Damian struggled against the chains, the cold metal biting into his wrists and ankles as he lay on the floor, the man's knife slicing at him. The room was dark, the walls cloaked in shadows that almost seemed to reach for him, but he could see the man sneering down at him as he struggled. He could feel the hand on him, holding him down, pressing him further against the freezing stone floor. Damian was too weak to continue struggling against him as the man above him climbed onto him, kneeling on his chest, the knife to his throat. He went still, and was silent as another hand held a different knife to his throat, allowing the man to side lower, onto his abdomen, placing the knife on his bare chest. With every pound of his heart he swore that blade got closer, sharper.
Damian cried out as the knife plunged downward, cutting through his flesh, angled between his ribs, down, down into his heart.
Damian jerked awake, shaking, his heart pounding, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat. In a blind panic, he threw off the covers of his bed, looking down at his bare chest, at his wrists and his ankles. He felt like he was suffocating, but he could see there were no chains, no knives. He'd been dreaming. It was just a dream.
Hastily, he pulled his Light toward him, back from where it usually spread about his apartment. He couldn't let it touch Kylie from where she was resting on his desk. He didn't want to wake her up to deal with another one of his nightmares. Between the Ghost and Guardian, the Light was like a bond through which they could sense each other's emotions. Of course, Kylie needed light to live, he gave her that, but no more.
He took a shuddering breath, eyes stinging as he murmured to himself, telling himself it would be okay and that he was okay, and that it was just a dream. It was normally more reassuring to hear himself, but now it didn't nothing to tame his wild panic. He knew that man. His face smirked at him from the back of his mind, poisoned blades in hand.
Before he knew it, Damian was in the bathroom, his stumbling legs leading him to the toilet before he collapsed on his knees, vomiting his guts up. Somewhere along the way tears started pouring down his cheeks, his shaking grew worse. The world was spinning. He'd locked the door and shoved Kylie out, he'd cut his hands on glass, he'd fallen to the ground. The mirror was broken, shards glaring at him from the floor.
He couldn't breathe. He thought he was going to pass out. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe. He was drowning, his mind was a sea of panic. He was crying, he was sobbing. His wings were out, dark, cruel, leathery things, wrapping around him, protecting him. Then they were cut. The man was there, in the room with him. He'd broken in. Then he was hitting him, hurting him, grabbing him. Dragging him back into the darkness that he came from, running a hand over his wings, reminding him of who he was.
It was chaos, it was pain. He couldn't think clearly, he thought he heard someone screaming. Maybe it was just him. He was drowning, he was drowning. Drowning in the past, in the pain, in the dark. He couldn't escape. He couldn't get away. They held him like chains. Chains, they were on his wrists and ankles as they beat him, raped him. The man and the others, laughed as he screamed and struggled. Laughing, laughing–
It was her. Out of the darkness, she was there. A distant slam of the door as her Light burned away that dark, as she tore through those men. Her hand was on his shoulder. Tessa. She was gently moving his wings, wings she'd never seen, never known existed, yet she treated them with such care, as she gently moved them to take his hands. She slid one of his arms over her shoulder, lifting him up, bearing all of his weight as she took him out of the bathroom. Bloody, covered in broken glass and vomit. Drenched in tears.
She brought him into the kitchen, helping him sit on the table. She walked away for a moment, finding a blanket and wrapping it around him, over his shoulders, the weight comforting him ever so slightly. She found a washcloth, running it under the tap before she gently took one of his hands. She'd found a pair of tweezers as well- probably from the bathroom- and carefully began to remove the slivers of glass from his hands, cleaning his cuts with the cloth. She wiped away the blood, bandaging his hands when she was done with them. She reached for one of his wings, blood smeared on the edge, but he pulled away before she could touch it. No one had touched his wings for years, and as he was still swimming in somewhat of a panic, he wasn't ready for anyone to touch them. Even if he was, that was still too personal.
Tessa didn't seem to mind. She simply sat down on the floor in front of him and began cleaning his feet. Picking out the glass and wiping away the blood. When she was done, she set the cloth in the sink and washed her hands of his blood, drying her hands with a towel before moving back over to stand in front of him.
She reached out, cupping his face with her hand, her fingers bushing his cheek softly, like butterfly wings. She brushed a tear away with her thumb, looking into his eyes, concerned. He felt his chest tighten, the lump in his throat grew. He couldn't bear to see her looking at him like that. His mouth tasted like vomit, his head ached from crying and his eyes began to sting again as her thumb brushed away that tear. His wings slid around him, but they slouched, draping down on either side of him as he didn't have the strength to lift them. A small cut on his left wing slowly clotted, gone unchecked because he was scared. Because he was weak. Because he couldn't trust anyone, even Tessa, to touch his wings, to see his past. It was cowardly, he was cowardly.
