FlareDarkStorm

Hamlet closes his eyes and starts soothingly running his fingers through Macbeth's hair, “yeah, you're really here. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again Macbeth.”

Macbeth immediately breaks. He starts sobbing loudly. He shoves his face into Hamlet's shirt, and clutches the fabric like his life depends on his grip on it. Hamlet soothes Macbeth patiently, letting the boy cry out his feelings. Tears threaten Hamlet's eyes too, but he keeps his own emotions in check for now.

“Hey, let's eat, and then I'll take you somewhere nice. How does that sound?” Hamlet smiles as he gently squeezes Macbeth.

Macbeth sniffles as he looks up at Hamlet. He nods quietly and calms himself concerningly quickly. Hamlet notes how easily Macbeth hides his emotions. The more he learns about Macbeth, the more his concern grows. Hamlet smiles at Macbeth and guides him to the kitchen. He opens the fridge to show Macbeth what's inside. He takes some eggs out, and begins showing Macbeth how to cook them with a smile. Macbeth gives Hamlet his full attention, eyes wide. Hamlet genuinely smiles at the boy. Macbeth insists he makes his own eggs after watching Hamlet. Hamlet nods and guides the boy with a smile. Macbeth does well, clearly a quick learner.

The pair eat their breakfasts quietly. Hamlet doesn't want to be overbearing, and Macbeth doesn't know how to make small talk. He doesn't even know what small talk is. Macbeth eats voraciously. Hamlet watches Macbeth quietly, doing nothing to correct his poor manners.

Once they both finish Hamlet cleans up. Then, he gathers a proper outfit for Macbeth. He lets the boy change in his bedroom, and he himself changes into a brown suit with a white shirt and a green tie. The tie matches his eye color, and the suit compliments his slightly messy, dark brown hair. He's adjusting his tie when Macbeth steps out, wearing a black t-shirt that contrasts his sickly pale skin, and blue jeans that are just a bit too big for him. The boy's black hair is a knotted mess, but not as long as one would expect for someone so neglected. Hamlet starts brushing Macbeth's hair gently, smiling. Macbeth doesn't protest, sitting quietly.

“You're very quiet, Macbeth,” Hamlet states as he brushes.

Macbeth shrugs, “I've never had someone to talk to.”

“Then how did you learn to speak?” Hamlet stops brushing his hair to look at him, curious.

“I listened to the scientists through the door.”

Hamlet frowns, resuming his brushing, “what scientists?”

Macbeth shrugs again, nonchalant as he speaks, “the ones in the bunker. They couldn't believe I was still alive.”

Hamlet pauses, staring at Macbeth, “why was that?”

“They thought I should have ‘starved’, whatever that means. They expected me to die years ago, apparently,” Macbeth is far too calm as he speaks bluntly.

Hamlet stares at Macbeth in disbelief, “you…really have never eaten? In how many years?”

Macbeth nods, “they said I hadn't eaten in eight years. Since they took me.”

“Took you from who?” Hamlet's expression hardens as he speaks.

Macbeth shrugs.

“How old were you when they took you?”

Macbeth shrugs again, “less than a year, from what they said.”

Hamlet is at a loss for words. He stares at Macbeth with his mouth hanging open for nearly a minute, frozen. Macbeth looks at Hamlet curiously.

“Are you okay?”

Hamlet takes a moment to respond, “are you? What did they do to you?”

Macbeth shakes his head, “I'm in a lot of pain…I don't remember them doing anything. I was in an empty, dark room for as long as I can remember. Someone accidentally opened the door, and I ran as fast as I could. I tried to free another little girl, but…”

Macbeth cuts himself off, tears welling up in his eyes. Hamlet's eyes widen as he gently pulls Macbeth into a tight hug. Macbeth starts to shake before finally breaking down into sobs.

Hamlet cradles Macbeth's head with one hand, “you're safe now, I promise.”

Macbeth lets out a shaky sob, “they killed her. They killed us both.”

Hamlet holds Macbeth tightly, frowning as he speaks, “they…killed you?”

Macbeth nods and looks up at Hamlet with teary eyes, “I heard a loud bang, and she collapsed. Then I heard another, and it all went black…Next thing I knew, I was buried in a little hole. Her body was on top of me…Her body was rotting…”

“That's why you were kneeling in front of a grave…” Hamlet frowns as he gently cups Macbeth's cheeks.

Macbeth nods, sniffling as he grabs Hamlet's shirt, “I buried her…She should've lived. I should've-”

Hamlet shakes his head as he cuts Macbeth off, “no, that wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I won't let them hurt you again for as long as I live. You're safe here.”

Hamlet frowns and nods as he stares at Macbeth. Hamlet takes out his phone and sends a text before touching Macbeth's shoulder. He gently guides Macbeth through the house; showing him each room and explaining their purpose before stopping in front of the bathroom.

“We're gonna get you cleaned off, alright? I'll get you some new clothes, and my friend is gonna help show you how to wash yourself, okay buddy?” Hamlet smiles reassuringly as he speaks.

Macbeth nods and looks at the mirror in the bathroom curiously. Hamlet visibly grows anxious and steps closer to the mirror, trying to block Macbeth's view a bit.

“Hey, let me show you how the water works,” Hamlet tries to distract Macbeth from the mirror.

