Chapter Text
When he was still a kid, Cassidy used to brag a lot about the name tattooed on his hip. How the neat writing in black ink contrasted with his skin, and how it followed the bones like it was incrusted in his very flesh. Jesse Custer was a nice name, he thought. Jesse Custer-Cassidy sounded good too. He loved his Mark; how the “J” had a pretty and unnecessary loop, how it was harmonious and how the letters worked together to form the name of his soulmate. His brother could testify – there wasn’t a day he didn’t think about Jesse. He whispered the name at night, stupid grin plastered on his face, hand retracing the letters he knew by heart until his brother told him to ‘shut the hell up and get some sleep.’ Even then, he couldn’t stop his imagination to work. Sometimes he pictured Jesse with long black hair and small tits, feminine curves and bright smile. Sometimes it was with big blue eyes and flat belly, stubble on his cheeks. He fucked easy girls sighing Jesse’s name against their skin. He loved his soulmate so fucking much, like it was his predefined setting. Even when the civil war came, he couldn’t stop hoping. “Don’t do stupid thangs Proinsias, it’ll get ye killed !” his brother said. “But I can’t die, I’ven’t met me soulmate yet” he always answered. Oh did he feel invincible with the name on his skin.
But then things got heated. His brother always’d been a nervous one, and one day the corpses of his comrades became too much to count and bear. And so they escaped. It was alright with Cass, ‘cause if it was his destiny to do so, then Jesse would always be at the end of the line. He was a deserter alright, but sure Jesse wouldn’t mind. He was his soulmate after all. Jesse could be a mass murderer for all he knew, Cassidy didn’t give much of a fuck.
But then this fucking vampire bit him and his life went to hell. Jesse Custer became a mockery. Years passed and his fantasy grew old. Jesse didn’t have beautiful eyes and round cheeks anymore; they were old and ugly, slowly dying while he stayed young and hungry. He hated the thought of his soulmate running to death while Cassidy was too much of a coward to confront the sunlight and burn away at the same time as his mark. He fled to the USA, ‘Promised Land’ and all that shit.
When he was ninety five, he mourned his soulmate with a nose full of powder and a syringe in his arm.
Sometimes the mark was too heavy to bear and he burned it away, relieved for a few hours until it reappeared on his healing skin. This vampire stuff was shit. It took away his soulmate but it kept reminding him of what he had lost, of what he couldn’t get. Jesse wasn’t whispered in the dark anymore, and when it was, it was with tears drowning his smile.
Jesse was very proud of his mark when he was younger. It was unique; the kind of name you didn’t see every day. No John Smith or Jane Doe inked on his arm. His was Proinsias Cassidy. Now, he didn’t have a fucking clue on how it was pronounced, but he liked to try it. He made it roll on his tongue, wondering how it would sound once his soulmate introduced himself. Maybe he was from some exotic country, on this other side of the globe. Maybe he was an adventurer, full of stories about lands far from Texas , where the jungle was eaten by civilization and where they chased tigers and not coyotes. Jesse was curious about Proinsias and his father let him despite his severe education. Soulmates were a gift of God after all.
He was twelve when he started hiding it. Kids were cruel and the tiny letters scribbled on his arm were easy to pick up onto. It was okay though. Jesse still loved it and the other children didn’t need to know what name was hiding under the bandage. Every evening, he took it off and apologized to Proinsias. He whispered promises to his mark, swearing he wasn’t ashamed of him but that he didn’t want other kids to mock his soulmate. Proinsias was a nice name, like some pagan deity right out of a history book. His father wouldn’t like the comparison, but he could kiss his ass as far as Jesse was concerned.
Then there was Tulip. Little queen coming out of nowhere, beautiful and severe, so fucking strong and loveable. Jesse fell hard and Proinsias wasn’t the name on his lips anymore. Maybe God got things messed up. Maybe He assigned him a mark that wasn’t his destiny. Sometimes, Jesse hoped to see the scrawl on his arm replaced by Tulip’s round letters. Proinsias hadn’t been here when he needed it. It was Tulip who would take care of his wounds, who would cajole him and tell him she loved him. Jesse was convinced she was his soulmate, because he didn’t know how he could love someone more than he already loved Tulip.
