my heart is gold

Jason made a beeline towards the pantry when he was able to set his sac down, finally, was it just him or had that thing increased in weight since last he’d carried it? How long had he slept? Not long, it was still the crack of morning. They’d be making breakfast soon. He would like to put everything away before he ate, the ache in his belly wasn’t too bad, considering he’d eaten a can of beans just last night.

“Morning.” He greeted politely at the person at the person who entered the kitchens while he was putting away the edibles from his scavanging trip. He didn’t bother turning around around from his task, working quickly. He did that when he was as tired as he was now, attempting to get tasks done as soon as possible so he could nap in his bed. That was assuming he still had one since so many people had arrived at the Monastery. He’d really been looking forward to a bed.

Instant coffee isn’t Daniel’s preference, but it’s better than none at all. And it’s become habit to have it waiting in the morning for both himself and Ezra. Some small, normal comfort that serves as one of the few things that feels familiar anymore. He doesn’t expect anyone else to be in the kitchen this early, certainly not a boy he’s never seen before and it has him stalling in the doorway for a long moment.

“Morning.” The response is automatic, he barely registers the word even as he says it. Instead there’s some mixture of confusion, an ache in his chest he can’t place yet, a familiar, stunted reaction that Lowell seems to summon in him too. There’s only the repetitious thought that whoever the kid is, he seems so small.

It gets swallowed down as swiftly as he can. “Sorry, who are you?”

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

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

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

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

It’s drunk optimism, he knows, concerns of it being too good to be true will rear their head later. But that’s later and later doesn’t really exist right now. He smiles as he steps forward to close the gap between them once more. Ezra holds the bottle out for Danny to take if he wants. Now it’s Ezra’s turn to kiss the other one’s neck. What starts as simple, trailing pecks, turns to suck at the skin, leaving a small red mark, as he makes a trail down to the dip of his collarbone.

Danny laughs, but it’s a breathless, heady sound when for a moment all he can think about is that image left in his head of Ezra on his knees. If it seems contradictory to any claims of divinity, it’s the last thing on his mind right now. Lost somewhere behind where they are and who might see when all he can think about is how warm he feels, how clumsy and happy he is for the first time in a long time, with Ezra pressed close against him.

He doesn’t question or care where he’s being led, though he almost laughs at the room they end up in. Little to take in, or to make it comfortable, not that he thinks much beyond the man who pulled him in here, currently wedging a chair beneath the door.

Ezra’s greeted with a soft, slow smile of his own when he turns towards him, Danny’s fingers reaching out to take the bottle. There isn’t much left in it, thanks mostly to the man in front of him, but he deserves that much. To enjoy himself, because those moments are harder to find, too easily destroyed by every new monster rising in front of them. Nothing Daniel wants to think about either, and it’s burned away by the pull he takes from the bottle. It doesn’t taste quite so bad now, not when he’s warm and the room is spinning pleasantly around him. 

Better than that is the sensation that follows, the tilt of his head granting Ezra easy access to his throat. A sharp inhalation follows when he feels Ezra sucking a mark against his skin, a quick jolt electricity through his nerves. His fingers settle on the back of his head, threading through his hair to pull him closer.

For a moment he just closes his eyes and enjoys it, the path Ezra’s charting with his mouth leaving heat in its wake. The air in his lungs feeling warmer, every breath coming sharper and hips pressing forward. 

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

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

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

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

Ezra flashes a smile, biting on his lip before he’s up onto his feet. Even as he wobbles slightly he reaches for the wine bottle, takes a large swig before he starts to go, pulling Danny along with him. They won’t need the glasses to finish it up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kate has never been very good at sitting still. She needs something read or write…or do. She’s been restless ever since they came to the monastery, an unease settling over her when she tepped. Since arriving with the rest, she’s become all the more aware of the black stains on her arms and her stomach knots each time she notices their reach grow, overtaking otherwise porcelain skin in a slow but present manner. 

