"I KNOW you can't trust us, especially me... and I promise you that I'll never make that mistake again but trust that they have kept me hidden for 5 years, I know you've been through hell, especially after I left and I'm so sorry, but please let us help you," Christian's words hurt more than any knife or burn and he didn't have to look up to see the others figuring out who he is, that his bullshit story was utterly fabricated.
"I'm not a kid anymore, you can't tell me things like that and expect me to believe a single word you say," Tommy said hoarsely.
"I tried to go back for you, I did... you know that you were more a brother to me than my own brother was — but your father said you belonged to Jonathan now and if I came back then they wouldn't let me go again. I was so selfish, but not a day has gone by where I haven't thought about you, I wish I had fought for you more. So I'm sorry that now they know who you really are, but this is the way that I fight for you to stay," Tommy searched Christian's eyes for the truth, desperate to latch on to the thread of trust that was always fusing and snapping. His eyes were so sincere, but Tommy knew that they had always been like that which still made it difficult to hold on.
"He's telling the truth, Tommy. There were so many times over the years where we had to talk him out of going back for you, so don't blame him," Mason cut in, it took Tommy so off guard that he physically flinched at the softness in his tone, something that he hadn't heard from him before. Tommy stared back at him in shock, his vision was blurry but clear enough to see Mason just behind Sasha, looking down with not a look of pity but that same look of understanding he had when he saw Tommy's condition that one morning.
"Let us help you, please Tommy," Sasha added, taking his trembling hand softly in hers. Christian was now chewing on his bottom lip as he usually did when he was hurt and trying not to show it.
"Why? You don't even know me? You can't be that naive to think he won't kill you for hiding me? Christian, you remember your high school friend Matt Walters right? He hid me for a while, and I came back to the house to find his throat slit, what about... oh the Gleason family were killed too, their house set on fire with me inside, trying to smoke me out like a pest," Tommy was instantly hit with a belt of nausea and was only saved by the bucket that Nicky slips onto his lap. He let out havoc of hiccuped laughs that slowly turned into sobs. He was ridiculously stupid, crying like this in front of people he didn't know after being beaten to a pulp by more people he didn't know.
"Don't be so stupid to think you are helping me when all that will help me is knowing that the people around me aren't dead because of me," Tommy whispered, wiping his mouth off with the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Did you ever stop to think why we would want you with us? It's not because we particularly like your attitude problem," Mason practically spat the words as if it was battery acid burning through his mouth. Tommy looks back at him in confusion, waiting for the elaboration he was bound to get.
"Your brother had our father killed, and I personally would rather that bastard not get what he wants most — and that seems to be you. So, here's what's going to happen, you are going to shut it. You are going to let us treat your injuries because you refuse to go to the hospital. You'll rest here until I drive you home at the end of the day. You'll stay in Winchester and work at the shop. And you won't run. Do you understand?" Mason finished, his eyes not once leaving that of Tommy's gaze.
Sasha squeezes his hand softly, and he realizes that he has no more energy to fight it. That deep down, he knows he truly wants to find a place and never run from it. Despite Winchester already causing him enough motive to run again — he wanted to stay. He was so selfish for it, but it's what he wanted. What he needed more than anything. Tommy was so exhausted of running, ravaged by a past that sent him into constant states of either panic, paranoia or depression. And he wanted that to end.
"Can you help with my jersey?" Tommy said cautiously, his eyes flickering back up to Mason, as if out of instinct.
Mason looked unflinching by how the question directed itself to him, but he gave a quick quirk of his head in a nod and stepped forward. He seemed to get it before anyone else that this was Tommy complying with his shopping list of orders. Sasha let go of his hand and shuffled out of the way to make room for Mason as he knelt down in front of Tommy, taking the bucket from his lap, putting it on the ground instead.
Tommy knew that the others were thinking whatever he was hiding under his long sleeves must be bad, that they might even be preparing themselves for it, mainly because he was so defensive before. But he also knew that their preparation wouldn't be enough, not when he felt revolted and scared of himself if he caught a glimpse of his torso and arms in the mirror after a shower. Now he was facing a bloodied and bruised version of it, something that would send him plummeting into his trauma without him even being able to control it.
