[ Silence on the other end. It’s easy to be angry without any context, that Ash would choose to defile his soul like that, knowing that there are people here who love him, who need him here if they have any chance at all of being alright. He can probably count the minutes until Embry’s complete meltdown on his fingers, he knows, because he’s been there, veering wildly between catatonic sleeping in the dirt, and setting the house on fire while falling in with the first person who pretended to help him reclaim a scrap of dignity. And that was without bloodthirsty ghouls roaming through the house, and supplies dwindling low, and Tim being unlike Embry in that he hadn’t been grieving through a death wish of his own.
He decides to stay furious. The house could stop providing this Temp V at any time, without any warning. Using it to kill himself, even to avoid becoming a monster or putting that burden on anyone else, is selfish. He has to be angry, or he’ll be hopeless, or start blaming himself, as if having a helpful power means he should be able to save everyone. It might even be the godly thing to do, being angry. Anger that brought the flood and cleansed it all. One more vial and he could burn this place to ash. To dust. Give a good man something worth martyring himself for. ]
Embry...
[ Tim swallows, sniffs. Ducks between the stacks in the cold library to avoid Hawk’s eyes, because he knows he'll get an earful if he ventures out without him. Somehow, he resists the urge to ask something stupid, like are you okay? ]
He’s not one of them?
[ He has more questions. How did this happen, why weren’t they more careful, does Greer know? But the fog of apocalyptic exhaustion and the heavy weight of grief, the prickle of fear that this might not end until they’re all shambling corpses, push only the most important things to the forefront. ]
I’m not...you know I’m not a priest. I can do my best but it won’t be a proper service.
[ he would honestly rather prefer if ash was one of them. even if he was a feral fucking monster, he'd be here. embry would shove him a closet and find a way to take care of him then, too. and tell an extremely funny joke about closets in general. ]
No. He's not one of them. He's just a dead fucking body.
[ they hadn't been able to make it back to their suites, so they've commandeered one of the drawing rooms, a comfortable enough space even if it lacks a bed. there are plenty of couches, one of which ash's body lays on, a blanket drawn over him as if he could be sleeping. embry's been on the floor, his back to the couch, sitting at ash's feet for hours. ]
He's not going to write you an essay about how you offended anyone's delicate sensibilities, Tim.
[ Good, he thinks, but he has the good sense to keep that to himself, knowing how it’ll sound. Better to be dead still and quiet than up and about, skin sloughing off the muscle and teeth gnashing at the ones you used to love. Ash wouldn’t want it, and Embry would almost certainly end up bitten himself before the day is up. It’s better this way.
Would he still think so if it were Hawk, removing himself from the fight before an infection could turn him to the other side? Tim wants to think he’d be strong enough to maintain that assuredness. He’s on his knees in the chapel praying that he’ll never need to know the answer, between working his splinter-riddled fingers to the bone and raising the fires enough to keep the feeling in everyone’s extremities, volunteering for every supply run not because it pleases him to permanently sear the stench of burning, rotted flesh into his soul but because he has to. Some were given glitter breath, but Tim was blessed with something with a real potential to turn the tide of this. He has no choice but to fight, to protect all he can in this small window in which he’ll be able, to perform amateur funeral rites on the fly. Duty calls. ]
He deserves to have it done right.
[ By someone who doesn’t let doubt in every time something bad happens. But Tim’s what they’ve got. ]
I’ll stop by the chapel and then head straight there, okay?
[ And he does. Quickly, to avoid questions, to allow Embry to feel his grief in peace without alerting anyone, to keep anyone from trying to stop him from wandering out on his own. The fire powers, temporary as they are, have him feeling safer than he ever did during the wolf games, but he moves carefully still. Ash probably hadn’t thought he was getting bitten today, either. ]
[ truthfully, ash has been dead for days. embry has lost track. two or three, he thinks, with the hours blurring together. it's freezing in the room, cold enough to see his breath, and it's the only reason ash's body doesn't smell as bad as it should. if they were back in carpathia, in the blistering heat — fuck, it would be unbearable. the candles are out because it's daylight and he has the curtains inched open enough to see, but it doesn't matter when it gets dark each night, because he doesn't do anything but run his knuckles along ash's icy cheek and try and coax him into waking up.
he has to get up now, because tim's at the door and it's not going to open itself. he asked him to come, besides. with gloved hands, he yanks at the knob, distantly aware of the stubble lining his jaw, the shadows sketched beneath his eyes. the stock of food on the table hasn't been touched, but there's an empty bottle of gin on the floor and another nearing that by the window. ]
Close it behind you. [ he walks away, toward the center of the room, where he stands there looking lost. ] I should've taken his Bible from his suite, but I can't get back up there.
