Post-canon PSL

[buenpastor]

[ it's been over a year since the rances, months now since the vatican officially sanctioned tomas as an exorcist, twelve days since they— because it's they, even if marcus isn't officially working for the church. twelve days since bennett sent them to vienna, to see to a young man named jakob who'd been hearing voices.

marcus had warned tomas about the dangers of complacency, and tomas understood why now; they'd done two exorcisms since casey, and they'd both been simple in comparison. the demons hadn't taken tomas seriously.

this recent one had. there's a learning curve to becoming a good exorcist, or so marcus kept saying, and he'd let tomas fight the demon up until it became a danger to the host, then he'd stepped in.

god likes it better when they work together; the words flow more easily, their voices join in as one. tomas knows he can be strong on his own. with marcus he feels unbeatable.

they have a room in jakob's house, it's a single bed and a bathroom that have seen very little use since their arrival. when jakob's eyes clear up and his voice is his own again, after niceties are exchanged; thank yous, a doctor is called, the family reassured. tomas and marcus go to that little room and close the door behind them.

once they call bennett he'll have them on a plane outside the country within hours, but it's late and they can afford a few hours to take a breather. ]

Comments

[missio]

[ as soon as the door shuts marcus falls easily in step in front of tomas, like clockwork, fingertips ghosting over his jaw to get a better look at the swelling bruise in the light. ]

Are you alright?

[ it’s the first thing he asks immediately afterwards, and unlike when most people in the western world ask the same question there’s nothing perfunctory about it. his other hand skitters over the outside of tomas’ clothes where he suspects there might be injuries-- little jakob had a soft touch normally, but the thing that had taken residence inside him was all too happy to throw people around with startling ease; he knows tomas must be hurt because every bang on the wall had been a hard lurch in marcus’ chest while he waited outside, unpleasant as a heart attack. marcus himself has seen far worse, so he’s heedless for now of the slight sprain in his shoulder, the scratches on his arms from where he’d forcibly had to hold the boy as he clawed at marcus in a rage.

when marcus worked alone the aftermath of every successful exorcism was always an adrenaline comedown, his civility threadbare as he addressed the victim’s friends and family while inside he was exhausted, elated, shaken. as it turns out, doing it with the aid of a partner is no different, and now it’s all muddled up with the soft insidious fear he feels for tomas whenever he leaves him alone in those rooms, an anxiety that takes time to unclench and untangle, a gordian knot that only ends up cut with the passage of days. his emotions always feel like they’re going to claw their way out of him, and it’s only with the practice of long years that as he touches tomas in the doorframe he mostly seems sedate. ]

[buenpastor]

Just scratches.

[ anything that will heal on its own is a scratch. his shoulder and sides ache, but there had been nothing but walls for the demon to throw him against, so he doesn't think anything is broken. ]

Are you?

[ he asks every time too, even though as per their routine, marcus' own injuries aren't addressed until he's satisfied tomas' aren't serious. ]

[missio]

Yeah. Got off easy today.

[ there’s a smile in his voice, though it’s a little shaky. really, no satisfaction like a job well done.

his hand curves up, over the unhurt side of tomas’ face. ]

Come on. Take a minute.

[ to relax, he means. he’s going to gather his energy reserves and pack their bags--bennett’s bound to send their boarding information soon, and all signs point to an early departure. ]

[missio]

[ the meeting was closer to marcus' expectations than tomas': the diocese is worried about spurts of demonic activity in the united kingdom, incidents trending upward over the years in quantity. they want to know about how marcus was taught, and how he taught tomas. they also have a local case, of course. not to waste their time.

marcus isn't impressed by the whole affair, but okay. they're being put up in a nice hotel while the diocese makes preparations to confer with them further. the first thing marcus does, as promised, is take a nap. ]

[buenpastor]

[ tomas doesn't want any more dreams like the one he had on the plane, but he still joins marcus and sits against the headboard to go over the case files; the information is usually scarce and never very helpful, but tomas likes to at least know people's names before going into their house. he's found it helps build trust more easily.

when he's done, he sets the files on the bedside table and lies down properly. the bed is bigger than what they usually get, but he's right next to marcus anyway. ]

[missio]

[ marcus doesn't set an alarm. he's just spread out beneath the covers in maybe a heavier sleep than he's had in awhile. ]

everything is going just fine

[buenpastor]

