the wine, the beer, the whiskey are the only things that fix me

[pacificator]

Who: Wynonna Earp & you!
What: recuperating after March-April, reaping consequences, etc
When: backdated to late April-May
Where: the Saloon (the old Post Office)

Content Warnings: Alcoholism, a little light cannibalism, others to be listed as needed

Comments

[ployboy]

"Please," he says. Begs. Because yes, he did register her hand moving- not because of the violence that her hand on him normally predicts but because of where her hand now rests. Tim starts, and gasps, and he flinches grass-green and maroon and every important shade of gold that he's seen in palaces and catacombs, and he's settled, finally, into that off-white, bone-white, of skeletons.

He cannot- will not- think about it.

He can't stop trembling, his shoulders pitched forward and painfully rigid and his hands grip at the back of Wynonna's shirt with the uninhibited despair of a drowning man. He's already begged Kate. He thinks--

he should have killed Little, how dare he--

"Please, not her too," he whimpers, and he hates that he says it because he's selfish and wrong and he's asking for help for all the wrong reasons. His head is splitting in half; Tim feels too hot, like he had in the fur coat with a mouth of red.

Now he needs to wait for the shoe to drop and the dread always eats at him, always leaves him humiliated and bleeding.

Tim remembers another blonde girl he'd loved, who had wanted to die, and

he can't breathe and so he shakes his head, and it's not fair that he's thinking of catacombs and dark-haired women with hands in his hair, so Tim steps back in a blind stumble, arms shooting up nearly immediately to wipe and scrub and pull at his face. He's grimy and disgusting and wet and--

and--

stay away!

"She t-trusts you," he reasons through his own irrational fear of green and gold and purple and heirs. (He's so angry.) "She trusted him too!" (He's no good at this.) "I'll do anything. Please. Please. I don't know what else to do. I had to do something. I don't know what." His head is going to split in half.