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williamsnowdon · 5 years ago

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an alternate reality of one night on the reeperbahn, twenty-odd years ago. a possibility of what could have been.

[content warnings: child prostitution, child neglect, trauma]

It was a damnably cold night.

William Pinke Snowdon blew on his fingertips, mildly cursing his penchant for fingerless gloves before sticking his hands fruitlessly back into the pockets of his peacoat; even with the collar turned up, it didn't do much against the chill. He'd been in Hamburg before, a few years ago on some wild chase for a set of vegetable ivory buttons with pewter-worked raspberries on them -- a coup for the British Button Society, indeed -- but that hadn't brought him anywhere near what he was looking at now. Smack dab in the middle of Talstrasse, watching the boys of varying ages sell themselves to whoever came looking.

Varying ages, the nymph repeated mentally in shuddering horror. Too young, was the truth, all of them. And particularly the one boy he was looking for, although all he had to go by was a small photograph of the child at eight years old. It was a horrible thought. Will didn't like to connect the memory of that small, rosy-cheeked, excitable child (or his nanny) to the dark sordidness of where he was stood now, with the wet damp creeping up through the soft soles of his Hush Puppies.

But, he reminded himself with a sigh as he gave a weak smile and shake of the head to a boy who was approaching him, angling himself awkwardly away to move down the pavement, that was exactly why he was in the Reeperbahn. Was to find that boy.

And as Will watched one of the young prostitutes step back from the window of a Mercedes that kept gliding smoothly down the street, he realized with a sharp catch of breath that, after six useless nights out searching, he might have finally found his quarry.

One who was fairly popular among the customers, it might seem.

Hurrying over, Will cut in front of a jittery man who seemed to be heading straight for Freddie -- he cursed floridly but directed himself elsewhere, thank goodness -- and came up short in front of the boy himself. Barely dressed, in his ripped-up clothes, but Will forced down the pang of sadness and asked in a rush of warm breath, "I can't believe I've found you -- do you remember me?"

It wasn’t that Freddie wasn’t used to eager punters jumping the queue, so to speak, to get to him - he was one of the busiest boys on the street, and had been since he’d first set up shop on this corner - but it was the way this man looked at him that threw him. The sorrowful relief in this man’s eyes as he looked him over, that made Freddie somehow, inexplicably, feel as though he wanted to cover up a bit. Nevermind the vaguely delusional claim that Freddie should remember him, which was just icing on the cake. So the fairy pushed down his uncharacteristic swell of self-consciousness, and smiled his best most seductive smile, coquettish and bold all at once.

“I should do, shouldn’t I?” he murmured, “Considering your accent - but somehow, darling, your name escapes me.” Freddie stepped closer into the older man’s personal space and laid a cold hand on his chest. “So why don’t you take me somewhere and remind me, yeah? I’m sure my memory just needs a bit of refreshing.”

He leaned in closer, plump lips teasing at this nutter’s earlobe. “Have you got a room close by, love?” he asked, “Or shall we get a kabin up at Erotixx? Either suits me, and then you can teach me not to forget your name again, hm?” The teenager insinuated himself closer, hoping to leach a bit of warmth from the older man in the meantime. “How much are you willing to spend, darling, eh? Because for the right price, we can be old friends, you and I…”

The hand on his chest brought a startled sound popping from Will's lips before he could stop himself, and it was only with another gust of self-control that he kept from pulling back entirely. Even with Freddie's warm mouth at his ear, proposing prospective locales for them to do … whatever it was that men his age did with boys that age, and Will, dizzy, set his palm gently against Freddie's hip in some instinctive effort to keep him close. Now that he'd found Freddie Watts, he wasn't about to lose him again, not through something as clumsy as open rejection of the boy's sole locus of control.

Steady on, old boy. He's managed to survive this life, you can manage to put on an act for however long it takes to get him safe.

Drawing in a breath, Will nodded -- although he didn't give up the idea that Freddie's childhood memories might be jogged, with just a little more jostling. "My name's Will," he said, and then tried, "--Uncle Will?"

A titter from one of the nearby boys who Freddie'd been huddled with made Will acutely aware of how that sounded (like some old pervert with a family fetish! Good God), and he stuttered for a moment as he scrambled for a way to recover. "Do you remember? Freddie? I know who you are, you see, we have met before. I'm not … it's not a line." Will patted Freddie's arm, his hip, tutting despite himself at the chill of the boy's skin even through his denim jacket and his insubstantial jeans.

