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An Angel's Respite (Chapter Fifteen)
Alexander has been through a lot.
At least he likes to think he has.
He's been through strife and wars, betrayals and enemies, foe turned to friend just to turn back to foe after the battle was won, even lost an arm for getting the courage to finally fight in a cause he believes in.
However this was something new.
And Alexander would be lying if he said he didn't feel betrayed the first morning he couldn't find Hester, Wilbur fussing around as Alexander turned the house upside down trying to find anything on where Hester went.
After night three.
He found him.
Looking weak and broken, Alexander didn't know whether he should laugh or cry at the pitiful sight of this excuse of a human being, passed out in the snow looking like he had gone through hell and barely made it back.
Hester's face was pale and looked oddly like the first time Alexander saved him—scruffy, but not injured, no cuts or new scars were on him at least any Alexander could find and his breathing was perfect, pulse as well. He just seemed exhausted, He let Hester take the bed.
«»«»«»«»«»
It was foolish to trust him anyways.
You thought you could learn from this stupid bird?
You have just wasted your time and resources just like we said from the beginning!
I was starting to tolerate him too, what a shame.
«»«»«»«»«»
"Shut your mouth." He said tiredly, he didn't understand why he was so angry—he felt like he had been betrayed, why? Hester hadn't hurt him, didn't go back on his word, or even lie to him.
Hester did nothing wrong,
But it felt like he did.
Everytime Alexander saw him. He could feel his hands tightened shaking slightly, it bothered him so much to be hurt over something so little. This was tiny compared to what he's seen in his life. Watching allies die in his arms, to being the one to make the killing blow to people he used to call companions. He looked up at the sky trying to gauge the time, it was around midnight maybe a little before maybe after—it didn't matter much.
He was shivering slightly from the cold—he didn't need anything outside, he had water, wood and food he just needed to get away from people. People and their complex emotions Alexander could never understand in a million years—even he, himself confused at what he should feel at the moment.
He weaved past a large pine tree and saw the silhouette of a house—his house—that even with people inside felt so very lonely.
He opened the front door going to the ground floor, it was littered with books and loose parchments scattered around the room like a blizzard swept through Alexander throw down his axe and cloak on the nearest spot on the table that wasn't entirely covered by something—luckily most items were on the floor.
Alexander climbed up the ladder swinging the first trapdoor not turning to see Hester he could hear him gently breathing and knowing Wilbur's laying comfortable on top of him, he swung the other one leading to his sleeping quarters. Once his head felt the soft pillow he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
He dreamed of betrayals, watching the life drain from old allies faces, and days of waking up so very alone.
It had been a few days.
Hester noticed the change.
Mostly from Alexander not saying a single word to Hester or Wilbur, he took it surprisingly well Alexander spending more time brewing potions—most days eating there trying desperately to stay away from them like they had some sort of disease.
But the first sign of an earthquake, starts with a fissure
The first one was very small.
It had been three days of Alexander not using his voice until Hester finally tried to talk to him, really talk to him.
"Hey mate," Hester said gingerly—gently, one evening descending the ladder. "I've noticed you have been quiet for a little bit." He said—like he was talking to a different species, one he was not entirely sure could understand what he was saying. "I was just wondering if everything's fine." Alexander didn't reply, just continued crushing willow weed not even acknowledging Hester's presents or his question.
Alexander heard the roar of laughter as the monsters watched the scene unfold around them, mostly mocking Hester calling him a 'bird' or 'pray' if Alexander lacked any self-restraint he would have willingly watched Hester die in his hands.
"Right," Hester said, sounding slightly different—was it disappointment? "Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go and walk with us, Wilbur's fussing to go outside and if a tree almost crushes him at least this time, I'll know he'll be in very capable hands."
Alexander said nothing. "Right." Hester said quietly, a small and broken thing, something that felt like it evaporated as it left his lips, Hester left without another word.
The second fissure was a little more noticeable.
