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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 5 days

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Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: child abuse, abuse, ableism, violence, attempted murder, choking, grief, loss of parent/s

AO3 link

Chapter 20 - Wylan

The water of the canal was cold enough that Wylan wondered if he was going to go into shock. He swam without direction or plan, his heart skittering in a panic that refused to quell even as the sounds that might have been someone following him faded into silence. It had shocked him when he heard the splash that surely meant either Miggson or Prior had jumped into the water after him, but since he ducked under a market barge and came up the other side alone they seemed to have disappeared. Maybe they thought he’d drowned, or was at least well on his way to it - after all, as far as they knew he couldn’t even see the waters he was lost in.

There was no doubt in Wylan’s mind that he was borne aloft by adrenaline alone, and he knew that wouldn’t last forever. His satchel was heavier than he could stand against his back, dead weight slowing him down and pulling him back but somehow he just couldn’t force himself to relinquish it. It was foolish, stupid even, but he wanted to cling to the few things he had on him as though they were the only things left in the world. His flute dug painfully into his ribs from where it was tucked inside his jacket, but he couldn’t stop to try and readjust it. He had a horrible feeling that if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again, and would just sink quietly to the bottom of the canal. Maybe everyone would be better off if he did. But he kept swimming, though at some point it had turned more to desperate thrashing than real strokes. It was perhaps the worst place to lose his energy; the water was still deep enough that even someone considerably taller than Wylan wouldn’t have been able to stand, in fact even in the shadows he guessed you could’ve stacked two of him on top of each other and still not reached the surface, but he was approaching a lock and the walls either side of the canal rose so high above him that he could no longer see the sunrise. He felt panic beginning to rise again, and it didn’t entirely settle even when he eventually came across one of the flimsy-looking metal ladders clinging to the high stone walls. He remembered finding them disconcerting when he was little, like seeing them made it a real possibility for someone to fall into the water and be stuck, and somehow that was more frightening than if there’d been no aids there at all.

Wylan hadn’t swum in eight years. Not since the accident. Thank Ghezen for muscle memory, but he still knew he couldn’t carry on much longer.

His arms ached. He didn’t know if he was out of energy or just not strong enough, but pulling himself up and over the top of the ladder onto the pavement was almost painful. For a minute he just lay there, listening to his own ragged breathing and trying to convince himself that even if it sounded wrong it was good, because it was still there. The shadow of Prior’s hands was still tight over Wylan’s neck. It felt like hours ago that he had been standing on the boat, trying to watch the sunrise without looking like he was watching it.

Right here, Jesper had said to him, as they stood beneath the sunset just last week, moving Wylan’s hand across the skyline to show him its beauty. This is soft pink - like spring and cherry blossom, when you can kind of feel it in the air. Then this bit is like the jurda fields, and over here it’s a kind of gentle warmth, like late summer evening sitting outside. When the air starts to cool but it’s still comfortable and light. But then here - this is like sitting in front of the fireplace in winter. It’s warm, and you need it to be warm, and it makes you feel… safe.

Wylan’s mind had gone into overdrive. He could feel it eating him up inside to lie to Jesper, to let him hold his hand and guide him through the sunset as if he couldn’t see it right in front of him - albeit a little blurrily. But there was another feeling inside him too, something rushing and whispering as he felt Jesper’s fingers closing over his and realised that he didn’t want him to let go. His heart skipped and leapt as Jesper turned to look at him.

“Safe?” he’d whispered, as if the word was brand new.

Jesper had smiled.

Wylan wanted to cling to that moment, to the feeling of Jesper’s hand cupping his cheek, their faces moving closer. But the panic inside him, that gnawing feeling, the knowledge that he was lying and the knowledge of what anyone, even Jesper, would say if they knew… that feeling won. Of course it did. It always did.

He stood on the boat, one hand light on his cane and the other closed tightly over the railing, and felt the wind on his face. The air smelled of the Ketterdam slaughterhouses and the clouds far above were ruining a lot of the view, but Wylan was hoping that when they were on open water, snaking their way into the countryside, that the breeze would be fresh and welcome. He would be able to see the windmills and the fields, smell the flowers in the air, hear birds other than the squawking pigeons that crowded every walkway of the city. Maybe this was always what he’d needed; maybe he just wasn’t built for cities. He entertained that thought for a moment, immediately amused by his own foolish naivety in the idea. Wylan was built like a fern and probably not even as strong as one; he would be just as useless in the countryside as he was in the city.

