Trials of Fatherhood | Sal Fisher x Travis Phelps

Chapter One - Old Friends, New Beginnings

Like winged insects to orange flame and to the light of home alike,
As sunlight paints the horizon golden,
With the same continuance of the moon itself to its tides,
Despite time and distance, I see you.

The ending of it all brought about strange emotions.

Sal had wanted the cult's destruction to feel cathartic, like finally letting out a breath. He'd hoped that it would bring him peace, or, at the very least, an understanding that everything would finally be okay.

Instead, he's tired — winded. With everything at a standstill, he still feels kinetic, as though he'd never stopped causing destruction with every note that erupted from his modified guitar, cutting through the darkness in a frenzy of adrenaline.

He still feels as though he's standing outside the apartment building and watching the police cars approach, their red and blue lights blurry in the rain.  The handle of the knife is still pressed into the flesh of his guilty hand.

He'd been able to take physical form again. He supposes that he should be happy, but looking down at his tattered prison jumpsuit, he's only met with ugly memories. How did he get here?

Beside him, Ashley pants with fatigue. There's blood smeared across her cheek; whether it actually belongs to her is unknown to Sal. Her hair is wind-blown and in knots. Her eyes, normally green, are almost yellow in the warm light of the setting sun.

"We did it," she sighs into the air. Her chest rises and falls. She's exhausted too. The sky smells of smoke, of burned flesh and parchment, and of blood. It's nauseating to think that human beings went down in the explosion, cultists or otherwise. It's worse to think that their blood was on his hands.

Sal swallows hard, "We did," he murmurs, but there's no excitement or relief in his voice. He thinks of all he's lost, his friends and family, his own life, for a period of time. Who knew being the chosen one would cost such immense tragedy?

Todd, with his ginger head of hair laid down in the dry grass, coughs and raises his nose to the smoke clouding the air. He hasn't said a word since Larry's disappearance.

"Where's Neil?" He rouses, his voice low and scratchy. His bloodshot eyes soften. His brow twitches.

Sal and Ashley make sharp eye contact, a concerned, wordless exchange. Was it even possible that Maple and Neil had made it?

"There may be other survivors," Ash says, brushing the dirt off of her bloodied knees as she stands. Her legs are wobbly with fatigue. She reaches down to hold Todd's hand as he lays motionless upon the ground. "We'll find him," she offers a quiet, empty promise, squeezing his freckled hand, "Will you be okay here on your own?"

Todd responds with a subtle movement of his head that looks almost like a nod. His eyes close as Ashley lays his hand back down upon his chest. "Neil," he mumbles hoarsely. He doesn't look well, green in the face and thinner than Sal's ever seen him. His beard is overgrown and tangled, his lips chalky and dry.

Sally Face stares into the distance. The burnt, collapsed rubble that remains of the Phelps Ministry is the source of years upon years of his misery and suffering. Looking at it almost makes him shiver. He tears his eyes away from the sorry sight and focuses his attention on Todd. Ashley staggers a little closer to him, dragging a hand through her dirty, blunt hair.

"Is it really alright to leave him here?" Sal asks, his voice low and gritty.

In her gaze, he finds a certain softness, a dull glimmering that makes him think she has the same doubts he does.