A Fallen HomeKin

PART XLIV

Beep, beep, beep.

Fog rolled around Fralith, soft and warm. It curled over his body, weighing it down and pressing at his eyelids.

Beep, beep, beep.

Where...was he? He stirred, willing his limbs to move and eyelids to lift. The fog didn't want to move and it took all his effort just to crack one eye open. Blurry shapes wavered past his eyelashes.

Beep, beep, beep.

Beeps...that was familiar. Was it— Where...? Fog rolled over the end of his thought, muffling it into silence. He reached for it, but nothing was there, just cool white. Other thoughts drifted in and out of sight, most of them too far away for him to make out. It was...so hard to think through the fog, even as it twisted and swirled away from his head.

Gradually, the shapes of thoughts and the flutter of emotions grew closer and louder, the fog thinning with each breath. As it receded, he became aware of a deep, bone aching throb in his shoulder. It— hurt, like one of PainBird's serrated feathers was twisting around and around, driving deeper each time he inhaled. Why...did it hurt? Where was he? Something twisted under his ribs, clogging his throat.

"Zander...?"

Peeling his other eye open, he blinked until the blurs solidified into shapes and colors he could recognize. A ceiling. White ceiling. Lining the edges of his view was a pale, light green sheet. He was...in the big building again? The thing in his chest twisted tighter, restricting his chest.

How did he get here? Why was he here again? Where was— Ray-chel? A bolt of lightning stuck his limbs, chasing some of the fog away. Ray-chel! Was she safe? Did she— get hurt? Where were the men? What—

Thick, suffocating darkness. Thunder roaring in his ears. Screams. So many screams. Flashes of white and metal. Blurs of frantic movement. Blood on his hands. Blood on his clothes. Blood everywhere. And agony. Pure, unadulterated agony. Tightness and pressure welled up inside of him, rising like a tide of panic and sliding out of him in a whimper.

"Oh, Zander." A hand brushed dark strands of his hair away from his eyes and closed around his fingers.

He hurt and there was fog and beeps and— Squinting, he turned his head, another whimper finding its way through his lips. He— he'd hurt them! Really, actually hurt them. Not just a scrape but—

RuthMom leaned over the edge of a bed—just like the one he'd lain in for days when he was with Tim—brows tilted over her eyes shining with relief and tears. "My precious boy," she breathed. "You're awake."

RuthMom. The thing under his ribs tightened like a snake around a mouse, pressure building in his chest and rising up his throat. Did she know what— PainBird hurt too much— He couldn't— The fog hung around him, muddling his thoughts and keeping a lot of his senses dulled and gray. "Mmmuh," he gasped, tongue an uncooperative wad of wool.

"Shh, it's okay." RuthMom smoothed his hair back again, clasping warm fingers around his own and offering a small, wavery smile. "You're safe. Thank the Lord you're safe."

Tears sprung to his eyes, threatening to spill. It was okay? It— was so hard to think. The fog— Hands strangled his arms, wide eyes hovering over him, glazed with pain and anger— His throat closed around a sob, lips trembling and breath hitching.

Cupping his cheek in her hand and sliding the other under his back, she hugged him the best she could. "Oh, my brave, brave boy."

The tears spilled over and he leaned his face into her palm, letting the sobs loose. All the emotions— all the snatches of fear and fragments of pain— poured out of him with the tears, falling past the swirling fog numbing the agony in his shoulder and gathering in RuthMom's palm as she cradled his face, whispering words he didn't understand but still soothed the throbbing in his chest.

He had to hurt those men. Badly hurt them. And that— and that— that made his skin feel slick with dark, ugly shadows like the ones lurking in his belly from betraying Father. They were heavy and gritty, like ash grinding between his knuckles and no matter how much he scraped, it wouldn't go away.

He'd hurt them. He had to hurt them. For Ray-chel's sake. For his sake. But it still— the shadows were still there, sliding around his ankles and dripping from his mouth like the tears streaming down his cheeks. Was he a bad person now? Would anyone be mad at him? Was Ray-chel safe?

A sob tore from his throat, fragments of words embedded in its edges. "Immu— immualah— Immualah nambu— anyerthiaho ommbaha— no me beep."

"Shh, shh. I know sweet boy, I know." RuthMom wiped away tears with her thumb, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Squeezing his fingers into tight balls, he forced out more fog-soaked words. "Me b-bad? M-me bad? Me bad me—" A hiccup snatched away the end of his words, more tears pouring out to replace them.

A hardness drew across RuthMom's face, pressing her lips together. She shook her head and smoothed back his hair. "No," she said firmly. "You are not bad. You are brave. So, so brave, but not bad. You are never bad."

He closed his eyes, body shuddering. But he— he'd hurt people. "I bad them. I— I bad them."

RuthMom's thumb swiped across his face, pushing away more tears, a puff of warm breath hitting his cheeks. "You... did what you had to do, but it doesn't make you bad. You are not bad. You— saved Rachel, Zander. She's safe because of what you did."

Not bad. He wasn't bad? Not bad. The thing wrapped around his ribs loosened its hold a little. Not...bad. Ray-chel was safe. He was— okay enough. More things uncoiled inside of him and the shadows slipped away. Mustering strength, he pushed past the heavy fog and wrapped his arms around RuthMom, clutching at her shirt to hold on.

It was okay. RuthMom would— make it all okay, like Davith Before had with scrapes and cuts. He would be safe here. Nothing bad would happen to him or— or the rest of the family. It was okay. Slowly, the sobs died away and tears stopped dripping down his face. He swallowed, sniffing.

Something—a tube?—tugged at his wrist, dragging it down. Strength giving out, his hand dropped from around RuthMom. So...tired. The fog drifted closer, pressing against his limbs and putting spaces between his thoughts.

"Rest now, my sweet one," RuthMom murmured, drying his face with something white and soft. "I'll be here."

Letting his other hand slip from her shirt, he closed his eyes with a sniffle. Sleep would be...good. And it was...safe to sleep. With a long sigh, he sank into the deeper recesses of the fog bank, the spaces in between his thoughts growing until there was nothing but cool, white wetness.