Ht100 FlashFic Challenge #09: Nightmare on Oz Street -- "Eternal"
Title: Eternal
Prompt: 09 - Nightmare on Oz Street
Word Count: 1284
Eternal
by Severina
Toby can feel the sun on his face. He can smell the earthy warm scent of freshly turned soil and newly mown grass. The scent of wildflowers.
He knows it’s a dream. When he opens his eyes he knows that he’ll be transported away from this place, thrust back into the dreary grey fluorescent-lit world of Oz. So he keeps his eyes firmly shut, certain that he’ll be safe as long as he does.
“Toby.”
He’s sure his heart stops. But the birds continue to sing, and a warm breeze ruffles the hair on his brow and carries with it the tantalizing smells of a summer barbeque. And closer still, the wind brings a more familiar scent, one that he carries in his blood, one that he can never forget.
Toby takes a breath and clenches his fists, feels the nails dig into his palms. He shivers in the sunlight.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
He knows it’s a dream. It has to be a dream. He’s in Emerald City, lying in his bed, and any minute now O’Reily is going to hop down from the upper bunk and shake him awake and bitch about how his dreams have woken him again, and--
Toby opens his eyes.
And watches as Chris drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it out with his boot. He squints into the sunlight, and smiles.
If his heart had stopped before, it speeds up now, gallops through his chest like a racehorse. He lurches back, moving before he is even aware he’s doing so, stumbles over his own feet and lands on his ass in the long grass. His teeth snap together suddenly, catching his tongue, and the coppery taste of his own blood fills his mouth.
Chris smirks. “Graceful,” he says.
Toby shakes his head. The grass is firm and springy beneath his palms, slightly wet with morning dew. He swallows, edges away when Chris holds out a hand to help him to his feet.
“It’s a dream,” Toby says firmly. “It’s not real.”
“It’s not a dream, Toby,” Chris answers.
Chris waits patiently, and after a long moment Toby finally reaches out cautiously to grasp the proffered hand. He lets himself be levered to his feet, releases his grip quickly and swipes a shaking hand through his hair before crossing his arms at his chest. He still feels cold, despite the sunlight, and he shifts on his feet, nervous beneath Chris’s intense gaze.
“I don’t…” Toby begins. He clears his throat. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” Chris says, “you do.”
And he does. Of course he does. His breath leaves him in a rush, and he reels slightly on his feet, certain that he’s going to be eating grass in a second. Then the moment passes, and he meets Chris’s eyes. “This is---? Is this--?”
“It ain’t Cleveland,” Chris says. He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming, enormous, real, and lays a hand carefully on Toby’s hip. “I told you He wouldn’t have the balls to keep us out.”
Toby looks down at Chris‘s hand. The fingers press gently, warm and strong, and he can feel the heat of Chris’s skin through the thin layer of cotton. He can smell Chris’s breath, feel the warm puff of air on his neck from Chris’s lips. And it seems to Toby that the world shifts, dips and pulses in a whirling rush and then rights itself, and his centre is aligned with Chris again.
“I’ve been waitin’ a long time, Tobe.”
Chris’s voice catches on his name, and Toby looks up sharply; really looks at Chris for the first time. His hair is a little fuller. His eyes seem more blue. And there is something else, something indefinable, unrecognizable in this Chris, this Chris that he’s found again after so long, after so much pain.
Toby’s breath suddenly catches in his throat and he gasps, the tears coming without warning.
“Shhh,” Chris says, stepping closer. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the nape of Toby’s neck, slides the other around Toby’s waist, shifts and turns so that Toby is cradled against his body, Toby‘s head nestled at his throat. “It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “It’s okay, Toby. It takes some gettin’ used to.”
The tears don’t last long, and when they’re done Toby lets himself stay pressed in Chris’s embrace, revels in the remembered sensations of Chris’s body against his. He clutches at Chris‘s back and wants to climb inside him, stay wrapped in his warmth forever.
Finally he steps away, smoothes his hands down the front of Chris’s shirt, and takes a deep breath. “Fuck,” he breathes out. His mouth drops open before he glances around guiltily.
Chris‘s lips quirk in a warm smile. “It’s okay,” he reassures him. “From what I can tell, He ain’t too worried about general profanity. I’d be careful about that whole ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain’ shit, though,” he adds with a wink.
Toby huffs out a laugh, smiles when Chris‘s grin gets wider. And it comes to him then -- the difference in Chris. The thing he couldn’t place.