[ william is seventeen. a quiet boy, middle child, his older sister is away for university, his younger sister is twelve and she was sent away with relatives— no one wanted to risk her being around her brother.

his mother was a atheist until her son had spoken to her using her grandfather's voice.

the boy's room has already been prepared by the time tomas and marcus arrive. there's a routine tomas has already grow used to, a brief talk with the parents about what's happening, why it's happening, what to expect.

the first day is easy, the demon snarls, tries to bait him; with jessica, with his grandmother, with maria walters. tomas has made his peace with all of that and unlike marcus, he doesn't care to bait the demon back, so it turns quiet, thoughtful, a snake waiting for the right time to strike.

it does halfway through the second day.

"does he know about the dream?" it asks grinning, throwing a sly look in marcus' direction. tomas feels his throat close, he sees the demon smirk, pleased.

'he will shortly.' tomas thinks. he breathes in and goes back to praying. ]

[missio]

[ for the most part marcus is happy to let tomas take point now, though he hasn’t quite graduated to the level that he’d leave him unattended. they’ve been at it for hours already. marcus has relit the votive candles a few times, refastened the loose bindings that keep william’s body out of striking range, supplied water; he’s seated in the corner now, not quite suited up for the work in a button-down and jeans. he has the rosary he inherited from mother bernadette wrapped around his hand in waiting, but for the most part he’s watching, meditative. yesterday had been a promising start, but marcus isn’t one to let his guard down.

it’s another promising day, with glimpses of william still clawing to the fore of the body before they get shuttered out. marcus can practically see him, sense him, though, and that’s what keeps him hopeful--

does he know about the dream, it asks, its eyes meeting marcus’ and it takes effort for marcus not to bark at it to shut its mouth. but then he notices that tomas pauses, something flexing in his shoulders as if the demon had been able to lash out at him, and marcus sits up a little bit as well with a sense of mounting readiness.

the first three cases had all been cut and dry. and it takes a powerful beast, one with a lifespan of decades such as what angela rance had, to dig up marcus’ inner demons--but tomas’ own are all still relatively new ground. this is what marcus has been waiting for, since pazuzu--the one that might actually be able to pull a winning lotto ticket from tomas’ mind. something that could go badly. ]

[buenpastor]

[ "he doesn't." the demon says. "he wouldn't be here if he did." tomas knows the demon is lying, parroting his own fears back to him. but it still breaks his concentration, makes it hard to focus on the words.
"such a naughty boy." the demon says. tomas stops but instead of looking at the demon he turns to marcus. ]

A moment? We're due for a break anyway.

Two Priests Walk Into a Bar.

[buenpastor]

[ or several bars, one after the other. tomas has had enough to drink to shut off the parts of his brain that worry too much, they haven't found a dance club nor gotten into a bar fight yet, but tomas is holding out hope. ]

We should find an open mic, those are always fun.

[ tomas looks lighter than he has in days, he's on a happy buzz, sober enough to be able to walk straight, drunk enough to not worry much about how close he's standing to marcus, or how much he's touching him, or how many people turn to look at them whenever they enter a new place. ]

[missio]

[ as it turns out, tomas cutting loose semi-regularly is good for him, to no one’s surprise. to marcus’ mild surprise, it’s also good for the tension that stretches light and near-invisible between them these days, airy and difficult to place as a spider web: tomas grabs his arm, stumbles against his shoulder, laughs like a bloody angel choir too close to his ear. some part of marcus, beneath the pleasant warm haze of five beers and a tequila, thinks he should’ve been done messing about with people who mysteriously get less straight when they’re drunk possibly thirty years ago. the rest of him is mostly just glad tomas is feeling better.

and he really is having a good time. they saw buckingham palace, big ben. took a tour bus, sarcastically and then not. christmas market tomorrow. tonight, though, is the promised pub crawl, and they’re five bars deep and still energetic. ]

You should spring a mass on everyone who’d be waiting on you to pull out a guitar.