She feels the gaze of the sisters too often when she’s in their presence and it’s why, today, she decides to walk around– explore, despite the warnings not to. She figures it can’t hurt, as long as she stays inside but that doesn’t stop the tingling feeling at the back of her neck when she looks out a window as she walks through an otherwise abandoned hallway. It’s not dark yet but there’s a darkness in the distance–– like it’s approaching them and she knows this is just her reading too much into what her eyes are showing her but she knows there’s monsters outside, beyond the walls– all laying in wait for something. And she can’t help but feel that they are that something.

The former teacher’s still staring when she hears something, someone. She jumps, spinning around, hand going to the knife at her hip because despite the sisters’ words, she can’t ignore her instinct that they’re still not safe. When she sees who it is–– a member of the group she’s been traveling with, though, Kate gives pause, lowering her hand to a less defensive position. She dips her head, doing her best to quell that feeling that made her itch to wrap fingers around the hilt of the blade. It’s not necessary. For now. “Sorry–– I didn’t…I thought you were someone else.” Maybe even one of the sisters. Maybe one of the monsters. She’s learned that you can’t be too careful these days. No one’s who they seem to be. 

It wasn’t his intention to sneak up on her, but Daniel preferred the quieter corners of the monastery, as if wandering through it’s more vacant hallways enough times would allow him to feel whatever holy power was supposedly keeping this place safe. Anything except that empty echo of his footsteps that seemed to resonate in his chest as well. But it’s broken up by the sight of someone else, and he hadn’t realized how silent he was until she’s turning on him with obvious surprise looking back at him.

He slows in his steps before he stops, hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Who? A nun?" It would’ve been funnier to him once. The idea of someone reaching for a knife as their first reaction to a member of the church. Now there’s only a sliver of humor, a shadow of who he used to be that's always dimmer when he’s by himself. 

It’s generally worse around the woman in front of him, has been since the day he met her. Nothing that feels fair, but awareness of that fact doesn’t make a dent in just how closely he finds himself studying her, as if waiting for that crawling sensation on his skin to return if he waits long enough. It feels foreign and almost cruel, that instinct whispering that it’s only a matter of time until she proves herself something less than human. Until she does draw that knife on someone else, and it’s an effort to tamp it down.

If nothing else, at least she doesn’t look like much else besides a woman at a window, and he nods his head at it. “What’s out there?”

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

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

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

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

Well, mostly he feels drunk. A warmth in his belly and a growing need to go find someplace private. Hopefully, someplace the nuns won’t find them but half the fun is in the build-up and he’s enjoying himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thoughtful nod is all she can offer at the words. Given the conditions of the building itself, the flourishing garden out back, the distinct lack of the ruin that’s spread over the rest of the world, it seems logical enough to her that they might have been holed up here from the start. And maybe it’s rude to doubt their claim. Religion is such a personal thing to some, such a serious thing, and there’s every chance that they could believe God has been looking out for them all this time. In another instance, maybe, she’d afford it much more respect and leave the women to it. But in this, considering what - and who - might be at stake, she doesn’t know that it’s an explanation she could ever really believe for herself.

Finally, she settles her eyes on his, holding his gaze as his next words settle in. And she’s not sure what’s more unexpected to her, really - the claim itself, or how boldly he made it, seemingly unconcerned with any sort of benefit of the doubt toward the monastery and its inhabitants. A pang of envy might strike from somewhere deep within her chest at how easy it seems for him, but it’s nothing she pauses to acknowledge, not entirely aware of it in the first place. It’s surprise, rather, that colors her expression 

“‘Course,” she murmurs, the word nearly distracted. It certainly wouldn’t occur to her to share something like that with the women. It’s hardly on her mind right now regardless, now that Daniel’s admission has monopolized her attention. She looks away again. It’s thought this time, though, not avoidance, as she studies the building with somewhat renewed interest. Looking for… cracks, maybe, any sort of indication that things aren’t as they should be.

All she can really think of now is that mansion from all those months ago. Too good to be true, though on a much higher degree than this fairly modest monastery, and that idyllic sanctuary turned out to be rotten in the end. There were no indications then, either, the first few days, that it was all the work of that demon. She frowns, remembering what she heard of Daniel’s role in all that when she looks at him again.

“Any idea what else it would be?”

For a moment she meets his gaze, and while he didn’t think much about his own belief in the words, she looks more startled by it. For a moment it crosses his mind that she might have more belief in a god than he does, even with what’s happening to him. But it isn’t offense looking back at him, just something like curiosity. One he can’t help with.

