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10...11...12—BANG!
For a moment, there was only blinding pain, then the feeling of the floorboards beneath his palms and a just a few moments more before Thomas recognised the familiar hallway outside of his bedroom. It wasn't a nightly occurrence, but Thomas' sleepwalking spells hadn't been this frequent since the weeks following his death.
It was always the same. He would be drawn from his bed and forced to restep his paces from that fateful evening. It would always play out just as it had in his life, with him finally being shaken awake violently as the bullet tore through his flesh.
He would struggle back to his feet before brushing himself off and following the familiar path back through the door of his bedroom. It was rather unpleasant but he was grateful to not be flung from a window night after night, or forced to constantly be smelling one's own burning flesh. It was usually easy enough to fall back asleep and pretend the night terror had not happened at all.
Sometimes it did make it difficult to fall asleep in the first place, however. While he was not cursed with reliving his duel every night, there were some nights where he could all but count on it. Particularly on the anniversary of his death. The night of his death day he found himself terrified to even close his eyes. He fought off sleep for hours, not willing to let that horrible delusion take over.
And yet his body blatantly disobeyed him and drifted off anyways, sometime just before midnight. He felt it materialise in slow motion and tried to scream as he felt the grass beneath his feet.
Somewhere in the very back of his mind, he knew this wasn't real. He knew he was in the comfort of Button House and soon enough it would be over and he could crawl into bed. And yet as he stared down at his feet pacing through the garden, they felt leaden, like he had no control over them. Thomas heard his own voice emanating from every direction "1...2...3..." and found himself tensing up as the numbers climbed. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he would finish his paces and fire the winning shot. Of course he knew he wouldn't, but that thought still came to him every time without fail. This time had to be different.
"9...10...11..." He felt nauseous. He wished to run far away and perhaps be lucky enough to never reach the number "12–"
This was wrong. It felt too real this time. He was certain he had not felt pain this bad since he was mortally wounded. His surroundings also did not dissolve as quickly as they normally would have. He heard Isabelle's scream, his own gunshot and the caw of a dying crow.
He even felt his cousin's embrace. His damn cousin grabbing his shoulders in a false sense of comfort. He wanted to shove him off and curse him for everything he had done. In fact, Thomas was surprised at how solid his form felt as he attempted to get away.
"Woah there Thomas, I've got you."
All at once, Thomas' senses rushed back to him and he recognised the green khaki-clad arms holding him up. He was in Captain's arms and his pain was very quickly being taken over by humiliation. For all of his years of roaming the hallways at night, he was always grateful that no one had ever seen him in such a state. And now here he was, having one of his worst nights ever and the Captain of all people was here to witness it first-hand.
Once again he tried to shove himself out of his arms, with the plan to make a beeline for his bedroom and to never speak of it. Only his incorporeal body failed him as he attempted to take a step. The pain in his abdomen was back tenfold and he could only barely stumble forward, with Captain's grip still firm on him.
Captain repeated once again, "I've got you," and Thomas screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the tears away that were quickly forming. As much as he wanted to run, he could barely remain upright without being propped up by the other man. "Now what in the bally hell is going on? I heard you counting and then you suddenly collapsed. You have me quite worried, Thorne."
Thomas turned away from the Captain as he tried to steady his breathing. His face burned red as he imagined what the other must've seen. He must've looked so pathetic. "I'm..I'm sorry. It just happens some nights. I hope I did not disturb you, I really did not mean to–"
"It was no disturbance Thomas, I just happened to be patrolling this corridor when I heard you. I, er.. was already having trouble sleeping so worry not, you did not wake me." Captain's grip finally softened but he did not let go of Thomas' shoulders. Instead he lowered them both to the ground until Captain was sitting, with Thomas half in his lap. "Is this more comfortable? You look to be in a terrible amount of pain," his eyebrows knit together in worry.
Thomas was surprised at just how...pleasant the Captain was being. Somehow this was worse. He thought it would be easier if he was his usual grumpy self and told Thomas off for making such a ruckus. Then he could at least limp back to his bed in peace and cry himself to sleep without the prying eyes of another.