[ The room warms when Tim enters, lantern in hand. Even in the daylight, he’s been carrying it whenever it’s convenient, manipulating the small flame inside to project more heat than it possibly could naturally, one aspect of his temporary gift. It’s like the first nice day of spring, when you step out expecting to pull your jacket tighter only to feel the sun beaming onto your back.
Breakup season, when the snow melts and reveals the trash, the rot, the dead that had been hiding underneath.
He locks the door behind him and steps into the room, understanding with just a glance towards Ash that his death isn’t as recent as he’d made it seem. He’d seen the bodies, in the wolf games. Just hours after their passing, there was still some color to them, limp and lifeless and disfigured as they were. He was lucky not to join them, and lucky not to know any of them very well, at least at the time. Tim wouldn’t say he knows Ash that well either, taking the hint and keeping an amicable distance after his months-past flirting was gently rebuffed. But they share something that no one else here does, in their faith. To see him like this, cold and rigid and not a thing behind his eyes, makes Tim’s own burn with tears. He screws his eyes shut, tries to swallow the lump in his throat and hopes sorely that he’ll be able to speak around it. ]
It’s okay. I brought my own.
[ Tim opens up a backpack, sets the lantern down on the table next to the food stash, along with a bible, a rosary necklace, and a few candles. A valuable resource that he counts on to keep this power of his running, but he wants to give Ash the best that he can. There has to be candles. ]
Come on. [ Softly, carefully, like he's coaxing a stray dog, Tim offers his hand, to help Embry to his feet. ] We'll light some candles and say a prayer. And then...figure out what to do with his body. They can get to him if you keep him here.
[ he doesn’t realize just how chilled he is until tim brings the warmth in with him. embry’s bones ache, his fingertips having lost feeling beneath his gloves. his cheeks are ruddy when he silently accepts tim’s help and leans down to blink vacantly at the lantern. ]
You have to say the prayer. [ he watches the flames dance within the glass, reflecting the frosty set of his eyes. his expression lacks its usual sharp edges, worn down by lack of sleep and the unique exhaustion of grief. guilt fills him like the goddamn pacific. ] I haven’t ever been to church unless Ash made me go, and you can be damn sure I didn’t retain any fucking information.
[ not when he’d been busy sneaking glances at the way ash’s pants hugged his ass while they were kneeling. then — greer. they’d attended mass at georgetown, and greer galloway happened to be there. the first time he’d seen her in years. it was like taking a bullet to the chest.
he’s pulled abruptly from his thoughts, his brow pinching as he straightens. ]
You’re not taking his body anywhere. [ panic fills him like water, which he struggles to wade through. ] He’s staying right here, where I can see him. I’m staying right here. With him.
[ Embry’s hands are like ice. So, Tim retains his hold on him, the instinct to survive and help everyone else to do the same (failed already) overpowering all the awkwardness that usually sits between them like a noxious cloud. It blows away in a rush of warm air, one of Embry’s hands rubbed between Tim’s and breathed on to quicken the process. Something tactile, something helpful, to gather his focus. ]
You just say ‘amen’ at the end, okay?
[ The entire way over here, he’s been trying to remember the words, or at least enough of them not to make a mockery of the faith over Ash’s corpse. Tim's been to enough funerals, there were a lot of them in his youth, during the war. A neighbor, an uncle, a cousin. Beautiful rooms, tastefully decorated and full of people who loved the deceased, all comforted to some degree by the idea that they were in a better place now, resurrected into eternal peace beyond heaven’s gates. Not the mockery that this place makes of death, of all their souls, pulling them back into their mortal troubles as monsters.
He moves to Embry’s other hand. Stalling. ]
We bury our dead, Embry. [ Catholics, civilized people, residents of this manor who have paid a single moment of attention to how things work here. As obvious as it seems, he speaks softly, because he knows this. He’s felt this. And he might have done the same with Hawk, if the choice hadn’t been taken from him. ] He’ll come back to you, but not if you leave him here.
[ A cold, dark room that smells like rot and burnt meat. That comes from him, he’s set ablaze more of these monsters now than he can count. Seeped into his hair, his clothes, clinging to the insides of his nostrils so that death is inescapable, impossible to desensitize from. If he were to see Ash as just another body, he might as well join the mindless horde himself. ]
I think he'd want that.
