Well, here's the second chapter. The lengths may vary, so this one is a bit shorter. The story has taken a life of its own by now and decided to take up permanent residence in my head. I cannot guarantee where this will end up, so join me for the ride :D

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The same day the ferry brought two silent men out of the island and towards an unknown future. Jonathan seemed to plan something and Marcus was still a bit grumpy, so the ride ended up being very uncommunicative and equally uneventful. They did go to the shopping district that same day, the agent bought himself new boots and bullied Marcus into picking up three warm sweaters, some new socks and a fur lined jacket.

Next stop was the car. Archer sold his fairly decent Volvo sedan without any visible regrets and Marcus' anger was slowly dissipating into disbelief and borderline admiration. It was shocking and slightly unnerving to watch someone methodically deconstruct their life without batting an eye.

"You sure you want to sell it? It's your car after all... Might just rent a parking spot..."

"It's just a car, Marcus. We change shitload of them over our lives and I really don't intend to come all the way back here just to pick up my car. I'll get a new one back home."

"Your call." the priest relented, because it really was the other man's money, so - his decision. What came as a surprise, however, was Jonathan's request to help him pick their new car. 'We're both going to use it after all' the agent had said simply and asked what Marcus may want to be there. After a moment of consideration the exorcist decided he cannot go without a working heater and enough leg room. It earned him a low chuckle.

"Do you intend to live in it?" Archer asked shaking his head in disbelief. He wrote down the two conditions anyway.

"Just might. Never know when it'll come in handy." Marcus grumbled but still felt his own lips tug up at the corners. No matter how bad the situation, it felt slightly better to have someone to bicker with. Someone to walk beside him with the same goal in mind. When had he become so accustomed to company?

Eventually they picked a remarkably unassuming ten years old grey Subaru hatchback. Four wheeler. It was Jonathan's only condition.

That was when the problems began.
Two relative strangers trapped in a small, confined space for long periods of time are not exactly the most pleasant of circumstances. Marcus managed to travel with Tomas because they were already a unit when they left...and Tomas was by far more talkative. Sitting in the warm car and watching the roadside slide past them Marcus remembered doing the same with Tomas. Just sitting in the car, listening to the younger man complain about too loud music, tell silly stories about his family and funny happenings at his former parish on better days. On worse days they just sat in silence or prayed together. The thoughts clenched his heart in an iron fist, forcing his eyes to burn.

They were moving towards Alaska in breakneck speed already, but somehow it still seemed too slow for the former priest.

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After twenty hours of nonstop driving both men were exhausted and the roads were getting slippery, so they decided to stop. Roadside motel had barely ten small rooms and they were lucky to get the last one with two beds. Unfortunately that was the only good thing about the room – otherwise it was ugly, cold and smelled of disinfectant floor wash.

Jonathan went to shower first and Marcus made himself comfortable on the bed with his back to the headboard and a small bible in hand. He started to sketch in it with no real goal in mind.

"I'm no expert, but that looks like you're desecrating a bible..." said a voice to his left. Marcus didn't even hear the other man come in and now snapped his head up instantly but instead of reaching his face, the priest's gaze got stuck at shoulder level. Archer was naked from the waist up and a large patch of mauled scar tissue covered his right shoulder, extending all the way into chest area. Marcus froze and Jonathan instantly moved away to dig in his suitcase for a t-shirt. Dragging it over his head the agent turned back:

"Sorry about that. It's been a long while since I shared personal space with another human being...so I sort of forgot. It won't happen again."

"Don't bother on my account." Marcus tried to sound light hearted "I have more scars on this old wreck of a body then I'd care to count."

The agent smiled a little, but still proceeded to get dressed, more likely because of the cold. Marcus fidgeted on the bed. After years and years of trying to see through people by looking at their possessions, actions and simplest of words he just couldn't stop himself from asking:

"What did that?...if you don't mind me asking? I've seen nothing like it before..." the exorcist trailed off when his companion froze mid movement. There was something behind the scar and the bloodhound in Marcus wanted to dig it up, but he also realized he's barging into private territory without any real reason to do it.

