AN: Here is my second tag to season two! This tag does go AU, since this ep needed more whump. Gil is canonically Catholic, and that's basically what this entire tag is about, since it's rarely addressed in the show. That being said, I am Protestant, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Also, when I say this entire tag is about Gil being Catholic, I mean it. If you don't like reading about prayer or God or anything like that, then this pay not be for you, because this is not subtle in the slightest. If you do decide to continue, I hope you enjoy :)

For a moment, for just one single moment, Malcolm thought that everything was going to be okay, that perhaps, the exorcism had actually worked. Jonah was on the ground, unmoving. That was one demon dealt with, now he had to deal with the other one.

"I think it worked, thanks," he said into the phone, out of breath. Malcolm immediately hung up and slid his phone back into his pocket. He didn't want to talk to his father any longer than he absolutely had to.

Then the moment was over. Jonah launched himself back up with a scream, and Malcolm wasn't quite fast enough to clock him over the head with the oversized candlestick. The shard of glass was in Jonah's hand and then it was in Malcolm's side, just below his ribs. Malcolm froze with a gasp of pain, as agony took over his entire being.

"Don't hide the demon inside," Jonah said to him like a revelation. "Let it out, out with your blood." He drew the shard down before ripping it out.

Malcolm screamed as he fell to the floor, his shirt and coat quickly soaking with blood. He was going to die. He was going to bleed out and die right there on the cathedral floor. The agony of getting stabbed by Watkins or breaking his own hand was nothing compared to the torrent of pain in his side, from below his ribs all the way down to his hip. Malcolm sobbed as he laid on the floor, unable to move or do anything, and for once he just wished to pass out, to fall asleep, because any night terror would be better than bleeding out.

"Yes, just like that," Jonah said, crouching down next to him. "Let it consume you, the pain, the darkness, the evil. Become what you're meant to be, what you always have been." He leaned down right next to Malcolm, and whispered in his ear. "A killer."

"I'm not," Malcolm forced out through his tears.

"Bright!" he heard, paired with a pounding on the locked door. It was Gil, but it was too late. Gil was too late. Malcolm had already lost so much blood. He just wished he could see Gil one more time and apologize for everything. There was more pounding on the door. "Bright!" Gil called out again. He sounded panicked. Malcolm needed to answer him.

"Gil," he barely forced out. There was no way that his mentor could hear him. Malcolm let his head fall back to the ground. He could feel his tears collecting by his hairline, and the blood pooling all around him.

"They're too late," Jonah said through a deranged laugh. "The Father can't save you. I have won over the Son."

A series of shots rang out, and the door burst open. In the back of his mind, Malcolm knew how much it must have pained Gil to shoot holes in a church door, but in the coherent part, all he knew was how grateful he was that he was going to be able to see Gil one last time. Another shot rang out, and it was paired with a cry of pain and the sound of someone hitting the floor. It had to be Jonah, but Malcolm found that he didn't care.

Through his tears, he could see Gil and Dani and JT running towards him, a look of abject horror on Gil's face.

"Kid, oh kid, hey, hey, look at me, you look right at me, okay? Don't you dare close your eyes," Gil said as he fell to his knees in front of him. Malcolm screamed again as Gil put pressure on the tear in his side. "I'm sorry, kid, I'm so sorry. Get a bus!" he shouted, probably to Dani or JT. Malcolm couldn't get a bus for himself, so it had to be Dani or JT.

"Gil," Malcolm muttered through his tears. Another sob ripped through his throat as another pair of hands joined Gil's at his wound. He didn't have the energy to look and see if it was JT or Dani. All he could do was look at Gil. He didn't have much time left. He knew he was fading. "I'm sorry," he said. That barely covered it. He was sorry for so much, and he couldn't even tell Gil what he was sorry for.

"No, don't you dare. You're gonna be just fine, you hear me?" Gil said. "You just hang on, a bus is on its way." Malcolm could hear the tears in Gil's voice. He wanted to make the man feel better, to at least let him know how thankful he was for everything that Gil had done for him, but he couldn't. Malcolm opened his mouth to say something, to at least tell Gil he loved him, but no words came out. Darkness encroached around the edges of his vision, everything narrowing down to just Gil.