[ Unhanding Embry, as ready as he’ll ever be, he steps closer to Ash. Notably, he’s missing fingers. Wiping at his eyes with a deep, heavy sigh, Tim unhooks the simple cross necklace from around his neck and fastens it around Ash’s, jaw clenched resolute as he tries not to think about touching a dead body, the unnatural stiffness of him, the way his skin doesn’t move the way it should. ]
[ of course ash would want that. he wouldn't want his body rotting on a stranger’s couch, draped in a lambswool blanket when ash’s favorite blankets are the ones handmade by his mother. he would want a nice sturdy coffin, nothing fancy, and he’d want to go in with his bible and maybe his wedding ring. embry probably wouldn’t let him have the latter, because he’d take it for himself. but nothing is right in this place. nothing’s ever been right. ]
I can’t bury him. The ground is frozen. [ he wants to laugh. it’s so absurd, that something so mundane could feel like the end of the world. it’s fucking blizzarding outside. ] I already checked.
[ he doesn’t have to elaborate that the way he checked was when he’d grandly attempted to bury danny johnson alive. a concept he still stands by. ]
But the bodies are supposed to be taken. I don’t know how many days, but… he’s not supposed to stay here.
[ even if he tried to keep ash here, it wouldn’t work forever. it isn’t supposed to. the house’s weird fucking magic wouldn’t allow it. the trepidation he feels that ash’s body is still here at all eats away at him. what if it’s different this time? what if he’s not coming back?
tim’s hands are warm and alive, and he draws his hands into his coat pockets when he lets them go, watching as he clasps the cross around ash’s neck. ash’s skin is icy, pallid. cadaverous, because that’s what he is. the texture is different now, his blood sitting in the wrong places. embry kneels by the couch, right at tim’s feet, adjusting the cross and resting his hand on ash’s chest, as if he’s used to touching him like this. ]
It’s okay. I can do this part. [ his knuckles graze ash’s cheek before he tucks the blanket a little higher. ] You don’t have to touch him.
[ his voice still soft and cautious, barely above a whisper, as if this were a real funeral and not a desperate grasping at whatever scraps of humanity this place can still allow them. ]
Fire powers, from the Temp V.
[ Tim pulls two candles from his bag, and moves the flame from the lantern to the wicks with a flick of his finger, two tiny balls of warm light breaking off from the larger one. A demonstration. He could melt the snow into drinking water, warm up just enough of the ground to call it a proper burial. It would be muddy, and whatever grass is left under the storm would be scorched to nothing, but it would be better than this. A slow decay in a cold room for however long this continues, provided the ghouls don’t make their way inside. Which is not a given. ]
The staff that usually take people away are... [ trying to eat them. ] If we do it ourselves, it’ll happen quicker.
[ It doesn’t bother him, to touch him. Not any more than it bothers him to see him, at least, to know that he’s dead, that in this specific, nightmarish circumstance, it was probably the right thing to do. God never said a word about exceptions for when the alternative is eating your loved ones alive, but there must be. So there was a point to this, some noble rationale to avoid more violence, which bothers him marginally less than scrubbing Embry’s blood out of the chapel floor, and the bottled up hurt that came with it. What he wouldn’t give now, for the sear of blood and bleach across his senses, instead of this never-ending rot.
What bothers him is witnessing Embry’s love for Ash, rather than hearing about it, for the first time now, while he lays dead. The tenderness he shows him, while he’s not truly there to be soothed by it. It wears at his resolve, makes the brave face he’s put on for the sake of all those relying on him – for warmth, for comfort, for firepower in the fights against these monsters – crack. ]
Take this. [ Putting a candle in Embry’s hand, and Tim’s own in his other, as much self-soothing as it is solidarity. ] Ready?
[ the mention of temp v makes his stomach roil. he’d taken it. ash had taken it, too, and then used it to leave him. he watches the flames move to the candles, the soft glow illuminating the shroud of despair coating the room. he should give that to ash. a proper burial, or at least the closest thing he can get to it. if tim can thaw the ground, embry can dig no matter how cold it is, no matter if he has to deal with revenants at the same time. he can break up his own former gravesite, because it’s fucking weird to keep seeing it.
his fingers curl in the fabric of ash’s shirt, tensing with the knowledge that he’d have to let him out of this room first. he’d have to stop sitting at his side, stop talking to his corpse, stop sleeping with his head nestled against a dead man. ]
Not yet. [ his expression is almost pleading. ] I will. But I need more time.
