"Like I said, Padre... no trouble."
Cass didn't put too much thought into the action, all things considered. Who'd go off planning a double murder in a church for christ's sake? He beat one bloke to death with a bible and hacked the other's arm off—run with it—discovered the unholy ability for chainsaws to go off on their lonesome—run with it—saved his new friend's life, and then just sort of cuddled up on his thigh afterwards because really, can you blame a simple Irish bloke for needing a rest after all that? Cass was still bloody running with it.
Problem was, last thing he wanted was to run, metaphorically or otherwise. Cass was damn well beat.
"Ooff," he grunted, using the last of his strength to settle fully on Jesse's thigh, rather than that blasted, bony knee. Cass craned his neck briefly to reassure himself that yeah, preacher was still out like a light that had one too many stiffs. Or perhaps just the right amount, says some. Cass gave his pillow a floppy, happy pat.
"Right nuts of you, padre," he slurred, still patting. "What with downin' that shite an' all. Now don't go getting me wrong when I say that 'cause it was mighty impressive, I gotta admit, but I did tell ya it was too potent, didn't I? Mmm hmm. Now here we are, both of us shite-faced for different reasons and damn if you ain't the comfiest non-pillow this head ever had."
Jesse didn't respond of course. Cass went right on talking.
"Now this here ain't something you see much, eh? A filthy abomination cuddlin' up to one of God's men, amiright? Seems downright awful of me, even worse than beating on those gobshites—at least they had it comin.' Asking for it and whatnot. You, padre, you don't know what you're gettin' into. I mean sure, sure, you gotta be one of the first to take 'human' Cassidy like he is, what with my drinkin' an stealin' an takin' up your space so I can do 'odd jobs' and the like. Between you an me, there ain't no part coming for that air conditioner, I'm just tryin' to come up with excuses to stay with ya, 'cause who knows how long until ya kick me out for good. Selfish like that I suppose. Don't know what you'd do if you believed me about the vampire stuff. 'Of course, Cassidy! I accept you and your murderin', blood drinkin' ways! Best buds for life!' Yeah right. So sorry, not sorry, Jesse, if I'mma take what I can get before you start sayin' otherwise."
Cassidy lay for a long, silent moment, blowing the occasional raspberry at the church ceiling. "Sorry, mate. Get sorta sentimental in times like this. Blame the blood loss, please an' thank."
There was an arm within reach, a body a ways out from the arm, and another still stuffed beneath the bench. Plenty to snack on was the point and though Cass knew he should move his butt and scarf some blood to start healing, he found himself quite plastered to Jesse's leg. Quite literally perhaps, what with his gore matted hair sticking to Jesse's pants, but more of a problem than that was the pure, unexpected comfort. Shot to his gut or no, Cass couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this relaxed.
"You are comfy," he muttered, daring to turn his head. Jesse still hadn't moved and Cass took that as the greatest temptation he was ever likely to get. Feeling only marginally horrible, he planted his nose against the fabric of Jesse's pants and breathed deeply, letting his excellent sense of smell take over for just a tick. He picked up all the expected scents—dirt, dust, sweat, cheap detergent, hints of coffee from his cappuccino that morning—but something else as well that took Cass a moment to place. When he did he stopped breathing, fully reveling in his ability for the first time in a long time.
Cass could smell himself on Jesse. His cigarettes, his beer. Must have rubbed off during all the hours they'd spent together today. It was a mark only he'd be able to pick up on and Cass was pretty freaking fucking okay with that.
He started snarling low in his throat. Cass didn't even realize he was doing it until the fabric of Jesse's pants began moving, shifting as he started breathing again, huffing each breath. Cass pulled back with a curse.
It was absurdly amazing. His mind was saturated with Jesse's smell and his head was so fucking buzzed by the content... yet the rest of Cass was limp as grandma's casserole noodles. His arms were bloody weights at his sides, his leads freaking deadwood, Cass could feel his stomach knitting itself back together and wasn't that a creepily familiar feeling. Guts as a blanket and a preacher as your teddy bear. Cass felt his eyes slowly slipping shut.
