[ it’s enough to snap the tenuous thread tethering him to his own sanity when it comes to danny johnson.
he’s almost grateful for it. it gives him something else to do besides feel how his heart — bloodied, butchered, tattered — struggles to keep beating. how every feeble pulse hurts. breathing hurts. blinking hurts. he can’t even go back to the coronal to blitz himself out of his mind, not because of the revenants roaming the stairwells, but because that’s where he’d held ash close, where he’d kissed him and fucked him and given him promises that in the end meant nothing — because in the end, an empty man like him has nothing to offer to someone so full of love, so full of light, like ash colchester.
he feels no remorse when he drags danny through the biting cold, shoving him up against a tree trunk as snow rains down on them from the shivering branches above. embry’s eyes are the same color as the sky, pale shards of ice, and his knuckles match the blood leaking from danny’s nose and welling from his busted lip. less obvious are the wounds hidden beneath danny’s clothes where embry had taken one of the very useful wooden weapons repurposed from the church’s pews to danny’s ribs, as good for breaking human bones as they are for busting in revenant skulls. at least the chapel had been good for something.
from his other hand, he throws down a shovel, shoving a knee against danny’s crotch to hold him up and slapping him once in the face. ]
What is it your dad used to make you dig? Foxholes? [ embry sniffles from the cold — not because he’s wanted to cry every second of every day he’s had to exist while ash is dead dead dead — ] I should make you dig this for yourself, since you’re the goddamn expert.
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cw violence, attempted murder, mentions of death
he’s almost grateful for it. it gives him something else to do besides feel how his heart — bloodied, butchered, tattered — struggles to keep beating. how every feeble pulse hurts. breathing hurts. blinking hurts. he can’t even go back to the coronal to blitz himself out of his mind, not because of the revenants roaming the stairwells, but because that’s where he’d held ash close, where he’d kissed him and fucked him and given him promises that in the end meant nothing — because in the end, an empty man like him has nothing to offer to someone so full of love, so full of light, like ash colchester.
he feels no remorse when he drags danny through the biting cold, shoving him up against a tree trunk as snow rains down on them from the shivering branches above. embry’s eyes are the same color as the sky, pale shards of ice, and his knuckles match the blood leaking from danny’s nose and welling from his busted lip. less obvious are the wounds hidden beneath danny’s clothes where embry had taken one of the very useful wooden weapons repurposed from the church’s pews to danny’s ribs, as good for breaking human bones as they are for busting in revenant skulls. at least the chapel had been good for something.
from his other hand, he throws down a shovel, shoving a knee against danny’s crotch to hold him up and slapping him once in the face. ]
What is it your dad used to make you dig? Foxholes? [ embry sniffles from the cold — not because he’s wanted to cry every second of every day he’s had to exist while ash is dead dead dead — ] I should make you dig this for yourself, since you’re the goddamn expert.