“I really don’t know enough about what else is out there.”

There’s a slight shake of his head, a modicum of regret for that, because he’d like to have a better answer. Not just for her, but for himself, those small reminders of his own ignorance always something that struck him unpleasantly, and at inopportune times. Some days he simply doesn’t care, accepting the state of the world around him with a dull acceptance.

At least in moments like this there’s enough of him left to regret it. He’d like to have a better answer for her, for any of them, but so much of the world still feels foreign.

“I’ve... felt it. So far. Every time there’s a demon close. I didn’t know what it was at first, but....” It feels odd to say out loud, especially when he doesn’t know how much weight that really carries. Instincts, gut feelings, they were worth listening to, but he’d spent enough years with a badge on his belt that he knew that alone wasn’t enough. If he feels far removed from that man now, it doesn’t change his reservations when it comes to depending so wholly on a sensation he can’t explain. Let alone say it like gospel to a woman he barely knows. 

Still. He doesn’t truly doubt that instinct either. Every single time, whether he acknowledged it or not, he’d known when something demonic was close. If he has less faith that he’d recognize the divine, he knows what it feels like in his own blood, on his fingertips, and this doesn’t resonate with any piece of his soul. “I know how it sounds. This place just doesn’t feel like anything.”.

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The nuns. Yes, she imagines some of them could know… but when she looks back toward the building, there’s unease shadowing her eyes that she struggles to contain. Maybe it’s simply the unfamiliarity of it, a lifestyle she was never part of and one she doesn’t quite understand. The empty churches they’d used in the past were one thing. This place, still harboring residents who truly believe in these things, who believe themselves to be protected, seems so inaccessible. That must be it.

It’s comforting enough, at least, to try at these rationalizations. Familiar, and considerate to the women who were kind enough to temporarily take them in, and much more productive than simply sitting with her discomfort.

“Guess I haven’t talked to them all that much.” She glances at his face with a careful shrug, and it’s not until she looks away just as quickly that she realizes she was avoiding just that. A distant, delayed realization, when she’s never been in the habit of maintaining eye contact for very long in such casual conversations regardless. But she pushes that all back to a more distant corner of her thoughts. She understands it well enough.

“It’s-” The words catch in her throat, the rest of the sentence falling away before she risks saying something that could be a step too close to judgmental. Strange. It’s strange, considering what’s become of the rest of the world. But she doesn’t have the right to say such things. “They’ve really been here this whole time? Since it all started?”

The realization is a distant one, how unwilling she seems to meet his gaze, nothing that occurs to him until she is. And then it’s gone again, shifting away while she works through her thoughts. It’s easy to wonder why that is, body language like that something he used to be better at noticing. Whatever consideration he might put into it, she seems to settle on what she wants to say about their hosts before he does.

“So they say.” It’s said without judgement, only that it’s nothing he can swear to or contradict. It’s what they claimed. If the woman next to him doesn’t believe them then he can’t blame her, because it runs contrary to most of what they’ve all experienced so far. No place stayed safe that long. If the AFB had, it was because they’d prepared. Shored up their walls, kept everyone armed and on the defensive. And even then, none of them could guess how much longer the place would last if they hadn’t gone to that tower first.

It’s a memory he’d rather not replay, because of what had come out of there with him, but if nothing else it reminds him of what that felt like. The oppressiveness, the unease, and if he can’t say anything else for certain, he can at least swear that’s absent here.

It simply doesn’t feel like anything holy either. It’s an odd thought to consider, that his word would contradict that of someone who’d dedicated their life to god. But whatever he is, and whatever this place was, it wasn’t the same. For a moment his expression displays it, teeth catching his lower lip as he turns to look back at the monastery. Out here it looks strange to him, but he can’t name any feeling to it other than how out of place it is.

“Whatever’s protecting them, i don’t think it’s god.” His gaze shifts back to Violet, and it doesn’t occur to him until after the fact to be anything but blunt.  “Just don’t tell them I said it.” 

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

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

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

“You’re a fucking cheeseball, Danny.”

