Archive of Our Own

The world was on fire.

That was the first thing Eric noticed; the second was the sound of screaming, a sharp, shrill noise that worked its way into his ears and stoked the beginnings of what would soon be turning into a raging headache.

His throat moved as he swallowed down a groan, hand automatically reaching out in the dark to find his maker, fingers curling almost instinctively around the collar of his makers shirt.

Eric shot upright, all vestiges of sleep suddenly wiped away, body fueled with energy.

The world was on fire.

The hand he had on his makers shirt yanked, and if this was any other time, Eric might have felt trepidation at the look in his maker’s eyes at the rude awakening; as it stood, there was no time for any emotion aimed at a thing that wasn’t the blaze Eric was pretty sure they were both lying in, and it took Godric less than a second to notice that as well.

Before Eric could blink his maker shot up, on hand flat to the planks of wood that kept them safe from the sun, only to pull his hand back with a barely concealed wince.

The look on his face as he turned to his childe would be one best described as fear, and there was something inside Eric that rebelled at the notion.

Godric was many things to many people; had been a son, a childe, a fighter, a slave. What he had never been, at least not in Eric eyes, was afraid. Not when he was a new Sire, doing his best to take care of a volatile Viking warrior that he had turned, not when he had stood on that rooftop, looking over the world with a soft smile on his face and an eternity of weariness in his soul.

Not when he had cradled Eric face in his hands, fingers gently wiping away red tears, goodbye written in his eyes clearer than fireworks in the dead of night.

And not when he had turned to the sun and walked peacefully to his eternal rest.

No.

Godric was many things, but he was never afraid.

Until now.

The screaming started up again and Eric jumped, his head bumping against the confines of their rest area and the sound broke his maker from whatever ruminations he had been lost in.

Godric reached forwards, a steely look taking over his face, and gently held his childes hand in his own.

“The sun is down childe, but the fire is angry, our time will quickly run out if we do not move.”

The softness of the hand brushing through his hair was a steep contrast to the firmness of his makers tone, and Eric found that for all that he was technically over a thousand years old, in that moment he felt no more than his physical age. A young, what could still be considered newborn vampire, that believed, in the depths of his very soul, that there was nothing his maker couldn’t do.

Including get the both of them out of here alive.

“On my count, I will break the wall behind us and then we two will run.” Godric squeezed the hand that he still held within his own, a comforting gesture, and then he counted down.

1… 2…

Eric took in an unneeded breath, his body tensing in preparation.

3…

There was a crash as Godric lashed out, his body easily breaking through the thin wood behind them, and then, at a speed reserved solely for the supernatural, the two ran.

The flames reached out, searing warmth licking at Eric’s arm, a vortex of fire following them as they made their dash out and into the safety of the streets. The outdoors where filled with chaos, humans lined up, passing overfilled buckets of dirty water to each other in a vain attempt to staunch the roaring flames.

It seemed like the world was consumed with screams and the smell of burning flesh, and Eric did his absolute best to block it all out.

It didn’t matter.

These short, fleeting, random human lives didn’t matter.

Godric was safe, he was safe, the city could burn around them all it pleased.

When Eric had been first turned, his stubborn refusal to take a human life unprompted created a divide between him and his maker, at the time, Eric hadn’t cared and Godric had spent years force feeding him.

But time changes all things, and there came a day that Eric walked out for a night hunt and came back with a full belly, and on that day, he understood what his maker had been trying to teach him.

With the potential of power came the desire to use it, the moral divide stood at the intersection of value, why was one human’s life worth more than one vampire? Do not go out of your way to harm, but do not harm yourself in the processes.

The fire had, at this point, already eaten its way through most of the buildings on the street, and while the humans still fought, the truth of their losing battle was starting to wear on them. It wouldn’t be long till the blaze spread to the neighboring streets and homes, and then very possibly, out into the rest of the city.

Eric turned to speak to his maker, and paused at the look in Godric’s eye, there was no pity or sadness in them for the senseless and pain filled loss of life going on around them; humans lives where short and fleeting, the ones perishing here simply happened to be a tad shorter. His maker seemed to not even be taking in the scene around them, gaze looking far away and distracted.

