— I'll break you a hundred different ways —
“Because I can,” is Nightlock’s dry response to his son’s somewhat accusatory question, though nothing in his face implies that he is irritated. There is little that any of his children can do to rouse the sleeping beast within him; the one that eventually snaps, the one that would rather hear the crack of bones than any kind of excuse or explanation. He has not touched on that hidden anger in years; not since he chose to stay with Wonder. Though outwardly he was similar to the way he had been back then – stoic and quiet, with smiles few and far between – the corners of his soul did not feel quite so dark. It did not mean he found it any easier to express concern or love, but, it did mean anger was becoming more and more of a stranger to him.
But the sight of Thorn’s chest inspires something – something like anger, something like fear. The young boy turns towards him with what Nightlock expects to be a wounded glare and instead he is met with that gaping, bleeding hole in his chest, and he is sure the look that crosses his face is one he’s never worn before; the storm-clouds briefly chased away by a flash of lighting – concern and alarm but then, of course, anger.
“What the hell happened to you?” The words sound sharper than he had intended, and in a matter of strides he is before him just as he folds to the ground. He can’t deny that his own father is the first thought that flashes across his mind – he can’t think of anyone else in this land that would set someone loose with a gaping, unhealable wound across their heart. But Thorn’s quiet gasps draws him back, and he looks down at the boy and the pool of blood. “I’m real,” and though his voice is still rough it has lost all of its edge, and he lowers his head to brush his nose across the top of Thorn’s neck. “Why wouldn’t I be real?”
— and I'll make you remember my face —
@[thorn]