He never had a look on Tulip’s name. It was nothing but a burned souvenir on her shoulder, the trace of a simple “E” staining her skin. He kissed the scars away the first time they made love, and drew his signature with a black marker instead.
Two years later, when they were still high on adrenaline from their first contract, they crossed Proinsias’ name with a knife and he got tattooed a tulip on his back.
Proinsias Cassidy was hidden under a white scar, like a big ‘fuck you’ to destiny.
Cassidy had lost hope to meet his soulmate long ass fucking time ago. The name on his hip was probably dead, buried somewhere on the other side of the ocean. Time taught him to deal with it; drugs only made the pain duller. Everything was okay. He had other shit to think, like how to escape the vampire hunters on his ass or how to survive the fall of a few miles with only a cow for dinner. Even figuring out where he was happened to be a challenge. He had guessed ‘somewhere in the deep end of Shithole, Texas’ by the Holy Crosses hang on every doorstep of every house in this God forbidden town, but that was about it. Going to the Man of God sited on the counter of the bar had been the less logical thing to do, but Cassidy wasn’t the most logical man -monster- on this planet. He got nothing out of the preacher except for the direction to the nearest telephone. Enough to make the phone call that learned him that he was well and truly fucked. But worst, stuck in this lost ass town in the middle of the American desert.
Jesse was supposed to have renounced to violence, put the unholy life he had led for too long behind him for the greater good. He had taken the place of his father as Annville’s preacher. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get drunk in the local bar. Alcohol and Jesse Custer wasn’t a very good mix, though it happened often enough. Alcohol, Jesse Custer and gratuitous violence was an even worse mix. And he had promised Donnie a bunny noise after all. It wasn’t his fault if the man couldn’t take a hint and had thrown himself in a lost fight. It wasn’t his fault either if half of the town happened to be here to hear Donnie squeak like a rabbit. Poor Donnie; Wiping Quincannon’s ass was going to be much more difficult with only one hand.
Cassidy had always been a trouble magnet, and honestly the preacher sitting next to him seemed to be trouble. He didn’t really know why he had taken part in the fight, but seeing the wannabe thug running at the man had awoken a need to interfere strong enough to make him kick the stool and knock the aggressor out. It wasn’t really fair for him to be in this fuckin’ cell but Cassidy was used to unfair. You didn’t live one hundred and nineteen years without running to unfairness in your everyday life. And he had known worse cages than this one.
Cassidy wasn’t good at staying silent. And so he talked. He babbled about shit with his cellmate, and it was the easiest thing and yet the hardest he ever did. Talking to the preacher was natural but wrong. It wasn’t an easy feeling; like something awakening inside of him. And fuck, his old sig’ was burning hard on his hip. They talked about promises, and how Cassidy thought they were ‘nasty little things’. How Padre thought they were “currency of faith” – that actually made Cassidy cringe because promises were bullshit. He had a promise tattooed on his skin for one hundred years and it gave him the finger everytime he thought about it.
“Take me for example right? I have zero hope in this world mate. And I’m bloody fantastic.” Lies. “Really, I am.”
Fucking liar.
He forced a smile, crooked teeth in display. His hand found the Name on his hip, lump in his throat when the officer came to get the Padre out of here. The collar didn’t belong in jail, right? Why was he so fucking distressed to the idea of the man leaving?
He jumped on his feet when the man thanked him again. Cassidy shrugged it off like it wasn’t big of a deal. It really wasn’t, but the thanks were welcome. Cassidy didn’t receive them very often.
“Jesse Custer.” The man said. And if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing Cassidy had ever heard.
He gasped, the lump suddenly coming out as a sob. Because that was what it was all about; that was the Jesse he had waited all his life and he was a Preacher in Ann-fucking-ville, Texas. He shook the offered hand with a strong grip – maybe too strong, but fuck, he had found his soulmate and he didn’t want to let him go. Jesse Custer wasn’t old or dead in the UK. Jesse Custer wasn’t a mockery or a taunt of God. Jesse Custer was in front of him, a beautiful disaster with a swollen lip and a bright smile, smelling whisky, dust and sun, and suddenly Cassidy was aware of everything about him. How his hair seemed to be going everywhere at once. How dark his eyes were and how a dimple appeared on the corner of his mouth when he smiled.
“Cassidy.” He gulped and smiled and sobbed all at once. “Proinsias.”