Macbeth seems to catch on, and quickly looks at the mirror again. A figure appears behind him in the reflection, and steps closer. A pale woman with blood running down her face and matted red hair comes into view. Hamlet grimaces and quickly turns to Macbeth to comfort him, expecting the boy to be afraid. Macbeth instead stares at the woman in the mirror with curiosity. He shows no fear, only genuine interest. The woman in the reflection reaches towards him, gently touching his shoulder, and Macbeth feels her touch instantly. The woman peeks over his shoulder from behind him with a kind smile. Her real appearance is very normal, a pale, red haired woman with blue eyes and smooth skin. The blood is gone, but her reflection strangely still reflects the scarier version of her.

“Sorry about that sweetheart, I wasn't trying to scare you,” the woman says, smiling at Macbeth.

Hamlet sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “I told you he was a child, and you show up right when he looks in the mirror?”

The woman rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at Hamlet, “he's fine, aren't ya sweetie?”

Macbeth stares at her curiously before nodding, “how did you do that?”

The woman giggles as she speaks, “have you ever heard of Bloody Mary?”

Macbeth shakes his head. Mary frowns as she watches the confusion in his eyes. Hamlet kneels next to Macbeth and pats his back comfortingly.

He speaks with a soft smile, “this is my friend Mary. She's the sweetest, but she looks scary in mirrors. I asked her to help you out while I go and buy you some new clothes.”

Mary nods firmly, “we're gonna get you a bath, and some yummy food, alright darling?”

Macbeth is visibly confused, concerning Mary. Hamlet nods and gives Mary a silent look. Mary seems to understand, nodding to Hamlet before guiding Macbeth to the bathtub. She shows him how to turn the water on as Hamlet exits the room.

As he nears the boy he sees freshly disturbed dirt, and a makeshift grave marker. The boy, no older than ten, kneels at the edge of the disturbed dirt, staring at it silently. Then the man notices what the boy is covered in. Blood, dirt, and rot cover his skin. His clothes are torn, and stained to a concerning degree. There are twigs and leaves in his matted, black hair. The boy has blackened, dried blood on his face like it had poured from his head long ago, and his eyes are bloodshot.

The man clenches his fists as he speaks in a gentle tone, “are you alright, buddy?”

The boy does not respond, nor does he move.

“Is there somebody that can come and get you home?” the man questions, concerned.

The boy continues to stare at the makeshift headstone as if in a trance.

The man gently places his hand on the boy's shoulder, frowning as a stench hits his nose. It's a scent he's unfortunately familiar with, decomposing flesh. The boy finally turns his head towards the man. The boy's movements are slow, mechanical. The man smiles weakly at the boy, trying to lighten the boy's mood.

“My name is Hamlet, what's yours?”

The boy says nothing, but he tilts his head to the left in acknowledgement. Hamlet's smile fades as he kneels beside the boy.

“Do you have somewhere to go, buddy? Someone that can help you?”

The boy looks at the makeshift grave in contemplation. He takes a deep breath before clenching his fists, further tearing his threadbare pants.

The boy forms his words slowly, as if speaking is something he isn't used to, “they killed her…”

Hamlet looks at the makeshift grave and sighs, “you buried her on your own?”

The boy looks at Hamlet and speaks slowly, “yes…she didn't deserve any of this…”

“What was her name?” Hamlet gently places a hand on the boy's shoulder as he asks, trying to comfort him.

“I don't know,” the boy looks ashamed of this.

Hamlet gently squeezes the boy's shoulder, “I'm sorry…do you need somewhere safe?”

The boy looks at Hamlet with wide eyes before his small spark of hope quickly fades, “I have nowhere to go…”

Hamlet nods and slowly stands, offering his hand, “come on then. Let's get you a bath, and some food.”

The boy looks at Hamlet in confusion, “what's ‘food’?”

Hamlet's heart hurts when he hears that, “you've never heard that word? It's the stuff you eat.”

“Eat?”

Hamlet frowns and mimes the act of eating slowly for the boy, trying to explain what eating is. The boy stares at Hamlet in wonder, genuinely confused.

The boy speaks with curiosity, “I've never done that before.”

“You must have, I'll show you when we get there. Follow me buddy,” Hamlet speaks with determination, offering the boy his hand again.

The boy stares at Hamlet's hand for a long moment before quietly taking it. Hamlet slowly helps the boy to his feet, and guides him carefully to a black car. The boy stumbles along beside Hamlet, clearly fatigued and weak. Hamlet patiently helps the boy along before opening the back door to his car and helping the boy into the seat. The boy is awkward, especially as Hamlet buckles his seatbelt for him.

“What's this thing?” the boy asks, looking around the car in wonder.

Hamlet smiles kindly at the boy, “it's a car, it moves faster than walking.”

Hamlet enters the driver's seat quietly, trying to act positive for the boy. He double checks that the boy is buckled and ready before he starts driving. The boy gasps, staring out the window in amazement.

“What's your name, buddy?” Hamlet asks, looking at the boy in the rear view mirror.

The boy's head snaps to look at Hamlet, and he frowns, “I don't have one…”

Hamlet frowns and glances back at the boy, “well that just won't do! How about we call you Macbeth?”

The boy stares at Hamlet still, “Mac…beth…okay.”

Hamlet nods, sighing softly, “it's okay Macbeth, I'll make sure you're taken care of.”