Still, he could not deny how comfortable it was to be in his arms. He thought ahead to the next day, and how surely the Captain would also wish to never speak of this moment again, and so he figured his embarrassing secret would be safe with him. Maybe it would be alright to accept his warmth, just for the one night.
"Well thank you Captain. I have had these spells on and off for years you see. I am sure that tonight has been worse because it is indeed my death day. For as long as I have been plagued by this nocturnal demon, it always comes back stronger on this particular damned day."
Thomas found himself absentmindedly covering his bloody wound. He winced as it felt tender and wet. Fresh blood stained his palm, which only made him hold the spot tighter. On particularly bad nights he found that it would taunt him by bleeding out all over again.
He also hated that surely Captain was peering over his shoulder at it. He had noticed the soldier seemed to have a strange fascination with it, always sneaking glances and whatnot. Thomas never really cared enough to bring it up, but he could not deny that he was embarrassed about the wound and what it represented.
"Why, that sounds terrible Thomas. I will admit that I also feel a twinge of chest pain on my own death day, but nothing to this degree," Thomas snapped out of his self-conscious state and tilted his head up to look at him at the mention of his own pain.
"You have also been afflicted then? I truly thought it was something that only I and Fanny had been cursed with," Thomas sighed and relaxed his shoulders. "Is that why you are being so kind to me?"
The Captain was quiet for a moment before readjusting the two of them so he was holding Thomas more in a hug, with an arm wrapped around his torso but careful to avoid his wound. It was an unexpected but not an entirely unwelcome gesture. Thomas settled into his arms and awaited his reply.
"It's something I learned in the forces. If a soldier is injured then you do not leave their side. There was... once someone quite dear to me who was wounded and I was not able to be there for them. It is a deep regret of mine, and one I do not wish to repeat."
Thomas had a thousand questions, the loudest of which being if he was indeed dear to the Captain. He opened his mouth to ask but clamped it shut again. It was not worth scaring the man off and ruining the moment. He was feeling better already but was not ready to leave just yet.
The Captain quickly continued, as if he should not have mentioned that, "But er yes.. the pain as well. I have quite a lot of sympathy for that."
Thomas smiled and rested his head firmly against Captain's chest, "Now's your chance to play nurse then," The other man responded by bringing up one hand to rest in his curls, something he would surely never do outside of the cover of night. Similarly, Thomas whispered something he wouldn't be caught dead uttering during the day, "Thank you, James."
Captain's hand froze for a moment at the mention of his name but then wordlessly continued to card through Thomas' hair. They stayed like that for a good while, until long after Thomas' pain had subsided.
Finally Thomas stood and stretched. Despite very much wanting to stay in the Captain's arms all night, the wooden floor was not the most comfortable place for it. Part of him wanted to ask the other man to join him in his bed, but he knew he'd be pushing his luck.
However, when he turned to face the other man, there was a glimmer in his eyes that told him he might just in fact say yes. Despite knowing better, he asked anyways, "Would you mind accompanying me?" his voice barely audible.
Captain responded by reaching for Thomas' hand and bringing it up to place a chaste kiss to his open palm, paying no mind to the lingering taste of iron. Thomas was stunned by the action and sure that he saw the other man flushing red, only barely perceptible in the dark.
The Captain cleared his throat and gave a short nod "Very well, lead the way." Thomas gave him a warm smile and pulled him along to his room, just a few doors down. He flopped down onto his bed, with sleep threatening to come for him at any time. Captain was more hesitant when joining the other, fidgeting with his swagger stick for a moment. When Thomas motioned for him however, he made himself comfortable in the empty space beside him.
Thomas turned away from him, inviting the other man to cuddle up close. Captain obliged, wrapping one arm around his torso and running his fingers over the embroidered silk. He settled his forehead comfortably between his shoulder blades and breathed in his scent.
"We do not speak of this, understand Thorne?" Captain mumbled out with none of his usual bite, the edges of sleep apparent in his voice.
"Mhmm.. 'course.." Thomas responded, not long before drifting off in the warmth of the other man's arms. It was the best he had slept in nearly a hundred years.
...
The Captain was gone by morning, but he could be seen patrolling that particular hallway much more frequently from then on, just in case there was ever a poet in need.