Who: Tiberius Abaddon and Fletcher Parkinson What: And then came comfort. When: Friday, late evening Where: Abaddon Summer Home, Upper Flagley, Yorkshire, England Warnings: TBA Status: In Progress
It came as a great shock to Tiberius when he managed to open his eyes only to discover the familiar pattern of his duvet lying in a crumbled heap around him. He recognized it as his duvet as the covers in his childhood bedroom were brighter then that of his adult life. As a child and an adolescent, he was fond of deep greens, finding the color soothing in his early youth and then pleasant as a reminder of his house at Hogwarts. His adult room was not decorated in green, which lead him to the discovery that he must certainly be at home. His home. In his room.
Now how exactly did this occur, he found himself wondering. He did not have the energy to immediately to open his eyes fully, only allowing them to part enough to take into view his current location, before he shut them once again in pain, trying to muster the energy to analyze his most recent memories. He had been in and out of awareness for a good portion of the day. He remembered all that had occurred at his Father's hand, remembered all the words and the agonizing feel of pain. He remembered crying. He remembered taking a chance to call for help when his parents had left the room. At some point, he remembered being levitated to his old bed chamber.
He had dreamed of many things as his mind forced him to sleep away the pain of his injuries. He dreamed he had been able to disarm his father, to take his wand from him, having him beg for mercy before Tibby left, planning to never return. He dreamed of his Mother, bandaging his wounds when he was still a child, explaining that his Father loved him, even if it may not seem that way. Then he dreamed of Lili, running with her at the Summer House as a very young child. He made her a crown of flowers and weeds, thinking it to be the most beautiful thing any child could make, declaring her Queen. She smiled and it brought him joy to think of her. He woke with tears in his eyes, wondering if he'd see her again. He could not remember ever feeling so much pain. He was stubborn. He'd not abide by his Father's wishes. If his Father wished to keep him till he did, he feared death was eventually to become of him. He prayed Lili would not make his mistakes. That she'd find a way to rid herself of their Father. That she'd be happy.
Then he dreamed of Fletcher, the man his Father hated enough to destroy any sense of a relationship with his son. He had dreamt of Fletcher in the past. It was not unexpected. He was the only significant person in his life that was not born with the Abaddon name, that was not a member of his horrible excuse for a family. He did not have a family. He had sisters, whom he cherished, and parents whom he knew would never love him. They were no family. A family was bound together with love between all members. If anything, his sisters were the only family he had.
But he dreamed of Fletcher. He dreamed of the Slytherin Common room, late at night, sitting in front of the fire and hanging onto every word the man said. Always chasing after him, always following, always wanting his attention. Even in dreams he could not escape what he was always running towards, always fighting for, even if he pretended he never did so. He dreamed of the days where he lived in Fletcher's home, where he felt truly happy, days he held onto for a sense of happiness at any unfortunate turn. He dreamed of Fletcher saving him, carrying him away, protecting him.
He moaned in pain against his pillow, his head aching so. He didn't know how he had arrived back home. Perhaps his Father was torturing him mentally now as well as physically. Allowing him to return to his normal life but knowing what would happen if stepped out of line. The thought made him bring his features together in anguish. He had done nothing wrong, he had ignored so much, and yet here he was, struggling to breathe. He wondered just how many bones and ribs had been broken by his Father's hand; how destroyed his face appeared. He knew his eyes were puffy and it was difficult to open both. He drew in another pained breath. He was alone.
His father was going to see to it that he was always alone. His hand gripped at his sheets, the breath bursting out of him in a shaky, depressed and pained sob. He remembered how little he had cried these past few years, trying to remind himself how to behave, but the mix of agony and horrible thoughts escalated it, panic ensuing.