#preacherfic

Tulip hurled the words even harder than whatever projectile she’d scooped up into her hands, dimly aware of it smashing against the far wall. They were rage-filled and a little fragile, because Tulip didn’t know where any of them stood anymore. She and Jesse had yet to recreate what they’d had outside of Annville. Tulip didn’t know what she had with Cass. What Cass and Jesse had with each other? Ha! That was a whole mess of shit that she’d stepped in. God help her poor shoes.

And then here was Emily, encroaching on it all.

Tulip might have been a firecracker, a pistol, and goddamn fuckin c*unt and so many other things, but even she balked at getting violent with pretty little Emily, soft-spoken and oh so polite. It was coming too, Tulip could feel it building in her bones and smashing some stupid art project did shit all to alleviate the itch. She had to leave then. Quickly. Tulip pushed past Emily’s shell-shocked expression before she started throwing punches at it.

It was a little better out in the car. Tulip let the heat and claustrophobia press down on her anger some, containing it. She had everything under control. Yes siree. Fucking peachy.

Which means she assuredly did not jump when Emily came banging on the window.

Tulip stared. Her mouth was catching flies and her eyebrows crawled up into her hair because goddamn, who would have guessed it? Sunny Emily Woodrow—renowned for her pies, charity, and a history of letting people walk all over her—was cussing Tulip out just fine and fair. It was in that moment, leaning away from the window because Jesus Christ Emily was leaning in, that Tulip remember that the girl had grown up in Annville, just like she had. Mousiness aside, she was a Texan, and Tulip would have done well to remember that.

Emily was reminding her now.

“You broke my kid’s art thing,” she hissed, shaking the bits of pottery in Tulip’s face. It really should have been funny, but Tulip wasn’t laughing just yet. That ‘art thing’ was a treasure now. The shards’ edges sharper than any knife. Emily’s fury wasn’t something to piss on so Tulip nodded, holding up her hands like so many arrests and eased her way carefully out of the car.

“Alright,” she said. The sun was beating down hard on her head. “Don’t throw a fit about It, ‘Em. I can fix the stupid thing. Just gimme a chance.”

A calculated risk, but Tulip was nearly as good with words as she was her fists: the quick agreement, tempered by a an implication that Emily was overreacting, that Tulip wouldn’t take all of this shit lying down; slipping in a personal nickname; the blunt request for a second chance, obvious to anyone with half a brain... and Emily had a whole noggin to work with. Tulip was only half surprised when she lowered the shards and gave a clipped nod in response.

Her sensible flip-flops smack-smack-smacked on the way back inside.

There were lots of names for Tulip O’hare, but not one of them was ‘liar.’ Not to those she’d weathered fire with. So Tulip sat her butt down at that pretty, yellow table and set to mending things with patience and a bit of cheap glue. Emily watched her for the first ten minutes, looking about as thrown as Tulip felt. When she couldn’t take the judgment anymore Tulip flapped a hand in her general direction and told her to sit.

Emily stared. Her shoulders jerked a little. “It’s my house.”

“All the more reason.”

Tulip had her eyes firmly on a particularly messy chunk of clay (the hell was that anyway? The nose? A hoof?), but she watched from the corner of her eye as Emily turned on her heel and walked stiffly to the kitchen. Tulip mentally shrugged. Okay. Let her play it that way. It wasn’t as if she actually gave a damn.

Except that just a few minutes later Emily came back out, this time bearing a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. There was even a little doily beneath the offering, all fancy like. Tulip abandoned her work to watch Emily pour herself a glass and down it back like a shot.

“You make that fresh?” Tulip asked, pointing to the lemonade.

Emily came back up with a gasp. “Of course.”

“Jesus you’re a messed up lady.”

Which was true enough she supposed. Though of course, Tulip was messed up too.

She snagged a glass of her own and got back to work.

***

Somehow, they got talking.

Emily asked her with forced casualness where she’d learned to do this. Tulip responded cuttingly that ‘this’ was just shoving chunks of shit together and slathering on some glue—didn’t they teach you this kiddy stuff in school? Her tone somehow didn’t get her kicked out of the house and so Tulip pulled her weight, asking next what the ever loving fuck this was supposed to be. Emily said a bear, though Tommy had always been awful at crafts, huh? It startled a laugh out of Tulip that filled up the room.

The heat sent them through the pitcher of lemonade faster than normal, resulting in Tulip asking with gritted teeth where the bathroom was located. She got an embarrassed wave of a hand in response. So she bypassed toys on the floor and more awful art on the walls, sneaking into the powder room (who called it a powder room?) like she was still an intruder instead of a guest—which Tulip kind of thought might be the case. There was smelly potpourri in a dish and a ‘Home Sweet Home’ plaque on the inside of the door, cheesy enough that Tulip considered vomiting when she was done. Instead she snooped through the small medicine cabinet.

There were bottles of Xanax and Lorazepam. Neither looked like they came with prescriptions.

Tulip pursed her lips. She marched out, grabbed the empty pitcher, and made a beeline for the kitchen. She threw Emily a rude gesture when she implied that Tulip couldn’t make fucking lemonade.

As if.

“I think that goes there,” Emily said, pointing to a piece that was obviously the snout and not the tail. “Also this is watery.” She sipped at the glass with lazy disdain.

“Yours had too much sugar.” Tulip smacked the bit of clay against the rest of the bear’s face. It would fit.

“I need the energy. That doesn’t fit.”

“It does. And my waistline don’t need all that.”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Well that line caught Tulip’s attention. Not because of the compliment, or even the offhanded manner Emily delivered it with—a tone that was entirely genuine. Rather it was the curse word snuck in the middle. She’d heard the girl cuss before, but it was always carefully under her breath, kept close to her chest lest it actually escape out into the world where it belonged. It hit Tulip for the second time that day. Annville. Slumped in a rickety chair, drinking lemonade like booze, raising compliments with curses. That was Annville.

“Yeah. Guess I am.” Tulip turned the piece and connected the tail. Emily smirked. “Jesse always thought so anyhow.”

She saw Emily freeze. Saw her deliberately relax too. The Thin Mints had melted onto the doily and she flicked at the chocolate with her nail.

“Jesse has good taste,” Emily said. It came out like a sigh.

“Jesse settles.”

“Hardly. He could have anyone.”

“Yeah, but there ain’t much to choose from in this town, is there? Except you.”

Emily rolled a mouthful of drink between her cheeks. “Am I a choice?” She suddenly grinned, more wicked than sad, and Tulip felt her heart speeding up like they’d started a race. “I’m not exactly the greatest catch. Got an iffy ex, after all.”

“You think I don’t?”

“...a side-piece too.”

Hearing Emily say ‘side-piece’ was easily the highlight of Tulip’s week. She sat back with a grin. “No. Who?”

“The mayor.”

“The mayor? Oh hell fucking no.”

Emily shrugged. “He’s... there."

“Mmm.” Tulip nodded, considering. “Suppose I’m the same. My piece is the ratty drifter who just came through.”

“Cassidy?”

“The same."

"...oh. He asked me for drugs the other day."

Emily said it so straight-face and confused that Tulip inhaled that last gulp of lemonade, choking and spraying a fine mist all over her table. When she finally got some air down her windpipe she started laughing and Emily, astoundingly laughed with her.

"Fucking hell." Tulip wiped spit from her chin. "Yeah. That sounds like Cassidy."

Emily's face twisted. "That sounds like all the men in my life. Your life too. Even Jesse."

It felt like some sort of strange, tentative peace. Tulip only hesitated a moment before agreeing: "Jesse is trash."

"Awful."

"The fucking worst."

The two women paused, making eye contact for the first time in an hour. In that moment they were both aware of the fact that they each wanted Jesse Custer, that neither of them truly had him... and the most important thing: that he wasn't fucking worth this. 'This' being smashed art projects and hearts and the fact that it had taken them this long to maybe, sort of, unexpectedly enjoy one another's company. It was a revelation—hot and scarring like flames.

"You know..." Tulip traced her finger slowly around the edge of her cup. "I've got it on good authority that Cass has a thing for Jesse."

Emily's eyebrows jumped. "What authority is that?"

"The freaking dent in his pants whenever he passes by."

Emily laughed, leaning into the table. "That's fascinating, considering I think Jesse kinda likes Cass too."

"Oh?" Tulip very deliberately kept her voice light. She could feel Emily doing the same.

"They're very... cozy, after church."

"Hmm."

They were each thinking along similar lines, though what those lines were exactly remained muddled. It was something though, like possibility. Concepts that moved past the boring man-and-wife mentality of the town. The desire to simultaneously hurt these men and give them everything they'd ever wanted. They were thoughts of sharing, thoughts that never would have been possible if Emily hadn't shared first. Breaking bread, so to speak.

Tulip took another glass of lemonade. A cookie too. She stared out over the table and into the kitchen. "Want to get those two fools together?”

She couldn't seem Emily's expression. Tulip caught the slight intake of breath though.

"What if it doesn't work?" She finally asked. "Jesse's... the preacher. What if it ruins him?"

Tulip grinned. "Even better."

"...what if it doesn't?"

"Then that's something I think we can work with."

Emily sighed. It wasn't one of defeat though—more the exhale that came before a woman began her work.

"More entertaining than Miles," she muttered.

Emily lifted her glass for a toast and Tulip happily complied. They left the rest of the art project behind and stepped out of the house together.

It was a scorcher of a day.

***

Cass was having one hell of a weird day.

Weirder than normal—and considering this was the town with an All-Powerful preacher, immortal government officials, and a fucking racist 'Indian' dude always loitering outside the bar, that was saying something. And okay, maybe that last fucker wasn't uncommon, but he was still weird.