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

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

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

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

Her brow crinkles at the short question, but he’s offering clarification before she has to ask. Still, she can’t offer an immediate answer, following his gaze to glance back toward the truck as well, and the makeshift garden in the back that she’s been tending to these past several months. Maybe it should be proof enough that she knows what she’s doing, to an extent, but it’s not a claim she’s eager to make. A step too close to confidence, to cockiness. That’s not a line she’s interested in crossing.

“Oh, I can-” She lets out a careful puff of laughter that’s nearly self-deprecating, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can grow stuff pretty well, I guess.” A mild, middle-ground response, hopefully, as she nods her head toward the truck. “Anything more than that is a whole other kinda smart.”

That is surely the closest she’s ever come to considering herself any kind of ‘smart’, to making such a bold statement to anyone else at all. It seems to invite a brief wave of self-consciousness, and she shifts where she stands, glancing toward the gates so she won’t be tempted to check if he’s studying her again. “It’d be useful, though. If anybody knew more about that stuff. There’s lots of medicinal plants, really, I just- I don’t know all that much about how you’re actually supposed to use ‘em.”

Daniel offers a thin smile, incapable of offering more or gauging just how modest she’s being. Though the truck behind her might swear otherwise, because he can’t picture himself keeping any of it alive for long. His wife had grown tomatoes on their back porch. He hadn’t been able to keep them alive without her.

At most he’d had a passing interest in some naturally grown poisons, on the off chance they ever found themselves dealing with a more creative brand of murderer. But it was never hemlock in their tea, it was shootings and stabbings, black and blue fingerprints around someone’s throat. If there was poison it was usually for rats, or some botched attempt at chloroforming a victim.

The memories seem distant and unwelcome in comparison to where he stands now. If there are more violences in the world than there were even then, right now he’s standing amidst green, and it’s quiet in a pleasant way. And Violet has a calming way about her, even if he can’t offer much when it’s all more than he knows, in both cases.

“Maybe a nun could tell you.” It might be true, he can’t really say that for sure either. It seemed like something they might know, if only because of some cliche stuck in his head.  

The question has her pausing, such memories rather distant things. Growing, identifying, those skills were much easier to bring back to the surface when they were once such staples in her young life. Old wives tales here and there, her mother’s voice in her head reminding her that potatoes should be planted on Good Friday, that plants grow better when they’re stolen, that herbs deserve apologies - these are the things she can recall easily, though not without their fair share of heartache.

Beyond that, it takes a beat for her to recall the things that she taught herself. From college textbooks, unbeknownst to her, left behind by her mother and fastidiously studied over the years. It’s information she never expected to use in any practical application. Only a childish notion she never quite managed to shake - that her mother would come back for her, and Violet would have to be ready, studied, useful, when she did.

“Aches and stuff, I think. Arthritis, things like that.” Hands on her hips, she peers down toward the leaves. “You can make a tea out of it, I’m pretty sure, or creams, if you know what you’re doing. Supposed to help with… y’know, inflammation.”

Daniel nods his head, and doesn’t fight the thought that most of them probably wouldn’t live long enough to worry about arthritis. He just doesn’t voice it, because there’s no point, another dose of fatalism nothing that’s necessary when all they had to do was look outside the gates.

“Do you?” He glances down at her with the question, before it occurs to him that it might need clarifying. “Know what you’re doing?” 

There’s a vague curiosity when he asks, mostly because he knows little about her, or anyone here. But it all feels harder than it used to, something as simple as asking questions and really listening to the answer. It used to be his job, and now it’s an effort to try and keep himself grounded. To hope that the effort might count for something when his soul might not belong to him anymore, and it’s a more terrifying thought than it would’ve been a year ago. He’d thought he had nothing left to lose, turns out he was wrong.

He blinks, does his best to put the thoughts away as he studies her, before his gaze slips by and back to the truck behind them. “You seem to.” 

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

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

“Want some?” he slides a glass and then the bottle Danny’s way. The smile stays longer – even though he’s only slightly inebriated, “Tastes disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

Ez had found a quiet spot in the monastery after a brief, whispered conversation with one of the sisters. He was never religious, even the Burk’s were only Christmas and Easter Catholics,  but he could respect those who had faith and remained kind and welcoming. Especially this one sister who took pity on Ez and let him in on a secret stash of wine. He did have all intentions to share but… one glass by himself seemed fine. Right?

