Faith: The Unholy Trinity Oneshots

𝙁𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙄𝙏, 𝙅𝙊𝙃𝙉

[WARNINGS: BLOOD, VIOLENCE, & BODY HORROR]
[2365 WORDS]
[JOHN WARD & FATHER GARCIA -- FATHER/SON]
[HURT/COMFORT]

October 31st, 1988. Exactly one year after the Profane Sabbath, and exactly one year that Father Garcia and John Ward had been working together. They had developed a sort-of kin-like relationship because of their closeness (quite literally, as John refused to return to his home because of the cultists). They had investigated case after case of demonic possession, and saved victims all around Connecticut. However, their mission would have to be halted because of one hiccup.

It started as a normal autumn day -- falling leaves of every color, Halloween decor, and pumpkin-spice -- where Father Garcia was driving home from the grocery store. John left earlier in the day to go back to the decaying Martin household.

"For closure." He said when the older man asked, "I need to see it; to know that everything's truly over."

Father Garcia wanted to tell him not to go, and that he was just torturing himself at this point, but he left it. He simply told John to be careful, and he left.

He pulled up to the driveway of his home, seeing John's car there as well, trunk facing the house. He must've come back early. Father Garcia got out of his car, going over to the back seat and grabbing the bags, then started up towards the front door. He paused next to his friend's car and almost dropped his bags. There was a trial of blood, leading from the trunk, to the front door. Father Garcia immediately suspected the worst (as anyone would upon seeing blood). He slowly walked up to the door, opened it, and then stopped.

Inside the house, all of the lights were off. More blood ran from the door and to the stairs. Demonic symbols and Latin words were scrawled all over the walls in the blood as well. Father Garcia dropped the grocery bags in favor of pulling out his crucifix, slowly following the blood trial. He was afraid -- what would he find? John, or perhaps someone else, mangled and bloodied, with a demon standing over them? He pushed his fears aside and kept going.

Father Garcia reached the top of the stairs. The trial led into the guest bedroom -- John's room. He took a deep breath, then marched down the hall. He looked inside the room, and was so shocked that he almost dropped his crucifix.

All of the furniture by the opposite wall had been pushed away. The formerly bare white wall was now covered with demonic ramblings and symbols, an upside-down cross with a pentagram over it being the largest. Kneeling before the unholy symbols was John. He wore a white V-neck long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, jacket discarded behind him, hands and the legs of his jeans drenched in blood. His head was bowed, and he muttered nonsense.

Father Garcia was mortified.

"Hijo..." He mumbled, "what have you done?"

John slowly turned to face his superior. He also had a look of pure terror, the blood on his face making it all the more terrifying. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he wasn't wracked with sobs.

"F-Father Garcia... It wasn't me." John said, "It wasn't... It... the..."

His talking suddenly turned to giggles, then to uncontrollable laughter. The younger man fully faced the other man, face distorting -- jagged teeth grew out of his face in odd places, his cheeks split open in favor of providing for a larger mouth, filled with more sharp fangs. His right eye was replaced by a gaping red hole, teeth poking out and blood running down his face. His other eye became glazed over in milky-white, and a long, pointed red tongue jutted out of the widened mouth.

Father Garcia finally understood. John had been possessed by a demon.

"HE IS MINE, PRIEST!" John shrieked, voice distorted.