"A shrapnel grenade." The dark haired man said calmly and clearly, but did not elaborate.

"Where the fuck did you manage to find a shrapnel grenade in the land of the free?" Marcus cringed internally at his own forwardness. It was out of his mouth before he ever realized he was talking. 'Well shit.' Jonathan turned towards him with a strange, almost appraising look on his face. Marcus expected anger, to be told to back the hell off, but instead the man was looking at him like he was a rare kind of animal.

"You don't know how to do anything by halves, do you? If something catches your attention you just have to dig it up."

"Jonathan...I..." he didn't really know how to apologize, never had much practice. Looking up with trepidation he saw an uncharacteristically wide smile on the other man's face. It left the exorcist dumbstruck.

"Don't be sorry. It's an admirable trait." Jonathan said looking straight at Marcus without any animosity "Though it can be pretty damn annoying as a side effect. If you have to know, I found it in Afghanistan, almost fourteen years ago."

"Afghanistan? You were in the army?"

"Navy. Third SEAL team. Sometimes it seems like I never left. My first Senior Chief would always say, that men like us are like wolfs, we don't change our skin. A soldier is a soldier 'till the day he dies, in general."

That was a hard truth Marcus could sympathize with. He knew it was the same for him – even if sometimes the desire for it to be otherwise overwhelmed him. The face of Peter rose before his eyes for a moment. They could have been so normal together...the problem was, that Marcus never knew how to be normal and when you're over fifty it's a bit too late to learn.

Without another word the former priest returned to scratching patterns into the thin pages of his bible and the sailor went about his evening routine. Only Marcus really couldn't stop himself from following the quick, efficient movements of his new companion and wonder how he didn't see it before? The clipped, straightforward manner of speech, natural inclination towards order (the suitcase was impeccably packed and the clothes folded neatly, he poked his nose in) and remarkable endurance (the bastard didn't complain once throughout nearly twelve hours of driving) should have told him all he needed to know. Marcus mulled the new knowledge in his head almost lazily until Jonathan decided to pull a handgun out of his bag and, after checking the bullets and safety, unceremoniously put it on his nightstand. Blue eyes fixated on the gun almost involuntarily and a shiver ran up the exorcist's spine. He hadn't seen a gun in over six months, not after...

"I'm going to bed. If you feel like showering, better wait half an hour, the heater's shit."

"Right." Marcus said stiffly and pretended to scratch away with the pencil. His eyes stayed on the gun for long minutes before Jonathan decided to roll over, already fully asleep, and give Marcus a lovely sight of his body, stretched out with hands above his head. For lack of better distractions the ex-priest turned a blank page and started to draw. That was the first time Marcus drew Jonathan.

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Jonathan Archer woke up to the sound of screaming. In the dark someone was moving around, trashing and yelling wildly. Without even fully waking he got out of bed and went straight to the nearby cot, grabbed the man in it by the shoulders and pushed him down as gently as possible, to avoid any injuries. It took a moment to realize he's not in the base back in Afghanistan and the man beside him is not a fellow marine. He was in a cheap motel with a strange man, who was supposed to be a priest, but habitually acted more like a street thug.

Soon the screaming gave way to loud, heart wrenching sobs and the body in his hands started to shake uncontrollably. He didn't even bother to try and wake the other man up, just pulled him against his chest and started to sway back and forth lightly, moving Marcus' body with him. By experience it was best to let them ride it out. It was an unspoken rule among soldiers of all kinds to hold each other through these episodes and never mention it in the morning. PTSD induced night terrors were common amongst war survivors - they all had enough shit to deal with. But Marcus was not a soldier, and yet here he was, howling and trashing like any other poor bastard, who survived a war or two. He knew, that Marcus was a rare kind of priest – an exorcist, Tomas had told him that much, but what this occupation entails he had no idea. Nothing good by the look of it. There were scars on the priest's hands and shoulders, Jonathan noticed them right away, but the story imprinted so cruelly into the other man's skin was not his to question.