So stupidly comfortable. He could sleep right now, during the night, like Cass hadn't since he was human.
"Shite."
That got his attention. Floundering like a newborn lamb Cass rolled off Jesse, slipping on blood and getting some much needed distance between them. On hands and knees he heaved, sending a (totally not fond) glare down at the man.
"You and your bloody thighs," Cass groaned. "Don't want any trouble, was that it?"
He grumpily got to his feet.
"You're the goddamn trouble, padre."
Two days later and Cass' spirits had lifted considerably. Nothing like digging a good grave to get a vamp back in action.
He'd caught up on sleep—on his own, sadly, not thinking about a certain preacher man, get your head outta the gutter why don't ya. Perfectly platonic friendship that had going on. Really.
It was a new day, a beautifully cloudy day that allowed Cass to wander about with nothing but the essential umbrella and shades, keeping to the shadows cast by gutters and having a grand old undead time.
Cass had slipped away before Emily could give him another 'odd job,' or rather a rant and a rave about the jobs not getting done. Like it was Cass' fault that part for the air conditioner was mythical and all the icing had melted off of Emily's cake. Still tasted fine to him when he'd swiped a finger-full on his way out.
Slushy tasted damn fine too. It was some green apple thing from the corner store and Cass slurped it noisily, kicking up rocks as he ambled.
He was just about to toss it and head in for a nap when Cass caught sight of a familiar shock of black hair.
"Well, well," he said. "Ain't I the lucky one? Hellooo, pretty kitty."
The endearment slipped out without Cass' permission, so it was just as well that there was still a good bit of space between him and Jesse. Cass balked. He shook his head, hopefully clearing it of those pesky sentiments, poured the slushy out for some rabid rodent, and made his way across the street.
He didn't know the house. Didn't particularly care to. Jesse had said something about spending the day visiting the sick and dying, blah-de-blah-blah. Cass could only assume this was one of them houses, what with the dead-looking girl he could see through the open window and all.
That familiar looking head of hair was bent over the bed. Cass dropped his umbrella, sticking close to the house's shadows.
"Psssss. You prayin,' padre?"
No word from Jesse.
Cass said 'fuck it'—maybe in the back of his head, maybe out loud for the birdies to hear, who knows—and started climbing through the window.
Now, don't let anyone ever tell you that vampires are an elegant, graceful bunch. That Twilight shit be damned. Cass was as gangly and clumsy as the day he turned, bumbling his way through life one trip and stumble at a time. So climbing through the window might have been fine and dandy for one of them movie vamps, but Cass got one leg over the window and spluttered to a halt, his other foot still touching the yellow grass and muscles pulling along his groin that really shouldn't be pulled. Cass changed the howl he wanted to let out into a mostly silent hiss, wiggling with his face planted into splintering wood until he was mostly straddling the damn window. From there Cass just sort of... fell.
"Fuck me with a fuckin—!" the rest was unintelligible as Cass face-planted into the carpet. There was a great deal more cursing as he floundered back into a sitting position. If the girl had really been asleep she sure as hell wasn't now.
Except that when Cass peered up over the bed that little lady was still counting her sheep, perfectly settled and hair spread out halo-like around her head.
Funny thing was, Jesse looked just as peaceful.
Cass stood, finger pointed and wagging back and forth between the two sleeping beauties. "That's unnatural..." he murmured, inching on tip-toe for a better look. The girl was creepily still for someone just interested in an afternoon nap... but so was Jesse. He was seated in a chair, his head pillowed on his arms—arms on the bed. Cass heard the faintest snore emanating out.
"Mmm," he said.
Taking a massive jump first, Cass threw himself onto the bed.
The whole thing rocked, bodies lifted like boats on the sea, and Cass let out a massive belch, adding to the lovely stench by toeing off his shoes. By the time he'd settled cross-legged next to Jesse's head... both still hadn't moved an inch.