Cass extended a finger and suspiciously poked one of the cookies, gorgeous and gooey on a little blue plate. It indented a bit at his touch because good god, they were still warm.

"These are for me?" he clarified because that right there was throwing Cass' world into a confused orbit. Emily just blinked innocently and pushed the plate a little closer to his chest.

"Yes." She shook her head. "Honestly would you just take them already? I'm exhausted."

Cass quickly snatched the plate and Emily drooped like a marionette on cut strings. She wiped real sweat from her brow.

"Exhausted from... bakin' these?" he asked. Cass still held the plate like it was crawling with spiders or some such. Even though he could still feel how warm the treats were. They were piled in a perfect little pyramid that emitted curls of steam, floating up towards the sky. Like holy hell and what the fuck, who managed actual fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies?

"I did," Emily said slowly and Cass came back to himself, feeling a little like he should be down on his knees. "But I wasn't really intending to. I mean, I was fine with my Thin Mints, I normally only bake on Saturdays before the church potluck." She pursed her lips, considering. "Someone asked me to this morning though, as a favor. I mean, I've got so much to do, but I couldn't say no to such a cute request."

Cass stared. "A cute...? You've lost me, luv."

"Really, Cassidy. Someone asked me to bake you cookies. It's all rather sweet. Looks like you've got yourself a secret admirer, but I'm not saying who."

Weird indeed. Eerie too. Cass had resigned himself to seeing some strange sights in this here town, but Emily Uptight Woodrow giving him a saucy wink? Walking her fingers up his chest and snatching one of the cookies? Cass felt like someone had pulled the proverbial rug out from under him—and the floor was a fucking lava pit with lava crocs come to snap him up. He was sure his already pasty ass looked like it was going to faint.

"Uh huh," he managed.

Emily did eventually leave and what passed for Cass' brain did, in time, start firing again. When it did the useless slab of meat told him exactly two things:

He still had a massive plate of vaguely warm cookies to devour.

There was only one person in Annville who could maybe, possibly, even hypothetically be this so-called "secret admirer."

Cass sat down, right there in the dirt by the side of the road, under the safety of a nearby tree. The occasional car drove past and gave him the confused, dirty looks that could only be achieved by those small-towners spotting someone who Didn't Belong. Cass waved them all off with a smile. He felt light and bubbly in the heat, smashing cookies into his mouth so that the chocolate ran down his chin.

He was a (literal) bloodthirsty animal. He killed without thought and often enjoyed it. He was also, irrevocably, a romantic.

"Jesse Custer," Cass said, shaking his head. He wiped crumbs and chocolate on the edge of his shirt. "You big old softie bastard."

***

Tulip was fixing the air conditioner.

She was, in fact, fixing it fast, pulling out every bit of knowledge that her uncle had ever dropped (few and far between; between the increasingly common periods of drunkenness, that is) and relying on a Youtube video for the rest. There was shit all service in the church, damn thing could only be reached by balancing on the couch, and Tulip could feel a whole mess of drippings rolling down her wrist and dropping onto her jeans. At least maybe that meant the stupid thing would finally work.

Lo and behold, it did. Just in time too. Jesse clomped his way to the back of the church, hollering Tulip's name.

"In here," she called, giving the ancient machine one last smack. It sputtered to life and Tulip had all of a millisecond to stuff her tools under the couch and spread out casually, one hand propped behind her head. It was a good look on her. She was quite the liar.

"Hey, Jesse," she said.

He didn't repay her the greeting. Asshole. Well, to be fair, he was a little distracted, staring as he was at the air conditioner like he'd finally, finallygotten to witness the miracle he'd always dreamed of. Tulip took a perverse sort of pleasure in watching his mouth unhinge—not exactly the most attractive look on Jesse. For the first time since this morning Tulip wondered if, when push came to shove, she'd have really been willing to beat Emily's head in over this here fool.

Jesse shut his mouth. The image was restored. Shit. Yeah, probably.

Hot damn.

"You fixed the air conditioner?" he asked. Tulip scoffed with full force—though she made sure not to overdo it.

"Me? Hell no. It was all fixed up when I got here." Tulip settled deep into the cushions, making it look like she'd been here a good long time, and raised a languid hand to pat the machine fondly. She hoped her light touch didn't set the thing choking again. "Someone obviously spent a lot of time on this, huh? Gotta think it was just for you. After all, rest of us aren’t spending much time back here. Now I can’t swear to it… but I’ve got a good guess as to who’d go through all the trouble…."

It wasn't a lie—Tulip certainly knew herself most of all—but the implication set Jesse's eyes alight.

"No," he said. It was slow with disbelief. Tulip had to bite hard on the inside of her lip to keep from grinning. Best that Jesse come to his own conclusions.

In fact, best that she not say anything at all. Tulip settled for shrugging against the pillow.

And Jesse nodded. There was a whole world encompassed in that nod, a considering, almost sweet (cloyingly, ugh) spark of hope. As she'd hoped he would, Jesse took in all the little details that Tulip had left for him: the now spotless and dust free exterior, the thin blue ribbons attached to the grill that fluttered prettily in the breeze.

You could say a whole lot with just an air conditioner.

Jesse still had his keys in one hand. He shook them, absently, before finally pointing them Tulip's way.

"Mind if I take off?"

"But you just got here." Tulip had to play with him, just a little.

"I won't be long, promise—"

And oh, how sad, Jesse was already out the door, the sound of his increasingly quick footfalls echoing off the church floorboards. Tulip sat up and cranked her neck, even though she couldn't see him. The front doors slammed shut at the exact moment the air conditioner gave out.

Tulip laughed like a gunshot. "Perfect timing," she said, giving it another slap. It was almost sad how easy that had been.

Now all they had to do was wait.

***

There was actually little waiting involved. Emily had stationed her car just to the side of the church, watching and waiting for Jesse to leave again. When he did—walking in the way that meant he really wanted to run—she came waltzing in, holding up her second plate of cookies in triumph. Tulip took another minute to re-fix the air conditioner and soon the two of them were shoulder to shoulder on the couch, halving gooey deliciousness and sighing at the breeze on the back of their necks.

"What now?" Tulip asked. She pulled apart a cookie until the strings of chocolate stretched thin.

Emily rolled her eyes. "I left Cass on the side of the road—the one damn road Annville has. Jesse will reach him in about, oh," she checked her watch. "Now. I suspect they'll start having sex in the flatbed of the truck soon enough.”

Tulip snorted. "Nah. Under the tree. Right there in the open. Cass needs the shade."

"What? Why?"

"...Just 'cause."

"Uh huh. Well, I hope they're happy together."

"Them? Never. You think they'll realize it’s a setup though?"

"Them? Never."

“Ha.”

There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Their topic of conversation—the only one they presumably had—was well and dry. Tulip held another cookie in her hand and ran her thumb along the heat. She thought of Thin Mints in Emily’s kitchen, and of fire.

Together they went through the little batch fast and soon there was another blue plate between them, this one bare but for a few remaining smears. Tulip was thinking hard, so hard, when Emily glanced up with a large piece of cookie dangling from her lips, realization that it was the last one spreading across her face.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Sorry—"

Tulip leaned forward, taking the rest of the cookie in her mouth, pushing gently until Emily swallowed to let their lips finally meet.

“Oh,” she said again.

Emily tasted of chocolate, obviously, but her skirt underneath Tulip's hand was softer than she would have imagined. It took her a hot, fuzzy moment to realize she was palming Emily's skin. They were similar then, Tulip could feel it: dainty things with hard interiors, capable of moving through whole waves of emotions in just a day. They were strong and furious. They were Annville girls.

Tulip wondered if Cass and Jesse were doing this exact same thing, some three miles out from. Probably. One might say, undoubtedly. The four of them were just synched that way.

"Screw 'em," Tulip murmured, smiling against Emily's lips. “Just…”

She trailed off because then Emily had pulled her closer, her hands spanning Tulip’s back with a touch that was both tender and bruising.

They left prints that smoked against Tulip’s shirt.

The first time Tulip walked into his shop she was all figurative fire and brimstone—except for the literal fire at the end of her cigarette. She'd commanded the small space with all the ferocity of an army general, laying out a series of rare and rather large orders that she'd need from him within the coming months. At no point did she give her name—which, Jesse would come to learn later, was because she assumed everyone should already knew it—and paid him no heed when Jesse insisted that this was too large a job for his small, out of the way establishment.

She needed tulips, dammit, and she needed them now.

Jesse had been wrist deep in soil at the time and he’d felt is oozing between his fingers, this woman already grating on his nerves, spine, and driving a steak straight through to the back of his skull. He had to take a deep breath and deliberately release his fists, lest he crush the fragile roots just a hairsbreadth below. Jesse turned with a smile.

"I've got some," he said, probably sounding less amiable and more like he was constipated. While passing a kidney stone. God he hated these richie-rich types. "I've also got a contact an hour out who can make up the rest, but it'll take a bit. Really, ma'am, you're better off hitting a larger store."

The look she'd turned on his was pure in its intensity. Jesse's shop was filled with a color and life that didn't belong in Annville's desert, but this woman didn't belong in his shop, not with that sharp tailored suit and three-inch heels. She'd torn the sunglasses from her face and for the first time Jesse got a look at searing black eyes.

"I'm Annville born and bred," she drawled. "I'm loyal."

Jesse couldn't help punctuating her words with a disbelieving laugh. "You're Annville?"

"Fuck yes I am, you got a problem with that?" And one hand curled into a waiting fist, actually rearing back in preparation.

Oh damn. She was Annville. Alright.

Jesse had raised his muddied hands in surrender and went behind the counter to clean up, getting the order forms ready as she prattled on about her work as a wedding planner, her name in the magazines, how the flowers had best be fresh despite the climate because the Livington's were not an easygoing couple.

