(no subject)
sabbath
(dom, billy, elijah)
notes: oddfic. i owe chocolate, my firstborn, and sexual favors to jeviltwin and ella_minnow for their wonderful beta work.
Dom.
Dommie.
I'm here, Bill.
*
Dom thinks Elijah is forgetting how to look at him. The impossible eyes stray everytime he enters a room and don't quite manage to find the path to Dom's own searching gaze.
Dom thinks Elijah is forgetting how to talk to him. Everytime Dom speaks he has to incline his head a bit, as if straining to listen, even when Dom is screaming. He's been doing that a lot, lately. Their conversations feel more and more like monologues, words drifting futilely out of Dom's mouth, parched and weary, stumbling indifferently into walls and furniture.
Dom tries to understand, but his queries fall flat on any ears. Dom speaks and pleads, threatens and shouts until his throat is raw, claws and scratches until his nails are ragged and chipped.
Dom tries until he bleeds.
*
Dom. You really here?
Sure I am, Billy. What makes you think otherwise?
Just miss you, Dom.
*
Dom overhears Elijah on the phone with Billy. He didn't mean to eavesdrop. He was just walking towards the kitchen to get a glass of water when he heard Elijah's voice lower into a pleading whisper as he called Billy's name. It made Dom pause, paralyzed, toes curling against cold tiles.
"You can't keep doing this. ...I know. Fuck, Bill, I know." Dom wishes he could understand why Elijah's voice is wavering. "Come down here. ...Yes. Here. There's enough room for- There's enough room. ...Billy. ...Billy. Fuck. I need you here. I need you. Just come, okay? ...Okay. Okay. I'll pick you up. 'Kay." Elijah's breath hitches. "...I love you too. Bye."
Dom steps into the doorway of the kitchen as Elijah hangs up and turns around. And then comes the part that Dom has grown to hate. He can almost narrate the scene as it unfolds before him. The feeling that he is standing on the threshold between more than two rooms envelops him, slowly and surely. Suspends. It settles at the pit of his stomach and makes him want to be sick.
Elijah abruptly freezes in motion, eyes casting wildly about the room.
"Something wrong?" Dom manages lightly, fingers tightening around his glass. The condensation wraps around his fingers and drips onto the living room carpet.
Elijah's eyes snap quickly from the spot just to the right of Dom. He stares at Dom's neck. "Billy is... flying down here. He'll be staying. For a little while."
Dom sips his water. "That's great, right?"
Elijah smiles. It makes Dom's stomach convulse wildly. "Yes. Yeah, it's great."
*
I- I miss you too, Billy.
Don't feel like you're here anymore, Dommie. So... empty.
Well, I've- I've been trying, Bill. I've been trying... really hard.
*
Billy only talks to Dom in his sleep.
It's been two days and he hasn't been able to catch Billy. Dom never quite manages to make their paths collide, imprisoned in the fine edge before coincidence, the void between arrivals and departures.
And.
Dom does not think about the gut feeling that Elijah is keeping Billy from him. It does not drive a hole in his stomach nor does it eat away at his conscience.
Dom thinks he might be going insane.
The one thing that keeps him going is nighttime. When he slips inside the room Billy has occupied and kneels beside his bed, and stays there, slowing his breathing until it flows in the same rhythm as Billy's.
And then Billy talks.
Dom has learned to understand the language that Billy speaks in his sleep, many years ago, back when New Zealand was the epicenter of their universe. Countless nights sharing the same trailer, the same room, the same bed. At first the words would be indistinguishable, blurred and muffled by sleep. Sometimes Dom would stay awake and prop himself on one elbow, and watch Billy; memorize the lines of his face, read the slow soft movement of his lips, understand the pattern of his breathing.
He never spoke a word of it to Billy.
And now it is their only remaining link, the only way Dom has to breach this suffocating wall that for reasons he cannot fathom nor understand came to exist. Dom talks to Billy, and Billy is tender, so sincere, his voice velvety thick and carrying the weight and depth of familiarity that Dom cannot find in daylight anymore.