"What happened?" Tessa's voice brushed aside his thoughts, softly, gently. Brushing aside that curtain of daggers while remaining unharmed. He shook his head, he didn't want to speak, he didn't want to cry. Why did she have to see him like this? Thank the Traveler she'd come, but why did she have to see him like this?
"I-" He shuddered, taking a sharp breath, trying not to cry again, "I don't know." He said, "I had a nightmare and it triggered a panic attack. I couldn't breathe- fuck- I don't-" his voice choked off. He only cursed without meaning to when he was in pain or crying. Tears he'd been unable to keep back spilled out over his cheeks. "I can't- I'm sorry." He shook his head, putting his head in his hands, his wings coming up around him.
Tessa slid her arms around him, being careful not to touch his wings. Not because she was afraid- no, he could tell she wasn't afraid- because she genuinely understood and could see his sensitivity. His throat tightened and he grit his teeth, reminding himself to breathe. He didn't want to drop into another panic attack, he couldn't handle that at this point. His chest felt so tight he wasn't sure he could breathe, but he did his best. Distantly, he felt his hand moving, as though it was moving on its own accord, grabbing her arm and then her hand, holding it like it was a lifeline. His lifeline. And to his surprise, she didn't pull away. She took his hand in both of hers and held on, reminding him of what was here and real. He felt the cold, darkness seep out of him, replaced by the warmth of her hand, and slowly, his tears dried.
A while later, Damian sat on Tessa's couch, a mug of what he assumed was hot chocolate warming his hands. Tessa had plunked it into his hands just moments after she'd brought him into the apartment. It was as though she had emergency hot chocolate ready for whenever someone needed it.
She'd brought him out of his room, through the hallways, complete with Guardians up at ungodly hours of the night. All the way up to the upper levels of the housing quarters in the tower. Her apartment in the communal area, rather than being in the Hunter section. His was as well, it was hard to share living spaces with only Warlocks, even if it was only common rooms.
On Tessa's level were a bunch of Guardians, mostly between levels ten and thirty, it was about as good as you could get until you topped level thirty- which Tessa had. As they reached Tessa's door, a Warlock girl shot her a questioning look, but seeing Damian, the look in her eyes changed, looking to be offering her help. But Tessa shook her head. "Later," she seemed to say, with only a look. The Warlock understood, but watched as she slipped into her apartment, pulling Damian after her.
He'd done the same thing he usually did the hide his wings, if Light were magic, he'd call it a spell, but it wasn't. The Light was a a force, and he found that if you wanted something, if you needed something badly enough, it would do its best to give it to you. But Damian was weak, and his Light was as well. Anyone looking hard enough could have found his wings, and Tessa, though she couldn't see them with her eyes, could probably feel then with her Light, even with her lack of experience.
Tessa had sent the Ghosts away. She had told them– quietly and politely– to go find someone to clean up Damian's bathroom. As much as she assured him it wasn't his fault and that it had been an accident, he couldn't help but feel guilty.
Now, she came around the couch with a heavy blanket slung over her arm and a mug of hot chocolate in her hand, to match his own. At the sight of the blanket, Damian felt himself wilt a little, wanting nothing more than to finish his mug of hot chocolate and fall asleep wrapped up in the heavy blanket. As she sat next to him, she set her mug down on a little end table and took the blanket off her arm, spreading it over them.
"So," she began, her voice quiet to match the quiet of the room around them, "What was in your nightmare?"
Damian shook his head, he didn't even try to open his mouth, for he knew his words would be choked and frail.
"I've only tried it a few times before, but I think it helps to talk about it. Sharing the burden even if it's just a little bit." She picked up her hot chocolate, holding it in both of her hands and letting the warmth deep though her fingers.
He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, "I've never done that before. I've never trusted anyone like that." His voice shook, and his words were small and thin, but he spoke.
"You can trust me," she said, "I know saying it doesn't mean much but still, you can trust me. If you're up to it."
He nodded, taking in a small sip of air, his breathing shaky and uncontrolled, in little gasps. He could trust her. She wasn't like other people, she didn't even know his last name and yet she was already giving to him with her whole heart. But to be fair, he didn't even remember his last name half the time. He didn't bother with last names, he was Damian and that was all that mattered. His last name was just another unwanted leech from his past. Tessa came from a well respected family– or, she came from well respected parents. Strong Guardians, and the same way his past dragged him back, hers must've put a lot of pressure on her, but she seemed to be handling it alright. In his case, he wasn't going to let his past define him, but that didn't mean people couldn't know about it. Tessa wouldn't use it against him like the others. So, he spoke.
