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Chapter Text

The night was cool and silvery, lit by a full moon and the watchful stars that danced o’er the sleepy northern Arizona town. The only sounds were of a crisp wind, heralding the rustling of leaves dried into the colors of autumn, the infrequent whispers of faraway cars on large roads that strayed not into the stoic pines that immersed the town in forest, and the humble, yet certain beat of one Father Gregor’s boots upon the sidewalk. 

His pace was relaxed as he moved from the brazen halo of one street lamp to another, not thinking of the darkened distance between them. 

His mind wandered, as he passed houses in rows, to Duke’s son and his friend, the two of whom he’d guided on Halloween night a bit under a year ago. Images of then flitted across the forefront of his thoughts. They spoke namely of the tragedy of how Moloch had managed to manipulate the duo into setting him loose to wreak havoc; how Duke’s widow, Lila, had been led astray from her duties as a mother by the grief and stress that so clearly plagued her. He pointedly ignored how he couldn’t remember anything of that eve past when he left from the doorstep of that family’s house. 

And, heart tinged by a sympathetic ache, he began to pray, as he made his way across intersections and around bends, from one streetlamp’s halo to another.

The lights of the street started to become more sparse as he made his way down the street, but he paid no mind as he enjoyed this moment, voice humming low in his chest, face tilted to the heavens. He continued to pray. For Skid, for his friend-- whose name escaped him in that moment, for Lila, and for the welfare of all who should cross his path.

He paused his prayer for a moment, gathering thoughts and breath to continue. As he did, though, he noticed that he’d been in a dark stretch of street for a while. No matter , he thought, the moonbeams are light enough . I know where I’m going.

Despite this, an instinctive wariness took root in his mind as he continued onward, planted there by the little child he remembered being in his earlier years who would tremble in this gloom.

He scanned the surrounding suburbs a bit more closely as he continued his prayer, which had dissolved into a bit of a ramble at this point.

“-- and thank you, Lord, f-” 

In the shadows, movement!

Practically on their own, his feet fell still upon the sidewalk, his head snapped sideways, and a sudden terror sank its fangs into his neck, its bite sending a shiver through him as the movement of the shadows in a narrow alley nearby seemed to coalesce into… something . A demon, definitely--

And then, it leered at him out of the darkness-- reddish eyes lined in white that seemed to shift in color like the spots in one’s vision that occurred when staring at a bright light. 

Father Gregor’s heart flinched and his breath hitched in his throat, but, shaking himself, he shoved his terror in that moment to the back of his mind as best he could, knowing well the protocol for this situation. 

The moonlit borders of the shadows seemed to writhe with an energy that threatened to reach past where they looked to be contained, and fear’s jaws sank only deeper.

His hands shook as they found the crucifix that hung ‘round his neck and the toggle clasp of the necklace it was the pendant of. In one practiced motion, he unclasped the toggle, pulled the crucifix away from his chest, and steadied the sacred symbol firmly so that both it and he himself faced the demon.

The weight of its shining gold in his hands was a comfort that grounded him in that split moment-- right before he noticed that the thing did not even flinch. Not too unusual , but-- something should’ve happened I should’ve sensed something shift there at least a small amount-

The edges of the shadows prickled, and slowly, many hands crept out, moving like smoke drifting through stagnant air towards him, their surfaces reflecting not even the barest hint of moonbeam--

And he noticed he did not feel the usual power that thrummed through him whenever he held a holy relic.

It’s fine sometimes more powerful forces of evil may require more powerful a gesture to vanquish- you are safe. His mind sprung alight, but a sticky tar of doubt made its way to the surface of his now-unreasonably-racing thoughts, which he shoved away with: You are safe you are safe safe safe you’re in the hands of the Heavenly Father you. are. safe. Take action now now now now now you know the words NOW-

As hands encroached on many-jointed arms, he saw that the gaze of the leering eyes in the dark was held by what rested in his hands-- but he will NOT falter!

He planted his feet more firmly and his grip on the cross tightened. 

The metal slickened with sweat.

“I- In-” 

His voice shook. No! I can’t let this thing win!

“I-in the name of the Lord, I rebuke you!”

The hands flinched ever so slightly at the peak of his command’s volume, enough to spark a glimmer of triumph in his heart, I can do th --

--and it was suffocated as quickly as it came when the hands continued towards him faster , and his voice echoed unheeded in the empty street.

Louder! He mentally screamed at himself, Again again again- his mind chanted to the tempo of his racing heart. 

“In the name of God , I rebuke you!” He staggered a few steps backwards, brandishing the crucifix at them.

The hands seemed to shiver , and Father Gregor got the sickening sense they were delighted before snaking even faster across the pavement and through the air, framing the crucifix-- and him in a horrible way. Reaching, pointing, wanting--

Panic was bruising his ribs.

“In the name of the Father , the SON , a-AND THE DIVINE SOUL , I REBUKE THEE! ”  

He didn’t realize he’d squeezed his eyes shut in terror until he felt pain searing in patches on his skin; he’d cried out and snapped his eyes open to the sight of the hands seizing him, leaving burns where they held on. They were wrapped all around his wrists and the crucifix, the ones snaking across the pavement gripping his ankles, with oh no, more, so so many more hands-- in their wake, all aiming for him.

The scream he let out was higher pitched than he’d have liked to admit as he twisted and thrashed out of their grasp. Their hold wasn’t strong enough on him to stop him from tearing away and taking off running towards the church as curious eyes in dark houses drifted after him, wondering what could’ve possibly happened to distress the good Father so, and more pressingly, what could’ve caused those hand-shaped burns on him. 

