Here Comes The Son (Ghost Band / Papa Emeritus fic)

When You Cling on to a Dream

"I'll give you your due," Brooks chuckled at what he perceived a ridiculous attempt at a threat. "You're consistent."

Stepping forward and carrying a mug of coffee and a plate upon which lay a simple sandwich, Brooks unlocked and opened the gate to Copia's cell and placed the items on the floor alongside a painted line that, until now, had gone unnoticed. Copia could only assume they had checked the length the chain would allow him to move and hoped that the position meant that the sandwich and coffee were within reach. It would be too cruel if it were only to taunt him.

"Thank you," he said, despite himself.

Brooks eyed him as he left the cell, locking the gate once more, surprised that there seemed to be no sarcasm hiding behind the words.

"I don't get you," Brooks frowned as he regarded Copia with a puzzled expression.
"What don't you get?" Copia asked as he rose, his movements careful yet imprecise while his legs still tingled as they recovered from the numbness of remaining still for so long.
"I don't get you," Brooks snapped emphasising the pronoun and waving his hand dismissively towards Copia.
"If you want me to answer, you're going to have to be more specific," Copia bent to retrieve the mug and plate, raising an eyebrow as he looked briefly at the man on rising to move back once more.
"You know about the death threats, you know we were hired to kidnap you, you know we're professionals, and yet, you're just..." Brooks waved a hand to indicate towards the man sitting on the mattress calmly chewing a bite of what he now knew was a ham sandwich.

Swallowing, Copia raised an amused smile at Brooks' apparent discomfort.

"Say the words," Copia added in a mocking tone.
"You know you're going to die, don't you?" Brooks asked. "I mean, really know? This is someone who hates you. Hates you enough that he's going to kill you just because he wants to."

Taking a sip from the mug and returning what remained of the sandwich to the plate, Copia raised his eyes to meet Brooks'.

"You sound more concerned than I do," he observed, tipping his head slightly, seemingly confused.
"That's my point!" Brooks snapped at his calm attitude; it felt so wrong to him.
"Ah!" Copia laughed at the realisation. "Well, maybe it's because I know where I'm going?" He replied. "Do you?"

Brooks took a deep sigh and threw his head back in what he thought was realisation.

"Oh, I knew it! Under all this, you're actually religious?" He pointed with a dramatic stab in the air with his finger, convinced he'd worked it out.

Despite his circumstances Copia let out a loud laugh and allowed it to dissolve into a light chuckle, enjoying the indignant expression on Brooks' face as he openly laughed at him.

"You really don't listen, do you?" He asked with surprise hitching his tone up a notch.
"Oh, come on, the whole satanic schtick? For the fans, yeah, I get it, but you can't possibly think some goat-faced horned devil's real or he's going to save you?"

Copia rose without a moment's hesitation, leaping to his feet and stepping closer to the barred gate with a furious expression fixed on his face.

"Stop!" He yelled, almost growling with wrath, pointing a quickly and precisely articulated leather gloved finger in accusation. "I'm tired of having to explain myself to you! You can mock me all you want for all I care but whatever you think, I am Satan's representative on earth and you will not mock Him!"

The sudden and unexpected rage in Copia's eyes took Brooks by surprise and the man found himself almost stammering in response. Above him, at the top of the long staircase, Brooks heard the door to the crypt opening to reveal a second man that Copia was unable to see.