Jesse weathered her prattling about wanting whites, or maybe pinks, no, wait, maybe something two-toned, and each time she changed her mind it was another scratch out with the pen. By the time he actually got to flip the order around for her to sign it Jesse had determined that small town pride and stunning good looks didn't make up for this kind of nonsense.

Except then she signed Tulip O'hare and suddenly Jesse's day was fantastic.

"You're a Tulip," he said slowly, "in need of tulips..." Jesse looked up with a stunning grin and Tulip, bless her, just rolled her eyes instead of decking him good.

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before." She threw his pen back on the counter. "I'll be here next Thursday. You'd best have my flowers."

"You doubt me?"

"Oh good god yes."

He'd laughed because yeah, their 'good god' had doubted him too and Jesse had eventually decided that growing things was better than sticking a dead, white collar on his neck every morning. He'd shed his chain like some kind of dog, mangy and still a little bit feral. But now Jesse had bright colors, heady scents, and the picture of someone like Tulip O'hare just begging that he come through for her. Jesse let his eyes follow the sharp lines of her bodyand thought that he could get used to this kind of clientele.

"Thursday then," he agreed. "It's a date."

"It's definitely not."

Tulip had put her cigarette out in his potted iris and honestly? If it had been anyone else Jesse would have had them leaving his store in pieces.

But she was something entirely.

***

Cass was something else too. Holy shit.

Jesse rubbed at his forehead, unconcerned that he was smearing soil over his skin. What had begun as a headache had blossomed (ha) into a migraine of epic proportions, all due to the skinny little twerp half sitting on his counter. Cass had come in for the first time exactly 69 minutes after Tulip left—a fact Jesse only knew because he was that obsessed with when he could close shop—and if that number didn't encompass the man's entire being, Jesse didn't know what would.

He'd known Cass for a handful of seconds. It was one handful too much.

"Back up," Jesse said. He sighed. "You want a cactus?"

"Yep."

"But mine are too pretty?"

Jesse gestured to the small collection of cacti sitting over by the windowsill, most of them in teeny-tiny pots that people found cute and not too intimidating to take care of. They still weren't overly popular though. People could see dry, prickly brush on their way to work everyday, or outside their bedroom window, free for the taking. No, they came to Jesse for the lush and the colorful, things he either had to import or that he grew himself, so slow that sometimes it was hard to part with them. No one in Annville wanted to buy a freaking cactus.

Except this asshole.

"Look at 'em!" Cass said. His voice held enough indignation that Jesse did look again, half expecting the view to change. "They're stupidly pretty. All fuckin' green an'... an' small." Cass pushed his hands palm to palm to demonstrate their smallness, looking pretty angry about it.

Jesse just stared. "...thank you?"

"It won't do. How they hell am I supposed to give Laura somethin' like that? She'll think I actually like her." Cass shook his head despairingly. "The fuck am I supposed to do now?"

That day had felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone. Jesse was a small town boy with a small town business and he'd gotten used to his routine over the years. That routine sure as hell didn't include a stranger than normal customer, let alone two back-to-back... and yet, let it never be said that Jesse Custer couldn't roll with the punches.

"One sec," he said.

Jesse's backroom was a mess of tools, soil, and vegetation. On his bench was a pot of very dead petunias, the poor things all shriveled and brown. It wasn't his fault the damn things were finicky in this weather and honestly Jesse wasn't bemoaning the loss of those pink flowers, not when they were that cheap to come by. The plan had been to take back the pot and move on. Now Jesse snagged the whole thing, a few dead leaves trailing behind him.

He set the pot down in front of Cass. "This Laura of yours... she the one down at the auto-shop?"

"Yeah! One in the same."

"That woman's a piece of work."

"You're telling me."

"So how about giving her this?"

It was surreal to be presenting that run-down plant like it was something actually worth selling, but sure enough Cass' eyes lit up at the prospect. In that moment Jesse saw the whole situation clearly, how a man like Cass might think that breaking things off with a shitty gift—rather than just some good, old fashioned honesty—might be the way to go. Decked out in a whole collection of ratty clothes, Cass looked like the kind of creative asshole you only ran into once in a blue moon. He wore at least three torn shirts that as a whole nearly succeeded in covering his chest. His jeans were colored over in marker, like a freaking middle schooler's, and that was definitely weed doodled down on his left knee. The only reason Jesse knew his name was because Cass had a "Hello! My name is ____" sticker plastered on his stomach and he could only guess where he'd picked that up. Maybe one of the church's monthly events. It would fit. Jesse was pretty sure the guy was homeless. He kinda smelled homeless.

"I had my heart set on a cactus," Cass sighed. "But I guess a dead thing is better than just a looks-dead thing. Here," he rummaged in his jeans and pulled out three super wrinkled dollars, jellybeans, and a nearly empty packet of Camels. "Does this cover the shit you weren't even planning to sell?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow as he slid the offering across the counter. He left the jellybeans. "How were you gonna pay me if you wanted the cactus?"

"Duh. Was gonna pay you with a kiss. Gotta move on sometime, don’t I?"

Cass winked, grabbed his dead plant, and sauntered out the door with what he probably thought was a seductive strut. Despite the absurdity, Jesse did find himself staring at Cass' ass.

"Aw hell," he said.

***

Week Five

In the two years since he'd chucked the collar, beat up a few old contacts, collected their funds, and started up his shop, Jesse hadn't seen anyone of particular interest come through the door. Emily often came in on the church's behalf, asking for whatever was fresh and cheap to put up front. Jesse honestly didn't know if she did that because they really didn't have the funds, or because she couldn't stand to look at him long enough to actually choose something herself. Probably both. She'd taking his defrocking worse than most.

Others mostly picked up flowers on their way to and from service. For their windowsills. Their gardens. Local weddings, funerals, stupid boys looking to make up with their girls (of which Cass was in the obvious minority). Jesse had resigned himself to a life of flower mediocrity until those two assholes had plowed through at sixty miles an hour.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they didn't keep showing up together.

"I thought you ran a clean establishment, Jesse."

Tulip said it with all the rancor he'd come to expect of her, looking none too subtly at Cass’ grimy attire. A month had passed since she'd grudgingly complimented the tulips he'd provided and in that time she'd no more warmed to Cass than she had to dressing down. Today was a blue, pleated skirt; bright yellow top; killer heels and jewelry fine enough that it could probably feed Jesse for the rest of his miserable life.

Tulip kept a healthy distance between her fine clothes and Cass' scruffy self.

"It's a flower shop," he said. "These things grow in dirt." Cass shook a nearby plant for emphasis. "Manure, luv. Or does your fancy little life not cover some literal day-to-day shit? If you do go is it on a porcelain throne?"

Jesse slowly and carefully leaned his head into his palm. It wouldn't do for Tulip to see him laughing.

He had to hand it to her though, she was a master of manipulation. Tulip kept scrolling through her iPhone, occasionally holding up some pic or another against one of Jesse's flowers, typing out some notes, took a pic of her own... it was only after three long, agonizing minutes had passed that she looked up and said blandly, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Better question." Jesse raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Are you two assholes actually going to buy something?"

"I like your orchids," Tulip said, for the first time actually taking her eyes off Cass. "But I think they're a little classy for the Taitts. They're humble folk, you know? They need something bright with those white table cloths, just nothing that's going to distract from Laura's dress—it's not a very nice dress, can't afford anything more eye-catching. I do worry about the bridesmaids upstaging her—so maybe those sunflowers. Yeah, over there..." She completely missed Cass 'yapping' with his hand behind her back.

"I've only got enough for five vases," Jesse warned.

"That's fine. Humble, like I said. They've only got enough people for five tables anyway."

As Tulip rummaged for her credit card Cass slipped to the floor (he'd been sitting on the table with the lilacs, a smudge of pale brown amongst all the purple) and sauntered up behind Tulip. Like a kid faced with a dog, too stupid to know he'd get bit, Cass curved his hands around her waist and leaned into Tulip's back. He pressed briefly there before peeking out over her shoulder.

Except miracle of fucking miracles, the pretty doggie didn't bite.

"Uh," Jesse said.

"You better be cleaner than you look," Tulip muttered, still shifting through her purse. Cass waved his arms in demonstration and wow. He was clean. Relatively, at least. Jesse was still trying to re-boot his brain when Tulip said, "Ah!"

"No, no." Cass pushed her wallet back down. "This is on me, luv."

Tulip scoffed. "You can pay for five bouquets?"

"Well, not in the traditional sense, but Jesse and I have got a tab going, don't we?"

They most certainly did not. Cass' 'tab,' established after his first dead-plant purchase, consisted of promises he never kept and a pair of lethal puppy-dog eyes he wielded with precision. Over the last few weeks Jesse had given the man not perfect, but still serviceable flowers in exchange for all sorts of stupid trinkets and words. He liked to think that he gave Cass lilies and irises because he felt bad for the freeloader. It probably had more to do with Cass' obscenely pouty lips.

He was pouting right now, clearly begging Jesse to help a guy out. His arm moved numbly and somehow (dammit) Jesse ended up signing over the month's largest order for free.

"Enjoy," he said automatically, still staring at Cass' hand wrapped just under Tulip's breast. There were 'thank you's and sly glances and when they finally left the shop, Jesse followed them like the scoundrel he was. An apron, muck boots, and pollen dusted t-shirt sort of ruined his look though.

