Sept. Writing Challenge: Late Night

[Admin!]

It's writing challenge time again. (Don't worry, you can use your own characters this time.) To enter, just post a ficlet (300-2000 words) in this thread. When the voting for September's OTM winners comes around, a voting poll will go up for this as well. Winners will get a slot on the awards wall, as well as a microbanner to go in the character's signature of their choosing.

The challenge: All stories must be set between the hours of one and five in the morning.

The rules:

• Characters must be Hammel-related, but the ficlets are not site canon unless explicitly stated.
  
• Alternative universe interpretations of characters are allowed.
  
• Entries must be between 300 and 2000 words.
  
• You can enter no more than three ficlets.
  
• Ficlets should be titled.

[Jacob Lawrence]

Unwind
---

2:38 a.m.

It wasn’t the sound of the door handle turning, nor the squeaking of the hinges that woke Jake. It wasn’t the muted footsteps on the carpet, not the exhausted sigh from the man that now stood at his bedside, but the warm hand that clasped his shoulder. He stirred slowly, blinking open his eyes and turning his head towards Gabriel. He didn’t have to look, he already knew who it was.

Even in the gloom, Jacob could see the faint bags under Gabe’s eyes, the weary look in them, and the tension in his shoulders. There was a silent moment of understanding that passed as their eyes met and Jake pushed himself upright in bed. He didn’t need to ask and Gabriel didn’t need to tell. They had played this scene over countless times.

His fingers found the buttons on Gabriel’s shirt, methodically undoing them. There was nothing sexual about it, though in previous years there might have been. Now it was just habit, a habit that they couldn’t break, that Jake didn’t want to stop. If this was all he could have, he would take it. Once undressed, Gabriel slid onto the bed as Jacob moved aside to make room for him. He lay on his stomach, his arms folded under his head.

Jake wouldn’t ask what had Gabriel so worked up, wouldn’t ask him what was troubling him, he wouldn’t say a single thing. He didn’t have to talk in order to make the stress go away, he just needed his hands. Hands that were now sliding up the smooth skin of Gabe’s back, willing the man to relax. His fingers searched out the knots of muscle that hid beneath and diligently coaxed them away.

He listened to the sound of Gabriel’s breathing, waiting for it to reach the familiar rhythm that meant he had finally unwound. Once Jake was sure Gabe was asleep, he rested his cheek between the man’s shoulder blades and closed his eyes. The comforting scent of Gabriel’s skin filled his nostrils, reminding him of happier times. Times when nights like these were more personal, when Gabe would wrap him in his arms and kiss his shoulders before he fell asleep. Nights where he could do more than just help Gabriel relax, where he could actually make him smile.

It was to these memories that Jake fell asleep. And when Gabe’s arm curled around his waist, Jake assumed it was only part of his dream.

Neither of them could count a night where they had slept better.

[Mads ♥]

Princess

3:14 a.m.

Not much was capable of rousing Jacob from a dead sleep. Not thunder, not the lights being flipped on, not Morgan shifting beside him. But Lily’s cry? That woke him up.

Granted, he had never been the best morning person. By the time he heard the cry, he could tell that Morgan was already up and moving, and fast. Jake grunted and rolled off the bed to his feet. “We’re comin’ baby doll,” he managed to call out, his voice still thick with sleep. He wasn’t really thinking as he moved, so it really wasn’t a surprise that in his rush to get to his adopted daughter’s crib, he managed to collide with Morgan. Hard. “Jesus! Ow.” He didn’t have long to dwell on the fact that he hurt, because Morgan had just kept moving, heading down the hall into Lily’s room, spouting apologies behind him.

Not fair, in Jake’s sleep addled mind. Though he’d be the first to admit that the baby girl terrified him, he loved her to death. She was his little girl, his princess. And Morgan was going to get there first.

The brunette picked up the pace, moving down the dark hallway. Even though there was a nightlight plugged into the wall, Jake didn’t need it. His night vision, even when impaired by sleep, was incredible, and he knew where he was going on instinct alone. He swung into the nursery, eager to see their daughter. He was so focused on her that he didn’t realize several things.

Namely, that Morgan already had her in his arms. And then there was the factor that now he wasn’t paying attention to where his feet were going.

Jake stubbed his toe on the leg of the crib.

“Ow! Shit, shit, ow, fuck.” He hopped for a moment, trying to alleviate the sudden pain. Morgan glanced at his husband, a stern look on his face.

