Chapter Text
"Confíteor Deo omnipoténti, beátæ Maríæ semper Vírgini, beáto Michaéli Archángelo, beáto Ioanni Baptístæ, sanctis Apóstolis Petro et Paulo, ómnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres (tibi, Pater), quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo et ópere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa."
The familiar, resounding echoes of a priest’s prayers spilled out onto the dusky city streets one early, Sunday morning. The blood from a nearby alleyway had still yet to cool as a tall man in a heavy overcoat lit a cigarette. The chill and moisture in the air gave him a bit of trouble at first, but he sighed gratefully when the smolders between his fingers began to glow red and he blew into the grey skies above. Like he always did, he stayed and listened a spell. No, he wasn’t a holy man. But far from it. As far as one condemned from the womb could be. Nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from being subject to the influences: guilt, pain, divine retributions for desire…
Such teachings were the bane of his life, as his childhood was spent wondering what he could possibly do, if prayer could save him from the wraths of burning saints, if loyalty to The Family would prove morally righteous enough to save him a seat in the clouds… Until they weren’t. Countless nights spent painfully aroused by the nude, crucified idol adorning his childhood walls did nothing to remedy the fear of sin, nor dissuade him from slipping his hands into his knickers to sooth the hot iron that throbbed between his legs. When he got older, it became clearer and clearer to him that the monster in him wasn’t going to leave. That it was who he was.
Furthermore…he decided it was going to serve him. His sex became a weapon as powerful as the Colt nested beside his ribcage. The fear of Sin, of misguided, wanton desire proved to be sufficient retribution towards his disloyal colleagues. Their Kiss of Death upon betrayal became merely the opus of mafiosi suffering as it became known during Anthony’s reign. Or rather, Ani, as too many people around him were known as Tony and he preferred the… gender ambiguity of his childhood nickname. No one who knew him had a choice, anyhow. His reputation splattered and stained every Windy City back alley faster than his growth spurt. Yet, he was still bored to death.
"Ídeo precor beátam Maríam semper Vírginem, beátum Michaélem Archángelum, beátum Ioánnem Baptístam, sanctos Apóstolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et vos, fratres (te, Pater), oráre pro me ad Dóminum Deum nostrum."
Well… that voice was new. His cadence hit Ani’s ears moreso like a broadcast than a sermon. He chuckled to himself, imagining the voice commentating upon a horse race instead. Now that was a fella who didn’t belong. Perhaps in the most reckless decision he made to date, he decided to enter the church. There were a lot of bodies in that grand hall, some of them catching onto his presence and whispering amongst themselves as he dipped a pair of fingers in holy water and signed himself on the way towards a corner. Nonetheless he stayed, finding a bit of sick pleasure in how uneasy he made the populace. Yes, well-intentioned and law-abiding citizens knew his air. They also knew to pay him the least mind they could regardless of the ways his chilling temperance shuddered their spines.
And he remained for the rest of the sermon, well after trickling worshippers pursued any free priests with their requests and concerns. Typical happenings in a house of God, but when he finally zoned in on the unfamiliar face and most likely holder of the voice he’d heard, his intentions became anything but holy. And he followed him into his confessional. It’d been quite awhile since he’d done this, but nerves and formality was the last thing on his mind. He shut the door behind him, kneeled before the veil, and bowed his head.
"Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo. Benedicimi, Padre, perché ho peccato." The kiss he gave to the inner crux of his finger sounded loud and clear as a bell through the small wooden box."It’s been t’ree days since my last confession. I’m a… businessman, an’ I’ve sinned. I’ve sinned real bad…" A wide, nefarious smile bloomed over both sides of his hands in prayer. Hat still on his head, he peered up at the silhouette of his tending Father through the darkness."Y’know… I just ate a giant, fat cock right outta a fella’s drawers. I ate it all, papí. I don’ know what came over me. M’will is weak, but I know my devotion’s strong. Chiedo perdono al Signore. Mi aiuti per favore~?"