So Dom stays awake at night and sleeps during the day.
It's what keeps him going. It's what makes him linger.
*
Why did you leave, Dom?
But Billy. Billy, I'm right here, Bill. That's what I've been trying to-
*
He finds Billy in the kitchen one afternoon.
He knows better than this, knows better than to confront and seethe and demand, but Dom has been stretched so thin he thinks that just one more push- one push and he is going to snap.
"Won't you at least look at me?" The words drop into the silence like great stones plonking gracelessly into water.
Billy stares ahead and makes no movement. The ice in his whiskey clinks against the glass while the last remnants of daylight sink beneath the windowsill.
"I just. Billy. I just want to understand."
The ticking of the clock is unbearably loud.
Dom hangs onto the edges of Billy's profile, scanning his face repeatedly, silently urging something, anything to break through and help him make any sort of sense, of. Of everything. Anything.
Dom wants to understand why the shadows on Billy's face have lately been sharper and deeper.
Billy's mouth gradually thins and the lines on his forehead deepen. Dom can't take his eyes away, drawn like those who are drawn to tragedy and disaster. He is entranced by the unrelenting movement of Billy's jaw, by the way the vein in his temple swells and begins to throb.
Billy is going to snap. Billy is going to snap, and Dom holds on to that in such a way his fingernails could break.
"Billy. Christ," he hisses, dropping his head on his hands. "Talk to me. Please."
The sound of glass shattering explodes in his ears, splintering bells. Dom whips his head up, paying no heed to the pain that snaps down his neck. His mouth hangs open stupidly.
Billy stands with his back to him, tense and unmoving.
So when he kicks the table, Dom can't help but flinch violently. He runs a hand over his mouth.
"God, Dom," Billy chokes, voice breaking. "God."
He retreats without sparing Dom a glance. The slam of the bedroom door is muffled.
Dom sits by the kitchen table and stares uncomprehendingly at his hands for a long time.
*
Why did you leave, Dom? Why?
I haven't gone anywhere, Billy. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. I've always been, and always will be-
*
Dom finds he doesn't remember the smell of sunshine or the feeling of summer on his shoulders.
The other day he visited a strawberry plantation on the outskirts of California and walked around barefoot, but the rich earth that adhered to the spaces between his toes made no difference.
He spent the whole day there, trying to find the perfect strawberry. The one with the most sinuous curves, its red the deepest hue, its skin the softest.
He sank his teeth into it.
The juice flowed into his mouth, trickled down the corners of his lips and down his chin, smeared his fingertips and the front of his shirt.
It made no difference.
*
Don't understand. Don't understand, Dom. Don't. Don't. Dommie.
Bill. Billy. Listen to me.
Don't, Dom, don't go. Don't leave me. Not again.
*
Dom jerks awake with a horrible surge, eyes snapping painfully wide and open.
He wills his breathing to slow down and assesses his surroundings. Billy breathes softly next to him.
Billy.
Billy's room. Billy's bed. Right.
Right.
Dom swallows convulsively around the lump in his throat and wonders how he came to be so comfortably cocooned in this warmth. They are both curled on their sides facing each other, knees close to their chests, aligned. Fetal, Dom thinks. Birth. Rebirth.
Billy's breathing stutters lightly, and his eyes blink slowly open. He gazes unseeing at Dom for a long moment. The swipe of his lashes is quiet and gentle, his brow smooth, the corners of his lips tender.
Then he yells and flinches so violently that he falls out of the bed.
Dom wasn't really expecting that reaction.
He scrambles upright and crawls to the edge of the bed on the side that Billy fell. The man is staring at Dom as if he'd never seen him, as if he were some kind of insane murderer, a vision, an angel, something impossible and absurd. Stares at Dom as if it were the first time. The first time, however, Dom didn't feel so foreign and removed and distant. He cannot reach over this gaping void. Billy's mouth opens and closes and opens.
"Fish doesn't become you, Bills," Dom murmurs warily.
"Dom," Billy says at length, with such care and wonder that it physically hurts him.
