Carry On My Wayward Son (Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ & Tart)

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  1. [​IMG]
    Carry on my wayward son
    There'll be peace when you are done
    Lay your weary head to rest

    Don't you cry no more...


    All credits for Mr. Wilson's Home for Boys belong to @andrew21234.
    Some elements will be moderated:

    I.) Use of profanity. (Moderated)
    II.) Depiction of violence. (Moderated - To an extent.)
    III.) Depiction of gore. (Moderated.)
    IV.) Possible smut. (Moderated - Strict On-Screen Fade to Black / Taken to PM.)
    Character Cycling
    In this RP, two characters are used from Mr. Wilson's Home for Boys:

    I.) Dietrich A. Volkov
    II.) Eric Grant


    Running away from Mr. Wilson's Home for Boys was borderline suicide. Surviving the woods was one thing, but entering the corrupted town? Many boys tried, but failed. However, what happened if two boys prevailed? After his brutal beating, Dietrich escaped the orphanage with Eric, his new acquaintance. Instead of lingering in the town, the boys ran. Will they survive the world together?

    MAIN PAIRING ↭ Dietrich Volkov x Eric Grant

    Dietrich Volkov: Owned & Played by @Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ.

    Eric Grant: Owned & Played by @Tart.

    Ĺค∂rєภgเℓσภ & Tart are permitted to post here only.

    #1 Rowlet, Aug 7, 2015
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 14, 2015
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  2. "Ve rely on each other here, Täubchen,"
    "..Eric.." A hand gently rested on the male's shoulder as a soothing woman's voice interrupted his slumber, crystal blue eyes skidding around his surroundings in a fruitless attempt to find the woman who'd called his name. He was sure it was a nurse... but no one could be seen in the hospital room except Dietrich, who was laying in the bed, sleeping off whatever medication they'd given him. Deciding that the voice and touch was a hallucination, Eric sighed lightly and sat up from the chair he'd fallen asleep in. They'd been here for only 2 days, but it felt like months. Eric despised hospitals. He hated pretty much everything that was involved with hospitals: The smell, the fact nearly everything was white, the sorrowful looks from the other patients. And in his case, hospitals made his hallucinations act up. They'd grow worse and come earlier then the designated nightly routine, and he'd have them more during the daytime, and even more with physical contact. But, luckily, it was time for their departure of the building. Dietrich's ribs were patched up, but due to other injuries among his body, they had to stay the extra days. Typically they'd just patch you up and send you home with strong painkillers for the pain sure to come from the ribs. Now how they got here in the first place... was a long and tricky story. Eric had the help of a Korean boy named Maeng when trying to steal back Eric's medication for his Schizophrenia, and while doing so, they also stole a wad of cash and painkillers from Mr. Wilson's office.

    Now here's the tricky part. Maeng had offered the idea of going outside through the back door and coming back in through the front so they wouldn't have to walk past Mr. Wilson's door, and Eric accepted, not thinking anything of it. Though previously, Dietrich had warned Eric of Maeng's manipulative skills, and Eric should have listened. While creeping around the house towards the front door, Maeng had suddenly stopped and chuckled, reaching out to grasp Eric's arm to keep him from walking any further. Confused, Eric turned around to question his sudden weird behavior until a hand clasped around his mouth to silence his words. Heart racing, Eric had tried to scramble away from the boy, but Maeng was already two steps ahead of him. Grabbing rope from his pocket, the boy tied Eric's arm behind his back, Eric not being able to call for help or scream in general due to Mr. Wilson. If the old man would have heard him, he'd find the money and the pills the two had stolen, and they'd get a severe beating. Feeling hopelessness trickle down his back, Eric surrendered to the boy's act. Maeng had pulled out a variety of little tools to continue on with his little experiment, and lifted Eric's shirt to reveal his lower stomach. The rest was history, and Eric woke up sitting against the side of the house, in complete and utter pain. Taking some of the painkillers he'd stolen, Eric stumbled his way back into the house, being as quiet as he could before reaching the stairs, climbing them slowly. He needed to leave. And he was taking Dietrich with him to the hospital. He'd given Dietrich some of the painkillers and waited for them to kick in before trying to move him out of the bed at all. They'd packed bags with clothes and other necessities, and stumbled out of the house, not looking back.

    Thinking of this now, Eric looked down at his stomach before lifting his shirt, examining the stitches the doctors had given him for the cuts. Nothing really severe had happened when Maeng had done his 'experiment', so this was a plus side, but Eric did have occasional little flashbacks to the event and the pain that was inflicted; And, he had to take additional pills for the pain. Eric stood up and grabbed his and Dietrich's bag they'd brought with them, swinging them over his shoulder before walking out of the room to talk to a nurse. After speaking for a bit, he was told they were allowed to leave. Walking back into the room, Eric sat down beside the hospital bed, glancing at Dietrich's sleeping face. Lightly shaking his shoulder, Eric chewed his lower lip. "Good news.. we can officially leave. I already got your pain medication and mine... and I gave them Mr. Wilson's info... so we gotta go quickly before he gets here.." Already feeling the anxiety building up in his chest, Eric glanced out the door. "I uh.. had to tell them the info because all of this added up to a lot of money.. more then the wad of cash." He quickly explained. "And we can buy a rib brace at a store to help with some of the pain." Eric spoke softly, fiddling with the pill bottles in his hands. "I'm... kind of scared.. but I think we can do this.."

    (( Hey! I hope you don't mind I started on the day they get released from the hospital, but I thought this was a little better because then I could explain some things that happened so it isn't a complete jump haha. Also, sorry if this seems rushed, and if you felt I kinda controlled your character or whatever... ahhhh.. ))​
    • Love Love x 1
  3. "Rest, miele."

