Carnival -- Chapter 5 is up!

When the train stopped for the day, Zachary went back to this trailer to check on his brother. He was shocked and angry to find Weston sitting on the edge of Huxley’s bed, Huxley awake and active. When he’d opened the door, they’d both looked up, and Huxley had actually blushed and been unable to meet his brother’s eyes. He’d hugged him, and assured him that everything was all right. It took a long time to convince Zachary that Weston had been a help, but eventually he’d grudgingly accepted the young man’s presence. He’d woken Tia and walked her back to her trailer, listening to her apologize for falling asleep and wonder aloud how she’d managed to pass out and not remember it. Zachary tried not to think about why Huxley would’ve blushed like that, but he had so many ideas crowding his head, each a little worse than the last.

He went to see Moira, who was fretting in her travel tank, and listening to her complain about being cramped until he couldn’t stand it. He cared for her very much, and there was a mutual attraction that neither of them could explain (and would never be touched on, either. Zachary did not much fancy the idea of freezing to death mid coitus, and he would, too, he was cold-blooded), but sometimes Zachary despised her. She was dual-natured; half of the time she seemed so wise and above everything else, the other half she reminded him of a spoiled child. When he could listen to it no more, he got up and went in search of the twins. They were busy, though, playing a strange version of Chinese checkers with Quincy. Quincy was tall and wide and faintly reddish skinned, with huge black bull horns and feet that ended in hooves. They marketed him as the devil’s son, because he looked so young faced. He was actually a painfully sweet kid, when you got past his natural wariness of people in general. He left them to their game.

He couldn’t very well just go barging back into the trailer when Huxley and Weston were obviously having personal time together. The very thought made him grind his teeth; he didn’t trust Weston at all. He helped the workers get their sleeping tents up and build some fires, and when the sun finally set, he was sharing a cigarette with Mickey, one of the workers that had been with them for years.

Alecsi materialized out of nowhere at his elbow, and Mickey jumped and dropped the butt into the dirt. “Goddamn!” he muttered, looking at Alecsi, who bared his fangs and growled until the worker hurried away. Zachary glared at the vampire, annoyed with his behavior.

Alecsi ignored the look and held out an envelope. “Your research.” He said smoothly, his snarl turning into a smile. “How is your brother?”

“Awake. He’s good.” Zachary said, irritated, and snatched the envelope.

“Touchy tonight, aren’t we?” Alecsi smirked, and Zachary glared at him again. “What’s got your tail in a twist?” he asked, and Zachary would’ve smacked him in the mouth for the comment if he didn’t know Alecsi would probably bite his fingers off.

“That fucking kid.” Zachary muttered.

Alecsi didn’t ask what he meant, and for that Zachary was grateful. “Well, if that’s everything you need, I’ll be off. The night is young.” He tapped the envelope with one nail. “If you have questions, it’ll be another session entirely, so wait until you’re feeling a little more… full.” He laughed and walked away slowly. Zachary scowled after him, stuffing the envelope into his pocket.

Zachary headed over to where Tia and her two assistants were cooking up dinner. He tried to eat, but whatever it was they’d put in the stew, it was the most unappetizing thing he’d ever put in his mouth. The snakes in his skin slithered and rolled, agitated, and he decided to go hunting.

He headed out of camp, his feet carrying him towards high grasses easily. He found a little copse of trees and took his shoes off. The snakes raced downwards, swarming over his calves and feet. They slipped out him in waves, and he felt the absence of them like a douse of cold water down his spine. He could still feel them faintly, racing through the grass, some of them up into the trees, a few towards the tiny stream a little to his right. He could almost feel what they felt. He closed his eyes and enjoyed this for a while before he started walking. He could tell that there was nothing big enough for him to take down, no deer, not even a cow or a horse on a nearby farm, so he let the snakes hunt. When they returned into him, he would feel as though he’d eaten. He let his mind wander, let himself not think about the problems back at the train, and explored the copse of trees.
------------------------------------------------

Huxley stood up and stretched, his back popping. “I haven’t been out of here in forever.” He said. “Let’s get something to eat, and then walk.” Weston agreed after a moment hesitance, and followed Huxley out of the trailer. They sat around one of the fires and ate, talking just as much as they had for hours in the trailer; often over each other, but never minding. Weston had realized very quickly that Huxley was a pathological optimist, and it was sort of refreshing. He was so used to the oppressive, gloom-and-doom of his Father Abshire’s sermons, which he spouted whether or not he was behind his pulpit, that listening to Huxley was like a cold drink after walking through the desert.

