rome could (thinkaloud) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2011-05-02 09:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | castiel, todd hewitt |
Who: Rome & Christian.
What: Fixins! And not the kind on chicken. Though, now I think of it, those too.
Where: The alley behind Hamartia, and then Bathos
When: Say... yesterday night.
Warnings: None!
The cat had come to stay when Rome was asleep, even though some people told the boy he slept loud and no one could ever rest anywhere near him. He woke up some time in the night with a jangle of defensive anger at the feel of something pushing at his shoulder (take anything of mine--!), but rolled over to find only an orange tabby cat crouched at his back, drying off. It was wet outside, and the old paper bag he’d taped over the window had melted under the assault of the damp.
The water was leaking off the sodden remains, and the wind was cold. Hi, cat. It going to run off because of the Noise? The tabby didn’t. At least not yet. Rome patted it on the head, and then, when it seemed pleased with that, scratched it under the chin. I bet it’s hungry, are you hungry? The cat, obviously, didn’t respond, but Rome knew how to keep friends: feed them. How about something to eat? You can come with me. He picked up the cat and opened his bag. The cat didn’t like being stuffed in there, but he (she?) still went.
There were sounds in the corridor, so Rome shrugged and went out the soggy window. The fire escape had served him well before without problem but he forgot about all the rain that slicked the metal grate. With a jangle of horrified thought, he fell with a scream into the alleyway below.
Despite the several kind people who had replied to Christian’s plea for help, he still felt as if it was his duty to wander the streets in the freezing rain in efforts to find his poor cat before he had hurt himself. He had tugged on a rain coat and retrieved his umbrella from the closet before he began to wander the streets at night. He wasn’t too concerned for his own well-being, and he never was. The concept of being in danger never really registered to Christian; perhaps it was his naive lifestyle.
After almost an hour of searching, Christian was prepared to give up. He was cold and wet, and his umbrella hardly did much in all this rain. Before he could find his bearings, and look around to find his way home, a terrible sound had reached his ears that set the hairs on the back of Christian’s neck on edge. If he didn’t know any better, that sounded like a scream. Something seemed to click in his mind, and he tugged his raincoat tighter around himself before bounding down the wet streets in the direction of the sound.
It only too him a minute to find the alley that Rome was lying in, but he almost passed him over in the dark. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar jingle of a bell that Christian looked around and there, he saw, was his Jimmy, meowing over the legs of what seemed to be a man. Panic had quickly set in Christian’s heart as he ran forward, and he bent into the puddle next to Rome before he said loudly, over the sounds of the city, “Sir? You seem quite harmed, are you alright?” He was afraid to touch him... but he very carefully put his hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
The scream had been audible, torn from pure instinct and only accompanied by a flutter of incoherent panic in Rome’s thoughts. He wasn’t used to making physical sound with his throat, and he didn’t really hear it before the ground came up at him too fast for him to prevent it. The bag must have come free, fortunately for the cat, because it was still snagged on the railing just outside of the apartment Rome was calling home.
Rome was conscious but he didn’t really understand anything about what he was sensing beyond the agony, and the thoughts that escaped were stilted and confused. Fell? God, it hurts. The ‘it hurts’ continued in various forms, all without any apparent movement except weak stirring as he tried to get up. His arm was tangled under his body and there was the smell of something harsh in the air that wasn’t rain.
Christian didn’t know what had startled him more, the fact that this man was lying in an alleyway practically motionless, or the fact that he could hear him. But... it didn’t seem that the younger man’s lips were moving at all. Christian’s look turned to one of confusion and curiosity, but he was quickly reminded of the severity of the situation when Rome tried to get up.
“No! No, now, keep down, you’re only going to hurt yourself...” Christian glanced weakly at the small umbrella that he had carried with him and, although grateful that he had it, he still found himself wishing for something a BIT larger. He settled with resting the umbrella behind Rome, wedged between the wall and the young man’s back, to keep his head dry... And Christian scolded when Jimmy, his cat, tried to climb over Rome’s body for warmth.
“Absolutely not, Jimmy, you stay right there. You are in a LOT of trouble.” His voice had a bit more stern emotion when he spoke to the small animal but he gently shooed him away, hooking the clasp of the leash he had brought with him to the cat’s collar to make sure this didn’t happen again. His attention turned back to the boy who... somehow spoke in his head. “Now please hold still, it would be quite unpleasant if you tried to move while I did this. I’ve... never tried with another person you see, so you will have to bear with me while I work. I don’t THINK anything bad will happen... but we will find out!” His tone seemed unnecessarily cheery, and he carefully placed his fingertips on the elbow that seemed to be bending the wrong way.
Christian had never done this before. Other times, he was just healing himself of papercuts, or Jimmy of car accidents, but fixing a man’s arm? He quickly learned that he had to concentrate much harder than before... but after a moment his fingertips had softly started to glow, warming the man’s skin pleasantly and slowly easing the pain. He wasn’t able to heal him completely, not in these conditions, but at least he could make it a bit more bearable. He looked at Rome oddly, before saying aloud, “It seems that you are a wizard. Since you can talk in my head. But I’m sure even wizards would dislike being in the rain...” His tone became soft. “Will you allow me to bring you inside? I can fix your arm properly there.”