    [ RECAP ]

    His eyes snapped open. Dietrich laid on his bed, panting. His emerald hues were wide and unfocused, terror evident on his expression. His skin remained a sickly pallor, courtesy of his poor condition. His battered form flushed from a rising fever. Long tendrils of dark blonde hair plastered against his perspired face, sweeping across his gemstone irises. It took Dietrich a moment to register his surroundings. No bloody corpses. No hellish fire. It was a dream. Well, a violent-induced nightmare, but a dream, nonetheless. Dietrich wasn't aware of how long he slept. Ten minutes? One hour? Truthfully, he was surprised he passed out at all. He swallowed the bile accumulating in his throat. Dietrich couldn't afford vomiting in his condition. His ribs wouldn't be able to endure the exertion. Suddenly, a burst of vertigo washed over him, eliciting a pain-filled groan. Christ, his migraine was unbearable. He needed painkillers - soon. Dietrich prayed Eric and Trennen returned safely. Eric mainly, but Trennen was a liability. Dietrich pressed the heel of his right hand against his aching forehead. He loathed feeling vulnerable and defenseless. He couldn't move. Breathing was excruciating. Sleep was nearly impossible. When will his torture end?

    [ PRESENT ]

    Eric returned. For a moment, relief coursed through the smaller male. His acquaintance managed to steal a large sum of cash and painkillers, including his prescription for Schizophrenia. After Eric administrated the painkillers, it took approximately fifteen minutes for them to kick in. Fortunately, the white hot agony surging through Dietrich's veins decreased, transforming into a tolerable ache. With Eric's assistance, Dietrich maneuvered out of the bed, packed his personal belongings - clothes, necessities, ocarina - and stumbled out of the orphanage, guiding Eric through the dense forest by hand. It was a slow, painful process, but both boys persevered. Due to his manipulative abilities, Dietrich admitted them in the hospital without complications, waxing a convincing lie involving a fight gone wrong. Classic case of wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately, due to his injuries, he was forced to stay for two days. Similar to Eric, Dietrich loathed hospitals. It reminded him of what he lost; who he couldn't save.

    "Good news..."

    A slim hand shook his shoulder, rousing Dietrich from his slumber. A groan elicited from his throat. He cracked his eyes open, revealing half-lidded emerald hues. "Vhat?" he inquired, voice thick with sleep. Dietrich rose into a sitting position, mindful of his ribs. He rubbed his eyes, smothering a yawn with his fist. He stared at his friend, noticing his nervous expression.

    "I uh...had to tell them the info because all of this added up to a lot of money.. more then the wad of cash."

    Every trace of grogginess vanished. "Ve don't have long. He vill be pissed," Dietrich announced. He pulled back his hospital blanket, removed the IV in his arm, and slipped off the bed. He wore an ugly hospital gown with the backside bare, revealing a pair of midnight blue boxers. He retrieved his large duffel bag from Eric's grasp, unzipped it, and brandished an outfit: worn jeans, belt, black tee, army green buttoned over-shirt. He removed the hospital gown and slipped on his outfit, careful with his bandages. He left the over-shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He pulled on his dark trainers, zipped his bag shut, and slung the strap on his right shoulder.

    "I'm...kind of scared...but I think we can do this..."

    His expression softened a bit. "Ve vill get through this, Täubchen," Dietrich promised. Despite their lack of income, money wasn't an issue. Years ago, he learned pick-pocketing and hustling from the older boys. Earning a part-time job was out of the question. At least, for now. Escaping the town and evading Mr. Wilson's wrath was their main priority. Dietrich doubted they would find a permanent home anytime soon. "Let's go," he announced. He sauntered out of the room, leaving the discarded gown behind. Purchasing a rib brace sounded delightful, but he preferred buying it in a different town. Away from Mr. Wilson and his corruption. Minutes later, the boys exited the hospital, walking toward the nearest bus stop. Dietrich may or may not of nicked a snobbish-looking man's wallet in the parking lot, using the classic collision ruse. It was painful, but it earned them enough money to purchase two Greyhound tickets, a quick meal at the nearest fast food restaurant, and a possible rib brace.

    ((Totes fine! I don't mind! You did great!))
    #3 Rowlet, Aug 9, 2015
    Last edited: Aug 9, 2015

  4. "And so being young and dipped in folly,
    I fell in love with melancholy."
    -Edgar Allan Poe
    Eric let him take his bag and glanced away as the other got changed, and double checked to see if he gathered everything they brought. Taking another pill for his hallucinations, just in case, he turned to Dietrich as he finished getting ready. "Ve vill get through this, Täubchen," Eric nodded and smiled slightly, his aching chest growing more relaxed as his anxiety level lowered. He was right... they'd figure things out and be alright in the end. Slipping his hands into his back pockets, Eric shifted his backpack to hang from both arms instead of just his left, and followed Dietrich out of the room quietly. His eyes darted around to make sure Mr. Wilson wasn't inhabiting the same hallway as they were, and stuck to the other male's side closely. Once they reached outside however, it was like a building had been lifted from his shoulders, instantly feeling a bit better. He was so glad to be finally leaving that gloomy hospital, and even happier that they weren't returning to that hell they called a foster home. As they continued to walk down the sidewalk, Eric watched as Dietrich bumped into another male, who was rather plump and sophisticated looking. He was about to ask if Dietrich was alright, until he noticed the male slip the plump man's wallet into his pocket. Keeping quiet, Eric continued to follow Dietrich to the bus-stop. He didn't know the other was skilled in that manner.. but then again, one could learn some things while being in such a foster home.