He learned soon after that Huxley laughed a lot, and it was contagious. He talked with his hands, letting them move and form his words and flutter like birds. It was mesmerizing to watch. As they’d walked to the fire, Weston saw that he was graceful and surefooted, and it made him feel clumsy in comparison. They’d spoken of everything in the trailer, their histories, their likes, their fears and dreams and experiences. Huxley was a relatively simple person; he was easy to please and had almost no temper to speak of.

Huxley, in turn, figured out just how far down Weston’s fear of people went. He’d obviously never been shown anything other than abuse. The interest Huxley showed in him, the affection he felt instantly, obviously scared Weston, and made him uncomfortable. Huxley also saw the excitement and desire for those things written clearly on Weston’s face. Weston was endearingly inexperienced in almost everything. Huxley found himself wanting to touch him constantly, and so he did; the brush of their fingers together, a hand on Weston’s arm of his thigh. He would lean forward and brush Weston’s coal colored hair away from his face every so often, loving the coarseness of it against his skin, and it made Weston both worried and amused that he kept going back to it. At one point, he’d dropped his head down to his breastbone, heaved a huge mocking sigh, and told Huxley to get it over with and go nuts on it, to get it out of his system. Huxley had laughed too hard to actually do it, though. No matter how loud they got, Tia slept away beside them, snoring. Huxley asked Weston once how he’d done it, but they both knew that the lesson wouldn’t start until later. For now, all either of them cared about was getting to know the other.

When they finished eating, they started walking. Huxley pointed people out to Weston, telling him their names and a little about them. They ran into Colin and Alina, who were so happy to see Huxley up and around that they both hugged him. When the boys went on their way, Colin shot Alina a knowing, curious look, and Alina smiled.

“Might as well have been holding hands.” She whispered, and Colin grinned.

Huxley knew that Zachary was somewhere off to the south, so they went west. The terrain got a little hillier, and they found an apple tree about half an hour away from the train. Weston climbed it, moving quickly up the branches, reminding Huxley of Erik’s pet monkey, which had died a few years previously. The thought of Weston in the monkey’s vest, which had been bright purple and sequined, made him laugh so hard he had to sit down on the ground beneath the tree. When Weston returned, he held out a large, almost perfectly circular apple.

“From the very top.” He said. “The highest one. For you.” He smiled, obviously worried that Huxley would think the gesture strange, or would not accept it.

Huxley thought the gesture was wonderful, and practically snatched the apple from Weston’s fingers. Weston sat down beside him as he bit into it. It was sharp and tart and crunchy, and it one the second best thing he’d ever tasted. He said this to Weston, who tried a bite and agreed that it was wonderful.

“What’s the first best?” he asked after he’d swallowed his mouthful of apple. Huxley smiled at him and pressed the tip of one finger against Weston’s bottom lip. Weston’s face flamed, but before he could look away, Huxley caught his chin and held him still so he could have another taste. Weston made an odd whimpering sound at the contact of their lips, and his mouth opened when Huxley’s tongue ran along his bottom lip. Their tongue touched, retreated, then touched again, and Weston found a rhythm to match Huxley’s that made them both breathless.

After a while they parted, although Huxley wound their fingers together. They shared the rest of the apple in silence. When it was gone, they walked a little farther, away from the branches of the tree, and then laid down and Weston taught Huxley all about the stars.
------------------------------------------------

Shiloh laid on his stomach, his arms folded and his forehead resting against his forearms. His tail flicked back and forth in agitation, his ears drooped. He knew he was being watched, being talked about through whispers, but he didn’t care. Everyone knew, why would he hide how he felt?

Freya’s daughters, all four of them, were sitting on one of the bed across the trailer. From youngest to oldest, it went Clover, Ginger, Sugar, and Honey. Freya’s two sons, Rafe and Chase, were both asleep. It was almost midnight. The only other hybrid in the brothel, a half human half lynx named Penelope, was off with Erik, presumably, talking business. The thought made him snort; the girl thought that if she slept with him enough times, she could get a real act. The idea was preposterous. The only freaks that got their own acts were the really amazing ones, like Moira and Zachary.

Zachary. Just the thought of his name sent conflicting waves of heated affection and cold fury through him. He couldn’t believe that even after all this time, he could react to the man the way he did. It made him sick with himself. He was a just a man. It had just been sex. So why was it that the sight of him made his knees go weak?