♥
Everyone Alastor had mentioned it to in Shreveport acted like his move to Chicago was proof that he most definitely did have a death wish. Alastor really didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Yes, the city might have a crime rate that would curl his teachers’ hair. Yes, it was practically common knowledge that the Mob was deeply ingrained in its community. Yes, Black Tuesday had hit the place like a freight train and turned many of its inhabitants to beggars or criminals.
So what? Compared to the household Alastor himself had grown up in, all of that sounded just peachy, like a walk in the park on a sunny spring day. Not that he would enjoy being in the midst of all that by any means, but it at least wouldn’t faze him as much as everyone seemed to expect. Not when he felt so confident in the path he was pursuing and its capacity to do good. That is, his capacity to do good, in God’s name.
He had finished seminary and been ordained only a few years ago and was appointed to a local church for some time…but he felt he wasn’t doing as much there as he could be. Southerners were much less in need of education about Christ and the Father than, say, Yankees whose only objects of worship were booze and jazz idols. Not that there was anything wrong with enjoying a little jazz now and then. Moderation in all things, etc. That was where he and his devotion were really needed. He felt called, and so he had to respond.
He’d only been in his new position at one of the larger churches in the area for about a month now, but he felt he was doing all right for himself. Mass in the Windy City wasn’t too terribly different from the way things were done back home, and his colleagues had seemed pleased to bring in a new perspective. He had even heard confessions from a few gentlemen he suspected might have mafia ties, which was an interesting experience he never would’ve gotten back in Louisiana.
He felt things were going well. In spite of the occasionally shifting darkness along the walls that only he seemed to notice. It seemed like in spite of his efforts, he couldn’t leave behind everything that tied him to his family’s pagan ways.
After another Mass, which went as smoothly as the ones before, he was in talks with one of their parishioners, a young woman with wide eyes and a bubbly, energetic personality. She seemed awfully intent on learning all about him, and he patiently answered her many questions until one of his fellows approached for his attention.
"Father Bouchard? Could I trouble you to step in for this morning’s confessional?" The request came from Reverend Maxwell, the church’s episcopal vicar, an older gentleman with a kind air but a stern set to his gaze. Although it was phrased as if Alastor could decline, after growing up with the parents he had Alastor knew a command when he heard one.
"Of course, Reverend." To the young lady, Natalie, he added apologetically, "I do hate to step away when we haven’t finished our chat, but I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere. Remember where we left off and we’ll pick it back up later, all right?" That last bit was added with a chuckle as he turned to leave, but she seemed to take it to heart.
"I will! Thank you, Father. I’ll, um…right. Later." She watched him go for a moment before letting out a sigh and scurrying out of the building. Alastor wasn’t blind. He could see when a young lady was more interested in his mouth than the guidance that left it. But she would be disappointed if she thought anything would come of it; he’d never before taken any interest in affairs of the heart (or other organs, for that matter), and now was hardly the time to start.
He was approached soon after he entered the confessional, but the slight twinge of irritation he felt at the penitent for not removing his hat in the House of God, certainly in the act of confession itself, didn’t sour his tone as he answered, "The Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest rightly confess thy sins." He might not be fluent in Italian as some of the others present, but his knowledge of Latin (and the context) allowed him to pick up what was being said well enough.
A businessman, he said. Alastor did wonder exactly what that—
He could feel heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks as the…gentleman outside continued with his confession. ‘The Lord be on thy lips’ now felt like quite a different proclamation! He very nearly asked, ‘Could you clarify what you mean by "ate"?’ then quickly scolded himself for making light of this moment. It was a priest’s place to take confession seriously, even if the penitent in question chose not to.
"Of course, my child," he answered without missing a beat, without showing that he was ruffled in the slightest. "Should I assume this is the first time you’ve committed such a sin?"
And it was a sin. Even his mother, in spite of her pagan practices, had recognized that much and mercilessly punished his older brother for showing signs of similar…inclinations. Sylvain had moved on to marry and have a proper family. Surely the same was possible for this young man. If he was sincere in his penitence.
