Title: Not So Heartless

Author: enter-witty-comment

Series: Tin Man

Pairing: Cain/Glitch

Rating: T (for now.)

Warnings: Beginning innuendo toward male/male relations (if you look closely…).

Disclaimer: I don't own Tin Man, nor will I ever. -cries-

Side Notes: Alrighty! Onward to the second chapter. I'm SO sorry it took so long to be made. I've had so much going on lately. It's been hell. Anyway, I've finally got this ready for you guys and, again, it's not beta'd, so forgive the mistakes. Also, it's a bit shorter than the last chapter, I know. I'll try to get a longer next chapter. On another note, I apologize for any OOCness or rushing of the plot. I tried my best not to do either.
Anywho, without further delay—enjoy the story. -waves-

Not So Heartless

Chapter 2: My Irregular Thoughts

"Get Him."

Jerking slightly in my surprise, my eyes snap open. I look around, not bothering to control my erratic breathing or violent trembling as I assess the surroundings. Flurries of emotion instantly cloud my mind as I realize that I'm not in the dank, rotting pit of a cell but am, in fact, in a lush forest. Relief is the first to make itself known; it washes over me like a warm rain, soaking up thoughts of Longcoats and pain. All too soon, though, the harsh realization of what must be the truth settles in—I am wandering the O.Z., alone once again. I try to stop the tears from coming, but find it's no use as they slip silently down my face, dripping down into the filth of my ratty jacket below. The sudden crackle of a fire rips through my reminiscence and forces me to the present, the silence hardly ever enjoyed rent in two as what's left of my brain whirs into motion.

When did I learn how to build fires? I think, gazing into the dancing flames with mild interest. It definitely would have come in handy earlier, I'm sure. But if I had known how to all along, why did I choose tonight—or is it today? I look up at the sky, concentrating on the question at hand. Minutes roll by, but, to my despair, my brain can't tell what looking at the sky will do to solve the problem any more than looking at the ground. The sound of my teeth popping sounds almost painful as I grind my teeth, my fingers picking at a stray hangnail as I try to keep from crying out in frustration. Once positive I wasn't going to shout if I opened my mouth, I let out a soft sigh, leaning back against the tree I had been dozing against before the awakening.

"Stop it."

My breath hitches in my throat as my body instinctively scrambles away from the sound of the growling voice. It sounded suspiciously like—Oh, gods. Tears sting at my eyes at the very possibility of meeting him again. Trying desperately to breathe around the hiccups, my fingers dig into the soil beneath them as I struggle to fight off a wave of panic as it attempts to rip from my chest. In a frantic attempt of my rationale to get me to function through my fear, a small voice of my own consciousness whispers gently 

into my ear; urging me to find the source. I'm sure the click of my brain turning back into action was audible as I move shakily to my feet, side stepping slightly so that the firelight could illuminate what lay beyond.

A crumpled figure lay not but five feet from my tree, writhing in what could only be agony as it coughs and groans. My fingers twitch as a sensation of what felt like recognition dawns upon me, but my body is still; unwilling to move into a potential trap. I feel my mind submerging me into a vague outline of a memory filled with distant shouts and white-hot pain; all leading to a faint throb in what I know to be an old scar. Blinking back into the present, I take a hesitant step toward the body to get a better view. It's shaking, back to me as it growls in a vicious yet nonetheless helpless tone. In an overwhelming bout with sympathy and sadness, I venture farther forward, brushing the tips of my fingers over its shoulder.

"Glitch…" the voice rasps.

"Cain." I don't register the name as it falls from my lips; it simply comes. I kneel beside the man, gently turning his body over until I can make out the face. The name is gasped once more at the unsightly grief-contorted features.

"Stop it," he snarls once more as his fingers claw into the ground, his anguish quickly melting into a raw rage. "Stop…"

"Cain." I breathe the name again, slightly shaking him. Then suddenly it hits me. DG's laughter, Raw's voice, Cain's face—everything comes slamming back into me with a force that sends my mind whirling. Though, strangely enough, through my brain's fight to process the onslaught of memories, one stream of thought rose above the rest.

This is Wyatt Cain.

"Leave him alone!" The pure emotion within the cry rattles me to the bone, sending me faltering over whatever words were about to come from my mouth. "You'll kill him!"

He needs my help.

"You're dreaming." A calm washes over me as I rest my hand on his shoulder and, suddenly, everything falls into place. "You're dreaming right now, Cain. It's just a dream."

I will help him.