Chris looks happy.
“C’mon,” Chris says, taking his hand and snapping him out of his reverie, and he still can‘t get over the feeling of touching Chris again, of Chris here and real and next to him. Toby laughs again as Chris tugs him forward eagerly. “I’ll show you around. And we’ll find Gary.”
Toby stops, his mouth suddenly dry. “You… you’ve seen Gary?”
Chris makes a face. “Of course I’ve seen Gary. I’ve been watchin’ out for him. I gotta tell ya, Tobe, you got a great kid.”
Toby wants to run, wants to find his son and scoop him up in his arms and never let go. Wants to shower his son with kisses and embrace away all the hurt and pain that filled Gary’s last moments… because of him.
But first he pulls Chris close, wraps his arms around Chris’s muscular frame, feels the steady beat of his heart. He closes his eyes and sees Chris falling, and he wets his lips, swallows around the lump in his throat, wonders how Chris can still want him after all the hateful things he said.
There is no way to take them back, so he doesn’t try. Instead he presses his lips to Chris’s throat, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Pulls away to meet his eyes.
“I love you, Chris,” he says simply.
Chris smiles. “I know.”
* * *
Victoria Beecher feels unsteady on her feet, feels weak and old. The past nine years have aged her before her time. She clings to her son’s arm and tries to keep her voice calm. “How did it happen?”
“There was an… altercation between two groups of prisoners in the gym,” the warden says. “One of them had a weapon. Tobias was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Angus swallows. “So he wasn’t…”
“Involved?” the warden finishes. “No. Tobias has been a model prisoner.”
Victoria nods her head. There is so little to be grateful for, but at least there is that. She releases Angus carefully, lays her hand gently on Tobias’s head and smoothes the hair from his brow before finally facing the doctor. “Is there any hope?”
Doctor Nathan presses her lips together. A hand tentatively brushes Victoria’s arm, squeezes sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Victoria quells the tears that want to come, suppresses the quivering of her jaw. Tobias would not want her to break down. Tobias would want her to be strong. She lifts her chin. “Remove the machines,” she says. “Let him have peace. Let him finally be at peace.”
.
Prompt: 09 - Nightmare on Oz Street
Word Count: 1284
Eternal
by Severina
Toby can feel the sun on his face. He can smell the earthy warm scent of freshly turned soil and newly mown grass. The scent of wildflowers.
He knows it’s a dream. When he opens his eyes he knows that he’ll be transported away from this place, thrust back into the dreary grey fluorescent-lit world of Oz. So he keeps his eyes firmly shut, certain that he’ll be safe as long as he does.
“Toby.”
He’s sure his heart stops. But the birds continue to sing, and a warm breeze ruffles the hair on his brow and carries with it the tantalizing smells of a summer barbeque. And closer still, the wind brings a more familiar scent, one that he carries in his blood, one that he can never forget.
Toby takes a breath and clenches his fists, feels the nails dig into his palms. He shivers in the sunlight.
“Hey. It’s okay.”
He knows it’s a dream. It has to be a dream. He’s in Emerald City, lying in his bed, and any minute now O’Reily is going to hop down from the upper bunk and shake him awake and bitch about how his dreams have woken him again, and--
Toby opens his eyes.
And watches as Chris drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it out with his boot. He squints into the sunlight, and smiles.
If his heart had stopped before, it speeds up now, gallops through his chest like a racehorse. He lurches back, moving before he is even aware he’s doing so, stumbles over his own feet and lands on his ass in the long grass. His teeth snap together suddenly, catching his tongue, and the coppery taste of his own blood fills his mouth.
Chris smirks. “Graceful,” he says.
Toby shakes his head. The grass is firm and springy beneath his palms, slightly wet with morning dew. He swallows, edges away when Chris holds out a hand to help him to his feet.
“It’s a dream,” Toby says firmly. “It’s not real.”
“It’s not a dream, Toby,” Chris answers.
Chris waits patiently, and after a long moment Toby finally reaches out cautiously to grasp the proffered hand. He lets himself be levered to his feet, releases his grip quickly and swipes a shaking hand through his hair before crossing his arms at his chest. He still feels cold, despite the sunlight, and he shifts on his feet, nervous beneath Chris’s intense gaze.
“I don’t…” Toby begins. He clears his throat. “I don’t understand.”
