Work Text:
He shivers with anticipation the way he always does, pulling the plastic plunger of the syringe up deftly with his index finger. The needle draws the dirty puddle up from the spoon and into its hungry little mosquito mouth.
As if he needs another reminder of his condition. He keeps seeing them in everything.
He uses people up. Not just their blood, their wallets and hearts too. He can never quit a damn thing until he’s drained every last drop, and it’s still never enough. It will never be over. He just stumbles from one disaster to the next, leaving pain in his wake.
The muddy mixture rises up the ladder of thin black markings on the side of the syringe. He’s readying a dose that will wipe his brain and leave him flat on the floor, if it’s as good as the guy promised. It’s a dose that could kill a junkie with a high tolerance many times over, but not him. For him it will only grant an hour or two of peace, if he’s lucky.
His life is stuck on a loop, has been for ages, like some infuriating episode of the Twilight Zone. He feels powerless to stop himself from repeating the same old mistakes. Every fresh start, every new town, every new person he becomes carelessly entangled with inevitably leads to the same familiar dead ends.
He’s stopped hoping for anything else. The needle is the only thing he can rely on for comfort, and even so, the inhuman amounts he needs to consume in order for it to work are becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. He finds himself agreeing to all sorts of things he never dreamed he’d do to offer as compensation, since he doesn’t have the money to match his insatiable appetite for escape. And then he needs more drugs to forget those things too.
He rolls down the waistband of his pants to expose the vein that runs alongside the sharp curve of his hipbone. There is a small angry welt on his pale skin already that he’s been feeding the poison into the last few days.
He isn’t careless enough to mark up the parts of his skin that Jesse might see. It doesn’t seem likely the preacher will be pulling his pants down in the foreseeable future.
No, the story of he and the preacher will end the same way as every other chapter of his pathetic life: with him alone. Ideally before he unwittingly drags the other man down to hell with him, like he has so many others. Jesse, despite all the goodness he’s introduced into Cassidy’s life, is still an aching reminder of what he can never have.
He guides the thin needle into his skin, digging around impatiently until he taps the stubborn vein. He pulls the plunger up ever so slightly and the contents of the syringe darkens, mixing with a cloud of his blood.
He’s still surprised there’s blood inside of him sometimes, but the sight of it doesn’t make him feel any more human, any less like a monster masquerading as one. Its just another unwanted reminder of everything he’s stolen, of the fact that he exists at the expense of everyone else.
He exhales slowly, poised to launch himself into oblivion, into temporary salvation. He presses down on the plunger, unloading the syringe into himself with a shaking hand. It burns when the concoction floods into his abused vein, but he pushes resolutely until all of it has disappeared into his body. When he pulls out the needle, a small bubble of blood wells up in the center of the crusty crater like a tiny volcano. He scoops it up with a finger and licks it clean out of habit.
On hands and knees, he scrabbles to collect his gear on the floor and sweeps it under the mattress. He can already feel the first pleasant tingles, a buzzing and fluttering under his skin, a warmth blossoming out inside him.
He doesn’t have time to settle into position properly before the drugs hit his head like a brick, leaving him feeling boneless. He can barely manage to climb onto the mattress with legs that feel weighted with lead. The heavy feeling quickly settles over his entire body and his arms collapse underneath him.
He curls onto his side and it feels like he’s sinking into the mattress. He shudders, hands grasping weakly at the sheets. He can hardly tell where his body ends and the bed begins. It feels like everything in the room is melting together into a puddle of pure blissful numbness.
He doesn't know if his eyes are open are closed anymore, but it doesn’t matter. All he can focus on are the warm soothing waves of relief sweeping over him, the sense of complete and total well-being swelling inside his chest. The cruel voices in his head have vanished, driven out by the drugs like an exorcism, and all that remains is total serenity.
He doesn't know if he's awake or dreaming, or somewhere in between. He feels like he’s being cradled in impossibly loving arms, like there is an angel smiling down on him fondly who wants to love him unconditionally until the end of time. He feels absolved of all his sins, the weight of his pain lifted at last.
There are gentle hands smoothing back his hair. A low distant whisper of a voice repeats his name adoringly. It’s telling him everything is going to be okay, that he will never hurt again. He believes it with all his being, since it's an angel after all. He doesn’t ever want to go back.
He loses all sense of time. He forgets everything that lies outside this beautiful womb of eternity he’s floating in.
“Cassidy,” the voice says.
He doesn't realize it's talking to him at first, almost having forgotten his own name.
The voice persists, murmuring softly, and his sense of self begins to take shape again. The angel sounds so real now, more than just a whisper. He feels like it’s beckoning him, but he doesn't know where he's supposed to go. He wonders if he’s somehow done it – if he’s finally managed to die, by some miracle.
