skirting the edge of the deep dark

[mute_clay]

(continued from here)

Nobody looks at him. If you’re right at the edge of the deep darkness, nobody looks at you. Not even if you almost knock them over, running past.

It’s hurting to breathe now. That is good. Hurt is good. Hurt fill up everything inside, even the mind. Hurt silences everything. No names. No faces.

He knows it’s cold, too cold for being outside for long with no shoes on and wearing nothing but jeans and a shirt. His body knows. His mind doesn’t care.

Flee. Flee.

She’s found another one. Another one like – Him. Maybe that has been the case all along. No difference. Maybe she saw himself as –

No.

Running faster, trying to outrun the thought with burning lungs and burning eyes. But thoughts are fast. Quicker than any man’s feet. And they never tire.

He is slowing down. There are no buildings now. Just trees. Trees.

He doesn’t want to think. To feel. To – he touched her - remember.

The ground is damp.
If he curls up tight enough he can almost fit between two large roots.
Yes
Splaying his palms.
Yes
Turning his head a little, breathing, tasting earth.
Yes

And now, staying here. Breathing slowly, evenly. Listening to the sounds of birds wakening, leaves moving in the breeze. Leaving no room for thoughts. Letting the forest hold him.

It’s hard. Fear has sharp fangs and it does not let go without a fight.

Comments

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Ranuccio had considered going to the beach, to see the sea again, but then his steps has carried him in another direction. The leaves crunch under his feet, and there's a wet scent in the air. Alley boy that he was, gutter brat, he feels awed a little by the tall trees and the whispers at the top.

Jason was off, busy with his new job, and although a voice in him was telling him to go look for Aragorn, he resisted as always. Why would he share his thoughts on Jason with Aragorn? He would eventually, he knew he wanted to, deep down, but for the moment they were his, he as possessive of what he had as always. Jason with his cheeky grin and his lost eyes, sometimes, and his wish to make everything better for Ran..

It's the colours that tell him that there's something different. At least this legacy of Michele's is a good one. Dark, dirty blond and pink flesh and light blue shirt..Clay. Ranuccio first thouhgt is that he is hurt. He seems hurt, the way he is lying down...so kneels beside him, and he can see then that he is not.

Only lost. "Clay...?" he calls softly.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon, too, took a walk through the forest, doing his usual jogging round, coming down from the running and just enjoying the nature. He frowns as he sees a man crouching down and slowly approaches him, then the look of worry spreads as he recognises Clay.

He stands silent a few feet behind them, watching. He doesn't know the other man and it doesn't seem right to just butt in. He can see that the stranger won't do harm to Clay, so he waits to see what the hell is happening there.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

A voice.
The forests knows about voices. Everything has a voice.
A pleasant voice. Soft.
Saying - a name?

No.

Names are bad. Names hurt. The forest doesn't know about names.

Deeper into the earth, away from the voice.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

The feeling of...distance is overwhelming.

The voices. It has to be voices. Ranuccio knows, when they get too loud, how diffiucult it is to escape them.

Sometimes to stop listening it's the only alternative but then..then you loose yourself.

Talking doesn't help. Calling doesn't help. He reaches out, fingertips barley brushing the dark blond hair. He pets Clay, slowly, sitting down on the wet ground, crossing his legs, preparing himself to wait for a while.

Touch him, pet him, and if it doesn't work, he'll have to lift Clay and carry him over his shoulders, providing Clay doesn't try to kill him. Jason would be greatly pissed at that.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Quietly, Jon sits down next to Ranuccio, exchanging a brief glance with him. He carefully plays with one strands of Clay's hair, not wanting to touch him too much, not wanting him to get scared and wanting to retreat even more.

It's hard to see Clay like this and he almost wants to cradle him in his arms, knowing at the same time that this would be a bad idea right now.

With another look at Ranuccio, he tries to make him understand that he's here to help if needed, that he's a friend of Clay's.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

There's touch.
Touch brings the sense of body back, of boundaries.

It hurts, but touch takes most of the hurt away as well, good touch, soothing touch.

And after a while there is movement toward the touch, toward warm hands.

Slow steady breath.
Touch.
Yes.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

The stranger sitting down close, touching Clay's hair, makes Ranuccio clench his jaw.

Not that he could put it in so many words, of course, but it was so damned delicate, so difficult to find Clay wherever he was, to reach him...he resents the intrusion, protective of Clay, althought he can see this guy wants to help.

