Uh...you made a wolf. UNDO IT. UNDO IT! (Thomas, Spectre)
Thomas and Spectre had finally fallen into a familiar rhythm now that it appeared Thomas really wasn't going to disappear again, leaving Spectre and the kids alone. Time was, they spent every second together because they understood their time was limited. Even when Thomas had been given his life back, Spectre hadn't left him alone for months in case it was all taken away from them again. It was different now. Thomas' presence here wasn't special. It wasn't the incredible anomaly it used to him. Thomas being here was the norm. It was mundane.
Spectre had been spending most of his time up in his recording studio, and Thomas understood. When they had married, it had been Thomas who was constantly leaving Spectre behind, so Thomas could hardly begrudge Spectre doing his job as musician. Silently, however, Thomas was becoming slightly nervous at hearing how much time Spectre was planning to tour in the future. He had a tour with Nine Inch Nails coming up, whatever they were. And then the band would tour with the album they were writing now. Two projects at once meant two tours back to back, and Spectre's fame seemed to be growing daily, at least in the progressive and metal communities. His management was planning on sending him places he had never toured before, which meant even longer away from home. Thomas didn't begrudge it, but that didn't mean he wasn't now getting a taste of just how Spectre had probably felt knowing Thomas was going to leave him all the time.
The kids were asleep and Thomas had spent his evening in front of the television, guiltily watching ridiculous comedy shows while he drank raspberry lemonade Abby had made from scratch. He glanced at his watch and he was a little shocked when he noticed it was two in the morning. Spectre rarely stayed up in his studio past midnight. He usually crawled into bed beside Thomas, too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep curled up in Thomas' arms.
It worried him, and Thomas stood, pacing for a second. He wondered if his worry was enough to risk interrupting a recording session if Spectre was just laying down a melody to share with his bandmates. What if he had collapsed? What if he was so exhausted he had fallen asleep on the studio floor? Thomas tried to remember if he had seen Spectre eat dinner and he found he couldn't recall Spectre coming downstairs at all that evening.
That was what decided it. Thomas headed towards the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the studio door. It was all soundproof and though there was a little doorbell Spectre had fashioned which flashed a light if someone wanted to come in instead of ringing a bell, Thomas just walked right in without hesitation.
Spectre was hunched over in his chair, his hands curled up, fingers buried in his hair. Thomas was so fixated on the sight of his troubled husband that he didn't even notice anything else out of place. Not until it growled at him.
"Spectre?" Thomas gasped, starting towards the smaller man. A growl rumbled from the corner of the room and Thomas glanced sideways and then he nearly stumbled and fell to his feet as he yelped. There was a white wolf standing there, teeth bared. "Holy fuck!" Thomas hissed. Fear gripped his stomach and he rushed to Spectre, standing between the wolf and his husband as if Spectre wasn't the immortal one in the room. "Why is there a wolf?!"
"It's not real," came Spectre's distressed voice, muffled by his hair and his hands.
Thomas blinked as the wolf took a step forward, jaws snapping at them. "Er...is that going to stop it from eating me?" Thomas had been eaten by a wolf before, and this time his skin wouldn't simply grow back.
Visions were Spectre's speciality. They came easily to him, just as they came easily to his father. Spectre was nowhere near as adept at them as Samson Mors was, but he was on his way. He couldn't transport people to another reality like Samson could, but he make illusions real enough to be believed even if sometimes it exhausted him. And Thomas knew very well that just because the illusions weren't real, it didn't mean they didn't feel real.
"Babe?" Thomas said worriedly as the wolf continued to approach them. "Uhm...are- Are you doing this?"
"I can't make it stop," Spectre breathed.
His husband sounded distressed and Thomas' heart broke for him even as he continued to worry for his own skin in the face of Spectre's visionwolf. "What do you mean, Adrian?"
Spectre finally lifted his face to look at his husband, his eyes conveying deep sympathy. "I'm leaving soon, and I- I worry about security while touring. Ever since-" Spectre shook his head, but Thomas understood. A year ago, Spectre had been taken by the Templar. It was little wonder he was worried about security when the Templar would love to get their hands on Spectre Mors again. "I just wanted to practice. To see if I could get better at it. Visions make me so tired if I keep them up for too long."
"Is that what you've been doing up here?" Thomas squeaked, glancing around at the instruments, all of which were still hanging on the wall. The guitars hadn't been touched and none of the recording equipment was on.
"Yes," Spectre admitted quietly.
The wolf was still advancing on Thomas.
"Er...babe, is he going to eat me? Because I'd rather not go through that again. Maybe...maybe we should go?" The fact that Spectre was up here exhausting himself to try to feel safe could be dealt with when there wasn't the immediate threat of lupine dismemberment.