    Luckily the wallet had enough to buy them some tickets and a bite to eat, so the boys settled on the bench that marked the bus-stop. Eric glanced at the ticket in his hand and rose an eyebrow. "So where are we headed..?" He questioned, looking up to settle his gaze on Dietrich, moving to set the backpack on the ground beside him. He hoped as far away as they could get. Eric thought for a moment before smiling some, looking back at Dietrich. "Il meglio deve ancora venire.." The Italian slipped off his tongue with ease, his voice soft. "In other words, 'the best is yet to come.'" He translated before lightly pulling at the sleeves of his shirt. He remembered his mother saying this to him a lot when he was smaller, always quoting it when things seemed to get tough. Thinking about it now, his thoughts shifted to the questions he'd always had about his past. Where was his dad during those years? And why couldn't he remember his child years like anyone normally would? It was like a big blur he couldn't sort through. His mother had told him he'd fallen ill... but that didn't explain why there was such a gap from his past. Sucked into his head, Eric didn't even notice the bus make its way to the side and stop, its doors opening. After a moment, Eric shook his head lightly and stood up, grabbing his backpack from beside his feet and pulling out the ticket he'd placed in his pocket. He waited for Dietrich to move in front of him so he didn't have to face the male driver by himself, and nervously stepped up the steps to the bus. Handing in his ticket, Eric moved down the isle and sat in a seat near the back with Dietrich, setting his backpack down once more before glancing out the window. Nerves began to build up as a fluttery feeling formed in his stomach, his hands fiddling together in his lap. He was nervous as to what would come, but he surely was looking forward to it.

  5. “We are going to fight. We are going to be hurt. And in the end, we will stand.”
    - Stephen King
    "So where are we headed?"

    Dietrich glanced at his ticket. "Port Angeles," he announced. He lifted the piece of paper and inspected it. "Somevhere in Vashington. Vhen I purchased our tickets, I chose the farthest location vithin our budget," he elaborated, referring to the stolen wallet. After he retrieved the money, he dumped the empty wallet in a dumpster near the hospital. "It vas expensive, but ve'll be far avay from Mr. Vilson," Dietrich informed. He lowered the ticket and surveyed the road, searching for the Greyhound. "According to the map at the desk, it vill take us three days to arrive," he added. He wasn't looking forward to sleeping on the bus or bus station, but it was inevitable. Due to their situation, Dietrich would be forced to rely on pick-pocketing for money. After they settled in Port Angeles, he may or may not search for a part-time job. However, Dietrich wasn't certain if Mr. Wilson would follow them or leave them for dead. He anticipated the latter, but Mr. Wilson was unpredictable. Hopefully, Mr. Wilson would forget about them. He pitied the boys at the orphanage. No doubt they would face Mr. Wilson's wrath. Despite his protective tendencies, Dietrich steeled his heart. He was free. No more beatings. No more drownings. Living on their own would be tough, but Dietrich was determined to leave.

    "Ill meglio deve ancora venire. In other words, 'the best is yet to come.'"

    His lips twitched, forming into a small, genuine smile. "Nicht alle, die wandern, sind verloren," Dietrich murmured. He brushed his bangs back, revealing his gemstone hues. "Not all those who wander are lost," he translated. Despite his effort, his long fringe swept across his forehead, dipping over his eyes. His long hair fell to the nape of his neck in thick, floppy wisps. He preferred his hair shorter, but haircuts were too expensive. Dietrich made a mental note to purchase hairpins. A bit girly, yes, but it was convenient. "Tolkien vas one of my mother's favorite authors," he admitted. During his childhood, his mother introduced him to Lord of the Rings. He loved the series, but he enjoyed the Hobbit. Suddenly, a Greyhound pulled in front of the bus stop. Dietrich rose into a standing position, slinging the strap of his bag over his right shoulder. He approached the door, climbed the steps, and handed the driver his ticket. He inclined his head politely, pivoted to his left, and sauntered down the isle. He chose the last row on the left, claiming the window seat. He dropped his duffel near his feet and leaned back, resting his head against the head rest. His wounds ached, especially his ribs. It was painful to move, but he endured. His bruised face garnered a few stares from nearby passengers, but he ignored their curiosity. Dietrich averted his eyes, noticing Eric's tense posture.

    "Deep breaths," Dietrich instructed. He draped a comforting hand on Eric's shoulder. "Ve vill get through this, Täubchen," he assured. He removed his hand and stared out the window. Minutes later, the Greyhound peeled out of the bus stop, driving down the road. Relief coursed through him. Seven years of hell-inducing nightmares were gone. Hopefully, they could find a home in Port Angeles. Two sixteen year old runaways would attract attention, but Dietrich wasn't worried. At least, for now.
    #5 Rowlet, Aug 10, 2015
    Last edited: Aug 11, 2015

  6. "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny,
    but in ourselves."
    Eric jumped slightly as Dietrich's hand rested on his shoulder in a comforting manner, his crazed heart calming. Nodding, Eric gave a tiny smile and looked down at his lap, his fiddling hands no longer shaking. He hadn't realized just how tense his posture had been, so he leaned back into the seat and let out a sigh. So they'd be spending 3 days on a bus? He could live with that. It sure as hell beat sitting in that bedroom back at Mr. Wilson's house. Of course they'd get tired of being in the bus, but as long as it continued taking them farther away from that town, the better. And Dietrich had been there for years! Eric couldn't even stay a full day. It was pitiful alright, but Eric wasn't necessarily all that strong. He in fact used to be rather open and cocky, but those days were long gone. What was left of his previous extrovert ways, was a tiny smile and skittish nerves. Eric closed his eyes to try and relax, letting his breathing level out as his hands stopped moving around in his lap. He couldn't imagine how relieved Dietrich must be feeling to finally be leaving this town. In all honesty, Eric looked up to the male, even if they'd only known each other for a couple of days. He respected him, and thought he was strong in his mentality. Slowly, Eric drifted off into a light slumber, occasionally waking when they'd hit a heavy bump in the road or doors would open for other passengers. His platinum blonde hair fell over his eyes messily, his facial features soft as he slipped into a drifting period, his previous tense shoulders easing into a relaxed state. He didn't want to completely fall asleep in case something went wrong, and because... well... he didn't want to cuddle up onto Dietrich so randomly. It was a sleeping habit that would not go away. And it didn't matter the person! If he fell asleep with someone or something (such as a pillow) beside him, he'd either wake up glued next to you, holding your hand, or gripping your arm lightly. And in most situations, it was pretty awkward. And so, Eric continued to doze on and off, sometimes sighing softly or opening his eyes a sliver to check if things were alright. Occasionally he'd check on Dietrich to see if he looked to be in pain, and even pulled out the pain meds to set between them in case he needed them. At the moment Eric didn't feel any pain from the wound on his lower stomach from the... incident with Trennen, but he was sure it'd start hurting after an hour or so. He felt a bit guilty for not heeding Dietrich's warning about the boy as closely as he should have, but with the offer the young boy had placed, it'd seemed like a good idea to go around the house so they wouldn't get caught. But in the end, Eric was as naive as ever.