And there's no telling if Clay is going to come back bringing the darkness or the voices with him, and that would be bad. It's for Clay's protection, but for the stranger's too, that Ranuccio glares at him, signing to move a little away.

Then Clay moves a little, and Ranuccio's attention focuses on him. A hand moves, just a little...Ranuccio offers his fingers, under Clay's, barely touching...

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon nods at Ranuccio, understanding, and moves away from them again, just watching from a short distance. He's worried about Clay, hoping that he will come back from whatever state he's in now.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Hand.

Warm fingers.

Taking hold means coming back, means pain. But not alone.

Warm, gentle fingers.

A breath that is almost a sigh and the feel of own fingers curling, taking hold, too hard.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

The pressure on his fingers is comforting, if a bit hard. Then it becomes harder. And harder. And then, before easing completely, there's a sudden jerk, like when you're falling asleep and it seems as if you are stepping off a cliff.

The crack sound of small broken bones isn't too loud, and Ranuccio pales visibly, a rush of air leaving his lungs, a muffled gasp of pain kept inside more by habit then conscious choice.

A few minutes go by, before the colour comes back to his face, as he keeps petting Clay gently with his other hand, trembling just a little, a drop of sweat running along his neck.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Easing closer and closer. Slowly. Mustn't be seen. Mustn't be caught. Closer.

And then fabric and firm muscle beneath one palm and warm fingers in the other and somebody's there, two breaths, and it hurts so goddamnmuch that he knows he is back.

He shudders, body moving the last inch, and suddenly feels the cold of the damp ground. How his feet hurt. His hands. His legs.

His heart.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon winces sympathetically at the sound of bones breaking. He's still here, and how could he not? Clay's hurt, and he has to see if he can help, no matter how.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Ranuccio remembers coming round in the beggars hospice, after Michele had slashed his throat. How dark it had been where he was, inside himself. How soultearing to leave the numbess behind, and the nothingness.

So he waits, in silence, for Clay to come back, giving a quick glance to Jon, a half begrudged acknowledgement of rough, reluctant gratitude for staying put. And quiet.

Too early for words yet, but he keeps petting the dirty blond hair as Clay's hand starts to touch his arm, temptative, but getting surer and surer.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

He realizes that he is shivering. And with that there is no hiding anymore. Halfway between a gasp and a sob and then he rolls shakily to his hands and knees, joints protesting. He feels lightheaded and empty. Ill. When his stomach rebels he retches but nothing comes.

He looks up. Familiar faces. He'll remember their names. In a little while. For now there is only room for one name.

He swallows and closes his eyes, almost losing his balance.

Callie.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Cradling one hand against his belly, Ranuccio reaches over, pulling Clay closer to him with a one-arm hug that wants to offer reassurance, a prop to hold onto, a soft murmur that it's more soothing noises than words.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

He rests against the warm body with the warm voice. Ranuccio. Yes. Ranuccio. A friend. Someone safe.

The shakes are subsiding a little now and he breathes a little freer.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Ranuccio's hands rub little circles on Clay's back, waiting for his body to relax, to stop shivering.

"Are you back?" he asks softly. His injured hand is throbbing slowly, dull pain that is perfectly bearable. A couple of broken fingers never killed anyone.

"Clay...?"

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods against the warm chest.

He is here.

He doesn't want to be but he is. The only other place he can go is into the dark and now - now Callie isn't there to call him back anymore. Now he cannot go any further than he just did, into the heart of the forest, just at the edge of the darkness waiting.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

"Can you stand?" Ranuccio has no idea for how long Clay has been out here, but he's dirty, naked feet bruiset, and damp with the night coldness.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay doesn't know but nods anyway. His knees hurt but not enough to keep him from moving.

He tries to stand.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon stands up and goes to Ranuccio's side, ready to help Clay standing if needed. A soft touch on Clay's shoulder, meaning to soothe, is all he dares to do for now. The stranger is, quite frankly, scaring him a little, but he has to be sure that Clay will be home and safe before he can go back home as well.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

Ranuccio's hand is swelling. He gestures at the young man to come closer and prop Clay up. Clay doesn't need to know he hurt Ranuccio, not now or in fact ever. So it's better to ask for help and avoid close proximity.

"Do you know him?" he asks Clay, meaning Jon. Clay nods.
"Does he know where you live?" Clay nods again. His eyes are still a bit clouded, but he's there.

