Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Gimme them suckies, daddies

He wasn't even sure if he was even taking about Tord anymore- the words just flowed from his tongue like a crashing river, hissing up from his core like long forgotten bile. Something wasn't registering in his brain, a mental block filtering out the stuttering mess that left the soldier's lips. Vision warped, Pat's facial features swam and blended in with those of his father's- they looked nothing alike (from what he could remember), but they meshed together horrifyingly well, distorting his perception of reality.

"I don't-" Dry lips smacking together, Pat tightened his grip on the gun, teasing the trigger as his arm snapped up to aim at the delirious man, "I will sh-"

A roar echoed through the room, Tom pouncing on the other man with the ferocity of a savage, wild animal. In one quick movement, a heavy scaled claw clamped around his shoulder, shoving the soldier back harshly into the wall, the other one striking out to bat the firearm from his shaky hold.

With a heavy thud, Pat's skull collided with the brick, a yelp of fear springing up from his gullet. Limbs flailing, his grip on the gun loosened, causing it to fly across the room and skid against the linoleum. The once previously neat row of chairs where scattered and knocked over, bowing to the weight of two heavy moving bodies.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Pat thrashed wildly, razor sharp nails sinking through the multiple layers of his clothing. Hot, feral pants of breath ghosted over his closed lids, and he gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he mentally prepared for the worst. With the count of three, he snapped them back open.

Tom sniffled openly.

"Uh-"

Expression crumbling, a sob leaked from his mouth, lips trembling as his eyes began to water. A few of them seeped out from the corner of his sockets, trickling hotly down his cheeks. Fists shaking from the intensity of his grip, he scrabbled for purchase, quivering digits digging into the rough fabric of the front of Pat's uniform, wrinkling it as he leaned closer, a hiccup bubbling up his throat, "Why? What did I do to deserve this?"

Silently, Pat looked at him, pupils shuddering from side to side as he absorbed every inch of his pathetic features. Confusion blossomed in his brain, leaking into his facial expression.

After a few awkward seconds of opening and closing his mouth, he seemed to swallow roughly, a cold nervous sweat running down the side of his pinched face, "Not many people deserve what happens to them- good or bad. Everyone has their burden to shoulder, Tord's is to shape the new world, mine is to get him there- what does that make yours?"

Pausing, Tom looked down, slightly releasing the white-knuckled grip he had on the other man. Wordlessly, he churned the question around in his scattered mind, digesting them and trying to assess their value in his cramped, sad little world.

What was his burden?

Something clogged his throat, choking and hitching his heavy breathing.

The legacy his father left behind?

The repressed rage that boiled in his blood?

The beast that lingered in his brain?

Trick question- check all of the above.

But what if they didn't have to be?

Tord and Pat made their burdens; it had been a choice that they had both chosen for themselves. Why couldn't Tom be the same? What if he went off script? Still playing his part in the play of life, of course, but instead, he changed his role to something more his speed.

Perhaps, after all this time of anxiously ranting, and sweating over every agonising detail of his supposedly predetermined stage life- he had forgotten that he was, in fact, his own director. Pulled into several different directions at once by his puppeteer of a father, being suppressed and unwilling to breathe on his own, had caged him, shackled him to the invisible god figure that didn't actually exist.

Little seedlings of ideas began to be planted- growing within the recesses of his brain, and blooming into a fully fledged plan of attack.

Relaxing his posture, he moved away from Pat, tapping his fingers against his slack mouth in silent thought. He hummed slightly, clicking his tongue at the abandoned phone and gun that laid pitifully under the scattered pile of chairs.

"You can keep the phone-" He spoke thickly, still only half present in the waking world, "I don't need his test, and I don't need his validation-"

"What?" Pat grunted, cradling the back of his head, wincing.

Tom turned himself towards the door, the soft glow of the hallway ironically daunting and yet slightly hypnotic in its brightness, a tempting metaphor for better things to come.

"Where are you going? You can't just leave-" Pat snorted in disbelief, "You threatened a general, attacked him, snotted on his high ranking uniform- and now you're just walking away?!"

Absentmindedly wiping at the warm wetness circling his skin, Tom cocked an eyebrow, "Yeah? And?"

Pat gasped at him, mouth slack, looking around the room as though there was a higher power to justify his bewilderment, "You are- you are unbelievable."

Tom grinned back crookedly, it must have looked pathetic contrasted with his red-rimmed sockets and flushed cheeks.

"Any more outbursts like that, and you'll be needing a muzzle." Pat huffed; a vague threat that held no true meaning.

"Jokes on you, I ate my last one."

--

A/N: School starts back up tomorrow, so I don't know what my upload schedule will be like after this. I really hope I don't abandon it, because that'll suck major cock.

Oh, also; an announcement! I have a redbubble account now! There are a few designs up already, but I have a few more planned to be released. My favourite is the Strawberry Panic one, and is it bad to admit I bought it???

There's no obligation to buy anything, obliviously- but I thought I'd advertise!

My user is god-wont-answer and I'll put a link in my bio for anyone who is interested.