It had almost been a week and Hester was taking it a little harder. "Alexander, mate!" Hester said loudly, happily, oh great Alexander though bothered, "Let's spar." Hester said picking up Alexander's axe he left leaning on the doorframe the night before. Alexander shook his head ever-so-slightly, not taking his eyes away from the burning flames in front of him. He couldn't see Hester's face but could tell it dropped at Alexander's wordless rejection.
"Come on, mate, we both need to burn off some energy, you've been in here for what feels like days." It had been days, waking up just to go straight down to make some new and elaborate remedy, just to have enough energy to go back to his bed to sleep and start it over again for the next day Hester tried a little harder. "I'm worried I will get rusty, and I really want to try this new technique." Alexander shook his head again, "Please," Hester said pleading with Alexander turned to him, Alexander could see his reflection in Hester's eyes and flinched at the sight. He looked scruffy his hair falling past his shoulders messily untied and unbound his clothes being stained with different colours of random miscellaneous ingredients—he look sort of like a painter if the liquid was thicker, but his eyes showed no sign of art or creation he looked stressed, like he had went through a long and tedious war all by himself.
After Hester left silently, not bringing up the topic again, just bringing down some food he made and left again for the night.
The third fissure was the warning.
It had been a week, a full week of Alexander not using his voice other than to talk to the monsters—however they weren't very good at keeping up a conversation all that well, mostly from them just mocking him—mostly talking about Hester. For once they got a reaction, Alexander's throat stung everytime he snapped at them. The monsters didn't mind—just as long as they got attention or ticked off Alexander they had a grand time.
"Alexander," Hester said gently. When did he get here? Alexander hadn't even noticed Hester standing there, still ignored him however. "Alexander, what's wrong?" He said nothing. "Is it something I did?" How could it not be? How could Hester be so idiotic, thinking it was alright if he almost kills himself by trying to meet some Goddess? "Is it the voices?."
Alexander flinched at that, but remained silent.
"What are they saying—?"
"—I don't have to tell you anything." His voice was cold, dry and disturbingly hollow.
"I never said you—"
"You can't just leave Hester,"
Hester tried to interrupt, Alexander paid him no heed.
"What do you think Hester? Why do you think I need time to think about you leaving?,"
"W-what?"
"Three days Hester, three Gods damn days. If you wanted to leave so much, you could have just said so."
Hester's shoulders slumped, his eyes seemed tired the longer Alexander looked at them he noticed the rings of sleep on them—well lack thereof he didn't feel any better about the situation then he started. He eventually let his thoughts drift back to his work.
Mangrove bark, he thought, stir the mangrove bark until it's melted. Stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the—
"Alexander,"
Hester said, tensed clearly getting bothered by Alexander's tone, he sounded slightly angry—and something else—disappointed? Why is he always disappointed?
"What in the Gods green Earth and blue sea happened?"
Stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark.
"You go all quiet for a whole damn week not even looking at me, and don't even tell me what I've done! Have I even done any—"
Stir it until it's melt—damn it.
The pot in the flame fizzled with the dark green liquid inside it bubbled then turned into black smoke. Hester seemingly coughing up a lung ducking his head while Alexander seems unbothered, the black smoke rises in front of Alexander and Hester's eyes, then turning white and gray after seemingly vanishing—along with Alexander's patience.
Patience was the wrong word, but it was something close to that.
"Why did you leave?" Alexander said, then added
"And not tell me?"
"You didn't need to know—"
«»«»«»«»«»
We did.
«»«»«»«»«»
"I did."
He could see Hester's eyes cold and almost gray like a flint one spark away from combustion, he stared at the pot Alexander flipped over to stop the smoke from rising then looked in the terracotta oven flames bursted from it like a beacon.
The monsters whispered snickering as Alexander leaned his weight on one of the tables behind him, he needed to keep his hands busy something like the motion stirring did was perfect—he could do something else but something told him he would want to break Hester's face more. Hester stood, Alexander could see his mouth was a thin line.
"I don't see why this concerns you—"
"It does concern me."
"Why?"
