Convoke - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

Tom's hurting body was dragged from the dirt. His arm was slung around the angel's shoulders, and one foot moved clumsily in front of the other. The pain in his face turned into a dull ache. Othrowan whispered calm encouragements for him to keep walking.
Gerry was still yelling behind them, and Tom was suddenly dropped back to the road when Gerry shoved the angel. He curled into a ball, hearing Othrowan calling into the sky for help, and yelling at Gerry to calm down.
Soon, other hands were on him, pulling him up from the cold ground. Tom was familiar enough with the shape of Ezra to know he had picked him up and carried him quickly to the pub.
The world slowly melted into darkness, until he felt something hard underneath him, and warm hands holding his head up. As though he was underwater, a muffled voice yelled, "Call an ambulance!"
something kept his head afloat. A sharp pain across his face forced his eyes open. The world was too loud and too bright. He blinked emptily at Erza, who was sitting in front of him, holding his chin steady.
"Can you hear me?" he asked, searching his face with intense brown eyes. "Thomas?"
Tom could hear him, and wanted to respond, but he couldn't find the energy among the pain.
"What happened?" another voice asked next to him. "Who did this? Was there an angel out there? Where did he go?"
The face of his father drifted into view before Tom closed his eyes again. The next time they opened, Finn was looking at him, holding a pint of water to his lips. "Where's that demon gone?" Finn asked. Tom studied his greasy shoulder length hair, and the wrinkles on his familiar face, and was suddenly confused as to what was going on. His memory had started to betray him, and all he wanted was to sleep.
Someone mumbled, "he stormed after Gerry."
"Well stop him! He can't spill human blood, he'll be killed."
His mind drifted back into the dark, until he found himself staring at the interior of an ambulance, then an unfamiliar face who was full of eager reassurance, telling him that he was safe and to not sit up.
"Ez," Tom groaned, trying to sit up. His mother was quick to pin him back down. "Ez, don't let him, don't-" his mouth couldn't finish.
"He's okay," Moira whispered, holding his forearms to his chest. "Everything is okay."
The next time Tom woke up, he stared at a white ceiling with dull lights. He struggled to keep them open, but someone next to him grabbed his hand and said his name over and over until he found the strength. His mother was close to him with a hand moving brown hair from his forehead. "Sweetheart?" she whispered.
Tom tried to speak. His throat was too dry. He stared around but she was the only one with him. He closed his eyes again, extremely tired. His mother was still there when he opened them again, so he croaked, "Ez."
"He's not allowed in the hospital. Dads getting coffee. Neasa took Catherina home a few hours ago." Tom tried to sit up, but his mother wouldn't let him. "No sweetheart, you need to rest."
Tom couldn't remember what had happened. A round clock on the opposite wall told him it was ten minutes after seven, but which seven, and on which day.
"Don't worry, an angel took him, he'll be punished," Moira whispered.
"Who?" Tom whispered back.
"Gerry, for attacking you, don't you remember?"
The feeling of his fist hitting his face made him grimace. He closed his eyes, abruptly aware of the pain. "I remember now."
"What happened out there?"
Tom explained how he had taken the bin out, and Gerry came out of nowhere, mumbling about his daughter talking about Ezra. "I think he was drunk." He struggled to sit up, ignoring his mother's panic. "Go over there."
"What?"
"Go over there, I'm summoning Ezra."
"Ezra, is that his full name?"
"No." His mother searched her son's eyes and nodded against his hard gaze. She stood by the door and Tom rested back on his elbows and whispered, "Ezrakhell."
The demon arrived so fast that he was leaning over Tom after a single blink, and a thump of his tired heart. Ezra hugged him tightly and lowered him back to his cushion before pulling away to inspect his face. The concern told Tom that either his nose was badly broken or he was covered in bruises.
"How do you feel?"
"Tired."
Ezra looked towards Tom's mother. "How is his head?"
"He'll be okay, but I'll go and get someone to take a look at him. They might make you leave, Ez."
Ezra didn't care. He pulled up a seat and sat down next to Tom, holding his hand tightly. "I wanted to kill Gerry. I would have done if it wasn't for . . ."
"For?"
"Othrowan. He held me back."
"He was there? Oh yes, I remember now." Tom frowned, softly touching his tender face. "He threw Gerry off me."
"Why was he there in the first place?"
"Gerry?"
"No, Othrowan."
"He didn't explain when he brought me back to the pub?"
"No." Ezra's eyes darkened, so Tom held his hand.
"It's okay, we can talk to him when I'm out of here. I should thank him for helping me."
Ezra fixated on their intertwined fingers until he could stop scowling. "I was so worried about you."
"I don't remember much," Tom admitted.
"You weren't making sense. You kept mumbling about school. The locals were worried too, even the ones who have started to treat you like shit, which gives me hope that it'll get better for you. They clearly still care."
Tom was discharged later that morning. The pub was closed, yet Cal sat on the front step, eagerly waiting for his best friends return. Everyone insisted that he rest and maybe get some sleep, but Tom was adamant that he wanted to sit at a table with a strong drink.
As he did so, Ezra and Cal sat opposite him, both staring with equal concern. His parents soon joined them, matching their worry until Tom sighed heavily. "I'm fine. You can all stop looking at me like that."
"Are you sure?" Cal asked.
Tom had seen his face. His nose had two strips over the bridge, holding a cut together. His left eye was bruised and swollen. His left cheek was grazed from hitting the floor, and his bottom lip had split. He looked a mess, but he looked worse than he felt. "I'm sure."
Neasa rushed downstairs when the alcohol had numbed some of the pain. She hugged Tom, and apologised as if she had been the one to beat him in the dark. "Stop apologising," Tom said. "But this'll help with your divorce, at least."
"I don't know what the hell he was thinking!" Neasa touched his face as gently as she could. "He's never allowed back here."
"What will be his punishment for this?"
"I'll make sure it's severe enough," Ezra said lowly. The anger had never really left his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to cover it. "His frustration was with me. He should have-"
"No," Tom interrupted. "If he had targeted you, you wouldn't be here. They would've taken your soul. And I think he knew what he was doing coming after me. I think he was hoping your anger would get the better of you."
"It almost did," Declan said, returning with drinks for everyone. "I almost smacked him too."
Tom slumped in his chair. "He had been waiting for me, I think. I didn't hear him at all when I was putting the bin out."
Soon, the overbearing tiredness returned. Tom closed his eyes for a little too long and Ezra was next to him, gently pulling him up and guiding him towards the stairs. Tom didn't resist. He focused on Ezra's hand pressed against hid back, and the closeness of their bodies.
He got into bed, and Ezra wrapped arms around him and held him tightly against his chest. Tom thought back to when Ezra was an awkward shadow on the floor by his bookcase, too shy to speak first, too wary to share anything about his long life.
He smiled into him, but he gasped from the pain in his cheek. Ezra moved a hand to his hair, stroking fingers through it until Tom relaxed again. He focused on Ezra's gentle heartbeat until sleep claimed him.
Though his dreams were anything but calm.
Tom had nightmares all through the night about Gerry, and mostly about demons. Every time he woke up, Ezra was there to reassure him that he was just dreaming, but he would fall right back into another one. By morning, Tom could see why mindless locals were quick to blame demons for their misfortune. The lack of sleep could be to blame.
Still, he didn't have an overwhelming hatred towards them, especially not when he stared at Ezra's soft sleepy features. Half of his face was buried into the pillow. His black hair was sticking in all directions, and his hands were tucked tightly under his chin.
He covered his demon mark, and Tom yearned for Ezra to have justice.