Eric startled as his hand was grabbed, but quickly calmed when he recognized the familiarity of the hold. His maker pulled him, the two of them sinking to the back of the crowd, and then quickly and quietly slipping away from it.

If there was one lesson that Eric remember from his first fledgehood, it was that hunters could be anywhere, best to make yourself stand out as little as possible.

Once free of the clamor, Eric turned to his maker and pulled their still clasped hands sharply, an ask for them to stop for a moment, Godric turned to him one eyebrow up.

“Yes childe?”

Eric took in their surroundings, they had made it far enough from the clamor and excitement of the fire, and the streets around them where relatively quiet and dark, a few brave souls out and about in the dark.

“To where are we going?”

The question gave Godric pause, his only goal on their rapid extraction having been to put as much distance as possible between them and their burning home. He thought for a moment; they could back to the wilderness, retreat to the safety of anonymity, and live with the knowledge that they were being actively hunted.

But what kind of life was that? Godric had no desire to subject his childe to a thousand years of fear, such as the ones that he had had to endure, and there was no question in his mind that their wake-up blaze had been a clear first strike from The Ring.

Giving his head a shake, Godric cleared the jumbled thoughts in his head and turned to his childe, “I will ask you this, we have two choices, and I cannot predict which one will end better, but I can tell you that one will most certainly prove far more difficult.”

Eric nodded, pushing down the unease growing in his stomach. Whatever it was that his maker proposed, it would be alright as long as they had each other.

“We can leave, flee to the woods, and keep to ourselves. It would take many years, hundreds if not thousands, before we are forgotten again, but we will most probably be safe, or,” Godric held up one finger, “we can take a stand. Find shelter and sustenance for the night and draw up a plan to fight back. I will allow you to make the choice, but remember, that whatever you do choose, there will be no going back, so choose wisely.”

And while Eric has been accused of being many things over the span of his long life, no one has ever particularly gone out of their way to call him wise, impulsive, foolhardy, loyal to a painful fault; yes. Wise, not especially.

Eric grinned down at his maker, his eyes shining even in the dim light and his fangs poking out over his lower lip. “Let’s fucking fight.”

#

The place was old, the wooden walls warped and full of cracks. Wind whistled into the room, disturbing the limited peace, and while the entire place was an absolute certified dump, it was also safe. At least for the moment.

Eric sat on one of the spindly chairs, arm resting on the equally shaky table, and watched his maker slowly pace the room. There were many things about Godric that Eric was slowly coming to learn, the gift of a second time around coming with startling new insights into his maker and his mannerisms.

Eric had been too busy growing, learning and fighting Godric his first time round, there had been no extra space in his mind and heart to take in all the little tells that his maker unknowingly telegraphed, but now, with over a thousand years under his own belt, it was far easier for Eric to notice all the things he had disregarded before.

And it… unsettled him. Just a little.

Godric was…

Godric was bigger than life. Eric had always believed, in his heart of hearts, that his maker was simply MORE than anyone else, and, he knew, that despite this glimpse into Godric’s more unsure side and dare he say scared side, he still believed that when push came to shove, Godric would always come out on top.

Hero worship was foolish, and generally Eric would scoff at anyone who thought it wise to raise another so high up on a pedestal, but he found himself hard pressed to stop himself.

Godric was everything. He had never let Eric down before, not until that last time that they had seen each other, and that had been far less about Eric and far more about Godric.

There was a secret part of Eric, a place in the very darkest and most hidden parts of his heart that would, in the early hours of dawn, whisper poison to him. Silver tongued lies aimed at the very softest and vulnerable parts of himself, words that dripped in self-deprecation, spinning tales and telling him that if the bond that he and Godric had shared was truly as strong as he had thought it was, then his maker would still be here. That Godric’s death fell on his head alone, and that he was lesser for having failed.

And no matter how Eric told the serpent that it’s words were untrue, that each individual makes their own choices, that he had tried to stop Godric, harder at this one thing than anything he had ever done before, the shadow of the words, the belief, still lay over him like the dark lingering dregs of a nightmare.