“Not in front of the baby!” Gently, he cradled her closer, stroking his fingers along her cheek, trying to get her to settle down. Jake just stared at him, not fully comprehending what he meant.

“What?”

“Don’t curse.” Morgan smiled as Lily began to quiet again, the tears drying on her cheeks. “She’s too innocent to hear that kind of language.” If they were discussing any other baby, Jake might have argued. But Lily was special. He smiled, moving closer to his family.

“Let’s take her to bed with us.”

“Jake, no... you’re not supposed to bring them to bed.” Jake watched Morgan’s face. This wouldn’t be difficult.

“Please? Just for a little while?” Jake pulled his best puppy expression, and Morgan just sighed.

He never could say no to Jake.

[Fifi Hart]

Babysitting

04:20


Fifi’s socks clung to the bottom of her knobby knees like a small child against his mother’s leg. Her toes wriggled, sliding the sheer cream fabric of the knee-socks against the plush leather of the oversized armchair in the living room. She looked up from her book.

Her glazed, glassy blue eyes peeked just above the musty pages of James Joyce’s Ulysses , then ran over the arm rest of the chair…to the arm resting on it. Cautiously her toes inched forward, nudging shyly at the flesh of Gabriel’s arm. The limp appendage slipped off the arm rest and into Gabe’s lap. Fifi scrambled up, tossing the forgotten novel onto the couch. Her doll-like fingers gingerly took Gabe’s arm and positioned it exactly where it had been. As she did so, her breath suspended in her mouth, locked there as she repositioned Gabe with the fragile care of a mother laying her baby to rest in the bassinette. When Gabe’s arm was successfully replaced where it had been, a gentle sigh passed out of Fifi’s lips, her lungs expelling the stale nervousness as a slimy smile coiled on her lips.

It really was miraculous Fifi had been left alone with Gabe in the first place, being that Jesse was usually the one to watch over him. However, the blonde protégé had notorious sleeping problems and when he did go out…well…no one disturbed him. Gabe had come sneaking down the stairs into the living room, seen Fifi engrossed in her book, and simply settled. Fifi was overjoyed at the chance to prove herself and perhaps get closer to Gabe than she was already. It was really no hard fact to discover that Fifi was inexoraby jealous of Jesse, who was obviously the “family favorite”-- Even the twins liked him.

She snorted. Putting her hands on her hips, Fifi hung her thumbs in the belt loops of her denim skirt and tilted her head to regard Gabe’s vacant form. His mind was literally elsewhere; out on some important mission (since it couldn’t wait until a proper time of the day). With his body left behind, he looked a lot softer than Fifi remembered. It was probably because there was no mind to bother him. And with no mind to bother him, there was nothing to tense his muscles, to furrow his brow, or to make him bark orders.
Despite herself, Fifi reached up and pushed some hair back from Gabe’s forehead, tilting her head in the other direction and examining him with an intense, wide gaze. He looked to be asleep, not simply…vacant.

Fifi was dangerously close. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be touching Gabe at all, but she had hold of her powers (for now). Plus, she couldn’t keep her hands off. Scuttling around the side of the chair, grinning like a mad cat, Fifi continued to explore Gabe’s shell. She leaned over the back of the chair, sliding her arms down Gabe’s sides and peering into his face from the side. It didn’t seem like he was breathing, but Fifi’s nose brushed his and she felt him exhale. Well…he was breathing. But he wasn’t exactly warm.

The teen leaned back slightly, pulling her arms together at the elbow so that her fingers rested against Gabe’s stomach. Arching her back, she rested her chin on the top of Gabe’s head and closed her eyes. She couldn’t feel any movement in stomach. Her hands slithered over Gabe’s abdomen to rest over his heartbeat…or at least where it should have been in the left side of his chest. She could feel nothing. His breathing was light enough to warrant an unfathomable heartbeat, but she was still curious: Did Gabe have a heart at all underneath everything?

Breathing almost as softly as her mentor, her hands continued to writhe upwards, her fingers finally coming to rest at his collarbone. They rolled against his throat, gently coaxing Gabe’s head back so that he could look at her…had his eyes been open. She pressed her thumbs quietly against his throat, only slightly depressing the flesh there just enough to feel---

“So you are alive, boss.” She cooed softly, giggling with her smile almost grazing the skin of Gabe’s face.

“What are you doing, Fifi?” snapped Max’s cautiously accusatory voice from the stairwell. Fifi mused he had probably come down for a drink of water. Rolling her head to the side and laying her ear on Gabe’s shoulder, Fifi smiled wickedly.

