We'll Fly Home

Ian made it home safely, much thanks to Sean, but that was as far as he could go. Ian's mother very kindly offered for him to stay for tea, but he declined. He knew he couldn't get too close. He'd always known that. And he knew what would happen to him, and Ian, if he did. Instead, he pulled his coat tighter around his neck and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mrs..." he paused, realising he had no idea what Ian or the woman before him's surname was.

"Watkins," she said, smiling at him.

"Watkins." He nodded. "Well, thank you very much for your offer, Mrs Watkins, but I'm afraid I have to be getting home. My mam's not feeling too great, and she needs me there to watch over her." He grimaced at how true those words were.

Ian's mother nodded understandingly. It was a lie, yet it was still true. Sean hadn't spoken to his mother in years. He still checked up on her though. But Mrs Watkins was none the wiser.

"The poor soul," she commented, her voice sympathetic. "But good boy, looking after her. Sure, tell me if you ever need a wee hand with anything."

"That's very kind of you, Mrs Watkins, but I couldn't ask you to do that," Sean reasoned, checking his watch as he did. "I'm awfully sorry, but I have to go now. I'll hopefully see you again." He smiled at them both. He backed out of their driveway, waving at Ian, before vanishing into the vast expanse of darkness.

Ian's mother closed the door with a soft click and turned to him, smiling. "He seems nice," to which Ian could only nod. Sean was nice, but there was still something about him. Something he hadn't quite worked out yet...

---

Sean rounded the corner, pausing for a moment to survey his surroundings. He was three streets over now and it made him laugh. Ian and his mam had probably only just closed the door, and in that time, he'd made it this far. It was quite handy, actually. He could be anywhere he wanted in a matter of minutes. Well, obviously it took longer for further distances, but he'd just turned what should be a ten minute journey into a two or three minute walk.

He didn't make it very much further, though, due to a searing pain in his head that spread through his entire body, reaching out through his arms and seeping down into his fingers. Although it had never been quite so severe before, he knew what it meant. He fell to his knees in the middle of the filthy street, his hands clamped firmly to his head, his fingers clutching at clumps of his hair.

"You've done well, Sean," came the voices once more, the raspy one standing out above the rest. "He has missed his first, and the future is shifting. We cannot be sure when the next will be, but you will be there to protect him once more." They were cryptic, but Sean understood.

He nodded once, and the crackly static sound that accompanied the voices faded out and abruptly ceased. And then, just like that, they were gone. They never lingered, just got their message across then left. When he first started out, he'd tried to answer them, or ask them about things that still puzzled him. He'd given up on that now. It seemed that if he wanted things done, he'd have to do them himself.

Picking himself up, he dusted off his jeans, but the dirt was the least of his worries. He may have saved Ian once, but the boy was destined to die, and until he did, it simply would not stop. Sean could only protect him for so long and from so much, but sooner or later, as much as it hurt to admit to it, Ian was going to die, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it. The poor, innocent child that he'd left home just ten minutes ago would soon be gone, off to a better place as some would say.