1937 [Awake, Arise, Or Be Forever Fallen]
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless King.”
-John Milton, Paradise Lost
August 15, 1937
London, England
[Awake, Arise, Or Be Forever Fallen]
Harry ran and ran and ran, hand in Tom’s, dragging him away from St. John’s and away from Billy Stubbs and the rest.
The rain beat against their backs and the puddles were soiling their clothes and hair but it didn’t matter. Harry was a coward; he would do anything to avoid Mrs. Cole and her punishments, anything. Even if it meant running away and not showing his face back at the orphanage, he’d do it.
To Tom, Harry was like lightning striking at the ground with no mercy, making Tom have no time to comprehend things he usually could with other people.
“Harry!” Was all Tom could let out as they reached the park near the orphanage. It was quite ironic to escape to a place where it was nearest to the orphanage but it was genius. No one would suspect them to go here, it was too close to the orphanage. If Tom could, he would stand impressed that even while running in the almost pouring rain, Harry still managed to come up with a place to escape to. But Harry’s health came first to Tom’s curiosity. “Are you alright?”
Harry wasn’t alright in the slightest. While soaked to the bone, all Harry could think about was how stupid he was. He shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t have done that. It was all so stupid!
One would even think that it was so utterly idiotic of Harry to lose control like that. Billy Stubbs would go moan and moan and moan to Mrs. Cole, saying that Harry did something unusual just like Dudley did to Aunt Petunia after Harry ran away from Dudley and Piers again.
Why was it always him?
It was all crashing down on Harry like a mountain and he felt like he was Sun Wukong, a character so thoroughly beaten down to the point of nature pinning him down into the Earth, forever to wait for 500 years again just to feel alright and free again. The rain was pouring down and blurring Harry’s already subpar vision like Zeus had a vendetta against him for disrespecting the gods.
Why was it always him?
Maybe Zeus did have a vendetta against him for having lightning for a scar, the scattered ones going straight through his right eye and just above his cheek, making him look like an ugly rendition of his sketches. Maybe Zeus had a vendetta against Harry for running like he was Hermes on a mission, or for thinking up ideas that only someone like Athena could.
Why was it always him?
Maybe it was because he was like Hephaestus, born with a face so ugly that only his works and art could redeem him of his birth on Earth.
His scar was itching and aching and it hurt. It was scorching his skin and the cold atmosphere and rain around them did nothing to soothe the pain of it. It hurt Harry to the point of wanting to collapse.
Harry wanted it all to stop.
A pair of hands grabbed Harry’s soaked shoulders and turned Harry around but all could Harry see was the oh-so-familiar brown eyes of his best friend before the world turned black.
Tom groaned as his head hit bricks, literally. His chest was heavy of his best friend and all he could hear was the ringing bells of a church.
Weren’t they at just the park before?
The ground Tom was laying on was as dry as the insults he came up with, no muddy grass nor puddles soaking his clothes any more than it was. There was no rain sliding off his face, only the cool air gracing it, making Tom’s face feel colder than it already was.
Tom could hear the pitter-patter of raindrops but it wasn’t the kind where it was directly falling onto you. No, it was the kind that you would sit against the windowsill and watch the outside world like a film to be watched.
It was addicting, calming.
Tom’s bones ached to move but Harry was right on top of him, head against his chest like he did on bad nights. It wasn’t the familiar look of peace Harry had on after Tom comforted him though. Harry’s brows were furrowed and his face was scrunched up like he was in pain.
Harry probably was. Tom’s heart ached at the thought.
Tom groaned as he sat up, supporting himself and Harry’s weight. He quickly moved Harry’s head towards his lap instead of his chest, finally taking a deep breath of the cold air surrounding them.
They were up in the bell tower of the church near St. John’s. Tom was sure of it. There was no other place that Harry could teleport them to that was this high.
January 5, 1936
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England
“Are you ready?”
Harry scoffed at Tom’s question, obviously cocky at his abilities. Tom sighed at Harry instead of calling him out on it. Honestly, Harry was a suicidal maniac when it all boiled down to it. Like he had some parasite that caused him to have no self-preservation skills whatsoever. Harry was all, ‘do this do that’ without much thought and subconsciously relied on Tom for back-up which Tom readily gave.
Unfortunately.
Tom crossed his arms at Harry, not budging until Harry whined at Tom’s expression and let out a reluctant, “I am.” Before slinging over the satchel he found a few days ago while looking for a gift for Tom’s birthday.
“Buy one, get one free, Tom. It’s part of the fun.” Tom heard Harry say that as he adjusted the strap of the satchel to better fit his smaller figure. A small figure that Tom always teased since his own growth spurt. A miniscule growth spurt, but a growth spurt nonetheless.
Tom snorted and continued reading his book. “As long as you don’t get caught.”
