Wednesday 12th November Who: Will & Father Sheldon Where: Out / St Patrick's When: late Weds. What: Will's stroll takes him somewhere he leasts expects.
Will walked for what seemed like hours after receiving the letter from James. It's what he always did, whenever he was too overwhelmed to think or to even breathe he just walked. The air was supposed to help his head but right now it wasn't doing jack shit. Just before he'd left Rocky had seen the look on his face, seen him turn pale and had then been left to call after him down the hall as he'd practically run to escape the confines of the school. He didn't care if she read the letter, let her read it. He just didn't want to be anywhere near there, the atmosphere was stifling.
He didn't know where his feet were carrying him, more than likely to the city where he could seek booze and drink himself to oblivion before passing out in a ditch and doing it all again the same day. He was in such shock that he was numb to the stabbing ache that he'd expected to sweep over him but it was there, ready and waiting to overcome the barrier he'd placed.
So much shit was going through his head. There was no telling where one thought began and another ended. Still he strode on with purpose, no rational sense of where he was heading until he found himself standing outside, hands in his pockets, looking up at the sign. "St Patrick's Church". A grand affair that he'd bypassed before in favour of... well, living his life without having religion involved but apparently his legs had other ideas. Before his mind could tell him no or scream at him to leave Will was inside, standing against the doors. With it being late at night nobody was inside. The angel merely stood there, staring up at the ceilings. It was an odd feeling... he'd never liked churches and this wasn't any different, except the more he stood there, the more Will felt like he was safe enough to let go.
Walking down the aisle like a toddler taking his first steps the angel passed the pews, taking in his new, dimly lit surroundings one inch at a time. The large cross infront of him with the token image of Christ hanging from it was the centerpiece of the altar, candles burning beneath it. There was a reason Will had not entered a place like this in years, the overwhelming sense of misery and doom, religious shit that smothered him. Yet right now he only felt a calmness here. It wasn't until Will reached the red velvet steps, bringing him to a halt, that he had time to take it all in.
It came in a burst; Will's eyes filled with tears and they began to stream down his cheeks and eventually he couldn't stop. James was ending things, he wanted to walk away. He'd written him a fucking letter stating about using each other and shit that didn't make sense to Will, because the angel hadn't used James at all. If it were true surely both of them would be feeling a loss somewhere? A loss of spark. But Will wasn't - even during the hurt he was still so fucking wrapped up in love with him that he couldn't take it.
Driven by the need to let out the grief Will put his hands to his face and sank to his knees, resting on the small steps leading to the alter. After several moments of pouring it all out he looked up to the statue, the large stain glass window shining behind it. "I'm sorry," he whispered, barely audible beneath the streaming tears, then again, desperate and louder to really drive the message home to whatever fucker could hear it, "I'm sorry! Please just - bring him back... I want my husband, please... don't take him away, please...."
Alerted by the sudden shout in the Nave of his church the resident Father left the vestry to investigate these new noises. Seeing a figure doubled up and with his head resting on the top most step, in tears and completely devastated, Father Sheldon immediately sped to his aid. "Come, child, whatever's got your heart so wrought?" he said gently, reaching out to try and help. If Will had been anything like himself he might have voiced the thought that somewhere said 'what are you, in the middle ages?' but he didn't. There was no part of him that could function right now. Leaning back to sit on his heels with the Father's help Will shot a pleading glance to the cross, mumbling "If you're real you'll do it..." but it was lost on the Father.
Within a few moments of being in the Father's company Will had calmed down enough to be lifted to his feet and guided away from the alter. The next thing he knew he was seated in a small, dark room with a mug of tea in his hands, the Father offering to talk but Will wouldn't. All he did was close his eyes and breathe. After over an hour of blocking out the Father's attempts at consoling him Will was finally to register a question.
"Are you sure there's not anyone I can call?" It was the third time asking Will this, but to the angel it was only the first. Raising his head slightly, feeling foggy and disgusting, he nodded.
"Syn or Ikon. They're..." Apparently three words were all he'd been able to muster. Father Sheldon walked to his desk, picked up a pen and paper then brought it to Will. "Here. Write the number down, I'll call them okay?"
All Will could do was nod and write down the number. Then as the Father walked away Will found himself closing his eyes once more.