But this Godric, this younger less experienced Godric, who was not yet who he would be, still radiated a safety that was so tangible Eric often felt like it was a blanket covering his entire existence.

And that alone was a pull stronger than any human drug.

There was a clatter and Eric looked up, his attention drawn to the floorboards now ripped out of the floor and piled on top of each other, creating a space under where they had been just large enough for two people to squeeze under.

It looked like they’d be back to sleeping in the dirt, although Eric held out a small hope that Godric would at least let them lay the old straw filled mattress that the room came with down under them for at least a little added protection.

Why his maker enjoyed sleeping in the ground so much was beyond him.

Done with his activity, and the distraction it had brought, Godric was now back to pacing, his feet light and soundless on the floor. The man that had lived in the little shack of a room had provided them with a less than sufficient dinner, and his corpse was now taking up a corner of their limited space.

Eric knew they would have to rid themselves of the body, it would start to swell and stink soon.

The next few hours went by much as the first one did, with Godric smoothing a path on the hardwood floor and Eric occupying himself lost in his memories; it wasn’t until Eric felt the first pull on his body from the nearing sunrise that he found the strength to interrupt his maker’s pacing.

It didn’t take much, generally, to get Godric’s attention, but his maker must have been so deep in his thoughts that it took multiple tries before Eric felt the full brunt of his maker’s unimpressed gaze land on him.

“Yes childe?”

A petulance rose up in Eric’s chest at the annoyance in his maker’s tone, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time. Heaving in a breath, Eric pointed a finger at the window, and, not able to keep all the attitude from his voice, answered, “The sun will be rising shortly, should we not be going to ground soon?”

Godric jerked his head to the window, the fact that the sun was nearly risen came as a shock, how had the entire night already passed.

Oh well, there was nothing for it now, giving his head a shake to clear the cobwebs, Godric took a few steps forward, stopping once he was within an arm’s length from his childe, and then reaching forward to rest a hand on his childe’s shoulder.

There was an ease and comfort to the bond they shared, and at times Godric wondered if their seeming ability to converse solely through sight and touch was not an actual supernatural ability and gift in its own right. There were certainly supernaturals that where more than capable of passing and reading thoughts, but what the two of them shared had less to do with language, and more to do with emotion, connection.

And that was what confused Godric, because while he had always known that, should he ever choose to sire a childe, he would love them more than was capable of comprehending, he however still knew it would take time to build that love into something more than superficial.

But he had never needed to with Eric.

From the first moment the two of them had locked eyes, there had been nothing but a galaxy of love and trust in his childe’s eyes. And longing. So much longing.

The longing confused him.

Godric knew he was old, considered nearly ancient by some, and at times the world seemed slow, used up and boring. He kept his sanity by creating and living in little pockets of chaos, and the chance to sire, to have a Warrior Viking Prince as his progeny was too much excitement to pass up.

So Godric had followed him, him and his friends and the stench of slowly coming death, until the time had been right, and then he had struck.

Crouching over the human that would soon be his childe, he had waited for the fear, the surprise, had relished in the fire he was sure he would see in the man’s eyes, but what he had been greeted with had taking him by surprise.

And as much as it had confounded him, Godric had loved it.

Before him was a mystery, one that he had found all for himself.

The human was a chance. One that Godric could not stop himself from passing up.

So, he didn’t.

#

They had a plan.

It was, as far as plans go, especially plans in their early stages, a good plan.

But plans have a way of going awry, and Eric thought that he may well stick a stake through his own ears if he had to hear his maker repeat that one more time.

“Ok! I got it. Enough!”

Godric stopped mid word at his childes outburst, taken aback at the uncharacteristic display, and amused by it despite himself.

There was a moment of silence before the air was split by a low and gentle laugh, and Eric stared at his maker as Godric’s shoulders started to shake, startled away from his worry and confusion at the possibility that he had perhaps finally, crossed a line.

Godric continued to laugh, his body doubling over as the shaking started to take over his entire being, and Eric could do no more than stare in confusion. Had Godric snapped, was his maker finally at his end point?

