steadfast

Alcohol induced or not, for a moment Daniel feels intensely human. Like he’s back in his college dorm on a bed that’s too small, discovering for the first time what it felt like when someone he cared about kissed him back. Skin heating beneath Ezra’s hands, a warm path left in their wake as he trails down over his chest, his stomach. Then the waist of his jeans, and a quiet groan slips past his lips against Ezra’s when his palm presses down.

He forgets that he’s supposed to care where they are, or how easy it would be for anyone to walk through the door. He doesn’t care about much except Ezra’s mouth, how easily his lips parted beneath his fingers and how good his hands feel. How much brighter he looks, how it feels to have all that uncertainty and guilt reduced to ashes between them.

But Ezra pulls away first, a promise in that heated whisper that takes away that aching regret that he stops kissing Danny in the first place. Hand reaching for his to help drag him upright, and he doesn’t hesitate to push himself up after him..

Danny doesn’t believe he’s anything but buzzed until he’s standing, and it rushes all too quickly to his head. Tilting on his feet, biting back a laugh at Ezra’s words, the way the room tilts around him, and the tugging at his hand. It’s lighter than he’s felt in a long time, before the world ever ended, and it chases away whatever doubt might come with how much responsibility the wine might claim from that. 

He grasps at his half finished glass before they go, tossing back the rest of it before he leaves it abandoned. Slipping his hand from Ezra’s only to wrap an arm possessively around his shoulders instead. Fingers splayed across his chest, twisting in the fabric of his shirt with a growing desire to pull it off him. His head tips, mouth settling against his neck. It might make it harder to walk, but he doesn’t care, mumbling against the soft skin of his throat.

“But Ez, we’re practically in a church.” The words are insincere enough, but he punctuates them with an open mouthed kiss, the scrape of teeth and tongue against his neck.

Ezra hums contentedly as Danny follows, arm wrapped him, pressed against his back. Both uneven with their steps it's more difficult to make a quick escape to somewhere more private but it seems neither care. He just wants to get Danny groaning like that again, have him all to himself with a bottle of wine and a locked door till they wake up the next day sober and exhausted and content.

There’s hardly any effort in sounding put off at the thought of where they are. Ezra shakes his head, slowly blinks as he looks around them. “And you're practically an angel,” he smiles at the scrape of teeth against his neck, the special attention always offered to it by Daniel's wandering mouth, “Only seems right this is the place I get on my knees for you, doesn't it?”

He grins to himself as he leads the way, now rushing to find a room with a lock that looks unused. He gives up quickly. The first door looks like a frequently used office the next, though, seems like it'll do. An empty-ish room with folded chairs at the side, a small empty room used when needed. And it's needed. Ez pulls Danny in after him before shutting the door with his foot. Reluctantly he breaks away from Danny’s arms to drag a chair in front of the door.

It won't stop anyone who’s determined enough from coming in but it'll give them enough privacy. That's enough for Ezra. He takes another swig of wine, turns to Danny and... slows right down. They’re alone now. He’s drunk and Danny’s beautiful and they have time. The greatest luxury of this monastery and it’s walls and gates. Amidst it all, he thinks they might’ve really found a sanctuary.

It seems unfair that Ezra expects him to summon some kind of coherency when he’s moaning into his mouth like that. For a moment Danny can’t think about anything else, the sound vibrating against his lips, skin flushing and heat settling in his stomach. Even after he pulls away he can still taste him, still feel that heated breath against his lips, the eyes on him bright and vibrant. Danny sucks his lower lip between his teeth, drawing the taste of him onto his tongue as he tries to think of an answer, and not just demand Ezra’s lips back on his.

“You look…” He pauses, not wanting to repeat his own words back to him. Bright. Good. Better than he has in a while, and if anything threatens to cool that heat in his veins it’s that it’s thanks to the wine he’s been swiftly tossing back. Serving as a band-aid, and he’s torn between that sliver of doubt that tries to creep into his thoughts, the sensation of guilt that’s always too close at hand. And the more selfish one that swears maybe Ezra deserves this moment, maybe they both do, and he might be just as bad as the man next to him when it came to second guessing everything good.