Harry turned to face Tom on the bed and pulled an incredulous look at his best friend. “You think I’m daft, Tom?” Harry asked and Tom lightly shook his head no; of course not, Tom didn’t think Harry was daft or even stupid for that matter. “Good. The only time they’ll catch me is when I’m dead.”
At that statement, Tom vowed to never let that be true.
Tom stared at Harry for a few moments before nodding and getting ready himself. Harry whined at him again. Honestly, it feels like Harry was a pet whining for attention.
As soon as Tom finished buttoning his ratty old cardigan from the orphanage, Harry immediately grabbed his wrist and Tom felt a pull at his navel before he immediately fell face-first into the Bell Tower floor, Harry groaning with him.
“Let’s not do that again,” Harry groaned out and Tom nodded at that, wholly agreeing with that statement. The aftermath of the travel between their room and the storage room was enough, teleporting a few kilometers was practically suicide.
Harry is a suicidal maniac.
August 15, 1937
London, England
Tom looked over the ledge of the bell tower, which was quite a feat considering his position right now with Harry on his lap and the immobility it caused his legs.
The sight of the area Tom could see was breathtaking despite the rain distorting most of the view below him. The whole ground was covered with puddles and rain, coating the whole area with a strange yet soothing atmosphere. Tom could hear Billy Stubbs and the other kids’ shouts but it was faint to the point that Tom would have believed he didn’t hear them at all.
The wind grew stronger and Tom shivered as the breeze brushed against his skin.
Tom sighed. He should be waking Harry up by now or they’ll get into more of a mess the longer Billy Stubbs doesn’t find the both of them.
He brushed his fingers against Harry’s forehead and pushed his best friend’s bangs up, finally seeing the scar again after weeks of Harry complaining about Tom seeing it.
He gently traced the white lines marked on Harry’s forehead, from his scalp to the ones at the end near under his eyes. He paused, unphased, when he felt Harry shift on his lap. This was all normal to Tom. When Harry keeps having nightmares and visions, calming Harry down was practically second nature to Tom.
Tom couldn’t explain why Harry was just so different compared to the other kids.
Tom couldn’t explain how he just felt at home with Harry if it was just reading at the park or even talking to Loki and the other snakes. Everything felt natural to Tom when it came to Harry. The emotions kept rushing through Tom when Harry was sobbing in their room or leaping with joy or even shouting at Tom in anger, all of it was as natural as breathing to Tom.
It scared him.
Why did Harry push Tom into feeling more than he vowed he would? Why did Harry of all people teach Tom the oh so beautiful feeling of being alive? Why was it always Harry and not someone else?
Maybe it was Harry’s nature, Tom mused. He paused his ministrations again as Harry shifted against him and nuzzled his face into Tom’s stomach. Maybe it was just Harry’s nature to push Tom into feeling more than he should. Maybe it was just how Harry acted.
Tom looked out again to the pouring rain almost flooding the streets of the area, feeling the bell of the tower ringing above them.
Before Harry arrived at the orphanage, Tom was alone as the sun with planets turning around him. A lone star burning while others watched in awe and fear of what he could do. Now, Tom couldn’t imagine his life without Harry beside him.
Harry groaned as he felt the ache in his body and the familiar tracing of his scar.
What happened? He remembered the way his body was yelling at him to stop running from Billy Stubbs and the exhaustion it caused him. Ghost touches washed over his body of the rain drenching his skin, making him shiver.
A headache was pounding in his skull, but Tom’s gentle touches subsided quite a bit.
July 25, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England
Harry scrunched his face up at the sensation that washed over his forehead. It was all tingly and warm and ticklish. He heard humming from above him in the voice he knew oh so well after hearing it scheme and plan since he was five.
The tracing still continued, making his forehead feel all fuzzy. Harry groaned and the ministrations stopped, making Harry whine instead.
Tom chuckled and Harry hesitantly took a peek at the boy beside him, leaning against Harry’s bedside of the wall. He had a cheeky smile on like he had a marvelous idea to attack Billy or Mrs. Cole for what she did last night. Harry wasn’t opposed to that in the slightest, Mrs. Cole deserves whatever Tom had in store for the matron.
Tom’s voice was above a whisper but it cut through the cold silence of the room. “Did I wake you?”
Harry shook his head no. Of course, Tom actually did wake him but Harry hadn’t had the heart to say yes.
“Why are you in my bed?” Harry’s voice was groggy from just waking up and Tom quickly reached over to the table between their beds to hand Harry a glass of water before answering.
“We fell asleep like this.”
“Oh.” Tom grinned at Harry’s short answer which made Harry’s face scrunch up in thought. Why was Tom smiling like that? Did Harry have anything on his face? “Why are you smiling, Tom?”
Tom’s grin softened as he put down the book he was reading. “I just felt like it,” He admitted. “Is something wrong with me smiling?”