Separation Anxiety Begins

[buenpastor]

[ it's been a very nice couple of days with very gradual escalation of make-outs. (still mostly fully-clothed, still with marcus taking the lead) tomas is now about 50% less likely to feel like he's having a panic attack halfway through, which is progress way faster than either of them expected.

they're supposed to be flying to rome today, bennett handles flight reservations and marcus is the one with the phone so tomas doesn't know what time their flight is.

he doesn't care much either, it's early morning and he's waking up wrapped up in marcus and he wouldn't mind at all if they had to stay here for a month longer. ]

[missio]

[ they’re leaving london today, even though it’s the first day since they’ve arrived that the skies are clear and blue. tomas thinks they’re going to rome together on business--a case, maybe, and also a check-in on tomas’ progress with the diocese before they head back to chicago for a quick christmas sabbatical. as it turns out, tomas thinks a lot of nice things that aren’t necessarily true.

marcus has been loathe to break the illusion, though, which is why there’s an odd encroaching dread in his chest as he feels tomas stir against him. he tries to shelve it. he’s never had a problem with difficult conversations, and he’s not sure why he’s chosen now of all times to start.

he reaches up, running his fingers tenderly through tomas’ hair. ]

Morning.

Separation Anxiety Continues

[buenpastor]

[ tomas gets an upgrade as usual, which he gives out to a teacher herding about a dozen teenagers. the man looks more tired than tomas feels, so he figures he deserves it.

it also gives him something to do, as he assures the man he will personally make sure all the children put on a seatbelt and behave during the flight. he spends half the flight talking to them, they're from a private school, spent two weeks in england going to field trips and museums. by the time the kids pass out, tomas knows all of their names.

he's not planning to call olivia today, but as he fails to fall asleep he decides maybe he could use family right now. he ends up calling on the cab back to his apartment, shortly after texting marcus he landed safely.

they meet up for dinner at tomas' apartment, they get pizza. tomas almost cries when he sees luis, it feels like he's a foot taller. olivia asks about marcus, and she knows there's something wrong at tomas' face. but she doesn't ask just then, instead they have a quiet night catching up, with tomas being as honest as he can without actually bringing up demonic possession.

he calls marcus the morning as promised, fully intending to keep it short. it seems time has only recharged his anger. ]

[missio]

[ marcus is already in frascati by the time it’s morning in chicago. he’d made a point to skip lunch with bennett’s acquaintances, heading instead back to the small suite that he occupies by himself, with its single bed and small windows.

he’s lying down flat on his back when the call comes. he picks up on the first audible ring. ]

Buongiorno.

[missio]

[ the day before yesterday the call had ended badly; yesterday the call was clipped, terse, are you alright and then the phone cutting too readily into silence. in the meantime marcus and bennett have been retracing the steps of local occultist activity through the side streets and cobblestones of frascati, up its garden terraces and into breakfast meetings outside of local vineyards.

but marcus makes it a point to break away at a certain time of day, and this time it’s marcus calling twelve minutes to two. ]

[buenpastor]

[ tomas hasn't seen much sleep in chicago, whenever he manages to he wakes up a couple of hours later, covered in sweat despite the cold.

he has electricity and gas again though, which means he's at least not in any immediate risk of catching pneumonia. he's also awake when the phone rings, tomas has been fastidious about the timing of the calls, seven am on the dot. ]

You're early. Everything okay?

[ he sounds tired. every time they call tomas grows more convinced he should be in rome doing whatever marcus is doing. ]

[missio]

[ it’s been twelve days. the investigation into occult-themed murders in frascati is a closed case, a group exorcism done and over with, forcibly and unhappily performed in a wine cellar. there were arrests. there was also a lot of flying glass.

with a few layovers it’s about thirteen hours from rome to chicago, which is great, because it means marcus can still make their morning phone call (seven am central time, ends in an argument about pizza, because people who live in chicago are fanatic about the monstrosity that is deep dish but marcus is in italy so there, and also because they can’t take a deep breath without fighting right now) and board a plane almost immediately after. he spends most of the flight asleep, which he knows is going to screw up his sleeping schedule, but on the other hand it helps him ignore the ache in his bones and the sting of the cuts peppering his arms.

he takes the train from o’hare, a bus to lawndale. he picks the lock to tomas’ apartment and steals inside, shutting and locking the door behind him.

when tomas comes home there’s a song wafting through the flat (because nothing, oh nothing, takes the place of you), a hat and black coat on the coatrack. there’s a suitcase by the sofa, and a lump on the sofa, suspiciously man-shaped under a blanket pile. yes he is asleep don’t be rude ]

[buenpastor]