Still, Jesse could move silent when he needed to and what he found in his spying were his two favorite customers hoofing it to Tulip's Fiat 124 Spider, a car so fucking immaculate that it had no place on Annville's dusty streets. It seemed a shame then for the two of them to immediately start defiling it, both literally and figuratively: Tulip hiking Cass up onto the hood of the car, straddling him as he kept them balanced, the kiss that sent flecks of spit down to sizzle on the paint job, Cass' muddied boots leaving streaks on the tire. It wasn't any voyeuristic guilt that finally turned Jesse away. Just the disappointment that neither of those figures were him.

Of course, all that changed when Cass came back twenty minutes later.

"Crush my sunflowers in your enthusiasm?" Jesse muttered, forgetting for a moment that good, respectable businessmen didn't follow their customers out of doors and watch them going at it like bunnies on a sheet of hot metal. He ducked his head over seed packets and thus missed Cass turning the little sign from 'open' to 'closed.'

In fact, Jesse determined not to notice Cass at all until he was making himself at home between his legs.

Cass dropped to his knees and looked up with a rakish grin. If there was a god in this world maybe he wasn't so disappointed in Jesse's career change after all.

"Told you I'd pay you back," Cass said. He pinched a mouthful of jeans between his teeth and tugged, running hands up under apron and shirt. "Just didn't say how, now did? Think this'll clear up my tab?"

The answer Jesse gave was tangled as a vine because by then Cass was pulling down the zipper, palming the wet spot on Jesse's jeans, breathing deep like he enjoyed the scent of both of them together. Jesse gave up on words entirely and when he looked up there was Tulip standing just outside the storefront, watching them with a cigarette between her lips. There was a sunflower in her hair. She caught Jesse's eye and winked.

"Fuck you both," Jesse muttered, tugging hard at Cass’ hair.

He pulled off only for a moment. “Pretty sure that’s the point, eh?”

***

Week 13

So. Those two showing up at the same time—probably not a coincidence after all.

"Do you even like each other?" Jesse asked one Saturday morning, re-potting a Peperomia. "Do you like me? I'm honestly curious."

"You're serviceable," Tulip said as Cass licked his finger and made a sizzling sound. Right. Jesse didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like any of them were built for straight answers, the kind of lovey-dovey declarations you got in the movies and on TV. Besides, didn't actions speak louder than words and all that shit?

If they did, their actions told Jesse that they were both complete and utter assholes. Also that they had nowhere better to go.

"This place is awful on my allergies," Tulip moaned, pulling a Kleenex from her purse. "And I was supposed to Skype with a potential client an hour ago." She checked her phone and shrugged, too lazy to move from the tiny chair Jesse had dragged out from the back room. Tulip flapped her hand at her face in a sad attempt to start up a breeze. "And your air conditioning sucks."

"Non-existent," Jesse countered. "Its been busted for weeks. The hot house stuff likes it, but..." He trailed off, staring at Cass who'd scrounged up an ancient GameBoy. He leaned against Tulip's legs and periodically peeled her skirt off of his bare back. It was that kind of heat. "Hey. You could fix the damn thing. Earn your keep if you're gonna hang out here all day."

"No," Tulip said. She kept fanning her face, eyes closed.

"Maybe," Cass said. Which meant 'no.' Dammit.

"Excuse me?"

The three of them turned as an older woman snuck in through the door, opening it so slow and careful that the bell barely rung. Her nerves didn't seem to ease when she spotted Cass and Tulip. If anything, she looked like she wanted to sneak back out.

"Welcome to Flowerworks," Jesse said, hurrying up to the front. "Sorry. Ignore them. They're just friends of mine."

"Is that what we are?" Tulip murmured and Jess flipped her the bird behind his back. The client latched onto his arm as Jesse carefully guided her away from his two fools. Her hand was brittle and fluttered like a bird against his arm.

In fact, the entirety of her looked frail, too thin and breakable for a place like Annville. Hair that was white and thin as cotton candy waved about her shoulders, and her dress—powder blue with a sensible belt—hung on her awkwardly, too big despite the 'XS' tag Jesse could see peaking out from the collar. She looked like a good breeze or a decent curse would send her topping to the ground, and Jesse hurried her over to the remaining chair next to the chrysanthemums, lest she fall and break something here where awful things like suing might get involved. Jesse then took a healthy step back once she was settled. Old people gave him the creeps.

"It's good of you to come in, Mrs...?"

Her mouth worked silently. The woman looked up at Jesse and her expression told him that he'd said something unexpectedly shocking, crude even. Finally, she smiled, but it was a small, awful thing.

"Sawyer," she said. "But I suppose it's 'Ms.' now. My husband died last night."

Behind him, Jesse heard the strangled noise that Tulip made and Cass' tiny "...aw shit." Mrs. Sawyer didn't seem to hear. She reached out a bony hand and gripped the edge of Jesse's apron, the parody of a small child and her mum.

"Howard needs white lilies," she said urgently, gaining some energy. "Although, yes, he never expressed any interest in flowers. Said they were commercial gimmicks. What's the point in spending money on something that's just going to die?" Her voice broke hard on the last word. "But they're coming for him later and I can't leave his grave bare I just can't I—"

"We have lilies," Jesse interrupted gently. He gripped her hand." Plenty of white."

"I woke up next to him," Mrs. Sawyer said. "I've done that every morning,” and all at once she sobbed and put her head between her hands.

This wasn't the first time Jesse had dealt with a distraught customer, but usually they were more composed than this: just slight, hiccupping cries or silent tears that slipped down the cheeks. He was used to anniversaries and useless birthdays, not the immediate aftermath. He floundered, turning to Cass and Tulip, only to find that their support was already underway. Tulip left at a brisk walk to the café down the street, returning with tea and plenty of chocolates. Cass filled the silence with any sort of prattle that seemed to soothe her. As Jesse bundled his best lilies in a black bow, he heard him telling Mrs. Sawyer that he'd once been a preacher. When she looked up with a disgusting amount of hope Jesse couldn't meet her eye.

Mrs. Sawyer left with their awkward condolences. She didn't pay a cent.

"Fucking hell," Cass said. He leaned into Jesse's shoulder as Mrs. Sawyer shuffled out of view.

"Yeah," Tulip agreed.

"What a mess she is. Like a broken doll or somethin'. It's fucking awful." He lit a cigarette with shaking fingers and for once Jesse didn't yell at him for getting smoke around his flowers. Cass took a draw, passed it to him, and Jesse next passed it to Tulip. Cass blew the smoke up at the ceiling, nice and slow.

"Think that'll be us someday?" he asked.

"Can only hope so."

***

Week 27

Flower shops felt like they were always standing still. There was something about the slow growth of the plants, the heady scents that added a dream-like atmosphere, and the contrast to the outside world that made it all... removed. Despite flipping the 'open' sign to 'closed' each evening, Jesse had the distinct feeling that time never actually passed here. Maybe it was a quality that all stores possessed. Maybe it was just his.

Or maybe it had something to do with Tulip kissing him.

"Hey, hey, hey," she pulled back and pinched Jesse's side, merciless. "Don't fuck up the hair. I've got a video call at 2:00."

"Plenty of time to fix it," Jesse murmured, starting in on her neck instead.

"You obviously know nothing about hair care."

"I know some other things though..."

Tuesdays were always slow for some reason and Jesse felt no guilt in dragging Tulip to the back room, especially not after she'd been gone two weeks, supervising a wedding in Oklahoma. She's brought back a sweat-stained invitation and a piece of stale cake that Cass had still eaten with relish. He'd gone out to 'work' (hustling the locals at poker) while Tulip had remained.

She was something to behold now, stretched out across his table, her skirt hiked up and her shirt pulled down. Cass was quick blowjobs behind the counter and late night secrets he’d never admit to in the morning. Tulip was slow and worshipful. She gave you nothing but absolute focus. It was rare for any of them to end up in an actual bed.

Jesse slid off the end of the table so he could put his mouth to work below. Tulip's thighs were the color of his soil, stretch marks pale like veined leaves, she trembled as gently as a petal.

He stupidly wanted to tell her that she was prettier than any flower in this store. Jesse knew she'd kick him for it.

Panting, Tulip propped herself up on one elbow and grinned. She reached behind her, fumbled, and snapped off the plant nearest to her. It was a little spring of aster.

"Got you a flower," she whispered.

"You stole it from me."

"Do you care?"

He really, really didn't.

***

Week 52

Six degrees of separation. They couldn't brag about knowing the president or the pope, but fate had certainly brought three distinct people together. More importantly, it refused to let them go.

"We should go on a trip." Cass said it with all the enthusiastic optimism of a toddler. "Just fuckin' drive outta this joint for a while. You know, see the sights, take in the open road, go all the way to the sea." He raised his hand and squinted, the horizon just beyond his reach.

Jesse snorted. "And who's paying for this idiotic romp?"

"Don't need no cash. You just drive an' shit. Take whatever you're given."

"Just drive," Jesse said. "With that gas you can't pay for. On the food we can't buy—"

"Don't be a shit spoil-sport about it."

"I'm rich," Tulip offered. She looked up from her phone when the room was silent too long. "What? I am. So if we're going anywhere it's in something nicer than whatever beat-up trash you're picturing."

"A camper."

"Absolutely not."

"Where would we go?" Jesse asked, because suddenly it all seemed possible, in as much as the three of them ever planned for anything. Not just the trip either, but that they'd be around each other long enough for more trips. Vacations. Growing old. Life.

"Anywhere." Cass skipped around the room until he found the oxeye daisies. He plucked one and not for the first time Jesse marveled that he wasn't run out of business by these two.

"Who'd watch the store?"

Tulip shrugged. "Wait it out. Cancel orders for a while, sell what you have, give a few things to Emily. She can keep them in the church..." For once Tulip wasn't smirking or glowering his way. "It'll be here when we get back."

"Suppose it will," and just like that Cass knew he had won.

