life is imploding. have a ficlet.

[maculategiraffe]

*zips by leaving a scattered trail of flying papers, a la Daphne on Heroes*










As we lie down to sleep the world turns half away
through ninety dark degrees;
the bureau lies on the wall
and thoughts that were recumbent in the day
rise as the others fall,
stand up and make a forest of thick-set trees.

-Elizabeth Bishop, "Sleeping Standing Up"






"No," Bran whispered, and Holden, not quite asleep, opened his eyes. "Mercy-- mercy--"

"Bran," said Holden, and Bran made a sound, something between a whimper and a sob, as Holden reached for him. "Sweetheart, wake up."

"Please," Bran cried, and his eyes, wild with terror, snapped open, "mercy, I--"

"It's okay," Holden whispered, as Bran stared up at him, white-faced. "It's okay, Bran."

Normally, on waking from a nightmare, Bran rolled against Holden, into his arms, flinging arms and legs around him, and, more often than not, slowly relaxed and sank back into sleep without saying a word. But now he didn't move; he just watched Holden as if the next expression to pass over Holden's face would determine whether he lived or died.

"Master?" he whispered.

"Hey," said Holden softly. "That sounded like a pretty nasty dream."

"A dream--" Bran was trembling.

"A dream." Holden stroked the hair away from Bran's sweat-beaded face. "Just a bad dream."

Bran swallowed. "I'm sorry-- please, master--"

"Sorry for what?"

"I--" The tip of Bran's tongue darted out and moistened his lips. "I ran away?"

"That was more than a year ago, sweetheart," said Holden. "You're not in trouble for it now."

"Again," said Bran, uncertainly, his voice still thick with sleep. "I ran away-- again."

"Well, that was silly," said Holden, still stroking Bran's hair. "If you want to leave me, all you've got to do is tell me so, and I'll take care of it for you."

"I didn't run away-- from you," Bran rasped, and coughed, closed-mouthed.

"You couldn't run away from anybody else," Holden explained, keeping his voice light and soothing, "because you belong to me."

"Oh," said Bran, after a moment, seeming to calm down a little. Holden kissed his clammy forehead.

"Did you dream you belonged to someone else?" he asked, and Bran nodded.

"They caught me," he said. "And he made me lie down on the floor-- on my face-- he said-- he said the slave breakers were coming."

"That's me," said Holden, bemused.

"I know," said Bran, trembling. "And you were so angry-- and I couldn't look up-- I couldn't see your face--"

"Look at my face now," said Holden steadily, and Bran did. After a minute, he reached up and put his hand on Holden's cheek; Holden stayed still, meeting the hungrily searching gray gaze.

"You said--" Bran began, and drew a ragged breath. "I dreamed you said-- I'd had too many chances-- and I'd fucked them all up-- taken advantage of your-- your kindness--"

"Oh, Bran." Holden put a hand on Bran's chest, feeling the hard, rapid palpitation of his heart, wishing he could take the heart in his hands, stroke and kiss and soothe it back to steadiness; he did lean down after a moment and touch his lips to the skin of Bran's chest, over the hammering.

"I begged," Bran said hoarsely. "For one more chance-- just one more, please--"

"One more chance before what?" Holden asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. "What was I going to do to you?"

"My legs--" said Bran, and Holden's stomach lurched a little. "You said-- I wouldn't be running-- again."

"Come here," said Holden, slipping an arm under Bran's shoulders; the boy's whole body was racked with tremors as Holden lifted him to a sitting position and moved him towards the side of the bed, easing his legs over the edge, till he sat there obediently with his bare feet on the floor. Holden knelt down on the floor and took one of the strong young legs in his hands, running them up and down the calf, feeling it tremble in his hands. He bent his head to kiss Bran's left knee, sliding his hands caressingly down to his ice-cold foot, to his long slender toes.

Bran said, above him, "It wasn't real."

"No," said Holden, chafing Bran's foot gently, trying to warm it. "It wasn't."

"When I was on the floor-- and you were the slave breaker," Bran continued, his voice growing a little steadier, "you-- you didn't punish me-- you picked me up..."

"That's right," said Holden, and kissed the chilly toes of Bran's left foot. "I picked you up, and I brought you home, and I took care of you. There was never anything to punish you for, darling."

"And I was tied up," said Bran, and cleared his throat. "But we burned the ropes. Didn't we, master?"

Holden looked up, one hand on each of Bran's calves, kneading the muscles tenderly.

"Yes, we did," he said. "And you weren't tied up, in the dream?"

Bran shook his head.

"Hmm," said Holden. "So if I burn down Dunaev's house, will that mean you won't have dreams about it any more?"

Bran smiled weakly, briefly. "I don't know, master."

"Could be worth a try," said Holden, and leaned down to kiss Bran's knees, one after the other.

After another moment, Bran put a timid hand on Holden's shoulder, and Holden looked up again, into a pair of worried gray eyes-- worried, and ashamed-- as Bran said, "I'm sorry, master. I-- I don't know why I dreamed that. I know you would never-- be like that-- you're not-- like that..."

Holden smiled up at him with an effort.

"My sweet Bran," he said. "I love that you feel the need to defend me from the slanders of your own nightmare."

He rose, a little unsteadily, from his knees, and put his hand on Bran's shoulder; Bran kept his head lowered, still shivering slightly under Holden's touch.

"Do you want to try to go back to sleep?" Holden asked.

Bran shuddered, without looking up. "I'd-- rather not, please, master."

"Fine," said Holden. "Then why don't we go downstairs? I'll make us something hot to drink, and we can talk about more pleasant things. Like what we're going to do for the winter solstice."

Bran jerked his head up; after a moment, a real smile, slow and radiant as dawn, broke across his face.

"You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you?" said Holden, smiling back, and Bran shook his head.

"I knew you'd remember," he said, still smiling, the color coming slowly back into his cheeks. "Are you very busy that day, master?"

"Booked solid," Holden answered. "Dawn to dusk-- celebrating the solstice with my boy."

Bran leaned forward and put his arms around Holden's waist, pressing his face into Holden's solar plexus, and Holden put a hand on his hair and another on his back, stroking.

"If you ever do try to run away again," he said, and felt Bran tense slightly against him, "I'm going to chain you to my wrist, so you can't run anywhere but into my arms."

Bran gave a little, choked laugh, and said, muffled, "That won't-- punish me-- much."

"But it will make me happy," said Holden. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you dressed-- and I'll tell you what I've got planned, for the solstice."