That Freddie had given the old boy a start coming closer was obvious enough, but he settled a hand shortly thereafter on Freddie’s hip which seemed like encouragement enough to the teenage prostitute, and the fairy made a low rumble of approval in the back of his throat, hoping to set this skittish punter at ease. This one seemed the type to have deep pockets - and, truth be told, Freddie was a bit desperate to get in where it was warm, his denim jacket and shredded jeans pitifully unable to guard against the chill of the German winter. “Will then,” Freddie repeated, his voice thick and velvety as the name passed his lips, a knowing smile curling them when ‘Will’ was amended to ‘Uncle’.

So that was what he was into, Freddie thought with satisfaction; alright then. It didn’t jog his memory any unfortunately, but it was certainly a place to start. God knew he’d pleasured a small army of uncles and daddies and grandfathers since he’d taken to the streets. Old Will here was just one of the many.

Mads couldn’t help but laugh though, and Freddie shot the other boy a poisonous look - he’d murder that bloody tit if he cost him such obvious cash in hand - before freezing where he stood at the use of his real name, hating being wrongfooted this way. Hating the little flash of recognition that sparked deep within the recesses of his memory.

The teenager took a step back again, eyes hard and slightly fearful. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped, “Just… just tell me what you want then. Do you want to fuck me? Because that’s what I’m out here for - so if you don’t, then bloody well move on, yeah? There’s still money to be made tonight, and whoever you are, I don’t care enough to forego my night’s take for it.”

"Oh," Will said, foolishly, feeling plunged entirely out of his element in the brief space of time it took for Freddie's lips to form the word fuck. "Oh, my poor little lad."

But that was teetering on the brink of too far, and Will marshaled all of his efforts to get it back together. He was a grown nymph! A solicitor, for heaven's sake, he wasn't completely unaware of the more tragic circumstances that could befall people in this world! This was Freddie's reality, and unless Will met him on his tarmac -- and quickly -- then Freddie would be up in the air within a matter of minutes, searching out greener pastures. And palms.

So, swallowing any hope of fond recognition and an almost-family reunion here on the wretchedly cold street, Will forced a smile of what he hoped was suitable leering approval. "Yes, yes of course," he said, with a small nod, playing into the dirty uncle part of the equation. "My apologies, it was rude of me to catch you unawares like that, I won't do it again. I've got--" he dug into his pocket for his billfold, cursing himself for a bloody nitwit again when he saw the eyes of the boys around them instantly turn silvery and canny at the sight of money. Hunching into his coat to try and amend for his gaffe, Will let Freddie see the money (hoping the boy hadn't fallen so far into ignominy that he would mug an old fool for his wallet) and said, "I've only got pounds on me, I'm afraid, will that do? I've got a room, at the Budapester Hof, not far. We could walk it, if you like."

And perhaps that would offer a chance to ease Freddie into this, Will thought, optimism springing anew. "We could get something to eat, first. Do you fancy a currywurst, er … son?"

The word sat clumsily in Will's mouth. But, he thought with a spur of angry bitterness, it wasn't as if Freddie would have been accustomed to hearing it from Reginald Watts, either.

Something like relief flooded Freddie when Uncle Will seemed to get on board with the task at hand, and the sight of the money was enough to bring a smile to the boy’s face again - though clearly, getting his doddering ‘uncle’ in off the street and away from the vultures was his number one priority. After all, Uncle Will was his for the fleecing; the rest of the lads could bugger off and find their own long lost cash cows.

“I take pounds,” Freddie said smoothly, helping the older man to tuck his wallet away again, his smile only brightening at the mention of the hotel and the meal. However they knew each other - school maybe? Uncle Will had the air of a teacher about him - Freddie wouldn’t turn down a meal and a fuck in a decent bed with clean sheets for much of anything, so he took his ‘uncle’s’ arm gracefully, leading him off down the street away from his throng of fellow rentboys.

“I’d love a currywurst,” Freddie said with a gracious smile, “We can work out the details of what you’d like me to do while we eat, yeah?”

The fairy boy chuckled. “My menu’s worth perusing at your leisure, I promise.”

For all his advanced years, Will couldn't help but feel a pulse of gratitude for Freddie's street smarts when the boy tucked himself in next to the nymph and started to lead them down the road and away from the evaluations of his comrades-in-arms. "Yes, capital," he chuckled with a grin that was a little on the desperate side. But then that would hardly be out of the range of the ordinary for Freddie, stumble-footed men picking up a bit of trade and not really knowing what they were doing. He was disconcertingly good at it, Will thought, looking at the boy's ruffled brown hair and catching the faint whiff of a soapy scent off him, and below that an undercurrent of sex now that they were close and Freddie was warming up from the heat of Will's body.

He wanted very much to offer Freddie his peacoat. But that might just engender more suspicion on the young fairy's part, and now that Will had him agreeing to come along for the night, he needed to take it slow. Approach as though Freddie was a skittish rabbit.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before they happened upon an Edelcurry, and Will held the door open for them both as they entered the steamy restaurant. The place was bustling, which was something of a relief; with more people around, Freddie might deem him less likely to try anything untoward.