He slid back onto the counter, messing up papers and knocking the poor cash register nearly off the side. Cass twirled the daisy between his fingers before plucking off a petal.

"Hey!" but before Jesse got indignant, Cass spoke.

"He loves me, he loves me not. She loves me, she loves me not..."

Now though? Now Jesse knew his daddy to be a goddamn liar. Because nothing compared to this.

His head didn’t just ring or pound, it was splitting, and oh, he’d used that expression before sure, sure, but never to describe the literal, impossible cracking open as his forehead got the messiest divorce in recorded history. It was a life changing kind of pain. The sort of pain that either drove you mad or threw you to new heights, and Jesse hadn’t been experiencing it long enough to figure out which was which. Hell, who could think in all this? Not him. He was nothing but pain, pain of the head, pain of the mind, the soul, and Jesus Mary Joseph that must reside in the intellect because his heart was thrumming just fine.

About a thousand miles a minute, but otherwise fine.

He wanted to groan about it, maybe scream if that would drown out some of the pain, but all Jesse could manage was the tinniest, most pathetic whimper, something he wasn’t even sure made it past the back of his throat. It gave him something else to focus on though— small as it was—and slowly, so goddamn slowly, he started taking stock of the rest of his body. Because he did have a body. He existed somewhere outside of this pain.

His legs, for example, had gone tingling cold after...however long he’d been out. His feet felt like concrete blocks nailed down to the floor. His arms were similarly heavy; his head might as well have been the weight of the world. Cracking his eyes open was a Herculean task that nearly sent Jesse back down into the darkness.

What the hell had happened to him?

Something big. Something awful and changing. Lost amongst his own attempts at thoughts, it took Jesse an indeterminate amount of time to realize that the sounds of pain he was hearing weren’t just byproducts of his own mind. Someone was suffering nearby.

Someone other than me, he thought, inner voice dark with the humor. It was enough though, and with that final push Jesse was able to open his eyes, taking in the sight of his church around him.

A church covered in blood.

The word ‘contradiction’ came to mind. As well as ‘fitting.’ Somehow they both seemed right and were able to exist cohesively, side-by-side. Bleary-eyed and cotton-headed, Jesse catalogued the smears of blood along his pews, tiny splatters on the far wall, the growing pool that was quickly spreading towards him. It seemed to be coming from something over there and—oh.

Oh. That was a leg. Not... attached to a body.

Well fuck.

That more than anything told Jesse to get the hell off his ass and move. Fight. Run. Whatever needed doing. That seemed an impossibility though given the weight of his limbs and how exhausting it was just keeping his eyes open. Jesse was used to painful exhaustion, but he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He had a vague, fuzzy memory of someone opening the doors and plowing into him...then darkness. Was that who he was hearing now? Had he been attacked?

“You filthy fuckin’ gobshite,” a voice said. It was gravel, a mouth full of sand.

And Jesse knew that voice.

“That’ll teach you to play with gardenin’ tools, stupid little asshole.”

Oh my god.

It was like some bad special effects. One moment Jesse just had a gory display of blood and leg to stare at, the next Cass flew into view, bearing down on a tall and gangly man who—huh—also seemed to be covered in blood. There was a chainsaw involved (so that was that sound) and by the time Jesse realized Cass was freaking dismembering the guy it was already over. There was a torso and limbs and half a head decorating his floor, and Cass stood amongst it all with the cheekiest grin on his face.

A dim part of Jesse, roughly labeled ‘common sense,’ told him that this was a Not Good thing he was witnessing. The larger part, accurately labeled just ‘Jesse’ thought,

Holy fuck that’s hot.

Jesse knew he’d always been attracted to power. It was Lisa Delver back-talking their eighth grade teacher, then pulling up her skirt and flashing them all in a manner that was more ‘don’t fuck with me’ than ‘fuck me.’ It was the nameless man from out of town, taking him out behind the bar like a goddamn cliché, but making Jesse give instead of take for once in his life. Most recently it was Tulip; Tulip with her hard fists and sharp words, with a thrill for danger and addiction to power that ran even deeper than Jesse’s. They fed off of one another like two mirrors facing each other: a reflection of a reflection of a reflection.

Now though... now there was Cassidy.

Cassidy, with a chainsaw in his hands. Cassidy, drenched head to toe in gore. Cassidy, looking like a goddamn kid in a candy shop as he surveyed the damage he’d laid out on person and property. The irony (unbeknownst to Jesse) was that he’d just been granted the greatest power ever known and he still looked upon Cass with dilated eyes, something obscenely untouchable about him in that moment.

Which of course made Jesse want to touch all the more.

His body was having none of it though. He still couldn’t move his legs or his arms, let alone get something going that was worth offering. Even his eyes were growing heavy again. Cass was a red slit that kept disappearing momentarily and Jesse realized with a pang that he was slipping back under. He hauled himself to the surface with a massive breath that went entirely unnoticed.

“What a waste this is,” Cass was saying. Jesse caught him shaking his head. “Bloody fuckin’ waste. Hmm... that kinda fight takes a lot outta a guy. You don’t mind if I forget my manners for just a moment, do you, padre?”

What Jesse would given to be able to answer, because at that moment Cass made words so fucking obsolete by slipping to his knees and scooping up a handful of the still fresh blood. It was deep enough for that, a steady stream, and Cass titled his head back, pouring it down his throat like a mortal finding ambrosia. It coated his teeth and slipped down his chin. His shirt was a ruined mess and Jesse watched, hypnotized, as that Adam’s Apple worked overtime. Cass was a dying man drinking by the handful until suddenly even that wasn’t enough. Jesse lost all breath as Cass dipped his head directly to the floor and licked a long strip parallel to the man’s broken wrist. Cass hummed in the back of his throat then, pleased, and Jesse felt an answering ache thrumming within him.

I have to remember this, he thought, as Cass kitten-licked blood from the crevices of the wood. I’m passing out, but... gotta remember this.

Jesse’s eyes slid shut. He could still see Cass behind them though: a bright red outline in the darkness.

He had just enough time—and this was an afterthought, now—but just enough time to think,

Oh. So the bastard really is a vampire.

It didn’t put Jesse off at all and he finally, finally slept.

***

Jesse woke up seven hours later in a slightly better state than he’d fallen asleep. That is, his limbs were no longer bent at unnatural angles, his head wasn’t beating on a collection of drums, and the church was miraculously clean. Jesse stood staring out over his domain for a long minute, wondering if everything he recalled from last night was just one messed up, fever dream.

Then Jesse shrugged. “Don’t think I care if it was.”

Nope. He was making this a reality. Whether it would be for the first time or a repeat didn’t rightly matter.

“No, sir. Doesn’t matter one bit…”

Decision made, Jesse made a beeline out of the church, his pace more akin to a bloodhound than a man suffering from the hangover of the century. And heh, bloodhound, wasn’t that just hilarious? Jesse let out a dry laugh as he passed the ‘Open Your Holes to Jesus!’ sign and wondered if he hadn’t suffered some sort of stoke the night before. His eyes were crusty from sleep and his shirt was already sticky with sweat—and Jesse felt his physicality more than he ever had before. He raised his arms above his head as he walked, stretching, rolling his head like a boxer preparing for a fight. His pace was light and quick and he made it to Joe’s in record time.

Joe’s was a run-down, dingy sort of place. The kind of establishment that didn’t deserve the name “restaurant.” Just call it a “dive” or a “hole” and give a warning to all your pals that they were likely to shit out whatever it was they chose to put in—quickly too. Still, it was a part of Annville history, for better or for worse. Little Joe had inherited it from Joe Jr., who inherited it from the first Joe way back in the 60’s. The family would serve you greasy burgers and fries for a better price than the chains and all the soda you could want to wash it down. You didn’t insult the food and didn’t comment on the hygiene, and they’d feed you at any hour of the day, no shirt, shoes, or manners required. It was a system that benefited pretty much everyone.

Jesse had no reason to believe that Cass was there, except for the fact that he wasn’t at the church, the bar wasn’t open, and he quite literally had nowhere else to go. Sure enough the hunch paid off because Cass was lounging in the furthest booth, munching on a meatball sub.

He had tomato sauce all over his chin and Jesse’s stomach tightened; stained white skin like a clerical collar.

Walking forward was something straight out of a dream. He was well aware that it was a decent crowd for a Thursday afternoon, with more than half the spots filled with familiar faces, all of them hailing him with some sort of greeting. It meant that part of Jesse was on autopilot, raising his hand and shooting smiles at random. It also meant that Cass was given plenty of warning.

When he looked up he didn’t seem particularly phased, like he hadn’t dismembered two men last night and presumably hid the evidence while Jesse slept. Cass just gave him a sunny smile and a sweeping gesture to sit.

“Padre,” he said, all syrupy sweetness.

“Cassidy.”

“You’re lookin’ well rested.”

“Mmm, not so much.”

It was a game they were playing, though Jesse was the only one in on the rules. Cass knew damn well he’d been splayed out on filthy wood all night, but he wasn’t meant to know that... and he didn’t know that Jesse already knew. It was one of those stupid, convoluted moments that him splitting a grin ear to ear. Jesse made himself comfortable in the booth across from Cass, sneaking a hand over the table to drum his fingers near Cass’ wrist. He pictured the severed hand from last night and breathed deep.

“You’d never believe the dream I had,” Jesse said, keeping his voice just this side of innocent. “Remember drinks the other night? You telling me you were a—ha!—vampire, of all things?”

Cass had slowed in his eating. He paused entirely now, mouth pursed, before resuming and stuffing a couple chips into his gob. “I remember,” he said. “Finally gonna believe me then?”