-

Father Gregor remembered practically nothing-- between breaking from that thing’s grasp and collapsing on the worn wooden floors of the church-- other than pain and the overwhelming terror of a hunted prey animal. As the adrenaline crash brought him back to reality, he stirred, but his burns sent angry bolts across his skin in all directions.

His thoughts were hazy and seemed to leap, frazzled, in so many directions at once that all comprehension of his mind slipped away from his grasp.

And there, splayed in the aisle between the two sections of pews, bereft of dignity, only existing in pain and exhaustion, he drifted into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing on his senses was light filtering through his loosely closed eyelids-- golden morning light. Light that was swiftly covered, followed by the feeling of two hands on him-- one on each of his shoulders.

Shadows-- hands-- DANGER!

Instinctually, he flinched, his eyes snapped open, then fell upon a very concerned-looking Patty, hovering over him.

“Patty…? Why am…?” He murmured, as his disorientation from awakening still had yet to dispel.

“Thank goodness you’re awake.” She sighed, tension leaving her shoulders as she momentarily closed her eyes.

Father Gregor made a slight noise as he stirred, suddenly realizing the hard floor under him, causing pain to ricochet through him from tender patches on his skin. Wait- what!? Where am- oh… Right, he was on the floor of the church. He’d collapsed there the night before after being assailed by that thing … He let out a groan as he braced his hands beneath him and slowly sat up, body aching and burns raging in protest.

“Gave me a scare, old man, what happened?” Patty's eyes flicked over his burns.

“I’m sorry, I…” He trailed off, still getting his wits about him, before an uncanny absence of a weight on his chest made him freeze. He gingerly brought a hand to where his crucifix necklace it would normally lay on him and craned his neck down to look-- sure enough, it wasn’t there. His mind raced, scrabbling through all of his memories of the night before. When I escaped, He realized, it slipped from my hands! That creature has it now!

“Father Gregor?” Patty’s voice was laced with concern. Gregor broke from his thoughts and looked back up to see her leaned towards him slightly, hands hovering vaguely towards him before dropping to her lap upon seeing him respond.

“I have… a lot to explain.” He admitted, reaching for his messenger bag, which had been tossed about haphazardly beside him, then readjusting its strap around his shoulder. He drew in a breath, held it, and set his jaw through the pain of jostling his burns on his arms and ankles as he got to his feet, then let the tension out in a quick sigh. “Come, now.” He said, stepping in the vague direction of his office.

Patty swiftly rose from her kneel to follow. “Alright, but at least let me patch you up.”

“Of course.” He responded nonchalantly as he led her through a door in the back wall of the church’s sanctuary, fighting down any reaction to the pain that bolted out from any slight touch on his burnt skin as he moved.

“And you’d better explain those burns.” She emptily threatened, tone sharp with caring sternness as the two continued through the short, branching hall.

“I will.” He placated, glancing at her with a tired, yet soft expression as his hand gingerly found and turned the handle to the wooden door of his office. 

Though one might assume the room of such a devout man to be austere, Father Gregor’s office was far from it. Bookshelves lined the longer walls of the wide, slightly rectangular room, and there was a little fold-away step-stool in one of the corners. His desk lay at the far end of the room, in front of a wide window lined with pushed-aside curtains and half-drawn blinds. Papers were somewhat-scattered upon its workspace, with small desktop supplies in each corner along with the odd knick-knack or two. 

In the space between the door and the desk, however, was a loose triangle of two cozy two-person chairs and one armchair with a tea table at the center of it. 

Father Gregor sat down with slight huff on one of the larger seats, Patty following suit. She drew her bag around, placed it on her lap, and Gregor began to tell her of what happened the night before as she fished from her bag the basic medical supplies she always carried.

He didn’t pay much attention to anything other than recounting what had happened, except for the odd moments where his burns sent a particularly painful jolt through him as they were being dressed. Other than the occasional command to hold his burnt limbs this way or that so she could properly dress them or uttering a small acknowledging hum, Patty said nothing as he spoke, offering the same attention this as what she’d give to a proper sermon of his.

“Well. That’s concerning.” Patty commented drily when Gregor was done, sarcasm serving to lighten the mood for a moment.

“Indeed.” He nodded, anxiety coiling in his ribs, the incident on his mind. “In all my years, you know as well as I do that nothing has ever been so unyielding to God as this creature was. But,” He drew in a resolved breath, gaze flicking upwards, “I must stay faithful. While I have been-” He glanced down at his burnt hands, eyes lingering on the glimpses of irritated skin near the edges of the bandages,“- quite shaken by such an encounter, I cannot allow my devotion falter; that is what the devil craves.” He found himself slipping into the speech patterns he uses when preaching as he spoke, internally laughing at himself for doing so in the midst of conversation.

A thought crossed his mind, then. “Patty,”

“Yes?” She acknowledged. At this point, she’d finished patching up Gregor’s burns and was now sitting quietly beside him.

“You’d clearly had business here before getting caught up in my current state, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, what was it?”

Patty hesitated for a moment, before responding “It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head a little, “It can wait.”

She then began to tell Gregor about how to care for his burns as they healed. When to apply burn cream, how often to change the bandages, how to clean the burns, signs of infection to watch for, etc., but he found himself unable to fully listen.

His mind was clouded with anxiety, fatigue, and, moreover, what the coming days will look like with that thing in the dark lurking in the shadows.