theydrewfirstblood | [PUMPKIN HOLLOW] INBOX

Chris knows that dreamcatcher and who it's from, and even without the conversation trending toward Sam anyway, Chris would understand who John means.

"Penance is a part of the virtue of justice, you know. Why do you feel like you wronged Sam? All I see is two people who found comfort in each other when the rest of the world wasn't a safe harbor."

"...I kissed him."

It burns to say, burns to remember--brings back that chill in full force that he's not sure is that painful need for human contact or just missing that single, stolen moment when he had everything he ever wanted.

"When it was all falling apart, I kissed him. Some part of me...knew, and I kissed him. And if the dream's in his head like it is in mine, he remembers that. Remembers I betrayed his trust."

And John doesn't know what could possibly be more wrong than that.

"Did he tell you that? Did he say he felt betrayed?" Chris raises an eyebrow, "Or have you even bothered to ask him how he feels about it?"

John meets Chris's gaze...then drops his to the tabletop.

This face--this one right here--is his only response.

"How dare you."

It's said very quietly, but with fury brimming from every syllable.

"How dare you, John Rambo. You think that you know someone's heart without speaking to them? All it sounds like to me is that you don't have any respect for Sam. You're running off your own assumptions of what he feels and what he needs and what will even hurt him. You idiot!" Chris slams their palm on the tabletop. If John looks up into Chris's face now, he'll see that there are tears in Chris's eyes and that Chris's face is flushed with emotion. "Maybe you're worth the fucking pain to Sam, but you're too goddamn proud, too goddamn much of a coward to even ask!"

John only doesn't flinch because of his training--an excess of control rather than a lack of feeling.

(Ignore pain. Eat vermin. Keep going. No matter the cost, fight. Win. Nothing else matters.)

He doesn't look up. He can't. Every word sinks in deep, slices a new hole into him--the idea that he hurt Sam again, that he's still hurting, that he took selfishly and feels guilty and that's selfish too and his lips burn, his fingers burn, but he's so fucking cold and it hurts so fucking bad...

(Ignore pain. Eat vermin. Keep going. Ignore pain. Ignore pain. Ignore pain.)

"I touched him once."

He's not totally aware that it's his own voice. He's not aware of his forearm laid on the tabletop, seemingly casual, nor his hand gripping his own wrist, as if his own fingers could simulate the feel of someone else, of Sam.

"First time we met. Had him in a chokehold, and I left a mark on him. Before I knew, first time we touched I hurt him..."

He's not aware of how tight he's digging fingers into skin--not enough for nails to bite, but he's getting close.

He's not aware that he's trembling, shivering, because his bones are throbbing, and he's so fucking cold...

Sharp, hard, pitiless. "And Sam called me a man before he knew better."

Chris reaches out, takes John by one wrist and squeezes. "Listen. To what. I'm telling. You." Somehow, even though Chris is slightly built and persistently underweight besides, their grip won't be shaken off. "We're all human. We blunder through life and when we don't know better, we make mistakes. But it's only a mistake if we don't fucking learn from it. Fucking talk to him, okay?"

The grip eases, and Chris's voice softens. There's something sad and tired in their tone now. "Get out of your own head for once, John. You can have grace as much as any of us. It was never about deserving, anyway."

"That's not true."

The words are strangled, and thick with tears John refuses to shed. No more, not a single fucking one--he broke once, he won't do it again.

...yet one tear splatters against the tabletop, and John can't be angry about it. It's not the same as it was in the sheriff's station, it's just...

"We don't get grace. We don't get anything..."

For the second time since his arrival, the whole story slips out of him, a slew of words he can't stop, a tidal wave he can't stem.

Of how he fell out of line by doing what was asked of him. Of the crimes he committed by existing.

Of how every single time he's tried to reach for grace, for absolution, for dignity, he's been punished for the mistake of wanting.

In the telling of John's past, both of Chris's hands have come up to gently hold onto John's hands. And there have been plenty of sympathetic tears shed on John's behalf, even if he can't cry for himself.

"You were abused and hurt by your fellow man. Over and over and over again. And I understand if you don't trust people as a result. But when I spoke of grace, I didn't mean the kind granted by man." Chris says softly, "I misjudged you, John. I'm sorry for calling you a coward. But I'm not sorry for telling you that you should speak to Sam before you punish yourself. That part I stand by."

John doesn’t move. He can’t—Chris’s hands covering his burn just right, and too much, and it all still hurts but he thinks he can be warm enough if he just stays there and doesn’t do anything that makes them decide to move.

He nods when Chris pushes him to talk to Sam, however.

“I know. I do, I just—I did leave him something.” He admits, sniffing hard and blinking away the rest of the tears lingering in his eyes. “If he doesn’t figure out it’s an apology in a few days, I’ll…I’ll go see him. Explain. I just…”

He trails off, glancing up at Chris with a tiny, wry smile.

“I dunno if God’s got much grace, either. Not when I’m the last man standing, y’know? Not after what I’ve seen.”

Yeah, Sam might be getting clued in to John's way of apologizing at Chris's first opportunity...

"Well, you know. God's got God business to take of, and His plans aren't exactly comprehensible to us mere mortals." Chris gives John's hands a light squeeze.

"Can I give you a hug?"

John can’t suppress a shiver as that little bit of pressure, just for a second, makes the ache a little less intense.

“…please.”

Chris moves to stand beside John, then crouches enough to give him a hug, wrapping their arms firmly around his shoulders and squeezing him tight for a moment. Even after that initial squeeze, Chris holds on to John.

"I'm here. I'm here."

The moment Chris squeezes him, the tension slides out of John like water draining out of a tub. His hand lifts to cover one of Chris's forearms, and it's...

For a few glorious moments, he doesn't hurt. The touch burns, the pressure is too much--but he doesn't want it to end, and the longer Chris holds onto him the easier it gets to deal with. His thoughts are quiet, his heart can just beat.

I'm here. I'm here.

And John believes it.

He's not sure how long he's there, sagging in Chris's grip, but eventually his hand lifts off of Chris's arm and up to tweak a lock of their hair good-naturedly.

"Thanks, man--'man' like 'friend.' There a...what's it called...gender-neutral word for that?...'buddy' isn't too masculine, is it?..."

"Heh. 'Buddy' works. And there's 'pal', too."

Chris figures that John is worried about 'buddy' in particular because it's also a common man's nickname. Chris leans back, but keeps a hand on John's shoulder -- easy to shrug off if John wants.

"You still want me to figure out how many Hail Marys you gotta say?"

[PUMPKIN HOLLOW] INBOX

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CW: disassociation

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CW for linked information: police brutality, abuse, possible gaslighting?, & violence

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