His head hurt and he was cold. Too cold for it to be natural seeing as it was nearly summer and Chicago was hit with a heat wave. No, this cold wasn't brought on by the weather but something else. Tomas could feel it crawling all around him, like a damp fog, dragging the heat out of his body. It was a feeling that was familiar but he couldn't place it, not just yet. Tomas knew he should open his eyes and figure out what was going on, but frankly he was just too scared to be caught in one of his nightmarish visions. Instead, he focused on the dark of his eyelids and tried to get some feeling back into his body, trying to ignore the cold. He could feel the goose bumps on his skin, on his bare arms. He could feel the headache, but it was different than the ones he got after visions. This was more fresh, more open, pulsating and stinging. Like an open wound on his temple... which would also explain the feeling of something warm trickling down his left cheek.

Probably the only warm thing he felt at the moment and it had to be his own blood. Tomas almost snorted at the irony but he stopped himself. He knew it was panic playing with his mind just as he knew that he wasn't alone. No, he could hear voices, could hear someone's ragged breathing, a chuckle that sent shivers down his spine. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman's voice angrily shouting and he recognized Maria Walters. For some reason there was no trace of the collected woman, only annoyance and maybe a bit of panic too. She was quickly silenced though with a scathe retort and Tomas heard a pair of heels clicking on the stone floor, leaving.

This wasn't good and Tomas knew that this was no vision. He knew he was sitting in a chair and didn't want to let on he was awake. Something in him warned him that would just bring pain that much faster. Despite that, his hands instinctively flexed against the arm rest and he felt the rope digging into skin, rubbing it raw.

What the hell happened?

He had to fight down his panic and keep his breathing even, though it seemed like an inhuman task. Last thing he remembered was being home... with Marcus...

Tomas couldn't help the gasp that escaped him as the memories hit him, just like the butt of that gun.

"Ah, our guest of honor is finally awake," a voice that he only ever heard in nightmares spoke, so close Tomas gave up his pretense totally. His eyes snapped open and he pulled back. The chair he was tied to rocked slightly and the world went wobbly as Tomas whipped his head around, taking in his surroundings. He caught sight of father Simon, the man was truly hard to miss, smirking at him from only several feet, arms folded and looking like a cat that ate the canary. Tomas saw the blackness he was shrouded in and felt a surge of nausea. What made his head swim and make him see black spots on the edge of his vision was the sight of Marcus Keane, tied to a chair just like himself. The only difference was that Marcus's face and upper body was marred with fresh bruises and splotches of blood. Blood was also soaking through the ropes around his wrists and ankles as he was struggling against the bonds. The sound Tomas thought was ragged breathing was in fact a guttural growl muffled by a dirty piece of cloth stuffed in Marcus's mouth.

Tomas swallowed, tasting bile and closed his eyes for a moment, until he heard a noise that sounded like Marcus calling his name in fear, only muffled by the gag.

„Marcus?" he asked, looking at the older man and their eyes connected for a moment, a silent communication passing between them.

'Are you okay? Will we survive this?'

Marcus gave a nod, the look in his eyes fierce and dangerous. He was livid and Tomas could see that, he could see the golden color swirling angrily, a hint of dark orange on the edges and white... pulsating white just where Marcus's heart should be. And Tomas recognized it for what it was... protectiveness, love and fear. Fear over what was going to happen to them.

Swallowing hard, Tomas saw the question in Marcus's eyes, imploring about his own well being. Tomas gave a shaky nod as well, but had to look away. The blue eyes were boring too deep into his soul and Tomas couldn't stand the worry when all he felt was guilt for dragging the man into this mess.

"Ah, how sweet. You two actually care about each other... how curious. An exorcist and a little bastard, just begging to be taken by one of our demon brothers!" Father Simon clapped his hands in obvious enjoyment. The two men that stood on the side smirked, though there was no humor in their eyes, only dark emptiness. They were as good as puppets, except they both had guns on them. What did demons need guns for? Tomas thought confusedly then winced. Marcus next to him just managed to work the gag out of his mouth, a thin line of blood trickling down the corner of his mouth.

"You piece of shit, let the kid go!" Marcus spat out and one of the men stepped forward. Marcus's head jerked back and Tomas winced at the resounding slap.

"Shut your mouth, priest," the man hissed and was about to return the gag, when father Simon raised his hand to stop him.

