Author's Note: *clenches fist* Curse you, Flanagan! How dare you make yet another excellent horror-based study of grief and redemption!

Also I'm a practicing Catholic so saying this series spoke to me would be an understatement.

Also also: give Hamish Linklater every DAMN award.

Also also ALSO: this is not in chronological order in terms of when each sacrament was performed. The clues of when each sacrament is occurring should be obvious!

Initiation

I. Baptism

This is not his first time performing the holy sacrament of baptism, nor will it be his last. In fact, he has performed over 20 since his placement on Crockett Island, bringing dear, innocent souls into the light and love of the Lord and His Church.

But there is no soul more dear to him-God forgive him-than this one.

She is a tiny thing, wrapped in a Christening gown sent from Millie's far-away sister on the mainland. Tiny and perfect. Perfect enough to make him wonder, for a blasphemous moment, if Eve's sin truly has touched her, as it touches all of God's children? It has, it is as inescapable as death itself, but if ever there was to be an exception, it would be her.

Sarah.

Mille's Sarah.

(Their Sarah.)

The only Earthly thing more beautiful than the babe watching him with dark, curious eyes-his eyes-is the woman holding her, but John cannot allow himself to focus on that, on Millie. Not with her husband, out of the house and relatively engaged, for once, beside her. Or with Mary Flynn and Luke Scarborough flanking them as godparents. It is not just his secret-but not shame, never shame, not with Millie and not for Sarah-to bear. So bear it he must, as Christ bore His cross. In the lonely nights, John is certain that he has a much sweeter burden than the Lord did.

But that is blasphemy, again, and this is not night. It is morning, with warm sunshine spilling in through the windows of St. Patrick's, reflecting off the water in baptismal font.

Do you reject Satan? I do.

And all his works? I do.

And all his promises? I do.

He will never reject Sarah, though. Nor Millie. It's never felt like a sin, he will say to her, so far in the future, at the end, and it will be true then as it is true now.

The warm, soft feeling of Sarah's skin under his fingertips as he anoints her with oil is the holiest thing he's ever felt, save perhaps the very different sort of warmth of Millie's skin when they'd joined to create this tiny, perfect wonder.

Sarah blinks up at him, quiet and serene in the familiar refuge of her mother's arms.

"She's a calm one," he murmurs, both for Millie's benefit and for that of the other parishioners, who chuckle from the pews. "I think she'll handle the water just fine."

II. Confirmation

One of his favorite parts of the rite of Confirmation is seeing which Saint has resonated with each child. There are fewer and fewer of them on the island, fewer still who attend Mass religiously, and so Confirmation has become one of his favorite sacraments to perform. When he can, he encourages parents not to try to influence the children one way or another.

"Let them be guided by Him," he had told Annie Flynn just last week. Truthfully, she has nothing to worry about. Riley is a fine boy, dutiful and steady. John wouldn't be surprised if he chooses Francis, for his fondness for animals. The mouse hadn't been the first wounded creature Riley has brought to his door, after all.

Erin Greene is a little more difficult to guess. She's a sweet child, with a gentleness about her that John has never seen in her mother, God bless her. But there's a wariness, too. A challenge. Doubt.

Much as he worries for her, he cannot blame her for her questions. Who could, when her mother has made it so plain that she considers Erin a weight around her neck? John cannot fathom it. To treat a child in such a way. To treat one's own child in such a way!

What he wouldn't give to be able to openly love his own child, grown so tall and strong in the blink of an eye. Mille's Sarah has grown into a beautiful young woman. She's off to college soon, on the mainland, and John knows Mille's heart will go with her.

(His will, too.)

But yes. Erin Greene. He knows the Flynns have taken to her, Riley in particular, and can only applaud them for their generosity and their goodness. He loves his entire flock, but it's hard not to have favorites in the face of Annie's unwavering faith, Ed's gruff devotion to both his wife and the Church, little Riley's innocent desire to aid those smaller and frailer than him. It's right that Erin should find some shelter with the Flynn family.

It's righter still when Erin shly informs him which Saint she's chosen: Saint Anne.

"For Annie," she whispers, twisting her hands into an overlarge sweater John suspects once belonged to her long-gone father.

Saint Anne. Mother of Mary, patron saint of mothers.

(Patron saint of unmarried women. Patron saint of educators. Protector from storms. Later, near the end, John will remember that and think how fitting Erin's choice had been.)