Rome hadn’t been hurt this badly for a very long time, and there was nothing that hurt more than a bone in pieces. There was a lot of inarticulate pain from Rome as the man moved around him, and he didn’t have the shield of the big jacket and his hood; he tried to move onto his back but his arm hurt too much, and in the streetlight it was startlingly clear his mouth wasn’t moving even a little. The litany didn’t stop; Rome’s mental voice was a lot younger than he was, and with his defenses down, a lot quieter.
Who is it? What’s he doing? Taking my things? Think I dropped my stuff. Hurts, God, make it stop hurting, hurts. Who is Jimmy? Don’t know any Jimmy’s... wish dad was here, he’d make it stop hurting, or mom. Is it getting better? He tried to turn his head to see what Christian was doing, and he was startled and afraid when he started to glow. What’s the light?! As the pain lessened, Rome’s thoughts became more structured and coherent. What is he doing? What’s wrong with my arm, is it broken, am I dying?
Christian seemed more and more stunned with the way that he heard words in his head, but they weren’t coming from the boys lips... he rarely saw strange things. He sold health insurance for a living... granted, he had seen a man with a forehead that strongly reminded him of the state of Michigan, but this seemed a bit more surreal. The voice seemed younger than the face, and it had caused a whole new kind of compassion to well in Christian’s chest as he weakly took the boy’s good arm.
“Please... you are not dying, just calm down and let me help you. I certainly can’t leave you here.” He had considered calling an ambulance, but he threw out that theory long ago. He was a bit clueless, but he wasn’t stupid. There were so many people in this city who didn’t want to be found that calling an ambulance on a stranger for anything other than an absolute deadly emergency could do more harm than good. He securely wrapped Jimmy’s leash around his wrist and, leaning forward, he gently took the umbrella and held it over Rome’s body.
His eyes softly ran over him, as if trying to read what was harmed and just how harmed it WAS, but his main concern at this point was Rome’s arm. By the feel of it, the bone was shattered, and Christian knew that he could heal it but not in these circumstances. Healing made him weak, and if he pushed himself to fix something as complex as a human arm could drain him. From the preview of before, healing Rome was going to be a lot more complex than healing a cat...
“I can make your arm better, but I can’t do it here.” His voice was getting lower now, as if he was trying to comfort Rome as he attempted to keep him dry with his tiny umbrella. “If I do it here I might not be able to get home, it makes me very tired, you see. Healing, I mean.” He had paused. “I can bring you inside and help you but you would have to come with me.” Christian paused for a moment, as if trying to test out his own words. “I am not trying to harm you, only help. Please, I cannot just leave you here.”
In several layers of second-hand, mismatched clothing, the outermost of which was a green jacket best suited to a man with an additional hundred pounds, it was hard to see with the naked eye where, exactly, Rome was hurt. He had bumped his head on the fire escape as he slid off, which explained the smell of blood even though the cut was small, and to him it just felt like every jostle started new agonies down his arm. Barely audible over the Noise of his thoughts, which were starting to become increasingly explicit as he realized he wasn’t going to die, he made quiet sounds of bizarrely youthful pain.
Muddy blue eyes watched Christian warily, and Rome’s public thoughts were very critical as they moved from observations about the man’s attire to what he suspected his motives might be for helping him. He sat up with Christian’s aid, rolling over and cradling his arm as his eyes watered embarrassingly. Second time this week I’m crying like a stupid kid, Rome thought, as Christian tried to persuade him to get up. Rome squinted up into the shelter of the little umbrella, and then he saw his friend the orange tabby cat. The leash matched, he noticed.
Help? Fix it by making it glow, still hurts, does it hurt a little less, I’m not sure. Your cat? The little tip of the head betrayed that last thought as one intentionally meant to communicate, unlike the others. He didn’t quite get up yet, as besides his arm he had a lot of bruises falling two stories. Well, one... and then onto a dumpster, and then down. But still. Two stories. His other arm still hurt from the last time he’d been stupid, but not this bad.
Christian wasn’t used to this. Hearing someone speaking inside of his head, and, although he knew it was obviously DIFFERENT, and a bit annoying (did this boy hear his thoughts as well??) it was thrilling, in a twisted sort of way. Christian had only been here, at Bathos, for a year, and he kept to himself. Meeting someone who had an ability that was different, like he had, made him a bit nervous, but relieved at the same time. He knew, obviously, that there were people out there who had special abilities, but he never MET one! The reality seemed to tumble back onto him, however, when he saw a hint of moisture welling in the boys eyes.