He got up off his bed, grabbing his tunic and pulling it over his head before leaving the trailer. He needed to walk. He left his feet take him wherever they wanted to go; the train had stopped for the night, the trailers and trucks all parked into a rough oval shape, and there were cook fires in the middle. There were still plenty of them awake, sitting around drinking and talking. Mostly the workers, but Shiloh saw a few of the freaks as well.

He spotted the winged man sitting outside of the circle of trailers on a large stone, his wings spread open to catch the night wind. He headed that way. “Good evening, Jericho.” He called, as not to startle him with his approach. He always startled people if he didn’t announce himself first. He was often told how amazing it was that he could move so quickly, so silently. He supposed it was the fox in him.

The winged man turned his head, his bright orange eyes like lamps in the dark. “Shiloh.” He greeted, and made room for him on the rock. Shiloh hopped up beside him, and Jericho let his wing droop a little to cover his shoulders. Shiloh smiled, liking the feeling of the feathers against his skin. “What’re you doing awake this late?”

“It’s not late.” Shiloh said. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to.” He wrapped his tail around Jericho’s waist, making the winged man smile. He loved spending time with Jericho, he was one of the few people in the carnival that never looked at him with that wary light in their eyes, as though he would either screw them or steal from them first chance he got. It irked him that people thought of him that way, but he’d accepted it a long time ago. Jericho was also one of the only people who could understand that it was just in Shiloh’s nature to be a physical person, that it didn’t mean he was trying to turn a trick.

Jericho tilted his head back. “Sky’s nice tonight.” He commented. “But you can’t appreciate it, hmm?”

“No.” Shiloh admitted, and sighed. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Things will get better.” Jericho assured him. “We’ll be setting up in the next town, Erik says. Pretty big place.”

Shiloh nodded. “Good. Maybe we’ll make some money. The last place was awful.”

“Agreed.” Jericho smiled a little. “I’ve got an idea.” He said. “Would you like to go flying with me?”

Shiloh looked at him, startled. “Really?” he asked, beaming. “We can do that?”

Jericho laughed. “Of course we can.” He stood up, his wings flexing. “You look so sad. I can make you smile.” He held out his hand, and Shiloh reached up to take it. Jericho pulled him to his feet. “Put your arms around my hips.” He said, and Shiloh did. Jericho held onto him in much the same manner, and pulled him flush against his body. “Ready?”

Shiloh nodded. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Jericho tensed, his wings flattening against his back, and lunged upwards. Shiloh felt his feet leave the stone, felt the insistent drag of gravity, and looked down. He screamed in terror and delight when he realized that the trailers were already so far away he could make out only the fires in the dark. Jericho spread his wings, and the wind caught them, turning them a little to the left. The swooping motion made Shiloh’s stomach flip, and he squeezed him arms tighter around Jericho’s waist. He felt more than heard Jericho’s laughter, and moment later he felt Jericho’s mouth against the tuft of one ear. “Okay?” he asked.

“Yes!” Shiloh shouted, and suddenly burst out laughing. He realized that he felt amazing. “can we go higher, or faster?”

Jericho laughed again. “Hold on.” He flapped his wings, sending them shooting forward and making Shiloh shriek again. Then he tucked his wings in, the left one only a little farther out than the other. The movement caused them to roll, then dive down towards the ground at such an alarming speed that Shiloh let out a terrified scream. Jericho adjusted his wings again and they swooped back up, higher than they’d been before. Jericho put his mouth against his ear again. “Gonna land, I see something.” Shiloh nodded against his chest, and felt the plummeting feeling again that had scared him so badly. Jerichos’ feet touched the ground first, and he let Shiloh down, holding onto him when he wobbled and almost fell. They were standing beside a small stream, and Shiloh burst out laughing again and pulled away, letting himself fall down into the grass.

“That was amazing!” he said, giggling. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time. He looked up at Jericho, grinning like a fool. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jericho returned his smile. “I told you.”

“Yes.” Shiloh giggled again and rolled over onto his stomach. “That was marvelous.” He nuzzled his face into the sweet smelling grass and listened to the stream, the crickets, and the silence between the two. After a moment, Jericho crouched down beside him. “Do we have to go back right away?”

