How Green Becomes Wood

"It is no concern," Dark said, waving one hand. Only the frantic beating of his heart could reveal he was not as calm and collected as he appeared, but Tristan was too far to feel nor hear it. At the request from the other man, he took a few quick strides to switch off the speaker, and then he wheeled his chair nearer to him, setting the breaks on so it would not wheel back out from under him. "Would you like help?"
 
With the music off, the silence felt nearly oppressive, but it was easier to bear. Tristan took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. He looked at the chair, instinctively wanting to refuse the help, but forced himself to assess himself. "Yes," he finally said quietly. "I think I could manage, but it would be safer if you helped. Thank you."
 
Delicately, Dark asked for advice on how best to help him, and then followed the instructions to the letter with a gentleness which would seem incongruous with the strength he had just demonstrated on the elder Walsh if it were all he were known by, yet perfectly natural if he was seen more with his toddler. "There," He said, after Tristan was settled in his chair, "How are you? Are you injured?"
 
Tristan was able to give him directions, and being in his chair instantly eased a lot of his anxiety. It was a part of him now. How he maintained his autonomy and independence. To be denied it was terrifying beyond words. He sat for a moment without answering Dark, allowing himself a moment to assure himself that he was okay and center himself. He ran his hands along the arms of the chair and the edges of his wheels as his trembling eased. Finally, he looked at Dark. "I will be alright," he said quietly. "I am a bit bruised, I think, but I do not think I am injured. Thank you. If it had not been for you..." he looked away, "I do not think that would have been true." Realizing something, he bent down and started feeling his legs. Those could be badly damaged and he would not realize it without visually inspecting them, except possibly for something like a broken bone, but his inspection turned up no serious damage.
 
"I am sorry for the bruises," Dark replied, watching Tristan carefully and stepping back apace. "I was going home, I am glad I came down this street and saw noticed the lights were on. I was concerned those who break your pots on occasion may have escalated."
 
Tristan gave a nod and glanced up at the visible one. "Yes. I... I hesitate to report him because he is family, but..." He looked away and down at his lap, gripping his hands together. "It is always excuses and reasons," he said quietly. "If it were anyone else, even a friend, I would have no problem, but... he is my father." He gave a weak smile, not looking at Dark, and shrugged. "That should not excuse him." He gripped his fingers tightly and then relaxed his hold. "I almost went. Yesterday. I strongly considered going and trying to be some sort of good influence, but that would have been about as much positive impact as a preacher in a dive bar, wouldn't it? I did not go because of you. And a bit because of Alec."
 
Dark inhaled deeply, pulling the stool the store had for Alec around so he could sit across from Tristan, taking it a little bit more slowly than he usually would. He sat in silence for a long while, first while Tristan spoke, then when he considered what to say in turn.

"Do you think much on the concept of mercy?" He said at last, now keeping his eyes on the younger man.
 
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"If you do at any point," Dark said, leaning forwards and resting his forearms on his knees. The knuckles on his left hand bled. "Are you undeserving of it? You may save all the mercy and forgiveness you have inside of you for those who have wronged you, and certainly there are many who may say it is a virtue to do so. Or you may save some of it, and give it to yourself."
 
"I had not thought of it in those terms," Tristan said quietly. He finally looked up at Dark. "I suppose it is similar to the idea that we are all our own worst critics, yes?" He almost smiled, but it faltered. "I just wish that I could do something for them, but what can you do for those who do not even realize they are in danger? Who have no idea they need help, let alone are willing to accept it?"
 
Dark sighed a deep, tired, ancient sigh and said, "There are no answers. I wish it were otherwise. I am seven years older than my own father ever lived to be. My chance at reconciliation was buried beneath rubble, and I have learned the way to win is to survive. We are not responsible for the choices others make, no matter what we may wish. Sometimes, the choices is not to pull them out or to leave them, but to leave them or die alongside them. If they can free themselves, it is a different story altogether. Then again, I am a pessimist by nature."
 
