Disclaimer: I don't own AMC's "Preacher." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Based on the popular fan theory that Fiore and Deblanc are actually Genesis parents. I wanted to examine their backstory a bit and ended up getting ahead of myself, so-
Disclaimer:canon appropriate violence, blood, gore, injury, death, religious imagery/definitions/symbolism/discussion.
Temenos
Chapter Seven
Things continued like that for a good half century. They slowly started avoiding each other on the battlefield and instead met in the cave whenever it was safe. Whenever they could get away without arousing suspicion. It became a habit, but soon surpassed even that. It wasn't long before it became a need.
The strangest thing was when they did have time to duck into the cave and breathe together it was more a sharing of space than anything else. Finding it a mystery why that span of hours every once and awhile could be so precious considering all they really did was speak quietly. And sometimes not even that, sharing the silence like a familiar piece of comfortably worn clothing. Soft and malleable.
Either way, Fiore seemed to enjoy it.
If that was the right word.
He was still coming to terms with what tried to nudge through whenever he saw Fiore ducking down the narrow passage towards him. Something that spread through him like liquid warmth, permeating the hard brittle of his bones until he felt almost-
He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was a dangerous little spark that could just as easily light him on fire than anything else and he knew it.
But the one thing he couldn't shake, the one thing that refused to be buried, was the feeling that somehow they were starting over. Like they'd turned to a fresh page at the exact same time and now were trying to find ways to fill it together.
Because that was the thing, wasn't it?
It was together, or nothing.
They didn't talk about it.
But that's what it felt like.
That's what it was.
"What is hell like?" Fiore asked one day. Catching him soundly off guard after three hours of silence. Plucking with flat distaste at his customary white cloth. An emotion that only showed in the double-jointed flare of his thumbs and not his face as they moved over the soiled material.
Somewhere outside, an angel's song cut off in mid-swell. Filling the air with the coarse flutter of desperate wings and the sound of dark, cackling laughter.
He thought about his answer for a long time. Wondering how he could describe what it felt like to be branded into flayed skin. Weeping red and tasting the salt crusts of old tears when you couldn't remember anything that had come before. Knowing that you were the darkness that'd been scooped out, then stuffed back into the same skin?
How did you put it into words?
You couldn't.
How did you describe the sound of the damned wailing from the burning cliffs. A growing chorus that seemed to carry, no matter where you were. How the scent of sulphur and human waste got caught in your sinuses, coating down your throat until you wanted to peel off your own skin and take steel wool to the insides. How-
He shuddered involuntarily as the echo of the soul that'd existed before hissed white noise and static through his head. Fighting to be heard through faulty dials and bad reception before he shoved it back again. Biting down on the inside of his cheek until the taste of his own blood was a comfort.
He caught Fiore staring the next time he looked up. Looking at him with an expression that threatened to get lost amidst the too sharp jut of his chin and the tapered nub of his nose.
And he just looked right back at him, knowingly. The shadow of his horns looming high and wide across the wall of the cave as the light from the angel's halo provided the contrast.
"You think demons like hell?" he returned, tone gently biting. Building off the nativity that was always so present as the angel's expression scrunched into uncertainty. Like his instinctive reaction was to worry he'd said something wrong. "Why do you think we're always in a hurry to get up here? Hell is still hell, even for demons."
It still hurt.
Still scarred.
Still-
"You didn't have to-" Fiore pointed out, rushed but uniform. Like the idea had been pounded into him like a mantra. Reminding him of that one thing every person who passed through the Gates of Judgement knew before St. Peter's mallet fell. That you deserved to be there. "You had a choice. You all did. You could have- but you chose a different path."
"No," he grated, spitting it out angry-firm. Already closing himself off as the death cry of a demon carried through the stagnant wind. "Not me."
