Raylan had been all over town. Except here. Except Phillips Drive and the Grey Gull. The one fucking place that had started to matter to him. The houses that had kept them all safe, held fights and tears and love and dinners and game nights. There was a reason that Raylan had left Kentucky, a reason he'd never come back for his mother's funeral, a reason he avoided heartfelt fights if he could; running was easier than facing things head on when it came to wounding matters of the heart and soul.
It was half of why he was here now. He'd found Tim, his first priority with the light of day and now the sun was hanging like an innocent ball of butter in a deadly blue sky, almost taunting him with how pretty it was, in front of the charred ruins of.. Home. The word felt bitter, unspoken on his tongue but clear as a bell in the way his jaw set as he surveyed the total destruction of the place he had openly called that for the last two months. But it didn't matter how much he hated it, there was still work to do. Boxes to check off that the Darkness hadn't erased from his priority list.
Raylan moved woodenly but with an unmistakable purpose as he made his way through the houses. The first body he came across was the worst of it, though death by coughing and internal lung hemorrhages or whatever TB actually was is likely one of the tamer ways to die in Mathis, but it didn't matter. Raylan's throat tightened to the point where it took conscious effort to try and draw air and when he managed it, it was wildly uneven. It didn't matter that he knew Doc was alive and well back at the schoolhouse, just like it hadn't mattered that he had held Tim in his hands and saw the sniper's corpse nearby. John Henry Holliday had escaped that terrible, now treatable fate. To see him laid out the way he was, sky blue eyes dull and starting to film over tore Raylan's heart out.
It didn't matter that he knew Doc was safe because this was, somehow, still Doc in front of him and there was no wheelbarrow to easily carry him. Raylan took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright Darlin'," he said to the gunslinger as he squatted down and brushed his hand over Doc's face to close his eyes. He couldn't look at that dead gaze anymore. "Don't you worry. I'm gonna come back and we'll get you someplace more suitable." Raylan folded Doc's hands over his stomach, feeling like Doc would be furious if his corpse was so rudely grotesque in the street.
Ignoring the way he still wasn't breathing like someone who wasn't on the verge of tears, Raylan moved on from 1307 across the street, only to be immediately met with another shock. It only took a turn around what used to be his front door to see Malcolm splayed backwards with a decoration of rebar sticking out of his chest and Raylan stopped short with a rough, choked sound. He knew full well that Malcolm was okay too, but neither did that matter. It never would.
"Jesus," he breathed before rubbing his whole face and hiding it there in his palms for a long second. An astute eye might see the shake of his shoulders as an errant fraction of how he felt slipped out of his tear ducks but when his hands dropped, his face would be dry. Malcolm looked smaller somehow, laid out this way, paler than any corpse he'd ever seen. Then again, he hadn't seen many drained of their blood.
"Let's get you off there," he choked out, his control slipping with every second he stood still. It took a bit of effort and more time than he wanted to get Malcolm's body to budge and the sound his body made as it slid off the rebar made Raylan want to hurl. If it was anyone else except the three that held him together, he would have been able to handle it more stoically. But Mathis had taken the softest parts of his heart and littered her streets with them.
Malcolm was lighter than he should be. It felt like an odd thing to notice but he felt fragile in Raylan's arms. Like if he dropped the profiler, he'd shatter. Raylan didn't drop him though, but set him down gently next to Doc and followed the same closed eyes/folded hands procedure. "I'll come back for you both. Don't worry."
Raylan went through the rest of the houses, searching 1308 first with a particular kind of frenzy for Jeff and Athena before coming up empty handed. That almost hurt more and Raylan sat in the ashes of the first kind of real home and comfort he'd felt for a very long time until the sun started to set. It was only then that he got up and, starting with Malcolm, started carrying the bodies to the graves he was now sadly appreciative for him having dug. --
The School House - OTA
By the time Raylan made it back to the schoolhouse, darkness had already fallen and he was dirty with soot and grave dirt, hands scraped and discolored with his blood from the wooden crosses that he had to fashion together. Everything in him hurt and once he'd verified that everyone who was alive continued to be that way, Raylan holed up in the teachers Lounge to wash his hands and face. In a moment of mania, the soap line crept up his arms the harder he scrubbed until his arms were red. It was only then that he stopped and rinsed them off, giving no thought to his face as he turned off the tap and leaned there for a long second.
If he was at home, he'd get drunk and go do sleep, ignore everything. But he wasn't and he couldn't. There was no escape from the horrors and disappointments he'd seen today. So he collected himself and slipped into the least populated room to find a corner to lean himself into. Raylan slid slowly down the wall until he was seated, hands finding a place in his hair as he propped his elbows on his knees and tried to breathe.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He didn't know the last time he'd eaten. He knew he should care about these things, and yet all he could do was relive the past few days in silence until there were hot tears streaming down his face. He wasn't sure how much more he could take and he had no idea what happened after that.
It wasn't long until the flutter of paper and an odd, certain heavy thump of a book being dropped jolted him from his self-loathing and comfort, drawing him to his feet to go investigate.