"No, leave it, Russell. All the better to hear his screams, am I right, Tomas?" Simon didn't even look at Marcus, his eyes were glued to Tomas. Tomas shivered, seeing the darkness reaching towards him almost physically. He wasn't close enough and Simon didn't step closer, thank God for that, but Tomas still felt dirty. It must've shown on his face as Simon pouted.

"Aw, what's the matter, cub? You aren't enjoying my company?" Feigning offense, Simon put a hand over his chest, as if he was physically hurt. "But darling, we haven't even met properly. Why don't I introduce myself. Father Simon, at your service." The man gave a small nod and a toothy grin, then pulled up a chair and sat down on it. "Those two are my henchmen, so really no need for you to know their names."

"The Lord will sort them out when we finish here," Marcus growled and Tomas felt a bit of courage returning. If Marcus didn't show fear, he wouldn't either. Squaring his shoulders he looked right at Simon.

"What do you want from us?" he asked, ignoring the hiss of his name from Marcus.

"Ah, the kids these days, so impatient," Simon chuckled, his head inclined in a gesture of 'am I right?' as he looked at Marcus. "But alas, straight to the point. I must admire that. You have guts. We shall see where it will lead you."

Tomas gritted his teeth. Father Simon was grating on his nerves like only few did before. He wanted to snap back, to send him to hell but Tomas had a feeling that's exactly where Simon came from. He wanted to demand they were let go, to shout and scream and throw a tantrum like a two year old not getting his favorite candy, but Tomas was painfully aware that the 'sunny' disposition of the man was just a farce. He saw underneath the skin, beyond the cold stare and what he saw scared him half to death. Not just for himself and Marcus, but also for his sister and Peter. Because he was sure that when their bodies will be found, it won't be a pretty picture.

"You demons, never can stop that incessant babbling," Marcus spoke with annoyance clear in his voice and Tomas blinked. One of the men stepped closer and the smirk on his face was enough for Tomas to know he wanted to hit Marcus again. What was he doing? Did he want to end up a punching bag? What for?

"As if you exorcists are any better. It's all ritual and repetition. I'm curious, 'man of God', where did it get you? Ah, I know. Into St. Aquinas, crying over your own incompetence, while Baptist is still enjoying playing with little Gabriel-"

Marcus lunged forward, almost toppling over his chair. One of the armed man stepped behind him and Tomas saw a glint of silver before Marcus's swearing changed into a guttural growl as a knife was put against his neck.

"Stop it!" Tomas shouted, both at the man and at Marcus who seemed hell bent on being the center of attention, not caring if it brought him more injuries or not. And Tomas understood what he was doing right then... trying to keep the attention away from him as long as possible, to keep him safe. While Tomas appreciated the gesture, he knew it was useless. At this point he was just too tired to prolong their suffering. What was the point anyway? It wasn't like anyone would come barging in and save the day. He didn't see how anyone could find them in time. And watching Marcus getting hurt was almost as physically painful as receiving the wounds himself.

"Tomas, just-" Marcus started, trying to tell him to shut up, to bide his time, but Tomas couldn't.

"No. That's enough. I... I just want to know what the hell's going on." Tomas said, making sure his voice wasn't shaking at the sight of the knife touching Marcus's skin, a small trickle of blood from a nick on his neck trickling down to his shirt. With a much more bravado than he felt, Tomas turned a pointed look at Simon.

"What do you want from us?" he repeated his question.

Simon raised an eyebrow, a smirk making his face look even less appealing.

"I think I might actually like you, cub. So straightforward, not losing time with idle chit chat. Well then. What do I want, hm?" Simon stood up and walked right into Tomas's personal space, so close their knees almost bumped, but he didn't reach out, didn't touch him. For a moment Tomas thought he would, Simon's hand reached out as if to grab his face, but the move changed as Simon's eyes glinted with something unrecognizable and he ended with his hand under his chin, in a mocking gesture of thinking. Tomas cringed at the closeness, he could feel the man's darkness reaching out and for Tomas it was like an ice pick just reached into his soul. He took in a gasping breath, but as fast as the ice touched him it recoiled as if in disgust. Tomas blinked, confused. It was a strange feeling, one that Simon must've been aware too, because he made sure not touch Tomas physically. Tomas didn't complain.

"I want you to say yes. It's that simple."

"Yes to what?" Tomas asked, truly confused, while Marcus gave a sound of protest, which was quickly silenced by the pressure of the blade on his windpipe.

"Oh, you know. Just the usual spiel about selling your soul for wealth, health, love, a new I-pod... or whatever other nonsense you youngsters enjoy these days."

Tomas almost spluttered. First at being lumped into a bag with all the youngsters, second at the idea of selling his soul.

