But redemption is a process of remembering: specifically that we're not alone and we never have been. Because if everything is connected, as the infants and the V-juicers know, then our duty is very simple: to keep those connections alive, to keep each other alive, to keep ourselves surrounded in the beauty and the purity and the love of everybody else. To assure that everybody gets out alive, through acts of kindness both simplistic and extreme. To pay for each other's exorcisms; to accept help when it's offered. To remember above all else that the same sparks and the same blood run through us all: that that True Blood is all we have.
Tonight, Jason comes home, popping the clutch and pulling up to his house in a cloud of dust. The sun's still down, he's still an addict; he's still the jailer to a creature of God, who in a short year has seen and retreated from mysteries and wonders Jason's still never seen. But Eddie is dying, and Jason knows there's more to life than that. There has to be. Everything else is a lie. (I keep saying he's Starbuck, but considering the direct correlation between Horrible Acts Performed and Intensity of Love I apparently Feel for Him, he's starting to resemble Gaius Baltar.) So Jason props up his friend, still bound in silver, and puts a straw into his mouth, and shouts at him to wake up, to drink. To live, for the first time. And as Eddie drinks, Jason pats his shoulder without looking. Eddie looks up at him: Jason is a shapeshifter. He's never met this Jason before: Breakfast?
The exorcism begins.