Day 79
Raylan had been all over town. Except here. Except Phillips Drive and the Grey Gull. The one fucking place that had started to matter to him. The houses that had kept them all safe, held fights and tears and love and dinners and game nights. There was a reason that Raylan had left Kentucky, a reason he'd never come back for his mother's funeral, a reason he avoided heartfelt fights if he could; running was easier than facing things head on when it came to wounding matters of the heart and soul.
It was half of why he was here now. He'd found Tim, his first priority with the light of day and now the sun was hanging like an innocent ball of butter in a deadly blue sky, almost taunting him with how pretty it was, in front of the charred ruins of.. Home. The word felt bitter, unspoken on his tongue but clear as a bell in the way his jaw set as he surveyed the total destruction of the place he had openly called that for the last two months. But it didn't matter how much he hated it, there was still work to do. Boxes to check off that the Darkness hadn't erased from his priority list.
Raylan moved woodenly but with an unmistakable purpose as he made his way through the houses.
The first body he came across was the worst of it, though death by coughing and internal lung hemorrhages or whatever TB actually was is likely one of the tamer ways to die in Mathis, but it didn't matter. Raylan's throat tightened to the point where it took conscious effort to try and draw air and when he managed it, it was wildly uneven. It didn't matter that he knew Doc was alive and well back at the schoolhouse, just like it hadn't mattered that he had held Tim in his hands and saw the sniper's corpse nearby. John Henry Holliday had escaped that terrible, now treatable fate. To see him laid out the way he was, sky blue eyes dull and starting to film over tore Raylan's heart out.
It didn't matter that he knew Doc was safe because this was, somehow, still Doc in front of him and there was no wheelbarrow to easily carry him. Raylan took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright Darlin'," he said to the gunslinger as he squatted down and brushed his hand over Doc's face to close his eyes. He couldn't look at that dead gaze anymore. "Don't you worry. I'm gonna come back and we'll get you someplace more suitable." Raylan folded Doc's hands over his stomach, feeling like Doc would be furious if his corpse was so rudely grotesque in the street.
Ignoring the way he still wasn't breathing like someone who wasn't on the verge of tears, Raylan moved on from 1307 across the street, only to be immediately met with another shock. It only took a turn around what used to be his front door to see Malcolm splayed backwards with a decoration of rebar sticking out of his chest and Raylan stopped short with a rough, choked sound. He knew full well that Malcolm was okay too, but neither did that matter. It never would.
"Jesus," he breathed before rubbing his whole face and hiding it there in his palms for a long second. An astute eye might see the shake of his shoulders as an errant fraction of how he felt slipped out of his tear ducks but when his hands dropped, his face would be dry. Malcolm looked smaller somehow, laid out this way, paler than any corpse he'd ever seen. Then again, he hadn't seen many drained of their blood.
"Let's get you off there," he choked out, his control slipping with every second he stood still. It took a bit of effort and more time than he wanted to get Malcolm's body to budge and the sound his body made as it slid off the rebar made Raylan want to hurl. If it was anyone else except the three that held him together, he would have been able to handle it more stoically. But Mathis had taken the softest parts of his heart and littered her streets with them.
Malcolm was lighter than he should be. It felt like an odd thing to notice but he felt fragile in Raylan's arms. Like if he dropped the profiler, he'd shatter. Raylan didn't drop him though, but set him down gently next to Doc and followed the same closed eyes/folded hands procedure. "I'll come back for you both. Don't worry."
Raylan went through the rest of the houses, searching 1308 first with a particular kind of frenzy for Jeff and Athena before coming up empty handed. That almost hurt more and Raylan sat in the ashes of the first kind of real home and comfort he'd felt for a very long time until the sun started to set. It was only then that he got up and, starting with Malcolm, started carrying the bodies to the graves he was now sadly appreciative for him having dug.
--
The School House - OTA
By the time Raylan made it back to the schoolhouse, darkness had already fallen and he was dirty with soot and grave dirt, hands scraped and discolored with his blood from the wooden crosses that he had to fashion together. Everything in him hurt and once he'd verified that everyone who was alive continued to be that way, Raylan holed up in the teachers Lounge to wash his hands and face. In a moment of mania, the soap line crept up his arms the harder he scrubbed until his arms were red. It was only then that he stopped and rinsed them off, giving no thought to his face as he turned off the tap and leaned there for a long second.
If he was at home, he'd get drunk and go do sleep, ignore everything. But he wasn't and he couldn't. There was no escape from the horrors and disappointments he'd seen today. So he collected himself and slipped into the least populated room to find a corner to lean himself into. Raylan slid slowly down the wall until he was seated, hands finding a place in his hair as he propped his elbows on his knees and tried to breathe.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He didn't know the last time he'd eaten. He knew he should care about these things, and yet all he could do was relive the past few days in silence until there were hot tears streaming down his face. He wasn't sure how much more he could take and he had no idea what happened after that.
It wasn't long until the flutter of paper and an odd, certain heavy thump of a book being dropped jolted him from his self-loathing and comfort, drawing him to his feet to go investigate.