Tom took a drag on his cigarette, just half wishing that Cal would wake up and just destroy that little pissant boy that was out cold on the cell floor next to Cal, but he knew the Darkness was over taking him, and that idea made him feel even sicker. Instead, every time that Wil would start to stir, Tom would slam his head back into the floor, again, shutting him up in a nice sleepy land of unconsciousness while he waited for Peter to return.
If he didn’t return soon, the boy was dead. It was that simple. He wasn’t going to piss off his time there for some faerie who ran away.
It’d been two days and he hadn’t left the cell room save for nessessities ... and he hadn’t eaten much, either. He wasn’t leaving his Cal. His only worry were the eggs at home, but they didn’t need to eat and were for now safe tucked away in the lair that was guarded by multiple security technologies.
Finally, he could sense a change in wind, and the scent of Peter returning. “’’Bout time~. Was beginning to think you truly did abandon your son~,” he stated with a roll of his tone, until he suddenly picked up another scent just a little behind his.
With a drop in his entire chest, Tom suddenly turned around to actually see Peter standing there, along with ..... his .. son ...
Tom’s heart slammed into his chest. “Devrim ...?”