The worry must have been radiating off Eric in waves, because he could see his maker try, bit by bit, to pull himself back together, and it was less than four minutes after the laughter had started that Godric was once more standing tall, the only remanence of his little fit the fine tremors still causing his shoulders to shudder.

The look on his childe’s face however, sobered him up, and the hand that ran through Eric’s hair was firm and steady, comforting and familiar and Eric felt himself relax.

“My apologies childe, I did not mean to lose hold of myself.”

Eric simply leaned harder into the hand still running through his hair.

“I know that I have been repeating myself, but I require that you understand, as best you can, the severity of the task before us. The Ring are a difficult foe, and I have never faced them while I had anything to lose.”

The hand in Eric’s hair shifted to cradle his face, and small cold fingers reached down in the softest of caresses. “They are ruthless, soulless, despicable. They derive their joy by ripping it from the hands of others, and you childe,” Godric shifted around, until he was kneeling with one foot on the ground and one knee holding him up, face bare inches from Eric’s and words so soft and low that where he not mere inches from his childe, Eric would not have been able to hear him. “you childe, are my greatest joy. I will gladly meet my death afore I allow harm to reach you.”

Open, vulnerable, honest; all sides of Godric that Eric knew, sides that he cherished that most of the rest of the world would spend hundreds of years waiting to get a glimpse of, a side to Godric that, while always there, would take years before it spread to anyone but his childe.

A side that would die for his childe, with no question, no hesitation, a side that frightened Eric far past the point of rational thought because the mere possibility of a world once more void of his maker was a nightmare that Eric could not live with again.

And a scared irrational Eric was nothing more than a recipe for disaster, because, as Godric had once told him, in a time that would never exist again, ‘his childe was so large that by the time a thought passed through his hard head, his emotions would be a day behind,’ so Eric dealt with the terror now gripping him in the only way he knew how.

He lashed out.

Hands coming up, he placed them flat against his maker’s chest, and pushed with all his might, sending Godric stumbling back a few paces, his maker far, far stronger than him, despite the drastic difference in their sizes.

There was a flash of something on Godric’s face, too fast for Eric to make out, and had he been thinking rationally, he would have had the good sense to be far more fearful than he currently was. As it stood, the first twist of cold dread didn’t curl through his stomach until Godric already had a hold of him, his body caught in his maker’s arms, and while Eric knew better than to try to break free, he was not in a headspace that allowed that of him.

There was a brief struggle that had more to do with Eric’s continued squirming than Godric having any issue keeping hold of him, and it did not end until Eric found himself in a position that he had only ever been in a handful of times before, one that he did not particularly appreciate and one that comprised of him being face down over his maker’s small lap, face as red as a vampires could be, with a belligerent shout ready to leave his lips.

The feeling of a hard hand hitting him square on short circuited the shout, and while, in the span of his three separate lives, Eric had been victim to far more painful happenings, there was something very different about being placed over his maker’s lap and spanked into silence like the child he was emulating.

Godric swung down only a handful of times more, just until he could feel the rigidness in his childe’s body replace itself with small shakes, the punishment not meant to harm but to help his childe ground himself, and then he released his hold, pulling until Eric was turned around and facing him, legs curled over and around so that as much of his body as could be was sat upon his maker’s lap.

Words still stuck inside his throat, Eric didn’t even bother to try to speak, and instead simply lunged forward and buried his face in his maker’s neck, nose pressing hard into the soft skin as bloody tears slowly stained their way down Godric’s back. A hand was rubbing slow circles on his spine and an arm was wrapped bruisingly tight around his waist; distantly Eric thought that it felt nice, but in truth, there was very little in the world that he cared about in that moment other than holding tight to his maker and never letting go.

They sat, the two of them, on the hard floor for longer than Godric honestly enjoyed, but he would sit there for years if that’s what it took to calm his childe, and the feeling that that there was something more happening, something that he was missing, something that he could not pin down no matter how hard he tried, just under his childe’s skin that would explain all the oddness that had transpired since he had turned him, was back and at the forefront of his mind.

This could not go one, he could not let it. Secrets where fine, each individual, living or dead, deserved their secrets and Godric would never force his childe to divulge something that he chose to keep to himself. Unless that thing was dangerous, and this latest episode was dangerous, perhaps not physically, not yet, but there was a weight to his childe’s heart and mind that was starting to drown him and if he did not know what it was, then he could not help Eric to fight it.