Dom cannot identify nor understand nor separate the emotions that flit wildly in succession over Billy's features. His face is crumpling inwards, stumbling and falling along with his breathing.
He is not prepared for Billy's lunge, consequently losing his balance and falling flat on his back upon the bed, Billy's solid warm weight squeezing the breath out of him.
"I can't- How- Dom. Dommie. Fuck. Fuck. Dom. Dom, Dom, Dom," Billy chants, over and over, like a mantra, like his name is something sacred, until it's like a piece of glass smoothed out by seawaters.
"Bill. Billy," Dom breathes, not understanding, and hangs on for dear life.
"Fuck, I missed you, Dommie, fuck."
"Billy, I-"
"Jesus fuck, I don't- This- Are you real? Are you here, Dom?" Billy abruptly releases him, moves a bit back so he can look into Dom's face, search and probe and find every detail, every pore, everything that runs beneath the surface. "It was just a dream? Dom, was it a dream? You're here. You're."
The sound Dom makes is more bark than laughter. "Bill. Billy. Of course I'm here."
Billy just stares at him, running his thumb over and over Dom's cheeks, outlining his jaw, his chin, tracing his lips. "Dom."
*
Elijah is making breakfast when Billy bursts into the kitchen, laughter bubbling inside his chest like thunder, like summer storms, like electricity. "Lij! I've got-"
The moment Billy enters the room, however, he sees Elijah's shoulders tense and his arms pause mid-omelet flip. "Good morning, Lij," he calls out uncertainly, and watches as Elijah turns slowly around, eyes flickering about every inch of the kitchen, without pausing on him. "Lij," he repeats softly, and Elijah's eyes focus on the vicinity of his left shoulder.
"Good- Good morning, Billy."
Billy does not want to understand why Elijah's face is fighting not to crumple.
*
What if I follow you, Dom?
Follow− Billy. Billy, please.
Yes. Yes, Dom. Dommie.
Billy, no. No. You can't.
Yes, Dom.
Billy...
Yes.
yes dom
yes
(dom, billy, elijah)
notes: oddfic. i owe chocolate, my firstborn, and sexual favors to jeviltwin and ella_minnow for their wonderful beta work.
Dom.
Dommie.
I'm here, Bill.
*
Dom thinks Elijah is forgetting how to look at him. The impossible eyes stray everytime he enters a room and don't quite manage to find the path to Dom's own searching gaze.
Dom thinks Elijah is forgetting how to talk to him. Everytime Dom speaks he has to incline his head a bit, as if straining to listen, even when Dom is screaming. He's been doing that a lot, lately. Their conversations feel more and more like monologues, words drifting futilely out of Dom's mouth, parched and weary, stumbling indifferently into walls and furniture.
Dom tries to understand, but his queries fall flat on any ears. Dom speaks and pleads, threatens and shouts until his throat is raw, claws and scratches until his nails are ragged and chipped.
Dom tries until he bleeds.
*
Dom. You really here?
Sure I am, Billy. What makes you think otherwise?
Just miss you, Dom.
*
Dom overhears Elijah on the phone with Billy. He didn't mean to eavesdrop. He was just walking towards the kitchen to get a glass of water when he heard Elijah's voice lower into a pleading whisper as he called Billy's name. It made Dom pause, paralyzed, toes curling against cold tiles.
"You can't keep doing this. ...I know. Fuck, Bill, I know." Dom wishes he could understand why Elijah's voice is wavering. "Come down here. ...Yes. Here. There's enough room for- There's enough room. ...Billy. ...Billy. Fuck. I need you here. I need you. Just come, okay? ...Okay. Okay. I'll pick you up. 'Kay." Elijah's breath hitches. "...I love you too. Bye."
Dom steps into the doorway of the kitchen as Elijah hangs up and turns around. And then comes the part that Dom has grown to hate. He can almost narrate the scene as it unfolds before him. The feeling that he is standing on the threshold between more than two rooms envelops him, slowly and surely. Suspends. It settles at the pit of his stomach and makes him want to be sick.
