"If you hold fear in your heart, it will destroy you. But if you are merely afraid, it will keep you alive."

Tyler frowns, spinning the fastened object between his fingers. What a strange little thing.

He'd found the metal item stuck in the drywall shortly after Strickler's visit. It's certainly a blade of some sort, but designed like a feather, something to add to one's attire for stylistic value. He can't imagine what it is.

That's why he's dulled the edges and tied it up on a leather string. After today, it'll end up in his small box of treasures. Or strung from his bag. Either option works for him.

He rumbles quietly to himself in indifference, looking up at the clock with worry as he clutches the necklace tightly.

The boy had been on his way home after an evening at Eli's house when his foster-mother had called him. Jim was in the hospital.

He had run so fast. He didn't care that the hospital was on the other side of town, he just kept going.

It had become clear to him-after narrowly avoiding a speeding vehicle-that all self-preservational instincts had been thrown out a window. The only thing on his mind was Jim's safety.

He remembers being told to wait, that seeing his foster-brother in his condition might be a bad idea.

"I just want to see Jim!" the boy cries, fingers curling into desperate fists.

"Think about how you're acting now," Barbara says as calmly as she can. "You might make yourself worse."

"The amnesia or me current state?" he hisses, trying to dodge around the woman. "It doesn't matter, I don't care. Let me see 'im."

His foster-mother is quick to put him in his place, holding his shoulder in a firm grip and shooting him a stern look. "You might not care, but I do. You can wait out here until he's cleaned up, or I can call Walt to take you home. Either way, you can't see him."

He glares foully at her, an overwhelming intensity of fury burning in his gaze. But he doesn't act upon it, only releasing a soft cry of despair as he looks at the door.

Claire had gone home a few hours ago, practically dragged out by her parents. Toby had come in and out, sitting down or pacing, but even he had to abandon his post to return home. Along with them went his only company.

The click of the door makes him snap his head up, already leaping up from his seat. He knows who it is. He knows what she'll say. He knows that he only has seconds longer to wait.

Barbara shifts the clipboard in her hand, giving her foster-son a gentle look. "You can go in now."

The boy doesn't have a moment's hesitation, striding past her without a single word. All rage is behind him now and he cares little for their earlier dispute.

Tyler's hands grasp Jim's, sending a sense of comfort to both boys though neither are aware. The elder is relieved, and he plants himself on the edge of the hospital bed, never once losing his touch with his sib's.

Tyler feels like he might cry, so exhausted from worrying and pacing that he finds himself unable to move. He briefly runs his thumbs over Jim's knuckles before raising a hand to examine the stitches and bruises on his cheeks.

A shaky breath leaves his lungs, and he rests his forehead against the young boy's, reassuring himself of his living presence. He had been scared. All too often the lad has got himself stuck in trouble, but it feels less like he's been playing soldier and more like his forgetting opposite has been digging his own grave.

"Gum beannaicheadh ​​an ban-dia thrì-fillte thu le deagh fhortan agus gun toir e dhut ath-bheothachadh luath," he mutters softly, gently brushing his fingers along his foster-brother's cheekbones. He forces himself to remain blissfully unaware of the warmth flowing through his body.

He wants to drop like a stone and succumb to the watery depths of his cleared mind, his soul begging him to rest. But he can't, not while Jim's unconscious. Not while he is left unprotected.

His fingers delicately wrap around the boy's wrist, around the bare section of his forearm that should be hidden by his bracelet. Strange. The doctors normally place any personal belongings on the bedside.

Fascinated by the oddity, Tyler examines his arm, tracing his finger across the unblemished skin. The only answer he receives is a tingling sensation in his palms that runs down his arms.

Huh.

Just for safety's sake-or perhaps for the purpose of superstition-the amber-eyed lad draws a nonexistent rune on the boy's skin, smiling softly to himself. If his memory serves him right, it's a symbol of protection, a weak ward of sorts. Of course, that's just its believed value, it doesn't mean that he believes it's true. As of yet.

Tyler smiles weakly, brushing a strand of raven hair behind his foster-brother's ear. He cares so greatly for this boy, and would willingly take on whatever opponent to keep him safe under his wing. Without a doubt, he would sacrifice himself if necessary.

《《》》

A strained yelp leaves his lips as a great crash awakes him from his terror, bolting upright from his slouched position on the bed.

His eyes are wide with fear and panic, practically unheard whimpers slipping from his throat. The usual golden amber that fills them is glazed and clouded, fogged by the darkness surrounding him.

A shudder wracks down his spine, drawing a cursed sob to escape the boy. His hand clasps his mouth as a muffle, quietening his terror as he curls in on himself, trying to hide away where he cannot be found. It is not something that ever works, but he tries nonetheless, wanting nothing more than to disappear as tears stream down his reddening cheeks.

Eventually, he finds that he must get up, or move to shelter elsewhere than in his room. The darkness is unsettling and everything seems different without the light of the moon.

Reluctantly, Tyler brings himself to stand, wrapping his duvet around his bare shoulders as his legs tremble beneath him. His feet shuffle across the hardwood, no longer graceful in their steps but unsure and clumsy. It doesn't matter though, so long as they take him where he needs to go.

Another booming crash of thunder shakes the house, but this time, he doesn't flinch, the vision of his nightmare receding into a faded memory. That doesn't mean that he's calm, no. He's very far from calm.

With his heart racing faster than a speeding bullet, the boy is on edge, cautious of everything that he doesn't recognise after first glance. Tremors rattle his bones, making him shake harder than a cocktail mixer, causing the grip he has in his duvet to loosen.

His destination is not his foster-brother's room, but rather the basement. The place where he can sit and watch glowing embers until he nods off. The most calming place in the house.

He sniffles quietly, wiping his nose on his blanket as he makes his way down the wooden steps, unbothered by the feeling under his bare feet. The duvet drags behind him no matter how much of it he tries to pick up, gathering dust and dirt from the floor.

It's not hard to figure out, but the only truly clean spot in the basement is a small rug that had been stuck in the washing machine three times before Tyler had the will to bring it down. It's the single place that the boy finds himself completely at ease during the night.

The gentle smell of fire and petrichor soothes him almost immediately, and he releases a near silent sigh of relief as he sits. Waves of warmth encompass him and he cozily nestles into his duvet, welcoming the peace that has eluded him this night. Finally, the dark tendrils of his night terrors will be chased off by the safety in his circle of comfort.

And he couldn't care less about the foreboding sense growing in the pits of his gut.

The time will be soon!

Hope you enjoyed!