♥
"Oh… oh no papí. I been at this a lot, fa a long time. Temptation’s doin’ a lotta time wit’ me an’, an’ I can’t help thinkin’ of the side wound a Christ when I do it. An’ it kin’a… feels like it, if ya get what I’m sayin’. The blood… the Holy Body fillin’ such a lil’ space, or―" He peered up through the veil as much as he could, trying his darndest to see the man’s face, or any indication of reaction to what he was saying. Such things would have him tortured without a doubt. Sodomized with hot irons. Hanged. Lynched. Castrated. Any number of horrors.
But God was he bored out of his mind. His pent up years of teenage angst were finally catching up to him. Naturally, he started fearing the consequences less and less. If he was born a monster, he was sure to die a monster. He had no problem with that. But to the Father? For fun? He’d play the tortured homosexual to camp levels of dramatic.
"―big space…" He cleared his throat, signing himself again before putting his palms back together." If these fellas are men a God, innit… innit the same?" Ani asked him, provokingly, thoughtfully, innocently as a man could attempt to reason with his demons," Devotin’ to the Blood of Christ… worshippin’… palmin’ the sin outta that blood… Y’know when it’s over an’ ya got that warm… relieved kin’a feelin’…? It feels like… like leavin’ the mass, papí, so why? Why’s it the Devil makin’ me feel like Our Father does? ‘Cause a that I ain’ been - I ain’ been able ta stop. "
♥
Alastor listened in absolute silence as he tried to determined exactly what on Earth he was supposed to say to…any of that. He was almost certain this young man was just toying with him. Whether he actually was sleeping with other men or not, it seemed unlikely he could be asking any of this sincerely. The strangest part was how artfully he described the feeling. If he hadn’t begun the conversation the way he did, Alastor might believe he genuinely did conflate the concept of homosexual affairs with the act of worship.
"It sounds to me like a temptation you’re being called to resist, my son," he said evenly. "The Father of Lies takes many forms and wields many tools against us. He may present Himself in whatever form is most likely to tempt you, but however…gratifying it may be at the time, these lustful actions will not and cannot bring you closer to God’s will. They can only blind you to His light by binding your attention to the earthly and physical rather than the eternal." Just as he was starting to get comfortable in his gentle admonishments, something the young man had said stood out to him, and he paused.
"…what do you mean, ‘men of God’? What do they―we―have to do with this?" He did have an inkling, but surely it couldn’t be true. Surely it was just one more means of teasing and testing him.
♥
"Well… we’re all Sinners, ain’ we…?" Ani paused for a moment, wondering if providing such a story would lend him credence. It wasn’t as if it’d be a lie, after all. If anything, he’d just be lost to most of the details, having forgotten them." A… Father told me that when I was just a lil’ bambino, lightin’ candles an’ passin’ aroun’ the change baskets. He said ta sin was ta make Jesus’ sacrifice worth it. An’ that doin’ it wit’ him protected me from penance, but… "
He shifted on his knees, wondering how long he could drag this out. Would it haunt him? Ani surely didn’t want to scare the man so badly he’d leave, but perhaps… he could reel him in with a bit of raw, naked honesty.
