alrosary:
He can’t help the sharp gasp that slips out as Russell’s hand drops from his neck. There are a million questions rushing through his head–what happened, who did this to you, are you all right, are you safe–but louder than all of those, a mantra that grows louder and louder with every step closer to the boy, a single thought.
Oh, Russell. I should have protected you.
Russell is crying, and Dogma swallows down the urge to do the same, refusing to let those pricking tears fall. It will do neither of them any good to have them both break down, out here in the snow–they’ll catch cold–no, it’s better for him to stay composed, as much as he wants to bundle the boy into his arms and sob out everything he never managed to say in the dream.
I should have protected you…
Instead, Dogma cups the boy’s face in his hands, careful to keep the edges of his palms away from the livid scarring. The priest’s thumbs brush over Russell’s cheeks, sweeping away a fresh round of tears. It must be strange, to see him like this–Dogma was barely companionable in the dream, let alone this affectionate–but he’s been waiting weeks, now, and he’d wished for this. It was all he’d wished for. Forgive a poor dead priest the gratitude he’s finally letting himself feel.
“Russell… I wish you had arrived in better weather,” he says, breathless, and the fact that it had snowed overnight matters the least out of anything but he can’t help but worry for the boy in his thin shirt. “I prayed to God every night, and He saw fit to bring you here in the depths of winter… No, I shouldn’t question Him. I’m just thankful you’re here at all.”
It feels like everything is in slow motion, Russell doesn’t know how to react and everything seems to freeze up as Dogma brushes away his tears. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do--
It repeats over and over in his head as the priest speaks, a strained sob escaping the boy against his will. Dogma had wished he was here, prayed, that he would arrive here. Why was he waiting for him after everything he...he obviously knew the truth, even if Russell’s memory said nothing of ever telling him.
There’s still no reason for him to be this affectionate with him.
Why, why why why.
There’s so much he wants to say to Dogma, so much he wants to apologize for, but he can’t. He can’t and it frustrates him to no end now. Part of him wanted to push his hands away, deny his affections. He’d even started in the movements, hands shakily gripping at the elder’s wrists before releasing them again. He couldn't, he couldn’t find the will to do it. Feeling as if his feet had frozen to the snowy ground below. So, he does the only thing his shell shocked mind can manage to direct him to do.
He cries more.
It’s the opposite of what Dogma had wanted, for sure, but it’s all he could do. Strained, odd noises being pulled from his throat as he stands there and sobs. Maybe he just needed to let it out, for better or for worse. Hiccuping and sniffling, he hadn’t even been aware of how cold he was until the older had mentioned the weather, hadn’t realized he was shivering - perhaps from a mix of nerves and the temperature.
Dogma...Dogma I’m sorry…
You shouldn’t want me back. Just be angry with me do something other than this-