“Just Babysitting, Doctor.” She said with an undeniable (and yet completely faked) innocence.

Skeptically, Max turned and wandered back up the stairs. Fifi lavishly ran the broad side of her tongue over the pulse at Gabriel’s neck, marked by her thumbs. Her eyes danced with a frighteningly devilish glee.


“Yep. You’re definitely alive.”

[Penny Stone]

The Worst?
2:41

She'd been having the same dream--the same nightmare since she'd moved into the apartment with 'Oscar' her 'husband.' Because of her alias, she couldn't really visit her brother in the hospital anymore, in case she met someone in public as Ming Yue Mendoza, and then they saw her as Penny Stone, and it went in the other direction too. She had to be very careful, and watchful as to who knew who she was now, because of this undercover mission.

The main problem was that she couldn't visit Nicholas and get updates from the doctor. And because of that, her anxiety from it has just been growing and growing and growing. She's tried her best to be her alias, and dig around for the information Gabriel wanted, and the person she was supposed to find, as of now, she hadn't found him, but maybe some day soon. She hadn't been able to sleep soundly because of the dream. The dream was she was running down the hospital hallway, the door was at the end, but it just kept getting longer, and she could hear the EKG machine in her ears, and the heart beat was slowly dying until it flat-lined. The dream would always shatter and she'd always wake up.

She'd woken up, went to the window, and looked out at Pilot Ridge just like always, breathed deeply and went back to bed. Only on this night...just before she reached the bed, her phone rang. She grabbed it immediately, as to not wake Paulo in the other room. She opened it and pressed it to her ear. "What?" She snapped, angry that someone would call her so early in the morning.

"Ms. Stone." The sad voice broke through her anger and she sank to her knees. She didn't even need to hear the conversation, she knew the only reason why the doctor would be calling her. "Ms. Stone, are you there?" The voice broke through all of her fears, all her worries. She didn't even realize she was crying.

"Yes?" Her voice was quiet and it broke, but she could hear the doctor sigh in relief.

"About Nicholas--"

"When did he die?" She asked, though she couldn't believe she could ask, she felt the tears drip from her chin onto her chest. She rubbed her face with one hand and waited for his answer.

"Ms. Stone, he didn't...that's not why I...no. We took him off the oxygen last week, and he's been breathing on his own." Somewhere in her huge memory, she knew that was good, but she had already believed he had died, so she was still numb and barely listening. "I had been hoping you would come in yesterday, like you always do, because we agreed---he---to surprise you."

"...What?" She didn't understand what he was saying.

"Ms. Stone. Nicholas woke up." Her heart pound in her ears. She couldn't actually believe what he was saying, but that didn't matter, because Nicholas was awake. She shut her phone and stood. She barely decided to get dressed before she was out of the door and into the main area, she scratched out a simple note, saying she would be at the hospital and for Paulo to call her only if there was an emergency. Nothing could separate her from her destination. Not even Gabriel.

She couldn't get there fast enough, but when she finally reached the hospital and was walking through the halls, in the familiar path, she found herself slowing down. She didn't know how to handle it, she didn't know how strong he was, and she didn't know what he remembered. She was still crying, surprisingly, but when she turned the corner and saw the doctor standing in the hall waiting for her, the optimistic side in her mind chirped;

What's the worst that could happen?!He's awake!

[Ann Hudgins]

Never Written

Pain was something Ann didn't like dealing with. It was also something she dealt with often. Whether it was because someone else's emotions she absorbed, or because she had lost track of where her feet were and had fallen. Or it was because her stomach, or her bones, or her throat were hurting because of a power malfunction, which happened more than one would think. It was something she didn't like at all, but something she lived with, almost as a constant companion. But Ann knew she couldn't just...give into it. She spent too many days, years even, letting the pain win. She couldn't give up and let it drive her insane, or where ever it wanted to go.

Things had to change for Ann, because she couldn't live with herself any longer. Ann couldn't be depressed a day longer. She couldn't be out of control anymore. She couldn't sleep knowing she was weak, and pathetic. She was going to fix it. And she'd start at the root; her parents. Behind all her problems, her parents were the roots. All her insecurities stemmed from there, and she knew that. If her own parents couldn't love her because of what she was, then how could she succeed at anything? How could she live with herself when she was too much of a monstrosity to have the love of the two most biased people in the world? They were hardwired to love her, for everything that she was; but they didn't.