Oh my go- he’s crying. He’s CRYING. What did you do? What DO you do?? Christian looked at his cat, as if trying to receive advice from him, before he looked back at Rome. </i>Well if I was crying, I certainly wouldn’t want to be. So he’s probably upset and uncomfortable...</i> “Did I hurt you?” Christian spoke aloud this time and he was still frowning before he gently glanced up at the building that they were leaning on, and then back to Rome. “Please, I only want to help you. I... yes, I know that it’s weird.” His cheeks actually burned a little, a hint of pink running up his face. He was referring to Rome’s thoughts about his glowing hands. “But it will make you feel better. I promise, I really don’t wish to harm you. If I did, I would have done it by now.”
He didn’t really realize how badly that had come off, but then again, Christian didn’t talk to people much. “You’re wearing a lot of clothing and I can’t see your wounds properly, I want to take you somewhere that is at least dry, so that I can fix your arm. Just your arm!” He seemed to change his pace, and was now promising things to the boy to convince him to allow Christian to help. “I’ll just fix your arm and whatever else is hurt if you want, but only if you ask me to, how is that?”
Why was he trying so hard with this boy? In theory, he could just leave him here. Call an ambulance and walk away, and be done with it. But that didn’t sit right with Christian, and he didn’t want to just leave a young man dying in an alley. He is not dying, do not think that. You don’t even know if he can hear you. ...Can you hear me? He gave Rome an odd look, as if expecting an answer, but when he didn’t receive one he seemed to relax a bit. “I can’t leave you here, I would be a horrible person. Can you stand? Or are your legs damaged?”
It was a little beyond weird. Over the course of Christian’s last several sentences, Rome’s infant suspicions (which he appeared to harbor for everyone, regardless of situation) went from quiet mumblings of distrust to full-on disgusted panic. Rome wore a lot of clothing because a) it was cold in Seattle and b) he didn’t want people to get a good look at him. Growing up by yourself on the streets tended to make you a target for unscrupulous people with grabby hands, and Rome generally leapt to conclusions when people talked about his clothes and tried to get him to come back to their place.
His thoughts were fairly explicit in what he thought all this meant.
In a veritable cacophony of anger and half-formed threats about beating Christian up if he dared touch him or his clothes, Rome retreated (the wrong way) deeper into the alley. It was even harder to follow the train of thought that followed, because between the threats and names, there were little panicked thoughts that he might not be able to fight anybody off with one bad arm and debates about whether or not he should scream for help.
Christian stared down at the boy when he saw (well, mostly heard) the sense of panic that he had been struck with. He gave a tired sigh and, with a tired groan, he closed his eyes. This always happened. No matter what Christian said to people, it was always wrong. This was why he always stayed home. The explicit language that suddenly flooded his mind actually shocked him to the point where he stood up and stared down at Rome in polite confusion, followed by a bit of distaste. “Now the name calling is completely uncalled for!” He snapped it a bit more annoyed than he meant to, but his patience was wearing thin. Christian was so tired of being misunderstood and, although it was mostly his fault a good ninety percent of the time, it tested his tolerance of how much he could take.
“I’ve told you several times that I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to help you. If I wanted to do harm, then why would I have tried to fix your arm?” The logic made sense in Christian’s head, even if it didn’t translate correctly when he spoke it. “You can stay here if you want but I’m not going to stand here and argue about your compliance. I just want to help you, young man, but if you are that set against it then I can leave you be.” He raised an eyebrow curiously at Rome, but his stomach got a bit tight. He didn’t like the idea of leaving him be. Despite his words, Christian would probably walk away and watch from a corner as he called an ambulance for the poor kid. “Either let me help you or stay here and bleed, it is completely up to you.”
Now standing out of reach with his arm against his chest, Rome was stuck with a very bad decision. Christian’s sudden break in his bumbling, rambling demeanor into anger successfully stunned Rome into a relative quiet, which was only interrupted by a snarling but less sure Don’t trust you.
The young man stopped retreating, however, wavering as he tried to decide what to do. Says he wants to help, not coming after me, made my arm glow, never seen anything glow like that, maybe it hurts a little less now? I can’t go to a hospital, no money to pay, hospital calls cops, cops call jail, the end. His eyes drifted down to the orange tabby, and for some reason Rome didn’t think the animal would betray him to a psychotic pervert murderer. Cat likes him. His cat, orange cat, this the man from the forums? Were you the guy looking for your cat on the internet?
For some reason, the first thought that he heard seemed to strike a nerve with Christian, and he said aloud, in more of a snap than a statement, “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m asking you to let me HELP.” He stared at Rome, with what seemed to be a new found patience, as he heard the boy sorting through his thoughts. Jail? Perhaps it wasn’t the boy who should be afraid of psychopaths... Come on, look at him. He’s tiny, what is the worst that he could have done? Christian continued to stare but he paused when Rome’s thoughts turned to Jimmy. He looked at his own cat before he answered him. “Yes, it’s my cat, I am the man on the forums, why does that matter?” He looked tired now and he gave an exasperated sigh. “What do you want me to do here, boy, how am I supposed to convince you that I’m only trying to help?”
He felt like it was the hundredth time he had said it tonight. Perhaps it was. “The longer you spend trying to find reasons not to trust me, the more blood you’re losing and the harder it’s going to be for me to heal you. I already told you, it makes me VERY tired, and I’m not going to be able to help if you just stand here and stare at me like I’m some monster.” Christian folded his arms over his chest, already soaked from the rain as his umbrella rested on the ground between them, unused. “What will it be?”
