TERATO

You'd Call Me Monster Too

//big angst. Mentions of death and suicidal thoughts. Lemon at the end.

The Pastor's Son.
That's what he'd been called his whole life, even now when he was bordering on 40. He had been an upstanding member of the church for as long as he could remember; had been saved, baptized, and even ran the Recovery Ministry every Tuesday night. At a distance, he looked put together. The picture of perfection, and a pillar of the church. Up close, he was positively radiant. His lovely blonde hair as gold as wheat and soft as sunshine, his green eyes as crisp and vibrant as a spring day.
Seeing him was not as easy as looking at him. No, it took true observation to conjure an image of who the man really was.
Gabriel, and rightfully named.

The water on the lake was an inky indigo, and a thin fog rolled across it's expanse. He sat in a boat, bobbing gently from side to side as he looked down at the photograph in his hand, frayed at the edges from years of pensive contemplation. The man in the photo looked back at him, dark locks smoothed back and smile bright. How Gabriel wished those honeyed eyes were present.
He pocketed the photo, his shoulders cramping with the effort it took to hold himself together. He shucked off his shirt, discarding it in the floor of his borrowed vessel and following soon after. His knees rested on the fabric, his head bowed as the pain overtook him. It wore at his consciousness, dark tendrils curling across his periphery as he felt the skin tighten. He felt the warm, thick trickle of his blood slowly glide down his back. Gentle, as if it were the caress of a lover. He suppressed a sob, taking a shuddered breath and leaning over the edge, plunging both hands into the water.
It was lukewarm, much like the blood dripping from his now ragged shoulders. He put his hands together, a semblance of prayer as he closed his eyes. He could feel it leaving him; the ichor staining the waters an ink black. He felt as the feathers fell into the boat behind him, as they rended from him and landed in the water. They were soft and delicate, lazily swirling through the murk as Gabriel wept. His tears landed in the water, as dark as the rest of the lake now. When it was over, he was lighter.

He patted their shoulders. Hugged each one of them. Smiled that smile that said, 'You are redeemed. God has forgiven you your wrongs.'
Each action weighed him down.

"Tell me it will be okay." The widow said, and he did.
"I don't think I can take this much longer." The alcoholic wept, and he assured them of their importance in the divine plan.
"Pray for me, brother." The thief wept, and he took that pain away.

The miracle son.
Gabriel had always had a knack for making others feel better. He had only started feeling the weight of such a task after his sixteenth birthday. Had only realised it was a curse after his family's trip to the beach.

The salty water had felt almost relieving against his skin. He'd gone a bit further than everyone else, and the pain had caught up to him so quickly. The water had blackened around him, as if he'd spilled gallons of ink all around him. He hadn't noticed any of it, too crippled by the pain of his back splitting open.
Too caught up in the feeling of feathers being ripped from his back as if by invisible hands. His ears rang, and he couldn't hear the screams pouring from his mouth above the sound of blood rushing through his ears.
His hands had been the only thing to keep him afloat.
No, not Gabriel's hands. He hadn't been alone then, as much as he often wished he had been.

Nathan was his best friend.
Gabriel forever had the image of that dark haired boy engraved in his mind. His hair had been plastered to his face, his eyes full of panic and his hands slipping against the bloody mess that was Gabriel's back as he tried to keep the blonde afloat. He was looking everywhere; Gabriel's eyes, Gabriel's blood, the water.
He didn't know. Neither of them did.
The pain had faded to a dull ache, and Gabriel had slumped over against Nathan. He heard the beating of his friend's heart through his skin. He'd never wanted to kiss him more than he had wanted to then.
But people on the shore were screaming.
They were rushing out of the water, and a boat was headed towards them.