  7. “Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.”
    - C. W. Lewis
    Dietrich stared out the window, watching the town disappear. For the past seven years, Lake Arrowhead, California was his home. He loved the beautiful scenery, but the town was vile, full of corruption. Technically, it would take two days and eleven hours to arrive, but the employee at the desk mentioned the possibilities of layovers. According to the worker, Eric and him would board several buses throughout their trip. Considering the distance, it wasn't surprising. Ride. Exit. Board. Repeat. Simple procedure. Dietrich wasn't fond waiting at the bus station for hours, but it was inevitable. He wasn't an expert on riding buses, but the bus route schedule was unorthodox. Not that he was complaining. Port Angeles was the most expensive route available. It costed them most of their stolen money, but it was worth it. Down the road, Dietrich would be forced to pick-pocket. Hopefully, his next victim was wealthy-looking. He couldn't risk pick-pocketing more than one person on the run. After they arrive at Port Angeles, his options would be wider.

    One hour later, fatigue consumed him. Before he drifted off, Dietrich picked up his duffel bag, unzipped it, and retrieved a regular-sized pillow. He nabbed it from the orphanage. He placed it against the window, using it to cushion his head. He zipped his bag shut and dropped it on the floor. Dietrich adjusted his position and rested his head against the pillow, mindful of his ribs. Due to his injuries, he couldn't slouch too heavily. After his eyes fluttered shut, Dietrich fell asleep. Light snores escaped his lips, signaling his slumber.

    "-up. Wake up!"

    His eyes snapped open. Dietrich rose into a sitting position. He surveyed his surroundings, noticing the familiar tiled floors and porcelain tub. Images of his last beating surfaced inside his mind, evoking a shiver. Dietrich crawled away from the tub, pressing his back against the opposite wall. He curled his knees against his chest, wrapping his thin arms around his shins. "W-What do you want?" Dietrich inquired, voice above a whisper. Bath tubs triggered his anxiety, courtesy of Mr. Wilson's "drowning" punishments. Unless Mr. Wilson punished him, Dietrich avoided bath tubs like the plague, preferring shower stalls.

    A scrawny, pale boy materialized in front of him. He was young, no older than nine with short blonde hair and gemstone green eyes. He wore a short-sleeved black, white, and blue striped polo shirt, white khaki shorts, and black trainers. The boy was a carbon copy of Dietrich, except his hair was a shade lighter. Suddenly, his appearance contorted, enduring a transformation. Livid burn marks marred his pallor skin, from head to toe. His pristine clothes lost their vibrancy, torn and singed at the edges. A seemingly innocent smile plastered on his boyish face. However, his mesmerizing emerald hues were cold. "Bath time! Bath time! Little brother needs a bath!" he chanted childishly.

    Dietrich paled. "N-No, Dmitri," he protested.

    Dmitri giggled in response. "Silly brother! You're filthy!" he chirped, pointing at Dietrich's outfit.

    He glanced at his body. A layer of soot and blood covered his skin, staining his singed clothes. Before Dietrich could react, a small hand gripped his wrist, dragging him across the bathroom. He struggled against his brother's grip, but it was surprisingly strong. "N-No! Don't! Stop it, Dmitri!" he snapped, fear evident in his tone. He peered into the bath tub. His eyes widened in horror. Instead of water, it was filled with blood.

    "In you go!" Dmitri laughed, forcing his brother's head down.

    "N-No!" Dietrich's head was dunked in the bath tub full of blood.

    Dietrich jolted awake, panting. A sheen layer of sweat accumulated on his pallor skin. He surveyed his surroundings, eyes wide and unfocused. It took him a moment to register his location. Relief coursed through him. He was safe. No more bath tubs. No more orphanages. No more Mr. Wilson. Dietrich leaned back, resting his head against the head rest. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, calming his erratic heartbeat. Pain blossomed inside his chest, evoking a soft groan. His ribs were throbbing. He pressed a slender hand against his chest, mindful of his ribs. Dietrich searched for the bottle of painkillers, locating it between Eric and him. He unscrewed the lid, deposited two capsules on his palm, and capped the lid shut. He leaned forward, picked up his bag, and brandished a bottle of water. He popped the pills in his mouth and washed them down with lukewarm water. He ignored the chalky taste and dropped his duffel on the floor. Instead of packing his water bottle, he held it in his hands. Hopefully, the painkillers kicked in soon.

    ((Picked a random town in California. Ignore the unrealistic bus route.))


  8. "If you're going through hell,
    keep going."
    -Winston Churchill
    Eric was in the middle of a light dream state when Dietrich jolted away, his breaths rigid and hurried. Eric's eyes flung open quickly, heart being quickly."Bontà! Stai bene, miele?" He stuttered out, looking at Dietrich with a worried expression evident on his face. "Nightmare?" He simplified, watching as the male popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed. His heart stopped beating so quickly as Dietrich seemed to be calming down, gripping the water bottle that rested in his lap. He didn't know what else to say, so he just chewed on his lower lip and didn't bring it up. He assumed Dietrich didn't necessarily wish to speak about it, or that it was personal, so Eric didn't bother prying. Instead, he tried to lighten the mood and gave him a supportive smile before speaking. "I've been meaning to ask.. what does Täubchen mean?" He asked curiously, keeping his voice soft to keep the quiet atmosphere. His striking crystal blue eyes watched his face with interest, arched eyebrows risen ever so slightly in curiosity. The German language intrigued Eric, with the way the words would flow off of ones tongue. He couldn't understand how some people thought that the language just sounded 'angry' or 'violent', when really, it was gentle and generally beautiful. In the eyes of Eric, that is.