Elijah abruptly freezes in motion, eyes casting wildly about the room.
"Something wrong?" Dom manages lightly, fingers tightening around his glass. The condensation wraps around his fingers and drips onto the living room carpet.
Elijah's eyes snap quickly from the spot just to the right of Dom. He stares at Dom's neck. "Billy is... flying down here. He'll be staying. For a little while."
Dom sips his water. "That's great, right?"
Elijah smiles. It makes Dom's stomach convulse wildly. "Yes. Yeah, it's great."
*
I- I miss you too, Billy.
Don't feel like you're here anymore, Dommie. So... empty.
Well, I've- I've been trying, Bill. I've been trying... really hard.
*
Billy only talks to Dom in his sleep.
It's been two days and he hasn't been able to catch Billy. Dom never quite manages to make their paths collide, imprisoned in the fine edge before coincidence, the void between arrivals and departures.
And.
Dom does not think about the gut feeling that Elijah is keeping Billy from him. It does not drive a hole in his stomach nor does it eat away at his conscience.
Dom thinks he might be going insane.
The one thing that keeps him going is nighttime. When he slips inside the room Billy has occupied and kneels beside his bed, and stays there, slowing his breathing until it flows in the same rhythm as Billy's.
And then Billy talks.
Dom has learned to understand the language that Billy speaks in his sleep, many years ago, back when New Zealand was the epicenter of their universe. Countless nights sharing the same trailer, the same room, the same bed. At first the words would be indistinguishable, blurred and muffled by sleep. Sometimes Dom would stay awake and prop himself on one elbow, and watch Billy; memorize the lines of his face, read the slow soft movement of his lips, understand the pattern of his breathing.
He never spoke a word of it to Billy.
And now it is their only remaining link, the only way Dom has to breach this suffocating wall that for reasons he cannot fathom nor understand came to exist. Dom talks to Billy, and Billy is tender, so sincere, his voice velvety thick and carrying the weight and depth of familiarity that Dom cannot find in daylight anymore.
So Dom stays awake at night and sleeps during the day.
It's what keeps him going. It's what makes him linger.
*
Why did you leave, Dom?
But Billy. Billy, I'm right here, Bill. That's what I've been trying to-
*
He finds Billy in the kitchen one afternoon.
He knows better than this, knows better than to confront and seethe and demand, but Dom has been stretched so thin he thinks that just one more push- one push and he is going to snap.
"Won't you at least look at me?" The words drop into the silence like great stones plonking gracelessly into water.
Billy stares ahead and makes no movement. The ice in his whiskey clinks against the glass while the last remnants of daylight sink beneath the windowsill.
"I just. Billy. I just want to understand."
The ticking of the clock is unbearably loud.
Dom hangs onto the edges of Billy's profile, scanning his face repeatedly, silently urging something, anything to break through and help him make any sort of sense, of. Of everything. Anything.
Dom wants to understand why the shadows on Billy's face have lately been sharper and deeper.
Billy's mouth gradually thins and the lines on his forehead deepen. Dom can't take his eyes away, drawn like those who are drawn to tragedy and disaster. He is entranced by the unrelenting movement of Billy's jaw, by the way the vein in his temple swells and begins to throb.
Billy is going to snap. Billy is going to snap, and Dom holds on to that in such a way his fingernails could break.
"Billy. Christ," he hisses, dropping his head on his hands. "Talk to me. Please."
The sound of glass shattering explodes in his ears, splintering bells. Dom whips his head up, paying no heed to the pain that snaps down his neck. His mouth hangs open stupidly.
Billy stands with his back to him, tense and unmoving.
So when he kicks the table, Dom can't help but flinch violently. He runs a hand over his mouth.
"God, Dom," Billy chokes, voice breaking. "God."
He retreats without sparing Dom a glance. The slam of the bedroom door is muffled.
Dom sits by the kitchen table and stares uncomprehendingly at his hands for a long time.
*
Why did you leave, Dom? Why?