"… I didn’ like ‘im, papí. I didn’ like ‘im how I liked other boys. I thought he… he was the Devil talkin’, like ya tellin’ me now. So…" He smiled again behind the brim of his hat and clasped hands. " Y’know… I already repented fa this, but what I’m sayin’ is… killin’ a man is… it’s really… warm." Ani’s breath hitched as he continued, hairs upon the back of his neck and arms standingon end with a sick euphoria as he did the best he could to remember the moment well enough to talk about it." I … I thought ta hurt the Devil right where it hurt, but as it turn’d out, he… he was in me. I couldn’ stop wit’ him. I wan’ed more. More love. More blood. Nothin’ makes me wanna kill like a gorgeous, gorgeous fella… ‘cause they speakin’ the Devil at me. Wit’ their eyes… their bodies… their smell, I… "
He couldn’t deny that he was getting himself worked up. Folded hands abruptly clasped onto the obscuring lattice as he kept his head down and swallowed thickly. Then, he looked up, straightening his back and reach and causing any beam of light passing through the cracks in the confessional to light up the bright green of his eyes." Santo Papí…" he pleaded desperately," I… I don’ wanna do this anymore. Ya gotta help me. Prayer don’ work, I - I need… somethin’ else… "
♥
The priest was at a loss. Of all the confessions he’d heard over the years, he’d never had one quite this…involved? Even intimate? And the worst part was that…it reminded him too much of his own past. Of his hands around another man’s throat and how it felt to squeeze, the look in their eyes like he was damnation and salvation at once. The scent of blood and that very particular feeling of it sticking to his skin like it was part of him, like it belonged there and he’d never get it off, not really, not completely…
God give me strength. He was beyond that. He was above it. It was in the past, far in the past, and he knew better than to think on it now. This young man was…dangerous. And not only in terms of physical safety. Alastor had half a mind to send him away, for the sake of his own sanity. Why couldn’t someone else have been the one to hear him? When he suddenly straightened and moved closer, Alastor felt his breath catch. He heard it. He only just caught the young man’s silhouette and a flash of green in his eyes, and he felt trapped, he felt caught, as if those eyes saw him as clear as day and his own sins were laid bare before them. That made this boy even more dangerous. A liability. If he found out, if he told anyone…
Father, please lend me Your guidance, Your patience. He tore his eyes away as quickly as he could manage and crossed himself with a hand that shook only slightly.
"I can…only give you absolution if you’re committed to letting go of your sins, my child." His voice sounded weak, uncertain, even to him. "You may have been…led onto this path by someone who called himself the Lord’s servant, but you must know, within your heart, that whatever…ahem. Pleasure or satisfaction you may have found in it"—Was he still talk about his penitent?—"you must have discipline to resist the temptation. ‘If you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.’ Difficult as you may find it, you must take responsibility for what you’ve done and for what you choose in the future. Your penance…"
He might’ve suggested self-flagellation or a chain cilice. He had always known physical pain to be the best means of…motivating himself to do what he knew was right. But the Church frowned on such practices these days. So what might he suggest that would reach this young man? He needed guidance, in the same way that Alastor had needed it so many years ago. If he himself could pulled from the depths of depravity so deeply ingrained within him, surely this penitent could as well.
"Your penance is to join us here for Mass again next Sunday. Come to confession again." He hesitated a moment before adding, "To me, specifically. I understand your position better than you may think. I can help to hold you accountable for your actions in God’s eyes, that you might learn to see beyond the immediate rewards of the flesh to the light of His will."
He shouldn’t be saying this much. It was too personal, too open. In this position, he was meant to be a faceless conduit of God’s grace, a means of asking absolution and not a particular priest, a particular man. But opening himself and his experience up in this way might be the only way to reach someone so mired in sin, so lost in the Enemy’s darkness. The process was meant to be anonymous. Yet Alastor felt he was the only one who could provide what this young man needed. And he intended to. Every sinner, however weak, however corrupted, deserved the opportunity to come back to the light.
Forcing himself to meet those green eyes again, uncertain whether the young man would be able to see him at all but focused on him nevertheless, he asked, "Will you do that? Dedicate yourself to letting go your sins?"
♥
He nearly couldn’t believe what he’d heard." That’s… all ya want from me?" Ani’s eyes flashed bright and wide with a youthful innocence he hadn’t felt since back then." Fa real? No cops or nothin? Ya… ya really believe in - in me?" His instinct told him it was a setup, a trap. Stubborn as they were, it wasn’t completely unheard of for members of the church to commit violence. Would he call in police? Hitmen? Lure him in with the promise of retribution just to be an ambush? If he did, actually… how fun that would be - !