“It makes you look like you’re plotting someone’s death.” Harry grinned at the deadpanned look Tom sent him before changing the subject of their conversation.
“You were tracing my scar earlier,” Harry murmured, glancing at the way Tom was putting his undivided attention to Harry before continuing. “Felt weird.”
Tom pulled a thoughtful look before asking, “How weird?”
“I don’t exactly know, but it felt nice.” Tom grinned.
August 15, 1937
London, England
“Are you alright?”
Harry scrunched his face up as Tom removed his hand from Harry’s forehead, exposing Harry to the small streaks of sun peeking through the clouds.
“M’alright.” Harry’s voice was groggy as he said it, throat scratchy from the past few hours of disuse running away from Billy Stubbs. He was fine but he really didn’t feel alright in the slightest.
Harry finally opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was Tom’s brown eyes staring right back at him. It had a piercing feeling about it despite the crinkling of his best friend’s face. Tom’s hair was still quite wet too, the curls in front of his face dripping a few on Harry’s face.
Harry sat up, groaning as he felt the kinks in his back. He stretched his arms and groaned in relief. And while Harry couldn’t see Tom’s face in his position, Harry knew he was pulling a face of disgust.
“Why do you always do that?”
Harry looked up at the question. Harry just shrugged in answer as he faced Tom. “It’s satisfying.”
Tom wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It sounds painful.” And it probably was if Harry took into account how loud his joints pop every time he stretched and how frequently Tom kept complaining about it.
“It's not my fault that your bones don’t need any popping.”
“It’s not my fault that your joints need constant maintenance.”
Tom covered Harry’s blabbering mouth as he watched a nun pass by the hallway in front of them. If Harry got them caught for running his mouth, Tom would kill him. Especially if they were so close to escaping.
Tom absently remembered the night they snuck from their room on the 3rd floor of the orphanage to the alleyway behind it. He also realized how long that had happened.
That was almost 5 years ago.
Had it really been that long?
Tom shook his head as he quickly regained sense of where he was. The church was no place to think of those thoughts when they were escaping said church without getting caught.
Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist and dragged them down to the nearest staircase when the nun finally turned a corner and left the hallway. Why were there so many nuns and so little truth in the bible? Who were they? The Believers of Bullshit? Tom would believe so considering the lessons he puts up with on a near weekly basis.
Harry’s hand was gripped tightly in his as they tried to speed down the stairs in the quietest way possible. If this weren’t covered with carpet, they would have been dead ten times over before Tom could hear Harry say Bowtruckle.
Tom faintly registered the hand slapping over his mouth when he saw the back of a nun emerging from the hallway to the staircase’s right. Tom thanked any fucking God that existed to have a best friend like Harry that had as much common sense as him.
Tom pushed Harry to take a few steps up the staircase as Tom quickly followed the motions, putting them back into the safety of darkness.
Harry’s hand slipped from covering his mouth back into Tom’s hand. Right where it should be, Tom’s mind absently supplied but Tom quickly banished the thought as they ran through the ground floor hallway.
“Is someone there?” Harry’s eyes widened when he heard the voice calling out to them, running in front of Tom and took the lead of their escape. “Show yourself or I’m handing you over to the authorities!”
Harry knew that was bullshit. As much as Mrs. Cole trusted St. John’s and its church, the matron didn’t like the nuns being the ones reprimanding the children at the orphanage. As sweet as that sounds, the reason was that the matron wanted to reprimand them herself.
Really sweet of you there, Mrs. Cole. It really warms Harry’s cold, dead, heart.
Tom pulled Harry behind a pew, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and covering his mouth almost like what Harry had done to Tom minutes earlier. Harry could hear and see Tom trying not to breathe too deeply, feeling the shallow breaths near his skin.
The nun’s footsteps were growing steadily closer, the familiar thump, thump, thump of the carpet on wood increasingly growing louder. Harry closed his eyes shut and waited for the nun to just leave and go away.
The nave was practically empty as it was nearing lunch. The confessional was the only thing occupied and Harry was sure it just started when they entered. Thank gods for small mercies.
Harry sighed in relief and pried Tom’s hands off his mouth when the nun’s footsteps grew quieter and the small click of the door on the side of the nave’s room graced their ears. If Harry didn’t have as much dignity as he did right now, he would have started crying. Harry didn’t like churches as much as his best friend beside them did. His hate ran much deeper than the Challenger Deep and it was steadily growing closer to Hell.
Well, closer to the earth’s core technically.
Tom and Harry crouched behind the pews, trying to hide from the view of the side doors and the chance of being caught.
The doors of the church quickly grew bigger and Harry was starting to feel the cold wind of the outside brushing against his skin.
Quickly going closer to freedom.