“Oh well,” Jesse dodged that with a wave of his hand. “It’s just, it kinda got to me, you know? I ended up with this crazy-ass dream of you tearing these two shucks limb from limb, bleeding them dry, and then, would you believe it? You were licking the blood straight off the floor, like some sort of animal.”

Cassidy froze. Jesse went for the kill.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you good manners?”

And there it was, that wonderful point of confusion, where Cass wasn’t sure if Jesse knew or really thought it had all been a dream. That right there was power and Jesse reveled in the brief expression of panic, Cass’ tongue poking out to nervously trace his lips.

“Sounds like quite a nightmare,” he settled on, finally meeting Jesse’s eye.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it that,” and Jesse scooped up some of the sub’s sauce, rubbing it between his fingers.

Cass’ eyes blew wide.

“That so?”

“Yep.”

Jesse loved all of it: the realization spreading across Cass’ face, the sticky liquid between his fingers, the hustle and bustle of so many others around them, acting as a constant reminder that this wasn’t a private space. Nonetheless, Jesse sucked the sauce off his fingers, slow and steady, then reached for a spoon without pausing to wipe them down. Cass followed every movement as Jesse scraped down the bun and brought the spoonful over his lap.

“Don’t the kids call it something? The five second rule?” Jesse kept his movements slow, giving Cass plenty of time to see what he was doing. “Tut, tut. You waited far longer than that.”

The sauce was thick and came off the spoon in one glob, falling between Jesse’s spread legs and hitting the floor under the table. All he had to do was tilt his head—a single look—and Cass caved, shucking his skinny frame off the seat and sliding to the floor. He was gone in a flash. Nearly fast enough that someone might think he wasn’t human.

“Good boy,” Jesse said.

He couldn’t know if vampires had enhanced hearing as well. A squeeze of hands on his calves said they did.

Jesse was careful though, hesitant even, scanning the restaurant for signs that they’d been noticed. It looked as if everyone was just going about their business—Davey working through a mound of cheese fries, Alice and William Becker arguing about that goddamn mortgage again, a gaggle of kids running screaming between the counter and the door—and Jesse took a chance, spreading his legs to take a peek at the sight he’d created.

Cass was on all fours in front of him, ass high enough in the air that it brushed the underside of the table. If Jesse had been the bloodhound earlier than Cass was the starved, mangy mutt, licking the sauce straight off of Joe’s filthy floor with neither disgust nor pause. Jesse was equally revolted and enthused with the image.

When he was finished—when the spot was cleaner than it had probably been in years—Cass’ mouth latched onto Jesse’s leg instead, sucking a strip there that was somehow burning straight through his jeans. Jess tensed, shifted just slightly, opening his legs all the wider. He didn’t know if he’d actually spilled any sauce on his pants or if Cass was just coming up with excuses now, but once again, he didn’t really give a damn.

So Jesse snuck a hand down too, fitting it into Cass’ hair and tugging hard. They couldn’t go too far here, not even oblivious Jenny at the side table would fail to miss her Preacher’s face if it started twisting in rapture, but he needed a little something more. Hand trembling, Jesse scooped up some of the excess sauce and brought it down with his left, uncaring as he hit more strands of hair and what felt like Cass’ nose. Jesse just needed Cass’ mouth on some appendage of his body before they moved on to...whatever the hell this was becoming.

“Not blood,” he whispered. “Sorry about that, but—”

Cass sucked Jesse’s finger into his mouth with reckless abandon, giving just as much, more, than what he’d offered in the church. Jesse got to see before and now he felt, resulting in him letting out a noise so strangled and helpless that it brought a mortified blush up to his cheeks.

“Preacher?”

Aw, hell.

Young Sasha trotted over, pink-cheeked in her first week on the job. She gave Jesse a sunny smile that only faded as she caught sight of the other empty booth. “Oh, where did Mr. Cassidy go?”

A sharp pain shot through his knuckle at ‘Mr.’ Jesse kept his own smile fixed in place.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s...taking care of some business.”

A swirl of tongue in appreciation; a gentle scrape of teeth.

“...okay. Were you, um, gonna take care of his check?”

“Mmm hmm. I’m used to looking after him,”—the reverberation of a growl.

“Great! Did you want anything else first?”

“No, no. I’ve got everything I want right here.”

Sasha left again, Cass dug unforgiving nails into Jesse’s legs, and he whispered directions to a nearby alley that had catered to him more than once. Jesse pocketed one of Joe’s knives as well. Dull, but serviceable for their needs.

“Here’s your check, preacher.” Jesse felt Cass’ bite in time with Sasha’s smile.

Oh yes, life was gonna give you shit sometimes, none more so than what you made for yourself. His daddy had taught him that. But this?

Emily stared at the TV screen, the black and white picture playing before her not really registering completely in her mind. She was thinking of too many things; of Miles, of Tulip, of whatever Cassidy was and how he was just down the hall from her and separated by only a thin door, and of Jesse – always of Jesse.

“I think that we're all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out,” Norman Bates stated, the sound slightly clumsy from the recording equipment of the time.

The line struck something within her and echoed in her otherwise very preoccupied brain.

“Sometimes... we deliberately step into those traps.” “I was born into mine. I don't mind it anymore.” “Oh, but you should. You should mind it.” “Oh, I do... But I say I don't.”

She felt numb. The lines of dialogue causing an ache inside her. She suddenly felt disconnected from the world, unfocused and unattached, a tingling and light feeling filling her starting from her fingers and toes and slowly working to her core. She felt as though she would rise above the world and float out of it if she was still enough.

But she didn’t. She tensed and jumped slightly when another sound was added to the drone of movie playing on the TV near her; Cassidy was banging on the door down the hall.

“I’m hungry!” he yelled, “Please, I’m so hungry!”

She had never heard the Irishman’s voice sound so off. Normally he was brash, he was crass, he cursed too much, and he was, though she would hate to admit, charming. But now his voice was desperate, worried, and weak. He sounds pathetic, she thought. He wasn’t demanding someone bring him something to abate his hunger; he was begging.

Emily rose from her spot, the action making her slightly dizzy as her body seemed to be suddenly reminded of gravity, and when she regained her stability she slowly made her way toward the door at the end of the hall with a little hamster from one of the dozens of cages of various animals Tulip had acquired for the sole purpose of being fed to a man who was definitely not a man at all.

Halfway there her phone rang, the sudden noise making her jump again – how she hated always being afraid. She answered, but stayed quiet. It was Miles. Of course it was Miles. Lousy Miles who was never and could never be what she wanted but who never seemed to get the hint no matter how many times she told him she wasn’t interested. Maybe it was the one-night stands, maybe it was that she was still friends with him; whatever it was that kept him insisting on trying to be a more permanent part of her life only served to wear at her more and more.

This call was different, however. He wasn’t trying to sweet-talk his way into seeing her. He wasn’t trying to make excuses to see her by watching her kids or running some errands. He wasn’t even calling to profess his feelings and insist he just give him a chance as her boyfriend like he had tended to do from time to time. No, not this time. This time he was more assertive. Too assertive. He wasn’t suggesting or asking that he come over to her place for dinner. He wasn’t suggesting they would spend the night together in the romantic sense. He was flat out telling her. She had no say in the matter, he had decided that was what he wanted and he was finally going to have it. Emily knew this was the beginning of something bigger. If he did come over for dinner and whatever else he surely had in mind, if Emily didn’t put a stop to whatever megalomaniac trip he was suddenly on she knew it would only continue. He would take power over and control her entire life if she didn’t stop him before he ever got the chance.

The light and tingly feeling from before returned – her body felt like it was on autopilot and threatening a takeoff. It was brief, lasting only several seconds, and when the weight of her body returned to her she felt different. Heavier and lighter at the same time; different.

It was then she opened her mouth to plead with Miles’ to come and rescue her, when really she was the one who was rescuing herself.

--------------------

She felt more awake after allowing Miles to stumble upon Cassidy in the ravenous state he was in. She felt like she was seeing the world differently, people differently, and later on that evening when Jesse showed up she felt differently toward him, too. She finally stopped pretending the world was a kind and decent place where as long as she simply believed in good then only good would be. There’s always been bad, she realized, and there always will be. If she said she felt her faith beginning to slip it would be an understatement. That was what hurt the most, she realized, and she decided that she would try to hold on to it – just a while longer. After all, she realized now the rumors about Jesse were most likely not just rumors. He wasn’t a saint, rather he was dripping with sins – and she was sure they were not the most forgivable ones. Still, she figured if he could hold his faith she would try her damnedest as well, but her faith in Jesse had completely disappeared.

“Your friend’s inside,” she told him without any particular sort of emotion. Whatever happened to him once he went inside was of no concern to her and so she left.

---------------

When Jesse insisted he was going to bring God Himself to Annville she decided to remain cautiously optimistic. The worst that could happen is that Jesse proves himself to have gone completely off the deep end and she loses her ever-waning faith. The best that could happen is that, while she feels her life has made a complete 180 from before that day she spent with a hungry vampire in an old drunkards home, maybe at least she could save her faith and retain at least a fraction of her former life.

Apparently the universe had some other plans. God is missing. But at least angels exist, that much she saw. But it wasn’t enough for her. Who cares? Angels exist but so do vampires apparently and don’t forget God is missing so who the hell cares about anything else.

She felt hollow by the time she packed up her kids and headed home. Though, to be fair, the entire town felt hollow. She tried her best to give her kids some hope. She may have let go of her faith for the most part but she wasn’t so spiteful that she would ruin it for her children, not after spending their entire lives trying to dedicate them to it. They were scared, and she needed to reassure them.

Her words weren’t working, however. No matter how much she tried to reprogram her children into believing in the power of good even though God was missing it just wasn’t working. She tried to think of how she could prove to two very young and scared minds that it would all be alright.