Riley's choice surprises him.

"St. Jude," he says, firmly. What conviction! What a choice!

Many children shy away from Jude-they are young, and easily confuse Jude with Judas-but Riley does not. Of course, Riley does not. Riley, with his clear eyes and clearer heart. Riley, with his faith.

The patron saint of lost causes.

(Of desperate situations, too. Riley will be both of these things, before the end. All of Crockett Island will.)

Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Peace be with you, Monsignor.

III. Eucharist

This is wrong, he thinks, just for a split second. It is not the first time he has thought so, since he discovered the Angel and was reborn. It is not the second, nor the third, nor the fourth. He has thought it hundreds of times, for things both more minor and major than this, but still, he thinks it now.

Ali is not Catholic. Ali is not a Christian.

He can attend Mass, of course he can, all are welcome at St. Patrick's, but to distribute the Host and the Blood of Christ to one who is not-does not-!

How else is he to be saved? His father seeks Allah, but he is here, beside Leeza every Sunday, grinning at Warren over Paul's shoulder at the altar. Warren, who is so like Riley as a child, so unlike the Riley of now, who saves all his faith for science and Erin Greene instead of God. And has not the Angel's gift worked? Were Leeza's legs not healed? Was Ed Flynn's back not repaired? Was Millie not returned to him, restored and made new?

"You won't tell my dad, will you, Father Paul?" Ali asks.

For a moment, Paul sees another child in Ali's face. Sarah, twelve and frustrated by the smallness of the island and the even smaller-mindedness of Beverly Keane, dumping a jar of tadpoles into the older girl's bookbag.

"You won't tell my mom, will you, Father?"

That's right, father, I'm your father, not George Gunning, not our God in Heaven, me, John Pruitt, your father-

"Of course not, Sarah. But you will have to come to confession. And apologize to Bev."

"Father Paul?"

He blinks, and Ali's earnest face swims back into view. Who is he to deny this child salvation? Who is he to withhold the Angel's blessing from such a kind soul? Surely Christ in his infinite wisdom and mercy would understand?

"You have my word, Ali," he says.

Lying lips are an abomination to the LORD, but those who are truthful, His delight, a voice whispers in his head, a voice that sounds like the old man he had once been and never will be again, are you His delight, John Pruitt?

Paul, who had once been John, is no longer sure.

Healing

IV. Penance

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession."

The confessional screen is, and has been for some time, relatively pointless. The John of before and the Paul of after knows every soul on the island, and especially can recognize his parishioners by their voices. He can distinguish them by their heartbeats now, too, but he can't think on that too long or the ache, the hunger, the divine madness creeps in and he is so weak-

But yes. He knows the sound of Beverly Keane's voice.

It was not always his favorite sound-still isn't, if he's being honest with himself-especially when Sarah was younger, returned from medical school with her beautiful hair cut short and a girlfriend on her arm. Millie had been too glad to see her to mind, George too shocked and too ill to react, and Monsignor Pruitt…well.

He knew his staring made her uncomfortable, that she likely thought he was judging her, but no. He could never. The sight of her is and always will be sweeter than any communion wine, before or after he's blessed it.

But Beverly Keane had led the charge against her, against them both, citing verse after verse, doctrine after doctrine, about how Sarah was wrong, how her love was wrong, how God would not forgive them-

God forgives all, Father Paul thinks, and so must I.

"I have had unkind thoughts about Riley Flynn, Erin Greene, and Joe Collie," Beverly says, her voice even. Even if he didn't know her, Paul would know she is not sorry for those things. Bev is so rarely sorry for anything, so convinced of her own righteousness, her own superiority-

Whosoever conceals hatred has lying lips, and whoever spreads slander is a fool.

"What was that, Father?"

Paul shakes himself. It's not like him to interrupt a confession. Even at his most senile, before, he held the sacraments sacred, as they are. Whatever his personal feelings for Beverly Keane, he cannot allow that to prevent him from providing her with absolution from the Lord.

"Nothing, my child. Continue."

"I have felt anger towards those who do not seek God. I have made petty comments that I know are beneath me to others."

Again, things Paul suspects she is not sorry for. He should chide her-he should have chided her twenty years ago-for not being truly contrite. For not examining her conscious fully, for not using her knowledge of God's word for kindness, for hurting Sarah-

"-I have stolen something from the school's supplies with the intention to both cause and prevent harm."