    Eric leaned down to grab his dark grey backpack from off the ground, and unzipped it before pulling out a light hoodie to throw on. He got cold very easily, and despite already wearing a long sleeved shirt, he still got a bit of a chill. Eric slipped the black hoodie on over his navy blue shirt, already feeling warmed and comfortable. He loved long sleeved clothing. It was comforting almost, and he felt less anxious when having something cover his pale arms. It wasn't like he was hiding anything, it was just a habit and form of safety in his eyes. Eric thought for a moment before chuckling. "My granny used to call me 'gigante pallido', or, 'Pale Giant' since I was always pretty tall for my age and well.. my hair." He smiled down at his hands, thinking back to memories he had in the old and tiny bakery his gran used to own, always sneaking treats before dinner time. His smile faltered some however as he thought back to the death of his mother. A chair. Rope. A letter. Eric quickly shut the memory out, not wanting to dwell on it and make his mood bitter. But slowly, his mind entered into a distant memory.

    A room. It was a dull room, a window in the back as rain drops slowly slid down the glass. The walls were painted a faded blue, cracked in some areas as they waited. Mother was beside him, flipping through a magazine as a clock ticked away the seconds. It was his usual therapy session, where he'd be taken into a room alone to speak to an old man who went by the name Dr. Burton. They did this once a week, and every time, Eric dreaded it. He hated his therapy sessions. They made him upset, and he felt like a test subject being observed. But Eric would wait. He'd wait patiently like a good boy, tapping his foot against the tile as the clock continued to tick on. Then, the door opened, and Dr. Burton's wrinkled face appeared from the opening. "Mr. Grant?" Eric's head popped up, and he slid off his seat with a grim face, walking into the room Dr. Burton ushered him into. He sat down on a cushioned seat and waited for the older man to sit behind his desk.

    "Good morning, Eric."
    "Good morning, Dr. Burton."
    "I heard it was your birthday last week! How old are you now?"
    "I'm 12 now, sir."
    "Ah yes.. you're growing to be a fine man. Very tall as well."
    "Thank you, sir."
    "Now, can you tell me what's been on your mind recently, Eric?"
    "Nothing really."

    The older man clicked his tongue and looked up from his clipboard, frowning. "You do this every time, Eric. I need to know if something is troubling you.." He pushed on softly, his beady eyes staring at Eric. The young boy clenched his hands and fought back tears. His throat ached, chest stiff from fighting back the sob. He'd been holding everything in after all. It hurt to bottle things. But he could feel the words climbing up his throat, ready to spill out just like his tears. "I'm not normal, sir." He croaked, head tilted down towards his lap as his bottom lip quivered. "And why do you say that, Eric?" Dr. Burton was staring at him, confused. "I see things I shouldn't, I hear things I shouldn't, I feel things I shouldn't. What is normal about that?! Don't try and dance around it like it's not something to take seriously! It's not normal. I'm not normal!" Eric stood abruptly and slammed a hand down on the wooden desk. Tears rolled down his cheeks like a fountain now, dripping onto the surface of the desk as he shook violently. "And I want you to stop acting like all of this," he pointed to his head to get his point across, "is perfectly healthy."

    Eric realized he'd been staring down at his hands and shook his head, throat feeling raw as the memory slowly left his head. He'd nearly forgotten that incident. Why did it resurface so suddenly?

    **"Bontà! Stai bene, miele?" = "Goodness! Are you okay, honey?"**

  9. “It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

    - Finnick Odair


    Dietrich gripped his water bottle tightly, struggling to control the tremors in his hands. Child-like laughter resonated in his mind, evoking a shiver. He breathed in deeply and exhaled through his nostrils. "M-Memory," he admitted. Technically, it was warped, but it originated from a memory, nonetheless. His brother's image tormented him for years, leeching off his self-loathing and deep-seeded guilt. Each year, his brother grew colder and more violent, accusing him (Dietrich) of vile things. Sometimes, Dietrich experienced realistic hallucinations involving his deceased twin. Worse case scenario, it left him screaming and clawing at his skin. During more violent episodes, Dietrich loses his sense of reality. Occasionally, he pondered if he was losing his sanity. After seven years of hell, Dietrich wouldn't be surprised. Despite his desire to slit Mr. Wilson's throat, Dietrich was terrified of becoming what his brother wanted: a murderer.

    "I've been meaning to ask.. what does Täubchen mean?"

    He unscrewed the lid and sipped his water. "Little dove," Dietrich admitted. His lips twitched, forming into a small smile. "My grandmother use to call me that. I thought it suited you," he elaborated. Dietrich screwed the lid shut and placed the water bottle on his left side. He picked up his fallen pillow and pressed it against the window. However, he didn't rest his head on it. After his nightmare, Dietrich wasn't in the mood for slumber. Feeling chilled, Dietrich retrieved his duffel, unzipped it, and brandished a light gray and white striped zippy-hoodie. He slipped on his sweatshirt, careful with his ribs. He zipped his jacket and pulled the hood over his head. He owned two jackets: a black pullover and his current attire. Once they settled in Port Angeles, Dietrich intended purchasing more clothes.

    "My granny used to call me 'gigante pallido', or, 'Pale Giant' since I was always pretty tall for my age and well.. my hair."