When the sobs finally died down Archer laid Marcus back onto the pillow and covered him up before returning to his own bed. Unfortunately he didn't get much time to fall back asleep.

In less than ten minutes Marcus was screaming again.

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Marcus opened his eyes slowly in the dark and closed them back. There wasn't much difference anyway. He was surprisingly warm and cosy, though the hotel room had been viciously cold in the evening. 'Maybe they turn the heat on only at night?' There was something else out of place, but in his half conscious state he couldn't pinpoint it. 'A hand.' There's a hand wrapped around his waist and something warm and solid pressed into his back. All alarm bells started to ring in his head making the ex-priest squirm violently against the hold, but the arms around him only tightened reflexively.

"Hush, hush..." came the drowsy voice of his new travel companion "Christ, how many times are we gonna do this, sweetheart...?"

"Archer?! What the hell are you doing in my bed!?" Marcus yelled in a bit of panic.

"Marcus?! You're awake?" Jonathan's voice was still drowsy but laden with disbelief.

"What are you doing in MY FUCKING BED?" Marcus growled angrily getting himself out of the hold and away from the other man.

"You don't remember anything?" Jonathan asked mildly, his voice quiet in hopes to seem less threatening. It was his mistake after all.

"What's that supposed to mean? I went to bed and woke up to your sorry arse on my mattress!" 'holding me from behind like a friggin' bride' he added in his head, but had enough sense not to say it out loud.

"Did you know you have night terrors?" the brunette asked ignoring the ranting. He stayed very still, though, with his hands on the mattress, to make sure Marcus could see him at all times.

"Nightmares?" the exorcist asked, anger slowly giving way to confusion and a threat of embarrassment. "Don't we all?"

"No, not nightmares, night terrors. There's a difference." Jonathan explained slowly "When it's a nightmare you're just having a bad dream, then you wake up, realize it was just a dream and go back to sleep. Night terrors are different."

"Yeah? I don't see how..." Marcus started to feel dread rising up his spine. 'What did I do?' he thought desperately, both needing and dreading to find out what the hell just happened.

"When someone's having an episode they're eyes are open, people get out of bed, start running around or trashing on the bed...Talking, yelling and crying are common. Sometimes aggressive behaviour...but the thing is, the person was never awake in the first place, they're still dreaming. When the fit ends they just...fall back asleep and usually don't remember anything in the morning."

"Is that what happened?" Marcus asked swallowing thickly. The desire for the ground to swallow him whole was growing by the second.

"Yes. You had three...no, four fits in the last two hours. After the last one...I suppose I just fell asleep along with you. It was my mistake, and I'm sorry to have frightened you."

" 's fine." tawny blonde said quietly, scrubbing his hands over his face slowly. That way he at least didn't have to look at the other man "Maybe this whole traveling together was not the brightest idea..."

"Hey, no jumping to conclusions, okay? Did this happen before?"

"How am I supposed to know? Tomas never said anything, so it wasn't there half a year ago."

"Okay. For adults there are two main causes for night terrors, that's excessive drinking - which you have no problem with – or post traumatic stress. I'd bet my money on the second one." When Marcus stayed quiet Jonathan continued as gently as he knew how "You were yelling something about Andy...and then your father. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to...but it may help to lessen the fits."

A couple of minutes passed in silence, with Marcus staring at the sheets stubbornly, before the agent got up and went back to his own bed. Only when he laid down did the older man started to speak quietly.

"Our last case was in the island you found me in. The home of Andrew Kim, Andy...and his children. They were such good people...But the demon was too strong, and it threatened to take Tomas along with Andy, so I...I couldn't let it have him..."