[ he brings the candle close to ash’s side, the warm shadows dancing across the planes of his still face, playing at the mockery of life. there’s never a time when ash doesn’t look handsome to him, not even in death, which probably makes him demented as fuck. tim’s hand curling firmly around his is nearly the thing that undoes him, his breath tightening, as if none of these moments become real except in the rare instances that living human contact grounds him. pain returns to him, and he almost pulls away. ]
You better fucking appreciate this. [ muttered down to ash’s face. then, louder — ] Yeah, I’m ready.
[ He nods, his lips a tight line. Tim can leave it without pushing for a day or two. He knows Embry to be far more sensitive than he wants people to believe, to imagine slights where there are none, to act selfishly out of love. Ash will forgive him, even if God won’t. Whether he’ll forgive Tim for enabling this madness, he doesn’t know. Maybe not. It’s a risk he’s willing to take, because Embry is alive no matter how cold he feels in Tim’s hand, and he needs support right now, not eventually, when this is over.
If this will ever be over.
Tim makes the sign of the cross over himself and lets out a final, shaky breath, before he begins. ]
Lord Jesus Christ, with your three days in the tomb, you hallowed the graves of all who believe in you, and made the grave a sign of hope, even as it takes our mortal bodies. Grant that our brother Ash sleeps in peace until you awaken him to glory, for you are the resurrection and the life. Then he, ah... he’ll know the light and the splendor of God. For you live, and reign, forever. And ever.
[ Paraphrased, partially forgotten, and made perverse with the knowledge that when Ash does awaken, it will be right back here in Saltburnt instead of the eternal paradise that they were promised. It doesn’t feel like enough. But what could? Biting his lip, Tim blinks away tears before looking at Embry. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-02-19 10:41 pm (UTC)He decides to stay furious. The house could stop providing this Temp V at any time, without any warning. Using it to kill himself, even to avoid becoming a monster or putting that burden on anyone else, is selfish. He has to be angry, or he’ll be hopeless, or start blaming himself, as if having a helpful power means he should be able to save everyone. It might even be the godly thing to do, being angry. Anger that brought the flood and cleansed it all. One more vial and he could burn this place to ash. To dust. Give a good man something worth martyring himself for. ]
Embry...
[ Tim swallows, sniffs. Ducks between the stacks in the cold library to avoid Hawk’s eyes, because he knows he'll get an earful if he ventures out without him. Somehow, he resists the urge to ask something stupid, like are you okay? ]
He’s not one of them?
[ He has more questions. How did this happen, why weren’t they more careful, does Greer know? But the fog of apocalyptic exhaustion and the heavy weight of grief, the prickle of fear that this might not end until they’re all shambling corpses, push only the most important things to the forefront. ]
I’m not...you know I’m not a priest. I can do my best but it won’t be a proper service.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-20 03:31 am (UTC)No. He's not one of them. He's just a dead fucking body.
[ they hadn't been able to make it back to their suites, so they've commandeered one of the drawing rooms, a comfortable enough space even if it lacks a bed. there are plenty of couches, one of which ash's body lays on, a blanket drawn over him as if he could be sleeping. embry's been on the floor, his back to the couch, sitting at ash's feet for hours. ]
He's not going to write you an essay about how you offended anyone's delicate sensibilities, Tim.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-20 05:47 pm (UTC)Would he still think so if it were Hawk, removing himself from the fight before an infection could turn him to the other side? Tim wants to think he’d be strong enough to maintain that assuredness. He’s on his knees in the chapel praying that he’ll never need to know the answer, between working his splinter-riddled fingers to the bone and raising the fires enough to keep the feeling in everyone’s extremities, volunteering for every supply run not because it pleases him to permanently sear the stench of burning, rotted flesh into his soul but because he has to. Some were given glitter breath, but Tim was blessed with something with a real potential to turn the tide of this. He has no choice but to fight, to protect all he can in this small window in which he’ll be able, to perform amateur funeral rites on the fly. Duty calls. ]
He deserves to have it done right.
[ By someone who doesn’t let doubt in every time something bad happens. But Tim’s what they’ve got. ]
I’ll stop by the chapel and then head straight there, okay?
[ And he does. Quickly, to avoid questions, to allow Embry to feel his grief in peace without alerting anyone, to keep anyone from trying to stop him from wandering out on his own. The fire powers, temporary as they are, have him feeling safer than he ever did during the wolf games, but he moves carefully still. Ash probably hadn’t thought he was getting bitten today, either. ]
Embry, are you in there?