Tears slowly trickle out from his cinched-shut eyes at my touch, trailing down the sides of his face and into the short prickles of blonde. My teeth clench at the sight of his chest heaving over a hitched breath—of which sounds dangerously like a sob. I can see the harsh creases in his brow intensify as the taut muscles of his jaw strain, his teeth grinding with a sickly pop as my fingers trace lightly over his arm in an attempt to calm him. He moans as his head jerks back and forth as his entire body contracts with an agonized moan. Parting to emit a final groan, his lips quiver slightly before closing. His body falls slack into the soil beneath him in suit. Though a small part of me is relieved to see the change, the good majority of my senses scream to ready myself.

And I will because I want to.

A blood curdling scream echoes through the forest as his eyes snap open, wide and unseeing; tears rushing down his face in earnest. He hurls himself upright, his hands reaching desperately out as a wretched sob is wrenched from his throat. I watch in horror and, for the brief second of him throwing himself into motion, my mind reels in a mess of misfired synapses and painful memories until I find myself close to screams and tears as well. He doesn't know what he's doing. Stop him. Just as suddenly as they came, they secede, leaving me gripping his shoulders; all trace of the fear and despair that I'm sure dwelled within me—or did it?—moments before are gone as I push him back onto the ground in a well-practiced move developed over the last few days.

Blind eyes fix on my presence and I am able to see the swift transition. Pale blue eyes shed the glint of fear, instead shifting into a dark swirl of rage and outright panic. His body tenses in response, falling back onto the animalistic tactics of fight or flight as he fears the worst. Lunging forward, he gives a sharp cry, but his attempt fails once more as I keep the steady pressure on his chest. Limbs begin to flail wildly, his eyes taking on a dangerously chaotic twist of untamed emotion. Tears of pain brim anew as both the pain of the blow to my nose as well as the initial surprise of the attack knocks me briefly off balance. I hiss, instantly righting myself back into position, blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep some clarity.

"Leave him alone!" he pleads, his elbow jabbing abruptly into my stomach.

"You're okay," I wheeze, my eyes closing tightly against the nausea. "You're alright."

"Please—please—he'll die…" The strong voice cracks at this, trembling hands taking up a handful of my jacket and clinging to it as he jerks me toward him.

"No one's dying," I manage to murmur, trying to hold my position as the tips of my fingers lightly brush over his cheek. Immediately he is stilled. The cloud is slowly lifted from his eyes, fading as the tears come to a stop. I keep the fingers strolling now along his jaw, waiting for a sign of recognition before giving him a small smile. Eyes widen slightly, mouth opening as if to say something but closing just as quickly. I wait.

"Glitch," he starts, turning his head so his eyes leave mine; choosing to focus on the patch of grass inches from his head instead. "I—"

"It's fine." It comes out easily; something said often these days.

There is a slight pause. "You're bleeding."

"What?" I frown, trying to connect those two together. Bleeding? Blood? Where? I turn my attention to the woods around me. Who—? I'm sure Cain could hear the click of my brain piecing the puzzle together as I look down, blinking at the crimson splotches blooming into his white shirt; as I felt the warm trickles dribble down my chin.

"Oh!" I scramble away in dismay. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drip onto your clothes—I mean, make them dirtier than they already are! That is, not that I think you're dirty, just that your clothes could use a wash. Not that I'm saying you smell bad, if that's what you're thinking—"

I look up and suddenly, while trying to figure out when I had looked away, see white. Everything is blank, like an empty canvas, muffling every sense I have. All too suddenly, though, I'm being swept away; a soft hum of static blows against my ear. Gasping softly, I open my eyes, not realizing I had shut them in the first place. An unnerving feeling in the back of my head whispers that the sensation is not new to me. I open my mouth to say the words that I know are on the tip of my tongue, but instantly lost them as my eyes began to wander across my surroundings. Where am I? My eyes turn to the sudden crack of the fire behind me and I have the uncanny feeling that I've seen this before.

"Glitch."

Brought back from the illusion of my reverie, I start at the voice. Spinning around, my eyes are instantly drawn to the red blotches on the collar of a white shirt. A Longcoat? It takes a moment to let the magnitude of the thought to settle in before I jump back, the bite of tears as they rise to brim against already raw eyes causing my breath to hitch. It has to be. They've come after me. I don't want to go back. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It— Blue eyes bore into mine and I can't look away, the irises forcing a wave of comfort into my convulsing brain; lulling it into a calm sense of clarity.

"Cain." The name comes out cracked and weak, causing me to flinch despite myself. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"I know," he says softly.

Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulls out a pale handkerchief, rolling it over in his hands as he stares at it. Finally he looks up at me, a grim look set on his face as he closes the distance between us, stopping in front of me to mop up a stream of crimson liquid from my chin. I blink, almost asking what the liquid was before a sudden recognition of the coppery taste in my mouth dawned on me. I grimace. Blood.