Tristan took a deep breath and leaned his head back, letting it out slowly. After a moment, he quietly repeated, "To win is to survive." He let the silence descend again for a few moments. "I'm sorry you never got a chance," he said, his voice still quiet. "I think you are right. I think... though it is dramatic to say so out loud like this, I think that if I were to try to pull them out, I would only die with them. I cannot make any choices regarding them. I can only," his voice caught a little, "let them know that if they really want out, I will be there. If they come to me." He lowered his head and ran a hand over his face. "I cannot do this any longer. I no longer have the anger to drive me like I used to. I never thought that might be a bad thing."
 
"That is what it means to become an adult," Dark said, an old scar deep inside him aching, "Eventually, all we have left is to live or to die. The anger burns down to the frame of you, then you rebuild. My foundations and my bones are charred black, but I have clothed them in flesh and colour. It is something like acceptance, or as near as I suspect I will ever see. And you are still young, even my Prophetess could not guess what the next decade will bring."
 
Tristan looked up at Dark with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and admiration. "You are a poet. But I am not that young, I do not think. I have been an adult for a while now. Even so, I respect that what you say may be true." He sat up with a sigh. "Truly, though, thank you for what you have done. Twice now. I do not know how it is that I am continually a child in need of saving when you are around, but I am glad that I can depend on such a knight in fire-scarred armour."
 
"You only left your twenties some few months ago," Dark replied, the look in his eyes difficult to pinpoint, "Wait ten years, thirty may not seem so old. Your twenties are all spent actually learning how to be an adult, it improves from here." At the praise, though, he turned his face away. Hating the part of him who truthfully enjoyed being able to throw around men like that as though they were nothing made it difficult to accept praise for it. Instead, he pressed his lips together and said, "I am glad I was able to prevent worse harm from happening to you."
 
Tristan smiled a bit. He could see in Dark's eyes the conflict. He would not know exactly how deeply that conflict went, but he could see it was there. "You are quite the paladin. You said you were passing by on your way home, though. You should probably continue on your way before your family misses you." He hesitated a moment before offering Dark his hand. A hug would be, at best, awkward, and, at worst, unwelcome, but he felt like some kind of physical touch was needed.
 
"I have made no oath, so I am no Paladin," Dark replied, walking over to Tristan to shake his hand. It felt sterile to him, but a hug too intimate. "But you are right, I should go home. I will say nothing of it to my sons unless you want them to know. Be sure to take care of yourself."
 
"For the moment, at least, I'd rather they did not know. I think it would only upset Alec, and Xander has enough going on," Tristan agreed. "I will do my best. Please be safe and look after yourself, as well."

He watched Dark leave, feeling suddenly incredibly vulnerable and strangely empty. He glanced around the room and rubbed his arms like he felt a chill. Logically, he knew that the odds of anyone else coming in or his father returning were very low, but that did not help the spike in his fear. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before locating his phone and searching through his contacts. He knew quite a few people through one contact or another, but he did not have very many friends. At least, not friends he wanted to call during a time like this. Still, there were one or two. After a moment of hesitation and battling the desire to "not bother anyone," he reminded himself how he would feel if the roles were reversed and called a friend. After making plans for pizza and a movie at their house, he picked up everything and put it away, triple checked that everything was locked, and left.

After about an hour in a safe place, he was ready to contact the police. It was not something he wanted to do, but this latest event had shown him he had no choice. This went beyond just harassment. If his father had wanted to physically hurt him worse or even kidnap him, he hadn't been in any position to stop him. Worse, what if this had happened during business hours? He doubted his father would have wanted witnesses, but if he had been bold enough to try, a customer could have been hurt. What if Alec had been there? If anyone else had been hurt because of this, Tristan didn't think he could survive the guilt. This was needed to protect himself, and if he couldn't manage the mercy to protect himself, then he needed to think of others. It needed to happen, and it was not his fault.
 
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