"Order what you like," he said, taking off his ineptly fingerless gloves as they joined the short line at the counter. "I've … we've got all night. I'd like to spend the night with you."

It was a testament to the part of town they were in that not a single eyelash flickered in their direction at this statement, made by an obviously older gentleman to a teenage boy, and Will barely held back a wince. He took off his glasses, wiping them ineffectually on his scarf before putting them back on to squint through the fog at the menu. "Ah, they've got Schöfferhofer. I'll get the grapefruit sort, then." He smiled at Freddie, encouragingly putting a gentle hand at the small of the boy's back to indicate it was his turn to order, the woman at the register blinking flatly at them.

Freddie beamed at those magic words, order what you like, and pushed up on his toes to press a kiss to his Uncle Will’s cheek. “It’ll cost you,” he said teasingly, “-but I’d like that too, Uncle. In fact, I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

They were far from the only dubious couple in the place, and Freddie, now that he was in where it was warm, quickly settled into a loose-limbed easy sort of sexuality, bold as brass about what he was - and when he felt the older man’s hand prod gently at the small of his back at his turn to order, he grinned and did exactly that.

Ordering a currywurst and chips with three separate dips, and a cherry Fritz-limo, Freddie snaked an arm around his Uncle Will’s middle, cuddling close as they waited for their food, effectively warning any other boys that might come sniffing around that this trick was well and truly taken for the night.

“So tell me, Uncle Will,” Freddie said looking up, his eyes sparkling, “-what brings you to Hamburg, business or pleasure?”

Currywurst and radler acquired (as well as a salad, not a terribly welcome side order on such a cold night with the smell of deep-fried chips all around, but Will's embodied form was prone to a thickened waistline), the nymph paid up, enjoying the cuddle from Freddie despite himself. It was easy, in a fast-food establishment, to tell himself that it was his overly-affectionate semi-nephew demonstrating his fondness for his uncle and nothing more prurient than that.

...until they headed for their table, and the young pair seated next to them -- the girl obviously with her own trick of the night -- gave a sidelong and somehow knowledgeable look before returning to their own conversation. Resigned to it, Will set down his food and then himself, letting his legs stretch a bit under the table so that warmth could ease back into his toes. There was no real need for him to feel the weather quite so much, many nymphs chose to be inured to it, but Will Snowdon liked being embodied, and what was the point if you weren't in your body?

He salted and peppered his salad before starting to munch away, letting Freddie make a comfortable inroad before he said, "I'm, er, here on business, if you're putting a nib on it. A long-standing matter that I haven't been able to resolve until now, for an old client of mine. I'm a solicitor, you see, and I've been trying to search for a … loose end to a very important question." He took a swallow of beer, setting his can down and rubbing his hands together, gazing at Freddie for a moment. Eyes soft with concern, as he scanned the fairy boy for bruises, cuts, signs of abuse, signs of being ill-used.

"Have you been out here long?" That could be interpreted in a panoply of ways, Will realized, and narrowed it down a little: "The Reeperbahn, I mean? The other, um, boys -- they seem to respect your claim on the trade, as it were."

“A solicitor,” Freddie repeated after politely chewing and swallowing a mouthful of chips and sausage, still trying to remember where he knew this man from - he was fae, but not fairy; familiar but not known, and Freddie wished that Ollie was there to help, the little Chin having a very good memory for faces. “Well, that answers one question, at least.”

“I’d thought maybe you were a teacher of mine, once upon a time - but a solicitor sounds ever so much more interesting.” The teenager continued to eat, washing his meal down with long swallows of cherry-red soda. “So have you found it?” he asked, “Your loose end? What will you do when you have?”

Freddie dipped a chip in his curry and brushed a hand through his hair, pushing that soft mop of brown out of his blue eyes, and meeting Uncle Will’s again as he answered the older man’s questions. “I’ve been out here long enough,” he said, “Just a little shy of two months, I suppose. I actually came from Prague - have you been? It’s lovely there.” He popped the chip into his mouth, murmuring, “Hard to make a wage though. The Reeperbahn’s worlds better for that.”

The fairy smirked. “And the other boys respect me because I’m an earner,” he said, “I attract a certain clientele, and we all make a bit of extra dosh because of it. They couldn’t give a toss about me otherwise.”

Will found himself smiling, of all things, laughing even when Freddie declared his profession more interesting than if he'd been a teacher. "Pull the other one, lad, it's got bells on," he chuckled, reaching over to steal one of Freddie's chips. He couldn't help but give a little hum of pleasure once the hot grease hit his tongue, making his mouth water, his shoulders slumping with the deliciousness before he returned to his tepid salad. "Being a solicitor's no more interesting than being an accountant or a census-taker. But that's very kind of you."