Joe Collie's dog. It shouldn't surprise him that Bev would do such a thing, but he feels a shock of disgust nonetheless. Animals are God's creatures too, innocent of human vices and sins. Regardless of her dislike of Joe, she should not have taken vengeance out on his dog. That is not a Christlike act, not a holy one-

As your actions are? As are the Angel's?

"I am sorry for these and all of my sins."

So she's not sorry for the dog's death, then. Fitting.

"Are you?"

The words fall from his mouth before he can stop them. He can hear Bev shift, hear her heart beat in sudden staccato in surprise, and his stomach twists with hunger.

"Of course I am, Father," she says, hiding her surprise well. "I wouldn't come here otherwise."

"Of course. I apologize. For your penance, I would have you pray the same number of rosaries as the number of unkind thoughts you have had. And reflect on Romans 2: 1-14."

He can hear Bev nod. "I will, Father."

"Oh, and Bev?"

"Yes, Father?"

You should apologize to Joe, he wants to say. To Joe for his dog, to Erin for the comments about her child, to the Sheriff for, Jesus, everything about the way you talk to him, to my Sarah-

His stomach lurches again, painful in its intensity, and so he says nothing.

My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy.

V. Anointing of the Sick

George Gunning is not long for this world. The cancer has ravaged his body, still never fully recovered from the war, and the pain is beyond what Sarah and her medicine can help him with.

John would not wish such a fate on anyone. Not even the man who has stood in as Sarah's father all these years, the man who is bound in the eyes of God and the world with the woman that John loves, has loved, and will love until the day he dies.

The woman who stands behind him, red-eyed but resolute, in the doorway.

"Comfort him," Millie says, one hand clenched tight around a rosary John knows very well. "Please, Jo-Monsignor."

John has never been able to refuse her. Not when she asked for his ear, not as a priest but as a friend, when George returned so horribly affected by the war. Not when she wept in his arms, mourning the state of her marriage, her sorrow for her husband's pain. And certainly not when she'd come to the rectory door, stepped close enough to him to rest her head on his shoulder, pressed her lips to his neck and asked if love could be a sin.

Never, he'd said, love could never be a sin.

"George?" He says, coming to settle beside Millie's husband. "George Gunning, can you hear me?"

It takes a moment, but the other man's eyes slowly flutter open. "Oh. It's you, Monsignor."

"Yes, George. Mildred asked me to come to speak to you."

He's always called Millie Mildred in front of the rest of the parish, especially George. Millie was for the privacy of inside his head, his prayers, his lonely wishing at night.

Ask me to take this collar off. Ask me to follow you. Ask me to do anything. Your will be done, Millie.

"Must be bad then, eh?" George asks. "Mildred hasn't worried over my soul for years. Knows it's a lost cause."

"Don't say that," murmurs Millie. "I always worry about you, George."

George snorts, but without cruelty. "Too much and too well. She's too good for the likes of me, wouldn't you agree, Monsignor?"

There's no response John can possibly give to that that's both truthful and not damning, so he ignores it. "You might rest easier if you unburden yourself. Is there anything you would like to confess, George? Any prayers I can say for you?"

There's a pause as George coughs, long and hard. Millie must leave to get him some water, because after John's finished thumping the other man's back, George is looking at him, closely. Sharply.

"Ain't got anything to confess other than I wish I could have been a better husband. A more understanding father. But those girls are the best thing that's ever happened to me, even if I don't show it so well. As for prayers, I'll keep those between me and the good Lord. I do have a request for you though, Monsignor."

"Of course."

George was once a soldier. George has been a fisherman ever since, on the days he could manage to get out of bed. His hand is rough, and worn, and closes with surprising strength over John's. "You look after them. You look after them more than you've ever looked after anyone in your holy little life. You hear me, John Pruitt?"

John has to swallow back his surprise, his bafflement, his…shame. Not for Sarah, not for what he and Millie had had, but that George's dying wish is to entrust his family to a man who has been coveting his own place at the center of it for nearly 30 years.

"I-I hear you," John says. "And I will. I swear on Christ, my savior, I will."

A lifetime later, it's this promise, the fading memory of Millie's face, and the thought of Sarah's long-ago baptism that has John loading an Angel into a wooden box.

God help him, he's still not sure he regrets it.

(He will.)

Service

VI. Matrimony

Weddings are a surefire way to fill St. Patrick's. John can't blame his flock; there's been precious little to celebrate lately, between a blistering winter storm and the damage to the majority of the boats.