[ it hasn't been a fun twelve days, when tomas isn't left unhappy and regretful immediately after a phone call, he gets there a few minutes later. he keeps telling himself he needs a thicker skin.

he spends his mornings working out and his afternoons volunteering. saint bridget's doesn't need his help, and st. anthony's isn't working as a church anymore but after a few letters and some insistence, it's remained open as a soup kitchen, that's where he goes. he cooks and sets up pots and washes up afterwards. he still knows most of the volunteers and they're still fond of him despite his long absence.

they keep asking him to stay and at times, tomas wishes he could. it was a much simpler life, the one he had before the rances, before marcus. he's still sleeping poorly, every time his phone rings outside their schedule phone call, his first irrational thought is that bennett is calling to tell him marcus is gone— dead, after some mishap doing something he shouldn't have been doing.

when he gets home to his door open and music playing, he thinks he's dreaming. because he dreams about this too, marcus in his apartment, making himself at home. now you got your knickers in a twist 'cause I didn't bring you flowers?

he touches the hat on the coatrack, trying to decide if it's a dream or not. it doesn't feel like one, the only dreams he's had that feel this real were the first ones he'd had of marcus. he frowns at it, then approaches the lump on his couch.

and kicks the couch. ]

[buenpastor]

[ it's a lovely afternoon, tomas is preparing dinner and olivia and luis should be arriving any moment now.

tomas has been drinking wine while cooking, he's nervous and he figure it'll be easier to handle the evening like this. ]

[missio]

[ marcus is helping! mostly. he's helped with the prep and will sometimes feel tomas up in passing. marcus keane: very helpful.

since they're almost done, though, marcus has given up on groping and is reading on the sofa #yolo ]

Christmas!

[buenpastor]

[ they're spending the night at olivia's, it's a tradition, tomas always spends christmas eve there so he's around when luis gets his presents. it's been officially christmas for about half an hour, luis had fallen asleep earlier and olivia had just said good night— she'd left tomas and marcus the big bedroom, and had asked marcus in private to keep it quiet, which was implied permission to do whatever they want, really.

tomas is blissfully unaware of how down olivia is with him having a sex life, and he has absolutely no intention to get inappropriate in his sister's home. what tomas has are presents!! for marcus!! several of them. he'd sneaked them into the bedroom earlier so as soon as marcus stepped in he'd find himself face to face with a small pile of wrapped boxes. ]

[missio]

[ when olivia had told him to keep it quiet marcus had just fixed her with a look and stared her down until she shut the guest bedroom door behind her. it seems patently obvious to him he’s hardly going to get frisky with a young boy in the house--tomas would never allow it, good samaritan that he was, and anyway, he doesn’t need permission to have sex, thank you very much.

he’d shaken his head and moved to finish tidying up after dinner, then stepped into the bedroom, already starting to unbutton his shirt. he pauses at the sight of the box pile, hands still drifting at his own throat. ]

What’s all this, now?

[missio]

[ the day after christmas is when they get the call that marcus has been halfway dreading, halfway expecting. it’s a forward from mother bernadette’s old parish, which has been taken over by her acolytes: they’ve heard father tomas has returned, just in time to solicit his assistance. possessions in chicago have eased up since the incident at the parade two years ago, rates in the area having returned to some degree of normalcy, but for some reason on christmas eve this one young woman’s case has proven particularly disastrous.

marcus is rightfully braced for the worst when he hears where they need to go. the church stirs within him an unsettling nostalgia: it’s the place where some of his most freshly disturbing memories still reside. he’s going to visit the graves of bernadette and the sisters later. for now, though, they’ve got the job.

they’re still in tomas’ car, somber, buildings whizzing by. it’s another fifteen minutes to the cathedral. marcus is looking out the window, his expression focused and somber at once. ]

[buenpastor]

[ tomas has been dreading this on some level since he first kissed marcus. he hadn't had trouble ignoring it, wrapped up as he's been in marcus, in a relationship with marcus, in getting over his fear and inexperienced.

but he'd been thinking about it more and more since marcus' return, what would happen when he had to face another demon? what would it say? so much of their success relies on emotional stability, tomas is afraid an innocent will be hurt because of him.

it occurs to him he should have brought these fears up earlier. days, weeks earlier. he takes a deep breath and turns to marcus. ]

The sisters will be scandalized.