    He placed his bag on the floor. "Very suiting," he commented lightly. Unlike his acquaintance, Dietrich was short, lithe, and scrawny. Due to malnutrition, he stopped growing at five foot seven. Regardless of his smaller stature, he compensated it with agility. Running in the forest improved his speed, stamina, and endurance. Unfortunately, his fighting capabilities were poor. On the other hand, he was capable of self defense. Dietrich glanced at his friend, noticing his demeanor. A frown marred his lips. "Eri-" A giggle cut him off. He averted his gaze, staring at the seats ahead of them. A familiar head poked over the left seat, peering at Dietrich. A sickeningly sweet smile plastered on his seemingly innocent, boyish face. He lifted a hand and pressed his index finger against his lips, gesturing for silence. He pointed at Eric and mouthed,

    He's next.′

    Dietrich paled instantly. His eyes widened in horror. Memories of his previous nightmare surfaced. Empty room. Bloody corpses. Scorching fire. One by one, boys from the orphanage burned, including Eric. He remembered his brother dancing in the flames, chanting, ‵All your fault. All your fault. It's all your fault. One by one, they all fall down. It's all your fault.′ Dietrich clenched his eyes shut and pressed a firm thumb against his bandaged hand, focusing on the stinging sensation of his wound. "Nicht echt. Nur ein Hirngespinst," he whispered hoarsely. He breathed in deeply and exhaled shakily, forcing his heart to calm. A few seconds later, Dietrich opened his eyes. His brother was gone. Relief coursed through him. He pressed his head against the window, savoring the coolness against his aching forehead. Hallucinations revolving around his brother never ended well. Hopefully, a less-violent environment dampened his night terrors and wayward figments.

    ((Nicht echt. Nur ein Hirngespinst: Not real. Just a figment.))
    #9 Rowlet, Aug 12, 2015
    Last edited: Aug 12, 2015

  10. "The journey of a thousand miles
    begins with a single step."
    -Lao Tzu
    Eric blinked down at his hands for a moment before looking up and over at Dietrich, who sat tensely and stared at the seats in front of him. Confused, he almost spoke up to ask if he was alright, when he hoarsely said something in his native tongue and opened his eyes seconds later. Then, it dawned on him. He'd experienced a hallucination, from the way he stared at the seats, to paling, Eric knew all to well. A trickle of sympathy rolled over him as he watched Dietrich silently, the male leaning against the window. "I understand, agnellino.." Eric murmured quietly, placing his hand on the other's shoulder comfortingly before pulling back. "Rest, if you can. I believe we're about to be dropped off at our next stop in an hour or more." He spoke softly, and leaned back into the seat with a small sigh, crossing his arms as he tried to get comfortable. He wondered how many times the other male had these hallucinations and nightmares, and if it were frequent or not. Nevertheless, it worried him. Hopefully leaving behind the town that'd caused this male harm would help. Eric didn't like seeing people suffer in such ways.

    And hour passed as the two sat in silence, Eric eventually taking some of his pain medication with a bottle of water from his bag, his stitches aching as his head throbbed harshly. The bus had grown progressively more empty, which was a plus due to it growing quieter and less crowded. Also, they got less stares from Dietrich's bruised face, which took off more anxiety on Eric's shoulders. He didn't like when others got stared at, whether they cared or not. It was just harsh. Once the pain pills began to work their magic, Eric grew increasingly sleepy, and drifted off into slumber. He was too tired to think of the awkward hand holding or closeness his sleeping self would ensue at some point. Eric sighed as his closed eyes twitched some, his head rolling to the side as it rested against Dietrich's shoulder gently. His hair fell into his eyes messily, features relaxed. He'd occasionally mumble under his breath or frown, his hand clenching and unclenching at times. It wasn't like he was having a nightmare or bad dream, it's just that he'd have little bursts of memories in his dreams that'd he'd react to. Eric pulled down at his hoodie sleeves and frowned, "Non andare." he murmured under his breath before opening his eyes a slit as the bus was coming to a stop. Noticing his closeness towards Dietrich, his face turned pink and he pulled back, grabbing his backpack from the floor quickly. "S-Sorry.." He avoided eye contact and looked to the front where the doors were pulling open. It looked to be lightly drizzling outside, so Eric pulled his hood over his head before swinging his bag onto his back and walking down the isle. Stepping down the steps slowly so he couldn't slip from the water, he hurried over to the bus stop that was thankfully covered. Pulling down the hood he ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly, still groggy from sleeping. "How long do you think we'll have to wait?" He asked softly, rubbing his eyes to feel more wakeful.

    **"agnellino" = "Little lamb."**
    **"Non andare." = "Don't go."**

  11. “One of the secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others.”

    - Lewis Carroll
    "I understand, agnellino. Rest, if you can. I believe we're about to be dropped off at our next stop in an hour or more."

    Dietrich flinched, feeling a hand drape over his shoulder. However, a familiar voice washed over him. Eric. He forced his muscles to relax, reminding himself Eric wasn't dangerous. Instead of responding, Dietrich nodded. He didn't trust his voice at the moment. He rested his head on his pillow, savoring the coolness of the window. His instincts screamed to remain awake. However, his body demanded slumber. One hour later, Dietrich lost the war. His eyes fluttered shut. He drifted off, succumbing to fatigue. Fortunately, nightmares didn't plague his mind. Subconsciously, he noticed Eric's change in position. On the other hand, it didn't disturb him. Thirty minutes later, the bus entered a moderately sized town, pulling in front of the bus station. An unexpected lurch roused Dietrich from his slumber. He cracked his eyes open, revealing hazy emerald hues.


    He glanced at his companion, perceiving his flushed expression. A frown marred his lips. "Vhat-" Eric strolled down the isle, avoiding eye contact. Due to his grogginess, Dietrich didn't notice Eric's previous position. He packed his pillow in his duffel, rose into a standing position, and swung the strap over his right shoulder. After securing his water bottle and painkillers, Dietrich sauntered toward the exit, inclining his head at the driver. He pulled up his hood and descended down the steps, careful with his footing. Falling down in his condition wasn't recommended. He approached Eric and sat down on a nearby bench, depositing his bag on his side. Dietrich smothered a yawn with his fist, rubbing his eyes sluggishly. He surveyed his surroundings, incorporating details to memory. "I'm not sure. It could be avhile," he admitted. He pulled down his hood and combed fingers through his damp locks. "How much money do ve have left?" he inquired. Dietrich inspected the crowd, observing different individuals silently. Outwardly, he appeared calm and composed. However, Dietrich was hunting for his next victim. Pick-pocketing in public places was tricky, so he needed to time it right.