He would never let his childe attempt to swim a sea on his own, even if he had to fight him to pull him onto the boat. Nothing in this world was more to Godric than his childe, nothing ever would be. Of this he as sure.

#

“Stop pacing the room childe, you are driving me to distraction. Sit.”

Eric ignored his maker, continuing his stomping around of the small space, the third hovel they had taken residence in in the week since their home had been set on fire.

He threw his maker a stubborn look, jaw jutting out in defiance, “No, sitting hurts. Or do you not remember beating me?”

Godric put the parchment in his hand on the table, fingers of his other hand absently rubbing up and down the soft feathers of the quill resting in a small bottle of ink laid next to the stained blotter. It was imperative, that if they had even the slightest chance of pulling of this plan and coming out the other side alive and in one piece, that each detail, down to the most inconsequential matter, must be thoroughly planned out and recorded.

And his childe did not do well when it came to matters of patience.

It was, Godric reflected, partially his fault, they had been stuck together in small rooms with very little stimulation, bar for the short time spent outside when they had moved their home base, and while Godric had been outside each night to scout and secure them dinner, he had not allowed his childe to join him.

Godric was small, he was fast and had an uncanny way of fading into the world around him, a talent born of hundreds of lifetimes spent in hiding; his childe on the other hand, was the polar opposite, where Eric went, so did the stares and whispers. Godric hypothesized that it was more than his childe's height that drew the attention, there was simply something about Eric, an electricity that charged the very air around him and drew others in like a moth to the flame.

And now he was paying the price.

Eric kicked at the floor with his leather boot, the sound not nearly as satisfying as he wanted it to be, and chanced a glance at his maker, discouraged when he saw that Godric did not look in slightest repentant for his wrongdoings, and instead seemed as if he was attempting to hold in laughter.

He was sick of this, this waiting, this sitting around and twiddling his thumbs. Action was always where Eric had shone brightest, and while he was most certainly intelligent and capable of putting together well thought out plans, he was also spontaneous and prone to tearing through those plans in a moment’s notice.

Had this been years from now, in an alternative future, Eric would have already gone forward, would have thrown caution to the wind and had made his move; as it stood, this was not the future and he was stuck here in this room that felt no larger than a five foot square box, without even a TV to distract him and his maker as his only source of entertainment.

“I know that this endless waiting is difficult for you, and I have praised you for your patience more than once, however, I do take offence to the insinuation that I beat you childe, although,” Godric’s lips twisted in mirth, “should you desire to continue with your little tantrum I am sure that we could arrange a repeat performance, solely to serve as a reminder that our little session was incredibly far from a beating.”

Eric’s eyes widened at the subtle threat, not overly eager for second happening to occur in so little a time frame and decided that perhaps it was time to switch tracks. He could say that he was hungry, maybe if he whined about it enough, Godric would finally let him out to hunt.

Godric watched his childe, endlessly fascinated by how clearly Eric displayed his thoughts and emotions on his face, in his movements; when with others, his childe was a closed book, expression dark and calculated at every turn, when alone together however, it was as if his childe lost all reserve and ability to hide himself. Godric was of the opinion that his childe was not even aware of it, and he would not be the one to share that information.

Cocking his head to the side, Godric waited expectantly and a look of resolve stole over his childe’s face, and he raised an eyebrow in question, finger still absently running up and down the soft quill feathers, and watched as Eric prepared to battle ahead with whatever idea he had come up with.

“I’m hungry.”

Well, that was easy enough to deal with. Godric opened his mouth, about to offer his childe to come to him to feed when Eric continued.

“I want to hunt.”

Oh, not again.

Godric let his eyes roll upwards, allowed for the sigh to leave his lips, and mentally counted down in his head starting from ten; once sure that he could talk in a level under a yell, he looked his childe straight in the eye, said “No,” and turned back to his writing still waiting on the table.

There was silence for a second, until the distinct sound of boots stomping across the ground told him that his childe had not cared for his answer. Someone poked him on the shoulder, and Godric debated the pros and cons of ordering his childe into a corner of the room, with a rag tied across his mouth.

