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Zack sits on the grass, a blanket wrapped around him. He didn’t put the blanket there, Milo did. The blanket feels nice, although not necessary. The fire warms him, a roaring flame.
A flame created by magic.
A flame created by sin.
He flinches roughly.
He is surrounded by wickedness, and it hurts. It bores into his skull, poking holes into his brain. Words echo in his head, reminders drilled into him throughout his childhood.
He is wicked. Evil. And he is hanging out with equally evil people! Not even people. Wicked mages, people who spit in the face of all that is good. People who flaunt their magic to… to make a campfire, to protect themselves from bugs while sleeping!
And he is no better. He fell, he fell into wickedness. He just used his magic to heal Milo’s bruise, for crying out loud!
He wants to say that he was dragged down, that the wicked mages pulled him, forced him to let go of his morals, of what he knew was right.
But he’d be lying. It was a gentle tug at best. A gentle hand on his arm, a kind smile, and he jumped down after them. He is wicked. Evil. He should’ve just accepted whatever punishment he would’ve been given for his arcane crimes, he knows that he deserved it.
Instead he is here, breaking bread with two ruthless, wicked arcane criminals. People who laugh in the face of the gods, people who kill mage hunters.
His eyes burn with tears. Milo and Melissa are so kind to him. That gentleness feels so nice, so good. But it is just further evidence of their wickedness, because no good person could ever be so kind to him. And no good person could refute that he deserves to die. To be hurt. To suffer.
“Zack?” Milo’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “You’re picking.”
Zack looks down. Sure enough, he has been scratching at the fresh iron scars on his wrist, and they look even redder and sorer than normal. There is blood beneath his nails. He winces. “That looks nasty.” Milo says sympathetically. “Can you hea-“
“Shut up!” Zack’s outburst surprises even him. Milo and Melissa stare at him. “Shut up! I’m not like you! I’m not gonna keep using magic as a toy!”
Milo and Melissa exchange one of their glances, those looks where hundreds of words pass. Then Milo steps closer, reaching for Zack’s shoulder. “Zac-“
“Don’t touch me!” Zack snaps, stumbling away. He trips over, landing on the ground.
“Zack…” Milo sighs, eyes wide with sympathy. The sympathy burns. He doesn’t deserve it!
The sympathy hurts like an iron poker on his back. He needs to get away, he needs to stop it, he needs it to stop! He needs everything to stop!
“Go away! Get away from me!” He yells. “You- you- you’re evil! I hate you! I hate both of you! You’re wicked and- and evil and you shouldn’t exist!” He hates the way he sounds. He hates it. He knows that Milo and Melissa are wicked, but they’re so kind. So gentle with him. He loves them so much, but… but it hurts that he does. Because he shouldn’t. Because it has been drilled into him that none of them are worthy of love, that all three of them deserve nothing aside from pain and death.
Melissa tenses. Milo recoils a little, but still looks comforting, still looks kind. “No, you don’t.” He says quietly, with such a gentle voice.
Zack doesn’t deserve that gentleness.
“I do! I do!” Who is he trying to convince? Milo? Himself? The watching gods? “You’re wicked criminals. You hurt people! You- I- I wish that you hadn’t escaped! You were supposed to die!” We were all supposed to die. We all deserved it.
He doesn’t understand how the world could be a better place without Milo and Melissa’s light in it. But he knows that it’s true. And he knows that in questioning it, he is taunting the gods. He is damning his soul further into the depths of hell.
He hears a sharp intake of breath from Melissa. A little sigh from Milo.
Now look what you’ve done. You’ve upset them. You’re such a wicked, nasty little boy, you can’t even socialise with your own kind without ruining everything.
Zack turns on his heel and runs into the forest. He ignores the shouting, the calls of his name, as he runs and ducks into a crevice.
He presses his back against the hard wood, feeling bushes tickle at his arms and legs. One year rolls down his face, then two tears, and then he can’t stop crying. His shoulders shake as he sobs into his knees.
He doesn’t hate them. How could he ever hate them? How could he ever hate the people who were kind when they had so little reason to, who saved him and helped him and cared for him? How could he ever hate such kind, reassuring, gentle people?
He loves them, so much. But he is still so, so scared. Milo and Melissa insist that mages aren’t inherently evil, that he shouldn’t have been hurt, that he didn’t deserve it.
But how can he believe that either?
He buries his face in his knees, wrapping his arms around as he sobs. His entire body trembles with the force.
