#peaky blinders fics
Fandom: Peaky Blinders
Summary: For a moment, just a second, it looks like the man’s eyes are black, even under the warm golden light from the ceilings, but when Tommy looks back up after glancing at the bottle of whiskey held in a surprisingly delicate looking hand, the eyes he sees looking back at him are brown. Dark, but nowhere near dark enough to be considered black by any stretch of the imagination. The man, who’s name Tommy realises he doesn’t know, doesn’t show any sort of expression on his face, but he still gets the impression he’s being laughed at somehow.
Tagging:@the-makingsofgreatness@zablife@lyarr24 (just let me know if you want to be added on or taken off)
Though Tobias’ house is blessedly silent, especially when compared to the noise and traffic of people coming in and out at all hours that waits for him when he finally goes home, the complete silence starts to wear on Tommy’s nerves after the first few hours. To pass the time, he wanders through the rooms, taking the chance to see what might be hiding in all the closets and little cupboards. There’s not much. Clothes, mostly, some new but most old and well cared for, patched together in enough places that it’s clear the sentimentality far outweighs any usefulness they might have. One coat is sewn together in so many different places that it would be a wonder if any of the original fabric remained.
He finds the box in a small alcove inside one of the guest room closets, cut into the wall beside the hinges, where no one would look unless they already knew the location, or if they were snooping just like this. The box itself is in surprisingly good condition, given the age made apparent by the year mark carefully carved into the bottom by the creator. 1589, it says, beside what must be the name of the carpenter that created it. Curiously, the intricate design etched into the surface has worn away in most places, from time and handling Tommy guesses. Someone, Tobias most likely, has re-carved the date and signature over the years to keep it visible.
“It’s considered rude to go through people’s belongings.”
The sudden voice makes him flinch, and for a second he wonders why he never heard any footsteps before he remembers their conversation the day before, and the revelations about the man in front of him that had been uncovered. Not a man, not truly, but a predator masquerading as one. If there was ever a more appropriate use for the phrase ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothing’, Tommy doesn’t know what that use would be.
“I didn’t mean-“
“Yes you did.”
Tobias takes the box from him, carefully, as if the contents inside are more precious to him than the box that he’s clearly kept for hundreds of years, and Tommy would be lying if he said he wasn’t burning to know what the box held.
“How did you get in?”
“The door was open,” he says, and normally the lie would feel as natural as breathing, but the words feel strangely wrong coming out of his mouth. The look Tobias gives tells him that the man doesn’t believe him for a second, and he doesn’t say anything as he quickly leaves the room with the box cradled to his chest. By the time Tommy catches up to him on the stairs, the box is gone, and he knows it’s unlikely he’ll ever see it again.
“Why are you here? If it’s to ask for my help with the Inspector I’ve heard about, you’re going to be disappointed by my answer. I don’t get involved with the affairs of humans.”
“Not even for me?”
It’s a cruel taunt, and Tommy knows it. He knows it by the way Tobias flinches like he’s been struck, and the shift in the air that makes the animal part of his brain scream at him to run, and the feeling that he’s pushed just a little too far. For a moment, he expects to feel the impact of a fist, but when he looks up, Tobias doesn’t look angry, he just looks tired and disappointed. The look stings more than he’d like to admit.
“What do you want from me, Tommy? I don’t understand you, and I’ve been around for a long time, I’ve seen a lot of things. I might be what I am, but I’m not some pet you can give attention to only when you need something.”
“I never asked you to-“
Tobias sits down in one of the armchairs heavily, sighing as he goes. Not for the first time, Tommy notices his hands and the scars there. They’ve never talked about them, not really. Tommy knows Tobias lost his family at some point, burnt he said, and while he’d like to believe it was in a house fire, he has a feeling the truth is far worse. Whatever it was, it had left the burns on Tobias’ hands behind, or maybe he kept making them himself as painful reminders.
For a few long moments, all they do is watch each other, neither of them willing to be the first to speak. Eventually, Tobias breaks the silence first, but out of annoyance or desperation, Tommy doesn’t know.
“Just tell me what you want from me. Tell me the truth, because I’m getting tired of the aloof ‘no one ever gets to me’ act.”
“John’s getting married tomorrow.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know that that’s the last thing Tobias expected him to say.
“I didn’t even know he was involved with anyone.”
“He’s not.”
“You just said-“ Tobias cuts his sentence short and leans forward, staring at him a little more intensely. “You didn’t.”
“We all have to make sacrifices.”
The flare of anger isn’t unexpected, a little delayed perhaps, but it still makes him flinch minutely when Tobias stands up from the arm chair abruptly, toppling the heavy thing backwards like it’s only made of cardboard.
“But that’s not true, is it, Tommy? Everyone else has to make sacrifices, and do everything according to what you’ve dictated, and you just get to move everyone around like we’re just pawns in whatever sick game you’re playing.”
