Some months ago, the church carried a very different set of memories. Wes could have almost found the old, dilapidated building calming for what it called to mind. It's still the first place he encountered Kurt, and while that chance meeting could have ended so poorly, it set him on a trajectory here that he's grateful for. He thinks of the afternoons spent at his partner's side cleaning it up, only to return the next day and find their work entirely undone. The Sisyphean task was never one he minded undertaking, for the time spent with Kurt. He remembers the way the three of them hunt down the nest of doppelgangers, and the rush he felt even as they risked themselves to expunge them from that place.
But now, Wes feels a familiar shiver as they get close. Now, it's just another place that he's tried and failed to do what was right. That he's come up lacking for the lot of them. He feels his stomach turn as he takes the bottle from Logan and slowly climbs out of the truck. If you say it's around Kurt's statue, I'm leaving, his hands grumble, more towards himself than to the man who is already traipsing down that path.
Logically, he knows that Kurt is safe and secure back with them, and that his death is no more permanent than any in this place. But Wes remembers the terror, the way he and Logan raced to rescue a man they reached too late. A broken and battered body they found too far gone.
He can hear the movement of the younger man's hands. The telltale muffles claps and swish of palms against palms, but he knows he's too late to catch whatever Wes might be mumbling at him, and if the man isn't dragging him around for attention, it's probably not something the younger man actually intends to be known.
All of which puts a surprising little smile on Logan's face when he thinks about how familiar their habits have become in the span of so little time.
This place has a way of expediting how well you know a person. Condensing years into moments through the application of pressure.
It's a short, but slow walk through the overgrown paths of the graveyard as he scans the ground for something that finally stops him. The little silver buttons in the grass look like a few scattered coins. Slicker and wetter with some kind of silvery jelly than the dried specimens Logan kept in the fridge. "They only grow where a grave stone casts a shadow," he says like he knows there's something unnatural and morbid about that.
By light of day, the graveyard that pushes up against the dilapidated church has a quality of near-absurdity. It's like something out of a horror film, Wes thinks to himself. And it's only gotten less ominous and more ridiculous as months pass and the number of those he's known to have died and come back increases with time. He can count himself among those ranks by now, so whose final resting place is here in this patch of earth? His boots squish through the perpetually-damp earth and he makes a point not to look in the direction he knows Kurt's statue lies. Instead, Wes sticks near Logan. Perhaps a little more near than his own internal monologue can explain, when he tries to convince himself the place is purely ridiculous.
He starts at the headstone alongside Logan, unscrewing the jar and stooping in the muck. The man's comment about skin to skin contact makes Wes hesitate and level a glance at his partner, momentarily calculating his own method against the other man's. Do you want me to dig it up, or cut it at the base?
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But now, Wes feels a familiar shiver as they get close. Now, it's just another place that he's tried and failed to do what was right. That he's come up lacking for the lot of them. He feels his stomach turn as he takes the bottle from Logan and slowly climbs out of the truck. If you say it's around Kurt's statue, I'm leaving, his hands grumble, more towards himself than to the man who is already traipsing down that path.
Logically, he knows that Kurt is safe and secure back with them, and that his death is no more permanent than any in this place. But Wes remembers the terror, the way he and Logan raced to rescue a man they reached too late. A broken and battered body they found too far gone.
no subject
All of which puts a surprising little smile on Logan's face when he thinks about how familiar their habits have become in the span of so little time.
This place has a way of expediting how well you know a person. Condensing years into moments through the application of pressure.
It's a short, but slow walk through the overgrown paths of the graveyard as he scans the ground for something that finally stops him. The little silver buttons in the grass look like a few scattered coins. Slicker and wetter with some kind of silvery jelly than the dried specimens Logan kept in the fridge. "They only grow where a grave stone casts a shadow," he says like he knows there's something unnatural and morbid about that.
no subject
He starts at the headstone alongside Logan, unscrewing the jar and stooping in the muck. The man's comment about skin to skin contact makes Wes hesitate and level a glance at his partner, momentarily calculating his own method against the other man's. Do you want me to dig it up, or cut it at the base?