The young mafioso slunk off the lattice and fell back on his haunches. It really was much too dark in there, but he swore he could see that silhouette shaking." How…" he questioned with an innocent tilt of his head, punctuated by the slim brim of his hat. Behind a pair of subtly pouted lips was a wide, conniving grin growing through his mind’s eye." How would I find ya, papí?" His shoulders curled as his hands ran down his thighs, very much intentionally mimicking the implications of felliato from where he was level with the Father’s knees." How is it ya… understand me…? Are you…? "
He bowed his head forward, bringing his gaze up through the lattice again but this time, with his hands poised and put." Are ya droppin’ pins at me?" It was quite the last thing Ani expected : to be taken with the seriousness the Father had been. But it only made his heart race. This man would certainly, certainly be a much bigger, more satisfying catch than his own brethren. Especially if this particular Father shared certain… vices.
♥
"What passes between us within the confessional is between you and the Lord, my child, and His absolution means far more than any justice that could be delivered by men," Alastor answered evenly. Beyond that point, however…he was less sure of how to answer. It seemed he would need to break some conventions in order to help this particular parishioner, but if that was what he had to do, so be it. There must be a reason God had brought someone like him into the church after all the sin he’d perpetrated in his youth. Maybe young men like this one were exactly that reason.
"I’m only pointing out that even the highest of saints is a sinner by nature and has to work to become holy and pure in the eyes of God. My past has its share of darkness, and I’ve overcome it. If you’re asking whether I believe you can do the same, the answer is yes." And he meant it wholeheartedly. Whatever difficulties this young man had, they could work through them together.
"If, and only if, you’re willing to sincerely try. Tell me so, and I can give you absolution. In the future, the next time you’re inclined toward sin, come to me, and I can help you strengthen your will. You can ask the others for Father Bouchard, and they’ll direct you to me. Then we can discuss whatever you’re feeling and how you can move past it through God’s grace."
♥
Ani listened intently, eyes wide and bright through the dimness. He’d just come here for a game, but something about the way this Father Bouchard presented himself in the face of his excessively vulgar honesty… actually made him want to come back. Nodding vigorously, he sat up on his knees and leaned into the shade again.
"Y - yeah! I will! I promise! Uh." Surprised by the crack in his voice, Ani cleared his throat." So… ya wan’ me comin’ back next time I feel anythin’, and every Sunday…" He considered whether or not he should admit to feeling anything then and there. The young man had yet to even see the Father’s face, but his voice and the faint musk of him he was catching from being in such a confined space for long -
Sitting back into proper position, Ani dutifully signed himself and kissed his folded hands." Th - thank ya, Father Boo, Father Boosh… Father Busha’d." Nailed it." I’ll come back n’ ask fa ya. An’. Think a lot about how I’m gonna be good." Without a doubt, he’d be back. Perhaps not as soon as was truthful, as that must’ve been as much of a faux pas as him wearing his hat indoors. Nonetheless, as soon as the Father dismissed him, he’d come back in a couple day’s time asking for a certain Father Bushwa.
♥
"I’m glad to hear that." In fact, it seemed the young man’s sincerity surprised even him. But it was encouraging. Alastor could only hope to see it followed soon by actions with the same conviction. "And I’ll be looking forward to your return. For now—"
Taking the penitent’s vow to return and to behave himself as an Act of Contrition, the priest crossed himself and recited, "May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve thee; and by His very authority do I absolve thee from every bond of excommunication, suspension and interdict, insofar as thou hast need of it. Furthermore, I absolve thee from thy sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."
Given the young man had mentioned murder among his sins, Alastor was careful to include that bit about protection from any of God’s (or the Church’s) blessings being stripped from him. If he was absolved, he was absolved of all his wrongdoings, no matter how grave. And it would be Alastor’s mission to keep him on the path to the light as well as he could.
♥
"… Oh! Amen." Why was he even embarrassed for almost forgetting to say that? It wasn’t like he was actually trying to impress him. But somehow, leaving the church left him feeling strangely lighter. He had absolutely no intentions of taking the Father seriously. So why? Ani questioned himself all the way back home to the Lexington, the deepest den of sin known to the city as Al Capone’s castle. Going to church never felt like that when he was young. At the same time, what did an innocent child with hardly an understanding of the world really have to feel guilty of?