And Ann knew she couldn't continue to get better...to 'fix' herself, unless she confronted her parents. How could she do that though? She knew their schedules by heart, and knew when they'd most likely answer a call from a number they didn't recognize. She also knew the only phones she could use were more public than she would have liked, though she knew Dr. Neville would lend his phone, if she asked for it. The problem there would be that she would have to ask. She wouldn't do that...yet. She wanted to be completely alone with her parents, not with a listener. Phone calling would have to wait. She could write an email, but she knew how often her parents checked their emails; never. If she sent a letter in the mail, like she did to Aiden, they would see the address from Hammel, and probably just through it away.

She rubbed the corners of her eyes, as they peered through the darkness of her room and saw that it was well into two in the morning. She let out a small sigh and rolled out of bed. She needed to think of a good way to get into contact with them, because she needed to. She needed closure, and she needed answers from her parents, and dammit, she was going to get them! As she left the room, she noticed her roommate had left her computer on, up and running. The internet browser was open on Facebook, though the girl had logged herself out.

Ann sat with a thump! and glanced left and right. She would look, but that was all. Her fingers turned into spider's legs and clacked across the keyboard as she hunched like a vulture over it. She had never taken a typing class before, so she wasn't familiar with the 'home row' and had to look for each key as she typed. This made her go from squinting at the keys, up to the search bar, and then back down. Finally she had her mother's name in the search bar and she pressed enter. After the page loaded, she saw and entire page of people that weren't her mother, yet had the same name. But Ann was determined to at least see this through...a little longer. She looked at the third page, and almost missed it...but she recognized the baby picture. It was of Ann's first run in with a dish washer. She had a handful of spoons and a clean bowl on her head. It was her mother's favorite picture of Ann, of all time. Ann noticed she was crying from the picture.

But what did it mean?

She had a shaky hand that clicked on the link to her page. She saw that her mother wasn't very active with her facebook, and was also not worried about random strangers with prying eyes because her profile wasn't private. Ann read through her 'wall' of entries, seeing that she posted mundane things like everyone else. 'Washing machine broke, had to get another,' 'if I get behind that minivan one more time...,' 'Mom, I know we promised to be home for Christmas, but Carl got sick with something and isn't up for the drive.' Blah blah blah, things like that. Ann, however, found herself hanging on to each little tidbit of information about her mother. And the life she was missing. At one point, she came across a curious note she had written titled, "Unwritten." She clicked on it, and waited with baited breath for it to load. Ann moved her mouth to the words, sound came out sometimes, but she was mostly just breathing.

"All the letters left unwritten, all the pages left blank. I can't except how things have gone, and what she must think. I've been the worst person I've ever known, and can't apologize. I've burnt the only bridge that matters to me, and there is no way left to repair it. I've made the worst mistake....and I wish I could go back." Ann found that she couldn't read anymore because her eyes were too blurry, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to force the tears to run down her face so she could continue reading. "I miss my little girl." That was all. Beneath that she saw that there were a lot of comments from their family, one from her father caught her attention, though.

"I know, baby, I know." Ann drew in a deep breath, and knew...somewhere deep within her, that she needed to forgive her parents, and try to work through this. That was the point of trying to contact them, wasn't it? She hovered the cursor over the 'log in' link for nearly twenty minutes, trying to get herself to do it, before she decided she'd have to talk to someone about this before she actually did it. Ann didn't know what would be waiting for her if she did contact her parents, but that note, the Unwritten one, had given her hope.

[/justify]

[Horus Richmond]

One Fourty Five AM

Zachary's head drooped over the arm rest as the documentary continued to flash on the screen, vivid pictures of dolphins calling out as they skipped across the waves. Cheek on his shoulder, Benji looked across at the older man and sighed, looking at the bags that sunk his eyes and the sagging exhaustion in his skin. He tried to ignore it these past few weeks, because any gentle taps on the arm were shrugged off, any pointed looks towards the bedroom blanked. Zach was coping by pretending the problem wasn't there, and though Benji was still younger than the vet, he knew it wasn't good.

Sighing again and turning the documentary off, the younger man touched the scars on his throat subconsciously, before tentatively heading to the bedroom to turn the lights on.

