Work Text:
Even though the moon hangs high in the sky, the candles of the church have not yet been put out.
They burn dimly as the preacher works, the wax puddled around the small dishes they rest in. The candles desperately need to be replaced, but with the shimmering wall blocking the town of Pity from the rest of the world, the preacher doubts he'll be getting anything new anytime soon. Maybe if he's lucky, the merchant may still have some hidden in her shop- but he does not wish to bother her with such a request. He mustn't be greedy, he can make do with what he has.
The cross around his throat hangs heavy as he scrubs dirt off the pews, hands trembling as he tries to rinse away any proof of the last disaster to strike this church. The walls heave around him, groaning deeply as the remains try to survive another windy desert night. Yet another thing that the preacher needed to replace, only slightly easier than the candles- the donations from the old and new folk give him hope.
The creak of the church door startles him, his knees nearly giving out in their crouched position as he whirls to face it. Truly there was no point for anyone to use the door, with how broken the walls were, but a twinge of warmth sparks in the preacher's gut, joy at the fact that there are some who respect the church. That warmth is extinguished quick when he sees who it is, the rancher grinning toothily down at him.
The Preacher does not trust these new folk. It doesn't matter if they were to stay as long as the old folk do, the tightness in his throat and the unease in his mind never wavering. Especially with this one, with how he tends to hang around on the pews, how he sniffs around the church's floor.
"My child," His voice is quiet, letting no emotion sink in. "What may I do for you at this late hour?"
Sausage comes a bit closer, offering a hand to the preacher to help him stand. The preacher ignores the gesture, instead using the pew he had just been cleaning as support; the wooden seat is already coated in a thin layer of dust once more as the wind swirls it through the room. "Just came to check on why the church was still lit up this late! Wanted to make sure the candles were shut off, wouldn't want any more damage coming to this church," Sausage's hand reaches for the preacher's, who quickly slides his hand off the pew. "A fire would especially be bad. Why are you up this late, father?"
"Sermon is tomorrow, confessional Wednesday." The preacher doesn't answer the question. That's nothing new, the man never letting anyone pry into any bit of his life- but Sausage doesn't drop it.
"Sermon is today, father." His finger points up, and the preacher's eyes follow it up to the moon, floating just past halfway. "It's morning now. Why are you still awake? You're gonna be too tired to teach the sermon."
The preacher doesn't answer at first, just watches the moon. He then clears his throat, looking down quickly at his hands. "I.. I may have lost track of time. I have too much work to complete before I can head to bed."
"Father." Sausage's voice is sharp. It almost makes the preacher flinch. "You need your sleep. Having you nod off halfway through sermon will just make it harder to teach us of the word."
The preacher doesn't mention the fact that there had not been a single person at a sermon since he arrived in town. Even if the preacher were to make it through a sermon awake, he doubts anyone would be there to witness it. "I haven't the time to rest."
"Well that's too bad!" Sausage laughs, and he grabs the preacher's hands, quickly gathering them on his own. His smile twitches slightly, confused as he feels the other stiffen the moment he's touched. "You know father, before you teach us of the word, I think I gotta teach you something first!"
The preacher tries to pull his hands away, but the rancher's grip is tight. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he focuses his eyes on the door behind Sausage- oh how he'd love to run away through it. "What is it you want to teach me?"
Sausage doesn't answer verbally at first. The man grips the preacher's hands tighter, pulling him along. The preacher tries to dig his heels into the ground, but Sausage pulls harder than he can resist, and he finds himself following helplessly. The rancher drags him to the town hall, where all the others rest peacefully in their beds. Many are squished, forced to share the limited amount of beds that the mayor had created and set out. The preacher usually manages to score his own bed, but he usually makes it to the town hall before most of the others.
The preacher finds himself dragged to one of those beds. The rancher's coat is left on the bed already, his hat set to the side. The preacher glances around the room, searching for any other free bed, and his stomach twists when none are found. He tries to pull away once more, but Sausage drags him right back, pushing him onto the bed. His legs catch on the side of the bed and he falls, landing down on the mattress. Sausage grins, lowering himself to sit next to the preacher. "Teaching you to rest, father." His voice is quiet, a whisper to keep from bothering the others. "First step, lay like you are now. Make sure you're comfortable. Then, close your eyes, relax. Let yourself drift off."
"I told you I don't have the time to rest tonight!"
"You weren't doing anything that cannot be done in the morning." Sausage lies next to the preacher. Even on the small bed though, he leaves a small gap between them, giving the preacher as much space as he could. Realising this, the preacher's body relaxes, but his eyes never leave the ceiling above them, refusing to look at Sausage. "Good night, father."
The preacher does not reply. His breathing calms, the quick nervous breathing replaced with soft tired breaths, eyes drifting shut. Sausage's smile grows, watching the preacher carefully. His eyes drift down, finding the cross hanging at the end of his necklace. His hand twitches, tempted to reach for it, take the gold- but he keeps his hands to himself. As lovely as that gold would be, he wants a challenge. There's no fun in stealing from a tired man, especially one who seemed like the type to avoid sleeping once he realises how vulnerable it leaves him.
The bed seems to dip under them slightly more, and the preacher rolls slightly. The gap between them closes, the weight of another body now pressed against the rancher's side. Sausage is the one to stiffen now, looking down at the preacher's face. Eyes closed, calm breathing. Asleep.
One of Sausage's arms stiffly reaches out, wrapping around the preacher. Slowly, he relaxes, trying to get comfortable again. It's strange, holding the preacher like this, in his arms. The man is always so stiff, so closed off, so serious. For a second, he wonders if he had actually been the first one to fall asleep, if this was a strange dream.
"Good night, father," He repeats. "Have a good sleep."