He swallows it down, his voice already harsher from the way Ezra was kissing him. Like he meant every word, that he loves him, and a harsh breath escapes him when he finally settles on an answer. “Happy,” he says. “You look happy.”  Whatever else he thinks, that alone seems like enough right now. Ezra’s happy.  

A smile flickers to life in the next moment. “And hot.” Sacrilegious, and for a moment he wonders what the sisters would think if they walked in now. Just not enough to care.

He sits up enough to maneuver his half full glass onto the table next to them. He’s barely had half of what Ezra had, but it’s enough to loosen his restraint. The motion presses him closer to Ezra, but that’s where he was going anyway. Daniel’s fingers lifting to trace the curve of his lips, pressing lightly to part them. His breaths coming short and shallow.

“I mean it,” Danny says abruptly, and with more force, because he’d been thinking it for a while now, and couldn’t leave it at just some poor joke. “I love you.”

His fingers leave his lips to replace them with his own, mouth covering his with a rising want. Hand falling to his chest instead, feeling the warmth of him beneath his shirt, hard muscle and tattoos that he could trace with eyes closed now.

There’s a harshness to Danny’s voice, a stark difference from usual with heavy breathes and an intensity Ezra wants to lean into more than usual. A thought even more entertaining given where they are -- they never seemed to be so handsy with each other when they had their own space or room. Pervs, he thinks to himself, that smile sticks around for longer this time and stays put as Danny answers his question.

Happy. He smiles more and he really can’t argue that. Even as those quiet, negative thoughts whisper it’s just the alcohol, they’re silenced by a So what? You look happy. Danny gets to see Ez smile, Ezra gets to feel it’s genuine even just for a night. Then Danny smiles and Ez’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of red, pleased with the words and then the fingers tracing his lips. He opens up for him with the lightest pressure against his lip.

The heart in Danny’s next few words, abrupt and forceful, making Ezra listen. Telling him to understand how genuine they are, send a thrill through Ezra, growing warmer by the second and it’s not only the wine’s fault now. The next kiss matches the intensity of his words.

And as Danny’s hand trail up Ez’s chest, Ezra’s find themselves moving in the opposite direction. Sliding down Danny’s torso, over his waistband then feeling Danny’s length through the fabric. Smiling as he kisses Danny back, leaning into the hand blazing a path over him. Ezra breaks from the kiss reluctantly, voice a harsh whisper, “C’mon,” he moves his right hand to hold Danny’s hand instead, “We’re gonna need a room with a lock.”

Bryce can hear the barely audible noise of Ezra exhaling smoke. The smell leaves traces in the air around him and suddenly the situation feels more familiar. After all, anxiously turning over bad situations was practically part of his job description. He remembers being younger and still worrying about it, throat locked up tight in an oppressive collar, tapping out his ash into the tray on his knee. All those little pleasures that helped in some way to put him at ease no longer felt right in his hand, but. He didn’t mind the smell, still.

His eyes have dropped, hands still fisted in his pockets, bringing them up and out only when Ezra asks his question. Just like before. Back to the interrogations. For a minute, Bryce’s face doesn’t change. He still feels the urge to answer, even if in a dismissive way. But now his brow knits together and he stares at the other man with concern and regret for feeling it alike.

“You can’t help it, can you?” He asks, instead of answering. “Why ask me this little shit still? For fuck’s sake.” Bryce sighs. He knows the demon is gone as far as he’s been told. But his distrust remains. Burns of being set up. “There are better ways to entertain yourself, you know.”

He was doing okay, he thinks. Ezra had found some sort of... not peace but a way to still himself. He was accepting something would always feel a little wrong with him, that this would simply be another burden to throw onto his shoulders. But, apparently, he hadn’t learned anything. Maybe that stillness was just denial.

For fuck’s sake. Bryce sighs and his exhaustion and distrust are as clear as it’s ever been.