"Wow," Cass said. "Jesus, Jesse, you are—not drunk?" a few sniffs near his twitching face provided no more than the usual hints of alcohol. Cass boggled. "Not drunk?... aww. Poor lil' exhausted thing."
He cackled to himself a bit, trying out a few pokes against Jesse's cheek. He really was dead to the world. Might have been something about the work and the fighting and downing shit that came out of appliances, but Jesse looked like he could sleep through the damn apocalypse. Cass felt something like giddiness bubbling up within him.
"Alright," he crowed.
No shame in taking what the world offered up freely. Cass slid himself between Jesse and the girl, changed his mind, then flipped so that his bare feet were up on the girl's pillow. Even he wasn't so rude as to stick his toes in some damsel's face though, so Cass carefully rolled her onto her side.
"There ya go. Comfier? Sure, sure, no need to thank me."
That done, Cass wiggled until he was parallel to Jesse. Him with his big old arms, there was just enough space for Cass to settle his head onto Jesse's elbow, his face nearly planted in that ridiculous hair.
Cass took another deep, slow breath.
This was different from the church. Cass didn't have his guts blown up for one thing and he wasn't struggling against some serious, unrelenting exhaustion. Rather here whatever relaxation he found was... purer (and didn't Cass just snort at his own, stupidly mushy thoughts). The kid's room was relaxing, what with the pretty comforter to snuggle into and the soft breeze coming through the window. The best was still Jesse though. Cass grinned a feral grin when his hair tickled his nose, when Cass hummed a few bars of a very old song and Jesse mumbled in response. He stretched his feet up onto the headboard and closed his eyes. He could get use to this. Yes indeed.
No philosophical talk of do-gooders. No arseholes chasing him down. Biggest threat to Cass right now was whoever was puttering around in the kitchen downstairs, and really, how was that really a threat at all?
... except that ten minutes later the little girl's mother wandered upstairs to see how the preacher was getting on with his prayers, saw something wormed into her daughter's bed, that same thing looking like it was sucking the very life out of their pastor, and let out the most unholy shriek Annville had ever heard.
Lucky for Cass she kept a shotgun in the broom closet, giving him just enough time to scramble over Jesse and back out the window, just barely snatching his umbrella before beating the hell out of dodge.
That finally woke Jesse. Or rather, the shotgun blast above his head did.
Just another day all around.
~Interlude~
Cass wasn't the only one.
That was to say, if Emily—the two job holding mother of three forever keeping Jesse in line angel—just happened to use their errant preacher as a convenient potato sack? Who the hell could blame her.
(For those not in the know: sacks of potatoes were surprisingly comfortable).
"Move over," she'd say, shoving Jesse onto his side of the booth and mostly sprawling on top of his shoulder. If he could fall asleep halfway through their church preparations, why couldn't she?
"Gimme that," she'd say, trying to pull the empty beer bottles out from between Jesse and the lawn chair, only ending up with Jesse halfway into her lap, both of them now in the grass. Emily kept her Jesse-sized blanket despite the heat because really, it was too much trouble to move him.
"I hate you," she'd grumble, realizing that Jesse had fallen asleep in the back of her car, just like the rest of her kids. Emily would climb in too, lifting her son into her lap to make room. She'd sleep and try not to think too much of it.
Emily met Cass and proceeded to ignore him, to the extent that she forgot he was even there. That day she spoke to herself a great deal and, in the process, unintentionally gave Cass the greatest little tidbit:
"Goddamn preacher sleeps like the dead."
~Interlude 2~
(Cass really wasn't the only one.)
It became a one-sided game with them: Jesse would reach a point of exhaustion—mostly due to the stupidity of his flock—he'd fall asleep in some god-forsaken place (ha: the whole town), and Cass would sniff him out, determined to steal whatever he could from the man.
He'd long since stopped feeling bad about it.