“Tell you what,” she said to them, “if I got Father Jesse to tell you all about it would you feel better?” “Could he talk to the angels again? Could the angels tell him where God is?” “Yes, maybe. We’ll have to ask. Want me to go get him?”

Her children nodded.

“Then that’s what I’ll do,” Emily said.

It was hard to find a babysitter under such circumstance but she did manage to find one teenage boy who seemed to not mind the task.

“They say God is missing.” The kid said, apparently he hadn’t been at the church. “Yeah.” Emily confirmed. The kid laughed, “He was missing the entire time, you know. Much of shit, religion.” “Do me a favor, make sure my kids stay safe and unhurt and don’t you dare talk to them about any of this do you understand?” she asked. Never one for confrontation before she seemed to have decided confrontation was the only way to get what she needed. Just another thing she learned that day with the monster in the backroom. “Yeah, whatever.” The kid agreed and headed into the living room to sit with the two kids he now had the task of keeping alive.

“Swing set!” he called and half the class cheered in response. The others had already turned towards the main doors, looking for parents and guardians to take them home, but Jesse’s group made a sharp right, pushing out onto the playground and flying over the wood-chips. They held tight to their backpack straps, bodies bent in an attempt to gain speed. They were sweaty, multi-colored blurs under the 3:00pm sun.

Past the jungle gym and around the sandbox. The swing set was in sight now—Jesse could nearly feel the hot metal under his palm—when, suddenly, a darker hand came out of nowhere to slap it first.

“Fucking O’Hare,” a kid said in a rare display of true cursing. Everyone collapsed as one, hands on their knees as they tried to get their breath back.

Tulip stood tall though. Her hand was already out and demanding the usual fare. Slowly, the other kids began pulling candy and knick-knacks out of their bags, handing them over. Grudgingly.

“You were closest to the door,” Simon grumbled, knowing the complaint wouldn’t do him any good. Tulip just shrugged.

“And I was all the way in the back last week in Ms. Julie’s class and I still won then. Not my fault all you idiots are so slow.” She wiggled her fingers. Simon deposited a half eaten Milky Way in her palm. “Thank you,” and with a vicious kick Tulip sent up a cloud of dust that had everyone else running, cutting across the playground to the cul-de-sac where parents were waiting to yell at them for being late.

Jesse scowled, threading a hand through the back of his hair. “You always win.”

“Turtle,” Tulip said, poking him in the chest. She started jogging in place. “Cheetah.”

“Yeah well c’mon, wasn’t there something about slow and steady?”

Jesse bent on one knee to pick up all the stuff Tulip was starting to drop. He nearly fell backwards when she bent too and just shoved it all into his arms.

“You can have it,” she said. “I’ve still got all that loot from Maya’s birthday party and besides, aren’t you going to see Him?”

Tulip said Him will all the gravity that a middle schooler could imbue in a word. It was grandiose and inexplicable, like all the years’ snow days rolled into one. Or winning relay day for your whole grade.  Or even finding that shiny, glimmering rock outside and just knowing it was treasure. It was all those things and more, smushed together and made into a person. Something like a person, anyway.

Jesse wouldn’t even think to disagree.

And he could see how Tulip’s hands shook as she re-wrapped the packet of Twizzlers. She wanted to go so badly.

“You went yesterday,” Jesse reminded her.

“I know.”

For a brief moment she bit her lip and Jesse realized, instinctually, that she was thinking about similarities between the three of them: dead parents, dead mom... dead existence. They didn’t really know how to deal with any of that. But they were kids, so they dealt anyway.

“I’ll tell your dad you had to stay behind and clean the chalkboards again, k?”

“K,” Jesse said and they shook on it, three slaps that ended in them linking fingers, pushing and pulling a bit before finishing with a fist-bump. They hauled themselves to their feet and Jesse crammed everything into his backpack.

“Careful,” Tulip said, already jogging away.

Jesse just flapped a hand at her back. “Never!”

She threw out a messy thumbs up. Always needed to have the last word.

Hauling himself in the opposite direction Jesse took off at a run, knowing that he only had so much time when he could be ‘cleaning chalkboards’ before Dad got suspicious. He took only a moment to make sure none of the teachers were sneaking out the back before jumping the small fence surrounding the playground. He landed in the soft dirt of a graveyard.

It wasn’t common, but sometimes people moved to Annville and when they did they had kids to put into the only school—and when they did that the parents inevitably balked at their angels playing next to the dead. Jesse had always liked it though: watching the tombstones crumble and the weeds grow taller each and every year, reading the strange first names attached to the surnames he’d grown up with; digging for bones, risking both the teachers' ire and some sort of ancient curse for disturbing the dead.

Except Jesse never thought of that as a bad thing. If he was dead he’d want someone to disturb him. Wasn’t that more exciting?

"Did you crawl out of the graveyard?"

"What graveyard?"

"The one back there. At the school."

"Nu uh, padre. Never been buried."

"...do you want to be?"

"Why the hell would I want that?"

"You’re dead aren’t you?"

“…am I?”

Jesse drew his hand over the last headstone for something like luck, plunging into the tree-line. It was the only ‘forest’ that he’d ever seen, but he knew it was paltry compared to other parts of the world, the desert encroaching even here and leaving patches of dry, dusty earth amongst the trees. There was enough brush to darken the sky though—hide things that needed hiding—and it took Jesse long, precious minutes to find the path again, finally distinguishable by the empty bag of Cheetos he’d brought last time. With that familiar route under his feet he made good time. He broke into a grin when he found the log.

“Cass,” he whispered, and an ethereal head popped out from the rotten wood.

It had startled Jesse the first time he’d seen it, that pale, bedraggled face; hair matted every which way with mud and leaves. It was something straight out of the B horror movies he and Tulip had snuck into last summer, telling his Dad that they were at the school’s kiddie camp, the kiddie camp that they were helping Dad with the church, and the lazy teenager managing the ticket booth that they’d just forgotten Tulip’s sweater from the previous film. No one ever bothered to check any of those stories.

The movies gave him nightmares, but of course Jesse never told. A month ago he had gone exploring, half to tell himself that there was nothing out there in the woods to scare him... and he'd been proven really, really wrong.

He’d wet himself a little, the first time he’d seen that face.

Now the face was just Cass. He clamored out of the hollow trunk, jeans stiff with grime and a once white shirt long gone grey. For a moment they just stood and stared at one another. Then Cass lifted his head and sniffed the wind like a dog.

“Hiya, Padre,” he said. He didn't blink.

“I’m not a ‘padre’ yet,” Jesse grumbled and began obediently rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. He’d learned quick that it was always better after this. Whatever parts of Cass were scary tended to leave after he’d fed. He was more Cass like... and for that Jesse was willing to pretend that the feeding wasn’t scary all on its own.

Still, he gave an involuntary cry when Cass materialized before him, seeming to move from There to Here with nothing more than a faded blur. Cass did that a lot. Jesse might have thought he was a ghost if he didn’t know better. But oh, he really did.

“Here,” Jesse said, extending his bare arm. Needing no further encouragement Cass latched on, biting deep into the tissue and hovering there, sucking in quick, jerky gulps. Jesse stared open-mouthed at the display. It hurt of course—fuck how it hurt—but this time, like every time, the pain was overshadowed by watching Cass move like a machine; like some horrible puppet twitching on a Master’s strings. It was only when he’d gotten a good number of mouthfuls down that his swaying grew natural, more human-like, and something similar to a blush crawled up into his cheeks. His animal chittering gave way to the happy hums of a kid just being a kid as he enjoyed dessert—and still Jesse stared.

“You’re hurting me!” he shrieked, the thing pinning him to the ground and taking directly from his neck. Jesse got a knee up into his groin—which did absolutely nothing—and grabbed for a loose branch instead, knocking the thing off his chest and into the weeds. It sprawled there, raving and wild until Jesse managed to raise the crucifix he wore around his neck.

A switch flipped. The monster blinked. It smiled.

"...do you really think that's gonna do somethin'?"  

Jesse wouldn’t truly feel the pain until he was back home hours later, with his sleeve pulled down low and lies slipping through his teeth about where he’d been.

Except... this night he wouldn’t be lying. At least he hoped not. Jesse hadn’t told Tulip, but he wanted to bring Cass home with him today. Wanted to grab this strange, frightening thing and drag him straight to their church, praying only that he wouldn’t light up in flames along the way. Jesse would hide Cass beneath his bed every night and whisper any bad dreams he had. He'd sleep easier knowing that at least one monster there was his friend.

“There are Twizzlers too,” he said, like this was any sort of normal conversation. For them it kind of was. Cass finished up with a saner look in his eye, careful to lick away the stray runs of blood curling around Jesse’s arm. They still left rusty rings though. Bracelets he was proud of. When Cass stepped back (feet bare, cold looking) Jesse immediately dumped the loot out between them.

Kit-Kat, Twizzlers, the half eaten Milky Way, and a crushed bag of chips from lunch. There was an equally smashed paper airplane and a yo-yo with a fraying string. Cass poked at it, watching it roll lopsided through the dirt.

“We used to have these too,” he said and Jesse—

“Where are you from?”

Cass stared and grinned until Jesse got it.

“When are you from?”

“When is this?”

“2017.”

He let out a whistle as high and eerie as the wind through a keyhole. “Then I’m old, padre. I’ve got 120 years on you.”

Jesse wondered then how he’d done the math that fast. Jesse needed to know if that was true. Jesse had conflicting thoughts that Cass was both young and old and Jesse—

—knew better than to ask.