[ Hushed from outside the door. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-20 06:47 pm (UTC)he has to get up now, because tim's at the door and it's not going to open itself. he asked him to come, besides. with gloved hands, he yanks at the knob, distantly aware of the stubble lining his jaw, the shadows sketched beneath his eyes. the stock of food on the table hasn't been touched, but there's an empty bottle of gin on the floor and another nearing that by the window. ]
Close it behind you. [ he walks away, toward the center of the room, where he stands there looking lost. ] I should've taken his Bible from his suite, but I can't get back up there.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-20 08:08 pm (UTC)Breakup season, when the snow melts and reveals the trash, the rot, the dead that had been hiding underneath.
He locks the door behind him and steps into the room, understanding with just a glance towards Ash that his death isn’t as recent as he’d made it seem. He’d seen the bodies, in the wolf games. Just hours after their passing, there was still some color to them, limp and lifeless and disfigured as they were. He was lucky not to join them, and lucky not to know any of them very well, at least at the time. Tim wouldn’t say he knows Ash that well either, taking the hint and keeping an amicable distance after his months-past flirting was gently rebuffed. But they share something that no one else here does, in their faith. To see him like this, cold and rigid and not a thing behind his eyes, makes Tim’s own burn with tears. He screws his eyes shut, tries to swallow the lump in his throat and hopes sorely that he’ll be able to speak around it. ]
It’s okay. I brought my own.
[ Tim opens up a backpack, sets the lantern down on the table next to the food stash, along with a bible, a rosary necklace, and a few candles. A valuable resource that he counts on to keep this power of his running, but he wants to give Ash the best that he can. There has to be candles. ]
Come on. [ Softly, carefully, like he's coaxing a stray dog, Tim offers his hand, to help Embry to his feet. ] We'll light some candles and say a prayer. And then...figure out what to do with his body. They can get to him if you keep him here.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-21 12:31 am (UTC)You have to say the prayer. [ he watches the flames dance within the glass, reflecting the frosty set of his eyes. his expression lacks its usual sharp edges, worn down by lack of sleep and the unique exhaustion of grief. guilt fills him like the goddamn pacific. ] I haven’t ever been to church unless Ash made me go, and you can be damn sure I didn’t retain any fucking information.
[ not when he’d been busy sneaking glances at the way ash’s pants hugged his ass while they were kneeling. then — greer. they’d attended mass at georgetown, and greer galloway happened to be there. the first time he’d seen her in years. it was like taking a bullet to the chest.
he’s pulled abruptly from his thoughts, his brow pinching as he straightens. ]
You’re not taking his body anywhere. [ panic fills him like water, which he struggles to wade through. ] He’s staying right here, where I can see him. I’m staying right here. With him.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-21 04:38 pm (UTC)You just say ‘amen’ at the end, okay?
[ The entire way over here, he’s been trying to remember the words, or at least enough of them not to make a mockery of the faith over Ash’s corpse. Tim's been to enough funerals, there were a lot of them in his youth, during the war. A neighbor, an uncle, a cousin. Beautiful rooms, tastefully decorated and full of people who loved the deceased, all comforted to some degree by the idea that they were in a better place now, resurrected into eternal peace beyond heaven’s gates. Not the mockery that this place makes of death, of all their souls, pulling them back into their mortal troubles as monsters.
He moves to Embry’s other hand. Stalling. ]
We bury our dead, Embry. [ Catholics, civilized people, residents of this manor who have paid a single moment of attention to how things work here. As obvious as it seems, he speaks softly, because he knows this. He’s felt this. And he might have done the same with Hawk, if the choice hadn’t been taken from him. ] He’ll come back to you, but not if you leave him here.
[ A cold, dark room that smells like rot and burnt meat. That comes from him, he’s set ablaze more of these monsters now than he can count. Seeped into his hair, his clothes, clinging to the insides of his nostrils so that death is inescapable, impossible to desensitize from. If he were to see Ash as just another body, he might as well join the mindless horde himself. ]
I think he'd want that.
[ Unhanding Embry, as ready as he’ll ever be, he steps closer to Ash. Notably, he’s missing fingers. Wiping at his eyes with a deep, heavy sigh, Tim unhooks the simple cross necklace from around his neck and fastens it around Ash’s, jaw clenched resolute as he tries not to think about touching a dead body, the unnatural stiffness of him, the way his skin doesn’t move the way it should. ]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-21 09:32 pm (UTC)I can’t bury him. The ground is frozen. [ he wants to laugh. it’s so absurd, that something so mundane could feel like the end of the world. it’s fucking blizzarding outside. ] I already checked.