I’m not a boy, Rome thought sullenly, irritated despite his pain and distraction. It was a good thing that he couldn’t hear the thoughts of those around him, because generally they tended to view Rome as tiny. Rome was around 5’7”, and refused to think of himself as small, despite the fact that he had a very thin face, subsisted on a diet of junk food and air, and wore oversized clothing.
He was still waffling on whether or not to trust Christian when he made the mistake of taking a rather bad step on the wet alley, and jostled his arm. The inarticulate little yelp of pain was all sound and nothing else, and Rome sniffed and immediately gave in. Okay, I’ll come, if you fix it. God it HURTS.
Despite himself, Christian felt a smile crossing his own lips. He knew what it was like to feel tiny. Even as a grown man he just reached 5’10, and when he was younger he was always a bit if a runt. So he stayed silent when Rome tried to defend his own size, but the moment the boy yelped out Christian had taken a step forward. Still, he made sure not to touch him until Rome finally agreed to be helped. “Good, I’m glad we’re clear.” He didn’t hesitate to walk on Rome’s other side, and he looked at the boy cautiously before he carefully took his opposite arm and draped it over his own shoulder.
He stood and took some of the weight from Rome’s legs. They had to be hurting because if they weren’t, Rome would have obviously ran away a long time ago. “I’m just two blocks away, it’s going to be a long walk but you have to work with me so that we can get you somewhere safe, alright?” He looked over at the younger man. “We can sit you down and I can get a better look at your arm, alright?”
Rome was hurting all over, it was just a question of how much and where. He didn’t like Christian being so close, but he quickly lost the tense hesitancy as the pain drained him of energy and his thoughts began to run together again like rainwater on a windowpane. Just two blocks, I can do two blocks, I’m almost sure I can do two blocks. Did I land on my back or my ankle or my head, I can’t tell, it’s just my arm if I could get my arm to stop HURTING. It went on like that all the way to the second building, and by the time they were at Christian’s door Rome was almost incoherent with pain again. The stairs had been the worst, because the arm sent lances through him every time he took a step.
Rome’s small cries and pained thoughts were getting more and more explicit the longer that they walked, and Christian was actually worried that the boy would end up passing out on the stairs with the way he was making so much noise. Or was he just thinking it? Christian found himself alarmed that he could hardly even tell when he thought back on it... noise was noise, after all, how was he supposed to decipher between what Rome said aloud and what he kept in his thoughts? Questions about such an ability were bouncing the walls of Christian’s brain... were Rome’s thoughts always so public? Or was Christian the only one who could hear them? If that was the case, then was it Rome with the ability or Christian? He didn’t think so... after all, he had never encountered a person who had ‘vocal’ thoughts before.
They had finally reached his door and Christian unlocked it, pushing it open and helping Rome through. “There we are.” He said it calmly, which sounded inappropriately opposite of the ‘sounds’ that Rome had been making during their short trip. He continued to walk, however, until he sat Rome down on his couch. The place was clean and comfortable, not exactly the Hyatt but it was nice for a man and his cat. Christian closed the front door and walked to his kitchen, opening his freezer to see if he could find anything that would substitute as an icepack (for the things that he probably wouldn’t have energy to heal after he worked on Rome’s arm). “If you could remove or at least lift your jacket so that I could see your arm, that would be very helpful.” He called it from the kitchen before walking out with a bag of peas, setting it on the table in front of the boy. He had long ago realized that Rome didn’t like to be touched, so he was obviously keeping a distance before he had to knock the boy unconscious just to heal his arm. Which he probably would do to make sure that Rome was okay. For the greater good and all. “That's for any extra pain, it seems that your leg is hurting a bit so some cold might help it.”
Rome sat, and he hurt too much to even be grateful. The warm simplicity of the apartment’s interior was reassuring, however, as Rome associated middle-class furniture and warm light with homes and safety just like everyone else. It felt like the inside of his arm was in a million pieces, and even though he reminded himself every two seconds that he was almost twenty and he didn’t cry, threads of tears were making it through the dirt on his thin cheeks.
With some effort and a lot of swearing in his Noise (his mouth was totally visible now and it wasn’t moving even a little), Rome got one arm, his good arm, free of the jacket, but he couldn’t move the other one. He looked down at the frozen peas with a confused not hungry before looking back up again. Can’t move it, get scissors? Underneath the jacket he had a blue sweatshirt with a faded yellow UCLA logo; it was stained and had holes at the seams and elbows.
Christian paused when he was told to get scissors and he frowned a little when he looked at the jacket. He didn’t like the idea of cutting Rome’s clothing off of him but he sighed and nodded. If it had to be done then so be it, if worse came to worse, he could always patch the clothing up again for him. He retrieved scissors from a desk by the window, and he returned to Rome before he picked up the bag of peas and carefully placed them on the boys upper leg. He wasn’t sure if that was where it hurt, but he felt like it got the point across. Then, after he realized what he had done, he blushed and spoke aloud. “Take the bag and hold it against your leg, we don’t need it swelling. With your good hand, of course.” By listening to Rome’s thoughts he had almost forgotten to speak aloud himself. Right, you can hear him but he can’t hear you. Have to remember that...
