Faith: The Unholy Trinity Oneshots

𝙂𝙐𝘼𝙍𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇

[WARNINGS: PARANOIA & PANIC (MAY BE MORE; LET ME KNOW)]
[1254 WORDS]
[JOHN WARD & FATHER GARCIA -- FATHER/SON]
[HURT/COMFORT]
[NOTE: "ROGELIO" IS USED AS FATHER GARCIA'S FIRST NAME, AS WE DON'T KNOW IT IN THE GAMES & AIRDORF HASN'T REVEALED IT]

After the Profane Sabbath, there were days where John can't leave the house. Days where he feels paranoid to the point of nausea; days where he stares at the mirror, waiting for a demon to pull him inside or his reflection to move; days where he shuts all the blinds and locks all the doors, afraid that a cult who is gone is after him. Nothing stopped him from having these paranoid spirals.

Well, it was more like no one wanted to stop him. The less people had to see of him around Sterling, the better they felt. Except for one man. Father Rogelio Garcia.

He recently got into the habit of visiting John every weekend or more. He was worried for the younger man -- he barely saw him or heard from him anymore, and it seemed that his visits really helped him.

So, over one weekend in November, Rogelio grabbed his things, and drove over to his friend's home. It didn't take long to get there. He parked behind John's car on the curb, then got out and walked up to the house. He found it odd that the curtains were drawn, as it was three in the afternoon. Still, he approached the house, and knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer. Confused, the older man knocked again, this time also calling into the house.

"John, are you home?" He asked.

He knew it was a silly question -- if he wasn't home, why was his car here? Just as he was about to knock for a third time, the door opened. John didn't open the door more than a crack, looking outside. He seemed surprised to see Rogelio there, finally swinging the door open. The older man was taken aback at his appearance. He didn't seem to be taking care of himself. His eyes had dark bags under them, his hair was disheveled like he just got out of bed, and, most worryingly, he looked skinnier than the last time he saw him.

Before he could manage a single question, John spoke, smiling.

"Father Garcia! It's good to see you again." He said.

Rogelio allowed his worries to be tucked away for a moment, chuckling. The younger man stepped aside, allowing his superior to walk inside and for him to close the door. He took off his coat and hung it on the coat hanger.

"You can call me Rogelio, hijo." He said, "We're friends."

"Right, sorry." John said.

The older man went over to the living room and waited for John to bring coffee for the two of them. When he did, he handed Rogelio a gray mug, while the younger man held a blue mug. That's when Rogelio also noticed that the younger man was wearing the same white long-sleeved shirt and black jeans that he wore the weekend before. He really wasn't taking care of himself. He apparently made his worry known, as John set his mug down and gave a confused look to his superior.

"Fath-- I mean, Rogelio, are you okay?" He asked.

The older man sighed, setting down his mug as well. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at his friend.

"Have you been taking care of yourself, hijo?" He asked, "I could've sworn those are the same clothes you wore, last we spoke."

John looked down at his attire, then back up at Rogelio. "They've been washed. I'm just very comfortable in these."

"Ah, okay." Rogelio says and nods, but he knows there's more to it.

He doesn't know why, but something felt off. Perhaps it was because every window in the room was covered with their curtains, no natural light penetrating the heavy cloth. Perhaps it was the physical state that John was in -- visibly tired, visibly tense, visibly afraid. Maybe even a mix of those things. Nonetheless, Rogelio didn't bring it up. He and John talked, drinking their coffee and enjoying each other's company. It was obvious that John missed his friend -- he was very energetic, like he hadn't talked to anyone during the time between the visits.

Suddenly, however, the younger man stopped. This wasn't a pause where he'd drink more of his coffee or ask for the older man's input. No, this was a pause that allowed some worry to shine through his eyes. Rogelio could immediately see that he was worried about something. Just as quickly as it came, it was covered up, and John stood.

"My apologies, but I need to use the bathroom." He said.

Then, he speed-walked away. The older man was worried, but didn't chase after him. If something was wrong, he'd tell him... in time.

So, he waited. And waited... and waited. Before Rogelio knew it, John was in the bathroom for ten minutes. He set his mug down, standing and walking in the direction that he friend went. He quickly found the bathroom, the door closed and light peeking from underneath. He couldn't hear John, but he knew he was in there.

He gently knocked on the door. "Hijo? You've been in there for ten minutes. Are you okay?" He asked.

No response.

"John?"

More silence. Then, suddenly, there was a panicked shout, glass shattering. Something collided with the wall, then more panicked shouts. Rogelio was quick to open the door.

The first thing he saw was the broken mirror, John's crucifix on the counter. The reflective glass littered the floor and the counter. John sat on the ground, back to the wall and arms hugging himself. One hand was near his throat as he struggled to breathe, pulling at the collar of his shirt. Rogelio quickly helped him stand and leave the bathroom, whispering assuring words in Spanish and English. He couldn't tell if the younger man could hear him, as he stared at his own feet.

Once at the couch, they both sat down. The older man wrapped an arm around John's shoulders, pulling him close. John clung to his friend's shirt, like if he let go he'd be lost. His breathing was still labored, hands shaking and tears falling. Rogelio rubbed his back.

"Hijo, breathe with me." He said.

John gave a small nod. He was listening. Rogelio took a deep breath, and the younger man followed. They both exhaled. They repeated this patterned a few more times, until John could finally breathe.

"That's better, yeah?" The older man asked.

The younger man hummed in agreement. He didn't pull away, so Rogelio didn't. He kept hugging him, rubbing gentle circles into his back, as his friend leaned his head against his chest.

"I'm sorry, Father." He muttered after a few minutes, "There was a... a demon in the mirror. It tried to take me. It was..."

His breathing hitched as he explained, and Rogelio stopped him.

"Breathe, hijo." He said, sternly but gently.

John took a deep breath, then exhaled, shivering.

"There's no need to be sorry. I can tell that you haven't been in the best mental state." The older man said, "Perhaps you would feel better if I stayed with you for a while."

"Maybe." John mumbled, "How long?"

"Probably a few days." Rogelio admitted.

The younger man looked surprised. "Oh. I thought you'd say a couple more hours..."

"If you want me to stay only for a few more hours, then--" the older man was interrupted.

"No! It... it's okay. I appreciate it, Father." John said.

Rogelio chuckled. "All right. Well, I'll need to pick up some of my things for that, then."

"Can... can you stay just a bit longer before you do?" The younger man asked, feeling embarrassed, "I don't want to be alone yet."

The older man pulled his friend closer. "Of course." He said.