"Tha-thank y-you," he forced out. Malcolm kept his gaze centered on Gil, and tried to picture him smiling, like he always did around Malcolm, instead of crying, as he was now.

"Don't you dare, kid, don't do this," Gil cried out. "I love you so much, okay? I'm so proud of you, just keep holding on." Another stab of pain went through him as the pressure on his side increased even more, and that was all it took. The darkness overcame him, and the last thing he saw was the face of the one who loved him more than anything. That was good enough for him.

"Malcolm, don't, come on, kid," Gil pleaded, putting nearly all of his weight onto the ugly stab or slash on Malcolm's side. He wasn't even sure what to call the gaping wound that stretched from the bottom of Malcolm's ribs all the way to his hip. It was as if Jonah had stabbed the kid, then dragged the shard of glass down. In fact, that was probably what he'd done. There was just so much blood.

Malcolm was passed out, but JT assured Gil that the kid was still alive, although his pulse was low and weak. Dani was staying with their killer, but Gil could hear her struggling against her own tears.

"Where is that bus?!" Gil shouted, despite knowing that Dani couldn't tell him. She'd called for one, and it would get there as soon as possible, but Dani couldn't give him a minute or second count down.

Malcolm didn't have very long left. There was just so much blood, so much more than should ever have been outside his kid's body.

"Come on, kid, don't do this," Gil cried out. For the briefest moment, he looked up at JT. Even he had tears in his eyes, and a look of hopelessness on his face. "More pressure, JT," he ordered him. They just had to put more pressure on the wound, that was it. They just had to put more pressure on it, and Malcolm would be okay, he would come back to them.

"Gil-."

"He's not dead!" Gil shouted at him. He would not accept that. He just wouldn't. Malcolm was going to be fine. He had to be. He couldn't die before Gil. No parent was supposed to bury their child. Gil wasn't going to just watch as Malcolm bled out on the floor of the cathedral. "O Heavenly Father," Gil muttered, putting his all into the pressure on his son's wound. He didn't care if JT or Dani heard him praying, but this was just between him and God, and Malcolm. "Bring me back my son. Don't let this happen yet. I beg You to spare him, to give me more time. Keep him in Your arms and let him be healed, please. God Almighty, Thy will be done, but let it be for him to live. Please, I beg You. I know You can heal him, if You're willing. To You be the power and glory. Amen," he prayed.

Gil didn't look anywhere but at his kid - his kid, who by all rights should've already been dead. Gil had been to enough crime scenes to know what a lethal amount of blood loss looked like, and that was what he was staring in the face. There was so much blood, too much for Malcolm to be alive anymore, and yet, Gil knew he was still alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see JT checking the kid's pulse again, and although he didn't look happy with it, he went right back to putting pressure on the wound, instead of leaning back like he would have if it were too late. So they still had time.

"The bus is outside," Dani said. Gil could hear the tears in her voice. He just nodded, his focus still entirely on Malcolm. In the distance, he could hear the sirens, but Malcolm was his main concern. Malcolm was always his concern.

He faintly heard the sound of the footsteps running inside, paired with the squeal of the gurney's wheels. Even as the EMTs were right next to him, all he could focus on was his kid, pale and unmoving. The kid was always pale, but this was just too far. His face was ashen, nearly translucent. And the kid was always moving, he was never still. Seeing him so still was just wrong.

"He's gonna need a transfusion," one of the EMTs immediately said. "Does anyone know his blood type?"

"It's the same as mine, you can take mine if you need it," Gil said, then rattled off the type. He'd never been more thankful to have the same blood type as his kid.

"We need to get him to the hospital immediately if he's gonna have any shot at making it," the other EMT said, barely acknowledging Gil. The men forced Gil and JT aside, but Gil wouldn't be moved too far from his kid. They picked Malcolm up in sync and deposited him on the gurney. It immediately became soaked with his blood. Gil gave a passing glance towards JT and Dani, who both nodded at them. They would stay with the perp and the nun and take care of the scene, while Gil stayed with Malcolm. He was never leaving that kid.

