a tale of daybreak |
| He followed the scent of bacon in a trail that led to a kitchen within the cabin. He thought it was a dream, expecting to see a blonde bombshell but instead the turn of Slade's own children revealed differently. Moving around like an overgrown cave dweller, lacked the words between man and two who were apparently adults. The more he squinted from the tiredness the more he saw two small kids. Two of which he attempted to make up for his time away or the cause of any of their pain. Self-mutilation to death itself. This living reminder, the nightmare he had many times ago wasn't the ideal moment to bear. Family were gathered around the table, and would go to hell because an entity or enemy of his wanted to kill the dream. Slade blankly stared, face immovable by the invite to sit. They'll break bread together. Smooth out the kinks of what was now an uncomfortable situation with both Nathan's brother by adoption and his own child were mirrored embodiments of Joseph and Rose. Grant was gone. Dead and the missing limb, phantom with attachment that he could feel. The eldest followed shoes too big enough to fill but his baby girl stepped in instead. Mouth was spoiled with a nasty taste because it wasn't real. It couldn't be. He expected other faces from his past to walk around the corner, especially a disgruntled ex-wife from the dead and confidant that was like the missing parental he once needed in his long life. Slade and discomfort didn't mix. Being seen sweating was his weaknesses manifested in front of strange company. Wishing for them to be less figments and it actually real were two different surprises that shuffled him into a deep state of depressed thoughts. Not for the potential lengths he had to go to protect them both but because of secrets Nathan was holding on to that Slade felt obligated to be honest about. He couldn't push his hosts' hand where code, moral or ethical in the state of affairs either beings lived by, was in place. Respect was drawn. He would have to come to terms at a place where the truth was worth more than lies and living triple lives. This reality was the fresh start granted he hoped for. The new home he was supposed to take advantage of. Become a better man and knowing the places he went when there was a single reason for it being ripped away, troubled him more and more. He sat there across from the two at the small table. Platter of food for the offering while plates were being passed along including cultery. What was given wouldn't be enough to fuel him as the calories were needed to function, to fuel the workings of his brain and body. Easier of a follow through with thinking about the food instead the quiet murmuring between the two. Seeing things casual and easy was strange. Almost surreal that if he was weak by stomach, the bits left of last night's dinner would hurl all over the table. He would embarrass himself with the purge, hoping to get out the nerves because that's what it was. Anxiety. He felt uneasy. Complicated were the bloodline or lack there of and there they both were, attempting to roll with punches they were forced to absorb. He didn't want them to be involved. To be the veil's next set of victims. It was a bullet that constantly went around, picking and choosing it's target without actually know the gamble. He wanted to hide them away, believing by keeping a direct eye on them, the one good one he could lock in his line of vision, would save them from a series of unjustifiable torture. He didn't want them to relive their worst nightmares or things done that were unable to be fixed. He stomached enough as it were. Scraped his plate to his own silence. Hearing the air of their mouths agape then close, even the hushed laugh when inside jokes were shared. He knew, or in some way felt paranoid. When they looked up from their communicating, behind signing, he was left to watch the innocence he had a hand in destroying, shown through their eyes. They weren't blue, nor were his, but the physical markers could have been. The locks of pale hair weren't visible but he knew they were in the place where he couldn't reach physically but wanted to. Smothering them would end the suffering before it started, if it hadn't already. Putting them out of their misery, giving them the mercy that they deserved was so far out of his place of logic that he stopped at one bite before his entire place was emptied. Thinking so far to bury their souls out in the back of the cabin, caused a sweat to appear at the brow. He couldn't fathom having to do it but did what he had to out of rightness, out of the need to have control. He was losing it again, unable to find a grip of reality that wasn't enough to relax his core and the immoral thoughts anyone should be frightened of. Slade scratched his plate, the fork pressed in with enough force that it's surface with scattered food began to crack. Jaw line pulsed with the passing of fork against plate until the shrill of its cracking sent his left eye to twitch, while the right closed tightly. Demons of the past and now his immediate present were to be exercised. They looked at him, at each other, and back at him again. A big smile should have quelled their concerned but that smile would be a red flag, especially when they knew his reason to smile wasn't so good. The plate cracked fully, splitting where it could be fused and he pushed the pieces so quickly not accounting his augmented strength that it flew across the room. Maybe they thought he lost it or the eggs were shitty. Not enough salt or the bacon wasn't a thick cut from a slab he could have done a better job preparing. The scent of coffee wasn't coming through nor the orange juice as he was all over the place, more in disbelief as he excused himself from the table. To fight off the troubles and box them away with the rest of the inexcusable harm he wanted to cause. Slade balled his fist with strain and exited from the dining area to gather himself and that of what was becoming of him. With just half of the week left to go, it was looking slimmer that the person who the two may have felt the most comfortable with and needed the most, would be sane enough to handle this new adjustment. The door slammed shut behind him, shutting in the small study for distance. Some clarity to be sought after and the space to think without the mind slipping back to a place where hundreds of deaths would be on his hands. He wanted them clean. His deserved slate anew, and the grit to see it through. |