THY WILL BE DONE.

“Oh man --- that’s a good pick.”

He sees the boy’s finger lingering on minutely on Irving Stone’s Dear Theo before moving on down the shelf and can’t help himself --- the crooked smile on his lips part apologetic, part encouraging. “I mean, great read if you wanna ball your fuckin’ eyes out. Took me a while to get through ‘cause I had to keep takin’ breaks. Couldn’t take it all at once.”

His eyes flick to Job’s face as he curses, Adam’s hand outstretched and frozen as his eyes quickly try to read Job’s expression for an answer to a question that keeps dying in his throat. But the pinched expression is just tension, anxiety and fear. Adam quickly rushes into Job’s space, as he rests a gentle hand on Job’s shoulder in the brief moments between Job’s stuttered explanations.

He takes the chance to wipe the white sweater against Job’s brow, spreading the blood out of his eye more than getting rid of it but easing his own tension at seeing the wound cut deep into the brow instead of something more vital. He can’t hear Job until seconds after he has spoken, everything in Adam concentrated on wiping the blood away that he almost has to return to his body, shoulders achingly tense and body shivering with a bloody sweater fisted in his hand. 

“W-we can-.” But Job answers himself and Adam feels like part of his body shifts, like he isn’t in the room at all, only his body is. He can’t help. He doesn’t know how to help. 

Then Job turns sad eyes and cheeks covered in tears towards him and Adam moves as Job’s words wash over him. His shoulders blades feel wound together as he scrambles to his half-packed bag, throws the sweater inside and zips it up, slipping it onto one shoulder and quickly turning and rushing back to Job, grabbing his hand confidently and moving towards the door.

He can do this. Stay with Job. But between confident heartbeats, he’s flickering gently, solid, able to hang on, but moments of opacity company a coil of cold in his chest.

As he follows Job swiftly out the door, he doesn’t remember the camera on the nightstand holding all the photos he took; some of tiny brown birds swarmed on the pile of seeds he’d set down for them, of plants splashed with different colours newly bloomed or just about to, of old shops with windows cluttered with secondhand items, clothes and figurines and some photos containing parts of him, blurred and spread across the film, but together could form his own shape. 

Memories he made himself that he forgets as the door clicks shut behind them.

This doesn’t feel like all the other times he’s run and though Job’s mind is too full of sheer panic and terror to realize it at this very moment, it is because this time lacks the burden of someone either trying to soothe him or unable to come with him, watching him leave in a rush while they stay behind. The reason his chest is swelling rather than filling with grief is because, for once, someone not only believes him, but trusts him blindly.

Some part of him wants to turn to Adam as they step out into the parking lot and put his arms around him and thank him and tell him he loves him. Part of him wants his companion to know that this has never happened before and that Job is unbelievably grateful. But a far larger part of him knows every second wasted is another second in which they are in grave danger, and the sentiment will have to be saved for another time.

Adam’s hand squeezes tightly in his, Job doesn’t notice the flickering. He’s half-blinded by tears and reckons that must be it. He’s quick to mount Faith, glancing back at Adam only minutely to make sure he situates himself behind him before turning on the engine and speeding off onto the highway.

                                                                      * * * * *

It isn’t until the sun hangs tall in the sky, the cooling wind beating over them the only thing to keep his skin of his bare torso from burning, that Job finally pulls up at a lone, dusty gas station by the side of the road. His throat is dry and bitter and his entire body is sore from having maintained the same position for the several hours they’ve been on the road (Job isn’t sure, exactly, just how much time it’s been -- but it’s been long enough). He brings Faith to a halt by the pumps and stills her engine, stiff as he finally releases the handles and sits upright. Pink and swollen eyes do not turn to look at Adam -- but he does give the back of his hands, wrapped around Job’s middle, a small pat before stepping off.

She nods silently and walks out and around the barn to the spigot on the outside of the barn, snatching a bucket and water on the way. She sets the bucket under the tap and turns it on, then she heads up her tower, grabbing the dish soap from inside before heading down again. It’s when she’s halfway down the steps that she didn’t argue against doing what he said. She stomps down the rest of the steps. 

She’s often caught off guard by kind people. She’d rather people were mean to her so she knew where she stood with them. With kind people she complies to quickly and then spends the rest of the time waiting for the other shoe to drop. She justifies Job’s kindness with her having agreed to pay him as she adds the dish soap into the bucket, bringing it back into the barn and picking up a rag on the way.

“I’ll clean it from now on, you just show me how.” She makes to grab the phone as she sets the bucket between them.

“Just shine it down here... yeah, right there. Thanks.” Once Job is done directing her, he leans down, soaks the rag up in soap water, then leans back over the hood as he cleans dirt and mud off the carburetor -- all the while doing his best to make sure Best gets a good view of what he’s doing. He speaks over his shoulder but doesn’t turn to look at her again, wanting to make sure he does a good job.

hear yee hear yee: i am starting a new day job tomorrow which means i’m not going to be as available on here for a while!!! i won’t be around to answer messages as frequently as i have been and though things are generally going to run on a queue i am still going to favor some threads over others. same goes for wes’ blog (though the activity there is a mess to begin with). please stay tuned as i figure my shit out!