to force you to do this until you're ready."

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to yank Fletcher into a hug and console him. To ask what was wrong and to comfort and support this beautiful man that he loved. But, outside of the safety of their rooms they had to remain locked in place forever kept at arm's length as if they were not too men deeply in love with each other in defiance of all that was deemed right and good in the world. 

From the first words out of Theo's mouth, the wall fell, revealing anguish and fear and worry. He'd hurt Theo. He'd been mistaken and he'd genuinely hurt the man. Somewhere along the way, their accounts of the other night had diverged, and both had clearly left with a very different picture of how it had all gone down, and now they both were bleeding. He listened intently, and by the end of it, he looked close to tears.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "That wasn't..." He stopped himself. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands and signed instead. "Not here. Could be heard. Your room."

He nodded quietly. So it wasn't excessive drunkenness. Fletcher just was intentionally behaving this way. He was in control of himself. He wanted to lash out and punish Theo. And somehow that hurt more than it being carelessness. 

Theo nodded again, looking out at the trees. He wanted to run. He couldn't physically outrun Fletcher, sure. But he could outride him. He could get down to the stable, saddle up and take off before the other man could keep up.

Why? Why was he running from the man he loved? Why was he so desperate to escape that he couldn't try once more to salvage what this was? Did Fletcher even want to? Was that what it was? That Fletcher seemed so wholly against meeting Theo in the middle or talking to him that Theo despite having finally professed those three little words wanted to just give up and bolt?

He hated himself and had to tilt his head and swallow strongly to force back another wave of tears. He couldn't run from Elijah. He could run from his father. Here was a man that treated him on most days far better than either ever had. But from this one he wanted to run. Or was it himself?

Theo turned to face Fletcher and spoke very quietly. "You're hurting me," he began. "You're punishing me and lashing out at me with coldness over something I don't know I've done. Yesterday I told you something in complete confidence that was very important to me and you shared it back. And now this.

"I'm not your father and I'm not Ven. I'm Theo and this isn't fair to me. I don't want to be fighting with you like this all the time. But, I need you to communicate with me. You yell at me that I don't listen, but you don't talk. I don't know what he was, but I'm not a mind reader. I only know what you tell me.

"You don't want to talk this out right now, that's fine. But communication needs to consistently happen at some point for both our sakes if you want this. Because I do. I very much do. But, I'm not going to endure this cycle every other night if you're not going to talk to me when there's a problem.

"I'm not trying to get you fired. I'm not trying to get you in trouble. And I'm certainly not trying to hurt you. But, this is me telling you that you're hurting me and I need it to stop. Please."