MASON BASICALLY LIFTED Tommy into the passenger seat of his Dodge Challenger, making sure not to press too hard against his almost definitely broken or fractured ribs. He leaned over him with the seatbelt in hand, clipping it into the buckle. Tommy could see every curvature of his neck, how a vein just under the surface of his skin pulped when he swallowed, he could almost imagine pressing his fingertips just above his collarbone, he could imagine the pulse underneath.
"He is just like you were." "You know exactly what he is going through." "There are moments where he listens to you or looks to you for something, even if it is with hostility." - 'All of that is meaningless to me. What good will it do to let someone get close? I won't let them end up like the others, the ones that died because I was selfish enough to let them in, that convinced me to stay.'
Tommy watched as Mason rounded the front of the car to the driver's side door and waited until the car had started before pulling down the sun visor to get a good look at his face in the small mirror. He could only see his eyes, but that was enough to bring back the anger he felt earlier when he saw the letters carved into his skin. The white of his eye was now completely blood-red but surprisingly not swollen shut. His cheekbone was already a deep shade of blue and purple and the cut-through his eyebrow had been stitched and plastered thanks to Mason.
He slammed the visor back up a little too violently and shrunk back into his seat. He noticed Mason glance his way but was glad that he said nothing about it, Tommy knew that if Mason was the type to try reassure him in a situation like this, then he would lash out. That was just who he was, he wouldn't sugarcoat his feelings or opinions because at the end of the day - neither of the two meant anything real anyway.
He was a ticking time bomb, sooner or later his brother would light the fuse, and he would disappear. He was merely making it more difficult for Jonathan to light the match. He took a deep breath and glanced out the window as the bar approached, he could see the men sitting in their usual seat out front on the porch with the rest of the miners. He wanted to see them as black and blue as he was. Though he did chuckle slightly when they all stopped to look as the dodge challenger passed and he got to see the splint on Sam's nose and how at least his eyes were black around the edges.
"Least you got one good hit in," Mason sighed and sped up as if half-expecting Tommy to jump out of the car and attempt to beat the crap out of them where they stood.
"Yes, it was quite satisfying," Tommy grinned, moving his eyes back to the front window. He didn't want to, but he let sleep slowly take him away.
Tommy woke to warm blankets, he snuggled into them, burrowing his face further into their warmth and concealment. He much preferred to wake up in comfort instead of abruptly by a dream or someone finally finding him. But how? How was he in blankets? In his bed? He was in the car when he fell asleep, in Mason's car. He surely would've woken to be touched, no... Tom being carried, that's the only way he would've made it from the car to here.
He slowly sat up and looked around to get his bearings. The afternoon sun was replaced by the dark sea of night, the full moon shining in through the cracks in his blinds. In the distance, he could hear the soft crashing of the waves to the shore. He looked down at himself and saw that he was still wearing Mason's hoodie, it smelt like him too, car grease, pine trees, and cigarette smoke. He hated cigarettes, he hated the burning tobacco, but mixed in with Mason's scent he didn't really mind it.
"Jesus, Tom, get a hold of yourself," He muttered to himself, scolding himself for even thinking about Mason's scent.
He slowly got out of bed and trudged out into the hallway. He needed painkillers. Maybe some whiskey too. He also needed to check the house to check that Mason locked the doors after he left. Though Tommy had a feeling that Mason definitely wouldn't be the type to leave it all unlocked, even if Sam hadn't beaten him the night before. He walked through to the kitchen and grabbed the heavy-duty painkillers that he had gotten from the emergency clinic after he got severe road burn from leaping out of that car a few months back. He took the whiskey bottle from the counter by its neck and let it dangle from his fingers as he moved towards the couch in front of the window.
He halted mid-step as soon as he smelt it, it made his skin crawl and itch. It made every single rounded and faded scar on his body scream in fear and pain. He felt his body respond to it, felt the trembling waver over him in an uncontrollable fit of anger. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, he needs to distract himself from it, he needed to find the escape plan.
"So, what was the plan? Sit on your couch and take the painkillers chased by Whisky?" Mason spoke. Tommy instantly turned, he needed to know he wasn't imagining it, that it was really him and not his brother or one of Jonathan's men who had finally come. They always smoked, they still smelt of it. It was always the first warning sign that they were close without Tommy actually having to see them.