“Childe, I have no wish to once more carry out the conversation centered on my dislike for your chosen method of getting my attention.”

“Well, maybe if you were already paying attention to me, I wouldn’t need to get it.”

Godric turned in his chair, quick and silent, and grabbed ahold of the hand once more coming at him, silently daring his childe to try that again, and Eric relented, albeit reluctantly, taking a step back once his hand was free once more.

“Childe, I have already apologized for the need to keep you in doors. If you are hungry, I will feed you, but for all else, you must find a way to entertain yourself. Find some joy in the quiet we currently possess, for I can assure you that it will not last much longer.”

Taking in a breath, Eric looked around the room. At the stark walls and dirty floor, even for the time he was in, this was not exactly squatting in opulence. His maker was right, however, in that he should indeed enjoy the small spell of peace they had, it was precious and would not last, but… It would not last. That was the problem.

“Godric…”

Godric tilted his head at the quivering way his name came out, sounding more like a question. “Yes childe?”

Eric curled into himself, arms coming up to loosely wrap around his own chest in a facile of a hug, “I know that I told you that I want to do this with you, and I still do!” he rushed to assure, “I would never let you face this on your own, it’s just…” Another deep breath in, “This could all go wrong, what if, when we come out the other side, you’re not there? I can’t, I can’t do that again, I won’t.”

Eyebrows drawing together, Godric took in the fine tremors running through his childe's body, at the way that his chin kept jutting out and then relaxing as he tried to hold in tears, and stood from his seat, taking hold of his childe’s arm and pulling until the two of them were sat on the threadbare sham of a lounge chair in the stolen room.

Eric was stiff, jaw clenched and eyes down as he refused to face his maker; Godric looked at him, mind overrun with options. Where to go from here? What path would should he follow? There was so much riding on his next course of action.

He could continue to indulge his childe, continue to wait for the perfect time to prod his secret from him, continue to stand off to the side and watch as Eric struggled. Or, he could simply ask.

His childe was right, Godric knew that, there was no assurance that the both of them would make it through this, they could not afford for either of them to be weighted down by easily shared burdens.

Running his hand down his childe’s rigged spine, Godric did his best to keep his tone low and soothing, Eric was sensitive, no matter that he tried to deny it, and it would not do for his childe to think he was attacking him.

“Childe… Eric. Look at me.”

The softness in his maker’s voice startled Eric, and for a moment he nearly forgot himself and turned, far more desperate to bask in the comfort sitting just at the edge of his fingertips than he wanted to admit.

But… the all-encompassing fear that took hold of him when he thought about the varying possible reactions that his maker might have to him confessing; what if his maker didn’t believe him? What if his maker would think he was crazy, would Godric run him off? Kill him? It would be shameful, to have a childe that was not in their right mind, and even though Godric was cast out of circle of vampire nobility, he was still of a prestigious line.

What if he did believe him? Would his maker be hurt that his first childe, his first fledge, was not in all truth actually a full fledge? Would he feel as if he was robbed of his chance to raise his childe, would he be jealous of the past future him, or would he hold it against Eric.

Maybe Godric would feel as if the bond they shared now, the one that had popped up and become so strong so very quickly, was a lie.

What if he felt as if Eric had betrayed him.

The thought alone caused the mad twisting in Eric’s stomach to flair into a sharp pain, and he gasped at the tightness. His lungs where working overtime, and Eric didn’t even realize that he was gasping in breaths until the pressure of his maker’s hand over his sternum, and the low gentile flow of calming nonsense words penetrated the hazy air around him.

Ironic, Eric distantly thought, that he would be the first vampire in history to pass out from too much oxygen that he didn’t even need in the first place.

Soft fingers running through his hair helped to bring him back down from the precipice he had been just about to fall over, and Eric was once more struck with the depth of attachment that he had for his maker. The humans in the future would talk about relationships like theirs, would call the dependency unhealthy.

Eric didn’t care.

He would then, as he would now, dare anyone to face the possibility a lifetime of eternity alone, and then see how quickly they too formed unhealthy, dependent attachments.