“Sorry,” Ezra says, ducking his head and regretting that too. Apologies from Ezra must be losing their meaning. Perhaps it already has. His free hand is tucked into his jeans pocket, focusing as much as he can on his cigarette, his crutch whenever he has to keep talking or feels the need to. He can’t leave, really. He could, but he won’t.

Before he might’ve left it at that, instead he decides to keep talking. Tell Bryce something not to get his trust or get him to talk to him just to even out the playing field. Maybe. Ezra doesn’t know what he wants apart from some way to smother the guilt that dark stain in his body taunts him with every moment of his life since that night at the base.

“Bad habit, I guess. Been a cop longer than I wasn’t,” he looks past Bryce to the gates and realizes that’s probably true, actually, and he continues that train of thought out loud, “Think I’ve interrogated more people than I’ve simply spoken too.”

A warm flush spreads through Daniel at Ezra’s answer, smile softening even while his ears start to burn. He expected a joke, not this warm sincerity, and not something that he doesn’t think for a second he deserves. Whatever divinity has taken up residence in his chest, he rarely feels like anything holy, nothing worthy of how Ezra looks at him when he says it.

His heart beating too loudly in his ears to summon any kind of response at first. He swallows hard, unaware he’s mimicking that motion, lower lip between his teeth before he manages something coherent. “You should see yourself right now.” 

If either of them is bright, or good, he still believes it’s the man next to him. Even a demon trying to turn his eyes black couldn’t change that.

He goes quiet, watches Ezra refill his glass, and he’s less hesitant this time to toss back a mouthful. A few more and he’s sure he won’t even taste it anymore, long enough with alcohol that it lends a pleasant haziness to his thoughts. Drowning out the rest of the world except for those beautiful eyes looking back at him. The pressure of his hand on his chest.

His breath catches when he feels him moving, watching him with an undisguised interest as Ezra presses closer. That smile returning in force before Ezra’s lips greet his.

He kisses him back easily, free hand settling against the side of his neck. Eyes closing, for a moment everything else forgotten except how much better that wine tastes when it’s on Ezra’s tongue. The warmth and heat of him next to him, moments like this still too rare. And that would’ve been enough by itself, but Ezra’s offering the words back, ones he was only half aware had slipped past his lips.

There’s no room to feel foolish for just how casual his own admittance had been. He’s too busy trying to hold onto it, thumb dragging along Ezra’s jaw as he pulls him closer so he can kiss him harder, glass dangling forgotten in his other hand. 

He left Danny's lips only long enough to say those three little words before he's being pulled in harder. He moans, softly, through the kiss and into his mouth. Danny's firm grip on his jaw all the more grounding for the fact he's officially drunk and everything else is a little hazy.

Only Danny is crystal clear and he's suddenly aware of how little he's appreciated him. They could've gone a different way entirely, Ezra could've remained steadfast to his 'morals' instead of steadfast to his love.

He kisses with an open, inviting mouth, tasting the wine on Danny's tongue and moaning again, a deeper sound in the back of his throat. It's obscene. He's enjoying it too much to stop.

Ezra pulls back, forehead leaning against Danny's, giving himself just enough space to speak. Warm breath hitting Danny's lips, “What do I look like right now?” he asks, going back to those earlier words.  Maybe he looks like a drunk fool or maybe he looks as good as he feels. Carefree. Relaxed. In love.

Patty appreciates it. This second glass she sips a bit more carefully, swallowing with her brows knit together being the only sign she isn’t a fan of the taste. She purses her lips in a tight, approving smile at the hints Ezra makes to the oddities of an Aryan Jesus, a battle she stopped fighting or even giving a shit about long ago. But it’s always the little details that reveal why she likes someone. Picking her knees up, Patty crosses them to sit, puling the loose hem of her dress over them absently as she gets comfortable, grinning at Ezra’s giddiness as she looks him over.