But looking at Annie Riley, hand in hand with a freshly scrubbed Ed Flynn, it's hard not to feel joy. Joy and God's presence, the all encompassing warmth of His love so very tangible between the young couple.

It doesn't hurt that Annie's "something borrowed" is Millie's veil.

It's a precious thing, something he knows Millie wants Sarah to wear, should she ever-

Well. She can't get married, can she? The thought of her being alone-as he is alone-makes something in John ache in a way he doesn't have words for. Prayer has not been able to ease it.

And so Millie, in her infinite goodness, her kindness, had loaned it to Annie. Annie, whose mother wanted so badly to get off the island. Annie, who has dug herself in even deeper, with her work at the church and the love for an island-born fisherman. All through Pre-Cana, Annie had made it plain: her life is wherever Ed is. What could her mother say to that?

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

Ed is gazing at his bride with a love so palpable it practically radiates off of him. They are not perfect-no one is perfect, save God Himself-but privately John thinks he has never married a better matched couple. Two halves of a whole, in a way. Whatever trials and joys lay before them, as a wedded pair, he has no doubt that they will manage.

What he and Millie could have been, a lifetime and so much regret ago.

It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs.

Sarah, like the rest of the parishioners, is watching the ceremony with rapt attention. She stands tall, her arm tucked around a teary Millie's shoulders. George hadn't come, of course. He so rarely leaves the house these days, and large crowds haven't been his cup of tea for years. Bev and a few others don't make it easy, either, watching Sarah like a hawk around women and children alike.

Not Annie, though. Just before she'd entered the church, John had caught a glimpse of her looking Beverly Keane straight in the face and saying, "Sarah Gunning is my guest today. And I'm glad to have her here."

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

That, John knows to be true. His love for Millie and Sarah have become the cornerstone of him. Nothing could stamp it out, not time, not the gaps in his memory that creep in more day after day, not Bev Keane's righteous venom. Not God himself, sinful as that thought may be. He meets Millie's eyes, just for a moment, as he joins Ed and Annie's hands together.

Love never fails.

VII. Holy Orders

John Michael Pruitt becomes Father John Pruitt on a cold and bright winter afternoon. His parents are witnesses, as they had been the first time he'd taken holy orders to become a deacon, and they are proud of him.

"I know you did this for your sister," his mother says, her familiar, worn face more beautiful than even the Blessed Virgin's, "and you honor her, and us, with such devotion. The Lord will work wonders through you, John."

Monsignor Pruitt, lost and afraid and tired, so so tired, becomes Father Paul Hill on a blisteringly hot morning in the desert. The Angel is the lone witness. The Angel has no words of comfort, of blessing, of benediction. The Angel has no words at all. Only hunger.

He has become a trinity in his own way, blasphemous as that may be. There is John, the Man, Monsignor Pruitt, the Father, and Father Paul, the…Spirit? No. The Ghost.

When it comes to Millie, though, there is no difference. Every version of him has loved her.

The idea of a second chance with her…a second chance for both of them, and Sarah too-surely that's why he was led to the Angel? Why the Angel's blood had healed him, was now healing her and the rest of the Crock Pot, bringing vitality and life where there had only been decay and the steady march of time, of death, for so long?

Paul, who had once been John, is sure of that in his bones.

He is sure when Leeza takes that first, shaking step towards him, like Christ stepping out into the Sea.

He is sure when he finds himself jerking back awake and looking into the horrified faces of Wade and Dolly and Skurge, while Bev hovers triumphantly in the background.

He is sure when Millie recognizes him for the first time since his restoration and return, her hands as fine-boned and warm as they had been on the first day he'd met her, a lifetime and years of longing ago.

He is sure of it when Joe Collie breathes his last in his arms, the warmth of his blood tacky on his hands but satisfying in his mouth, quieting that awful, all-encompassing hunger, and he feels no shame.

He is sure when Riley lunges towards Bev with that same hunger, and surer still when he admits that he envies Paul's lack of guilt, his sense of purpose, gifted from God and the Angel, that Riley has been missing since his unfortunate accident.

He is sure all the way up until the moment he finishes giving his sermon on Good Friday. When Millie had still been attending church, before her illness, he'd always been able to seek out her eyes and find them shining with pride, sadness, and approval in equal manner. She'd been his lodestone, his most loyal supporter, his compass towards God's word and His Presence.

