Sarah shoves her fist tight against her mouth to stifle her tears, it’s not babyish unless you’re sucking your thumb, Mr Matt said so, his own knuckles chewed red raw. Struggling out of bed – it’s no sanctuary anymore – she slides down beside it and huddles up there dragging an old towel around her as a makeshift blanket. It smells of dust and dirt but nothing worse like musk or sweat so she buries her nose in it and breathes deeply. She’s still cold but she doesn’t mind that, it’s better than the suffocating heat and press of flesh.
Eventually she stops shaking and swipes at her watery eyes. Lifting her head, she stares out the window at the dark night sky and remembers. Remembers when she held the door of the convenience store for blind man with a white stick and he gave her a dollar and told her to keep it for something important and that evening the her parents’ doorbell rang sharply and the blind man, Mr Matt, and his husband Mr Foggy were at the door.
Her daddy shouted and yelled and called them a couple of fags but Mr Matt and Mr Foggy kept on smiling and Mr Foggy explained how they were lawyers who they stopped bad things from happening and people could hire them to protect them for nothing more than a dollar. Sarah had looked at Mr Matt and he had taken off his dark glasses off, looking down at her so kindly, that Sarah had run up to him and held out the dollar clenched in her fist.
“Will you protect me?”
“Of course,” said Mr Matt. He took the dollar and bounced it gently in his hand. Sarah had watched the silver dollar fly through the air and dance over Mr Matt’s scrapped knuckles as her daddy yelled about how they couldn’t just break into his house and order him around but Mr Foggy wasn’t frightened at all, just said how he knew all sorts of important people like judges and could make life very unpleasant for people who hurt his clients.
Daddy had shouted some more and her mommy had too, so Mr Matt tucked away the silver dollar and picked Sarah up and took her out for hot chocolate while Mr Foggy talked to her parents. Mr Matt didn’t ask her any questions she couldn’t answer like the social worker ladies did and the hot chocolate was nice – Sarah didn’t expect anything to actually change though.
But from that day on, every time her daddy came into her bedroom, before he could do anything there would be a ring on the doorbell and Mr Matt would be there asking to see his client and her daddy would get mad but Mr Matt would smile and smile until her daddy got so mad he’d say, “Fine, do whatever the hell you want,” and Mr Matt would take her out for hot chocolate and then back to his apartment and Mr Foggy would be there blinking sleepy and say, “Oh God again,” and “Come in, come in,” and there would be a bed made up on the couch just for Sarah.
One time her daddy got really, really mad and he hit Mr Matt and Sarah had sobbed because she thought Mr Matt would go away and never come back. But Mr Matt had just laughed and said,
“That wasn’t very clever was it Mr Galbraith, hitting a defenseless blind man. Tch, tch, that won’t play well in court at all.” Then Mr Matt pushed her daddy up against the wall fists in his shirt, “Assuming it even gets to court and I don’t just go with my first impulse and beat you to a bloody pulp, do you understand me, Mr Galbraith?”
Her daddy said, “What the hell?” and, “You’re supposed to be blind for fuck’s sake,” and more and more bad words until Mr Matt shook him,
“I said, do you understand me, Galbraith?”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand you.”
After that Sarah didn’t have to go home hardly at all and Mr Matt and Mr Foggy’s couch ended up pushed across the room to make way for a camp bed because, said Mr Foggy,
“I don’t want her suing us for her chiropractic bills if she spends the next ten years sleeping on the couch.”
Then one day her mommy collected her from school and wouldn’t let her go. Sarah had been scared, but only a little bit, because she’d know if her daddy opened her bedroom door Mr Matt would come.
But in the morning her daddy had been all smug and grinning and Sarah had hated him with her whole heart. Her daddy was right though, Mr Matt and Mr Foggy wouldn’t be coming over anymore because bad men had broken into their home and Mr Matt had been hurt really bad, like nobody should ever be hurt, Mr Matt said so. Then the bad men had beaten Mr Matt and Mr Foggy until they died.
Sarah had cried and cried until her eyes were dry and hurting but she still couldn’t understand how the world could have no more Mr Matt and Mr Foggy. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. No more Mr Matt laughing and saying,
“How can you be worse at cooking than me, I’m blind for f-freak’s sake.” (Mr Matt always pretended not to swear if he thought Sarah was listening) and Mr Foggy would laugh and say,
“No fair, your super-sensitive snozz can tell things are burning before they even start burning.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense Nelson.” And then they would hit each other with the oven mitts, not hard or anything, laugh some more, and then order take-out. They’d even let Sarah pick her out her own meal.
Sarah loved Mr Matt and Mr Foggy and now they’re dead and she can’t bear it. She’s all alone, there isn’t anybody to stop her daddy when he opens her bedroom door at night.
She stares up at the sky, at the moon shining as bright and gleaming as the silver dollar dancing in Mr Matt’s hands.
As she watches, before the dark clouds can cover the light, a shadow breaks free and darts across the circle of the moon. For a moment she thinks she sees the shade of a great, black, bird.