And clever, of course; stroking his old punters' egos no doubt was a built-in part of Freddie's profession. One at which he sounded tip-top, from the way he reeled off his answers to Will's question. The nymph flexed his fingers around his fork, itching to tuck Freddie's hair away behind what he knew was an ear more pointed than the slightly-tipped one peeking out, and finally abandoned the salad altogether in favour of his sausage, salting and peppering that as well.

"I've been to Prague, yes." Will nodded, smoothing out his paper napkin for something to do while he arranged his thoughts. Freddie was making short work of his meal, and they'd be out of the Edelcurry and headed to the Budapester Hof very soon, and he'd have to come clean about how he knew the boy. Which might make things easier, or might send him running; Freddie was as sweet and cheerful as Will remembered him -- which made his belly ache for many, many reasons -- but there was also something watchful around his eyes, now. Something greyer than the blue. "Many years ago. It's likely changed more than I could recognize it."

He drank some more, the astringency of the grapefruit cutting through his muddled emotional fug somewhat, and patted his chest to work the sausage down. "You seem a very enterprising lad," Will said, painfully aware of how it sounded, his congratulating Freddie on being excellent at peddling his youthful flesh and favours. "My loose end, I'm afraid, is proving a slightly more delicate situation than I'd hoped for. But it's near and dear to my heart, so abandoning it isn't an option." Will slid Freddie over one of his napkins, a rueful smile twitching at a corner of his lips.

Freddie pulled a face at the notion of being an accountant or a census-taker, wrinkling his pretty nose and shaking his head. “But a solicitor just sounds good, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s got gravitas; it’s posh. Being a teacher just means you like the sound of your own voice and the feel of a cane in your hand.”

“I’m much happier you’re a solicitor, Uncle Will,” he confided, “I’ve had my fill of teachers.”

And he watched with a small smile as the man sat across from him helped himself to a chip, liking the old boy more and more as time wore on; finding him vaguely charming in a fuddy-duddy sort of way. “Where are you from?” Freddie asked suddenly, after hearing that Will too had been to Prague, and liking him all the better for it. “I mean, where will you be going back to when your business is done and your loose end is all tied up?”

The teenager smiled at the compliment paid to his resourcefulness, and took the proffered napkin, wiping delicately at his mouth. “Oh, I do alright for myself,” he said, “I know how to make ends meet.”

Freddie grinned again, back to playing the coquette. “In fact, I know how to do all sorts of things.”

"When it comes to being caned," Will said, "I'm with you there on not being terribly fond of teachers as a species, my boy. I had my share of schoolmasters who didn't spare the rod." It didn't occur to Will to number those teachers of Freddie's among the men who'd sampled the boy's wares, so he bestowed an easy smile upon his nephew, the topic innocently categorized as mere commiseration between two products of the more corporal aspect of the British educational system.

The question about where he was from wasn't entirely unexpected -- Freddie was clearly a bright lad, Will and Bahraman had known that since he was much much smaller than this -- and so Will was able to answer smoothly, "Luton. I'm in no hurry to get back, there's not much waiting for me there. A bachelor flat and a fish who I'm afraid rather resents my existence if I'm not currently in the action of feeding it." He shrugged, pleased with himself for having this constructed cover story already at hand, pushing up his glasses with the ball of his thumb. "And a landlady who's over-eager for company."

He'd dithered over that part, concerned that it made him sound too braggadocious, but in the end slipped it in. A little common ground over being chased after might go down well with the boy.

Finishing his beer and patting at his own mouth with his remaining napkin, Will slapped his hands against his thighs, surveying the mown-through remains of their meal. "Yes, I'm certain you don't disappoint," he said politely, aiming again for the smarmy smile he'd employed earlier. "Shall we get to my hotel, then?" He stood, extricating his gloves and slipping them on, and as they were heading out the door asked, "Oh, and -- what should I call you? What would you prefer, that is."

Freddie couldn’t help but smile at Uncle Will’s life back in Luton, with his haughty fish and his grabby landlady, more than able to relate to liberties taken by those in positions of power; and when it was time to go, he turned his collar up against the cold and followed his trick out onto the darkened street, once again taking Uncle Will’s arm and cuddling close, assuming that close was precisely what the older man wanted. “Yeah,” Freddie nodded, giving Will a genuine smile, “Let’s get back to your hotel, love. I mean, you’re paying for a full night, so you deserve value for money.”

“And you can call me Freddie,” the teenager conceded with an almost embarrassed grin. “You can call me whatever you like, really,” he amended, “That’s part of the service. But I don’t mind Freddie. I don’t really have a professional name to speak of - you just caught me by surprise before, already knowing mine. I mean, most punters don’t care what my name is, let alone remember it later.” The wind blew and Freddie shivered in his thin denim walking just a little bit faster.