“What on–don’t tell me you’re a lightweight?” She asks, following it up with a laugh that’s too airy and prolonged to not have been affected by her own drinking. Patty rocks a bit in her seat and balks at him, blinking through light haze at the tattoos on his skin. As though they alone signaled he was supposed to be a certain kind of way.  “That’s…adorable.”

She murmurs, fingers arranged around the rim of her glass, elbow in the air as she holds it near her lips. And takes another big gulp. “…come on, haven’t you ever had a big philosophical battle all lubricated and shit? Live a little, Ezzy.” She leans forward, arm outstretched, and pokes at him with the hand holding her glass before bringing it to her mouth again. “Talk.”

Ezra ducks his chin down against his chest, smiling to himself. He’s well aware he doesn’t look like it and despite years going out drinking to unwind and pick up people, he’s always been hit hard by liquor. Being a cheap date was always a badge of honor, though, seeing as he always seemed to be the one paying. 

“Yes ma’am, I’m the lightest lightweight you ever met. I never have shots unless forced. Which Danny did once for his birthday and, well ...” he shakes his head, smiling at the memory. Patty can fill in the blanks.

Patty speaks into her glass, a faint hollow sound to it and she encourages him to talk. In all honesty, he rarely spent his time drunk talking. That he actually does feel a little embarrassed by, that life seems so far away and carefree in comparison. “Uh, sure I have,” he tries to think back. The very nature of a drunk debate is probably it goes forgotten.

Patty leans forward, eager for something fun but he’s not great at that, even drunk and now sipping at his wine at a more reasonable pace for an Extra-Lite Lightweight, although it doesn’t stop him going into it, “But I’m an expert at ruining things by over-thinking and analyzing it and saying the wrong thing at the wrong time without thinking. I’ll start talking about how the wine tastes and get to exorcisms and demons before you know it and say too much and leave us both miserable...” Ez trails off and takes another swig of his wine before he shakes his head with laughter.

Ezra looks back up to Patty and smiles, “Sure you want me to start talkin’?”

It would be more concerning if he could remember the last time Ezra indulged in anything but cigarettes. Either of them really, but it was an easy thought that the man might need it more. And for now it was hard to take issue with anything that got him to laugh like that again, as if he didn’t still carry so much weight around on his shoulders. Even if it was just for a night. 

And it’s easy to follow in his footsteps, to feel closer to human than he has in a while when Ezra’s looking at him like that. Like he isn’t a ghost of the man he used to be, or a killer that had never had to pay for his crimes. He’s too grateful for both when guilt still serves as a constant companion, far too present every time he’s looked at Ezra since the exorcism. 

Danny just shakes his head before he does his best to play catch up, tossing back the rest of his glass in a quick swallow. His nose wrinkles, expression displaying exactly what he thinks of the taste, but it doesn’t stop him from holding out the empty glass to him afterwards.

“Just so long as you don’t cross over into shitfaced. I love you but I really don’t want to hold your hair back while you puke.”

His smile only widens at the answer he gets, the hand smoothing down his shirt that he’s quick to try and catch. “Oh? What’s in first place?”

Every drop of wine and the weight on his shoulders feel a little lighter. He can forget about his many burdens or see them for what they are: weight he collected and held onto by his own choice. 

“You’re...” he chews over the thought, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth before it pops out with a smile and an answer, “Bright. Just. All the way through. Bright and good. So good.”

Another glass in he might manage to say what he needs to. About Sikes. About the fact he doesn’t see the blood on Danny’s hands and want to run from them but now he only wants to hold them tighter. That smile grows when Danny tries to catch up and looks as disgusted as before.

He pours another glass for Danny, suddenly aware of how quickly the bottle’s running out as it gets lighter. The nun probably didn’t think he’d get this drunk on so little, so quickly. It’s fine, though. This is good. He’s good. They’re both good.

“Hey, Danny?” he puts down his glass and just looks at him for a long moment. Hand still against Danny’s chest, he gently presses aginst him. To feel his warmth and body beneath his shirt fabric and Ezra trails his hand up over his torso,“My hair’s short enough you won’t need t’hold it. And...”  Ezra moves in. The kiss slow but earnest, a tender thing to match the honesty of his words. 

