[ he hadn't anticipated all of those confessions tumbling out, but with the confession of his time in court, it seems inevitable to tell her of the fall from there, the pursuit of whatever truth had landed him there in the first place.
even with what he does tell her, there's plenty that he doesn't β the involvement with david lieberman, the pursuit from madani, the loss of his brothers in arms, and most importantly, billy russo's betrayal.
but the story of bill goes even beyond the carousel, beyond the entanglement in rawlins, and somehow, even that feels a lot more fresh than the rest of it; bill's blood was practically still fresh on his hands when he'd first arrived in deerington.
he can feel the shake of her, the empathy that looms in her hold of his fingers, the hurt in her own voice, and he doesn't want to draw out more of it, if not for his own hesitance than for the sake of not wanting her to drown in too much of his old ghosts all at once. it's enough that she's listened to this much, that she's willing, that she opens herself up to his scars as much as she does despite his resistance in wanting them to be seen.
he falls quiet for a moment even after she speaks, eyes still drawn away, but soon enough, he lifts her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he sighs softly. ]
I got them tangled up in shit that never should have touched them in the first place. I don't β I don't ever want that to happen here.
[ it traces upon why he's so often so withdrawn, why he resists letting anyone get involved with him, knowing the consequences of it, how just by association, his family had been killed for the dirt on his hands.
waverly can yell at him. kurt can guilt him. wynonna can persist to join him. but sometimes, it's simply a lot safer to be on his own. ]
[ This is more than she ever thought she'd hear when she'd prompted him for more context on the connection he shares to two of the town's newest additions, but it doesn't mean she's discovered anything that would make her want to pull away from him. If anything, the response he supplies gives her more of an understanding of the road he's been on leading up to being in this place, the answers he'd sought to clue him into a greater conspiracy at work in terms of the lives that had been snatched away from him, some of them cut short before they'd ever really had a chance to start.
And she knows that can't be the whole of it; there are still sections of her past that he doesn't have a complete picture of yet, not necessarily out of a desire to lie to him or withhold the truth but because she wants to go about telling him the right way, sort of like this, the two of them sitting on a bed in a quiet room with little chance of interruption β because honesty always deserves more than they often have time for. ]
But we're all tangled up in this here, Frank. This place, it touches every single one of us, whether we want it to or not. I know you want to keep out what you can, but there are some things you can't protect them from. [ And she includes herself in there, unspoken; she acknowledges that he's tried to be that barrier between her and the hells of this town, but she's had to face some trials on her own. ]
They're strong. They're all survivors. And maybe we can't always prepare for whatever's around the next corner, don't know which threats are coming next, but β the difference is you're not alone in it now. None of us are. [ She'd left Purgatory with the intention to keep her mess as far away from Waverly as she possibly could, but what she hadn't realized all those years she'd been gone was that she'd always be stronger with her family, not apart from them. ] We stay together. We fight together. And we do it one day at a time.
[ he knows it isn't just him; whatever comes for them here might be entirely blinded to who it even comes after, simply terrorizing any sleeper that's come to reside in this town, regardless of gender or age. the more he meets those who have found themselves here, the more he's come to recognize that their pasts hardly matter, that the good mixes with the bad, and the nightmares will pursue them all in the end. it doesn't mean he's any less insistent on being the one to take the hits if he has to. when he'd returned from his week long death sleep, he'd heard his share of scolding, but ultimately, even if he knows he'd have rather stayed by wynonna's side through it, he wouldn't have changed his decision to go into that dome.
still, there's more understanding in the shared nightmares, and maybe that's why he's come as far as he has now. if he was still the same man he was all those months ago, he doubts he'd be here now, living in this house, sleeping in this room with a woman he loves at his side. no, he'd be alone and angry in his apartment on the other side of town, still convinced he isn't meant for anything more. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. [ he mutters it soft, barely above a whisper, but it's still plenty concise, the more confirmation he can give to that assured comfort. she doesn't say anything he doesn't already know, hasn't already come to terms with, but it's soothing to help it from her lips all the same, and he leans in closer to her, angling his head so he can kiss her, something lingering but soft with an air of sweetness, a "thank you" in the caress of his lips.
it's not just her, not when it's laura too, and cliff, and waverly, and even brianna these days, along with everyone else he's come to know. but he also knows much of the credit to the trust he's found and the willingness is in the girl who pestered him blindly across a table talking about her fondness for nachos and judy garland all those months ago.
nudging his nose to her cheek, he sighs, ] I love you.