"You shot Andrew Kim." it was not a question "Tomas told me a bit about him. I read the file. All he said then was 'we had no other choice', so initially I didn't know which one of you did it."

"He was a good man..."

"I know. And I'm sorry you had to do it." after a moment of hesitation Jonathan dared to ask another question on the tip of his tongue "What does this had to do with your father?"

The agent expected another long pause, or complete silence altogether. Instead a bitter, quiet laughter filled the room mixed with the chocked sound of unshead tears.

"I shot him too" Marcus said almost jovially, through the sound of controlled breathing. "See, I just keep shooting people. I'm a natural fucking murderer."

"No one shoots their own parents if they have other choice." Jonathan said quietly after a moment of shocked silence. It was not what he had expected and honestly...what can you say to that?

"Oh I did have a choice – the door was right in front of my nose, I could've just run..." he said smiling a ghastly, quivering smile. It made Archer almost desperate to just go over there and make sure he wouldn't do anything stupid, but the man stayed put "But my mum's body was still twitching not five meters away and he just kept coming closer with those big bloody hands...so I took the rifle off the hook and pulled the trigger. Didn't even aim properly...I was seven years old...I...I need to get out of here..."

Marcus jumped out of bed and started to blindly head for the door before Jonathan got in his way.

"Move." the exorcist grunted in a quivery voice. "I need to go."

"Okay...okay." Jonathan lifted his hands, palms up in a soothing gesture, but didn't move. "If you need to go, go. But dress warmly and come back before noon. We're still half way to Alaska, and Tomas is waiting for us, yeah?"

"Yeah." the ex-priest said after taking a few shaky breaths. His hands have mostly stopped shaking, though he still looked jagged and on the brink of panic attack.

Jonathan watched the older man robotically pulling on his clothes before he disappeared through the door. Only then did the agent fall back on his own bed, hands over his face.

"Fucking brilliant. And what will I do if he decides to jump off a fucking bridge? Good job, Archer. You always had the finesse of an elephant in a porcelain shop." he said to no one in particular. The room seemed even colder and emptier now.

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Drip
GOD, THE FATHER OF HEAVEN, have mercy on us.
Drip
GOD THE SON, REDEEMER OF THE WORLD, have mercy on us.
Drip
GOD THE HOLY GHOST, have mercy on us.
Drip
HOLY TRINITY, ONE GOD, have mercy on us.
Drip
HOLY MARY, pray for us.
Drip
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, pray for us.
Drip
HOLY VIRGIN OF VIRGINS, pray for us.
Drip
ST. MICHAEL, pray for us.
Drip
ST. GABRIEL, pray for us.
Drip
ST. RAPHAEL, pray for us.
Drip
ALL YE HOLY ANGELS AND ARCHANGELS, pray for us.
Drip...

Litany of the Saints was the only thing keeping him hooked to this world these days. It reminded Tomas of his purpose, of his calling...and of Marcus.
It's been days, but no one has come to save him. Tomas honestly could not blame Mouse if she chose to leave him here, even if she was still alive. It was an impossible mission to save him alone, and Mouse has always been logical, so she would not risk getting caught – there are so few of them left after all. Agent Archer seems to believe him now – after days of endless convincing - but Tomas is too tired to try and contact him again in the spirit world. 'If God wills it, the man will find me.'

The constant dripping noise in the cell was annoying the first two days, now it's sort of soothing. Demons come and go...They feed him, water him and generally leave him alone. Tomas has never seen that many of them, but the red haired lady comes only once a day or so, it's hard to tell time. She burrows into his head trying to bend him, and he does the same to her, hoping to find traces of the host. There was none so far and he's never seen that before. Even the integrated ones are always hiding somewhere in the corner of their own mind, but her host just seems empty, although the demon fills the silence well enough. He remembered the last conversation too clearly:

"Tell me, father, what our purpose is, do you think?" she asked sweetly, sitting beside him in the cell, but what he saw in his mind's eye was a large river, going through an old town. The river banks had stone benches and they sat on one of them.