Zach had been working himself to death because of him. Ever since the healer had turned 18, he had lived with the vet. And their relationship had blossomed, to the point where the two of them had run the clinic together, Benji the attentive receptionist, Zach the devoted vet. But the last year had been hard; the older man had taken on more cases in order to pay for an innovative new treatment in Vermont's top Medical College, using cells to recreate missing organs. It was all for Benji, for Benji to talk again.

Over twenty thousand american dollars later, and the treatment had been completed, and then the vet ferried Benji back and forth to speech therapy every morning, then worked for the rest of the day. But it was now three months, and Zach was languishing, from overwork and no time for rest.

Benji returned to the living room and squeezed Zach's hand lightly, trying to wake him. When he got a soft grunt in response, the younger man smiled, and touched Zach's cheek, shaking him. Eventually the two tired eyes opened and locked with two brighter ones. "I love you." Benji croaked, his voice soft, but pronounced.

In that moment Zach knew every hour of work was worth it.

[Dr. James Campbell]

Three Nights

It was the third night in a row with a heavy downpour.

Night one, it rained around nine and let up a bit later. Same with night two. August was a time for that, heat during the day, then a refreshing rain later. But on the third night, James woke with the first crash of thunder. With a glance over at his sleeping husband, he got up, ready to hunt down Milo and make sure he wasn't hiding on top of the refrigerator again. It was either very late, or very early, so it was almost justified how slowly the thought of "It's raining again" turned to "Niko."

Taking his glasses off the bedside table, he put them on, then headed downstairs. The clock on Chase's side of the bed said it was 1:41, but he knew his son would be awake. Once he'd made the connection, he'd known. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake the blond man, he padded out of their bedroom and downstairs.

"Niko?" He knocked softly on the door, then waited a moment before opening it. Even in the dark, he could tell the boy wasn't sleeping. With a quiet sigh, he went and sat on the edge of the bed, and gently put his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. I know you're awake."

Since faking sleep obviously wasn't working, Niko sat up. "I keep trying, but I just can't."

"It's okay. Sometimes I can't sleep either." Chronic bouts of insomnia hit him more often than he wanted to admit. And they'd only gotten worse this summer. "Come on." He stood, and when Niko got that yes, James was letting him get up in the middle of the night, he led he boy out to the kitchen, and gestured to one of the stools at the counter. As Niko clambered up onto it, James turned, and started pulling things out of the cabinets.

"How'd you know I was up?"

James offered him a small smile, and held up two jars. "The thunder. Grape or strawberry?"

"Strawberry." Niko frowned, "Why are you making sandwiches at night?"

With a small smile, the tall, tired man said, "Because you need to eat something before I give you some medicine for that headache." He started spreading peanut butter on the bread, then added, "And before you ask me, 'What headache?' think about it. Have I ever been wrong when I said one was coming?"

"No." The boy's voice was sullen as he watched his foster father make the sandwiches. He'd learned months ago that James could always tell when a headache was on its way. And when the finished product was cut in half and pushed towards him, he dutifully started eating it.

James finished making the other sandwich, then went to the refrigerator and poured two glasses of milk. He sat down beside Niko and ate quietly for a minute, then simply said, "Please, Niko, tell me what you're thinking about."

"You're different. So's Chase." Blunt, childish honesty that didn't soften it at all for James. "You aren't happy any more."

After a long silence, broken only by chewing and another burst of wind that rattled the windows, James responded"...I know."

Niko stopped eating and just looked at him. He'd been expecting an excuse, "Why?"

James put down the sandwich and looked at the little blond boy. Maybe it was the hair, but it was easy for him to believe Niko was Chase's son. He took a deep breath, then answered, "Because someone hurt me. He cut up my hands and broke my picture of Chase, Ginny, and me." That was one of the things he was working on, accepting that it really hadn't been him doing those things. Gabriel had done them, just using his hands.

"But your hands are better now, right?"

He nodded, his short laugh sounding more like a sigh. "Yes. My hands are better. But he also scared me. He told me he was going to hurt you." James gently patted Niko's shoulder. "He said he was going to hurt my family, and that scares me a lot."

The boy took another bite of his sandwich while he was thinking. "Miss Bri said when I was scared, I should talk about it."

"She's a smart woman then." James sighed, because he still didn't like admitting he had to see Sean. "I do talk about it, now. I talk to Dr. Neville, because it's his job to listen like that. And I'm talking to Chase, more. But it's like being sick; I'm not going to get better right away. It will take a while."

Niko was not impressed with the analogy. "If it was like you were sick, you could take some medicine."