The fact that Cass next found him back in the church was just too perfect for words.
... the fact that he wasn't alone... well, that was worth about Cass' weight in total shite.
Jesse was propped against the podium, two bottles by his feet and looking like he'd had a good old time without Cass. His body tilted all the way to the left, like it wanted to lay down proper, but a certain beauty kept him from slipping.
Cass shuffled in, face scrunched up and pointing with his cigarette. "Aren't you the one with the... the... thing-y name, eh? Tansy, Turnip—"
"Tulip," she interrupted, mouth twitching. "And you're the one with the name that rhymes with 'ass.'"
"Yeeeeah." Cass did a little twirl.
It was mostly distraction. Tulip knew it. Cass knew that she knew. They landed one another in a starring contest the likes of which would do two gay cowboys proud.
Silver lining: it gave him plenty of time to look.
The two of them were positively entwined together—Jesse on Tulip's shoulder, her legs between his, arms around his waist—and the only image Cass could summon up was some shitty cartoon from five years back, where Mr. Blue Octopus and pretty Ms. Red Octopus did the do in a way the kiddies watching would never understand ("They're great friends, mommy!"). Cass felt something churning within him then that, oddly, wasn't jealousy. He knew jealousy. He'd dealt with those hot pinpricks for more than a century. This...
Cass laughed aloud, flicking the cigarette away. This idiocy felt like coming home. Whatever that was.
Tulip seemed to get it too. She hoisted Jesse.. then let him drop, the poor man's head striking hers before it flopped back down on her shoulder. Jesse murmured something about fish (what now, padre?) while Tulip raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
"Ain't he a peach?" she said, slow like molasses. "Gonna join me?"
And wasn't that an invitation. Certainly the most interesting Cass had ever experienced. He took the walk towards them just as slow, letting this Tulip know he wasn't eager or anything (not that he thought he was truly fooling this girl), and took his sweet time stretching before settling on Jesse's right. He mimicked Tulip, threading his leg with that there thigh again and pressing fully against Jesse's side. Damn man was warm as a heater and Cass felt Tulip's laugh rippling through them both.
"Ah," she said, "Been doing this for years. Out on the open road, nothing but a beat-up truck to rest in..."
Cass nodded. Oh he got that good. Without speaking the two of them slipped a little further on either side, Jesse nestled snugly between them. Cass had left the church door open a crack and he could just see the sun beginning to set, a strip of pink and purple sinking across the fields. Anyone could walk by. Walk in. He didn't give a single shite. Tulip must have felt the same because she stretched her arm farther, lightly grasping at the hem of Cass' shirt.
"This ever feel like you're protecting him?" she asked, soft as a secret.
She fell asleep like that. Cass caught the exact moment her breath changed into that deep, even sigh. His lips quirked as he realized Tulip's breathing had matched perfectly to Jesse's. Cass instinctually set his breathing to that rhythm as well. In and out. Two simplistic things creating a miraculous third.
"Yeah, love. Sometimes do."
Cass should have known that poking the lion was gonna get him bit. Especially the sleeping ones.
Apparently Jesse had called the diner, and spoken to Dave the Gut Buster (real nice titles they got here), who fetched Emily, who found Eugene, who spent the next fifteen minutes trying to deliver a message to Cass.
"I'm sorry now, truly, but what the ever lovin' fuck are you sayin'?"
Eventually the two geniuses realized that little arseface could just write out the message and Cass shoved the paper down the boy's shirt as he ran off to meet Jesse. In his house of all places.
This here was new.
He slipped through the backdoor, unlocked like the man was just asking for trouble, and immediately grinned because Jesse's place screamed 'bachelor'—from the flattened beer can used as a shim to the refrigerator developing its own ecosystem. Cass chuckled as he swiped dust all the way to the second floor.
"Oy, Jesse! Wha' you doin' draggin' me out on such a blasted, sunny mornin'? Need help wipin' your own ass up there, eh?"
