[The long road to freedom begins with being startled out of sleep at five in the morning - first by the sound of his door jarring open and then by the hand around his arm, a gruff voice. He's more awake by the time he is subjected to the indignity of one last search - prying fingers and penlights reminding him that his aching body still belonged to the penitentiary down to the very last second - and brought before the court dressed in some of his old clothes. The verdict is everything Ed promised it would be, but he feels less triumphant than he knows he should be, and than he knows he will feel once he's at home, settled in his own bed over fresh, dryer-hot sheets with an aspirin in him. There is little room to stop and breathe before the press swarm him like vultures, thrusting mics and cameras at him for a sound bite. Before ducking inside the waiting limo, he wets his lips and looks around and leaves them with the following: 'today, we have witnessed the triumph of justice -- and it is my sincere hope that all others who stand trial in the days to come shall be tried fairly, as is their right, and not be made to suffer as long or as cruelly as I have.'
He's too tired to consider the possible repercussions of anything he has said once he drops into his seat and leans his head against the window, not realizing he has fallen asleep until the car rolls to a gentle stop in front of the Van Dahl mansion. A jolt of adrenaline snaps him upright.
He knuckles away the drool at the corner of his mouth and fumbles to open his seatbelt, shoving his way out of the car. Ed is just ahead, waiting with a smile so welcome Oswald could cry. He quickens his pace with a ragged, panting sort of laugh, stumbling his way to Ed, into Ed. Chin bumping Ed's chest as he puts his arms around him like a drowning man and all but collapses into him, sobbing his relief into his shirt.
Ed is home.
His fingers tighten around the back of Ed's suit jacket. Needy, a child's grip.]
no subject
He's too tired to consider the possible repercussions of anything he has said once he drops into his seat and leans his head against the window, not realizing he has fallen asleep until the car rolls to a gentle stop in front of the Van Dahl mansion. A jolt of adrenaline snaps him upright.
He knuckles away the drool at the corner of his mouth and fumbles to open his seatbelt, shoving his way out of the car. Ed is just ahead, waiting with a smile so welcome Oswald could cry. He quickens his pace with a ragged, panting sort of laugh, stumbling his way to Ed, into Ed. Chin bumping Ed's chest as he puts his arms around him like a drowning man and all but collapses into him, sobbing his relief into his shirt.
Ed is home.
His fingers tighten around the back of Ed's suit jacket. Needy, a child's grip.]