Chapter Text
Believe
Link drew his knees closer and pulled the thin blanket provided by the mobile home over his head like a hood. Maybe that would finally stop his teeth from clattering. He shot the ice-cold heater an equally harsh glare. So what if he didn't have the money to pay for electricity, were they going to let him freeze to death?
Cursing into the white air that his breath left behind, he rested his forehead on his knees, letting as little warmth as he could escape.
Yeah. Yeah, they would let him freeze to death. Not here, of course. They would kick him out by the end of the week because he didn't pay his rent either.
His dead phone sat on the edge of the moth-filled mattress, next to a list with a lot of names crossed out. He hadn't even asked for money, for heaven's sake, he had asked for a job!
“A temp job? Now? It's Christmas, honey. Ask again after New Year."
Woohoo, Christmas Eve, everyone's favorite day of the year. He grabbed for the bottle of cheap whiskey a kind soul had left at the door of each mobile home. The liquid lacked its typical golden shine in the dark. Link raised the bottle towards the window so that the muddy city light filtering in illuminated it and tilted the bottle. Half-empty.
Stiff fingers fought to twist the lid open. He raised the bottle to himself. "Merry Christmas, Link. May your wishes come true, this year." Snorting, he took a swig, the liquid tingling down his throat. Warmth. Finally some good old burning warmth. He lifted the bottle again, the glass scraping against his chapped lips. The strong, cheap smell promised a quick knockout. He hadn't properly eaten in days, maybe he could even leave the rest for tomorrow.
In the distance, the bells of a church rang for the first evening mass. Link wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Not even in this God-forsaken place, they would leave him alone. As if praying had ever solved anything.
The bottle nearing his lips again, he paused. Those bastards kept their churches warm, right? It was probably the only open public space tonight with everything else closed. Maybe… Barking a laugh at himself, he put the whiskey down. Just look at him, seeking God's warmth like a lost sheep. Well, he had never cared much where his money came from, he would surely not make an exception for a warm evening.
He gathered his phone and the charger; who knew if God's endless goodness hadn't led to an unsupervised plug socket? Halfway through the door, he groaned and went back. Old habits die hard, no matter how low he was, he couldn't leave 'home' without brushing his teeth.
Outside, it was even more unruly. The thin layer of snow that had fallen yesterday had long turned into squishing mud with the texture of goo and the biting wind found every seam of his denim jacket. Most of the people didn't acknowledge his existence apart from the occasional 'accidental' shoulder bump. He didn't mind. Let them balance their shiny carryout bags home to a loving family, he was just fine without either. So what if nobody had been there to pick him up when he was finally — he stopped in front of a display window, rubbing his palm over his shaved head. It didn't matter. Nothing of all this mattered. The hair would grow back, everything was behind him now.
Link buried his hands in his pockets and picked up his pace again. The closer to the cathedral he came, the more the people changed. Heels clicked and slithered on the cobblestone, men put their hands on their hats to keep them from becoming a victim of the wind. Maybe this had been a stupid idea.
He pulled his collar up, ducking his head. The guy in the woolen coat and the woman plus the little girl with matching dresses looked a lot like one of his former schoolmates. Was there a side entry, maybe? It was a freaking cathedral, there had to be more than one way in.
His wet and numb feet carried him to the left… What was the word? Side aisle? Might as well. The door here was still sickeningly pompous, but only a quarter of the size of the front entry. Warily, he turned the doorknob. Oh. It moved. The door swung open, musty and damp air hitting his iced face. Well, it was warm, at least.
He couldn't see anyone else in the small corridor. Iron candle holders lined the stone wall and Link followed the direction of the music. Maybe he was behind the organ?
It didn't matter that much. The warmth let his shoulders finally drop from their hunched position and the red skin on his fingers began to burn. He moseyed further along the corridor. He had no plans to join the worshippers, but an open door didn't necessarily mean he was welcome to stroll around. A night in a cell would postpone his hypothermia, but he had enough of that for the rest of his life.
The corridor opened to something like an aisle. It must have been upwinding; he was now above the main hall. Rattly, wooden chairs were piled up and in the corner, something big was stored under a canvas. Frowning, Link turned a chair over and sat down, backrest between his legs. Odd. There even was a cherub or some other kind of statue here, why did they use something like this as a storage room?
All the better. If someone found him, he would say he came to pray to the… what was it? And… Did the statue glow?
He picked up the chair and sat down again directly in front of the figure. The glow was gone and he shook his head. Probably the whiskey.