It almost took Christian twenty minutes to free Rome’s arm, but he was moving slowly to minimize the pain. If he just shredded the jacket apart the kid would probably scream bloody murder... that, plus it would be harder for Christian to fix later if needed. After he got the jacket sleeve open, it didn’t take him long to move the sweatshirt sleeve out of his way until he finally saw the bare arm.
It certainly looked broken... it was already swelling and the skin was red and bruising. “That looks quite painful...” He muttered it under his breath, mostly to himself than to Rome, before his hands moved carefully. “Try to stay still.” He placed his fingertips on Rome’s arm and concentrated on the silence of the room, his eyes trained on the swollen skin in an intense stare before his fingers started to glow very slightly again. It was nothing outstanding, really... his skin seemed to lighten a bit, and he could feel himself getting tired already. Oh yes, much more complicated than a cat.
He continued, and the pain in Rome’s arm slowly started to melt away, the bone that was broken slowly mending. It took about three minutes all together, but by the time he was finished, Rome’s limb was as good as new. Christian let his hands fall and he leaned back against the couch, looking a bit tired, but he had more energy than he thought he would. “Do you need anything else fixed? I can’t do anything as complex as your arm, but if you have some bruising I might be able to help... Use that bag before it isn’t cold anymore, you don’t want your leg swelling up.”
Rome’s running commentary for this whole process became less pathetic after the glow began, and then more aggressive as his thoughts came back stronger, and then finally wondering as all the pain got a little warm and then faded away. After some additional doubt (how’s he doing it?) Rome’s attention was keen and his eyes were the size of quarters set deep in his head. He just--you just fixed it, he thought/said, stunned.
Rome had obediently taken the peas back when he would have done anything to make the pain go away, but now he shifted a little to test his ankle, and then he moved both arms. He gave his head a little sway back and forth. My leg is not so bad, can you make my head stop hurting? It wasn’t a concussion, but he’d hit it pretty good all the same, and when he gingerly touched the hair on the crown of his head his fingers still came away just a little wet. Head wounds bled a lot despite severity.
The cat sprang up to settle on Rome’s lap, and he looked down at it.
“Yes, I told you that I only wanted to help!” He said it tiredly and he sighed before he softly looked over at Rome, a bit more relaxed now that the boy wasn’t in agonizing pain. He paused at the young mans request, however, and he glanced at his fingers before seeing the blood for the first time.
“Oh my- well that can’t be good.” He sighed, grunting as he forced himself to sit up. “Let me have a look.” He leaned forward, keeping a good enough distance from Rome’s face but he softly lifted his hands and placed them carefully on each side of Rome’s forehead. The touch of his fingertips was gentle, but he seemed to concentrate again and, in much less time than it took for his arm, The pain in Rome’s head had become more of a tiny hum if he moved too fast than a full on ache. However, that seemed to be the most that Christian could do. He let his hands fall from the boys skin and he leaned back into his couch again, looking just as tired as before, before he gestured to the young stranger’s head.
“There. … You shouldn’t be bleeding anymore, but if I do much more than that I’m going to pass out and then you’ll need to find a way to help ME. Which, in theory, would be a bit counter-productive...”
Rome cradled the cat in his newly-repaired arm, and he watched Christian on the couch to see what he would do, and without any of his previous fear. Nobody who could do that could hurt him, and his thoughts didn’t have any of the angry defensiveness he had before. He tried to identify the feeling of being healed, but again it was just warmth and a slow lessening of pain. That’s amazing! Why are you tired? Where does the glow come from? His sleeve was in strips now, but since he hoped maybe he’d be able to save the garment with duct tape, he pulled down the sweatshirt again and leaned close to see Christian’s face. Are you sick?
Christian was taken aback by the questions. Really, he should have expected it, but... well. Rome was the first person who he had ever shared his abilities with. He actually blushed a bit nervously when he realized that and he felt a mixture of relief and discomfort. What would happen now? Then again, what could the boy do? He had his own odd ability to worry about.
“I... well to be honest, you know just as much about it as I do.” He shrugged softly. “I found out that I could do it about a year ago, I don’t really know why it glows, and it seems to make me tired if i do it too much, I think it just drains me. But I’ll be fine.” He gave Rome an encouraging smile before he stopped, looking at the way that Rome had pulled his sleeve back down. “...You’re not planning on leaving it like that are you? I can fix that for you if you like.” He absentmindedly reached out to pet Jimmy on the head. “A coat won’t do much good if it has such a large tear in it.”
That’s intense, was Rome’s opinion. He was extremely quiet, or his thoughts were, anyway, because if you surprised him enough, that happened. I wish I could heal people. You could charge money and be rich. I can fix the coat, some duct tape, you wrap it up, it’s still warm, kind of, unless you can fix clothes too? He held out the ragged sleeve expectantly.