It takes everything in him not to flinch when Tobias is suddenly in front of him, so close that he can smell the familiar cologne, mixed with a faint copper scent that he’d rather not think about. When Tobias wraps a hand around his throat and squeezes tight, the only thoughts in his head are blind panic and a faint flicker of something he crushes down as hard as he can, at least until he can examine it later.
“Don’t let the gifts and the kindness make you forget what I am, Thomas. I will not be just a piece in your master plan, whatever that happens to be. I am no one’s puppet, and I will not be led around by you, or anyone else. Figure out what you want, and soon, or I’ll make sure there’s not even enough of you left to hold a funeral with.”
Tobias releases the vice-like grip just as the edges of Tommy’s vision start to go black, and while he’d like to think he was dignified about it, he can’t stop himself from taking in lungfuls of air like he’s not sure when he’ll get the chance next. His throat stings with every breath, and when he brings a hand up to feel the tenderness there, his fingers come away stained with blood. The same red stains Tobias’ fingers, glistening darkly in the light as he raises his hand, staring down at it silently.
There are a million things Tommy wants to say, but Tobias turns his back before he gets the chance, and tells him to get out. His voice is even and completely lacking in any sort of inflection, as if they’re just two passing acquaintances talking about the weather. Tommy pauses at the front door, just for a second, glancing over his shoulder. Tobias is still in the small living room just off the entrance, standing with his back turned, still looking down at his hands.
He doesn’t move until long after the door closes solidly behind Tommy, the sound of his familiar heartbeat fading into the distance.
He knows letting his anger get the best of him is a bad idea, especially when he’s been trying to conceal his involvement in the deaths of the humans he’s been feeding on since he got into the city months ago. No one would be looking too closely, he’s been careful about choosing people no one would miss: abusers, rapists. The worst of the worst.
Tonight, he’s not careful at all, the events of a few days earlier still playing on a cruel loop in the back of his mind. It had been a slow learning curve when he was still young, discovering how to cover his tracks whenever he killed someone to keep himself satiated. For a brief period of time he would keep some captive as ongoing sources, but the effort of keeping them alive long term had quickly gotten tiresome.
“Tobias?”
There’s no blood, thankfully, he’s at least been careful enough to keep it from staining his clothes, not that it would show if he hadn’t. Black clothing was useful more often than not.
“I heard about the wedding. It must’ve been a shock, gaining a wife and a nephew all at once.”
“I was surprised you weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t invited.”
“You need to talk to Tommy.”
“Mind your business, John.”
John lets go of his arm as quick as he’d grabbed it, and Tobias can see he has to fight himself to stop from taking a step back, some primal part of his brain signalling to him that he shouldn’t have done that. Maybe it’s the sharp teeth, too sharp to be normal, like he’s got a mouth full of razor blades.
“I don’t know what he did, but he’s been-”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes you do.”
He wishes he didn’t. More than anything, he wishes he could turn that part of him off, especially after the past few days. Maybe this is what August meant, when he said that involving himself with humans never ends well.
“Just one chance, that’s all I’m asking. Listen, I know he seems cold, but he wasn’t always like that, and every time you come around, he becomes his old self again, for a little while.”
“Don’t do that to me.”
“What?”
“Don’t make me have hope.”
“Tommy. You’ve got a visitor.”
“Get out.”
“I see your manners haven’t improved.”
The speed with which Tommy turns around in his chair would be comical, but he’s still mad about the snooping.
“Tobias. What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you a question.”
He’s only distantly aware of John shutting the door, leaving them alone. A part of him wants to pull the door back open and walk right back out, but the desire to have his question answered outweighs wanting to remove himself from the situation.
“Ask.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
It’s a loaded question if he’s ever asked one. There are a thousand possible answers, each one of them further and further from the truth. Something on his face must be truly pathetic, or the exhaustion in the question is audible, because for once, Tommy does tell the truth.
“You’ve been around for a long time. I imagine you’ve had more than a few partners over the years.”
“I have.”
“How did they end?”
“In blood, usually. Some of them just simply left.”
“Did it ever stop hurting?”
Right now, he could lie and say it’s something you get used to, but he’s getting sick of lying.
“Never. Each and every one of them felt like a knife to the chest”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. Whenever I let someone in, someone who isn’t family, they- Why should I want it, if all it ever does is hurt?”
He lets the question hang in the air for a few seconds and lays the box on the table, sliding it across the surface of the desk with his fingertips. A peace offering, and a promise. No one has opened that box in over four hundred years, ever since Tobias’ father himself laid the contents in among the lining.
“You have to ask yourself if it’s worth the pain. Even though it hurts, I wouldn’t take any of it back. I’d take a thousand knives a million times over if it meant I could relive every moment I get to exist next to you.”
He reaches out a hand to stop Tommy from opening the box just yet.
“Before you open that, I need to tell you something. It’s about your father.”
apparently I’ve got no in between.
a few days ago, I was struggling to get to 1k words, today I’m already 500 words into the next siren song chapter and at least 300 words of that is about a wooden box.