Mason sat at one of the dining table seats, clutching a mug in one hand with the cigarette between his middle and index fingers. What the hell was he doing sitting in the dark? Why the hell was he still here? Tommy sighed in annoyance, shaking his head as he turned back to the couch, he didn't have the energy to shout and reprimand him for freaking him out like that, especially when he didn't even notice him as he walked through to the kitchen.
"I told you I don't like people in the house, they make me jumpy," Tommy muttered as he lay down, dumping a couple of the pills into his hand and taking a swig of the Whisky. It burned, but it went down smoothly, the taste was bitter but reminded him so much of his father that it strangely comforted him, it shouldn't have, especially because of what his father did to him in the last years after his mother died and before he finally did.
"Go home," Tommy added, glancing over at Mason who was now leaning back against the wall beside the window in front of him.
He studied Tommy, lifting the cigarette to his lips and taking a drag, the embers growing brighter and illuminating his face with a golden flare. Tommy couldn't help but look at his eyes when the cigarette glowed because it seemed as though his eyes did too. Tommy hated that he was attracted to a person like Mason, at least he knew that no matter what kind of attraction he had towards him, it would always be just that.
"No, Sam has a bad habit of turning up somewhere uninvited," Mason said bluntly, breathing the smoke back out his nose instead of his lips.
"Then take the bed, I'll be here," Tommy sighed, bringing the bottle of whiskey back up to his mouth, swallowing back another few swigs. Soon enough, he wouldn't feel anything, his body would be numb by the alcohol, and his mind would be too stagnant to be able to dream so vividly.
"I expected you to put up more of a fight," Mason added. Tommy kept his eyes on him, searching whether Mason was deliberately pushing him to lash out.
"I don't care enough to fight over that," Tommy hated how mellowed out he was beginning to sound, but still, he didn't take his gaze from Mason - who stared back at him with a weird intensity that made him want to keep looking at him. Mason replied to him with a simple hummed 'mmh' that sounded as though rolled straight from the depth of his throat.
"How long do you think you'll stay then?"
"Until I deal with Sam, he won't leave you alone otherwise," Mason said, not really answering the question to the extent that Tommy wanted him too. He had told him earlier that he would deal with that asshole as soon as he was healed because he needed his help with it. But Tommy had at least three broken ribs, it'd take a few weeks for them to heal enough for him to even start a fight, let alone win one.
"If you are doing this because Nicky asked you too, then don't bother," Tommy exclaimed, moving his eyes to the ceiling above him, his head dipping slightly over the couch arm.
"So you heard that then? You aren't going to ask what happened to me?" Mason replied though he didn't sound the least bit shocked or nervous that Tommy was aware that something terrible must've happened to him in the past.
"You didn't ask about the scars, so I shouldn't ask about what happened," Tommy answered, lifting the bottle again only for it to be taken away. He was about to protest, about to snatch it back but when he turned - Mason was crouched down in front of him, the bottle now behind him out of Tommy's reach.
Mason's stare was the same, even this close. He lacked the nervousness or apprehensiveness of being so close to another, he schooled himself to neutrality, an expressionless look that bottomed out into a facade of apathy. It was a look that many times Tommy adopted, a barrier to keep people away. The one difference between the two of them is that Tommy could hide his true feelings in his eyes, Mason, on the other hand, could not.
It was all melancholy.
"I'm not doing this because Nicky asked, I already told you that I want to keep you around because you are what Jonathan wants," when Mason spoke, Tommy felt his stomach bottom out, and he didn't know why. Maybe for the first time in months, he truly wanted something more from a place than he should. Hearing Mason say he wanted to use him, disappointed him, and he hated that the most.
"I'm not a pawn in your game, whatever you want from my brother, you won't use me to get it. I'll be gone before you have the chance I can promise you that much," Tommy spat viciously, he didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable that Mason was glancing at his lips as he retaliated.
"Don't make promises you are bound to break," and with that Mason stood with the Whisky bottle and disappeared down the hallway to the bedroom, leaving Tommy to pick up the pieces of the conversation that left him winded and breathless.
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