Bryce doesn’t like being told not to act, never has. There’s something in his blood that abhors inaction. Laziness. Sitting back and watching things unfold when he knows how it ends. It runs contrary to his entire nature. And yet, when Ezra starts to explain his reasoning, his motions slow until they ultimately stop. He stays staring, glaring forward at the gates, the revenants on the other side snarling, excited by his closeness just as Ezra said. It’s so loud he can barely think. Cloying eyes, thick with mucus and haze, mocking him with sheer numbers.

“Near, far,” Bryce begins to respond, mumbling but still loud and clear enough for Ezra to hear. It’s strange, standing this close to them and letting them live. He takes in the details of numb, grey faces. All of them. “Here…there. They’re all over the fucking place, them and more. And here we are.”

He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, back relaxed as though he were admiring an oceanfront property view and not a mass of dead strangers and unknown unknowns. It feels sour, to speak without a layer of something to obscure his true thoughts from Ezra, especially given how well that had gone for him last time. He heard that nonchalant voice, its very tone urging him to relax and confide, and now felt nothing but a siren call urging him on to his own destruction. Reminding him in his father’s voice of what he’ll never have.

Bryce turns finally, hands still in his pockets. Stares Ezra down with less fire, more…exhaustion. “You’re right. We’re already in the thick of it. Whichever way we leave will be messy, mark my fuckin’ words.” 

Despite his words, Bryce listens to Ezra. He stops killing them and steps back: watches the monsters pushing at the gates. Ezra’s struck by the way Bryce stands and watches them. Casually admiring the view. While Ez has certainly grown numb to it, he doesn’t think he could match that genuinely casual attitude.

It’s so easy for Ez to slip back into that old attitude towards Bryce. The curiosity, need for answers and explanations of why people behaved the way they did. There were enough details. Closeted. Raised by someone who didn’t tolerate that. It’s all he’s got, really. Ez knows of Bryce’s brother and from the look of him, they’re simply a fucking serious family.

Any real answers to his questions is a privilege he’s lost. The demon took it from, and perhaps it’s not the worst thing he’s lost from that violation.

“Yeah, never said I thought we’d have an easy exit,” Ez answers, focusing on the smoke in hand, honestly bored of himself and the way he restricts himself so much at this moment. 

Ezra gives in to his own curiosity, the constant fishing for information on people, especially the likes of Bryce who remain a closed book. Ez looks up and Bryce isn’t completely avoiding his gaze anymore. “Don’t like being cooped up, huh?”

Ezra’s face turns red, and Daniel’s grinning before he even realizes it. Even if it’s short-lived, shaking his head to try and adjust to the wine on his tongue.

Fingers twist in his shirt, and he’s fighting in the next moment just to keep his balance as Ezra pulls him forward. One hand trying to keep his glass from tipping, the other trying to keep from falling right on top of Ezra, hand catching himself on the back of the chair. 

Not that he really minds the idea, a thought that occurs to him after he’s half bent over the man, that smile a lot closer than it was a moment ago. His whole body feels warmer for it, just seeing him look happy again. Even if it’s thanks to the wine in his glass. “And you’re drunk.” 

Daniel wets his lips before he gets his balance, shifting to settle into the space next to Ezra. “Just admit it. It’s your favorite thing about me.” 

Danny falls into place in the seat next to him, Ez only laughs at the way Danny has to catch himself. Ezra knocks back the rest of his wine, pulls a face at the taste but still pours himself a third glass, “Now I'm drunk. Earlier was...” He shrugs, abandons the rest of that thought.

Ezra knows he's so carefree because of the alcohol, that it's the smallest of blessings to have this moment where he can simply let go. Perhaps it’s unhealthy -- but only if he makes a habit of it. 