There was no badge or inscription, just a thick woman carved out of stone. His eyes were drawn to her smile. The statues of Jesus Christ or other saints he remembered from his childhood didn't smile — how could they when suffering was their main character trait? Why did she? Curious, he traced the smooth stone with his fingers. Her arms were crossed over each other in a praying position. To whom did she pay respect? Wasn't she a Goddess herself? Wings spread from her back, maybe she was just a forgotten angel. Like him. A bitter snort left him; more forgotten than an angel.
He crossed his arms on the backrest and rested his chin on them, breathing the warm air. His shoes had begun to dry and even the muscles in his back slowly uncramped. The choir down in the main hall sang Christmas choruses but the sound was muffled enough that it didn’t bother him too much. If his stomach wasn't sour from hunger, it was almost nice.
His eyes fell back on the statue. She smiled, unwavering.
"Must be nice," Link said to the stone. "To be so happy all the time, I mean. Or are you smiling despite it all?"
He tore his mouth into a grin, a stale attempt at mirroring her. God, when was the last time he had smiled?
"See? I'm bad at this. That's why you have cool wings and I just have a pair of worn-out sneakers." He wiggled his toes. "Wet and beyond cleaning, on top of that."
Sighing, he turned his attention back to the music. They probably offered some kind of shelter to people like him, soup, maybe a place to sleep together in a room with others. It was Castle Town's biggest church, after all.
The religious brainwashing was one thing, he could deal with that. The problem was that it wouldn’t be long before the Jasons and Jeffs and Johns would find him and hiss from the corner of their mouth what great deal they could make if only he lent them a hand. And before he could shake his head, he was neck-deep in trouble. No, he was better off alone.
The statue still gazed at him. Well, he couldn’t expect her to turn her head towards the music and make fancy dance moves. He felt… observed? No. Seen. He rubbed his forehead with two fingers. Of course, a statue of cold stone was the first who properly looked at him in years, sure, Link.
The organ down in the main hall of the cathedral boomed his thoughts out. The mass must be finished.
Sighing, Link stood up and peeked down. Yes, the people were going home. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms — just when he was warm again.
With a chuckle, he rested his palm on the arms of the statue. "Nice to talk to you. Maybe I'll stop by again. I really appreciate your ability to listen. Link is the name." He dropped his hand, lingering. He couldn't fight it, he didn't want to go. "I… I don't know if you do this prayer thing. But if I could ask for something…" He sighed again, rubbing his palm over his head. What was he doing here? "If… if I could ask for something it would be a new start. I… I don't really have anything to offer in return. Just a dry spell at the moment, I mean, I'll get over it, it's just… anyway. I gotta go before I get in trouble."
He made a few steps, went back to put the chair back, and disappeared as quietly as he had come. The door clanged shut behind him and he didn't look back. If he was confident enough, nobody would say anything. That always worked.
The cold had him in a death grip a few steps into his way home. He pulled his shoulders up again and pushed forward. Maybe he could at least try to keep his feet dry, this time, or he would wake up with eight toes instead of ten.
The shop windows became smaller and more shabby the longer he walked and soon, they lacked the glittering Christmas decorations, and old boxes and other rubbish clattered the space behind the glass. At the gate of the mobile home 'park', he had to squeeze himself past two street cats fighting over the content of a trash can. On his first week here, he had tried to befriend them, but all he got was a nasty bite that wouldn't heal.
A faint light shone out of his window and he frowned with the key already dangling from his stiff-frozen fingers. Did they turn the electricity back on as a Christmas gift? He hurried. Now that would be something!
He pushed the door open and froze. The light didn't come from a lamp he hadn't switched off, it didn't even come from electricity at all.
A woman stood in the middle of his room, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders to her hips. She turned toward him and the filigree jewelry that adorned her head and her dress jingled. Link shut his eyes, fingered for the door handle, and tugged it close. It had been hours since he had the whiskey and it hadn't been more than a few sips. One by one, he peeled his eyes open again. The most astonishing thing about her wasn't that she seemed to float or that faint glow that radiated from her, no. It was her smile. A smile he had spent two hours staring at. A smile that had made him feel welcome. A smile that was once again directed at him.
"Good evening, Link." Her voice was more melodic than a summer breeze rustling through the leaves of a linden tree.
Link swallowed against his suddenly dry throat and stretched his hand out toward her, his words coming out as a whisper.
"Who are you?"