“Money? … Well I don’t need money, what would I spend it on?” Christian frowned a bit but shrugged, and he simply nodded when Rome reached out his arm to reveal the tattered clothing. Christian stood and walked his way over to the kitchen again, moving slowly before he went into a small drawer under the sink and pulled out a little box. He returned to the couch and took Rome’s arm. “Hold still.” He said it softly before he opened the small container and took out his sewing needle, along with black thread. After living by yourself for a long time, you learned how to fix things. Perhaps that was why Christian should sell his ability. So that he could just buy new clothing when his old clothing ripped, or when a button came off.
He began to slowly sew up the clean cut, and he found himself appreciating the fact that he had used scissors to open the sleeve up. It wasn’t the neatest job, but by the time he was finished Rome’s clothing was fixed. “There we are.” He smiled a little, pleased with himself before he set the small box aside. He paused, a realization dawning on him before he looked back at the younger man and he finally gave him a soft, kind smile. “My name is Christian. By the way.”
Rome was astonished. What’s he doing with the needle? He sews? I didn’t know people could still do that, like with needles. Machines sew, and old ladies in movies. He didn’t move out of the way, though, watching with rather round eyes, since he’d never seen anybody sew anything before. He’d lived by himself for years, and he’d never sewn anything. He looked back up at Christian’s face. What do you mean, what would you do with the money? Buy food, then a house, get a car, get laid?
One of those options had made Christian blush, and it certainly wasn’t food or a car. He gave a nervous laugh before glancing at Rome and he shook his head. “I rather walk to be honest, and I have all the food I need. As for... the last part, I would feel a bit filthy if I paid for that, wouldn’t you?” He smiled softly at the boy before he sighed and he stood up, walking over to his kitchen. “Are you hungry?” His energy seemed to be returning. “I have some leftovers in the fridge if you want them, I was just going to throw them out...” This was weird. Having someone else in his home. He didn’t mind it, just... odd. “If you like chicken, that is...”
If I was dying I would pay you, and then you’d be rich and have steak every day and stuff, Rome opined, since his needs were fairly simple. He pulled the cat up onto his arm (it didn’t even tingle, awesome) and followed Christian into the kitchen. You’ll give me something to eat, too? Really? What does he have? Chicken? How old is it, does it have mold yet? I ate some chicken that had gone too green and I was sick for days. Maybe if you’ve got it in the fridge it just dries up... The litany followed until Rome was at Christian’s shoulder and peering close.
Christian had paused at that question and he stopped with the plate of food in his hand before he placed it on the counter and closed the refrigerator door. He turned to face Rome and he said, folding his arms, “Green? ...What have you been eating?” He frowned a bit before he started to unwrap the food and place it in the microwave. He wasn’t the most observant person in the world... but Christian was starting to think that Rome didn’t really LIVE anywhere. Or at least, he was very very poor. “It’s not green. It’s fresh food, I made it last night.”
He hesitated for a moment before looking at the young man casually over his shoulder, and he returned to his duties of finding a clean fork. “You could come here anytime you want for fresh food, actually, I always make too much since its only me here. Now that you know where I live.”
Eat anything you can get while you can get it, Rome thought, without pause. Fresh, awesome. What is it? But it didn’t seem to matter much, because he wasn’t waiting for the microwave. He made a lunge for the plate, dropping the cat, who yowled with annoyance but was unhurt. Smells good. He doesn’t really mean it, means it now but he’ll get tired of me and change the locks or call the cops if I come all the time, better get it now.
Christian jumped when Rome suddenly lunged for the plate and annoyance flashed through his eyes. Oh no, that certainly would not do, Christian was a man who respected manners. He suddenly put his arm out to block Rome from the microwave before he stares at him intently. “Now wait just a moment. I do not make promises that I do not plan on keeping. Have I given you any reason to doubt me? I had to practically drag you by your hair to this place just to let me help you.” He stares at Rome seriously. “But I will not have you acting so hyper in my house. Wait until it’s warm and you can have a decent meal, and whenever you are hungry, you are MORE than welcome to stop by. Or if it’s raining and you need a place to sleep for the night, but you are going to have to learn patience beforehand, young man.” Christian raised an eyebrow. Hell, he sounded like his father... “Do I make myself perfectly clear?”
Rome bumped right into Christian, shoulder to shoulder, arm outstretched for the plate. His gaze was focused on the plate most of the way through Christian’s little speech. Hungry, give it, was the general thrust of his thoughts, in various forms. He stopped trying to muscle Christian out of his way (generally trying to get around him without success) and stared at him when he didn’t relent. Won’t give it to me because it’s not hot? That’s freaking ridiculous, hungry now, what difference does it make if it’s cold or not? I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, GIVE IT. He pushed the other man’s chest, suddenly aggressive, even if his thoughts didn’t betray any particular violence.
