Sing Me to Sleep at Night, Open my Third Eye
Otis returns to his room in Sanctuary battered and bruised after a long and tiring mission with his coterie...though perhaps he is not as alone as he would believe
The door opened smoothly onto the small yet comfortable room that had become his Haven in this strange place. Otis limped tiredly inside, sparing not one glance at the bed that sat, bare, up against the wall. He hadn’t bothered to sleep in the bed once during his stay in Sanctuary– having instead spent his first night in this place methodically tearing at the luxuriously soft–to him, that is, bedding until he had formed what for all the world appeared to be a nest one might see in a wolf’s den. He hadn’t exactly meant for this to happen, but the Beast had been keen on finding material to rip into after the situation with the rich smelling paper that first night. The following nights, well…Otis had found the nest comfortable–and easier for his ever faithful little companion to curl up with him when he bedded down for day-sleep. Tonight, his nest bed seemed even more inviting as he all but fell into the pile of torn pillows, blankets, and mattress stuffing. He knew he had escaped the events of the night lightly- he had smelled the acrid scent of holy water and burnt flesh wafting from the car Finn had shoved him into as they made their escape. He had seen Talia and Madame LaVoy stumble from said car once they reached Sanctuary and knew his injuries paled in comparison. He had spoken true when he assured Mr.Sexton and Finn that he was merely bruised and sore. That did not change the fact that he was bone tired now. Both because of the injuries and because his mind was reeling as he struggled to process all that had happened.
He wasn’t sure how the plan had been derailed so thoroughly. Innocents had been in the bookshop, yes, and that naturally had an effect. But as Finn had been saying for some time now, they were now in a war, as much as that fact would have made his stomach sour if he had still been mortal, it was a fact nonetheless and Otis had forced himself to come to terms with this. This war was important. No innocent mortals had come to harm tonight, and yet all of them had at the very least come to the very precipice of harm in some form or another.
A snarl tugged at his lips as he recalled the rush of heat as he had flung the deadly tennis balls into the store. No thoughts had crossed his mind except the instructions Finn had left him with. He had clung to those instructions, determined that he would not fail his role on this mission. He would not repeat the mistakes he had made outside that bank. Yet he had not counted on nor had he made any move to adapt to the smoke that had filled the book shop at that point. He had merely thrown the firebombs in without a second’s hesitation, and allowed instinct to take over as he rolled out of the way. What little conscious thought was left to process the events had been distracted by the revving of the van’s engine as it sped away from the scene far too early, taking both Tae and Luke with it. Had Otis not been so focused on the now flaming bookshop, he would perhaps have panicked, so unused to having Luke so far from him. As it had happened, he had hardly been given a second’s chance to process the van’s departure before he had been struck by the sedan the newcomer–the dragon?-- had driven. Once again, he had had little time to process what had occurred–only a thud as his own body hit the hood, the sharp pain of bruised, cracked, or even broken ribs, and the sudden weightlessness of flight as he was sent flying backwards.
His thoughts had swirled like a hurricane as he hurled through the air. If he had still required breath, it all would have been snatched from his very lungs. Down was up and nothing seemed as it should be until his thoughts had suddenly coalesced into a single memory–or series of fractured memories, rather. An over-large vulture, wheeling through the sky above him, the scent of vitae mixed with alcohol, warm summer nights, cool breeze and grasping branches against his unliving skin. And over top of it all, a woman’s voice–one he recognized well.
“A boy must believe!”
He had squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself begin to fall back to earth quickly–too quickly–he didn’t know what would happen when he hit solid land once again, and suddenly he didn’t care. He was a survivor whatever happened. He would live to see another night. He had felt a surge in his blood as the Beast growled in his ear, determination driving it to action as he twisted in midair like a cat. The impact of hitting the ground had jarred every bone in his body, and set his teeth rattling, but he had landed on his feet. It had taken a moment to orient himself– to realize that he was now on the opposite side of the street, but he could move with only minimal soreness. And looking back at the bookshop, he could see his packmate waving at him to go. To Run! The cars were no longer where they had been left, and Otis quickly grasped for this new instruction, taking off in the direction he knew to be where the rendezvous spot to be.
After that, the events had slowed, and only snippets were of any interest to his tired mind and body. The tire screech of the two door car as Madame LaVoy’s voice emerged, frantic, as she practically begged Finn to take the wheel, the acrid holy water stench that had wafted from the car as Finn leapt out near him and popped the trunk. Finn’s own apologetic stare as he urged Otis into the cramped area. Otis had never been a fan of tight spaces even as a mortal man, and the Beast– so used to the open country plains and clear night skies of home– was inclined to agree. Otis felt only the faintest twinge of guilt for the state he had left that trunk in. He could feel some traces of the lining beneath his nails even now as he curled into his nest.
But he had survived the night. Luke lay once more at his side, the corgi evidently reluctant to move even a foot away from his master after the harrowing ordeal of what, to his canine mind, amounted to a kidnapping. A sound drew Otis’ attention to the door, and he gingerly sat up, straining to hear exactly what fresh disturbance was out there. Reluctantly, Luke scurried to sniff at the door before waddling back to his master’s side, deep brown eyes finding Otis’ own.
Only the large one. Tall friend. Grey-Fur Long-Legged-One and the Fire-Hair Packmate. They guard us.
An unnecessary sigh as Otis curled up once more. It was nice to have a pack. To know that he would not have to worry about the things that went bump in the day.