Love Is Not a Victory March

I was lighting the candles for the Saturday evening service when the front doors of the church flew open. It was too early for people to start filling the pews for mass, otherwise I wouldn't have spun around to see who had entered.

I saw that a boy, looking to be seventeen or eighteen, had collapsed near the entrance. The heavy doors slammed behind him and I saw him wince as they did. I ran to his side, helped him to his feet and saw that he was bleeding profusely from various cuts, his clothes torn, and his face bruised. I walked him over to one of the pews and sat down with him.

"What happened to you?"

He just shook his head and I could tell it hurt him a great deal to do so.

"Should I call an ambulance, are you alright? What's your name?"

"Frank.....My name is Frank......and no please don't. I'll be fine."

"Well, you should at least go lay down.....and I should probably bandage you up."

"Fine, whatever, just please don't make me leave."

I was shocked at that, "This is a church, Frank, we don't turn anyone in need away. C'mon, I'll help you up, come with me."

I brought him into the rectory, and up to my room. "Lay down, I've gotta find the first aid kit."

He said nothing, just plopped on the bed.

When I came back, first aid in hand, he was sitting up, pillows propped up behind him. Walking into the room was when I really got a look at him, the him that was beneath his wounds. Hazel eyes shined back at me, a much more vibrant shade than my own.

I sat beside him on the bed and got to work cleaning his cuts.

"What's your name?" He asked me, his voice soft, weak. Whatever he'd been through seemed to have taken everything out of him. Then again what did I know? He could just be a naturally soft-spoken person.

"I'm Father Way, you can just call me Gerard, though. I won't mind. The title has always bothered me and you're not here for me to bark scriptures at you anyhow."

He didn't speak after that.

When I was just about done patching him up, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I answered.

In walked Deacon Grays. "Father, mass is about to start why aren't you-" He stopped as he noticed Frank, "Who is this?"

"It doesn't matter right now, you can handle giving mass, right?"

He looked confused, "Alright, but you tell me later, won't you? Because this is very odd. What happened to the boy?"

I shooed him away with my hand, "Yes, yes, I'll explain later now go."

The deacon gave me an odd look before leaving. A few minutes later I heard the organs starting up, and oh how that instrument depresses me. In fact, most things about the church depress me. Yet I'm a priest. Go figure.

I tried to engage Frank in conversation, find out what happened to him but I didn't get very far. After a string of unanswered questions, he finally said, "I don't want to talk about it, okay, something shitty happened, let's leave it at that. I just want to sleep."

I left him to sleep, hoping that he didn't have a concussion, because then I would have to call 911. I headed back into the church, stood by the side door where I came in and watched Deacon Grays deliver the service. His homily lacked the passion mine usually have, his voice dry and monotone. He's much older than I am, probably double my age. My best guess is mid-sixties. I think too many years in this church has sucked everything out of him that ever meant anything. I can only hope that I hold onto my passion, that I can still talk about God without putting half of the congregation to sleep with my obvious lack of interest.

The moment Grays told everyone "mass has ended, now go in peace," everyone was rushing over to me, wondering why I hadn't given mass tonight.

"Something came up, I'm sorry," I told everyone that asked but the deacon knew better. Once the people filed out, he pulled me aside.

"Tell me about the boy."

"His name is Frank. I don't know much more. Something bad happened to him but he wont say what. He's asleep in the rectory right now."

"You didn't ask for his parents' phone number or something?"

"No," I admitted, "That slipped my mind, I guess.......Look, I was focused on patching him up.That seemed more important. I'll ask about his parents when he wakes up."

Deacon Grays sighed, "We don't need him here. People see that the priest has a young boy sleeping in his bed, they'll start talking and next thing you know you'll be excommunicated over rumors."

I knew what he was insinuating, that people would think I was fucking the kid. That old stereotype of Catholic Priests rubbing altar boys the wrong way.

"You're paranoid, deacon. I don't see the harm in taking him in. I get the feeling he has nowhere else to go. And I will not, under any circumstance send him out into the cold without assurance that he'll be safe."

"You care too much. You don't even know him."

"It's my job to care."

"Your job? Your job is to serve God, Father Way," He spat my title at me. He and I had never really seen eye to eye. I think he too often forgot that I am in charge here, that this is my parish whether he's my elder or not.

"Helping those in need is God's will. Wasn't that what you were droning on about just minutes ago? What's that old saying, practice what you preach?"

Grays didn't reply, and I left before he changed his mind and continued the back and forth. It was painfully obvious that he wished a different priest had been assigned here, one as stale and boring as himself. I've been here for over a year now, you'd think he'd be used to me by now.

Frank was still sleeping when I returned to my room. I took a book off the shelf above my bed, sat in the chair by the window and read until my eyes grew heavy. I didn't want to wake him, but I did need my sleep. I had a mass to give bright and early at seven am.

I tried to be gentle in waking him. I shook his shoulder, and said his name. At first he didn't react at all, and then he screamed and began frantically muttering, "please don't kill me."

"Frank calm down, it's me, Gerard. I'm not going to hurt you."

After I spoke I realized that he couldn't hear me, he was having some sort of night terror. He was so far lost in his mind that my words could never reach him, never soothe his fears. I may have tended to his wounds, but I was completely helpless in aiding him in his pain.

Notes

I was going to wait to post this, because I already have a Frerard fanfic started on here. But this one is far different from the other one and I like having different things to write at the same time. For that reason, updates from me will be pretty sporadic, I apologize for the inconsistency in advance.
Anyways let me know what you think. I know the whole priest thing has been done, but this definitely won't be like those. Feedback gives me motivation to write so please comment/and or subscribe if you like it.