Christian cocked an eyebrow when the boy pushed him and he tilted his head, almost as if he was confused, before he easily lifted a hand and pushed him back. “Yes. I won’t give it to you because it’s not hot. It tastes better when it’s warm and if you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning then you can wait another fourty-five seconds.” His voice was calm but he didn’t move, and he didn’t look like he was going to until the food was done. Just as his inability to turn Rome away when he found him in the streets, Christian was unable to NOT offer him food and shelter (when needed) but he wasn’t stupid. He needed to make sure Rome knew that he wanted to be listened to, or the deal was off.
He was sure that the next twelve seconds were agonizing for the boy and, thinking better of his original plan, Christian opened the microwave. He was sure that Rome was just going to inhale the plate, so making it TOO hot would have been a bad idea. He took it from the microwave and he placed the plate on his kitchen table, along with a fork and napkin. “When you eat, please sit at the kitchen table.” He said it kindly and he walked over, getting Rome a glass of water before placing it down also. “Are you planning on telling me your name any time soon?” Christian gave a soft smile and he sat on the opposite side of the table. “I would tell you not to chew with your mouth open but I suppose that doesn’t apply to you.”
Rome glared at him. If you hadn’t fixed my arm, I’d break your nose and take that plate right now, before you could blink, jerk. Make me jump through hoops for it? His thoughts were edged and bitter, and ‘hearing’ them was like feeling that bitterness, only just a little foreign. You couldn’t feel anything he was feeling, none of his hunger, but the thoughts had emotion just like a voice did. Eventually, however, he backed off, tearing his eyes from Christian and watching the plate move in the microwave.
He shot the table a look. Why, I’m not your kid. But he sat, grudgingly, in a slump. Fine, don’t care about your stupid food. Wouldn’t tell you my name, but it’s Rome and you’re going to find out as soon as you ask just like always.
Christian smiled a bit, despite the boys bitter attitude. “If I hadn’t fixed your arm, you wouldn’t be here and would probably still be bleeding in that alley, wouldn’t you? So then I wouldn’t have to worry about a broken nose.” He said it in a bit of a sing-song tone, before he leaned back in his chair. “And I don’t really care whose kid you are Rome. It’s my food, isn’t it? If I wanted to make you jump through hoops for it, I would have done much worse than putting it in a microwave like a monster.”
He seemed a little amused at that before he leaned back and he tilted his head, leaving Rome alone to eat a bit before he finally spoke again, feeling as if he had given him enough time. “So how long have you had your ability?” There were so many other questions he wanted to ask. Where was this boy’s family? Why wasn’t he living in a home? With parents? But those were far too personal. “And would you like anything with that? Salt perhaps? Pepper?”
Rome called Christian a very nasty name (mentally) at his sing-song tease, but he still sat there and still took his food the second it was in reach. There were more bitter accusations of, You wait a couple days without eating and you see how polite you are, jerk, but after he ate those seemed to die down into more curiosity about Christian himself.
About the ability, Rome raised his eyes and wiped a grease hand over his mouth. Had it since I came here, haven’t you? Obviously, he ignored the part about salt and pepper.
“I don’t have to starve for a day to remember my manners.” He said it coolly before he smiled crookedly when Rome began to eat. He leaned back and he tilted his head, thinking about it for a moment before he nodded. “Yes. I mean, I hadn’t noticed it until I found Jimmy about a month after I arrived here, but that’s when it really started. ...I suppose that its different for the two of us.” He smiled softly before he shrugged. “It comes in handy when needed, obviously. Is the food good?” He glanced at the plate before he suddenly stood to get himself a drink. “So, your name is Rome, and you spend your time bleeding in alleys with broken arms. That doesn’t sound too fun, my friend.” He glanced over at his visitor. “So why don’t you try to make money with your ability? Make people think that you can make them hear God in their head or something along those lines?”
Rome glanced down at the plate too. There wasn’t much left, and what there was he was sucking off his fingertips. Was good, he thought grudgingly. Should say thanks, but he was a jerk, but I guess.. thanks. The last was accompanied by a lift of eyes that wasn’t quite so grudging, and it was more intentional than the rest; real speech, or as close as Rome came, perhaps. Can’t make people hear what I want them to hear, they hear it all. I want you to think I’m God, but I’m really not, see, can’t do it. If Rome tried to lie with his thoughts, the truth always immediately followed.
“I see. Yes, I’ve realized that you either have little control over your thoughts and how they are projected, or you just don’t care.” He didn’t seem to mind, really. In fact, Christian looked a little amused by it. It was hard to get on his nerves... He turned to look at Rome. “Are you finished?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he took the plate and set it in the sink. “If you like, or are still hungry, you’re welcome to take what you want from the refrigerator.” He smiled softly and he gestured to his fridge before walking over into the living room and sitting down, turning the television on.
The boy was safe, healed, and somewhat dry. He was also well fed, and Christian felt as if he did whatever he could to help him. He didn’t mind at all... he lived alone. He had little to no friends and he made enough money to afford a nice place, but there was certainly room for another person if they needed to stop by here and there. “How are you feeling? Is your arm still alright?” He glanced over into the kitchen to see Rome. “You can sit for a little, I’m certainly not going to kick you out.” He hesitated before he finally asked, with a gentle tone, “Where are you going after this, Rome?”