"Are you serious?" he asked, clearly in disbelief. Simon rolled his eyes.

"No, not really. See... that is all just a bunch of crap. No. What I want is for you to say yes and accept one of us. What I want is for you to finally embrace that darkness that dwells deep inside and start using the gift you have for its true purpose."

Tomas listened to those words and felt physically ill. He shook his head, face pale and despite the coldness he could feel the sweat dripping down his face, mixed with the blood from the head wound.

"No... that's... that's not what it is for. I'm not... there's no darkness." Tomas protested and he was expecting to get arguments or even an angry lash out. What he didn't expect was the laughter. Father Simon was laughing and it looked like he was truly enjoying himself, rubbing dramatically at his eyes as if he was brushing away tears.

"Did you hear that boys? Tomas here thinks there's no darkness in him. Have you ever heard something so ridiculous?"

The two henchmen probably had, or either they didn't care, because they didn't start laughing, though there were smirks on their faces. Tomas didn't know what to think. He didn't dare turn and look at Marcus in fear the man would believe the words. The thought of seeing disappointment or worse, disgust in Marcus's face was something Tomas couldn't cope with. He shook his head.

"That's not true. My gift... it's from God. Not from you. I don't hurt people... I don't kill them."

Simon stopped laughing and sat back on his chair, but the smile didn't leave his face, it only changed into a cold grimace.

"Do you truly believe that gift is from God?"

Tomas gave a shaky nod and Simon quirked an eyebrow.

"Really. Would a gift from God cause your own mother to hate you?"

Tomas jerked as if Simon had slapped him. His eyes went wide and his breath hitched.

"What?"

"Tomas-" Marcus tried to warn him, but Tomas didn't listen. His mind was already supplying him with thoughts and images... memories.

"Do you remember why she sent you away?" Simon taunted and at that moment a long forgotten memory popped up, one that Tomas managed to repress for so many years.

Tomas was six years old and he just returned home from the hospital. It was scary there, all the strange people, all the doctors and nurses poking him with needles. Tomas hated needles, even more than he hated being left alone in small places. Yet the first memory he had of the hospital was waking up being strapped down to a bed inside a humming machine that just made his headache hundred times worse. The fact his mum was there when he came out, crying, was only a small comfort. Because he saw the look on her face, felt her cold hands in his and even though she gave him a hug, the warmth was gone. At the time Tomas was too scared and confused to realize what it meant and the number of strangers around him was too much to handle, so he tuned it all out, hoping that once he got home, his mum would be back to her normal self, that the light he used to see in her eyes when she looked at him would return.

But it didn't. Tomas was home for almost a week. Home but not really. His dad was gone, his mum was acting strange and Olivia... Olivia seemed to be scared of him.

Tomas couldn't sleep that night. His stomach was all wonky and there was the pressure in his head that he knew meant more bad dreams, more pain. He slipped out of his bed softly and patted barefooted into the small kitchen, making sure he missed all the creaky floorboards and didn't disturb his sister. He and Olivia shared a room, even though Olivia was starting to complain about it all the time. But there was no other empty room to use. Maybe now that daddy left Olivia could share a room with mom if she minded Tomas's company that much, Tomas thought bitterly as he opened the fridge and stood on his toes, trying to reach a box of juice. He was thirsty and too hot. Maybe something cold would calm him down, chase away the bad dreams.

"What are you doing?"

The voice startled him and Tomas almost dropped the juice, feeling his heartbeat increase.

"M-mom?" he squeaked out. "I was thirsty," he said almost fearfully and she must've noticed, because there was a sigh and a light was turned on. Tomas could see his mother, dark circles under her eyes, still in her work clothes. She stood by the light switch, but it was apparent she must've fallen asleep at the desk that was littered with mail and papers. Tomas didn't know it were bills but he recognized the red on some of the mail and knew it meant trouble.

"Did you have a bad dream?" she asked and walked towards Tomas, her hand reaching out and brushing the hair from his forehead. Tomas blinked and leaned into that touch, because it was the first time in two weeks he felt the warmth. Albeit tentative, it was there and Tomas couldn't help but burrow into his mother's embrace. "Whoa, chico. Are you feeling okay?" she asked and the genuine worry in her voice caused tears to pop into Tomas's eyes.

"Yes, mom. I'm sorry-" he muttered, over and over again until she knelt down with a frown on her face.

"What are you apologizing for?"

