Chapter Text
Night time on Crockett Island was quiet…too quiet.
For the location in particular Monsignor Pruitt was standing, slightly hunched in his 6’4’’ form, there was a chill to what he was beholding outside his rectory.
St. Patrick’s loomed next to a small century-old graveyard with nearly dead trees stalking from behind.
Looking more sinister and hellish than a calm and welcoming house of his god, as if some spirits were watching vigilantly over the area with strict intent.
The priest could not sleep, for he had much on his mind. He was counting the days until he would reveal his true self to his beloved flock. Living as another man, younger, more charismatic, seemed to bring a new light in the community and he had much on his mind on how to help anyone in particular.
Whether it was Erin Greene with her baby on the way,
Leeza Scarborough, too young and pure to be wheeling around town after the accident
Joe Collie, the town drunk who caused said suffering, though likely dealing with demons of his own
Riley Flynn, his former altar boy who may or may not have lost his faith after killing a girl in a drunk driving
(F/N) (L/N), though in a different state of grace per her own words, likely in need of a friend
Or…Mildred and Sarah Gunning, his family. He knew Millie had no desire to be back together, but he still wanted to help.
He told her only a certain extent of his intentions, but he somehow didn’t stop spiking any of the communion with the blood of the angel. Out of habit, most likely. He did miss her, what they once were, but…he believed he was doing his lord’s work by healing this town. And slowly, but surely, this island will behold that God is still with them.
As his thoughts processed, he began to whisper a prayer, while placing a hand on his abdomen: “Angel of God, my guardian dear…To whom God's love commits me here…Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide...”
A swoop was then heard from a short distance. A tall, bald, and winged figure with eyes glowing in gold like halos of saints and angels in older church paintings stood before him.
Though grotesque and terrifying in appearance, Paul was not afraid like the first time he encountered God’s messenger. His stomach still dropped. It would never be NOT nerve-wrecking, either way, to be in presence of anyone divine.
Coffee-dark eyes lit up in the angel’s company as he uttered “Amen.” Before retrieving a cruet from his kitchen.
When returning outside, he knelt in reverence as the angel outstretched his forearm, pouring its blood inside the glass bottle often used in the sacrament. This should hold the church over for until Lent. The Angel then fed him a small amount of the blood, before dispersing for the night. The outdoors were quiet and dreaded once again, with the lack of this being. Nonetheless, Father Paul retreated back inside, for he must rest in preparation for Mass.
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That next morning was cool and crisp. Most of the small populated town was active in its own way, continuing its day with whatever work and school had to be fulfilled, now that Mass has ended.
Daily Mass was hardly full, with the mere exception of himself, Beverly Keane, Annie Flynn, Leeza, and the organ player. He’d be lucky to see an extra face or two every few days in between.
Nonetheless, he was in a decently good mood that day. As he walked through the graveled streets, he greeted whoever was nearby with a friendly smile.
One group of women in particular were chatting among themselves after such brief interaction.
“How long is Y/m/n’s daughter going to be staying?”
“I don’t know, she said that y/n being here was temporary until she gets back on her feet. I saw her going out to look for work on my way to Mass today.”
“Good for her, I suppose. There’s not much in town, unless someone shows her the ropes on how to fish.”
“That, or Bev’s been looking for an extra teacher to take care of the younger students.”
“Oh really. I mean, she seems like a very nice girl, but maybe…”
Their voices got drowned out by the distance as they kept walking their own way, but Father Paul couldn’t help but have a gut feeling that they were a little afraid of the newcomer.
He didn’t know that much about you, at the moment, with the very exception of the brief description from your mother and your unusual appearance, which would definitely and likely cause concern amongst the devout Catholic population. He knew he was a little intimidated himself, at first, though from the brief after Mass interactions, he didn’t think you were at least a bad person.
He felt bad for not interrupting the gossip to remind them how God loves outcasts just the same.
Moments later, he then beholds you at the corner of the eye. Your direction seemed to be going towards the general store, which reminded him that he was in need of some items of nourishment himself.
Inside the building, he saw you once again with a hand cart tucked underneath a leather jacket. Over the time he has seen you around town, he’s noticed how much you’ve stood out from the other townspeople. He wasn’t sure how much intention was there to do so, but who was he to judge? Not to mention that you weren’t a native here.
Either way, he still caught a glimpse of you conversing with the sheriff.
There was your usual shy, yet relaxed demeanor in your words, though you seemed a little more comfortable with Hasan than the brief interactions with him. It didn’t offend him though.
Nonetheless, he went on with his business, giving you your space.
Just then, you both crossed paths, for the beer fridge was right across from some snacks he was thinking about getting. (He might as well enjoy them now since Lent would catch up to him before he’d know it, but boy, did he miss certain foods that he wasn’t able to eat before de-aging!)
You were studying the shelves diligently. The General Store didn’t have a wide array of beer, just some more general brands, from what he has observed.
Suddenly, you reached on your tippy toes to retrieve the cheapest six pack. This was his chance to speak to you without sounding weird.
“Let me help you with that!” he offered, a small perk of being tall.
You turned around, appearing startled by the voice from behind. “Oh shit, no, it’s fine! I got it!” The steel toes of your boots were proper support as you fulfilled your insistence. You then looked down and stared at the beer, muttering to yourself over whether or not you should get it.
The priest then spoke. “Decision making?”
You sighed and nodded before trying to put the six pack back on the shelf. This time, Father Paul was able to help.
“Thanks,” you then said.
“No worries. How are you, today, miss y/n?”
You looked up at him with a slight tint of pink on your cheeks, which somehow caused him to feel something burn on the same spots on his own face.
“Uh…I’m ok, I guess. Just running an errand for my mom”
“Of course…Give her my best!” he tried to sound friendly, though despite talking in a friendly and soothing manner, he suspected some slight croaks. Paul shook off that little mishap, trying not to think much of it or about why he ended up like that.
“W-will I see you both at Mass on Sunday?”
You left eye twitched. “I mean…that’s part of the deal of living with her...” You clearly didn’t look comfortable over the question.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to inquire. I suppose I didn’t know what else to bring up.” He chuckled nervously.
“Don’t sweat it.” You then reply. Still being older at heart, he wasn’t too familiar with such terms, but from the tone of your voice, Father Paul was under the impression that you were telling him not to worry. “You’re just doing your job?”
He nods with a smile and speaks to you in a soothing manner once more, “I suppose that’s fair. The doors are open either way.”
You scratch the back of your neck, once again revealing the sinister goat head adorning your ear lobe. The necklace with a mysterious looking symbol also seemed to complement your exterior appearance, in which you gently squeezed like how some devotees would do with their crucifixes.
“Guess I’ll see you there, either way, Padre.” It seems that your snark comes out more when your mother was absent.
Paul chuckles once again. “Of course, you have a good day.” For some reason, the clergyman found your interaction a little endearing. How you were authentically trying to be yourself in this little Catholic town.
It would be one of a fair number of times you both would cross paths out of church.