Suddenly his head is knocked to the side with a loud smack. His eyelids flutter, startled out of his stupor. He’s not floating anymore, now dimly aware of the mattress beneath him. He can see a dark blurry figure above him, but his eyes keep rolling into the back of his head before he can focus on it. Perhaps it’s a devil come to take him. That would make more sense. It’s come to drag him to hell, where he belongs.
“Cassidy!”
The voice is urgent now.
There is a strong hand gripping his jaw, and he’s hit with another slap to the side of the face. It doesn’t hurt, but he wants it to stop. He tries to draw his arms up to protect his head but they don’t want to work properly.
The dark figure is shaking him by the shoulders now. It’s tearing away the veil of comfort that surrounds him. He wants to beg it to quit, tell it that it’s ruining everything, but he can’t get his tongue to form proper words.
“Shit, what the fuck have you done to yourself?”
It’s Jesse’s voice, he realizes finally.
He has a vague awareness that this is not good, that Jesse was not supposed to find him like this, but he can’t bring himself to feel concerned. Everything is still too soft and hazy, too surreal, and he just wants to curl back into himself and forget again.
Jesse seems determined not to let that happen.
“Fuck! Cassidy, you fucking idiot!”
He wants to explain that he’s okay, to tell Jesse not to worry. He tries to speak again but in his delirium he isn’t sure if he said any words out loud or if he just imagined it. He's drifting in and out of reality, unsure of where the divide lies. If he can just keep his eyes closed, maybe he can sink back into oblivion again.
Jesse is chanting curse words now, as if his profane mantra will magically revive him. He feels himself being lifted from the mattress by sturdy arms. His body feels like it’s tumbling and turning, and he feels blindly for something to hold onto. He grabs a fistful of Jesse’s shirt and tugs at it, wordlessly pleading to be put down.
The world spins every time he cracks his blurry eyes open, and he realizes he’s being carried over Jesse’s shoulder, looking down at the floor rushing beneath him. He can feel a hand over the back of his thighs holding on to him tightly.
Jesse sets him down somewhere, and he groans gratefully. He prefers lying down to the nauseating sensation of being carried. The surface beneath him is cold and hard, but he’s too numb to mind. He lets his eyes roll back in his head again.
“No, stay with me Cass. You gotta stay awake,” he hears Jesse say, slapping his cheek again. Jesse is a blur of motion above him and all he can do is look up at him dumbly through heavy lidded eyes.
He feels frantic hands tugging at his clothes, pulling them off roughly. He feels his pants sliding down over his thighs, each leg lifted up by the ankle in turn as Jesse struggles to pull the pant legs over his feet.
There is a loud roar, and a shocking coldness creeps up the backs of his calves. He tries to squirm away from it, reaching out clumsily for something to grab on to, and his palm smacks into the smooth edge of the tub.
It dawns on him suddenly that he’s in a cold bath. That Jesse is attempting to save his life.
The water rises around him, slowly engulfing him, and he shudders. It laps at the small of his back, sending a deep chill through his body. He wants to escape. He tries to hoist himself up using the edge of the tub but he doesn’t have enough strength. He sinks back down into the water miserably.
“Hang on. You’re not gonna like this, but it’s gonna help snap you out of it, I think,” Jesse tells him. His voice is eerily calm. It sounds strained.
Cassidy is able to focus his eyes for a moment and sees Jesse looking down at him, leaning over the tub, eyes wide with concern.
“That’s it, look at me. You’re gonna be okay,” Jesse assures him, reaching down to cup the side of his face. Cassidy leans into his touch, drawn to the warmth.
The water continues to inch higher. His limbs feel like they are seizing up, and he can feel his muscles twitching. His lower lip begins to quiver uncontrollably as the coldness seeps into his core. The drugs aren’t enough to block out the unpleasantness.
“C’mere. Can you sit up?” Jesse asks.
Cassidy wants to explain that he can’t move, but Jesse is already grabbing him by the arm to pull him up. He almost slumps over, but Jesse steadies him with a hand on his shoulder. Jesse reaches over to shut off the water, and the sudden silence is dizzying.
Cassidy draws his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them for warmth. His hands and feet are numb, and a wave of nausea threatens to send him reeling.
“Cass?” Jesse prompts him, squeezing his shoulder. “Say somethin’. Please.”
“Mm,” is all he can manage, voice hoarse. His tongue is dry, stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Cassidy’s eyes blink rapidly, fighting to stay open. Jesse pushes back the wet hair plastered to his forehead and turns his chin gently to face him.
“What did you do? What kind of drug did you take?” Jesse demands.
It’s taking all of Cassidy’s willpower just to hold his head up. He wants to sink back down into the water and never come up again, especially now that Jesse has seen him like this. He’s ruined everything, again.
“I thought I was gonna lose you, you fucking asshole! You were just lying there, and I couldn't wake you up!” Jesse’s voice floods with emotion he can’t hold back any longer. His eyes are wild looking.
Cassidy’s whole body is twitching, teeth chattering. His head is swimming, and he can’t seem to form a complete thought before his mind drifts away, but he manages to force a couple words out. He has to give Jesse something. He owes him that at least.