"Rest your arms on my shoulders, so you don't have to hold them up," Mason exclaimed, his hands tugging lightly at the hem of Tommy's hoodie.
Tommy did as he said, Mason, helping to get his arms up that far. Mason leaned in closer to get a better grip on his clothing, his cheek brushing against his own. Tommy almost felt like he could relax like this, with Mason this close to him, his warm, steady breath against the side of his neck. Tommy didn't get it, Mason had been nothing but distant to him since they first met, yet he was the one to convince Tommy the most. Maybe it was that understanding in his eyes whenever he so obviously picked up on what made Tommy flinch, which made him uncomfortable. It was as if Mason — without knowing the reason behind it, could see Tommy mentally struggling to swallow down his past from wreaking havoc on his present.
The comfortability disappeared when Mason pulled his hoodie and shirt up, carefully maneuvering it over his head and shoulders and off his arms. It was his arms that he had purposely kept hidden from Christian when he first showed him. Despite showing Christian his scarred body in an attempt to hurt him — he didn't think he could stand the look of pity that would be on his face as was on all of theirs right now. His arms were covered in crisscrossing thin scars from the blades Jonathan pressed into his skin, it wasn't those ones that looked bad.
It was the rigid scars that sliced from his wrist up to the insides of his elbows. Jonathan wanted everyone to think he did it himself so that he would forever be seen as 'weak' and 'breakable'. They were made to break him down under the eyes of anyone he let see. His chest had various thick strips of burn marks from the fire poker, through inside those burns were the cuts too. Some scars were much more gruesome than others, scars merely thin enough that at the time Tommy was relieved to feel that little amount of pain than what he knew was coming.
Tommy looked down at himself and sucked in a deep breath through his clenched teeth—hissing at the sight. He was bruising badly, and it just made the milky silver scars that sat on top of those bruises more pronounced. His ears began to ring, and black spots contoured the corners of his eyes, he forced his eyes to keep moving, finding the source of the blood above his hip. He wouldn't have cared as much to have another scar because sooner or later it would fade into the rest, but this... This had him feeling so heated with disgust and anger that he instantly started scanning the room for something that he could use to burn it off or cut it out.
"Who is he?" Tommy murmured under his breath, his eyes returning back to the mark.
"Samuel Morgan, he's a nobody," Nicky was the first one to be able to get their voice back and speak again.
"Why this then?" Tommy dragged his thumb over the top of the open flesh, looking up for answers just to see everybody but Mason and Christian wince at his action which should've garnered more of a painful reaction on his part than theirs.
"He's apart of a small gang from a few of the small towns around here, they all work in the mine. We don't like each other, he did that to get under my skin because you are one of us, but he only does it if you piss him off enough but knowing your smart mouth I'm sure it wasn't hard for you to achieve that," Mason explained, his voice in complete monotone. His eyes washed over Tommy, not even being considerate of his privacy, seemingly more curious by it.
"We can talk about this later, I need to clean that before it gets infected," Sasha cuts in, obviously extremely mad by the mark. "Where can I start?"
"Please don't touch below the waist or above the lower ribs. Can you cover that after your done?" He asked, looking down at her and for the first time, she looked at him with something that resembled the way Mason did when he understood the boundaries that were Tommy. She smiled softly at him and nodded.
She got to work and kept going despite his flinches from either pain or discomfort. The others stayed in the room and watched, either because they couldn't look away or because they knew that for some reason that he couldn't begin to grasp — it was the first time he felt somewhat comfortable around people who could see all of his secrets. Mason sat on the couch next to Tommy and cleaned out his eye with saline, apparently the whole white of his eye was now blood red, and he had a slit through his eyebrow that Mason sutured closed because he knew how.
People were actually taking care of him in a way that had never happened before, and he didn't know how he felt about it. But he thought that maybe it felt good.
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