[ She isn't telling him anything that he hasn't heard from her before, but she's going to keep reminding him of the fact that he doesn't have to be the one who takes the hits so they don't have to, that the others are more than capable of standing their ground against whatever this town decides to throw at them β that they'll be even stronger if they stand side-by-side rather than one of them offering themselves up on the sacrificial altar.
And she definitely doesn't need to tell him what he stands to lose by throwing himself in the line of fire time and time again, what happens when even this place's hold on death runs out. He's had the wake-up call already, come to the realization of what taking the bullet means for the people he leaves behind in the process. He recommitted himself to her after returning, but there's a piece of her that isn't completely convinced he won't try it again someday, that he'll never tell her he needs to hit the redial button on that tough call.
It's that fear she shoves back down inside herself because she has to, because she doesn't need to let it play over her face where he can see it now or where it might spring up later β the fear of waking up someday to find that death has finally decided to stick, or worse, that she'll wake up home without a single memory from these past months, unable to recall what she's had, his hand solid in hers and this, his mouth slanting over hers in that gentle assurance.
And she lets herself cling to it now rather than choosing to push it away like she would have before, her empty hand lifting to skim across his cheek as she sinks into the kiss, into him; her fingers ghost across his nape as they hover in that space together, preserving their proximity and she listens to the sound of his voice uttered in the near-silence. She's never faced anything more terrifying than this, the prospect that one day she might have to give it all up, but every day she opens her eyes and rolls over to find him a warm and welcome weight beside her is one that she doesn't want to take for granted, not even for a second. ]
I love you. [ This is something he's already heard before, too, but there's so much more wrapped up in it this time, the promise that he hasn't done or said enough to give her any second thoughts, and she slowly tilts her head back with a whisper of hair across her features to survey him from a close-up angle, smiling faintly. ] Come to bed with me?
[ most things have often been plenty unpredictable for him, but deerington has very much tested that commonality with far more complexity, to the point where even death could be a temporary affair or a permanent occurrence, with no guarantee of either or. there's the disappearances too, the way in which some people come and go without warning, with no sort of rhyme and reason behind it, as random as the rest of the terrors this town is likely to give. for that, it makes each moment all the more significant, and though the loss of his family had taught him the fragility of having time with the people you love, he's still aware that here, even the memory of it might not be safe enough to hold onto once they've left the dreamscape of a place they may never remember.
and it terrifies him every day, that he'll lose her, that he'll lose all of them, be it from a return to their respective worlds, or some nightmare-fueled accident, and maybe part of that is what motivated him to ask the question he did, but when she mutters the return of those words to him, he knows that it's from so much more.
because there's enough scars and ghosts carried on his skin that no one should have to bear the weight of, and yet she remains there through it again and again, holding out her arms to take some of it with her, to loosen it from his back so that he doesn't go it alone, as much as he's tried to for all these years. maria had loved the monster in him but he could never find a balance between the two then; in wynonna's eyes, he sees all of himself at once, all the good and the bad stirred together, and she hasn't run the other way yet.
with her question, he manages a small smile, lifting his lips to her forehead for a lightly pressed kiss, before wordlessly answering by shuffling his weight back across the bed, palms pushing him along until he's settled closer to the pillow, dragging his knees in to slip his legs beneath the covers. and as he gets comfortable, he holds out an arm, welcoming that space for her to crawl into, a nestled corner right against his heart. ]
[ She can't say whether or not growing up in Purgatory has prepared her for something like a life here, but maybe it has; maybe it's because she knows what it's like to try and balance normal alongside the strange, the monstrous, the evil, that she figures she's not going to let this town's horrors stop her from trying to have something good, for once.