Ez pours his second glass as the door opens. It might have already started to have an effect. 

“Apparently it’s fine to drink if it hasn’t been blessed yet?”

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

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

She tries her best not to make note of how long he stares at her. Maybe he was simply caught off-guard. It’s not like she could blame any of them for being somewhat distracted, especially considering the sights they passed so recently before coming to this place. So she busies herself with an absentminded glance over her own plants until he responds.

“It, um-” She blinks, sifting briefly through the words that rush forward from the depths of her memory. Urticaceae, and trichomes, and all manner of definition from the books her mother left behind for her. “Grows a few feet high. It’s got these pointed leaves. Serrated, they look kind sharp around the edges.” Her hand lingers on the edge of the truck’s bed as she steps away. A farewell, a promise to return, that she doesn’t notice.

“Little green and white flowers on ‘em. Like that.” She points again, closer this time, to the plants circling the trunks of the trees beyond the asphalt. “It hurts a whole lot more than poison ivy, from what I remember. Medicinal, though, actually, depending on who you ask.”

It takes her a moment to answer but it doesn’t stir any sign of impatience. Just a brief, wandering gaze, tracking past her for a moment to the truck she’s standing by. A trace of green there too, and he wonders what she’s growing, and if that’s something he should know. 

It’s a passing thought, a passing interest until she’s speaking and he blinks, like that might chase away the numbness that always seems to be fighting to spread through every limb. His gaze follows when she points, studying the green and white plants climbing up from the dirt. A distant cataloging of what she tells him, solely out of habit now. It might be useful to know, it might not be, no real idea what the road ahead looks like, including the end of it. 

His feet shift on the grass, a few steps closer to the nettles, though there’s no intention on testing that question of which is worse. He’d only had poison ivy once, and it’s one more memory that seems far removed. “Medicine for what?"

It must be rude to feel so unsettled in this place. That’s Violet’s current reprimand of choice, at least, in the hopes of pulling her nerves away from the edge. The women have welcomed them all so openly. Given them food, water, even beds. They deserve better than uneasy glances and the distance she’s been keeping. If she offered help, maybe, in that garden of theirs… not that she has many supplies to spare, but maybe they could find some use for an extra set of hands.

Instead, she lingers near her truck, pacing, poking, prodding, peering needlessly beneath the open hood. Her gun feels too heavy where it’s strapped to her thigh, but the weight of the blade at her hip is comforting, and she’s long since stopped noticing the way she reaches for it every so often. As if it might just disappear if she lets it go unchecked for too long.

She’s on her fourth semi-aimless lap around the truck when her skin prickles. Head cocked, she waits for the sound of footsteps before casting one last glance over the engine and shutting the hood. “Careful where you wander.” She lifts a hand to briefly block the sun shining in her eyes, then points, leaning uneasily against the side of the truck. “There’s a whole bunch of stinging nettle that way, if you go back too far.”

The place feels like a world apart, and Daniel can’t help the way that feeds into that growing sense of detachment. Pictures of saints and angels inside that don’t resonate with him like maybe they’re supposed to, when they feel like remnants of an old world’s legends. It’s quiet, but not in the cruel, empty way the rest of the world has seemed so far. It isn’t silent because the life’s been stripped from it, but because there’s still signs of it. The area around those stone walls green and thriving.

He isn’t paying much attention to where he’s going, isn’t fully aware there’s anyone else there until she talks. His steps slow, blinking against the light as he focuses on her.

“Oh." He stares at her for longer than it warrants, too detached from the moment, and a warning that seems painfully mundane. It has nothing to do with corpses left behind or the monsters that made them that way. Just a warning about the flora. 

“Thanks,” he finally manages, before he frowns. “What’s that look like?"

Danny presses his hand against the inked one on his chest. His chest glows – that eerie red light. Something that fascinated him even as adult, like holding a torch to his fingers just to see through himself. Ez’s never seen a light strong enough or even tried to do that lately. The glow would be ominous if it weren’t for that pure, holy light. While it burned through Ez last time, a dangerous, burning flame, there’s nothing. He’s safe, then. Nothing bad or flammable inside him.

