It wasn't the big things he did, it was in the small things.
It wasn't the days he strapped on leather to save the world, it was the times he sat up with kids who were scared of the darkness that crowded their dreams.
It wasn't those who thought he was only after *one* thing, it was the way he cared about *everyone* that came through those doors mutant or not.
It was never talked about when he was there but it was when he wasn't there anymore.
Everyone knew why he left, they all knew the things they'd done to him, the ease in which they'd labelled and filed him away in their minds.
Never realising the truth about the man under the surface of the mask he wore.
What is *sacred*?
Time?
Love?
Hope?
He had these and more, he gave these and more to everyone who needed them but it was never enough was it? There was always more you wanted, more blood to shed, more lies to heap on his shoulders, more blame to lay at *his* door.
Marie had written the words large and red on the walls of the dining room, in her own blood on walls that were plaster and drank her ichor eagerly.
'He was sacred to me, holy, involiate, trusted and worthy of love. To you he was nothing more than a soldier, a teacher with no morals, an animal with no feelings but hatred. You know NOTHING.'
She'd followed him then, out of the doors, her wounds closing slowly, his touch so many times to save her kept her from the death she craved.
They'd driven him away by denying him the peace he'd needed, a moment of clarity in a lovers embrace, all because they thought him 'too old' for the girl with the ancient soul.
And when they came to breakfast, the doors open wide to the sunny garden, life erupting in song and flying life. Not one sound was heard from those who read the words on the wall, everyone knew it was the truth and like the bible story no amount of cleaning would expunge the words from this wall. They each were to blame and they alone would understand what the word 'sacred' meant.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Just a drabble