"Are you family?" one of the EMTs asked, his face showing his doubt.

"Yes," Gil practically growled back at him. The men didn't question it, although they didn't seem to buy it. Gil didn't care. There was nothing that anyone could do to take him from Malcolm.

Gil hopped up into the ambulance right after them, and kept himself in the corner as they sped away to the hospital, sirens blaring. The EMTs were shouting to each other in medical terms that Gil couldn't even begin to understand, but none of it sounded good. Gil blocked out their voices, and focused only on Malcolm.

"Almighty God," he prayed. "Please, save my kid. I know You can, You only have to make it so. I can't lose him, please. I know You took Jackie for a reason, but please, not my kid. Not him too. I need him more than anything else on Earth. Please save him. Please, let that be in Your will. Amen."

Gil took a deep breath and blinked his tears away. He just needed to have faith. No matter what the end was, he needed to have faith, even if he didn't understand the answer.

The EMTs continued to move around his kid, attaching IVs and taking care of the blood transfusions. They hadn't needed Gil to donate any for Malcolm, since they carried blood on hand, but he would stay at the ready anyway. He would give anything for Malcolm.

But all he could give in the moment was his prayers, and as powerful as he believed prayer to be, being Catholic, it just wasn't the same as doing something like what the EMTs were doing. Gil just wanted to help.

They wouldn't even let him hold his kid's hand as they rushed out of the ambulance and into the hospital, the EMTs shouting at everyone to move. Gil ran alongside them, trying to take Malcolm's hand in his own one more time - and praying it wouldn't be the last time. As they burst through the doors leading to the OR, two nurses stood in his way, keeping Gil from going any further. He tried to push past them, to get back to Malcolm, but it seemed as though those two nurses were working that area for a reason. They were big and burly.

"That's my kid!" Gil cried out as he tried once more to push past them.

"The doctors are going to do everything they can," one of the nurses said. His voice was calming and gentle, a sharp contrast to his intimidating appearance. "You have to wait here. There's a bathroom down that hall," he said, with a quick glance down at Gil's bloodstained hands that Gil didn't miss.

"He's my kid," Gil muttered, but stopped trying to push his way past the men. He stared after where Malcolm had disappeared, unable to tear his gaze away, despite knowing that there was nothing more that he could do.

"We have the best doctors with him," the other nurse. "You can wait in the waiting room with everyone else, or you can go to the chapel. It's on the second floor." Slowly, the two nurses backed away from Gil, but they waited for him to finally turn around before they went back to work.

Gil meandered down through the waiting room, and into the bathroom. The nurses had been right. His hands were filthy. Gil's eyes widened in surprise as he took a look at himself in the mirror. Not only where his hands covered in Malcolm's blood, but his arms and his pants as well, from kneeling in the puddle of it. The sight made Gil gag. He had to focus and take in deep, measured breaths. Throwing up wouldn't help anything. He didn't have any clean clothes to change into, but he could at least wash the blood off his hands and arms. That would have to work.

Gil scrubbed at his hands and arms until they hurt, scratching them raw in his need to get his child's blood off them. He couldn't handle seeing it anymore, he just couldn't. Gil didn't pay attention to the tears that started to stream down his face as he scrubbed harder and harder, the image of Malcolm lying so still and pale, in a puddle of his own blood, burned forever into his mind. It wasn't fair. He'd thought that by leaving Malcolm in the sanctuary, he was keeping him safe, but the opposite was true. He'd left his kid with someone who would try to kill him. Why, just for once, couldn't things go the way that Gil planned? Why did Malcolm always have to be the one caught in the middle, wounded by the killer in one way or another? It just wasn't fair.

Gil forced himself to take another deep breath. He finally stopped scrubbing his hands and went to dry them off. Even the drag of the paper towel against his skin hurt due to how hard he'd been scrubbing.

With one single look back at the waiting room, Gil decided to take the nurse's advice, and go to the chapel instead. There would be less people there.

Just as he'd hoped it would be, the chapel was delightfully void of people. Gil crossed himself as he entered, then took a seat in a pew.