Alexander didn't know what to feel, didn't know what to say, how could he tell someone he genuinely cares about them? Did he even care about them? Was this a feeling that would pass in a few days or was it the chance of getting to know someone that was this feeling—someone not in his own head.
"Because I can't have you getting yourself killed and leaving Wilbur behind."
"Getting myself killed?" Hester echoed.
«»«»«»«»«»
You messed up now.
This is the first time I've seen him genuinely angry, what happened?
Oh, are we killing him? Finally,
This is going be fun to watch.
«»«»«»«»«»
"It's none of your business to know where I go, and it's not your place to talk about Wilbur." Hester growled.
"Maybe it wouldn't be if you weren't in my house."
Alexander snapped back, the anger in Hester's eyes burned with something Alexander couldn't quite place.
"It doesn't matter, it didn't work anyway."
Hester muttered bitterly.
"What were you trying to do?"
"Why are you so interested in prying into my life?"
Hester said dryly the atmosphere quickly changed from passive aggressive to hostile in an instant, he continued.
"I don't need a child taking care of me, maybe if he could actually listen to me and not some voices in his own damn head he could—"
-Crack-
The pot Alexander had thrown smashed against the wall, the wall was fine, unharmed with a small crack but otherwise perfectly intact—the pot on the other hand was dented and the handle splintered from the amount of force. Hester didn't say anything, startled by the sudden movement and noise, tensed, his shoulders squared and made himself taller trying to loom over, staring daggers into Alexander, Alexander staring right back.
"I never said I wanted to take care of you, or Wilbur for that matter."
He spat, it was mostly true, he never said anything about taking care of either, but Hester never asked for the help Alexander willingly gave him, he simply did so without asking. But anyone's judgment becomes clouded with rage, and hurt.
«»«»«»«»«»
How long do you think the bird will last? Bet, he goes down at the first swing.
What can a little birdy do to a God? He'll never beat you.
Bet, he dies after twenty minutes.
Why are they fighting?
«»«»«»«»«»
"And I never asked for it, maybe if you stayed out of my way—"
"—I would love to, just tell me where you went and we can move on with life."
Hester stared, arms crossed and had the face of someone weighing out the consequences of his actions, calculating the reaction—and planning for an escape, he narrowed his eyes and said.
"I needed to visit someone, to keep Wilbur safe."
He's lying, the monsters screamed at him, he's lying we can see it. Alexander ignored them instead a question slipped past his lips.
". . Is Wilbur safe. . ?"
A beat.
Hester didn't reply, barely breathed, he looked past Alexander deep in thought. His face, from what Alexander could see of it, had gone very pale, almost like how he found him in the snow after his little expedition.
The fire ricocheted off his golden hair and blue eyes the colour of the tundra, his eyes once narrowed now wide with an expression that showed nothing but pure and utter fear.
Alexander heard the monsters laughing and whispering amongst themselves, asking what they think will happen next—still he couldn't help but hear little snippets of what they said.
«»«»«»«»«»
He only tells lies, stop wasting your time.
He's lying!
Don't trust him, he'll get us all killed!
He's a coward and a liar, my question is why is he still breathing?
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester leaned on the wooden table like he could no longer support his own weight; it creaked slightly but didn't move.
"Your lying,"
Hester flinched.
"You must be."
It was a low blow even for Alexander. The comment originally was a question, but Alexander didn't want the answer as he bit his tongue, this time it felt like it was coated in a bitter poison. A sudden wild anger came with it, unkept and desperate. It wasn't that Hester had left for a few days, it wasn't that it was hard to take care of Wilbur alone, it was that Hester could have gone anywhere, and Alexander would never know, did he leave every night? Was he just now realizing it?
Alexander's voice was sore and dry, like he was running out of air, drowning underwater, with no end in sight to the crashing waves.
"Hester, just tell me."
Now Hester was the silent one, the monsters reacted with a fit of laughter, like demons watching some hilarious set happen on stage in front of their very eyes.
"Hester."
Alexander repeated louder, but not yelling, yet.
"Where the hell did you go?"