"Or I can go to the doctor, which is what I am doing." James countered, and actually smiled. "Nikki, we didn't tell you about this because we were afraid you would get worried too. Chase and I are going to do everything we can to keep you safe. We love you." Again, he patted Niko's shoulder, then he finished his sandwich. Since the boy was almost done as well, he went to the cabinet and pulled out two children's motrin pills, and handed them over.

Niko took them without a word, then finished his glass of milk. Without needing to be told, he brought the plates and cups to the dishwasher, as James put away the bread, peanut butter, and jelly. He then let himself be led back to his room, where James tucked him in again, making sure that the stuffed dog they'd bought for him was nearby.

When James slipped back into his own bed, next to the still-sleeping Chase, he smiled. It was raining still, but there wasn't any thunder or wind now.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

In a World without Hammel

1:27 a.m.

His parents were arguing again. They had done that a lot recently: arguing after his father got home from work, arguing after supper, and then arguing when they thought their children were asleep. Kathleen didn’t notice, because she was only nine and didn’t understand. But Sean was twelve, old enough to realize that something was amiss.

Besides, they were arguing about him.

It wasn’t hard to tell that they were arguing about him; he’d been acting weird lately, they whispered behind closed doors. He was having trouble in school; he’d been getting into fights and the others students and teachers were afraid of him now. People accused him of cheating, even though he had never tried to cheat, and yet he excelled on exams, even when he didn’t study. He knew what people thought about him, or about other people; he knew their secrets through no effort of his own. It made church awkward, and he felt dirty after going, because he couldn't get rid of the stains on his soul, and felt instead like he had absorbed the stains of others.

It wasn’t his fault, but nobody believed him. He couldn't explain what was going on, and he couldn't control it, but he knew that nobody would ever believed him. He was a liar, a snoop, and a cheat at best and a sick lunatic at worst. His father thought he was ill; his mother didn’t know what to think, but he was still her little boy. But his father was the man of the house, and so Sean had been in and out of doctor’s offices for months, getting X-rays, getting other tests, and always feeling miserable afterward. His father was never pleased with the answers.

Sean prayed and tried to ask for guidance from the priest, but nobody had answers either, beyond the fact that God worked in mysterious ways. The answer was useless to him, but it was fitting in a way; he couldn't give a useful explanation, so why did he deserve a useful answer?

And his parents continued to argue about what to do with him. Today had been particularly bad; his mother angry with his father when he announced that they would go to yet another doctor tomorrow, possibly spending the weekend away. His father had made him pack his bag, and Sean had, obedient as always. But there was more to it than that; he could tell.

On the other side of the hall, his parents were still awake, arguing, and he could hear it in that odd way he heard so much, too much, these past months.

“He’s our son.”

“Mary, what choice do we have?”

“But putting him in one of those...places.” Sean could picture his mother’s disgust with the thought, and it popped into his mind just like the answers to last week’s history test. A mental asylum.

“I know it’s hard, but they’ll be able to help him better than we can.” There was exasperation in his father’s tone; Sean could hear it. His father was going to get rid of him, and not just for the weekend, either.

At that point, he climbed out of bed and hit the floor, bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. He tried not to listen, tried instead to only focus on his prayers, but it was hard.

His knees hurt, and still he prayed, hoping for an answer, any answer.

Why was ill? Was he ill? He didn’t feel ill, but that didn’t matter, did it?

Lord, why am I ill and what can I do to recover?

Our Father who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name.

Do I have to go tomorrow? Can’t I stay home for a little while long? I’ll try to be healthy; I’ll try not to hear what I hear.

Thy kingdom come.

Will it hurt? Sean was petrified about the possibility of pain; he’d heard rumors, and he’s seen movies that talked about mental illness and the treatment for it. It scared him more than anything. It scared him worse than death.

Thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.

I’ll do anything You ask of me, Lord. I promise. Just tell me what I can do.

Give us this day our daily bread,

Tell me what to do, please. He was begging, and he wasn't ashamed.

and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us,

Have I sinned, Lord? Sean had asked this so many times these past months, and he kept trying to confess. But he didn’t know how to properly confess when he didn’t understand what was wrong. Forgive me.

and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.

But this one time that he wanted to hear, this one time that he needed to hear, there was only silence now.

And then Sean began to cry, even though he knew that he was too old, and that his father would be ashamed if he heard or saw him. He couldn't help himself, as he stayed on his knees, begging for forgiveness and guidance.

He didn’t want morning to come.