“Are you feeling better childe?”

Eric, his body now curled around Godric’s, and not quite ready to speak, nodded into his maker’s chest and hummed his response low in his throat. Godric finger’s ran up and down his spine, traveling up every few strokes to curl protectively over the back of Eric’s neck, and Eric pressed himself closer.

“Childe,” Godric paused, taking another moment to collect his thought, and then continued, “Childe, I am old, I have been walking this earth for a millennia, and I can say with complete sincerity that I have never felt more love for a creature than I feel for you.

You are my childe, my progeny, and there is not a thing that you could do or say that would take that love away, so please, please share what plagues you.”

Eric was stiff in his arms again, perfectly still except for the trembling that he could not seem to stop, and Godric felt his heart squeeze in response, all he wanted was for his childe to feel safe enough to unburden himself, he wanted was for Eric to trust him, and most of all, he wanted to be worthy of that trust.

They sat there, together, neither of them moving for what felt like, to Eric, far too long. His maker’s neck was the perfect place to hide his face, and his maker’s arms where far better than any armor, in this space, this moment, Eric had never felt safer.

The warmth sank its way into his very bones, and for once, Eric let himself hope, the barest flicker of it enough for his voice to unfreeze, enough for one small sentence to slip free, and like a dam cracked down the middle, once he started, he could not stop.

“I… I… before, I missed you, I can’t… I can’t again.”

Godric’s brow wrinkled in confusion, and he watched as his childe broke down again, the second time in less than one night, the words spilling from Eric’s lips confusing him as he did his best to take them in.

“You were gone, and I asked, I begged you! But you didn’t care,” Eric’s voice cracked, “why didn’t you care? I don’t”- he took in a deep, shuddering breath and looked up, meeting his maker’s eyes for the first time in hours, “Why would you leave like that?”

The pain spilling from his childe reeked of pent up, festering emotion, and for all that he held dear, Godric could not understand where it had come from. Was he so terrible of a maker that he had been causing his childe such distress without knowing?

“Maker!”

Godric startled at the shout, and immediately placed his palm on Eric’s sticky cheek, thumb rubbing over the bloody tears; when he put the digit in his own mouth, tongue wrapping around to lick off the blood, he found that his childe tasted like acid, like agony, and it killed him.

“Childe, I want to understand, but I do not. I know that this is difficult, but I ask that you take a breath and slow yourself down. Tell me from the beginning.”

Eric bit the corner of his lip, the sting helping him to pull himself together, then blew out some air; he could do this, it was time.

“I, I’m not from this… time.” He paused, cringing, and turned to look at his make from the corner of his eye, Godric simply continued to hold him in his arms, one eyebrow going up, face still calm and patient.

Eric continued, a little more confidant now that he had started, “I know that to you, I have only been your childe for a short time, but for me,” Eric’s fingers spasmed a bit, tightening their hold from where they had traveled to his maker’s shirt, “you’ve been my maker for over a thousand years.”

The words sounded like fiction, like insanity, but there was a well of honesty in his childe’s voice and eyes, enough for Godric to keep his objections to himself; he would hear his childe out, there was more than enough mystery in this world, who would he be to deny this newness? Eric had never lied to him before, and that alone carried tremendous weight.

“I lost you a few years ago. Well,” Eric paused, “a few years ago for me. It was… hard.” A soft hand through his hair encouraged him, and a moment later Eric continued. “You found me exactly the same way the first time as you did this one, you where the best maker, I was maybe, not the best childe.” Godric snorted and Eric glared at him.

“It took some time, but the bond we built was so, so strong. We loved each other so much, that’s why I don’t understand why you left like you did.”

The overwhelming note of festering pain was back, and Godric wondered, if this story was true, and heaven help him, but he felt in his bones that it was, then what would have led him to ever leave his childe?

A soft kiss was placed to the top of Eric’s head, “I do not have an answer childe, for the person you are speaking of is not me, I do not know of what his motivation might have been, I can only assure you that there is nothing that could make me leave you now.”

There was a huff from the body wrapped around his own followed by a wet sniffle, “My whole life, since I was a fledge the first-time round, you’ve always told me that I was your world, I just don’t understand how I failed.”