I haven't gone anywhere, Billy. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. I've always been, and always will be-
*
Dom finds he doesn't remember the smell of sunshine or the feeling of summer on his shoulders.
The other day he visited a strawberry plantation on the outskirts of California and walked around barefoot, but the rich earth that adhered to the spaces between his toes made no difference.
He spent the whole day there, trying to find the perfect strawberry. The one with the most sinuous curves, its red the deepest hue, its skin the softest.
He sank his teeth into it.
The juice flowed into his mouth, trickled down the corners of his lips and down his chin, smeared his fingertips and the front of his shirt.
It made no difference.
*
Don't understand. Don't understand, Dom. Don't. Don't. Dommie.
Bill. Billy. Listen to me.
Don't, Dom, don't go. Don't leave me. Not again.
*
Dom jerks awake with a horrible surge, eyes snapping painfully wide and open.
He wills his breathing to slow down and assesses his surroundings. Billy breathes softly next to him.
Billy.
Billy's room. Billy's bed. Right.
Right.
Dom swallows convulsively around the lump in his throat and wonders how he came to be so comfortably cocooned in this warmth. They are both curled on their sides facing each other, knees close to their chests, aligned. Fetal, Dom thinks. Birth. Rebirth.
Billy's breathing stutters lightly, and his eyes blink slowly open. He gazes unseeing at Dom for a long moment. The swipe of his lashes is quiet and gentle, his brow smooth, the corners of his lips tender.
Then he yells and flinches so violently that he falls out of the bed.
Dom wasn't really expecting that reaction.
He scrambles upright and crawls to the edge of the bed on the side that Billy fell. The man is staring at Dom as if he'd never seen him, as if he were some kind of insane murderer, a vision, an angel, something impossible and absurd. Stares at Dom as if it were the first time. The first time, however, Dom didn't feel so foreign and removed and distant. He cannot reach over this gaping void. Billy's mouth opens and closes and opens.
"Fish doesn't become you, Bills," Dom murmurs warily.
"Dom," Billy says at length, with such care and wonder that it physically hurts him.
Dom cannot identify nor understand nor separate the emotions that flit wildly in succession over Billy's features. His face is crumpling inwards, stumbling and falling along with his breathing.
He is not prepared for Billy's lunge, consequently losing his balance and falling flat on his back upon the bed, Billy's solid warm weight squeezing the breath out of him.
"I can't- How- Dom. Dommie. Fuck. Fuck. Dom. Dom, Dom, Dom," Billy chants, over and over, like a mantra, like his name is something sacred, until it's like a piece of glass smoothed out by seawaters.
"Bill. Billy," Dom breathes, not understanding, and hangs on for dear life.
"Fuck, I missed you, Dommie, fuck."
"Billy, I-"
"Jesus fuck, I don't- This- Are you real? Are you here, Dom?" Billy abruptly releases him, moves a bit back so he can look into Dom's face, search and probe and find every detail, every pore, everything that runs beneath the surface. "It was just a dream? Dom, was it a dream? You're here. You're."
The sound Dom makes is more bark than laughter. "Bill. Billy. Of course I'm here."
Billy just stares at him, running his thumb over and over Dom's cheeks, outlining his jaw, his chin, tracing his lips. "Dom."
*
Elijah is making breakfast when Billy bursts into the kitchen, laughter bubbling inside his chest like thunder, like summer storms, like electricity. "Lij! I've got-"
The moment Billy enters the room, however, he sees Elijah's shoulders tense and his arms pause mid-omelet flip. "Good morning, Lij," he calls out uncertainly, and watches as Elijah turns slowly around, eyes flickering about every inch of the kitchen, without pausing on him. "Lij," he repeats softly, and Elijah's eyes focus on the vicinity of his left shoulder.
"Good- Good morning, Billy."
Billy does not want to understand why Elijah's face is fighting not to crumple.
*
What if I follow you, Dom?
Follow− Billy. Billy, please.
Yes. Yes, Dom. Dommie.
Billy, no. No. You can't.
Yes, Dom.
Billy...
Yes.
yes dom
yes