“You can have it all,” he said, feeling like those words somehow meant more, as if he hadn’t already brought a fool’s worth of treasure for Cass to play with. It was all piled up in that rotten log, the only things that felt real and tangible around her. Cass himself was sort of smudgy around the edges, like a picture someone got sick of drawing halfway through.

He worked methodically through the offerings though. Because wasn’t that what they were? Jesse had wandered into these woods and found something immense there... and he’d been offering up tributes ever since. Cass fiddled with the yo-yo a little more. He placed the paper airplane in one of the few strands of sunlight that broke through their canopy, inching it there with all the delicacy of a tightrope walker. When he got to the Milky Way he crammed it all at once into his mouth, eyes suddenly blowing wide.

“That good?” Jesse asked.

Cass grinned with caramel teeth. “Yeah. Sure. But there’s blood in it too,” and his eyes went wild again, edging the tattered bite on Jesse’s arm.

And the pain was there: a sharp throb that had him tugging at his sleeve.

Because Jesse remembered what Cass was talking about. Simon had pricked his finger on a picnic table splinter today, the piece of wood going sideways and causing a tiny spout of blood. It had dripped onto his sandwich—two red drops on white bread that made all the kids shriek in disgust—and it had apparently gotten in his chocolate too.

That was what got Jesse to move; the idea of Cass tasting someone else’s blood. Not his. Not Tulip’s. Fucking Simon's.

With a growl he leaned forward and snatched the Twizzlers out of Cass’ hand, mind too wooly to appreciate the surprised, human expression that flit across his face. Settling back in the dirt Jesse pulled out his switchblade with the same jerky movements and drew it sloppily over his arm.

It hurt enough to make the backs of his teeth ache, but who the hell cared? His arm was already a bruised, bloody mess from these daily meetings, and wasn’t it worth it to see that look creeping into Cass’ eyes?

A fool might have called it hunger. Jesse knew it was something closer to love.

“Here,” he said, dipping a Twizzler into the fresh blood and tossing it casually Cass’ way. Like you’d throw a friend a beer. Like you’d scoop cheese onto those fancy crackers. What they had was no different—except that it was better—and Jesse preened a little at seeing Cass gobble him up in two quick bites.

“You’re like a dog!” Jesse howled, amazed and disgusted when Cass relieved himself too close to his boots.

He laughed crazily. “I’m more dangerous than any dog!”

“You’re insatiable,” he said, here and now, and Cass laughed again (was always laughing), his matted hair flying in front of his eyes.

“Tulip teach you that word?”

“Book did. Tulip teaches me four letter words.”

Laughter, longer and louder and Jesse tossed him more blood-coated Twizzlers. He coated all the food in a thin layer of blood until it was gone and then Jesse stood, backlit by the tree’s shadows and feeling uncommonly nervous.

“C’mon,” he said.

Because this is what they did now. He came, Cass drank, he offered things and then he left. There was some boundary between Annville and Cass’ little world that had nothing to do with tree lines or cemetery markers. He didn’t need Jesse’s blood with all the critters about—but he preferred it. He didn’t need cheap candy and toys either—but took them ravenously.

Jesse didn’t need to pull Cass over to his side of the line—but he’d do it anyway.

He held out a hand and Cass just sat there, a mangy cat licking something from the back of his arm. When he was done (tongue papery white, almost iridescent in the red of his mouth) he looked at everything but Jesse before landing his eyes on a small crop of weeds. Cass tugged two out, heedless of the thorns.

“Here,” he said, slapping them into Jesse’s palm. He left his hand there too and hauled himself up. “You gotta protect me from the sun, padre.”

“Told you I’m not a ‘padre.'" Jesse's chest was ballooning up.

“And takin’ me in? Now you probably never will be.”

Maybe it was a lie, maybe not. Either way, Jesse tugged his shirt off and drew it over Cass’ head. He give him too-big boots to protect his feet and they set off together, the half mile to the church feeling unnaturally long.

“Who are you?” Jesse whispered in the dirt, dimly aware that he wasn’t nearly as afraid as he should be.

The monster shrugged. “Cassidy. But... whaddya need me to be?”

Jesse wasn’t sure yet. Something more than this.

On their way out he brushed the bouquet of weeds over the last gravestone. For luck.

“Never have I ever,” he began, before running out of words. Jesse took a long, unnecessary pull from their bottle; hummed around the lip. When he pulled back there was a ‘pop!’ that sounded obscenely loud in the otherwise quiet church, though it did give him an idea.

Jesse grinned with abandon, as only the drunk can. “Never have I ever given head,” he murmured, looking down through his lashes.

“Aw, you’re just cheatin’ now, c’mon.” Still, Cass flung himself forward to accept the bottle, making more of a show of it than needed. Vampirism came with all sorts of unexpected goodies, including a very near perfect tolerance for alcohol...but Jesse didn’t need to know that. Would take the fun out of the night if he did. And with this town’s strangeness encroaching in on them both, moments of fun seemed few and far between.

Jesse was watching Cass down enough liquor to stun a horse, his awe forcing its way through the haze. “You’ve done it that many times?” he whispered.

“Enough times, sure.” Cass finally paused for air and shot him a toothy grin. “Why? Not hurtin’ your preacher sensibilities, am I? ... or are you jealous?”

“Pff,” Jesse waved him off. “No. And no. You’re not that pretty.”

Which implied, of course, that Cass was pretty in some capacity to begin with. It made him smile, even if he hid it behind a lazy hand. Drunk Jesse was free of all his little town’s expectations—talkative and honest in a way not possible without that liquid courage. Cass loved it. He wanted to take advantage of it.

But hell, if Jesse Custer was worth anything, we was worth a drop of restraint.

...for now.

“I’m pretty enough for the two of us,” he retorted, chuckling at Jesse’s expression as he tried to decipher if that was an insult or not. “Now, now, don’t go breakin’ that head of yours. It’s my turn anyhow. Hmm... not a whole lot I can say though, Padre. I’ve done it all.”

“You’ve never done me,” Jesse said, laughing at his own, artless flirting. He didn’t mean it of course. Not fully. Not yet, though it certainly tightened Cass’ jeans all the same. He crossed his legs and leaned forward, brandishing the bottle.

“No I haven’t, and ain’t that a sin?”

Cass needed something from this boy tonight. Not everything, but enough to tide a poor, thirsty man over.

“Never have I ever… slow danced in a church,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.

“Wha?” Jesse blinked. “Haven’t what now?”

Cassspread his arms, warming to the subject. A bit of their drink splashed to the floor. Blasphemy.

“Danced, Padre. You know, two people getting cozy in one another’s arms, swayin’ to a beat only the two of them can hear...” he’d lost Jesse somewhere in that romantic poetry. The boy was staring at their bottle with a befuddled expression and, by god, Cass could do nothing but grin. His pretty preacher was wasted.

“I haven’t either,” Jesse admitted, sounding sad about it. Cass’ heart skipped a few beats before he finished with: “Does that mean we can’t drink any more?”

The laugh that busted out of Cass was both loud and joyous. Why, what a perfect opening.

“Tell you what, Padre, how about you and I dance a bit and then we can both drink, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

It was a breathy, excited answer that sent Jesse stumbling to his feet. Pure vampire reflexes kept the fool from face planting on the wooden floor, Cass up and out of his seat before you could give a damn ‘hail Mary,’ his arms tight as iron around Jesse’s waist. And what a waist it was. Trim and toned, but Cass could easily imagine Jesse’s muscles giving way to a soft beer belly someday, when his physical fights were long behind him. Suddenly, like the burn of the sun itself, Cass wanted to be there when it happened.

He swallowed hard, chin jutting up over Jesse’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, Padre.”

The preacher was deadweight in Cass’ arms. Not that it mattered much with his strength. Jesse smelled of alcohol, obviously, and the sweat from a hot night too... but also sawdust. Hadn’t he been helping out Lars and his brood earlier, out in the barn? Goddamn do-gooder.

Cass was so engulfed in the feel of him—the slide of bold hands across his back, Jesse sneaking one leg between his—that for a long moment he failed to notice the most prominent movement of all: a sluggish back-and-forth that Jesse accomplished mostly through gravity.

“This is what you call dancing?” Cass asked, chuckling.

“Mmm-hmm,” was the only reply. It sounded like Jesse was already half asleep, boneless and trusting against him.

Honestly, Cass wasn’t sure what the hell you were supposed to do with trust like that... so he just pulled Jesse closer.

And raised their hands, intertwining fingers and sliding his palm up around Jesse’s shoulders. Not exactly a formal closed position, but it would do for them. Sloppy and half-assed was sort of their style.

“I do actually know how to dance, Padre,” Cass murmured, directly into his ear. “Wasn’t for the likes of us rats back in the day, but live long and travel far? You pick up a thing or two along the way, I’ll tell ya that. Pretty little waltzes that were just for show, hot salsas in the back alley clubs, boleros that would spin your holy head sideways...”

Jesse wasn’t listening. He’d probably really be asleep if Cass wasn’t keeping them upright and moving, though as it was his breaths were still too deep for the seriously engaged. Cass didn’t mind. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share all of this just yet. Not when Jesse would remember it anyhow.

He shuffled them back toward the pew. Their bottle, nearly empty, met with a wayward foot. It toppled, rolled, and the last bit trickled out onto the floor.

“Whoops. Looks like we both lost that round...”

It didn’t feel like a loss though. Hell no. Not when Jesse was puffing in the curve of Cass’ neck and leaving him a memory he’d carry with him forever.

And forever was a damn long time for a vampire.

Cass smiled, giving them both a little twirl, recounting tales that would soon be lost to the night. They danced until dawn and when wispy bits of sunlight filtered through the church windows, Cass danced around those too; a dangerous, foolish little act.