Part XXIII

4 0 0
                                    

Word Count: ~3100

Warnings: none:)

<3

Finally, with relationships mended and things all settled, Josh's idea for the group to get out to the "big city" again became reality. The art exhibition he'd previously had in mind had ended but of course, a new one had opened. So on an exceptionally warm and humid June day, the boys all found themselves meandering through the wide and high, glistening tile-lined rooms of the Detroit Art Institute.

Josh was lingering amidst the Indigenous art; Jake was taking his time with the shiny silver armor and wide array of swords that the museum had to offer. Sam and Danny stayed mostly together, keeping close, until Sam got caught up in all of the bright, colorful contemporary art that eventually Danny had felt he'd seen enough of once the stark shapes and blocks of color began to blur together.

He found himself standing in front of a bizarre yet beautiful reliquary, as the plaque beneath the strange object told him. He stared for a long moment first at the piece of bone encased in glass and gold, his eyes moving up to study the thin cross on top, then to each golden angel that held everything together and held it in the air, elevated in its little forever home. He was mesmerized by its splendor and its strangeness.

How would this man, this saint, feel if he knew a part of his body was immortalized and sitting in a museum? Danny wondered as he stared. Maybe he did know. Maybe before he died, he had faith that the people who believed in him and loved him would keep him a part of the living earth forever. Or as long as possible. Once the world ended, the glass, gold and bone would become dust like everything else.

Still, the piece of that man, the piece of art, had already existed for almost a thousand years already and thousands of people had stared at it and probably pondered the same questions. What had he done to become a reliquary anyway? What made people want to immortalize him and keep him on display? How did he die to begin with?

Danny was glad he wasn't literally immortal. When he'd first turned into a vampire, that was one of the first things he'd worried about. He didn't want to spend eternity watching the people he loved die, watching the world burn without being able to help it, to linger and suffer inside with no way to end it. He'd pored over movies and books to try and find answers, but the real answer came when he'd just kept living–aging never stopped, he realized, nor did illness and injury. He'd had sprained arms and ankles that took just as much time to heal as anyone else, colds and sinus infections that required the same OTC meds and antibiotics to get him well again. Everything from his hair to skin to muscles kept changing with time. Thankfully, he wasn't living on pause and one day his heart would stop like everyone else's.

And his heart did stop for a brief but seemingly earth-shattering moment when he made eye contact with a familiar blonde girl walking past. She looked away quickly at first, as anyone would when they make unintentional eye contact with a complete stranger, but then just as quickly she turned her face to meet Danny's eyes again and he saw a damning flicker of recognition. Her eyes widened just a bit and then he saw fear in the dilating pupils; then anger as her cheeks flushed and her steps stopped, the heels of her shoes echoing. She planted herself in the middle of the room, just a few feet in front of the reliquary, staring back at him for only another moment but what felt like its own tortuous eternity.

Once their shared recognition and damning memory was over, Danny scuttled out of the room to find Sam, his heart beating frantically, his whole body hot. Sweat was pushing past his clothing, dampening his armpits and his lower back, his hairline, the back of his neck. As he searched through the echoing museum with all this frantic energy, he eventually realized as he paused in front of a huge abstract painting full of cool blues and stark greens, that he wasn't even sure what he could do. What was there to do?

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