"No," Fiore agreed, softer this time and far more careful. Blue eyes surprisingly human before his lashes fluttered as his eyes shone bright with holy fire. Looking at him truly, perhaps for the first time, as the rest came out like a command - intoned and righteous. "The one that came before."
His tongue caught across the sharp of his teeth. Hesitating just a second too long before the moment drowned itself in self-made embarrassment. Realizing that in spite of himself, he wanted to ask the angel if he could see it. The after image of the soul that had existed before hell had carved it out.
The jaded one.
The self-ruined man.
But the words never left his lips.
He had a feeling that either way he wouldn't know what to do with the answer.
"What's heaven like?" he asked the next time they shared space. Feeling like it was only fair in the scheme of things. Trying not to look too interested despite part of him having always wondered.
He'd always wanted what he couldn't have. That realization wasn't new to him. But hell if it didn't get that much stronger when Fiore's expression softened. The corners of his mouth lifting. Eyes distant and bright - like he had a mind full of happy memories and he was watching them all at once.
He didn't have to know anything more than that.
They crossed paths on the battlefield unexpectedly a couple days later. Pausing in mid-turn as the rest of the fight grew distant and unimportant. Vision tunneling pleasantly as he fought to keep his pleasure from reaching his face. Inviting the angel to play with the jutting incline of his head before Fiore raised his hand and blasted the group of demons he'd been fighting in favor of facing him.
Their ferocity was for show this time as they clashed swords. Able to appreciate the moment for what it was as they learned yet another aspect of the other and claimed it greedily for their very own. Enjoying the challenge that came with the knowledge that while every blow had to connect - had to look real – not one would wrend skin.
It was a dangerous game.
But he couldn't stop playing it.
The next day he took a Seraphim's lance to the gut while Fiore was in mid-flight above him.
The act itself startled him. Taking him completely by surprise as his knees buckled belatedly. Staring down at the silver point that'd burst through his chest like a corpse-flower. Realizing by proxy that he hadn't been paying attention at all.
He'd been watching Fiore.
He almost laughed when the Seraphim ripped it free and disappeared into the crush. Feeling the impact splinter through his knees when he collapsed with a weakened jolt. Screaming air between his teeth as pitch-ridden red bubbled up his throat.
But it was the sound Fiore made as he hovered just out of reach - looking down at him like he was moments away from tucking his wings and darting to his side - that made him truly understand that terror was an animal that had layers. And they'd just skirted around the edges of one of the most costly.
The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Fiore's face.
It was Fiore watching him bleed with shards of glass for eyes.
Remembering to survive just in time to turn his back and pretend like he wasn't bleeding too as another squadron of angel's joined him in the sky.
But this time, it wasn't a comfort.
"They're going to catch us, you know," he opened the next time. Tone conversational despite the discomfort the words unearthed. Catching sight of Fiore already huddled into his accustomed side of the cave. Looking up at him like he still expected him to be bleeding as he made an aborted movement in the half-dark. Like he wanted to get up and come to him but something made him change his mind at the last minute.
"Yes," Fiore agreed, nodding shallowly. Veterans of the same thought. The same reality that'd been wordlessly exchanged and accepted between them.
"Do you want to stop meeting?" he asked, crouching down across from him. Wanting more than anything to take the back words and that terrible, awful risk he was running in allowing them free.
But apparently he didn't have to worry.
Fiore's refusal was like an electric charge.
"No," Fiore returned, stern but strong. Enough that he could sense the capital letters and the exact point of punctuation at the end. Answering like he knew exactly what he was agreeing to and more. But staring him down like the angel half-expected him to say the opposite. To finally pull the rug out from under him and reveal the entire thing for the grand cosmic joke he'd spent just as long believing it was.
Only he didn't.
He didn't think there was a reality in the entire universe at this point where he ever could.
Instead, he smiled small into the dark.
The emotion felt strange on his face but he decided he liked it.
It had a purpose.
A place.
A home.
He never asked again.
From then on it was decided.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There is more to come, stay tuned.