Alexander could barely hear himself with the laughter, it echoed in his head like some sick choir that the monsters sang. Hester looked up, the face he had said so much—and so little all at once, too many emotions for Alexander to read or, then again, maybe there were none to begin with.
The feeling of a well filled with dried up hurt that Alexander forgot was even there, filled anew burning him from the inside out.
"Hester why did you—?"
Alexander put a hand to his temple, the pain, the everlasting grueling pain—the pain of the monsters having fun, it was nauseating.
"Why did y-you leave me?"
He said or maybe thought or maybe screamed, he just wanted to hear something that wasn't from his own head—his own Gods damned head.
"Hes't-er?"
He was losing himself again, and a part of him wanted to stay there, stay and see what would happen, see what he could do, really do.
But he's a coward.
And like one.
He fled.
He grabbed his axe, cloak and ran, opened the door with enough force to pull out the hinges and ran, the door slamming loudly behind him, he didn't turn back.
He didn't know where he was going and at that moment didn't care, he just needed to leave. For Hester's safety.
Hester stayed quite trying to think of what to do, or what he could have done to prevent this. How? Hester thought pretending he couldn't feel his eyes watering, how can I help? He opened the door gently—delicately, he saw Odin looking curiously at him, but he paid him no heed even though Odin was standing right next to him in his fenced off area Hester could only see footprints in the snow leading into the forest it took every single force of his being—but he didn't follow them.
-He needs his space- Hester though annoyed—because he was right, Alexander needed his space, he needed to let him breathe, relax, and so did Hester. He turned around and opened the door escaping from the cold. He was dragged out of his thoughts when he heard a noise come from above him—it was a very familiar sound, a sound that changed his life forever.
He sighted softly letting a smile take over his face like a plague creeping into every part of his features.
Wilbur.
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Art by Dudke on X
The start of this chapter I would have said 'welcome to toxic masculinity 101' now I will say, 'welcome to being bad with feelings' in all honesty though I hope the characters didn't come out to raw and rough in this chapter. I'm still not really sure (• ▽ •;)
© Unavailable
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At least he likes to think he has.
He's been through strife and wars, betrayals and enemies, foe turned to friend just to turn back to foe after the battle was won, even lost an arm for getting the courage to finally fight in a cause he believes in.
However this was something new.
And Alexander would be lying if he said he didn't feel betrayed the first morning he couldn't find Hester, Wilbur fussing around as Alexander turned the house upside down trying to find anything on where Hester went.
After night three.
He found him.
Looking weak and broken, Alexander didn't know whether he should laugh or cry at the pitiful sight of this excuse of a human being, passed out in the snow looking like he had gone through hell and barely made it back.
Hester's face was pale and looked oddly like the first time Alexander saved him—scruffy, but not injured, no cuts or new scars were on him at least any Alexander could find and his breathing was perfect, pulse as well. He just seemed exhausted, He let Hester take the bed.
«»«»«»«»«»
It was foolish to trust him anyways.
You thought you could learn from this stupid bird?
You have just wasted your time and resources just like we said from the beginning!
I was starting to tolerate him too, what a shame.
«»«»«»«»«»
"Shut your mouth." He said tiredly, he didn't understand why he was so angry—he felt like he had been betrayed, why? Hester hadn't hurt him, didn't go back on his word, or even lie to him.
Hester did nothing wrong,
But it felt like he did.
Everytime Alexander saw him. He could feel his hands tightened shaking slightly, it bothered him so much to be hurt over something so little. This was tiny compared to what he's seen in his life. Watching allies die in his arms, to being the one to make the killing blow to people he used to call companions. He looked up at the sky trying to gauge the time, it was around midnight maybe a little before maybe after—it didn't matter much.
He was shivering slightly from the cold—he didn't need anything outside, he had water, wood and food he just needed to get away from people. People and their complex emotions Alexander could never understand in a million years—even he, himself confused at what he should feel at the moment.
He weaved past a large pine tree and saw the silhouette of a house—his house—that even with people inside felt so very lonely.
