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“P..a a a ...”
He averted his eyes towards the surroundings, trying not to look the demon in the eyes.
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“..P A A P A A....!” The demon spoke out, gripping the ground tightly as it tried to move towards the man. Managing to do so, the demon, who is now a feet away, gripped the man's leg, who didn't flinch or move an inch.
“..P A P A A..?” The demon asked, looking up and making eye contact with the man who stared back in slight melancholy.
The man lowered himself slowly, bending his knees to do so. “..(___).” The man uttered the demon's name softly.
Unknowingly, a teardrop slithers down the man's face as he brought both of his hands to hold the demon's face gently.
“Mi hijo, losiento.” The man muttered ever so quietly, as the demon began to shed tears itself.
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“P A A P A A A . . . S A A A D . .” The demon hissed, the pain in it's eyes so clear to the man.
“I G N O S C E . . . ” The demon wept loudly, holding one of Father Garcia's hands and circling it's around his. His grip was tight, desperate, and pleading.
Father Garcia choked on his silent sob. He wanted to deny it, He does, but deep down, he knows he couldn't do anything.
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“C R Y . . . D O N ' T . . ” The Demon said as he started to thrash harshly.
The older man shut his eyes and hugged his son close to his chest, who started to scream in pain.
Father Garcia only pursed his eyes shut more, as he mumbled, the cross around his neck growing darker. “..En nomine patri et fili et spiritu sancti..”
After a short moment of time, the child no longer thrashed, making the older man hug his cold body closer.
No words were able to come out from his mouth, he couldn't even call out for his son's name one last time.
———— Timeskip; 2 days. ————
He stared down at the grave, his hand gripping the favorite toy of his son.
He bent down and sat in front of it, taking out a cigarette and attempting to light it up, only for a strong gist of wind knock the cancer stick out of his lips.
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His eyes widened in shock for a moment, before it slowly softened as he chuckled.
He glanced at the cigarette on the grass before averting his eyes towards the tombstone, stuffing his lighter back into his pocket.
“Sorry, niño, You know I only do it when I'm stressed.” Father Garcia spoke, scratching the back of his head as he placed his son's favorite toy on the stone.