"Before I was brought to the Tower, I lived in a place where they didn't like Guardians very much. It was part of some ancient grudge. A long time ago some Guardian had done something to endanger the village so they swore off Guardians and everything they stood for. When the village saw I had the blessing of Light, people didn't like me very much either. I'd get angry glares whenever I went out. Mothers would hide their children from my sight like I was some sort of demon." He shook his head, "Even my own parents were... hesitant with me. One day, I was out hunting in the forest and I got jumped. They dragged me to a cave and raped me, beat me, chained me to the ground and left me to die.
"In my dream, it was one of the men who had done it. He was stabbing me in the chest. The others were holding me down. It was so real, I could feel the cold floor, the knife..." he shook his head again. "It was just too real."
~~~~
Damian woke up to find the sun streaming into the room, slipping through the gaps in the curtains, filling the room with soft, warm light. He was sprawled across Tessa's couch, the heavy blanket from last night was draped over him, and his head was tucked against a warm pillow. He breathed a heavy sigh, rolling over towards the couch and closing his eyes. All he wanted was to fall asleep and wake up in a world where nightmares didn't exist, a world where his fears couldn't be used against him, a world where he'd never have to scream at a ghost to get away, when all it wanted to do was help.
He stayed in this position for a long time, his face buried against the couch, the blanket brushing his chin. He didn't even realize his wings were out until he felt his his right wing hit the floor, the talon scraping gently against the rug. Normally, he could hold the spell while asleep. It was only when he was especially weak that it required concentration. Because, like every other part of his body, his wings wanted to protect him and help him, so, when he was weak, they naturally wanted to curl around him, like a leathery shield. This couldn't rid him of his distaste, though. He disliked the part of his body the same way one can understand that a scar or scab is simply the body's way of healing itself, while still believing that it is ugly, itching at it or hiding it from view as to want it gone.
He still felt drained from everything that had happened before, but sleeping had clearly done him a world of good. Though he was still drowsy, his headache was find and he didn't feel so shaky or upset.
He was debating about getting up, or maybe just sitting up, as it was unlike him to remain in bed after he woke– being an early riser– when he heard the soft sound of bare feet, lightly padding across the hard floor. He wasn't sure whether to be encouraged or discouraged. It was Tessa, the woman who had just become his saving grace, but she would probably want to talk to him about what had happened, and that wasn't something he really wanted to discuss, especially in the morning.
He wasn't sure if she was able to tell if he was awake or not, but he listened as she quietly walked a bit, then began to pull around in cabinets and drawers, probably cooking something in the kitchen. He could hear her efforts to be quiet, the way she hissed quietly when something scraped or clanked too loudly against the counter. After a few minutes, he mustered his confidence and sat up, yawning loud enough to alert her of his being awake, but not enough to startle her. He sat up, gazing tiredly about as he slouched into a sitting position, his right leg falling off the side of the couch as his left leg came up so that he was resting his left foot against his right thigh, the rest of his left leg laying limp on the couch.
He blinked drowsily at her, yawning again, quieter this time. Her thick hair was bound on the top of her head in a messy bun– the kind of messy bun that showed someone had just woken up, not the ones that were called messy but really looked gorgeous. He'd once dated a guy who could make the best messy buns, but that was besides the point. She was wearing a loose, light gray sweater, thick black tank top straps were visible on her shoulders. Her lower torso and below were hidden by the counter in front of her. In her hand was a piece of bread, looking freshly cut, a bite already in the corner. Damian's stomach growled.
"Did I wake you?" She asked, swallowing her bite of bread and smiling sheepishly, less so when she heard his stomach growl.
"No," he assured her, shaking his head, "I was already awake, I was just... mustering the courage." He gestured lazily at the room around of him, really indicating everything. He was mustering the courage to face everything.
"Ah." She said with a nod, and Damian was glad he didn't immediately feel misunderstood. "I'm not really a morning person. Today I was just hungry, and I figured you would be too."
"Were you making something?" He asked. The counter she was working at was also hidden from him, by a breakfast bar connected to the main counter with a simple step up.
"French toast." She explained, this didn't exactly clear everything up for him, but it did explain the bread, as he at least knew a bit about French foods. "My mom– or I guess my adoptive mom– would make it for me as a kid, it's the only breakfast thing I really know how to make, since I don't like eggs. I mean- there are eggs in French toast, but I don't like eggs alone." She quickly clarified, smiling again and looking down at her workspace.
He stood up, stretching a bit, glancing away from her as he flared his wings and folded them against his back. He didn't feel strong enough to hide them, but he was able to keep himself from wrapping up in them like a shield.