Millie does not meet his gaze. She is rushing out of St. Patrick's, a bewildered Sarah following in her wake, and the look she finally does give him is not one she's ever given him before. Disappointment. Fear. Shame.

The plan is already in motion, the Angel already prepared to reveal itself, and he-

He is lost.

Or maybe, he has been lost since the desert.

No, before that.

He's been lost since the first day she walked into St. Patrick's, genuine and devout and true, with the simple assuredness of a woman who has faith, who has always had faith, and will always have faith.

It's that unwavering faith that makes her shoot him, he knows.

Waking up takes agonizingly long, this time. He can't move and lies helpless as his flock tears itself to pieces. By the time he can manage to sit up, the church is empty, except for the blood of the faithful, of people who had trusted him to shepherd and protect them, splattered on the walls. How could he have allowed this? How could he have trusted a viper like Beverly Keane not to spew venom, not to bite? She's the one leading his parishioners now, with none of God's mercy and all of his vengeance-

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Millie is silent when she approaches him in St. Patrick's. A mirror of a scene that has played out so, so many times over the years, but never like this. Never with his failure, his utter, utter weakness, his flaws as man, father, and ghost all laid bare before him. Before her.

"Did…did it hurt you?"

Did I hurt you?

Millie has never lied to him. Not once.

"Yes."

All the guilt and shame and doubt he's been denying, that he'd tried to convince himself and poor Riley Flynn and even God himself that he didn't feel, pours in.

And Millie holds his hand.

If you would just show up and ask me, I would have taken this collar off and I would have gone with you. I would go with you anywhere in the world.

I was never going to do that, John.

There it is. The truth he's known for years, deep down. Doing so would have ruined him, ruined her, ruined Sarah-

Sarah. Their Sarah. With her bravery and her beautiful mind and Millie's chestnut hair. Sarah, with none of their weaknesses. Finding her dousing the church after Bev's final turn of the knife, her final act of spite to condemn anyone she deems lesser, is the last, final proof he needs that he has been wrong, done wrong, and that she is right.

She might be the only thing he's ever done right in his life.

I love you so much. And I've been so proud of you, and I just wish we had gotten to know each other.

Me too.

The rage that overtakes him when Sturge shoots her is like nothing he's ever known. He feels the full weight of what he has become-no angel at all, but animal…demon. Devil.

"John!"

Millie's voice is the only thing in the world that could reach him, and reach him it does.

Sarah's eyes-his eyes-are clear, even as he tries to pour his blood, the…thing's final gift, into her mouth.

Don't, her eyes say, even as Millie strokes her hair, sobbing beside them. Go.

Will he ever see her again, in Heaven? Can a creature like him hope for such salvation?

Carrying his child-his child, his little girl, so brave, so good-is a hideous parody of the first and only time he's held her, at her baptism. He barely registers Millie tipping the candle over, but she is right to do so. Let the fire consume his desperate, ill-fated attempt to avoid death. Let the last hope of Beverly Keane's wolves burn down. What is the point of a second chance, without Sarah?

They settle onto the bridge. Together, as a family, at last. All he's ever wanted, all he's spent nights and years praying for, but wrong. Twisted. As the Angel was, as his parish has become, as he has become.

Many plans are in a man's heart, But the counsel of the LORD will stand.

Pulling off the collar is a futile gesture, now, but he does it all the same. In the distance, he can hear the faint strains of Nearer My God to Thee somewhere in the distance.

The enormity of his failure is overwhelming. Not only has he failed Sarah, and Millie-but the whole island.

"John," Millie says again.

God, she's beautiful. How can he put into words, how much he loves her? How loving her and Sarah has been the best, truest, most holy part of his life? And how can he deserve her, after the havoc he's unleashed, for denying her a peaceful passing, for causing their child's death?

The sun is coming. He can feel it.

John Pruitt, once Father Paul, is not afraid.

"Forgive me," he says.

Millie's kiss is a balm unlike anything else.

Forgiveness is warm. And so is the dawn.

Author's Note: (Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt wasn't a bad man, but did bad things and excused bad things in his desperation to "save" the island, send tweet.)

(Me and the homies hate Bev Keane, in case that isn't abundantly clear.)

(Oh and the line 'I would have taken off this collar and gone with you' is STILL making me absolutely lose my damn mind, thanks for that one, Flanagan and Co.!)