Tomas didn't know. He wanted to say it was for messing up, for being sick, for driving dad away. It was for all the things he didn't understand, but most of all, it was for the oncoming feeling of a dream that filled him with dread. As if something dark seeped through the floorboards of their home, up his legs, squeezing his heart, until he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him. With that rush of breath, the darkness moved upwards, sinking its claws into his young brain, past any barriers he could've built and ripping them to shreds.

The world for Tomas vanished in a pool of red. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a woman's scream, screeching of the tires and a dull thud then a crush of bones. Somewhere in the distance, he could feel his own mouth opening but a stranger's voice speaking words of truth. He heard the voice describing every detail of the hazy scene in bloody gore, he heard the voice, low and screechy, tell his mother the time and place of her own death.

Tomas couldn't stop it. All he could do was scream and try to push that voice away. There was a ripple, a feeling that his brain was crushing itself and something tore out from him. Tomas collapsed to the ground, weeping salty tears and rubbing at his bloody nose. He blinked open his eyes and reached up towards his mother in despair, needing her to hold him, to tell him it was all over, that he was safe. But his mother was kneeling there, eyes wide and empty as she stared at him, without love, without recognition. There was only one emotion and Tomas closed his eyes and curled up on himself, knowing his mother would never love him again.

"You remember how she looked at you, don't you? With fear," Simon teased, bringing Tomas back to the present.

„She never 'got over it'. Because she was scared of what you told her, of what you were! Just like everyone else is scared now. And they are right to be, Tomas."

Tomas couldn't argue. The pain of the memory was too fresh on his mind and for a moment his mother's face transformed into Olivia's and Tomas couldn't stop the choked sob. Father Simon didn't seem to notice or rather he enjoyed the sound as he kept talking.

"You are someone to be feared. Even Marcus here is terrified of who you are, or who you can become!"

"Don't listen to him, Tomas. He's lying!" Marcus shouted before he was silenced by the blade and Simon's tutting.

"Shush, Marcus. Let the chosen ones speak."

Simon put an emphasis on the words chosen ones and it made Tomas's skin crawl, to be lumped in anything with the likes of this demon.

"You think yourself pure, Tomas, yet here you are; the anger and hate just seeping out of you."

"The only one I hate is you," Tomas spat and Simon chuckled.

"Ah, no. See, just like you can reach out to us, we can reach out to you. And trust me, Tomas, we saw deep inside your wicked little soul. All the delightful feelings of betrayal festering there since the first time your dear father looked at you and called you a freak."

Tomas's head snapped back as if he was just hit. Was it true? Was it really his father who first called him that? He couldn't recall, but then, there were so many things he chose to forget. Simon knew that of course, and as demons were due, he looked straight into Tomas's soul and dug out the deepest fears and secrets, pulling them to the surface torturously, one by one.

"Just admit it, Tomas. You hated her for what your mother had done."

"She didn't do anything," Tomas shook his head in desperation, trying to ignore the man in front of him and instead focus on Marcus, who was struggling in his chair, grunting and rubbing his wrists raw in the attempt to escape, but to no avail. Tomas couldn't look him in the eyes, for his own shame was overwhelming and Simon kept talking, bringing all the things he never wanted to admit to the surface.

"She didn't stand up for you when your father screamed at you in disgust. The way she looked at you after that night? When you told her the truth. Do you remember, Tomas?"

"She never touched me again," Tomas whispered, knowing well it was the moment he really lost his mother, not nine years later when the car hit her. No, it was in the kitchen of their home, innocuously and unexpectedly, when a demon took hold of him long enough to rip his mother's love away. Tomas couldn't take this.

"Stop this. Just... stop."

Simon laughed.

"But we barely even started, dear boy. See... that night was just the beginning. It planted the seed of hatred in your heart and it grew with every empty look from your mother. When she sent you away, it must've been almost a relief, wasn't it?"

Tomas shook his head, but inside he knew Simon was right. Leaving Chicago was a relief. Despite feeling hurt and scared to go to a strange country alone, Tomas was more scared of his own mother, of the thing she was becoming when he was nearby.

"And then, when you finally settled down, found friends, started to feel normal, your poor Abuela gets sick. And what does your mother do? Instead of staying by her mother's side while she died, she dragged you back to Chicago. Leaving the woman who took care of you for most of your life to die alone in agony." Simon tutted and shook his head, a grimace of false empathy on his face.

Tomas could feel his blood boiling.