“So is there anything special you’d like tonight, Uncle Will?” The fairy boy grinned, leaning on the title just a little harder than necessary, “Anything particular you’d like me to do? Or that you’d like to do to me? There’s not much I’ll say no to, so don’t be shy, yeah?”

"Freddie, then." Will let the boy curl in as closely as he wanted, as close as he could get, feeling slightly pitiful himself for how much comfort he drew from the touch. It had been … a long time, since Will had been close to anybody. Since he'd lost connection with Bahraman. Out of the people Will knew, she'd been his constant; his best friend travelled for a living, and although they shared a physically affectionate relationship, Torbjorn being on the road for work made this sort of thing -- casual touching -- a rarity, these days.

So he quelled the spur of guilt he felt and paused, detaching himself from Freddie for as long as it took to shrug off his peacoat and pull the boy in close, draping the coat around them both for the rest of the walk. "You mentioned a … a menu, earlier? Of what could be bought." Will frowned slightly, assuring Freddie, "--I didn't think you meant it literally, of course, but I think it's become clear to you at this point, my boy, that this isn't something I do. Normally. Perhaps if you wouldn't mind, you could give me an idea of your services?"

Will steeled himself for the information he'd soon be provided as they covered the last couple of blocks to the hotel, knowing that it would upset him more. But he needed to know, the sorts of things that Reginald's boy had been driven to in order to survive. "And the prices, of course," he added belatedly, trying to maintain the ruse of wanting a shopping list.

Freddie accepted the extra protection of Will’s lovely smelling peacoat against the chill, and the bit of additional body heat, gratefully, snuggling closer still, and smiled at his ‘uncle’s’ needless admission that picking up rentboys was a touch outside his comfort zone, happy to offer up the details of his wares now that the older man had asked for them.

“Well,” the teenager said, matter-of-factly, “-you can have my hands, my mouth, my cock, my arse - or any combination thereof - however often you like, over the course of the night. But because you’ve asked for the entire night, love, it seems a bit silly to break the price down into individual acts, seeing as you may want more than one go at any particular service.”

“I mean, normally,” Freddie went on, in a businesslike tone that only unfortunately served to emphasise his youth, “-any sort of penetration will run you thirty more than having me suck you off, and a full-on fuck will run fifty more than that - whether you’re the one doing the fucking or not. But tonight, I think, Uncle Will, we’ll just call it a flat two hundred quid for the evening, yeah? With the proviso that your tastes don’t run to the exotic, and that I’ll be able to walk home under my own steam in the morning.”

Freddie kissed Will on the cheek again as they neared the hotel, giving him a grin. “Now how does that sound to you?”

"Lovely," Will said, completely at a loss for anything else as the doorman-cum-security guard of the modest hotel opened the door for them, his face carefully schooled into neutrality (even though, Will realized as he unconsciously pulled Freddie closer, the man did give the teenage boy a slimy sort of once-over). "That, um, shouldn't be any problem. The sum for the evening, that is, not the exotic -- which is to say, I don't want any sort of -- ahh, here we are."

This declaration was somewhat premature, as once they reached to top of the first flight of stairs there were still four doors to go past down the hall, but Will needed the time to digest what Freddie had told him. Any combination. Penetration, suck you off, full-on fuck. Able to walk home.

The nymph suddenly felt every year of his nearing-a-century embodiment, and he let Freddie have the coat entirely as he dug in his pocket for the room key. "What I want won't approach anywhere near what you're capable of, I'm certain," he said with a watery smile, key turning the tumblers, and then Will was ushering Freddie into the little room and locking up behind them. "Sorry," he said, gesturing limply at the locked door, feeling somehow in the wrong for it, that it must be frightening for Freddie to be shut into a room with a strange man.

Never mind how many times the boy had done this before. Will had never done this before.

"I, ah … ah!" Will tossed the key on the battered dresser where the cheap television was perched, taking out his wallet and extracting two hundred pounds from it -- thank God he'd thought to bring that much, anticipating that he'd need to have ready cash for this enterprise -- and setting the money next to the key.

"There you are," he declared, before an old-fashioned discomfort over the subject of payment had him saying, "There's glasses in the loo, I'll go get us some water, then, shall I?"

Uncle Will was so charmingly on the back foot about everything they were about to do, that Freddie felt a swell of fondness for the older man as they entered the hotel, only offering the leering doorman a bit of a wink as they passed, and devoting the bulk of his attention to the man himself, allowing himself to be pulled closer and led up the stairs to Uncle Will’s room - which, when they finally got there, was every bit as tidy and unassuming as he was. A fact that pleased Freddie to no end, allowing him to feel as though he’d read his Uncle Will correctly.