Harry grinned and led their escape again, not caring if the chances of getting caught were steadily going up with each step he took. If Harry could outrun fat whale kids like Billy and scrawny sticks like Piers, he could outrun old ladies in long dresses in the cold London street.
Pushing against the large door of the church, Harry smiled as the cold air rushed past his face.
Finally, freedom.
Tom knew that as he and Harry walked down a sidewalk nearing the orphanage, Billy Stubbs already told the matron about what happened, twisting what had actually happened to suit his benefits. Tom didn’t like the whale but he could at least admit that the fucker was good at manipulating the matron into getting Tom and Harry in trouble.
Tom was better. But that's yesterday's news already.
“What do you think the matron has in store for us now?”
Tom hummed in thought, weighing all the possible outcomes out. Mrs. Cole’s punishments could go a lot of ways depending on a lot of things. From if the matron was drinking recently to how pissed she is at other things, that all affected the possibilities of how her punishments are going to end up.
That all affected how fucked the both of them are.
That was why they stayed out of trouble or covered it enough to not warrant a punishment from her. They knew they weirded her out despite having a vendetta against them. If they didn’t do anything wrong, she’d leave them alone to their own devices, a win-win for everyone. If Billy Stubbs, on the other hand, came whining to her with his fat cheeks streaming with tears, she would punish them with punishments the other kids couldn’t even fathom to make up.
If the other kids got in trouble, they would be let go without even a slap to the wrist!
Tom sighed. Once they were old enough to leave, they would leave without turning their backs and without any regrets.
“Depends on what kind of whining Billy decided to say today.”
Harry scrunched his nose in annoyance (Tom absently thought that Harry looked like a cat) before clicking his tongue. “If he saw me in the park then-”
“-We’ll get exorcised.”
“-We’ll get exorcised.”
Harry sighed again while Tom snorted. While Tom wasn’t that worried about what’ll happen to him or Harry during the exorcism, he was scared of how far the matron will take it. Both of them had endured beatings before even to the point of bleeding and scars. The breakdowns…
Tom shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about those days, not ever again. He swore to never try and relive those memories ever again. Some scars were still prominent on his back despite it fading over the years, it still gave him shivers, sometimes even made him yelp, when Harry ran his fingers over them.
June 13, 1936
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England
Tom absently thumbs the pages of the sketchbook, humming as he did. His shirt was off and he was slightly shivering every now and then because of it.
And because of what Harry was doing to him.
Harry was behind him, his left hand holding a lump of ice wrapped a few times in an old shirt he found in their closet (that Harry cleaned, obviously. Tom would rather clean the kitchen for a week straight than consciously know that Harry was using a dirty shirt to wrap the ice in and putting on his scars). He lightly pressed the lump on Tom’s scars and welts, some new and some that should have already faded to almost small lines. Tom didn’t know why the welts didn’t fade by now, he hadn’t found a book that explained that.
“Are you alright now?” Harry asked, pulling the ice away from Tom’s back, Tom shivering at the gesture. They were in this position for a while after Tom endured a 10 minutes session of torture from the assistant matron. His back was red and it was slightly swollen but it didn’t cause Tom as much pain as before, it still stung like a bitch though.
Tom’s voice came out in a soft murmur. “I’m alright.” Tom was still slightly spaced out, tracing the soft sketches on the page of Harry’s sketchbook. “It still kind of hurts though.”
Harry moved his place from behind Tom to beside him. “I can’t put any more ice,” His best friend admitted, holding a significantly smaller lump than when Tom saw it before. “It’s almost gone.”
“It’s fine,” Tom said. “Thank you.”
Harry smiled at him, making Tom echo a smaller one because of it. It was only Harry that could make him feel like that, like he was safe. Harry then stood up and opened the window with slight difficulty, squeezing the towel out through the window before laying it out to dry on the windowsill.
Tom figured it was old habits dying hard.
August 15, 1937
London, England
“It also depends if Mrs. Cole drank today,” Harry pointed out. “She’s going to be a bit more handsy if she is.”
Tom grimaced at the thought and Harry slipped his hand into Tom’s, a silent pillar of support. “I suppose she will be.”
“Let’s just head back and expect the worst.”
Tom agreed to that.
The moment Harry opened the door to the orphanage, Mrs. Cole spotted them and immediately grabbed them both by the arms, standing in between them and separating them from each other. She then dragged them to the basement, almost tripping on a rickety floorboard.
So, she was drunk? Unfortunately, Harry’s mind supplied. Should’ve been better dead.
As the matron passed the kitchen, she called out to the assistant matron. “Martha,” she called, missing the dark look Harry saw Tom sent her. “call Stevens.”
Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Cole unlocked the basement door with medium difficulty before continuing to drag Harry and Tom downstairs.
“A lie. A dream. Good stories are both.”
-A.J. Hackwith, The Library of the Unwritten