Rescue

Hours had passed and Jonathan hadn't seen nor heard anything of Mayson. The streets were empty this time of night. Or early morning depending on your view.

Jonathan walked the streets in search. In memory. He looked around at his surroundings and laughed as tears spilled quietly from his eyes.

He walked over and sat down on one of the three swings. The middle one. He remembered a time that seemed so long ago when he and Mayson would play here at this park. Mayson would push him on this very swing. If Jonathan closed his eyes he could almost imagine he could hear him laughing, feel the pressure of those hands on his waist as he caught and pushed him higher.

He kicked his feet dejectedly in the dirt and sighed.

"Goddamn it, Mayson..." He sniffled and sighed, wiped his eyes, and gripped his hair tightly to keep himself from screaming.

Before he knew what he was doing he was up on his feet and running west. He didn't stop, he didn't slow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was glad for all the hours he spent running in school. His breathing echoed through his ears and his heart pounded with every footfall.

He rounded the last corner and sped up as he approached the house Mayson and Lucius shared. As he came to the front door he heard a crash and a scream. Without stopping he burst through the door, wood splintering forward as the deadbolt shattered the door frame.

What he saw boiled his blood. Lucius halted his movements and smiled menacingly.

His eyes were a cold blue. Evil eyes that would intimidate a lesser man.

"Ah, Jonathan. Come to join in the fun? He's got another round in him, I think." He laughed and pulled out of Mayson before tucking himself back into his jeans.

"Get the fuck away from him, Lucius, or I swear I'll fucking kill you," Jonathan growled out between clenched teeth, his fists tightening into weapons.

Lucius glanced at Jonathan's fists in disquieted foreboding. He'd heard stories about Jonathan Carson. There was a reason he'd kept Mayson away from him for the last eight months.

Mayson moaned in pain and rolled off the back of the couch with a loud thump as he crumpled to the floor. With the momentary distraction, Lucius lunged, connecting his large fist to Jonathan's face. He got a couple more hits before losing his upper hand.

Lucius screamed as pain shot through his shoulder and down his arm. There was a split second of confusion as to why Jonathan was no longer in view, and what that ripping sensation in his arm was. Then the ripping was replaced by white fire as he heard and felt his shoulder, elbow, and wrist snap. Then all went black.

Once Jonathan realized his opponent was unconscious, his vision cleared and his focus switched to the man lying a few feet away.

"Mayson!" He smoothed his hair from his face, careful to avoid fresh abrasions. "Mayson, can you hear me?"

Mayson moaned, his head lobbing to the side.

"Alright, listen, baby, I'm gonna pick you up and get you to your car and we're going to the hospital. You're going to be fine, Mace, okay, just hang on, love." Please be okay he pleaded silently.

He felt a warm pressure pressing against his forearm. There was a rhythmic beeping somewhere in the background, faint yet becoming louder as the haze lifted.

He felt tired and sore. His whole body hurt. Then like a levee giving way with the pressure of too much water, previous events came rushing back, flooding his memory within painful reminders of how big a failure he really was. Suddenly the warmth was gone from his arm to be replaced by soothing fingers in his hair.

"Mayson, don't try to talk. You've got a tube in your throat to help you breathe. You're at the hospital, you're safe now. Just let the machine breathe for you. I'll get a doctor."

He was only gone a moment but the panic was unbearable. He heard the beeping speed up and he struggled to breathe. Then the warmth was back latching onto his hand.

"Mayson, the doc is here. Try and relax. You're okay."

The doctor, a small, unintimidating man in his late sixties stepped into view from his other side. His voice was soft, grandfatherly like his smile relaxing.

"Alright, Mayson, I'm going to remove this tube on the count of three..."

Mayson squeezed Jonathan's hand and held his breath, his eyes closed tight so as to not see the offending object being removed from this throat. As soon as he felt himself free, he gasped and then choked. The doctor was speaking but he didn't hear him. He only heard Jonathan. He only saw Jonathan. An arm snaked under his head and a plastic cup appeared at his lips with a soft order to drink. The cool water felt good against his parched throat. The cup vanished and he whimpered.

"I'll give you more in a second. Don't want too much too fast, okay?" Jonathan told him as he brushed some hair back from Mayson's face.

"Are you in any pain, son?" The elderly doctor asked, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. Mayson didn't answer, but cowered into Jonathan, his body shaking from pain and fear.

"Mace," Jonathan tried, his voice barely above a whisper. Mayson looked at him briefly before looking back at their clasped hands. "Are you hurting?"

God, yes. His mind screamed. I can't do this anymore.

Tears fell and he closed his eyes against them before slowly nodding. Jonathan looked to the doctor and they shared a small, sad smile, then the small man gave him a dose of some painkiller Jonathan couldn't pronounce through an IV before checking his vitals and silently leaving the room.

Mayson opened his eyes when his door clicked shut. Jonathan smiled but Mayson could see how hard it was to hold himself together.

"I told them we were brothers so they let me in. It's not entirely a lie. I just left out "foster." I won't leave you, Mayson. I'm right here. You're safe. He won't hurt you again. Rest now, my love."

It was another two days before he opened his eyes for any length of time. When he did he couldn't help but smile. True to his word Jonathan remained steadfast at his side. He lay folded at the waist, his head resting next to his hip, one hand rested on Mayson's left knee, while his other held Mayson's hand.

Even in sleep, he protects me. What did I ever do right to deserve you in my life?

Mayson watched him sleep for several moments before his eyes wandered around the single room. Behind Jonathan and to his left was a large window that overlooked a lush garden. He could almost make out the path in the moonlight people take small walks on. He knew this place too well. He scanned his eyes to the right. A door that leads to what he assumed was an adjoining bathroom. A flat-screen was mounted to the wall, turned off.

A clock that read 2:30 and a large painting covered the rest of the wall. The painting, from what he could make out was of grassy hills with meadows of multicolored Indian Paints. His eyes then wandered back to Jonathan who was watching him with sleepy interest.

"Hi."  His greeting was almost shy and he blushed deeper upon feeling himself blush to begin with.

Jonathan smiled brightly, placing a chaste kiss along his knuckles.

"Hi." Jonathan sat up and stretched, his wrinkled shirt rising to show a bit of skin. Mayson blushed when he found himself watching.

"What?" Jonathan asked with a cocky, very knowing grin.

"Nothing. Shut up." He smiled but his face blushed almost purple. Jonathan laughed at his expression and the sound warmed his heart.

"How you feeling?"

Mayson shrugged and looked away. "Stupid. I feel stupid. This is all my fault."

"Hey, look at me." Mayson did. "This is not your fault." A small shrug and he looked away again. Jonathan took a breath to speak further but the words were stillborn on his tongue.

Now isn't the time for this. But don't for one second think this is the end of this discussion.

"I'm tired, Jonny," Mayson whispered suddenly. Jonathan sensed he meant more than fatigue.

"I know, baby." He kissed his temple. "Sleep. I'll be right here."

"Promise?"

Jonathan swallowed the emotional response Mayson's plea provoked. He sounded so small.

"I promise, sweet one. I'm not going anywhere."

Mayson smiled and as he fell asleep, allowing himself to believe if only for a moment, those words could mean forever.

Jonathan watched as Mayson closed his eyes, his hand gripping so tightly to Jonathan's as he slipped into slumber. Jonathan raked his thumb lightly over Mayson's knuckles, trying to keep himself under control. He sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his face. This was not the time to break.

This isn't your fault, Mayson. The fault lies on me. And it lies on him.