Jericho shook his head. “No. But I need to eat. Would you like to stay here, and I’ll come back for you once I’ve fed?” Shiloh nodded. Jericho scratched one of his ears affectionately. “I’ll be back soon.” He stood and took a few steps away to give himself enough room. His wings sent a gust of wings against Shiloh’s upturned face, making him grin again.

He enjoyed the cool breeze, the smells around him, the sounds. He found a cricket and pounced at it, laughing. He braided pieces of grass into a bracelet, then found a frog near the stream’s edge and stalked it, his tails wishing back and forth behind him, his ears perked up. He so rarely got to enjoy himself. When he scared the frog into the stream and got a face full of clear, cold water, he yelped and scrambled backwards. It made him laugh, though, like everything was doing right now.

He heard something off to his left slipping through the grass, and his ears twitched. He lowered himself against the ground and crept forward. He saw the dark length of the snake and scowled. It was a copperhead. Copperheads weren’t native to this area, he knew.

The realization of what the snake was knocked all of the humor out of him. He looked around, his ears twitching, and sure enough, he could more snakes, farther off, near a copse of trees he could just make out in the starlight. He listened harder, holding very still, and heard faint but unmistakable crackle of footsteps on undergrowth.

A low, grumbling growl built up in his chest, his ears flattening. He fought down the urge to go bounding into the trees and start a fight. He knew it would do no good. Instead, he turned and found a patch of grass that was much higher than the rest and hid in that. He curled up, his tail twitching, and waited for Jericho. He hoped he would return before the snakes reported back to their master. He almost snorted at this.

“Why does he have to ruin everything?” he asked the sky in a whisper. “Why can’t he just-“

He felt the warm, smooth slide of scales against his ankle and barked out a yelp, sitting up and jerking his knees up to his chest. This was not the copperhead, but a cobra; Shiloh recognized it as a ringhal, or a spitting cobra. He felt a little shiver of fear and slowly began to creep backwards.

There was a loud hiss off to his left, and the cobra immediately slithered in that direction. Shiloh looked up at Zachary, who was standing about twenty feet away. “I’m sorry.” Zachary told him, and Shiloh watched the snake slide onto his bare foot and turn into ink again. “I was hunting. I didn’t know-“ he stopped, biting his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Shiloh got to his feet, his tail slashing at the air behind him. The wind rustled around him, and it caught Zachary’s scent and brought to Shiloh. It made him cringe. “What is that?” he asked, unable to help himself from speaking. He pressed a hand against his nose. “You smell like....” he trailed off. “You smell awful.”

Zachary looked offended. “What is it?” he asked, despite the scowl on his face.

“Like… salt water and dried blood.” Shiloh said. He caught the guilty flash on Zachary’s face and his ears flattened again. “Good God, Zachary, how many of us have you fucked?” he snapped, baring his teeth.

Zachary hissed at him. “Don’t you worry, I’ll never match your score.” He retorted, and the remark stung like a blow. Shiloh turned his back, fighting back tears and the urge to rip out Zachary’s throat with his teeth. He heard Zachary sigh behind him. “I’m sorry.” He said, very quietly.

“I’m sure you are.” Shiloh told him, not looking at him. “But not for the things you should be sorry for.”

“Goddamnit, Shiloh-“

Zachary was cut off with the sound of wings above them, and they both looked up. Jericho landed beside Shiloh, his eyes on Zachary. “Something wrong?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “Shiloh, are you okay?”

Zachary made that hissing sound again, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘whore’. Shiloh spun around, snarling, but Jericho was faster. He caught Zachary in the chest with his shoulder and knocked him backwards. Zachary grabbed him as he fell, and they struggled for dominance, both of them snarling and hissing at each other.

“Stop it!” Shiloh shrieked, and Jericho immediately jumped back, his wings pushing him far enough so that Zachary could not grab him. He landed beside Shiloh again.

“I’m sorry.” Jericho told him. “He just…”

“I know.” Shiloh said softly. “It’s okay.” He watched Zachary get to his feet. “Jericho, can I have a moment alone with Zachary?”

“But I didn’t bring my wallet.” Zachary said, and Jericho’s winged flexed, his hands bunching into fists. Shiloh soothed him with a hand on his arm.

“It’ll be okay.” He assured him.

“Five minutes.” Was all Jericho said, before launching back up into the sky and heading for the trees. Shiloh watched him perch on top of an evergreen, like a look out. He turned his attention to Zachary. Zachary opened his mouth, but Shiloh cut him off with a snarl.

