There was no telling Raylan to wait and hold onto his skirts while Tim pushed ahead like he didn't know, see or survive his fair share of danger. After working with the man for so long, Raylan had assumed that that particular lesson was well learned, but apparently not. For now, he would squarely blame Mathis and her influences, cussing the town up one side and down the other as he moved himself along the rockface in time.
If only he'd known that Tim had been cussing too.
They were probably both lucky that Raylan was just out of arms reach - he wanted to grab Tim, to stop him but everything seemed to be working against him. His fingers already ached, his arms and core screaming at him as loudly as the wind, and his clothes felt heavier for all the water they had absorbed. But there was no turning back unless he knew Tim was coming with him and the stubborn asshole was-
The next gust of wind had Raylan gasping for his breath, head ducking a little into the protection of his arm, but in that half second, Tim had vanished. It only took a sweep of his eyes to see the dark dot fading into the mist and suddenly, Raylan couldn't move. Having never been up this way, he didn't know what it looked like down there without a raging storm and his mind, ever creative, supplied an image of Tim sprawled across a rock, battered and broken. Dead, for fucking stupidity. What were they doing up here anyway?
There was another sound in the wind now. It took the Marshal a full three seconds before he realized it was him, screaming. But another gust shoved at him, forcing him to press himself against the rockface, stop his raging symphony. Move, you have to move. One foot in front of the other.
His limbs felt impossibly heavy now, taxed well beyond what he was used to but letting go wasn't an option. Where Tim had gone, Raylan couldn't follow. His only option was to go the other way, work his way back the way that they had came. One hand, one foot at a time, the Marshal started on that work, using his sometimes singlemindedness to his advantage. When the wind picked up, he paused, waiting for it to ebb a fraction before he continued. Time had stopped meaning anything at some point. He couldn't gauge how long it had taken to get up here, but it felt like the way down was never going to end. It was the reality of him knowing it did end that staved off the pelting despair.
When he finally hit sand, Raylan hit his knees and elbows, sheltering his head, not unaware of the supplicant position it was. How she wanted him. For several minutes he just sat there, taking the lashing, catching what he could of his breath over sobs that he could feel but not hear wracking out of his chest. The explosion of rawness wasn't easily contained but he reigned it in with what he knew. Death wasn't permanent here. Didn't have to be. If Tim was dead, maybe the morning would bring him.
If he wasn't - an idea that his pragmatism wouldn't overlook for sake of drama or grief - then the only place he could come up at was the shore line.
Raylan took that ray of logic like a lifeline to force himself up to his feet, to put himself back to work, push against the wind and start the possibly heartbreaking duty of corpse collection. Just like the tunnels, if he could find Tim, drag him up into civilization, he would. Everyone died alone. That didn't mean they had to stay that way, even after they were gone.
no subject
"Kiss my ass!"
There was no telling Raylan to wait and hold onto his skirts while Tim pushed ahead like he didn't know, see or survive his fair share of danger. After working with the man for so long, Raylan had assumed that that particular lesson was well learned, but apparently not. For now, he would squarely blame Mathis and her influences, cussing the town up one side and down the other as he moved himself along the rockface in time.
If only he'd known that Tim had been cussing too.
They were probably both lucky that Raylan was just out of arms reach - he wanted to grab Tim, to stop him but everything seemed to be working against him. His fingers already ached, his arms and core screaming at him as loudly as the wind, and his clothes felt heavier for all the water they had absorbed. But there was no turning back unless he knew Tim was coming with him and the stubborn asshole was-
The next gust of wind had Raylan gasping for his breath, head ducking a little into the protection of his arm, but in that half second, Tim had vanished. It only took a sweep of his eyes to see the dark dot fading into the mist and suddenly, Raylan couldn't move. Having never been up this way, he didn't know what it looked like down there without a raging storm and his mind, ever creative, supplied an image of Tim sprawled across a rock, battered and broken. Dead, for fucking stupidity. What were they doing up here anyway?
There was another sound in the wind now. It took the Marshal a full three seconds before he realized it was him, screaming. But another gust shoved at him, forcing him to press himself against the rockface, stop his raging symphony. Move, you have to move. One foot in front of the other.
His limbs felt impossibly heavy now, taxed well beyond what he was used to but letting go wasn't an option. Where Tim had gone, Raylan couldn't follow. His only option was to go the other way, work his way back the way that they had came. One hand, one foot at a time, the Marshal started on that work, using his sometimes singlemindedness to his advantage. When the wind picked up, he paused, waiting for it to ebb a fraction before he continued. Time had stopped meaning anything at some point. He couldn't gauge how long it had taken to get up here, but it felt like the way down was never going to end. It was the reality of him knowing it did end that staved off the pelting despair.
When he finally hit sand, Raylan hit his knees and elbows, sheltering his head, not unaware of the supplicant position it was. How she wanted him. For several minutes he just sat there, taking the lashing, catching what he could of his breath over sobs that he could feel but not hear wracking out of his chest. The explosion of rawness wasn't easily contained but he reigned it in with what he knew. Death wasn't permanent here. Didn't have to be. If Tim was dead, maybe the morning would bring him.
If he wasn't - an idea that his pragmatism wouldn't overlook for sake of drama or grief - then the only place he could come up at was the shore line.
Raylan took that ray of logic like a lifeline to force himself up to his feet, to put himself back to work, push against the wind and start the possibly heartbreaking duty of corpse collection. Just like the tunnels, if he could find Tim, drag him up into civilization, he would. Everyone died alone. That didn't mean they had to stay that way, even after they were gone.