  12. "There's always a wild side
    to an innocent face."
    "I'm not sure. It could be avhile,"

    Eric nodded and leaned against the pole that held the little coverage up over the bus-stop, and looked at his damp shoes. They were just a pair of beat up red Converse, their once vibrant color faded to look more of a rusty red. His gaze flicked upward as Dietrich asked for the amount of money, and he thought for a moment before replying. "Since we haven't spent any of it yet, we still have around $85. It was a secret stash for whatever needs the man needed the money for." He shrugged and let his backpack drop to his side limply before tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. He felt sleepy and leaned his head against the pole as the drizzling turned into rain. Eric loved rain. It calmed him, and he loved the smell it brought after it'd stop. He listened to the rain hit the concrete and other objects, sticking his left hand out to catch some of the falling droplets with a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes closed as he pulled his hand back into his pocket, snuggling into his warm hoodie as they waited for the bus to pull up. "What do you think Washington will be like?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled from his hoodie as he'd snuggled into it. He opened on of his eyes to glance at Dietrich before closing it again, smiling to himself. "I think it'll be a fresh start for the both of us." Eric mused, just thinking out loud.

    Eric took out his bottle of water and took a sip before putting back, taking a look around at their current surroundings. The town was pretty big if Eric had to explain it, some shops open around them that looked a bit modernized. He was about to return to staring down at his shoes, when a figure caught his eye. They were standing by a small cafe, their back turned. It looked to be a woman's figure, light blonde hair pulled into a messy bun as she wore a coat of red. That coat... he'd seen it before. She seemed to be talking to someone, and by the looks of her gestures, she was angry. And as she turned around, Eric's heart nearly stopped. His mother. That was his mother. His feet nearly started moving by themselves, heart beating against his chest wildly. No... it couldn't be... she was dead. And just as this thought surfaced, a young boy gripped at her coat, his face red from crying. He had a head of platinum blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. He couldn't see them, but he knew. Eric knew he had blue eyes, because that was him, and that was his mother. Eric looked away now, his heart aching all too much, and turned away from the hallucination as he frowned deeply. His heart hurt, and it felt heavy. His hands clenched in the hoodie's pocket, and unclenched slowly as he held back the burst of emotion. Surprisingly, he held up pretty well, and reopened his eyes to stare grimly down at his beat up shoes. He couldn't wait for the bus to show up.

  13. “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.”

    - Bob Marley
    "Since we haven't spent any of it yet, we still have around $85. It was a secret stash for whatever needs the man needed the money for."

    Dietrich nodded in response. He almost forgotten about Mr. Wilson's stash. When he purchased their bus tickets and quick meal, it originated from the stolen wallet. Wealthy-looking people were his main targets. They were notorious for carrying large sums of money. In his opinion, it was incredibly foolish and irresponsible. Not that he was complaining, especially in their situation. "Until ve arrive at our destination, it should be used for emergencies only," he suggested. He lifted his gaze, staring at the cold, dreary sky. Rain fell in a light drizzle, sprinkling the ground. Similar to Eric, Dietrich enjoyed the weather. He loved the smell of rain, especially in a forest surrounded by flowers. Sometimes, during his escapes, Dietrich laid in a flower field, allowing the rain to sprinkle his delicate skin. Thankfully, Port Angeles was near a forest. Back at Mr. Wilson's, running through the wilderness became his safe haven. It soothed him. After they settled in Port Angeles, Dietrich was determined to familiarize himself with the forest. Not all, of course, but a section. He wasn't afraid of wild animals, like mountain lions or bears. Ironically, being eaten by a rabid beast sounded less painful than seven years of hell. For a moment, Dietrich wondered if the boys at the orphanage endured Mr. Wilson's wrath. How many children were beaten? Starved? He pitied their poor souls, but it was inevitable. At this point, he didn't care anymore. He. Was. Finally. Free.

    "What do you think Washington will be like?"

    He extended his non-bandaged hand forward, flexing his fingertips underneath the rain. "Vet. Vhen I purchased our tickets, the employee varned me about it raining a lot," Dietrich admitted. He scanned his surroundings, inspecting the large crowd. So far, no one captured his attention. Hopefully, a snobbish-looking bystander passed by. Pick-pocketing in a populated area was dangerous, but it was useful. He preferred not using their emergency wad. "A new beginning," Dietrich mused. His bruises garnered a lot of stares, but he ignored it. Unlike Eric, Dietrich didn't care about the staring. Let them look. Let them judge. It was pointless fretting.

    Dietrich glanced at his companion, noticing his tense stature. A frown marred his lips. "Vhat is it?" he inquired. He followed the direction of Eric's vision, spotting a crowd of nameless faces. No one stood out. His eyebrows furrowed in response. "Vhat-" He cut himself off. Realization washed over him. Eric was hallucinating. Sympathy coursed through him. His expression softened a bit. Dietrich lifted a hand, but hesitated. What could he say? What should he say? Unlike his horrific nightmares and hallucinations, Eric was Schizophrenic. His pain paled in comparison to the torture Eric endured. Concern etched on his expression. Down the road, Eric's medication would run out. Would they be able to afford a new prescription? Doubtful. Gathering a large amount of money was time-consuming and tedious. Instead of speaking, Dietrich unzipped his bag and retrieved his ocarina. Music was more soothing than words of encouragement. He closed his eyes, positioned his fingers accordingly, and started playing. A beautiful melody emitted from his small instrument. A touch of melancholy weaved through the tune, creating a haunting quality. Several bystanders stopped and watched him play, listening to the sweet melody. One person, a man, mistaken his opened bag for a donating box and deposited a $5 bill inside. The trend continued, but most strangers watched or walked away.