“Stop acting like what happened was my fault.” He told him. “Stop treating me this way. What did I do to deserve it? Is it what I am?” he took a step forward. “You use that word, whore, like a fucking shield. You hide behind it, and I’m sick of it. Start treating me like I deserve to live, or next time we’re face to face, I’m going to claw your fucking eyes out, so I never have to see that look in them again.”

Zachary’s teeth were bared. “What happened was a goddamned mistake, Shiloh, can’t you see that?”

“Yes. I can see exactly which mistakes I made.” Hi straightened his spine and put one hand on his hip. “But I refuse to believe I made any other than believing you had a heart.”

Zachary’s fangs were out, glistening in the star light, and Shiloh was painfully reminded of how they’d felt scraping against his throat as Zachary’s thrust into him, the way the tiny cuts had burned and ached for weeks afterwards. He had to look away as Zachary spoke again. “You and I, neither one of us were in our right minds that night. You’re turning it into something that it wasn’t.”

“I know what it was.” Shiloh insisted. “I know why it happened. But that doesn’t change the way I felt about you. And it doesn’t change that you hurt me.” His ears drooped, and he suddenly lost all of his fight.

“I hurt you by walking away from your misplaced affection.” Zachary snapped. “That’s all that was, and now you want to stand there and act like I broke your fucking heart.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked, and heard the sharp intake of breath from Zachary.

“I don’t hate you.” Zachary told him, and Shiloh looked up, not believing it. Zachary didn’t look angry anymore either. “I can’t just stand to look at you.”

Somehow, that hurt more than believing Zachary hated him. He felt foolish tears well up in his eyes, and Zachary saw it to. He opened his mouth like he was going to explain himself, but he snapped it shut after a moment. He shook his head, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the darkness.

Shiloh sat down, his tail wrapping around his own waist, and put a hand across his eyes. He let out a long, shuddering breath, and a moment later he felt Jericho beside him. He looked up at the winged man, and realized that he was looking at his only true friend. He got to his feet and threw his arms around Jericho’s neck. Jericho returned the hug easily.

“There, there, pet.” He whispered. “All will be well eventually. You just forget that cold-blooded bastard and get on with life.”

“Take me home.” Shiloh whispered, and Jericho complied. The wind was wonderful against him, pushing away the sting of Zachary’s words, but flying gave him none of the joy it had before. Jericho dropped him off, and he went into the trailer and to bed without a word. He curled up facing the wall, closed his eyes, and tried very hard not to think about what had been said, or the look in Zachary’s pale yellow eyes. All of it hurt too much.

When sleep eventually came, the sun was almost up.
------------------------------------------------

When Zachary returned to the trailer, he met Weston and Huxley on the stairs. They both looked amused and a little breathless, and it took everything Zachary had in him not to punch the little bastard’s face in. he glared at his brother, who caught the message and turned to Weston. Weston apparently got it too, because he nodded, touched Huxley’s arm briefly, and walked away. Zachary watched him go, not caring where the kid would sleep. When he couldn’t see him in the shadows anymore, he turned to his brother and pointed at the door. “In.” he snapped.

Huxley went in and Zachary followed, shutting the door behind him. “Where the hell have you been?”

Huxley turned and fixed Zachary with a cold look. “I hardly see how that is any of your goddamned business.”

“You don’t know a fucking thing about that kid, and you just-“

“I know more about him than you do about me.” Huxley cut in. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because he hurt you, Huxley! He put you in a coma!”

“I did that to myself. I panicked.” Huxley shrugged. “As a matter of face, if it weren’t for Weston, I would still be asleep.” He didn’t explain this any further. “Seriously, Zach, what about this makes you so upset?”

“I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him.” Zachary told him immediately.

“He’s one of my kind.” Huxley said pointedly, and the sentence made Zachary wince.

“You don’t have a kind.” Zachary told him. “You’re a human, you just have different….” He trailed off, knowing how stupid he sounded.

“You may not like him, Zachary, but I do.” Huxley paused for a moment. “I like him very much.” He said this statement in such a pointed way that Zachary couldn’t have missed it’s meaning if he’d been completely deaf.

“No.” Zachary snapped. “No, absolutely not.”

Huxley rolled his eyes. “You can’t stop me, you know. Just because you have about as much capacity for a serious relationship as a rock does in no way makes it so for me.”