And this is good, for all the ups and downs they've had, everything from surprisingly easy conversation about favorite food and movies back when they had no idea what the other person looked like to the brutally honest exchanges that had almost threatened to break her heart and leave her to pick up the pieces. What they have is ultimately good because they've both chosen to hold on to it, to fight for it in equal measure, to protect each other, not just in their willingness to shield the other's body but their vulnerabilities, those exposures they've handed over for safekeeping. She realized a long time ago that she gave him her heart to guard whether she wanted to or not, and it scares her, but not enough to stop.
Somewhere between the jokes and the tension, the pain and the carefree moments, the ghosts of their pasts and the possibility of a shared future, they've carved out something meaningful, and she's changed by it every day.
She hums lightly when he turns to her, delivers a kiss there to her forehead and then eases back toward the pillows in answer; after a beat, she shifts onto hands and knees and follows him in that crawl, chuckling softly until she can worm her way beneath the blankets and tuck herself into the space he makes for her against all that warm skin. The moment she brings her head to rest against his shoulder, she's already leaning in to press her lips to his chest, a soft brush that doesn't try to initiate anything else while she slings her arm over his waist, fingertips absently stroking against his lower back. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
even with what he does tell her, there's plenty that he doesn't β the involvement with david lieberman, the pursuit from madani, the loss of his brothers in arms, and most importantly, billy russo's betrayal.
but the story of bill goes even beyond the carousel, beyond the entanglement in rawlins, and somehow, even that feels a lot more fresh than the rest of it; bill's blood was practically still fresh on his hands when he'd first arrived in deerington.
he can feel the shake of her, the empathy that looms in her hold of his fingers, the hurt in her own voice, and he doesn't want to draw out more of it, if not for his own hesitance than for the sake of not wanting her to drown in too much of his old ghosts all at once. it's enough that she's listened to this much, that she's willing, that she opens herself up to his scars as much as she does despite his resistance in wanting them to be seen.
he falls quiet for a moment even after she speaks, eyes still drawn away, but soon enough, he lifts her hand in his, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he sighs softly. ]
I got them tangled up in shit that never should have touched them in the first place. I don't β I don't ever want that to happen here.
[ it traces upon why he's so often so withdrawn, why he resists letting anyone get involved with him, knowing the consequences of it, how just by association, his family had been killed for the dirt on his hands.
waverly can yell at him. kurt can guilt him. wynonna can persist to join him. but sometimes, it's simply a lot safer to be on his own. ]
no subject
And she knows that can't be the whole of it; there are still sections of her past that he doesn't have a complete picture of yet, not necessarily out of a desire to lie to him or withhold the truth but because she wants to go about telling him the right way, sort of like this, the two of them sitting on a bed in a quiet room with little chance of interruption β because honesty always deserves more than they often have time for. ]
But we're all tangled up in this here, Frank. This place, it touches every single one of us, whether we want it to or not. I know you want to keep out what you can, but there are some things you can't protect them from. [ And she includes herself in there, unspoken; she acknowledges that he's tried to be that barrier between her and the hells of this town, but she's had to face some trials on her own. ]
They're strong. They're all survivors. And maybe we can't always prepare for whatever's around the next corner, don't know which threats are coming next, but β the difference is you're not alone in it now. None of us are. [ She'd left Purgatory with the intention to keep her mess as far away from Waverly as she possibly could, but what she hadn't realized all those years she'd been gone was that she'd always be stronger with her family, not apart from them. ] We stay together. We fight together. And we do it one day at a time.
no subject
still, there's more understanding in the shared nightmares, and maybe that's why he's come as far as he has now. if he was still the same man he was all those months ago, he doubts he'd be here now, living in this house, sleeping in this room with a woman he loves at his side. no, he'd be alone and angry in his apartment on the other side of town, still convinced he isn't meant for anything more. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I know. [ he mutters it soft, barely above a whisper, but it's still plenty concise, the more confirmation he can give to that assured comfort. she doesn't say anything he doesn't already know, hasn't already come to terms with, but it's soothing to help it from her lips all the same, and he leans in closer to her, angling his head so he can kiss her, something lingering but soft with an air of sweetness, a "thank you" in the caress of his lips.