"That's not true. She died peacefully... at the hospital. I couldn't stay there... they wouldn't let me!" Even as Tomas shouted these words he knew they weren't true. He knew Simon was right, that his mother took him away for whatever reason, he didn't know. All he knew was that ever since there was something cold in the pit of his stomach, the same coldness that didn't let him mourn the death of his own mother. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the fleeting thought that the coldness wasn't his own doing but maybe something that sneaked inside during one of those visions and found itself a nice and comfy place. But the thought didn't make it to the surface as the only thing Tomas could focus on was father Simon and his poisonous words slithering towards him.

"You are harboring so much disdain, Tomas," Simon said, then took an exaggerated sniff. "I can smell it on you. Do you really think God would choose you as his Vessel? Something so useless, inconsequential... faulted? Do you really think God was the one giving you this power? Why would he even stain his presence with something so dirty, useless... with such a freak?"

Each word cut deeper and deeper into Tomas, until he felt like his soul would bleed out. His arms were rubbing angrily against the ropes, unconscious of the blood seeping through them, the St. Benedict medal digging into his skin and the ropes, but Tomas didn't notice that. For a second Tomas just wanted to feel pain that was purely physical, instead of the one that was gnawing at his insides.

"Shut the fuck up!" Marcus screamed. "That's not true Tomas, you know it's not! He's lying! God loves you, he gave you a gift, don't let this snake delude you!"

Tomas blinked, suddenly unsure. Was it really true? Did God love him? He was battling with that thought for a while now; ever since the murder of those families he witnessed first sight. Why would God show him that? For what purpose? Tomas felt himself being pulled into the darkness but a sudden shout from one of the men pulled him out of it. Marcus had somehow managed to head butt the man holding him at knife point in the nose and it was now spurting blood. Marcus's triumph however was only momentary.

"Enough!" Simon seemed to grow tired of the charade and nodded towards his other henchman. He vanished behind the door and returned with a familiar looking urn. Simon stood from his chair and moved it in front of Marcus and Tomas, who were both eyeing it warily, both knowing its content.

"As joyful as this little meeting is, I need to get some beauty sleep. Russell, be a dear, show father Keane it's not nice hurting your hosts."

As if just waiting for that command, Russell, the one that was now sporting a bloody nose, gave Marcus a crooked grin, then he brought down the knife and buried its edge in Marcus's forearm.

Marcus's pained grunt as the blade was moved up from wrist towards his elbow was drowned only by Tomas's own scream. He trashed on the chair until it wobbled, but to no avail.

"Stop it! Stop it you bastard! What... what do you want from me?" Tomas choked out, watching as the blood dripped from the deep wound on Marcus's arm.

"That's easy. Say yes. Accept us, come to our side or perish. I don't care. But either way, Tomas Ortega as the world knows him won't leave this room."

Tomas looked at Marcus who was gritting his teeth, holding back a cry of pain, but unwilling to let it out.

"No, I can't-" Tomas started and saw the almost imperceptible nod Simon gave Russell just before the man moved the knife and positioned it on Marcus's other arm, ready to burrow it deep in the skin.

"Tick tock," Simon said and Tomas saw red. He felt a surge of energy and more pain in his own arm as he tugged fervently. Tomas didn't even note when his arm managed to slip from under the rope slick with blood, chaffing skin on the way. He didn't care. The only thing he knew was that he wouldn't let anyone hurt Marcus. With an angry cry, Tomas reached out with his suddenly free hand and grasped at the first thing within reach, which in this case was Russell's leg.

For a second nothing happened... they were both staring at each other as if frozen. Then the knife suddenly clattered to the ground. Tomas's eyes rolled back into his head, the brown pupils replaced by an unnatural white film. Russell's body went still, his muscles taunt as his own eyes turned white.

"What the hell?" Simon uttered, his other henchman taking a step closer as well, but far enough to stay at a safe distance. Marcus, feeling the blood slowly seeping out of him, blinked and unconsciously repeated Simon's words.

'What the hell?'

For a moment, nothing happened. Tomas was half leaning out of the chair, his hand having a death grip on the other man's leg. There was a slight shiver running through both bodies and Marcus could hear shallow breathing and something that sounded like Spanish coming from Tomas's locked lips. He couldn't understand, couldn't even read the lips, the sound was barely perceptible as it was.

"Russell!" Simon called and stepped closer, then his eyes widened and he took several steps back, far out of Tomas's reach. For a second Marcus could've sworn he saw genuine fear in the demon's eyes, but he quickly scolded his features.

"Tomas?" Marcus tried, not sure he wanted to interrupt whatever was going on, but he didn't like to see Tomas this way. Hated not knowing what was going on in his head right now or how to help him.