Convoke

Chapter 38

Tom's hurting body was dragged from the dirt. His arm was slung around the angel's shoulders, and one foot moved clumsily in front of the other. The pain in his face turned into a dull ache. Othrowan whispered calm encouragements for him to keep walking.

Gerry was still yelling behind them, and Tom was suddenly dropped back to the road when Gerry shoved the angel. He curled into a ball, hearing Othrowan calling into the sky for help, and yelling at Gerry to calm down.

Soon, other hands were on him, pulling him up from the cold ground. Tom was familiar enough with the shape of Ezra to know he had picked him up and carried him quickly to the pub.

The world slowly melted into darkness, until he felt something hard underneath him, and warm hands holding his head up. As though he was underwater, a muffled voice yelled, "Call an ambulance!"

something kept his head afloat. A sharp pain across his face forced his eyes open. The world was too loud and too bright. He blinked emptily at Erza, who was sitting in front of him, holding his chin steady.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, searching his face with intense brown eyes. "Thomas?"

Tom could hear him, and wanted to respond, but he couldn't find the energy among the pain.

"What happened?" another voice asked next to him. "Who did this? Was there an angel out there? Where did he go?"

The face of his father drifted into view before Tom closed his eyes again. The next time they opened, Finn was looking at him, holding a pint of water to his lips. "Where's that demon gone?" Finn asked. Tom studied his greasy shoulder length hair, and the wrinkles on his familiar face, and was suddenly confused as to what was going on. His memory had started to betray him, and all he wanted was to sleep.

Someone mumbled, "he stormed after Gerry."

"Well stop him! He can't spill human blood, he'll be killed."

His mind drifted back into the dark, until he found himself staring at the interior of an ambulance, then an unfamiliar face who was full of eager reassurance, telling him that he was safe and to not sit up.

"Ez," Tom groaned, trying to sit up. His mother was quick to pin him back down. "Ez, don't let him, don't-" his mouth couldn't finish.

"He's okay," Moira whispered, holding his forearms to his chest. "Everything is okay."

The next time Tom woke up, he stared at a white ceiling with dull lights. He struggled to keep them open, but someone next to him grabbed his hand and said his name over and over until he found the strength. His mother was close to him with a hand moving brown hair from his forehead. "Sweetheart?" she whispered.

Tom tried to speak. His throat was too dry. He stared around but she was the only one with him. He closed his eyes again, extremely tired. His mother was still there when he opened them again, so he croaked, "Ez."

"He's not allowed in the hospital. Dads getting coffee. Neasa took Catherina home a few hours ago." Tom tried to sit up, but his mother wouldn't let him. "No sweetheart, you need to rest."

Tom couldn't remember what had happened. A round clock on the opposite wall told him it was ten minutes after seven, but which seven, and on which day.

"Don't worry, an angel took him, he'll be punished," Moira whispered.

"Who?" Tom whispered back.

"Gerry, for attacking you, don't you remember?"

The feeling of his fist hitting his face made him grimace. He closed his eyes, abruptly aware of the pain. "I remember now."