No response. With a curse Cass was about to wander back out (maybe good Jesse had been waylaid by the Lord) but a slight opening to the bedroom caught his eye. Reaching out just with his toe, Cass nudged it open, the door letting out a long wail of angry hinges.
Cass sighed. "You gotta get some oil there, friend."
There was Jesse, sprawled on the left side of his bed, head titled toward the ceiling and breathing deep. Cass shook his head as he walked in. Looked like Jesse had been halfway through getting his shoes on when he just... thought better of it. A decision Cass could well understand, but still.
"One of these fine days you're gonna fall asleep in your own goddamn shite and I will not be the one pullin' you outta the john. Won't do it."
Except that was a bold faced lie. Cass was real good at those. He'd already pulled Jesse out of one bloody predicament, no reason why they couldn't up the ante in the future. Let fate throw all the shite at them it wanted—literal or figurative, take your pick.
"I'll eat it all up," Cass grinned.
The next step was easy enough to see. Cass eased onto the bed slowly this time, less willing to disturb Jesse now that he had the space to get comfortable. In Jesse's bed no less. The mattress was hard as a damn rock—church floors put it to shame—and the sheets smelled like mothballs, but Cass curled into it all the same, turning so that he was facing Jesse. His hand snuck out, resting gently over a black-clad wrist, and Cass peacefully closed his eyes.
"Much fun as all this is," he murmured, "gotta get you on a decent sleepin' schedule."
"Damn straight."
Cass's eyes flew open. Pupils blown wide he stared at Jesse, looking as sleeping-like as he had a minute before. And yet—
"You're—" Cass squeaked, unable to get the rest out.
"Awake? Nah. This is just a fucked up dream, Cass. I'm the Jesse summoned up by too many whiskeys to tell you that you've got two options here."
Every instinct—every feral, needy, supernatural instinct—screamed at Cass to get the hell off that bed. His reaction to realizing Jesse knew was so violent that a part of him actually wanted to attack, protect himself and feed at the same time. It was with a burst of will and grinding teeth that Cass kept still instead. He took a moment to remember words.
"...options?"
"Mm hmm." Jesse's voice was soft, totally unconcerned. "You can slip out that bed and head somewhere else and I swear to God the real Jesse ain't ever gonna bring it up..."
"Or?" Cass bit into the sheets, mumbling the word.
"Or you come over here proper and Jesse still lets it lie." He paused. "Or not. If you want." Finally a hint of uncertainty.
Still, Jesse opened his arm pretty confidently. Cass' hand was still on top and he watched it move in fascination, feeling like the damn thing was detached from his body, in a way that was nothing like when he'd actually severed it that one time. It was an offering, pure and simple, but Cass had never been too good at accepting things at face value. He didn't just look the gift horse in its mouth, he fucking wrenched the mouth open, pulled out the tongue, and splintered each tooth looking for poison. Or maybe a bomb. Point was there was always some sort of deadly shite along for the ride.
"Can hear you thinking," Jesse said, so whispery Cass could almost believe he was a dream. "How 'bout this then? You seem the kind to like taking orders."
What?
"Get over here."
The 'get' was like what you said to that damn gift horse and the 'here' sounded like their moments alone in church. Cass was across the bed in an instant, fitting himself against Jesse with all the abandon of a child. He wasn't no puzzle piece. Well, maybe he was, but one cut and dried till the creator made it fit. Not that Cass much cared what needed to be done when Jesse's thumb was now tracing a track across his shoulder.
"Seems rather unlike you, padre," he whispered.
Jesse snorted. "Cass, you don't know shit-all about me yet."
Hmm. Fair.
It was in that thrill of anticipation, of learning, that Cass finally fell asleep. He went under easier than he had in decades, for once actually looking forward to coming back up.
Cass got bit alright. First since his turn.
Just hadn't expected the jaws to be toothless and warm.
Funny that.
Fin.
"Sleeping is no mean art: for its sake one must stay awake all day." ~Friedrich Nietzsche