"You want what you always want, the ruination of souls, filthy spirit. Now tell me your name, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit..."

"None of that, dearest, there is no point." she reprimanded and his voice got stuck in his throat. 'She could kill me here, in the spirit world' Tomas realized with a shudder 'but apparently that's not the plan'."We don't need to help people to ruin themselves, they do fine on their own. There are plenty of thieves and murderers and rapists upon this planet. There's a reason why it's a "stairway to heaven" and a "highway to hell", darling, we have enough traffic."

"What is it you do want? The fall of the Church?" Tomas asked angrily when his voice was finally functioning again.

"In a way. Don't you think it should fall? To be replaced with something better? Your precious church has done more harm than good to the people – it created endless wars, allowed carnage and ruination in many lands...and even now it divides the community. Look..." the demon said pointing out towards a couple walking hand in hand on the river bank. A young woman clutched the man's elbow and kissed him on the cheek. Tomas stared at the affectionate embrace for a moment before turning back towards the red lady.

"Sweet, isn't it?" she asked gently "Don't you think all people deserve that? Love, the chance to walk hand in hand?"

"Of course they do! What is this, demon? Why are you showing me this?"

"Aren't you jealous, dear father? Your God has forbidden you from happiness like this. He is a possessive lover, you see. If he likes something, he wants to keep it all to himself. Do you think you would ever be allowed to walk hand in hand like that with someone, anyone? For example your beloved old Lion?"

"I chose to give my life to God and be his in body and soul. It is my choice to make." Tomas argued weekly. He knew he's bluffing, so did the demon.

"And how is that working out for you, father?" she asked, smiling a wide, toothy grin. Red lips contrasted with pale skin almost painfully to the priest's eyes. Tomas felt his face burn. He was weak in his need of love, the desire to be valued, praised, loved...It was his primary sin, the one he kept repeating, sometimes even unconsciously. He wanted to be loved by Jessica, to be held in high regard by Marcus...Adamantly looking straight in front of himself Tomas stayed quiet.

"Thought so." the demon added mildly, but never loosing the smile. Tomas had never fought a demon like this – with a debate. "He's a bit of a sadist, daddy dearest, the ones he loves most suffer the greatest pain. You'd think he would give his favourites - the most loyal ones - a happy life, full of love and peace, but no...he torments them and breaks them in every way imaginable just to step in at the last second and save them from the suffering he himself created..."

The words still rang in his mind, even after hours have passed. He knew that demons lie, but some part of him thought there may be a grain of truth in those words. Most saints he knew about were martyrs after all...Then he thought of Marcus, God's loyal fighter, someone who has given Him everything, who gave up the hopes of having a home, even a parish, family, friends, happiness...just to have demons spit and scream in his face every day. Marcus, who had suffered so much, and yet remained the gentlest person Tomas has ever known. 'Has Lord purposefully tormented him so?' It was a terrifying thought, so he pushed it away and tried to concentrate on the present, as dull and dreary as it was.

The cell has one window, high up, by the ceiling. From his spot on the ground Tomas couldn't see anything but light - a dull and bleary one. It never changes, day or night, the light stays the same. And the dripping sound, that also stays the same. 'They really need to fix the pipes.' He hit his head back against the wall with a hollow thud and closed his eyes...until someone from the other side of the wall hit back.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three knocks in rapid succession. Tomas' eyes flew open instantly and he turned towards the sound. Could it be that someone else is suffering his fate? That he's not alone in this grey prison? He hesitated only for a moment before lifting his knuckles to the wall.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Next came a short rhythm and Tomas repeated it back to whomever was on the other side of that wall. Even if he could not see them, or even properly talk to them, at least he felt less lonely.

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I'll try posting a third chapter as soon as I can. Maybe Mouse will come around to say hi ^.^