That there would be no unhappy surprises here tonight, and Freddie might just be able to enjoy himself.

The locked door behind them gave him no pause at all - his life was full of locked doors and close quarters with strange men - and when Will apologised for it, Freddie felt that same swell of affection that he’d felt coming in, and he smiled and shook his head, murmuring, “Don’t be sorry, love. I’m not sorry,” his smile only widening when Uncle Will extracted the agreed upon amount for the night from his wallet, laying it on the dresser next to the door key. Freddie took it quickly - in his line of work, you squared away the money first, in case of emergency - tucking the bills into the pocket of his very revealing jeans, then slipped both Will’s peacoat and his own denim jacket off, tossing them into a nearby chair, his hand hovering at the hem of his vest, ready to drag it off too, but getting the sense that Uncle Will likely shouldn’t be rushed, lest he panic and call the whole thing off. So Freddie smiled again, tugging his vest up just enough to expose a ribbon of toned flesh and the promise of abs. “Water sounds lovely,” he said, “But how would you like me, Uncle?” A playful smile danced on his lips. “Shall I get my kit off and get into bed, or would you like to take things just a little bit slower? The night is yours now, love. I’m here for whatever you want.”

"Slower," Will gulped as he made his quick escape to the bathroom, "--please, my lad, go easy on me. Slower. If you don't mind." He didn't shut the door all the way, turning on the tap but taking a moment to just stare at his reflection in the mirror, not really seeing himself. His mind was on the boy in the bedroom, ready to take off his clothes and be fucked by a complete stranger, in as many ways and as many times as that stranger liked, for the paltry sum of two hundred quid. Will was far from a spendthrift but he owned two wristwatches that had cost more than that and he found the notion of it dogging his mind, the mental image of those two foolish timepieces that he'd paid that amount for because he vainly liked the way they rather butched up his wrist. He could have Freddie's body entirely for two nights, for the cost of those silly things.

Letting out a long, tight breath, Will filled up the water glasses and turned off the tap. He couldn't postpone this for much longer. After a moment's hesitation, he drank half of one glass and refilled it before coming back out, setting both glasses down on the nightstand next to the bed crammed into a tight corner of the room. It was certainly not a hotel that prided itself on much in the way of aesthetics, but Will felt that was only appropriate for this venture. It wasn't, after all, a pleasure trip, and some part of him was grimly satisfied to be reminded of that.

"I'd like you to look at a photograph for me," Will said. He took off his glasses and cleaned them, then left them on the nightstand, blinking at Freddie; his nymph body didn't have poor eyesight, exactly, but without the specs there was still a soft blurring that happened in dim lighting. And there, he could see it, heartbreakingly clear: all the soft curves and gentle plushness of the child's face, here in the teenager's, as Freddie watched him and waited to see what his trick of the night would request.

Taking out his wallet again, Will extracted the little snapshot. It had been developed in the square format, with the white border (he and Bahraman were both fond of that look, when it had been popular), taken a few months before Freddie was shipped off to boarding school. Bahraman and the eight-year-old, Ollie balanced between them, Freddie distracted by the glint of some helium balloon another child had lost to the stratosphere. A day in the park, and they'd had ices and sandwiches and Will had pushed Freddie madly high on the swings while Bahraman swung sedately with Ollie on her lap. A lovely day, one that Will himself thought of with a fond, wistful pang.

"Please," he said again, softly, handing the photograph over. "Freddie."

Freddie sat on the bed whilst Will dithered, the older man retreating to the loo to fetch them some water; and when he returned, setting the full tumblers down on the nightstand, asking that Freddie look at a photo for him, the fairy boy thought, Ah, here we go, and held out his hand, expecting to have a well-thumbed bit of pornography turned over to him. Something for him to emulate and strive toward. Something naughty that Uncle Will had been fantasising about for longer than he cared to admit.

But what he got was so far removed from that, that for a moment, Freddie felt as though breathing were something he no longer knew how to do. Immediately, unbidden, his eyes filled with tears, and he stared down at the photo in his hand completely at a loss for something to say; the lump in his throat too large to be got round anyway. And a tear spilled from the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek as he sat, staring at himself and Ollie and the woman he’d loved like a mother. The only mother he’d ever known.

He touched her face gently, suddenly able to hear her voice in his ear - Freddie joon, she’d called him for as long as he could remember, as though it was all one word, all his name - and finally he tore his red-rimmed eyes away from the photo long enough to look back up at the man before him. “Where did you get this?” he asked thickly, brokenly, “Where did you-”

But then the penny dropped and he fell silent again, gaping up at the older man in bewilderment and recollection. “You were there,” he whispered, “Uncle Will. You pushed me on the swings. You…. you were there.” More tears slipped down Freddie’s cheeks, and he held out his arm, desperately trying to give the photo back.