  14. "There are two types of pains, one that hurts you
    and the other that changes you."
    Eric could see Dietrich's concerned face from the corners of his eyes, but he continued to stare down at his shoes. He wanted to tell him he was fine or that he'd manage, but he didn't quite trust his voice at the moment. He feared it'd crack from holding back the lump in his throat and give away his little facade he had going on. Slowly slipping into his head to dwell on unneeded thoughts, a sound of gentle melancholy music interrupted his thinking. It was if every tense muscle in his body relaxed nearly instantly, the sound of the instrument calming. Eric eventually glanced up to see Dietrich playing a small instrument, people around him watching with amusement, sometimes even dropping some money into his opened bag. His eyes were closed, concentrating or feeling the music he assumed, and Eric let his tensed shoulders loosen up as well. He knew the song Dietrich was playing vaguely, its notes sitting on the tip of his tongue. Eric lightly hummed along as Dietrich played, not loud enough where the passing people could hear him, and he lightly smiled. He didn't have a terrible voice really, but it wasn't superstar level or anything.

    After the song came to an end, Eric glanced at the other male and made eye contact briefly before averting his gaze. "Thank you." he murmured, loud enough for only Dietrich to here. He felt calmer, his heart no longer aching. He knew very well that he'd be without his prescription of pills for a while, but perhaps once they reach Washington and have a fresh start, he won't need them as much. It was something he could hope for, at least. "So Washington rains a lot? Something I'll look forward to." He spoke, making small talk for the time being. He was also trying to occupy his mind with something else so he wouldn't slip off into 'hallucination land'. "What kind of instrument is that? I've seen one before, but I don't know the name.." Eric asked curiously, holding his hand out to catch rain drops once more. His arm chilled with goosebumps as a water droplet fell into his palm, the rain rather cold. A different murmur of voices softly played in his head, but these types of auditory hallucinations never bothered him all that much. Besides, it blended in with the already buzzing town of voices, so it sounded natural almost. Sometimes they were comforting in some ways, especially when he'd be alone and going through a minor panic attack. They'll take his mind off the fact he's panicking in the first place, and sometimes they'll offer words of support. This was rare however, so he never expected it.

    "Excuse me sir?"
    Eric glanced up as a young woman stood in front of him, her curly black hair damp as her green hazel eyes watched him. "Uh, yes? Can I help you?" He answered politely and bit the inside of his cheek nervously. This wasn't a hallucination was it? No.. no people were also looking at her. She was real. He heard a sniffle come behind her as a young boy clung to her hand, his face flushed. He wore a damp t-shirt and jeans. "I was hoping you could tell me where this street is? I'm... beyond lost." Eric looked back to the woman and shook his head no. "Ah.. sorry, no. I'm not acquainted with this area. But.. your son looks cold... hold on." He kneeled down and unzipped his backpack, pulling out a red hoodie that was too small for him now anyway. He looked back at the young boy and extended his arm, offering the hoodie to him with a small smile. The boy shyly took the clothing and pulled it on, the ends going past his knees a bit. "Sorry that I couldn't be of any help. I wish you luck." The woman smiled and looked back at her son. "What do you say?" She rose an eyebrow. The boy bashfully looked up at Eric, "Thank you.." He whispered, and the woman walked away.

  15. “Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

    - Mark Twain
    Dietrich continued playing, gliding his fingers across the air holes flawlessly. He succumbed to the hypnotic pull, losing himself in the haunting melody. Dietrich tuned out his surroundings, focusing on enchanting his friend with his beautiful tune. Music was his favorite form of expression. Back at the orphanage, it was his primary release. He channeled his emotions through his songs, expressing himself on a different level. Sometimes, Dietrich yearned to hear the sweet melody of a grand piano. Years ago, before he was shipped to Mr. Wilson's Home for Boys, Dietrich played the piano with his father. He (Dietrich) was considered a musical genius, learning songs effortlessly. Despite seven years of zero experience, Dietrich remembered everything his father taught him. Muscle memory was more efficient than mental memory. A few minutes later, his song ended. Dietrich opened his eyes, revealing emerald green hues. He noticed the small crowd surrounding them. A few bystanders clapped politely, but the rest left. He glanced at his duffel bag, spotting a small collection of bills. Surprise flickered across his expression. Dietrich never anticipated the possibility of earning cash through street performing. He made a mental note to contemplate the possibility later on.

    "What kind of instrument is that? I've seen one before, but I don't know the name.."

    He lifted his head, staring at Eric. He glanced at his instrument. "It's called an ocarina," Dietrich explained. He fingered his ocarina gingerly, gliding his fingertips over the multiple air holes. "It's a vessel flute. There are many types. This vas the last thing I had from my family," he elaborated. He stored his ocarina inside his duffel bag, protecting it with a wad up hoodie. He collected the various bills and counted the money; a total of $20 bucks. He stashed the wad in his bag, zipped it shut, and leaned back, resting his lithe frame against the back rest. His bandaged ribs ached, throbbing with pulsating pain. However, Dietrich ignored the sensation. Since it was tolerable, he refrained from ingesting another round of painkillers. After seven years of unadulterated hell, Dietrich developed a high pain tolerance. Pain medication was considered a delicacy in the orphanage. Unless you were brave enough, like Dietrich, to steal from Mr. Wilson, several boys endured days without relief.

    "Excuse me, sir?"

    Suddenly, a young woman and her child approached Eric, asking for directions. He inspected the small boy. He wore a simple short-sleeved tee and jeans. His expression softened lightly. The boy was freezing. Dietrich watched his friend offer the child an old hoodie. A small, genuine smile painted his lips. After the family left, Dietrich shifted, facing Eric. "You are very kind, Täubchen," he announced. Without warning, a Greyhound pulled in front of the bus stop. He rose into a standing position, picked up his bag, and swung the strap across his right shoulder. So much for pick-pocketing. Thankfully, he earned a small amount through street performing. Once a crowd of passengers descended down the steps and dispersed, Dietrich climbed the steps, sauntered down the isle, and sat down in the last row on the right. He placed his bag near his feet, leaned back, and stared out the window. Unsurprisingly, his bruises garnered a lot of blatant stares. Instead of commenting, Dietrich closed his eyes, tuning out their whispering.
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