"Can I help you?" He asked, nodding to the French toast she was preparing. From this angle he could see the counters, a carton of eggs, some spices, milk, and a bowl lay about, a frying pan on the stove. She was carefully cutting slices of bread, but when he asked his question she paused and glanced about, chewing her lip in consideration.
"This is kind of a one-man-job, but if you really wanted you could rinse some berries." She offered after a minute.
"Okay." He said with a nod, heading into the kitchen and washing his hands in the sink.
"There's strawberries in the fridge and I have this little strainer bowl thing you could could use." She said, nudging a glass bowl with a splattering of holes in it, resting atop a matching saucer.
He chuckled slightly at her choice of words, but did as she'd said, finding the strawberries in the fridge and washing them as she'd practically danced about the kitchen. She seemed to have her French toast making down to a science, knowing exactly where everything was– even if it was all the way across the kitchen– and combining them easily so that she was already cooking the toast by the time he had set the berries on the table. Not that making French toast was hard- she had assured him it wasn't.
Soon enough, they were eating quietly, and Damian was doing his best to not seem so awkward.
"This is really good. I'm surprised you can remember the recipe from your first life." Damian mused.
Tessa laughed, "Well, it's the only thing I really know how to cook without Echo telling me what to do, so it's not like I have a ton of recipes to remember. Not that it's complex in the first place." She replied, he nodded in understanding.
A few moments passed, in which he caught her looking at him, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it. She would stare down at her food or eat something, then repeat the process. He was close to demanding what was on her mind when she spoke.
"I have to ask." She said, setting her hands on the table beside her plate.
"Ask what?" He asked hesitantly, though her gaze told him where she was going, even if her eyes shot away immediately. He shifted his wings more behind him, not protectively, not exactly, more just to hide it from view, an insecurity.
"No... I can't." She shook her head, then started again when she saw him looking at her. Her fingers were writhing from where she had her hands clenched beside her plate. "I mean– I know it's personal, so I wasn't going to ask, but–"
"You're wondering about my wings." He stated calmly, though he didn't feel calm. She nodded in response, looking ready to start squirming under his gaze, as if he were asking her some personal question. But he obliged.
"There's a... race–" he selected the word carefully, "–that's been skeptic of the Traveler since it first arrived on earth. They think it's a poison, ready to destroy us. So they fled. They hid from the Light, allying themselves with the darkness to hide even further." He set down his fork, waiting for a look of horror as he continued to speak. "They let go of anything that had to deal with technology, teaching their people to be strong with hands and bows and blades rather than guns. They wings started showing up a few years ago. Some say it's a blessing from Oryx, Crota's father. A gift to convince the race to join him completely and fight alongside the Hive. Others think it came from the race breeding with the hive a long time ago. A form of mutation or trait that came from it."
"But how could you-"
"How could I be here? How could I come from them? Just because they're a race of bad people doesn't mean there aren't outliers. Most of them die off. They get killed for being different, or they commit suicide because they don't think it's worth it. But some make it out. And when they do, they never come back." His tone turned bitter at the last part, he closed his eyes, looking down and away as he drew in a deep breath.
Tessa watched, shocked, her mouth open, ready to speak, but no words came. She watched as he stood, his wings shimmering and fading into nothing.
"I'm sorry." He said quietly, "Thank you for the breakfast, and for... what you did last night. I have to go." His face was turned down and away from her, as if he were turning his cheek to her for a blow.
He'd made it to the door before she'd stood up, "Damian, wait!" She protested, and he turned to face her, but when she saw the look on his face her words were shut down completely.
What did I just do?
Damian slipped out, latching the door behind him with a soft click. Tessa stared after him, three words still lost on her lips.
I'm so sorry.
He went back to his apartment. Kylie had called him in sick, telling Ikora he wouldn't be able to come in to help her that day. So, he spent it regretting everything he'd said, hating the way Tessa made him feel so secure, and when it had mattered most, she wasn't even able to speak. She was so horrified. The next day he had to work again, but he was able to spend the day organizing the warlock libraries, that way he could avoid Tessa, should she try to seek him out. He'd avoid her for as long as he could.
Author's Note
Like I said, character development... heh... heh.... yeah... I don't know if that was better or worse than I thought it was but it's up now and that's all that matters. The next chapter will have even more character development, and I don't want to spoil anything but I'm going to do it anyway so 🚨SPOILER ALERT🚨 the next chapter will have a reveal of how Tessa died. But I won't say anymore. Don't forget to vote and such, it helps my motivation and tells me that people are actually reading this because they like it.
I'm not sure who did the photo, but it's not a drawing so I'm not gong to stress about, bit if you happen to know, please let me know.