“Yeah,” Chris says, “you do.”
And he does. Of course he does. His breath leaves him in a rush, and he reels slightly on his feet, certain that he’s going to be eating grass in a second. Then the moment passes, and he meets Chris’s eyes. “This is---? Is this--?”
“It ain’t Cleveland,” Chris says. He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming, enormous, real, and lays a hand carefully on Toby’s hip. “I told you He wouldn’t have the balls to keep us out.”
Toby looks down at Chris‘s hand. The fingers press gently, warm and strong, and he can feel the heat of Chris’s skin through the thin layer of cotton. He can smell Chris’s breath, feel the warm puff of air on his neck from Chris’s lips. And it seems to Toby that the world shifts, dips and pulses in a whirling rush and then rights itself, and his centre is aligned with Chris again.
“I’ve been waitin’ a long time, Tobe.”
Chris’s voice catches on his name, and Toby looks up sharply; really looks at Chris for the first time. His hair is a little fuller. His eyes seem more blue. And there is something else, something indefinable, unrecognizable in this Chris, this Chris that he’s found again after so long, after so much pain.
Toby’s breath suddenly catches in his throat and he gasps, the tears coming without warning.
“Shhh,” Chris says, stepping closer. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the nape of Toby’s neck, slides the other around Toby’s waist, shifts and turns so that Toby is cradled against his body, Toby‘s head nestled at his throat. “It’s okay,” he says soothingly. “It’s okay, Toby. It takes some gettin’ used to.”
The tears don’t last long, and when they’re done Toby lets himself stay pressed in Chris’s embrace, revels in the remembered sensations of Chris’s body against his. He clutches at Chris‘s back and wants to climb inside him, stay wrapped in his warmth forever.
Finally he steps away, smoothes his hands down the front of Chris’s shirt, and takes a deep breath. “Fuck,” he breathes out. His mouth drops open before he glances around guiltily.
Chris‘s lips quirk in a warm smile. “It’s okay,” he reassures him. “From what I can tell, He ain’t too worried about general profanity. I’d be careful about that whole ‘taking the Lord’s name in vain’ shit, though,” he adds with a wink.
Toby huffs out a laugh, smiles when Chris‘s grin gets wider. And it comes to him then -- the difference in Chris. The thing he couldn’t place.
Chris looks happy.
“C’mon,” Chris says, taking his hand and snapping him out of his reverie, and he still can‘t get over the feeling of touching Chris again, of Chris here and real and next to him. Toby laughs again as Chris tugs him forward eagerly. “I’ll show you around. And we’ll find Gary.”
Toby stops, his mouth suddenly dry. “You… you’ve seen Gary?”
Chris makes a face. “Of course I’ve seen Gary. I’ve been watchin’ out for him. I gotta tell ya, Tobe, you got a great kid.”
Toby wants to run, wants to find his son and scoop him up in his arms and never let go. Wants to shower his son with kisses and embrace away all the hurt and pain that filled Gary’s last moments… because of him.
But first he pulls Chris close, wraps his arms around Chris’s muscular frame, feels the steady beat of his heart. He closes his eyes and sees Chris falling, and he wets his lips, swallows around the lump in his throat, wonders how Chris can still want him after all the hateful things he said.
There is no way to take them back, so he doesn’t try. Instead he presses his lips to Chris’s throat, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. Pulls away to meet his eyes.
“I love you, Chris,” he says simply.
Chris smiles. “I know.”
* * *
Victoria Beecher feels unsteady on her feet, feels weak and old. The past nine years have aged her before her time. She clings to her son’s arm and tries to keep her voice calm. “How did it happen?”
“There was an… altercation between two groups of prisoners in the gym,” the warden says. “One of them had a weapon. Tobias was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Angus swallows. “So he wasn’t…”
“Involved?” the warden finishes. “No. Tobias has been a model prisoner.”
Victoria nods her head. There is so little to be grateful for, but at least there is that. She releases Angus carefully, lays her hand gently on Tobias’s head and smoothes the hair from his brow before finally facing the doctor. “Is there any hope?”
Doctor Nathan presses her lips together. A hand tentatively brushes Victoria’s arm, squeezes sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Victoria quells the tears that want to come, suppresses the quivering of her jaw. Tobias would not want her to break down. Tobias would want her to be strong. She lifts her chin. “Remove the machines,” she says. “Let him have peace. Let him finally be at peace.”
.