He opened the front door going to the ground floor, it was littered with books and loose parchments scattered around the room like a blizzard swept through Alexander throw down his axe and cloak on the nearest spot on the table that wasn't entirely covered by something—luckily most items were on the floor.
Alexander climbed up the ladder swinging the first trapdoor not turning to see Hester he could hear him gently breathing and knowing Wilbur's laying comfortable on top of him, he swung the other one leading to his sleeping quarters. Once his head felt the soft pillow he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.
He dreamed of betrayals, watching the life drain from old allies faces, and days of waking up so very alone.
It had been a few days.
Hester noticed the change.
Mostly from Alexander not saying a single word to Hester or Wilbur, he took it surprisingly well Alexander spending more time brewing potions—most days eating there trying desperately to stay away from them like they had some sort of disease.
But the first sign of an earthquake, starts with a fissure
The first one was very small.
It had been three days of Alexander not using his voice until Hester finally tried to talk to him, really talk to him.
"Hey mate," Hester said gingerly—gently, one evening descending the ladder. "I've noticed you have been quiet for a little bit." He said—like he was talking to a different species, one he was not entirely sure could understand what he was saying. "I was just wondering if everything's fine." Alexander didn't reply, just continued crushing willow weed not even acknowledging Hester's presents or his question.
Alexander heard the roar of laughter as the monsters watched the scene unfold around them, mostly mocking Hester calling him a 'bird' or 'pray' if Alexander lacked any self-restraint he would have willingly watched Hester die in his hands.
"Right," Hester said, sounding slightly different—was it disappointment? "Uh, I was wondering if you wanted to go and walk with us, Wilbur's fussing to go outside and if a tree almost crushes him at least this time, I'll know he'll be in very capable hands."
Alexander said nothing. "Right." Hester said quietly, a small and broken thing, something that felt like it evaporated as it left his lips, Hester left without another word.
The second fissure was a little more noticeable.
It had almost been a week and Hester was taking it a little harder. "Alexander, mate!" Hester said loudly, happily, oh great Alexander though bothered, "Let's spar." Hester said picking up Alexander's axe he left leaning on the doorframe the night before. Alexander shook his head ever-so-slightly, not taking his eyes away from the burning flames in front of him. He couldn't see Hester's face but could tell it dropped at Alexander's wordless rejection.
"Come on, mate, we both need to burn off some energy, you've been in here for what feels like days." It had been days, waking up just to go straight down to make some new and elaborate remedy, just to have enough energy to go back to his bed to sleep and start it over again for the next day Hester tried a little harder. "I'm worried I will get rusty, and I really want to try this new technique." Alexander shook his head again, "Please," Hester said pleading with Alexander turned to him, Alexander could see his reflection in Hester's eyes and flinched at the sight. He looked scruffy his hair falling past his shoulders messily untied and unbound his clothes being stained with different colours of random miscellaneous ingredients—he look sort of like a painter if the liquid was thicker, but his eyes showed no sign of art or creation he looked stressed, like he had went through a long and tedious war all by himself.
After Hester left silently, not bringing up the topic again, just bringing down some food he made and left again for the night.
The third fissure was the warning.
It had been a week, a full week of Alexander not using his voice other than to talk to the monsters—however they weren't very good at keeping up a conversation all that well, mostly from them just mocking him—mostly talking about Hester. For once they got a reaction, Alexander's throat stung everytime he snapped at them. The monsters didn't mind—just as long as they got attention or ticked off Alexander they had a grand time.
"Alexander," Hester said gently. When did he get here? Alexander hadn't even noticed Hester standing there, still ignored him however. "Alexander, what's wrong?" He said nothing. "Is it something I did?" How could it not be? How could Hester be so idiotic, thinking it was alright if he almost kills himself by trying to meet some Goddess? "Is it the voices?."
Alexander flinched at that, but remained silent.
"What are they saying—?"
"—I don't have to tell you anything." His voice was cold, dry and disturbingly hollow.
"I never said you—"
"You can't just leave Hester,"
Hester tried to interrupt, Alexander paid him no heed.