it's not just her, not when it's laura too, and cliff, and waverly, and even brianna these days, along with everyone else he's come to know. but he also knows much of the credit to the trust he's found and the willingness is in the girl who pestered him blindly across a table talking about her fondness for nachos and judy garland all those months ago.
nudging his nose to her cheek, he sighs, ] I love you.
no subject
And she definitely doesn't need to tell him what he stands to lose by throwing himself in the line of fire time and time again, what happens when even this place's hold on death runs out. He's had the wake-up call already, come to the realization of what taking the bullet means for the people he leaves behind in the process. He recommitted himself to her after returning, but there's a piece of her that isn't completely convinced he won't try it again someday, that he'll never tell her he needs to hit the redial button on that tough call.
It's that fear she shoves back down inside herself because she has to, because she doesn't need to let it play over her face where he can see it now or where it might spring up later β the fear of waking up someday to find that death has finally decided to stick, or worse, that she'll wake up home without a single memory from these past months, unable to recall what she's had, his hand solid in hers and this, his mouth slanting over hers in that gentle assurance.
And she lets herself cling to it now rather than choosing to push it away like she would have before, her empty hand lifting to skim across his cheek as she sinks into the kiss, into him; her fingers ghost across his nape as they hover in that space together, preserving their proximity and she listens to the sound of his voice uttered in the near-silence. She's never faced anything more terrifying than this, the prospect that one day she might have to give it all up, but every day she opens her eyes and rolls over to find him a warm and welcome weight beside her is one that she doesn't want to take for granted, not even for a second. ]
I love you. [ This is something he's already heard before, too, but there's so much more wrapped up in it this time, the promise that he hasn't done or said enough to give her any second thoughts, and she slowly tilts her head back with a whisper of hair across her features to survey him from a close-up angle, smiling faintly. ] Come to bed with me?
no subject
and it terrifies him every day, that he'll lose her, that he'll lose all of them, be it from a return to their respective worlds, or some nightmare-fueled accident, and maybe part of that is what motivated him to ask the question he did, but when she mutters the return of those words to him, he knows that it's from so much more.
because there's enough scars and ghosts carried on his skin that no one should have to bear the weight of, and yet she remains there through it again and again, holding out her arms to take some of it with her, to loosen it from his back so that he doesn't go it alone, as much as he's tried to for all these years. maria had loved the monster in him but he could never find a balance between the two then; in wynonna's eyes, he sees all of himself at once, all the good and the bad stirred together, and she hasn't run the other way yet.
with her question, he manages a small smile, lifting his lips to her forehead for a lightly pressed kiss, before wordlessly answering by shuffling his weight back across the bed, palms pushing him along until he's settled closer to the pillow, dragging his knees in to slip his legs beneath the covers. and as he gets comfortable, he holds out an arm, welcoming that space for her to crawl into, a nestled corner right against his heart. ]
no subject
And this is good, for all the ups and downs they've had, everything from surprisingly easy conversation about favorite food and movies back when they had no idea what the other person looked like to the brutally honest exchanges that had almost threatened to break her heart and leave her to pick up the pieces. What they have is ultimately good because they've both chosen to hold on to it, to fight for it in equal measure, to protect each other, not just in their willingness to shield the other's body but their vulnerabilities, those exposures they've handed over for safekeeping. She realized a long time ago that she gave him her heart to guard whether she wanted to or not, and it scares her, but not enough to stop.
Somewhere between the jokes and the tension, the pain and the carefree moments, the ghosts of their pasts and the possibility of a shared future, they've carved out something meaningful, and she's changed by it every day.
She hums lightly when he turns to her, delivers a kiss there to her forehead and then eases back toward the pillows in answer; after a beat, she shifts onto hands and knees and follows him in that crawl, chuckling softly until she can worm her way beneath the blankets and tuck herself into the space he makes for her against all that warm skin. The moment she brings her head to rest against his shoulder, she's already leaning in to press her lips to his chest, a soft brush that doesn't try to initiate anything else while she slings her arm over his waist, fingertips absently stroking against his lower back. ]