Work Text:
Oskar slumped heavily against the wall, a desperate wave of exhaustion, draining all the will he had left to compose himself. He slowly slid down the panelled wall, the fabric of his suit, whispering into the crammed space he’d had found to call a temporary home. Of course, he was endlessly grateful to the Liebermann’s for putting him up, but he still felt a discreet edge of blame to the despairing looks they threw at him, whenever he went past. He understood to an extent, that he was their only hope of giving the man who had shot their son a face, yet also the only man they could place at the crime scene without a doubt.
He rested his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. His shouldered responsibility felt like it was trying to gag him and he felt a slight betraying tremor in his hand.
A warm touch that ran up his arm and gently caressed his shoulder. Oskar’s gaze flitted up with a start but only stared into the lonely eyes of the vacant shadows that kept his nights company. He longed for the maybe only small but still present relief of a sharp glass of whiskey and a calming drag on a cigar as an icy shiver momentarily tensed the muscles in his entire body.
Trembling hands grasped tufts of his hair as his fought the stinging tears that formed a painful knot in his throat and made his vision splinter into glowing, blurred lines. And he felt like he was falling… falling so far. The impact would hurt. Left outside with nothing but his gun and the creeping dark sky. Even the stars would be obscured by a dense rag of cloud, watching in amusement as he stumbled around his mind, helpless and lost. With only a gun, his options were limited…
Suddenly something snapped inside him and the dam finally burst, a set of tears running down Oskar’s cheeks to his chin, and the on, creeping slowly like fingers trailing down his neck. His breaths were unsteady and shaky, loud in his ears.
A blurred image of Theresa floated into his mind; her gentle features touched by the soft glow of the orange light that hangs in his kitchen. He wanted to reach out and –
But suddenly her face was struck with blood and his hand faltered, shaking. Her beautiful face; all bloody and bruised.
Desperate, lonely tears now ran freely down his cheeks and dropped with quiet patters into his lap.
Muffled voices drifted to him through the cupboard that kept his hiding place innocuous to any prying eyes. But he didn’t try and understand what they were saying, although he recognised Leah’s. Instead, memories came flooding back. They hurt. And he felt like a child again, believing in the illusion that one can simply hide from the pain. Hide behind a cupboard and you’ll be safe. Hide and you won’t hear the screams and shouts.
Even if you hide when the crime is committed, you’ll see the scars in the morning. The cuts and bruises on his mother’s face when his dad had hit her. He’d always tried to get away, not help, he was too timid for that and he hated himself for that now. He’d locked himself in a cupboard and pressed his palms over his ears and cried.
And that’s what he found himself doing now. Pained sobs drained all his remaining energy and heh gave up trying to fight. This was one couldn’t win, no matter how hard he pushed them back and locked up his memories, occasionally they would overwhelm him. The scars would split open and bleed.
Oskar longed to feel the warmth of Theresa’s body sat next to him, her hand tightly holding his. Her soft words whispered into his neck, telling him it was alright, telling him not cry and wiping away his tears.
But he’ll always hear their screams, see the blood staining their faces and the throbbing hollowness that took the glint from their eyes.
He shivered, hugging himself to keep warm against the relentless, cold shadows of his memories. So cold… and so numb…
What would Max say? “You’re brave, Oskar. You have the will to fight within you. Our actions don’t just betray us, they show who we are.”
Maybe… but not today… He was weak.
Oskar leant his head back and it hit the wall with a defeated, dull thud. He hardly felt the individual tears anymore, his cheeks stiffened by the rivulets of half-dried salt.
He just wished it would stop.
He still has some scars from when his father had beat him as a boy. Though, tried not to look at them, pretend they weren’t there. Yet his hand could always subconsciously find them, and it was as if he could still feel the sharp leather, lashing at his skin. With the buckle, if he had been particularly bad, or his father was drunk. Discoloured and throbbing with every movement for days.
Oskar grabbed the fabric of his trousers around the knee, his fingernails going through, painfully clawing at his skin. The grip tightened, trying to cease the shaking but it only made him wince, his face contorting, breaths only coming in jagged spasms.
A distant cry outside pierced the swelling night, triggering a deep instinct. Yet this time it failed. Usually, he would start towards it, find the root of the problem. But now he shrank away, cowering against the wall, a hand up, to protect his head. So small… And so alone. Until the exhaustion finally took hold of the drained shell of his body and dragged him under, so he cried himself to sleep like a little boy lost in memories.