"Why him?" he asked God, looking up at the crucifix. "Why is it always Malcolm that gets the short end of the stick? If there's something You're trying to teach me, I'm not getting it. Please, don't allow Malcolm to suffer for anything I've done." Gil shook his head and scoffed at himself with a sardonic smile. "And how self-centered of me to assume that this is about me. You lost Your Son for three days, but then You got to have Him back. Please, let me have my son back too. I've trusted You with everything, even with Jackie. I beg You to hold Malcolm in Your arms. Heal him, please. Bring him back to me. I know that no matter what happens, I have to trust You, but God, it's so hard sometimes to trust Your heart when I can't see Your hands. Please, let this time be easier. Don't let this end in sorrow. I know You have the power to heal my son. Please, let it be in Your will. To You be the glory, now and forever. Amen."

Gil took another breath as he relaxed back into the pew. He stared up at the stained glass windows, to images of both sorrow and victory, all intertwined to work together for God's glory. Gil could only pray that God's glory would be revealed in Malcolm's recovery. He prayed that again, and again, and again.

The first thing that Malcolm felt was cold. He flexed his fingers, searching for blankets. He could just barely feel them around him. Without moving more than he had to, or opening his eyes, Malcolm reached out and pulled the blankets closer to him, wrapping himself in them even more.

But why was he so cold? He'd been asleep, but he wasn't in his bed. He wasn't even restrained. Malcolm forced himself to open his eyes, and came face to face with a view that he knew all too well: a hospital ceiling.

"Kid," he heard, spoken like a sigh of relief, from next to him. Malcolm let his head fall to the side, towards the voice. It was Gil. Of course it was Gil, it was always Gil. But whenever he woke in the hospital when Gil was there, he always woke to Gil holding his hand. Always. So why were both of his hands under all of the covers. Was something wrong with them?

"Gil?" he asked in fear as he began to struggled to pull his hands out from underneath the blankets. "My hands-."

"Your hands are fine," Gil interrupted. He quickly stood and pulled the heavy blankets back for Malcolm to see that his hands were indeed perfectly fine. The moment he pulled the blankets off him, Malcolm's shiver returned with a vengeance. Oh. So that was why his hands were just as covered as the rest of him. "You've been so cold, because of the blood loss. Even after all the transfusions, you wouldn't stop shivering. So the blankets stay." Gil replaced them, just as carefully as he had removed them, but this time, he ran his fingers through Malcolm's hair before pulling away. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Malcolm took stock of himself before answering, "cold, tired." He wasn't in much pain, but he supposed he had the pain meds to thank for that.

"That's to be expected. You lost so much blood, kid, you-," Gil quickly broke off and shook his head, and looked away, not meeting Malcolm's gaze.

"I what?" he asked, despite the feeling that Gil wasn't going to tell him.

"You're gonna be okay, and that's all that matters. Nothing else is important."

"How am I alive?" Malcolm asked, his eyes suddenly flooding with tears. He had been so sure that he was going to die, that he was never going to see the people he loved ever again. "I should be-."

"No," Gil interrupted again, but this time, his voice was firm. He darted up to look at Malcolm. "Don't you dare say that. You should be just fine, that's what you should be. Somehow, you pulled through, and I won't lie to you kid, it truly was a miracle. By all rights..." he trailed off for a moment before continuing. "But you're gonna be okay, and that's all the matters. And you'll have a new scar to add to your growing collection, a straight line from your bottom rib all the way down to your hip."

Malcolm didn't miss the pain in Gil's voice, but he wouldn't comment it. That needed to be a serious conversation, and he was too tired. He knew that he was going to pass out again soon.

"Gil, I'm gonna be okay," he said, hoping that he would understand what Malcolm was really trying to say. He was going to fall back asleep before he could say anything else.

"And for that, I thank God," Gil said, his voice impassioned and sincere.

Malcolm let his eyes fall closed, but gave a faint smile at the feeling of Gil's hand on his shoulder. For the briefest moment, he opened his eyes again, this time to see Gil with his head bowed, and lips moving. Malcolm's eyes fell closed once again, and he allowed himself to be comforted and swept away by the soft sound of Gil's prayer.