“Why are you here now?” he asked, utterly at sea. “What do you want from me?”

The moment of realization swept from Freddie through the stagnant air to Will and he felt it go through his chest like an arctic gust, hand going to his stomach as he watched the expressions on the boy's face. "Yes," he said eagerly, unable to help himself from that much, "yes, Uncle Will, your Uncle Will, your proper uncle, it's not a falsehood or a trick or a … a put-on, Freddie, it's nothing like that."

But what followed sliced Will's heart clean in two. That Freddie tried to hand him back the photograph was bearable, even through its clear and obvious rejection of the innocent little fairy it pictured, but the questions that came on the heels of the action, oh --

Will took a step forward, towards the bed, and then crashed heavily to his knees. They creaked in protest, but he didn't care; the only thing of importance was the confused, wounded child sat in front of him, wondering if he'd been bought by somebody intent on mind games as well as sexual ones.

"Freddie," he gasped, taking Freddie's cold hands in his own and folding them up, bringing their joined hands to his lips to press an urgent kiss there, against the edge of the photo, "I'm here to take you home, son. Back home, away from all this, so you don't have to do this anymore. I'm -- I'm so sorry it's taken me this long, dear boy, it's -- will you ever forgive me?"

Will pressed his forehead against Freddie's knees, skin and shredded denim, as he held Freddie's hands tight and choked back his despair. "I'm so dreadfully sorry," he gulped, voice tearful, warbling.

Suddenly Uncle Will was down on his knees in front of him, taking his hands and kissing them chastely - like a parent would do, like a father would do - telling him inexplicably that he was there to take him home, begging forgiveness as though somehow he had something to apologise for, unable or unwilling to look at him; and Freddie, still crying, though he held the photo tight now, just shook his head incredulously. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, his voice overwrought and pitched with a fraught sort of confusion, “You haven’t anything to be sorry for. But I… I don’t have a home to go to, Uncle Will. Bahraman’s gone - she’s been gone for ages - you both left at once. And Dad-”

Freddie paused and took a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down, to be the grown-up, the professional, he fancied himself to be. “Reg put me out. Just before my birthday. And he won’t have changed his mind - he never changes his mind - so what are you doing here, Uncle Will? Why have you come? Dad doesn’t want me and he never has. This is all there is. This is what I have.”

“I’m sorry,” Freddie was crying in earnest again, “-but he doesn’t want me. Nobody wants me. You’ve got to know that… or you and Bahraman would never have left me to begin with.”

“She never even said goodbye…”

The sound of Freddie's voice and the way he wrested hold of himself struck another clang of shame into Will's chest, and he sat back on the heels of his feet awkwardly, looking at Freddie with eyes made pale from the tears he couldn't hold back. That neither of them could, from the look of it. "She didn't," he agreed roughly, "but I don't think … it's my belief that her leaving, that was your father's doing as well. I haven't any proof, since I haven't heard from Bahraman all this time either, but knowing Reginald Watts as closely as I do--"

Will stopped, his face hardening as he thought of Freddie's father. He delivered one more kiss to the boy's thumbs and then dug in his pocket as he got to his feet, a little unsteadily, and sat next to Freddie on the bed, handing him a handkerchief. "The less said about Reginald Watts right at this moment, the better. I suspect we've neither of us anything good to say, and seeing what he's brought about for you, his own child, I'd …" Will knotted his hands into fists against his thighs, face closed off and thunderous for a moment before he put Reginald from his mind.

"Freddie," he said, putting one arm gingerly around the teenager's shoulders and starting to rub at his bare arm, the skin still retaining some of outside's chill, "I want to take you to my home, of course. He's got nothing to do with this. It was … I've been trying to find you ever since I found out that he'd thrown you out but you've proven entirely too swift for me, lad. Always like quicksilver, you were, weren't you? The only little winged minnow in existence."

The nymph smiled, but it was through a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I won't be easy to shake off, when it comes to this. I'll understand if you're hesitant to come with me, you can't remember much of me -- it was so long ago! And you were so young! -- but I do, Freddie, I want you to live with me. If you would. Back in England, away from this dreadful place." He patted Freddie's soft hair, tucking it behind that ear (pointed now, with Freddie in too much emotional turmoil to glamour small details like that in front of somebody who knew he was fae) like he'd wanted to in the restaurant. "You and Oliver. I want you, my dear boy, I do, despite however much to the contrary everything has seemed."

It seemed like a dream. Like it was too good to be true; some imagined fantasy of rescue and love that Freddie tried never to allow himself anymore. And Uncle Will had things to answer for, too. Like where had he gone when Bahraman had disappeared? Why had he abandoned Freddie at the same time? But rather than demand answers, rather than point fingers, all the fairy boy said as he wiped at his eyes and nose with Uncle Will’s handkerchief was a shaky, “Do you mean it?”

