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"This isn't...this isn't what it looks like."

Tom knew how it looked, his hands blood stained, and a body at his feet, but he honestly had no idea how he'd gotten there, or where the body had come from. One second he was at home, resting from a stressful week at work, and the next--here. His hands were shaking, both from the realization that the man he'd attempted to give first aid was really and truly dead, and the shock of having no idea how he'd gotten there. It'd happened before, after 'that time', but he'd been so good, he'd been so good about taking his meds, he hadn't missed a day since being released. But standing there, shock settling into his veins, he honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd taken them.

Shit.

Feb. 6th, 2015

"So...am I supposed to know what this is--?"

Tom wished he could be surprised by how often he walked in on the younger man doing something he didn't understand, but it seemed to be a permanent state of being for the man. Rarely did he find Tommy doing something that made sense, but he couldn't find it in him to be bothered by it, the smallest hint of a grin twisting his lips enough to show how much he actually enjoyed it.

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hates_pickaxes
Tom Hanniger

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