"I...I don't know," Spectre whispered.
"Right." Thomas turned and he scooped the tiny Spectre right out of his chair. "Sorry, Mr Wolf," Thomas yelled, running for the studio door and slamming it behind the both of them. He heard something heavy hit the door and then snarling and barking issued forth and Thomas panicked about how they could possibly stop the kids from getting wolfbit until the wolf sounds suddenly disappeared.
"He's gone," Spectre assured Thomas, who simply set his jaw and then carried Spectre into their bedroom.
Once Spectre was sitting in a chair with a blanket over him, Thomas sat on the foot of the bed across from him. "Alright," Thomas said quietly, trying not to sound accusing. "Why didn't you tell me you were scared, Babe?"
Spectre looked down at his hands and he shrugged. Thomas had rarely seen his husband so quiet and subdued before. His sparkling personality was just gone. "I didn't want you to worry."
"Hey. It's my job to worry about you," Thomas reminded him. "And I like it. Er...that sounded weird. I like having a you to worry about, okay? You don't have to keep stuff like this from me. You know I understand." Thomas was constantly terrified Amaris would find him and starve him to death in some godforsaken place. And Amaris was locked up in the hospital so his fear was far more irrational than Spectre's incredibly rational fear of the Templar. "I wondered why you were writing so much." Spectre had been having sessions with the band and alone, but now it all made sense. "No wonder you've been so exhausted."
Spectre chewed on his lip for a moment and then he hung his head. "Thomas, I'm so sorry."
"No...babe, it's okay." Thomas slid from the bed and he went to put his hands on Spectre's knees. "I'm sorry I didn't know."
"I am getting very good," Spectre whispered. "I can do some of the things Samson can do, but tonight- Tonight I lost control of it. That wolf...it wouldn't go away. I couldn't turn it off, Thomas."
Thomas studied his husband's distressed face and then he reached up, placing his hands on Spectre's cheeks. "You've been working too hard at it. These things are supposed to progress at their own pace. They are learned over years and years, Babe. You're trying to rush it. Okay? How about I make you something to eat and then you get some sleep? And you are spending all day tomorrow resting. Don't you dare argue with me." His tone was firm and Thomas was glad when Spectre simply nodded tiredly at him. "We'll work out a way to make you feel safe while you tour, angel. We'll figure it out together, okay?"
Spectre just nodded.
"I'll go get you something to eat," Thomas said, planting a kiss on Spectre's forehead. Then he slipped out of their bedroom and down to the kitchen where he not only prepared his husband some late dinner, but he also called his best friend. If he ever needed Peter's advice, it was now.
Spectre had been spending most of his time up in his recording studio, and Thomas understood. When they had married, it had been Thomas who was constantly leaving Spectre behind, so Thomas could hardly begrudge Spectre doing his job as musician. Silently, however, Thomas was becoming slightly nervous at hearing how much time Spectre was planning to tour in the future. He had a tour with Nine Inch Nails coming up, whatever they were. And then the band would tour with the album they were writing now. Two projects at once meant two tours back to back, and Spectre's fame seemed to be growing daily, at least in the progressive and metal communities. His management was planning on sending him places he had never toured before, which meant even longer away from home. Thomas didn't begrudge it, but that didn't mean he wasn't now getting a taste of just how Spectre had probably felt knowing Thomas was going to leave him all the time.
The kids were asleep and Thomas had spent his evening in front of the television, guiltily watching ridiculous comedy shows while he drank raspberry lemonade Abby had made from scratch. He glanced at his watch and he was a little shocked when he noticed it was two in the morning. Spectre rarely stayed up in his studio past midnight. He usually crawled into bed beside Thomas, too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep curled up in Thomas' arms.
It worried him, and Thomas stood, pacing for a second. He wondered if his worry was enough to risk interrupting a recording session if Spectre was just laying down a melody to share with his bandmates. What if he had collapsed? What if he was so exhausted he had fallen asleep on the studio floor? Thomas tried to remember if he had seen Spectre eat dinner and he found he couldn't recall Spectre coming downstairs at all that evening.
That was what decided it. Thomas headed towards the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached the studio door. It was all soundproof and though there was a little doorbell Spectre had fashioned which flashed a light if someone wanted to come in instead of ringing a bell, Thomas just walked right in without hesitation.
Spectre was hunched over in his chair, his hands curled up, fingers buried in his hair. Thomas was so fixated on the sight of his troubled husband that he didn't even notice anything else out of place. Not until it growled at him.