"Take him home," he says to the young man. He'll follow them from afar, just to check.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay blinks a couple of times, trying to clear his head. Then he puts a hand to Ranuccio's chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

He cannot express himself clearer. He just hopes Ranuccio understands.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

With his good hand, Ranuccio takes Clay's and brings it to his lips, a warm kiss pressed on its palm, then a smile.

He understands.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon nods at Ranuccio as he tells him to bring Clay home. "I will." He waits for them to finish the good-bye for now, then puts a hand around Clay's waist, steadying him.

"You ready to go home, Clay?" The question is whispered, as soft as possible.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods, leaning rather heavily on Jon at first. As they starts walking and the blood rushes back into his legs his steps becomes a little lighter.

He still feels a bit disoriented but safe enough. Since Jon is there.

[ranuccio.livejournal.com]

He waits until Jon and Clay are on their way, then slowly Ranuccio starts to follow them, far enough that his steps won't be heard.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

It's a rather long walk, but finally they reach Clay's home and Jon hesitates for a moment.

"Do you want me to come inside and help you get cleaned and into bed?" He won't ask what happened, not wanting to disturb Clay any further. He's just glad to have Clay back from whatever dark place he's been in.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods, gratefully. It seems Orlando isn't home, or Jimmy for that matter, which is a relief as well. He shows Jon where the spare key is and they move slowly upstairs. His feet have begun to hurt by now.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

If he were strong enough, Jon would carry Clay. As it is, he just tries to take as much of his weight as possible as they get upstairs into the bathroom. He motions Clay to sit down and then slowly removes Clay's clothes, while letting water run into the tub.

"The warm water will help you relax, too... Do you have anything that I can use to care for the cuts in your feet once they're clean?"

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods and points to one of the cabinets. The last of Callie's jars is there. The one with the hand-written label and the primitive drawing of a calendula. Jon gets him the jar to see if it is the right one and Clay nods, his eyes almost clouding over. He lets a thumb brush across the lettering before handing the jar back to Jon.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon nods quietly and helps Clay to get into the tub. "Easy, have to get the dirt off you first before I can care for the wounds." The water is clear, he didn't use soap yet so all the minor cuts won't sting right ahead. As soon as Clay is settled and comfortable, Jon starts to wash him, using a clean cloth and mild soap.

"There you are," he jokes as he cleans Clay's face.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay is able to smile a little, the warm water moving against his skin reminding him of his own body, keeping him in place.

He puts a dripping hand to Jon's face, a finger stroking down the side of his cheek.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon smiles at the soft touch and raises his own free hand to stroke Clays's hand softly. "I'm glad we've found you."

He gestures to Clay to sit a little forward, then washes his back as well. "Can you stand again?"

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay nods and gets to his feet, water rushing off his skin.

He still feels weak but more present.

He gets out of the tub and lets Jon help him towel off.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon gently dries Clay's body, then moves him to his bed, taking the lotion with him.

"I'm not sure what this is, but if it's going to help, I'm sure it's going to sting now." Jon smiles a bit at Clay, trying to lighten the mood at least a little, then applies the lotion, carefull, to any cuts and bruises he can find. Especially on Clay's feet. He winces slightly. Looks like walking is going to hurt for a few days.

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

It doesn't sting. Clay turns the jar over in his hand and then shows it to Jon. Callie had written her name in tiny letters at the bottom of the label. Complete with a heart over the i.

He can look at the name without losing his breath. That is good.

Jon has gentle hands.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon caresses Clay's thigh softly as he reads the name under the label. "Home-made stuff is always good." He frowns as he remembers something. "I... I'm not sure we shouldn't get a doctor or something. You didn't hurt yourself badly, but one or two of the cuts were bleeding and I don't know how up-to-date you are with your shots... It's up to you."

He smiles a bit and lies down next to Clay. "I will stay here for the night. I can sleep on the floor or take the couch, but I won't leave you alone tonight."

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay turns to face Jon, one arm snaking across his chest. He is not exactly clinging to him, but it comes close.

He rests his face against Jon's shoulder, sighing softly, then places a hand on top of Jon's heart.

Thank you.

[jon-r-meyers.livejournal.com]

Jon caresses Clay's hair. "Hey, it's what I'm here for. Sleep now, you're safe."

[mute-clay.livejournal.com]

Clay sighs again, letting his breath grow soft and even.

He falls asleep fairly quickly, a dreamless sleep at first. Later there are dreams, confused colors and the sense of running. But Jon is laying next to him and he stays where he is, even when his dreams are suddenly filled with darkness and a taste of blood.