Not that he thinks about that right now. Ez is too busy watching Danny. Lingering too long on his lips as his tongue darts out, wetting them. He looks so fucking good with that smile, light in his eyes that seems to be missing some days. God, he missed this. Even if it’s miles away from getting drunk in a noisy, dark club he’s still got the handsome man to hit on only now he knows he’s a shoe-in if he goes in for the kiss.

“Hm...” Ezra hums in thought, hamming it up as he leans forward, hand reaching out to smooth the part of Danny’s shirt he’d crumpled, “It’s not my favorite thing. It’s up there.”

God, no. I was always told I should start one. It’d supposedly help with my bouts of insomnia but, uh, I was usually too focused on a case or something to go through with any sort of routine. 

Thumb stroking the outside of the glass, Patty extends her arm as far as it will go, tipping it over on her knee in a gesture for Ezra to refill her. It’s a race to the bottom she wants and Ez doesn’t seem like the type to deny her. She snorts at the image of Jesus, even harder at the picture of nuns laying sinfully in their beds, evoking this hyper-masculine image in secret. Long hair and muscle tone.

“Sounds like Wes before his cut,” she laughs through every syllable, licking over her lips and pursing them in a smile. “Or Eli. Eli’s pretty Jesus-y until he opens his mouth.” 

Patty brings the glass back to her face to sniff at the rim, at the strong tangy scent left over. For just a second she balances it against her lips before looking back up at Ezra again, wondering if she should say anything about how much better he looks, lately. Time for subtlety. “’You feel good about this place?”

He follows her silent gesture, filling up her glass more generously this time. 

“A blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Jesus? Weird thought.” Ezra chuckles lightly at the mention of Eli, Jesus-like is not the way he’d describe Eli, but he can see it. Probably spends too long thinking on it before he shakes his head, “Definitely ruins it soon as he starts talking.”

It’s nice, though. Ezra realizes then that maybe Eli does have friends in the group. Or it may simply be Patty, an easy presence and easy person to talk to. He’s glad, all of a sudden, someone like her has survived this long. 

The question is taken at face value. If he wasn’t feeling a little warm from the drink, he’s certain he’d be moping still. Ezra looks at the glass in hand, the drops of deep red liquid left behind. He smiles into it, “Right now? I feel pretty good about it.”

“Ask me later once this is --” he waves the waggles the glass side to side “-- is out of my system and you’ll get a proper answer.”

Daniel hums, eyeing Ezra with some mock suspicion as he raises his glass to his lips. It doesn’t matter to him either way, not really, not when there’s a smile looking back at him. Something playful that leaves a warm ache in his chest.

“Long as you’re my date.” The line’s cheesy, but he’s unapologetic for it, or the answering smile that settles on his lips for a moment.

He takes advantage of the offer, even if he doesn’t listen much to the warning. There were a limited amount of guesses just where Ezra got it from, but he didn’t imagine communion wine would ever be all that great. He pours himself a glass, settling the bottle back on the table before he tosses back a swallow of it.

“Oh.” It catches him off guard, stronger than he expects, and nowhere near as smooth. He coughs, back of his fist covering his mouth as it turns into a laugh. “Shit.”

He rolls his eyes at the cheesy line. Rolls them even harder because it really, really works on him. One glass of the wine and his cheeks are flushing quicker than they would have if he was stone-cold sober. 

Ez's small smile turns to a cheek-splitting grin, watching with delight as Danny takes a drink and the taste hits him,“Don’t say I didn’t... warn you.”

He reaches out and grabs Danny by the shirt. Clumsy fingers ball into a fist, dragging Danny towards him by his torso, aiming to guide him down into the seat right next to him.

“You're a fucking cheeseball, Danny.”

There was the thought that maybe Daniel should feel something, feel more, when they stepped through the gates. If he could sense demons now, seen traces of the divine in other people, shouldn’t he have felt it here too? Something comforting instead of that ringing in his ears, some sense of peace? 

There was nothing, no sensation any different than walking through the doors of the Ikea. The only thing that seemed to make him feel anything hadn’t changed, and it’s that moment he finds Ezra instead. The image painfully normal, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“How much have you had?“ He crosses the room to conduct his own investigation even after he asks. Tilting his head to get a look at the bottle.