“I can go home… with you… and you don’t want- you don’t want anything from me? You just want Ollie and me to be there? That’s all?” Freddie took another wobbling breath, his nose running, eyes red and puffy, wings visible under his vest; all his glamours gone now.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking up to meet his Uncle Will’s eyes, voice soft enough that it was barely audible, “I mean… now that you know what I’ve done… What I am. You still want to bring me back?”

“I… I’m not good,” Freddie said, flushing with shame, “Even before all this. I just- I wasn’t. I got chucked out of all sorts of schools, I never behaved myself, I broke all the rules that there were…”

“Are you really sure you want me?” the teenager asked quietly, “I won’t blame you if you’re not.”

"You're a fairy." Will kept on smoothing and tucking Freddie's hair, seeing and feeling the unmistakable presence of fae magic as the boy's wings shimmered back into view beneath his clothes. "I've never known a fairy who was entirely good, but then again, we faefolk aren't subject to the rules and regulations like the rest of them, are we, eh?" Will smiled a little, drawing Freddie's head against his shoulder. "What you've done, Freddie, isn't anything that would keep me from wanting you to live with me. You're the same sweet little boy I knew. You've had more than enough opportunity to make off with my money, my room key, with anything you want, and you've not done it."

Reaching over, Will took Freddie's free hand and pet his fingers, one after the other, in a soothing rhythm. "I don't want anything from you other than for you to say you'll come," he said, gently. "I'm not looking for anything that other men have wanted from you. I could never." Apart from the repugnance of the act of sexualizing a child in and of itself, Will knew there was also Baharaman -- or at least the memory of her, between them -- to take into account. Even in her absence, all the nymph wanted was to do what she would have approved of. And taking care of this boy fell squarely in that purview.

As well as being what Will, himself, dearly longed to do.

"We don't need to rush," Will promised, although he wasn't sure what there was here that Freddie would be slow in moving on from. "In fact, we can -- you can go back home and talk about it with Oliver. You know where I am, and I won't be leaving without you, and you need some time to think about it, don't you. I've dropped a lot on you all at once, poor little mite." He squeezed Freddie's hand.

Freddie smiled in spite of himself at Uncle Will’s absolution and his certainty that the fae were beyond the rules of such black and white concepts as good and bad, and he allowed his head to rest on the older man’s shoulder, giving himself permission to be cuddled and soothed in a way that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Not since he looked like the boy in Uncle Will’s photo, as a matter of fact.

And he took comfort in the nymph’s reassurances that he wanted only Freddie as he was, with no creeping quid pro quo to come. He allowed himself to believe in that; to remember Uncle Will (and Bahraman; there was no escaping her shadow), and to cling to him, grateful for the older man’s offer to take things slowly, but knowing he needed to do no such thing. That he already knew what Ollie would say.

The little Chin would have them on the first plane back to England, happy to leave what they had survived in Hamburg behind them. He would say they had nothing to lose trusting in Uncle Will; that they’d made it on their own once and could do it again if they had to - but that this was a risk worth taking. A gamble that had every hope of paying off.

And, well... Oliver was right. As was his wont.

So Freddie squeezed Uncle Will’s hand in return. “We’ll fetch Ollie tomorrow,” he said, “-but…if it’s alright…. could I still stay the night tonight?”

"My dear boy!" Will pulled away, but only enough so that Freddie could get a good look at his expression, and the joy and relief there. "Of course you can stay, of course. I can call down and see if they've a cot that they can give us, and I'm afraid I'd take the bed in that case because I'm older than you and I claim infirmity, but yes, yes, you can stay. I'd love it if you did. We could talk, and you could tell me -- tell me what you've been up to, and I promise I won't make a peep about it, I'll only listen."

He shook their linked hands in a little show of triumph on both their behalfs. "If you'd rather just share the bed, we can do that too. I just don't want to make you uncomfortable, lad, if I do or say anything that comes across awkward, please know that's the reason. I'm terribly out of my depth when it comes to the things you've endured, my brave Freddie. We can do whatever you like. Absolutely whatever."

With a little reluctance, Will got up from the bed and went over to the folding luggage stand, opening his valise and taking out an argyle jumper, bringing it over to Freddie. "Here you are," he said. "We can't have you shivering in only your vest, can we? I want you warm and safe, as much as you can be, from now on."

And with that, Will wrapped Freddie up in a hug, rubbing and patting those folded-up wings, closing his swollen-feeling eyes to drink in the feeling of his nephew found, in his arms. Never to walk these streets again.

#written will #freddiewatts #ar:intercession

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