"What do you think Hester? Why do you think I need time to think about you leaving?,"
"W-what?"
"Three days Hester, three Gods damn days. If you wanted to leave so much, you could have just said so."
Hester's shoulders slumped, his eyes seemed tired the longer Alexander looked at them he noticed the rings of sleep on them—well lack thereof he didn't feel any better about the situation then he started. He eventually let his thoughts drift back to his work.
Mangrove bark, he thought, stir the mangrove bark until it's melted. Stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the—
"Alexander,"
Hester said, tensed clearly getting bothered by Alexander's tone, he sounded slightly angry—and something else—disappointed? Why is he always disappointed?
"What in the Gods green Earth and blue sea happened?"
Stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark, stir the mangrove bark.
"You go all quiet for a whole damn week not even looking at me, and don't even tell me what I've done! Have I even done any—"
Stir it until it's melt—damn it.
The pot in the flame fizzled with the dark green liquid inside it bubbled then turned into black smoke. Hester seemingly coughing up a lung ducking his head while Alexander seems unbothered, the black smoke rises in front of Alexander and Hester's eyes, then turning white and gray after seemingly vanishing—along with Alexander's patience.
Patience was the wrong word, but it was something close to that.
"Why did you leave?" Alexander said, then added
"And not tell me?"
"You didn't need to know—"
«»«»«»«»«»
We did.
«»«»«»«»«»
"I did."
He could see Hester's eyes cold and almost gray like a flint one spark away from combustion, he stared at the pot Alexander flipped over to stop the smoke from rising then looked in the terracotta oven flames bursted from it like a beacon.
The monsters whispered snickering as Alexander leaned his weight on one of the tables behind him, he needed to keep his hands busy something like the motion stirring did was perfect—he could do something else but something told him he would want to break Hester's face more. Hester stood, Alexander could see his mouth was a thin line.
"I don't see why this concerns you—"
"It does concern me."
"Why?"
Alexander didn't know what to feel, didn't know what to say, how could he tell someone he genuinely cares about them? Did he even care about them? Was this a feeling that would pass in a few days or was it the chance of getting to know someone that was this feeling—someone not in his own head.
"Because I can't have you getting yourself killed and leaving Wilbur behind."
"Getting myself killed?" Hester echoed.
«»«»«»«»«»
You messed up now.
This is the first time I've seen him genuinely angry, what happened?
Oh, are we killing him? Finally,
This is going be fun to watch.
«»«»«»«»«»
"It's none of your business to know where I go, and it's not your place to talk about Wilbur." Hester growled.
"Maybe it wouldn't be if you weren't in my house."
Alexander snapped back, the anger in Hester's eyes burned with something Alexander couldn't quite place.
"It doesn't matter, it didn't work anyway."
Hester muttered bitterly.
"What were you trying to do?"
"Why are you so interested in prying into my life?"
Hester said dryly the atmosphere quickly changed from passive aggressive to hostile in an instant, he continued.
"I don't need a child taking care of me, maybe if he could actually listen to me and not some voices in his own damn head he could—"
-Crack-
The pot Alexander had thrown smashed against the wall, the wall was fine, unharmed with a small crack but otherwise perfectly intact—the pot on the other hand was dented and the handle splintered from the amount of force. Hester didn't say anything, startled by the sudden movement and noise, tensed, his shoulders squared and made himself taller trying to loom over, staring daggers into Alexander, Alexander staring right back.
"I never said I wanted to take care of you, or Wilbur for that matter."
He spat, it was mostly true, he never said anything about taking care of either, but Hester never asked for the help Alexander willingly gave him, he simply did so without asking. But anyone's judgment becomes clouded with rage, and hurt.
«»«»«»«»«»
How long do you think the bird will last? Bet, he goes down at the first swing.
What can a little birdy do to a God? He'll never beat you.
Bet, he dies after twenty minutes.
Why are they fighting?
«»«»«»«»«»
"And I never asked for it, maybe if you stayed out of my way—"
"—I would love to, just tell me where you went and we can move on with life."