“M’okay,” he slurs.
“You’re not okay. Look at you! What the hell is this?” Jesse rages.
Cassidy lowers his head to rest his forehead on his knees, unable to face him.
“Is that what you were tryin’ to do now? Kill yourself?” Jesse asks, voice thick with hurt.
“…can’t die,” is all he can muster.
He can tell this answer frustrates Jesse, but he’s too exhausted to explain.
There’s no retreating back into the high now. The drugs are wearing off and the voices are starting to creep back into his head, telling him what a horrible fuck up he is. Everything is filled with pain again: his mind, his body, the broken sound of Jesse’s voice.
“’Course you can die, idiot. What the hell were you thinking? Answer me!” Jesse shouts, accidentally slipping into The Voice. He’s gripping Cassidy’s arm, fingers digging in painfully.
“…Everything jus’ …hurts so much s-sometimes. I jus’ n-needed to feel okay…” Cassidy mumbles, face hidden between his knees with shame. Even compelled by the voice, it’s the best he can manage. He can’t stop shaking. He hates himself more than ever for letting Jesse see him this way, for putting Jesse in this position.
“I’m sorry,” Jesse apologizes quickly, realizing he’d used The Voice without meaning to, and his grip on Cassidy’s bicep loosens.
Cassidy wishes he could just disappear forever, disgusted by his own weakness.
“C’mon, let’s get you out now,” Jesse offers, voice softer now.
He pulls the plug out of the drain and the cold water begins to recede. He hooks an arm under Cassidy’s armpit, circling around his back, and hoists him up out of the water. Cassidy braces an arm on the ledge of the tub, legs shaking as he rises.
He steps out carefully, leaning against Jesse for support, toes curling into the coarse fabric of the bathmat.
Jesse eases them both down to the floor, leaning back against the wall, and pulls Cassidy up against him with one arm over his shoulders. He reaches up to pull a towel off the rack and drapes it over Cassidy’s huddled form, pulling it closed snugly at the front.
“That help a bit?” he asks.
Cassidy nods and leans into his warmth. His head slumps against Jesse and he can feel the water from his hair soaking into the shoulder of his shirt but Jesse doesn’t seem to notice, or he doesn’t care.
“I’m sorry I had to do that,” Jesse explains. “I panicked and it was the only thing I could think of. Just... Just didn’t want you to die.”
“I know,” Cassidy replies quietly.
They both fall into a contemplative silence, unsure of what else to say to each other.
Cassidy focuses on the slow rise and fall of Jesse’s chest next to him, relaxing into the embrace. The soothing rhythm is helping to chase away nasty voices still clawing at the back of his brain in a way that normally only the drugs can. His shoulders aren’t shaking as badly now, and feeling is returning to his hands and feet. His head feels clearer now, though still heavy with tiredness.
“Didn’t mean for any of this,” Cassidy tells him, when he's finally gathered himself. “I just… It was an accident. Got too high I guess."
“It’s okay,” Jesse replies wearily, eyes fixed on the ground. “Just glad I found you in time.”
"I'm sorry," Cassidy says softly.
Jesse hugs Cassidy closer to him and leans in to place a kiss on the top of his head. His slips a hand under the towel seeking Cassidy's, closing over it tightly. His hand is so warm against Cassidy's frozen fingers that it feels like its burning, but he relishes the touch anyway.
Jesse has never touched him this way before. It crosses a line in their relationship that he’s always assumed was there, since Jesse has never given him reason to believe otherwise. You're reading into it too much, his mind nags. Jesse is just relieved you're alive, you idiot. A chorus of voices in his head chime in, telling him not to get his hopes up, that he's a fool. Always the fool.
He holds his breath, worried that even the slightest movement could shatter the moment. He wants this, whatever it is, for as long as he can have it - especially if he can never have it again.
He steals a glance up at Jesse. He can see him in profile, brow furrowed, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully. It looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
Cassidy watches him, heart swelling with reverence and awe. How could someone still have patience for him, even after everything he’s done? Make him feel human again with the simplest words and gestures? Single-handedly make life feel worth living again, even if just for a moment? Maybe he really is destined to save the world.
“I want you to promise you’ll never do that again,” Jesse speaks finally. “Whatever the fuck that was. I can't go through that again. Okay?”
Cassidy swallows thickly. If there's one thing he knows for sure, it's that he will always fuck everything up. He will always leave everything in ruin. He will always run back to the drugs when he can't take it anymore. He wants Jesse anyway, even knowing that he's destined to hurt him again, because he is selfish. Always selfish. But he can't let the ugly truth spoil the moment. And he doesn't want Jesse to stop stroking his knuckles with his thumb.
“I promise,” he lies.
“You ain’t allowed to die on me, you stupid motherfucker. Got it?” He mumbles into Cassidy’s hair.
“Yeh don’ have to worry about that,” Cassidy replies.
At least that was the truth.