Fill: Matt/Foggy The Crow AU. Major character death. Self harm 2/4
Sarah shoves her fist tight against her mouth to stifle her tears, it’s not babyish unless you’re sucking your thumb, Mr Matt said so, his own knuckles chewed red raw. Struggling out of bed – it’s no sanctuary anymore – she slides down beside it and huddles up there dragging an old towel around her as a makeshift blanket. It smells of dust and dirt but nothing worse like musk or sweat so she buries her nose in it and breathes deeply. She’s still cold but she doesn’t mind that, it’s better than the suffocating heat and press of flesh.
Eventually she stops shaking and swipes at her watery eyes. Lifting her head, she stares out the window at the dark night sky and remembers. Remembers when she held the door of the convenience store for blind man with a white stick and he gave her a dollar and told her to keep it for something important and that evening the her parents’ doorbell rang sharply and the blind man, Mr Matt, and his husband Mr Foggy were at the door.
Her daddy shouted and yelled and called them a couple of fags but Mr Matt and Mr Foggy kept on smiling and Mr Foggy explained how they were lawyers who they stopped bad things from happening and people could hire them to protect them for nothing more than a dollar. Sarah had looked at Mr Matt and he had taken off his dark glasses off, looking down at her so kindly, that Sarah had run up to him and held out the dollar clenched in her fist.
“Will you protect me?”
“Of course,” said Mr Matt. He took the dollar and bounced it gently in his hand. Sarah had watched the silver dollar fly through the air and dance over Mr Matt’s scrapped knuckles as her daddy yelled about how they couldn’t just break into his house and order him around but Mr Foggy wasn’t frightened at all, just said how he knew all sorts of important people like judges and could make life very unpleasant for people who hurt his clients.
Daddy had shouted some more and her mommy had too, so Mr Matt tucked away the silver dollar and picked Sarah up and took her out for hot chocolate while Mr Foggy talked to her parents. Mr Matt didn’t ask her any questions she couldn’t answer like the social worker ladies did and the hot chocolate was nice – Sarah didn’t expect anything to actually change though.
But from that day on, every time her daddy came into her bedroom, before he could do anything there would be a ring on the doorbell and Mr Matt would be there asking to see his client and her daddy would get mad but Mr Matt would smile and smile until her daddy got so mad he’d say, “Fine, do whatever the hell you want,” and Mr Matt would take her out for hot chocolate and then back to his apartment and Mr Foggy would be there blinking sleepy and say, “Oh God again,” and “Come in, come in,” and there would be a bed made up on the couch just for Sarah.
One time her daddy got really, really mad and he hit Mr Matt and Sarah had sobbed because she thought Mr Matt would go away and never come back. But Mr Matt had just laughed and said,
“That wasn’t very clever was it Mr Galbraith, hitting a defenseless blind man. Tch, tch, that won’t play well in court at all.” Then Mr Matt pushed her daddy up against the wall fists in his shirt, “Assuming it even gets to court and I don’t just go with my first impulse and beat you to a bloody pulp, do you understand me, Mr Galbraith?”
Her daddy said, “What the hell?” and, “You’re supposed to be blind for fuck’s sake,” and more and more bad words until Mr Matt shook him,
“I said, do you understand me, Galbraith?”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand you.”
After that Sarah didn’t have to go home hardly at all and Mr Matt and Mr Foggy’s couch ended up pushed across the room to make way for a camp bed because, said Mr Foggy,
“I don’t want her suing us for her chiropractic bills if she spends the next ten years sleeping on the couch.”
Then one day her mommy collected her from school and wouldn’t let her go. Sarah had been scared, but only a little bit, because she’d know if her daddy opened her bedroom door Mr Matt would come.
But in the morning her daddy had been all smug and grinning and Sarah had hated him with her whole heart. Her daddy was right though, Mr Matt and Mr Foggy wouldn’t be coming over anymore because bad men had broken into their home and Mr Matt had been hurt really bad, like nobody should ever be hurt, Mr Matt said so. Then the bad men had beaten Mr Matt and Mr Foggy until they died.
Sarah had cried and cried until her eyes were dry and hurting but she still couldn’t understand how the world could have no more Mr Matt and Mr Foggy. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right. No more Mr Matt laughing and saying,
“How can you be worse at cooking than me, I’m blind for f-freak’s sake.” (Mr Matt always pretended not to swear if he thought Sarah was listening) and Mr Foggy would laugh and say,
“No fair, your super-sensitive snozz can tell things are burning before they even start burning.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense Nelson.” And then they would hit each other with the oven mitts, not hard or anything, laugh some more, and then order take-out. They’d even let Sarah pick her out her own meal.
Sarah loved Mr Matt and Mr Foggy and now they’re dead and she can’t bear it. She’s all alone, there isn’t anybody to stop her daddy when he opens her bedroom door at night.
She stares up at the sky, at the moon shining as bright and gleaming as the silver dollar dancing in Mr Matt’s hands.
As she watches, before the dark clouds can cover the light, a shadow breaks free and darts across the circle of the moon. For a moment she thinks she sees the shade of a great, black, bird.