Hester stared, arms crossed and had the face of someone weighing out the consequences of his actions, calculating the reaction—and planning for an escape, he narrowed his eyes and said.
"I needed to visit someone, to keep Wilbur safe."
He's lying, the monsters screamed at him, he's lying we can see it. Alexander ignored them instead a question slipped past his lips.
". . Is Wilbur safe. . ?"
A beat.
Hester didn't reply, barely breathed, he looked past Alexander deep in thought. His face, from what Alexander could see of it, had gone very pale, almost like how he found him in the snow after his little expedition.
The fire ricocheted off his golden hair and blue eyes the colour of the tundra, his eyes once narrowed now wide with an expression that showed nothing but pure and utter fear.
Alexander heard the monsters laughing and whispering amongst themselves, asking what they think will happen next—still he couldn't help but hear little snippets of what they said.
«»«»«»«»«»
He only tells lies, stop wasting your time.
He's lying!
Don't trust him, he'll get us all killed!
He's a coward and a liar, my question is why is he still breathing?
«»«»«»«»«»
Hester leaned on the wooden table like he could no longer support his own weight; it creaked slightly but didn't move.
"Your lying,"
Hester flinched.
"You must be."
It was a low blow even for Alexander. The comment originally was a question, but Alexander didn't want the answer as he bit his tongue, this time it felt like it was coated in a bitter poison. A sudden wild anger came with it, unkept and desperate. It wasn't that Hester had left for a few days, it wasn't that it was hard to take care of Wilbur alone, it was that Hester could have gone anywhere, and Alexander would never know, did he leave every night? Was he just now realizing it?
Alexander's voice was sore and dry, like he was running out of air, drowning underwater, with no end in sight to the crashing waves.
"Hester, just tell me."
Now Hester was the silent one, the monsters reacted with a fit of laughter, like demons watching some hilarious set happen on stage in front of their very eyes.
"Hester."
Alexander repeated louder, but not yelling, yet.
"Where the hell did you go?"
Alexander could barely hear himself with the laughter, it echoed in his head like some sick choir that the monsters sang. Hester looked up, the face he had said so much—and so little all at once, too many emotions for Alexander to read or, then again, maybe there were none to begin with.
The feeling of a well filled with dried up hurt that Alexander forgot was even there, filled anew burning him from the inside out.
"Hester why did you—?"
Alexander put a hand to his temple, the pain, the everlasting grueling pain—the pain of the monsters having fun, it was nauseating.
"Why did y-you leave me?"
He said or maybe thought or maybe screamed, he just wanted to hear something that wasn't from his own head—his own Gods damned head.
"Hes't-er?"
He was losing himself again, and a part of him wanted to stay there, stay and see what would happen, see what he could do, really do.
But he's a coward.
And like one.
He fled.
He grabbed his axe, cloak and ran, opened the door with enough force to pull out the hinges and ran, the door slamming loudly behind him, he didn't turn back.
He didn't know where he was going and at that moment didn't care, he just needed to leave. For Hester's safety.
Hester stayed quite trying to think of what to do, or what he could have done to prevent this. How? Hester thought pretending he couldn't feel his eyes watering, how can I help? He opened the door gently—delicately, he saw Odin looking curiously at him, but he paid him no heed even though Odin was standing right next to him in his fenced off area Hester could only see footprints in the snow leading into the forest it took every single force of his being—but he didn't follow them.
-He needs his space- Hester though annoyed—because he was right, Alexander needed his space, he needed to let him breathe, relax, and so did Hester. He turned around and opened the door escaping from the cold. He was dragged out of his thoughts when he heard a noise come from above him—it was a very familiar sound, a sound that changed his life forever.
He sighted softly letting a smile take over his face like a plague creeping into every part of his features.
Wilbur.
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Art by Dudke on X
The start of this chapter I would have said 'welcome to toxic masculinity 101' now I will say, 'welcome to being bad with feelings' in all honesty though I hope the characters didn't come out to raw and rough in this chapter. I'm still not really sure (• ▽ •;)
© Unavailable
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