Milo and Melissa aren’t evil. He can’t imagine that anyone could dispute that, having met them. Having sat with them around a campfire, laughing and joking in the warmth. Having curled up with them under a cloak. Having been held by them while caught in the throes of a nightmare.
They’re good. They’re everything that he was taught in church. Brave, compassionate, generous. Everything that good people are supposed to be.
And he loves them.
But… but that’s not what he was taught. And Milo and Melissa say that he was taught wrong, but… but…
A tear choked growl sneaks from his throat like a thief. He can’t handle this. Milo and Melissa cracked open a vase, and now everything is spilling out and mixing together, and he can’t cope with it, he can’t, how is he supposed to?
He’s evil. He’s evil, he must be!
But Milo and Melissa say that he’s not.
But his teachers say that he is.
But… but… but…
“Zack?”
His head snaps up. Milo is standing a few feet away, his big brown eyes wide with sympathy.
Zack realises that he looks like a mess. His face is stained bright red from tears. Mud decorates his clothes, twigs have scratched at his arms. He has still been scratching at his fresh scars, which are now bleeding. There is blood under his fingernails as he hastily wipes at his face, which does nothing to hide his upset.
“I’m fine.” He says quickly.
“No, you’re not.” Milo says softly. “Can I sit, or would you rather I stay over here?”
“… sit?” Zack manages, his throat burning. “Please?”
He expects to be rebuffed. He said that Milo deserved to be executed! How could Milo forgive him?
But Milo just sits down next to him, smiling gently, oh so gently. Zack wants to collapse on him and sob, to be held and comforted like a little kid who fell and bumped his knee. But he doesn’t deserve that. He can’t ask for that. He can’t want that.
Milo sits quietly for a while, before breaking the silence. “Can you heal your arm?”
Zack can feel the tugs from his arm. Small, itchy tugs for the scratches. And a bigger tug from his wrist, where he scratched so badly that it is bleeding. It hurts, and he does feel a tug. But he has been trained to ignore those tugs since he was small. He barely feels such small ones now. The thought of the pain that would come with following the tugs is much, much worse.
He shakes his head once, looking away. But Milo isn’t annoyed. Milo is still sympathetic. “Can I clean and bandage your arm, then?”
Zack hesitates. You deserve to suffer.
But Milo is smiling so brightly, like a warm sunbeam. Zack hesitantly holds out his arm, half prepared for more pain. Milo would have every reason to hurt him.
Instead, Milo deftly cleans and bandages every scrape and scratch. He is so gentle, he always asks for permission. Zack has to admit that he enjoys being cared for, enjoys being taken care of like this. It feels nice. Even if he doesn’t think that he deserves it.
Milo finishes tending to his (extremely minor) wounds. Then he puts his hand on his shoulder. “We should talk about what just happened.”
Zack shakes his head, breaking eye contact. “I was a dick, I know. I’m a terrible person. I’m sorry.” Please don’t hate me.
“I could never hate you.” Milo’s blunt honesty shocks Zack. “You’re my friend. I love you. And you’re not a dick- you’re hurting. You’re scared and confused and nothing makes sense, right?”
“I… I love you guys.” Zack admits. “But I’m sure that I’m evil. And I can’t… I can’t make it all fit together. It doesn’t make sense.”
He always hated himself. He was always terrified. But at least back home, he was certain of right and wrong. But now? Now he isn’t so sure.
“I get it.” Milo comforts.
“I just feel so fucked up.” Zack says. “And I don’t know what to do.”
Milo reaches for his hand. This time, Zack doesn’t fight. “You’re not fucked up, Zack. You’re hurting, and you’re scared, and that’s ok. That’s normal, after everything that you’ve been though.”
“I’m really sorry for what I said.” Zack murmurs. “I don’t hate you, either of you.”
“It’s ok.” Milo squeezes his hand. “You shouldn’t have said it, but we get it. You’ve been through so much. You were raised to hate yourself, to hate us. You were brainwashed. We don’t expect you to get magically,” Zack winces even at the word, “better just because you’ve been with us for a few days. It’s ok. Just keep trying.”
Zack’s head droops onto Milo’s shoulder. He feels a warm pressure across his shoulders.
He takes a few slow, deep breaths. And then he follows the tug.
He feels warmth in his arms, and his head swims a little. “Good job.” Milo whispers.
Zack manages a smile. He feels equally proud and guilty.