[ he doesn’t have to elaborate that the way he checked was when he’d grandly attempted to bury danny johnson alive. a concept he still stands by. ]
But the bodies are supposed to be taken. I don’t know how many days, but… he’s not supposed to stay here.
[ even if he tried to keep ash here, it wouldn’t work forever. it isn’t supposed to. the house’s weird fucking magic wouldn’t allow it. the trepidation he feels that ash’s body is still here at all eats away at him. what if it’s different this time? what if he’s not coming back?
tim’s hands are warm and alive, and he draws his hands into his coat pockets when he lets them go, watching as he clasps the cross around ash’s neck. ash’s skin is icy, pallid. cadaverous, because that’s what he is. the texture is different now, his blood sitting in the wrong places. embry kneels by the couch, right at tim’s feet, adjusting the cross and resting his hand on ash’s chest, as if he’s used to touching him like this. ]
It’s okay. I can do this part. [ his knuckles graze ash’s cheek before he tucks the blanket a little higher. ] You don’t have to touch him.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-21 10:51 pm (UTC)[ his voice still soft and cautious, barely above a whisper, as if this were a real funeral and not a desperate grasping at whatever scraps of humanity this place can still allow them. ]
Fire powers, from the Temp V.
[ Tim pulls two candles from his bag, and moves the flame from the lantern to the wicks with a flick of his finger, two tiny balls of warm light breaking off from the larger one. A demonstration. He could melt the snow into drinking water, warm up just enough of the ground to call it a proper burial. It would be muddy, and whatever grass is left under the storm would be scorched to nothing, but it would be better than this. A slow decay in a cold room for however long this continues, provided the ghouls don’t make their way inside. Which is not a given. ]
The staff that usually take people away are... [ trying to eat them. ] If we do it ourselves, it’ll happen quicker.
[ It doesn’t bother him, to touch him. Not any more than it bothers him to see him, at least, to know that he’s dead, that in this specific, nightmarish circumstance, it was probably the right thing to do. God never said a word about exceptions for when the alternative is eating your loved ones alive, but there must be. So there was a point to this, some noble rationale to avoid more violence, which bothers him marginally less than scrubbing Embry’s blood out of the chapel floor, and the bottled up hurt that came with it. What he wouldn’t give now, for the sear of blood and bleach across his senses, instead of this never-ending rot.
What bothers him is witnessing Embry’s love for Ash, rather than hearing about it, for the first time now, while he lays dead. The tenderness he shows him, while he’s not truly there to be soothed by it. It wears at his resolve, makes the brave face he’s put on for the sake of all those relying on him – for warmth, for comfort, for firepower in the fights against these monsters – crack. ]
Take this. [ Putting a candle in Embry’s hand, and Tim’s own in his other, as much self-soothing as it is solidarity. ] Ready?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-22 06:31 pm (UTC)his fingers curl in the fabric of ash’s shirt, tensing with the knowledge that he’d have to let him out of this room first. he’d have to stop sitting at his side, stop talking to his corpse, stop sleeping with his head nestled against a dead man. ]
Not yet. [ his expression is almost pleading. ] I will. But I need more time.
[ he brings the candle close to ash’s side, the warm shadows dancing across the planes of his still face, playing at the mockery of life. there’s never a time when ash doesn’t look handsome to him, not even in death, which probably makes him demented as fuck. tim’s hand curling firmly around his is nearly the thing that undoes him, his breath tightening, as if none of these moments become real except in the rare instances that living human contact grounds him. pain returns to him, and he almost pulls away. ]
You better fucking appreciate this. [ muttered down to ash’s face. then, louder — ] Yeah, I’m ready.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-24 06:46 pm (UTC)If this will ever be over.
Tim makes the sign of the cross over himself and lets out a final, shaky breath, before he begins. ]
Lord Jesus Christ, with your three days in the tomb, you hallowed the graves of all who believe in you, and made the grave a sign of hope, even as it takes our mortal bodies. Grant that our brother Ash sleeps in peace until you awaken him to glory, for you are the resurrection and the life. Then he, ah... he’ll know the light and the splendor of God. For you live, and reign, forever. And ever.
[ Paraphrased, partially forgotten, and made perverse with the knowledge that when Ash does awaken, it will be right back here in Saltburnt instead of the eternal paradise that they were promised. It doesn’t feel like enough. But what could? Biting his lip, Tim blinks away tears before looking at Embry. ]
Do you want to say anything?