Danny walks up to him. Despite asking the question and Ez’s immediate answer -- “Only the one!” -- he’s leaning over, looking into the bottle.

“C’mon, don’t you believe me?” Ez looks up, hiding the smile as he brings the second glass up to his lips, watching Danny.  Hm. This probably wasn’t what the kind nun intended for her wine. That smile he tried to hide reaches his eyes, lightening up his tone as he finds his own words funny before he’s said them, “You really should know this by now... but I’m a cheap date. “

The sound of Ezra’s voice only stops Bryce for a second, slowly lurching to a stop with his blade still in a revenant’s skull. Its body falls forward, held up only by that point as he thinks over how he wants to handle this. Because he, also, hasn’t really put much thought into what he might say to Ezra in the future. 

In the end, though, he’s far more frustrated by this situation than he is with Ezra’s presence. The only thing he felt in that man’s case was caution, an unwillingness to trust what had already come back to bite him once. But the revenants, the gates, concerned him, concerned them all. So after a brief moment of pause, Bryce made a smug noise and turned on his side to face Ezra, expression both defiant and confident. 

“I’ll kill them too. And any others that climb up.” Without looking, he lashes out, pushing his foot through the bars to kick the revenant he’s just killed off his knife. Ezra was right, more step in where it used to be. Bryce turns back to them and continues his business, unconcerned by those useless fears. “You’d prefer leaving them be? Let them multiply around us, complicate our exit?”

Ezra shrugs. Trying to seems as unphased by this all as he can be. Only in an effort to not start a pointless argument with Bryce. Even if it seems like the other man’s immediately trying to escalate things.

He stops further back than would be comfortable for anyone else. It seems like the safer distance.  There’s no doubt in his mind that Bryce wouldn’t stop till every creature attempting to clamber their way in was dead. But that’d also be impossible for one man. 

Bryce may be putting on the attitude but Ez makes no effort to call him on it or actively push back. Again, trying briefly to be a little laidback. Just enough. He can imagine once that feeling of rot and hurt in his chest where the demon was -- he may not try so hard to be less confrontational. Or, once he gets used to it.  If he gets used to it. 

“I honestly don’t know,” he takes a long drag of his smoke, making sure to blow away from Bryce’s general direction, “Standing right by the gate draws more of them in closer. Our exit’s complicated either way... but driving through the area would’ve been complicated anyway.”

“Maybe you’re both,” Patty teased lightheartedly, leaning forward then like she’s telling a ghost story. “Or maybe she thinks a little bubbly’ll loosen you up…get you back to her room faster.” 

She sits back up when Ezra starts to pour a glass for her, already feeling a bit excited after he’d told her it was strong. Patty had never really been a wine girl, tastes not refined enough, admittedly. But she’d swallow back any manner of bitter liquids if they gaze her a proper buzz. Tipping the glass all the way back, she gulped it down fast to keep it off her tongue, wincing at the unavoidable aftertaste but sighing and letting her shoulders down as she felt the heat start to build up in her belly. 

“’M just surprised. Seems out of character for them to give us anything for pleasure sake. I guess what better time to lighten up than during the end of the fucking world?”

Ez smiles at the joke. Something that’s less of a struggle only one glass in. He hadn’t indulged for over a year and even before then he was a lightweight. He’s this close to laughing but she doesn’t quite him there. 

He does laugh though when she knocks back the drink without pause. Patty sure as hell isn’t a cheap date. That humor lingers as she wrinkled her nose, wincing at the taste. It was disgusting. 

“I don’t think I’m her type...” he begins, looking back to the doorway as though the Sister may overhear. He continues with a slightly hushed tone, tilting his head towards a crucifix over the doorway, “Think she’d prefer a guy with longer hair, more muscle tone... That’s a very muscular Jesus, isn’t it?”