"Why am I—"

"An accident." He cuts me off, eyes not meeting mine as they settle on the gentle glide of the soft cloth.

That's all it takes to jumpstart my memory. Cain writhing on the ground; his clouded eyes gazing blindly ahead in helpless dismay—everything is slammed back into place exceptionally hard. Another dream. The familiar ache in my chest is back. It is as inexplicable as always but there nonetheless, as if Cain himself is squeezing unrelentingly at my heart. I hardly recognize the pain that strikes as he wipes the cloth along the bridge of my nose. His eyes are cold and listless, a crippling sadness choking the normal fire from them. Before I could open my mouth, the ache in my chest flares, as though warning me that I would say something stupid. I wait until his arm recoils to speak.

"How bad is it?"

He pauses. "Bad enough."

I flinch at the deadened tone, almost wishing for him to scream again; just to hear emotion in his voice once more. I look down and settle my sights on a small stone, no longer able to take those eyes on mine. The stone is silver, ridged slightly in what could be mistaken for engraved symbols. It shines slightly in the early morning sun, the sleek flesh glinting in the light; as if waving me over in excitement. 

The flash dances in and out of my sight, beckoning me to follow it into places unknown. Perhaps a place that won't hurt. The thought drifts by, nuzzling against my ear. A place that will take care of me. I follow the glint. Maybe even—

"Glitch."

My eyes instantly catch a pair of striking blue and my mind loses any resentment felt at leaving the light. They seem so sad as they stare into mine, searching for an answer that I honestly can't remember the leading question. "Yes?"

"It's not your fault." Where the emotion was once lacking, his voice now makes up for it tenfold. There is a blistering heat in it; one that needs to make itself known.

"Okay," I breathe, almost forgetting how to speak in the midst of such intensity.

He then stares at me—simply looking at me with those ice-blue eyes as he searches once more. Persuaded by the gaze, my eyes do not avert but meet his dead on, struggling to send the comfort they had once received back to its owner. It startles him, his eyes suddenly devoid of the fire, replaced briefly with a shock that is almost painful to witness. He soon regains his composure, though, the flames bursting back to life with renewed vigor and we stand, locked in a gaze that promised something that surely the other couldn't keep, for what seems like hours before his gaze drops. His eyes are slightly wetter than before.

"Let's go," he murmurs, squatting down to retrieve his hat that lay patiently on the patch of grass below. "We've got a while yet."

I blink. We're going somewhere? The thought echoes softly and reverberates through the empty cavern of my skull. It darts this way and that, filling my head with the repeated question with a slowing, dying voice. With one last failing sound, it gently grazes my ear as it squeezes out, flowing listlessly to the ground in a whispery haze. The thought dies soon after, leaving me with nothing to look at but a beautiful silver stone. Its glint captivates me; entrances me with its flickering dance that practically has it begging to be picked up. Instantly I am on my knees, cradling the thin, tiny thing in my hands. This is it. This is what will save me.

"You okay?" a voice beside me whispers.

I look up and see light blue eyes against my own, searching for something that I couldn't quite trace. Cain, says a firm voice in my ear. Wyatt Cain. Cold, icy eyes seem to warm at once; if only slightly. His eyes then drop to my hands, widening slightly at what they saw. Calloused fingers graze against my own as they gently remove the stone from my hold. I don't protest, though that ache in my chest began to throb as blue eyes begin to harden once more. They look back to mine, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips as he turned the stone over in his hands.

"My Tin Man badge," he says simply.

"Tin Man?" The term seemed so familiar.

"Yeah." His eyes move down once more to the badge, taking on a faraway look. "I carried this every day in my Tin Man days—even when I was off duty."

"It must be very important to you," I comment, not able to stop a smile.

"I don't know anymore."

I blink. "How could it not be? You took it from that box. Back at your house…I think." I pause for a moment, frowning. "Did you?"

He laughs as he looks at me once more, his dazzling blue eyes turning warmer than I've ever witnessed them while still on mine. "Yeah, I did."

"Then why…" My voice fades as a sudden static buzzes in my ears. I see him, staring at me with a strange expression on his face. Frowning, I try to speak, but nothing comes past my lips but a faint rasp. And then, just as quickly as it had shown up, the static is gone. I open my mouth to finish my sentence that I know I was in the middle of, but a crushing realization hits—I can't remember what the subject of the conversation was. I shrink slightly in embarrassment. "What were we talking about?"

"Forget about it," he says softly, a gentle smile gracing his lips as his hand settles on my shoulder. "Let's go."