Rome shrugged. He’d gathered a new meal from the fridge and it wasn’t for hoarding, either. He sat at the table again with a glance at Christian to see if he would complain, and when he didn’t, he started eating the rest of it too; with uncommon haste. It took him about five minutes, but of course Rome could converse and eat at the same time. Arm feels amazing, just like before, I remember how it hurt though, I still think you could get a lot of money, thanks for not charging me. I’m sorry I thought you were a jerk. Abashed look from under his eyebrows, but he perked up not long after, perching on the edge of the couch and munching enthusiastically on an apple for dessert. He ate it from top to bottom, like a very hungry bird.
Guess I could go back to Ham-Art, it’s this building I’m staying in, totally run down but I got a nice room, didn’t have to fight for it, leaks aren’t bad. Little cold and I can’t keep my valuable stuff there because there’s not a lock, but I was going to get a sleeping bag, I been saving up. You have a wife or kids or something? He looked around for these, but found no trace.
Christian nodded when the boy mentioned the building he was staying in. He knew of it, and he knew that it was not in livable conditions, but telling Rome that would just be insulting. It was his home, after all, even if Christian didn’t approve. “I see. Well, like I said, if it gets TOO cold or if you have something important that you need to keep safe, you can come here. … And I don’t have a wife. or a kid.” He smiled softly at that. “It is just me here. And I plan for it to stay that way for quite some time.” He shrugged softly. “I’m not exactly a family man. Why? Are you surprised?”
It's no big deal, is probably the thought Rome would have voiced, but as always the rest continued on. Yeah, you sew and cook and make people sit at the table, why don't you have a wife and a bunch of annoying kids? He paused with his mouth on the apple and chewed slowly. You don't have to answer every little thing I think.
“I know I don’t have to answer, I like to answer. It gives me more to think about.” Christian said it with a cheerful smile before he slipped his wet shoes from his feet and comfortably rested his legs up on the small ottoman in front of the couch. “I do not have a wife and a bunch of ‘annoying’ kids because I am not interested in anyone. And I certainly don’t think I would make a good father.” Just the idea of that made Christian a bit uneasy. Being a father? His own father couldn’t be a father, how could he possibly know what to do right? “I sew and cook because I don’t feel like buying new clothing or ordering out all the time. The effort makes my life much easier.”
Christian paused for a beat before he continued. “And what about you? Do you have any family? Perhaps siblings or parents...?”
Rome had never thought of it like that, he just assumed that people who could afford it liked the white picket fence stuff. He had the apple down to the quick by now, and he transferred himself to the very end of the couch so he could curl up there, not unlike the cat. His eyes were vaguely sleepy, but he was still awake enough to think. Mom is back where I came from, I think, I hope, and this guy with my name on the internet says dad is dead. It was a low, reluctant thought, one that Rome no doubt would have preferred to keep quiet, because he shook his head to the question in negative. But that must be wrong, must be a mistake.
Christian’s warmth seemed to seep away when Rome explained about his father, and he all too well was reminded of his mother’s death when he was little. He stared off a bit as he thought of it before he glanced over at the boy, his head tilting in curiosity before he spoke softly. “Well you shouldn’t believe anything that anyone says unless you know them well, and trust them. Isn’t that right?” Despite the fact that this was a response to Rome’s thoughts, Christian had said it more to himself than anything else. He saw the boy falling asleep and his eyes moved to the dark window, rain still dripping down the sill. Well he certainly wasn’t going to send the young man back on the streets. Christian stood in silence and walked to his room, grabbing an extra blanket from his closet before walking back and carefully placing it over the boy. “There. It’s going to get a bit chilly in here as the night goes on.” It was all he felt like he needed to say. If Rome wanted to stay that night, he could. And if he wanted to leave, that was an option too. Christian had looked around his living room, as if searching for something, but really, he was making sure that he knew where everything was.
Again, he was a bit clueless, but he wasn’t stupid. Obviously this boy had a hard life and Christian wouldn’t at all be surprised if Rome woke up in the middle of the night, took all that he could carry, and disappeared. But then again, items were replaceable. This boy needed shelter. After deciding that there was nothing of real amazing value that he had to protect, he looked back at Rome and he said calmly, “I’m going to head to sleep now. If you need me my bedroom is right there.” He nodded his head in the direction of the door. “Just knock, I’m a light sleeper.”
Rome had been staring at the ceiling, thinking very audibly about the guy on the forums that said he was his brother, and whether or not it could possibly be true. He was thinking a lot of things about his father, some of them good, about his car and how he always came to see him, and some of them bad, about him disappearing, disappearing and not coming back. He blinked and looked back at Christian, realizing that he was there. Oh, right. Yeah. I’ll go in the morning. Bye, thanks. I’ll go before he wakes up. Bye. He gave an awkward little wave and hunched a little deeper into the couch, thoughts slowing.