It felt like whenever Bryce was starting to get comfortable, something had to come along and make him rethink everything again. Not that they had much choice this time with the detours. On its own, Bryce would’ve had no problem with this pit stop; it was business as usual until they got back out there again. But something about the sisters’ “requests”…didn’t bode well with him. He only had one question: why? 

Why did they care if their group explored? Why invite them in only to impose rules? Bryce itched to disobey, his paranoid nature kept him constantly running bad scenarios through his head, reminding him that the best option was to do exactly what they said not to do, and find out what they were hiding. But Bryce did nothing, because as creepy as their hosts were, he’d watched them. He’d listened. He’d stared and waited and looked, and not once did any of his senses, physical or otherwise, detect a single lie, or deception, or hidden hostility. It ought to have been there. Bryce feared making noise only to have their weary group kicked out of their beds, the chance to recuperate revoked. But he couldn’t just do nothing, either. 

“Enough.” Grunting, Bryce pushed his back off the brick wall he’d been leaning on outside and started stalking towards the gates, towards the growing number of revenants that had been staring and reaching at him for hours. When he got close, Bryce started pushing the blade of his knife through their eyesockets one by one, his nose wrinkled with pent-up frustration.

Ezra has every reason to never speak to Bryce again. He's not too ashamed to admit a part of him goes on edge whenever he's around the younger man. His violence wasn't something Ez wanted to be on the wrong side of again.

But, Ez isn't the sort to pick easy people. He finds himself watching Bryce for a brief while. Angry and staring out at the horde passing in on them. Ezra doesn't fully trust it, eventually, the horde will break through. He's almost certain of that. It could be hours, days, months or even years but it’ll give way. Ez hopes they won’t be here for that, but it’s still insane to him the nuns are here unarmed and alive.

He’s outside to smoke because it seems the polite thing to do at a monastery. It’s the only reason he sticks around despite Bryce’s presence. He wasn’t going to smoke in the garden proper. Ezra was going to leave him alone but Bryce grunts then he heads for the monsters. Putting them down one by one through the gate. Every one he drops, though, leaves a gap for another. Shambling feet stepping over their own dead, more frenzied with a living person so near.

“Is that a good idea?” he calls out, a way back from Bryce but slowly making his way over, “They'll start climbing over each other. Or put more pressure on the fence...”

The whole divine protection thing didn’t seem to be going over very well with most of the others. Admittedly, Patty was full of doubts of her own. But someone once told her not to look a gift horse in the crotch and she was finally starting to listen. Because if anyone was going to be charitable, if anyone was going to take pity on strangers, it should be the sisters of a monastery. That just made sense. And as to how they managed to stay safe when everything around them seemed so bleak…well. She’d just keep her eyes open. That’s what Patty told herself as she forced herself to enjoy their amenities, the ability to sleep in an actual bed, walk barefoot in the grass, and shave her legs without worrying about wasting water. 

She was coming back from that when she stumbled upon Ezra, a towel draped over her loose, damp hair that she palmed lazily, in no rush to have it dry. She slowed to a stop and flashed him a smile in greeting before he spoke, only then raising her brows and taking everything in. She smiled wider and shrugged her shoulders, turning to join him, taking a seat on a raised perch against the room’s very tall set of windows. 

“Seriously? They gave you wine,” Patty inquired, her tone suggesting she found that hard to believe. Glancing both ways as if looking for a parent or guardian, she then leaned back a bit, letting her head loll on her shoulders. “Is it any good? The communion at my church always tasted watered down and nasty.”

“I’m either super charming or easy to pity,” Ez answers with a small smile. Really, he’d simply asked about it when the wine was mentioned in passing. The one thing he kept from being a detective was relentless, endless questioning. He only now wonders if he’d scared off the poor nun.

“Oh, it’s strong,” he says, shaking his head. He’s a lightweight -- always has been -- but this definitely is not watered down. At all. 

Ez set down the glass and picks up another from a small pile the nun had left him. She probably assumed he’d go share it out but that thought went out the window after he’d taken too long a gulp of one glass. He pours out a second glass and slides it across to Patty.