Dawn glowed across the skyline and danced on the water; Wylan chose a spot on the horizon and stared at it, trying to take in as much of the sunrise as he could without letting anyone realise that he was watching it - that he could watch it. He fixed on an orange glow, tinged by the pink of spring and cherry blossoms, and felt the warmth of it on his face. Like the hearth in the darkest midst of winter. Safe.

When he turned around, it was to walk straight into Prior’s hands as they closed around his throat.

He needed to move. As much as he might want to, he couldn’t just lie on the side of the canal shivering for the rest of time. He lifted himself slowly on the shaking reeds he had for arms, and sat for a brief moment to try and push the wet hair out of his eyes. His cane had fallen into the canal with him but he dropped it on impact with the water; there was barely enough time to wonder if the pain the drop was burning through his chest meant he’d broken something, let alone splash around looking for the stupid cane he hated so much. The pain in his chest was still strong but Wylan didn’t think the impact should've been hard enough to break his ribs and when he ran a hand down them nothing felt swollen or out of place, but everything was still burning. He stumbled to his feet and tried to wipe the water away from his eyes. They came back to as close to focus as he ever got - the Tailoring in Wylan’s eyes made it a little harder to see, but it was hardly worth complaining over - and as the colourful blur became a slightly blurry street he forced himself to take a step, and then the next and then the next.

He had no idea what he was doing, but he just had to keep walking.

When Wylan was eight, a few months after his mother died, his father called him to his office. Wylan didn’t actually remember the conversation all that clearly, he just remembered the horrible feeling in his gut, the screaming in his head that wasn’t allowed to ever be set free. As his father spoke Wylan sank deeper and deeper into his chair, fingers shuffling where he’d wedged his hands beneath his knees. He barely even noticed that he was doing it until his father slammed his hand against the desk, snapping something about his posture. Wylan shot up faster than if someone had pulled on a string that ran all the way down his spine.

“Are you even listening to me, Wylan?”

He nodded quickly.

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry,”

He didn’t look particularly impressed.

“You understand, Wylan, this embarrassment must be contained. And if we are to do this successfully, it has to look realistic,”

Wylan looked at his shoes.

“Yes, Father,”

His father stood up and stepped forwards, clasping a hand on Wylan’s shoulder whilst Wylan tried not to flinch away. He gripped the sides of his chair so tightly it might have snapped in two.

“What good are eyes to you, anyway, if you aren’t going to use them properly?”

As he walked, wandering blankly onwards with no idea of where he was going, the slaughterhouses faded vaguely into the distance and the streets got narrower and narrower, until it began to feel like the crooked buildings were closing in on him. They leaned on each other and leered down at him in garish colours, every window was lit and most with candles low enough that they’d either been burning since the dark hours or the houses’ denizens couldn’t afford to replace them, and Wylan had the odd sense that every window was an eye staring out at him. The world was suddenly loud, with shouting and laughter and music and other sounds that Wylan decided he was going to pretend he couldn’t hear. He was in the Barrel. The one place in the entire city he had never been to - never wanted to go to.

Wylan stopped walking. He shouldn’t have done, because now he didn’t want to start again, but his feet had simply frozen in place as though they’d given in and were refusing to carry him any farther. Even now, his only vague thought was that he didn’t know how to get home. He had rarely been permitted to leave the house before university and even less likely alone; he barely knew his way around the Geldin and University Districts, let alone anywhere else in the city - let alone here. Any signs were few and far between but that didn’t even matter because he wouldn’t be able to read them anyway. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t go home anyway, could he? He was soaked from head to toe and had bruises growing on his neck, he didn’t have to dig that deep to know the truth of what had just happened to him and yet - and yet he was just a small, stupid child with no knowledge of the world or anything in it and he wanted to go home. He wanted to curl up in his bed, hide beneath his duvet, and know that this - maybe even that all of this - had been some kind of terrible dream.

He wanted his mother.

Perhaps that was the most ridiculous, foolish thought of them all but he couldn’t help having it, and as soon as he had it hit him like he was being run over by a horse. It was a physical pain. He wanted her so badly that it ached, that it burned next to the pain that was already bubbling in his chest, that he thought if he let himself keep this idea at the front of his mind any longer he may very well go insane. Wylan wanted to be held, to be loved, to cry and to be forgiven. Wylan wanted his mother and he wanted to go home. But maybe it was the truth of it all that was hurting the most.

Wylan wanted his mother and he wanted to go home. And he knew now, that both had been taken from him forever.

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