[ 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. ]
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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. ]