“You just met the fucking kid!” Zachary roared at his brother. He wanted to grab the younger man and shake him until his teeth rattled.

Huxley sighed. “Zach, I’m not fighting with you about this.” He walked over to his brother and grabbed his hands. “Aren’t you happy that I’m okay?”

Zachary’s anger melted instantly, as soon as his brother touched him. He knew his brother was ‘helping’ to get rid of his anger, but he let him anyway. “You know I’m happy.” He muttered, and pulled his brother into a fierce hug. “But you’re scaring me. You wake up, and you’re an entirely different person.”

“A lot has happened.” Huxley told him, putting his arms around his brother’s neck. “But I’m still me. Everything’s okay. You don’t have to worry so much.”

“Yes I do.” Zachary insisted quietly. “I have to take care of you.”

Huxley pulled back, smiling. “And you do a wonderful job.” He assured him. “But you have to let me grow up some time, you know.”

“Why?” Zachary asked him. “Why can we both just stay the same?”

Huxley shrugged his shoulders. “You will. But I’m not like you.” He touched his brother’s face gently with the tips of his fingers. “You’ll stop aging entirely eventually, and I will grow old. People will think I’m the older brother, and then the father, and then-“

“Stop it.” Zachary shook him a little. “Just stop.”

Huxley sighed. “I’m going to die, Zachary, and nothing you can do will change that. We’ve have this conversation before. If Harold is any indication, I will die long before I get old enough for people to think I’m your father anyway, so at least there’s that.”

Zachary fought down the urge to slap his brother. “We can leave, you know.” He said, bringing up an old, and fruitless argument. They’d had it so many times before. If the more that Huxley used his abilities the more he aged, then why not just leave the carnival and start a life somewhere else? Why not just pretend to be normal? Huxley’s answer now was the same as it had always been.

“That is not the life for us.” He kissed his brother’s cheek. “This is home.” He turned and went to his bed, bending down to pull his clothing trunk from underneath it. Zachary sighed and went to his own bed.

They’d never told anyone about the affects of Huxley’s abilities; they weren’t exactly sure that Huxley was affected that way at all, they only had Harold to base it on. Still, Huxley believed it was so, and therefore Zachary did as well. The only other person who knew was Erik. Zachary wondered if Huxley had told Weston; he thought not.

He laid down, his hands behind his head, and listened to his brother humming as he readied for bed. Zachary wondered exactly what was to come; he had the research Alecsi had done for him in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look through it with Huxley there. If there was something in the envelope to worry about, he would go to Erik first. Huxley tended to get worked up about things, and Zachary knew that this would be one of them.

He still couldn’t really believe that the world was going to end, that seventy two demonic spirits were going to show up with armies and wreck the place. But still, it needed to be looked into. The envelope was practically burning a hole in his leg, but it was obvious that Huxley was too excited over his discovery of Weston to sleep any time soon. Zachary ended up nodding off before Huxley even stopped talking.

He dreamed of Shiloh.
------------------------------------------------

Alina made Weston a bed out of every extra blanket and pillow she had in her trailer. She pulled the curtains around her and Colin’s bed shut, and Weston sat in his nest of blankets, the lamp on the desk turned low, listening to their thoughts. They liked him, and didn’t mind his presence at all, he sensed that Alina was already beginning to look on him as something she needed to take care of an protect. It was an interesting thing, and it made him feel good to know that Huxley was not the only friend he’d made here. As he felt them slip into dreams, and the ache behind his eyes got to be too much, he put out the lamp and laid down.

Sleep came easily tonight, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a young child, before Father Abshire had started his ‘penance’. He did not remember his dreams.
------------------------------------------------

A/N: Yea, two chapters in one night. w00t. Don't you worry, the really good plotty stuff is coming up, and more smut as well. So...

kylee: I'm glad you like Huxley and Weston... my writing assistant (who doesn't write, just gives me his opinon and helps me flesh out the characters, since they're his too) hates both of them. Literally, he can't stand them. He's a huge Jericho fan, though. I adore Shiloh, too. =)

Takumi Fujiwara: Well, then I don't feel so bad about naming him that. I thought it was a girl's name, since I picked it from teh girl in Repo! A Genetic Opera. It just feels good to say. Shiloh. *cackles* Here's some more of him in this chapter, and plenty more to come.

Hmm... maybe I should've waited to post this... nah.

Anyhoodles, reviews! REVIEWS! I crave them! Crack for writers! w00t! =)