“Stop that.”

Eric’s face crinkled in confusion, and he sat up a little straighter, “Stop what?”

“Childe,” Godric made certain that the grip he had on Eric’s chin was nice and strong, “there is not a version of me that could ever exist that would want you to take the blame for something that is so very clearly not your doing. Tell me, in this future you speak of, did I have a granchilde?”

Eric ignored the pang that went through his heart at the memory of his own childe and nodded at his maker.

“Yours?”

Eric nodded again.

“And would you ever want your childe to feel as if your choices are their responsibility?”

Eric shook his head no, he may not have been as much of a hands on maker as Godric was, and Pam was most certainly far more independent then he himself had ever had any desire to be, but he had loved his childe more than he could put into words, and he missed her more than he could properly fathom.

“Then perhaps now would be the time for you to start letting go of this misguided self-hatred.” Godric was soft as he spoke the words, and the air in the room was far less tense than it had been before, but he knew that there was so much more to talk about, and that this one night alone would not be enough for his childe to work through all the damage that he had inflicted on himself.

Eric shrugged a shoulder, the bone hitting the underside of his maker’s chin, and he laughed a little at his maker’s huff of irritation.

“You are an insolent brat.”

“I know.”

“That was not a compliment.” The words where harsh but the tightening of the arms around him that followed them belied the sting. “You have yet to tell me how you came to find yourself in the past, and why.”

“Um, I don’t… actually know...” Came the stilted responses and Godric tilted his head.

“You do now know how it is that you came to travel through time?”

Eric shrugged, “I went to go talk to a witch for that absolute dick of a king, she was a little more difficult to handle than I thought she would be and she just,” he wiggled his fingers, “did some shit and I woke up on my funeral pyre with you sitting over me.”

Godric nodded, his mind turning in circles, there was so much to think about here, so much to work through and all he could say for the moment was that at least his childe had seemed to calm down.

“Childe, can you tell me what upset you so this night?”

Godric felt more than heard the trembly breath that his childe took in at the question, and he tightened his arms around him some more; the room that they had taken as their temporary home was less than welcoming, and while Godric had never overly cared about the comfort of his surrounding, he knew that his childe did.

Perhaps it would do him well to ad a blanket or two too their possessions.

For now, however, he would do what he could with what he had, and in that vein of thought, Godric placed a soft kiss to the top of Eric’s head, and smiled into his childe’s hair as he felt the shaking slow down. It was possible, Godric thought, that he may not be the worst maker in the world.

With his head tucked nearly all the way into his maker’s neck, and his hand balled up into a fist that was still holding Godric’s shirt, Eric breathed out. “I don’t know that it was one thing really, pretty sure it was a buildup of everything, but the reality of what we’re doing hit and I can’t take the thought of you leaving again.”

“Would you like for us to stop? It would be difficult and would take much work, but we can disappear.”

Eric shot up, nearly falling of the small couch, “No! Absolutely not, these people,” he spit out, the words laced with venom, “they hurt you, and they got away with it. I want them dead.”

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions that coursed through Godric at his childes outburst, the two strongest where made up of shock and pride; shock at the fierce protectiveness in Eric’s eyes, and pride, pride at the strength and bravery that his childe displayed.

There was so much strength in vulnerability, and Godric was once more blown away by his childe’s very existence.

What more was there hiding in this world that he did not know of, what more would he have the chance to learn?

Godric had thought, for so very long, that perhaps he had seen all that there was to see, that the very point of his existence was simply to wither away in the dark until such a time as fate would seem fit for his time to pass, but then Eric had come along and shone a new light into the shadow into his world. And now. Now with all that he had just learned of, and all the more that he would soon learn, Godric could feel a new kind of electricity run through him.

There where parts of him that he had long thought dead, coming back to life. And Godric? He was excited.

There was no telling what tomorrow might hold, no assurance of where their path would take them, but no matter what the future held, Godric knew that he couldn’t wait to find out for himself.

And with his childe sitting right beside him, their limbs and hearts intertwined, Godric felt, for the first time in a very long time, that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.