The light disappears. The shadows race back. Anything, even a mere plain human, would cast a shadow with that divine light so Ezra settles into it. Lets the weight of it all drag him down by the shoulders but Danny stops him from completely collapsing in on himself. With the light gone all pretenses are dropped. 

Danny was humoring Ezra. It’s working.

The gentle tensing of muscles as Daniel ’s trailing fingers are a better, more welcome sensation than the panic that gripped him earlier. Fingers that slip down over the tattoed couple and the bullet hole that’d cut through them. Ezra’s tongue darts out, licking his lips as his attention turns back to his own bare torso. Without that light, they’re both human.

“Had a crush on the artist, I was going through her work for some excuse to talk to her and you know, just really liked it.” A ghost of a smile and a whisper of laughter follows. It was a silly story. Maybe even sillier than the Batman symbol on his back. It was always odd looking back, Ez kept any sort of ‘romance’ a secret to everyone he knew. It simply never seemed important enough to share. The few times he did, they never lasted and his moms would always ask for them and pester and tease. Claire joined in. Amal always told her everything when the families got together. 

Ezra smiles a little, gentle teasing as he looks up at Danny. Danny who’s gaze fixed on his lips. “And I thought it was hot…” A more honest answer because the only people who saw him shirtless rarely had any other reason to see it.

“Same reason I got her…” Ezra goes takes Danny’s hand and for a second he hesitates. This is his body and he’s allowed to do what he wants with it. Even with that thought repeated, a desperate mantra it seems unreasonable. Ezra tries to move without thinking: he takes Danny’s hand in his and moves it.

Trailing down over his waistband then down along his left thigh settling above another tattoo hidden by his trousers but Ez knows exactly where every image is. One he thinks Danny will recall – he’d buried his face into the inked woman as he came undone at Ezra’s feet. 

“The woman taking her top off. Remember her?”

Daniel sees him better without the light, even if it strikes him as a backwards thought. That divinity gleaming on his hands was too consuming, like one day it might burn away everything left inside him that was still human. 

It would burn away Ezra too, and not in the way he feared, as something filthy and damned being destroyed by holiness. It would kill the way his heart still beat for him, the rush of blood that comes when he answers and Daniel sees that smile on his lips. Something fragile, as insubstantial as the laughter that follows. A flicker of memory that has nothing to do with bloodstained floors and gravestones that share their names. 

It summons an answering smile on Daniel’s lips, and for a moment the guilt he carries an easier thing to swallow down when he thinks Ezra wasn’t destroyed by this. By him. His failings. His fingers play lightly over that tattoo, enjoying the distraction too much when he thinks it wasn’t one meant for him. It’ll have to just be enough that Ezra looks more like himself right now, and the artwork etched on his skin is something he chose, however meaningful or ridiculous those reasons were. 

He’d never had the chance to ask about any of them before, at least not with so much reverence. Ezra had kept so much of himself close to the chest, half the time serving as the greatest mystery he had to unravel; sitting in the car right next to him. He’s sure Ezra never mentioned the artist, at least not beyond more than her occupation. He didn’t know most of the people he’d been with, how serious any of it was. 

Those aren’t questions he pursues now, just humming quietly in both amusement and agreement before he reaches forward with his free hand. “I think this one is.” It probably isn’t news to either of them, fingers tracing over the lines of the compass on his neck. He can’t help the way he gravitates towards it, a mild fascination when they’d simply been friends replaced with the urge to press his lips against it. 

He goes stiller as Ezra takes his, down past his waistband to his thigh, even if the art etched there is hidden from sight. His other hand falls from his neck, settling lightly on his knee instead. “I remember.” 

Agreement’s quiet and easy, even if it’s not a clear memory. Just his lips dragging over black lines while the breath burned up in his lungs. That coupled with the warmth of Ezra’s thigh beneath his hand now makes it harder to remember the point of this exercise. His thumb drags across fabric like he can trace the lines of that tattoo by those hazy recollections alone.

He takes a breath, this sensation familiar for less painful reasons. That need to steel himself in case he’s asking for more than he has any right to. “Show me again?”