"Spectre?" Thomas gasped, starting towards the smaller man. A growl rumbled from the corner of the room and Thomas glanced sideways and then he nearly stumbled and fell to his feet as he yelped. There was a white wolf standing there, teeth bared. "Holy fuck!" Thomas hissed. Fear gripped his stomach and he rushed to Spectre, standing between the wolf and his husband as if Spectre wasn't the immortal one in the room. "Why is there a wolf?!"
"It's not real," came Spectre's distressed voice, muffled by his hair and his hands.
Thomas blinked as the wolf took a step forward, jaws snapping at them. "Er...is that going to stop it from eating me?" Thomas had been eaten by a wolf before, and this time his skin wouldn't simply grow back.
Visions were Spectre's speciality. They came easily to him, just as they came easily to his father. Spectre was nowhere near as adept at them as Samson Mors was, but he was on his way. He couldn't transport people to another reality like Samson could, but he make illusions real enough to be believed even if sometimes it exhausted him. And Thomas knew very well that just because the illusions weren't real, it didn't mean they didn't feel real.
"Babe?" Thomas said worriedly as the wolf continued to approach them. "Uhm...are- Are you doing this?"
"I can't make it stop," Spectre breathed.
His husband sounded distressed and Thomas' heart broke for him even as he continued to worry for his own skin in the face of Spectre's visionwolf. "What do you mean, Adrian?"
Spectre finally lifted his face to look at his husband, his eyes conveying deep sympathy. "I'm leaving soon, and I- I worry about security while touring. Ever since-" Spectre shook his head, but Thomas understood. A year ago, Spectre had been taken by the Templar. It was little wonder he was worried about security when the Templar would love to get their hands on Spectre Mors again. "I just wanted to practice. To see if I could get better at it. Visions make me so tired if I keep them up for too long."
"Is that what you've been doing up here?" Thomas squeaked, glancing around at the instruments, all of which were still hanging on the wall. The guitars hadn't been touched and none of the recording equipment was on.
"Yes," Spectre admitted quietly.
The wolf was still advancing on Thomas.
"Er...babe, is he going to eat me? Because I'd rather not go through that again. Maybe...maybe we should go?" The fact that Spectre was up here exhausting himself to try to feel safe could be dealt with when there wasn't the immediate threat of lupine dismemberment.
"I...I don't know," Spectre whispered.
"Right." Thomas turned and he scooped the tiny Spectre right out of his chair. "Sorry, Mr Wolf," Thomas yelled, running for the studio door and slamming it behind the both of them. He heard something heavy hit the door and then snarling and barking issued forth and Thomas panicked about how they could possibly stop the kids from getting wolfbit until the wolf sounds suddenly disappeared.
"He's gone," Spectre assured Thomas, who simply set his jaw and then carried Spectre into their bedroom.
Once Spectre was sitting in a chair with a blanket over him, Thomas sat on the foot of the bed across from him. "Alright," Thomas said quietly, trying not to sound accusing. "Why didn't you tell me you were scared, Babe?"
Spectre looked down at his hands and he shrugged. Thomas had rarely seen his husband so quiet and subdued before. His sparkling personality was just gone. "I didn't want you to worry."
"Hey. It's my job to worry about you," Thomas reminded him. "And I like it. Er...that sounded weird. I like having a you to worry about, okay? You don't have to keep stuff like this from me. You know I understand." Thomas was constantly terrified Amaris would find him and starve him to death in some godforsaken place. And Amaris was locked up in the hospital so his fear was far more irrational than Spectre's incredibly rational fear of the Templar. "I wondered why you were writing so much." Spectre had been having sessions with the band and alone, but now it all made sense. "No wonder you've been so exhausted."
Spectre chewed on his lip for a moment and then he hung his head. "Thomas, I'm so sorry."
"No...babe, it's okay." Thomas slid from the bed and he went to put his hands on Spectre's knees. "I'm sorry I didn't know."
"I am getting very good," Spectre whispered. "I can do some of the things Samson can do, but tonight- Tonight I lost control of it. That wolf...it wouldn't go away. I couldn't turn it off, Thomas."
Thomas studied his husband's distressed face and then he reached up, placing his hands on Spectre's cheeks. "You've been working too hard at it. These things are supposed to progress at their own pace. They are learned over years and years, Babe. You're trying to rush it. Okay? How about I make you something to eat and then you get some sleep? And you are spending all day tomorrow resting. Don't you dare argue with me." His tone was firm and Thomas was glad when Spectre simply nodded tiredly at him. "We'll work out a way to make you feel safe while you tour, angel. We'll figure it out together, okay?"
Spectre just nodded.
"I'll go get you something to eat," Thomas said, planting a kiss on Spectre's forehead. Then he slipped out of their bedroom and down to the kitchen where he not only prepared his husband some late dinner, but he also called his best friend. If he ever needed Peter's advice, it was now.