Chapter Text
The hand sanitizer stung as Travis applied it to his cracked hands. He had picked up the habit of washing them several times a day and had thus resulted in small cracks in his skin. He waited for it to dry before receiving the little gold plate filled with the Sacred Body.
Travis’ body moved on auto pilot, his sturdy leathered feet leading him to the spot underneath the altar, not a thought crossing his mind. Empty. And that's how he liked it. The long line of people blurred as he recited the same language over and over in a robotic voice never once meeting their eyes.
“The Body of Christ.” he said, looking down into his bowl to take a piece of the Sacred Body.
“Amen.”
His eyes widened as his head shot straight up. In front of him bathed in the golden light coming from the Ministry doors stood Sal Fisher. Travis eyes darted around as he took in everything. The way his hair created a blue halo over him. How his eyes remained the same color and looked at him in the saw way. Was this real? The organ playing soulful notes above him seemed to be louder than he remembered, the creaking and shuffling of feet as people found their way back was suddenly like nails on chalkboard to him. Suddenly the once comforting aroma of incense threatened to choke him and the snug fit of his white collar pressed harder into his neck, further preventing him from breathing. With shaky fingers he placed the Sacred Body into Sal’s cupped hands. The tips of his fingers burned as if he had touched hot embers. He watched as Sal turned away, the last person in line, and forced himself to walk up the altar steps and give his father the little golden dish.
He looked back into the sea of people and found Sal’s electric blue hair sat four rows down to the right. While everyone else's face was a blurry mess he couldn't make out, Sal’s was as clear as daylight as he watched him unclip the lower half of his prosthetic and dip the Holy Body into his mouth. A chill ran down his spine as he believed he saw something pink dart out and poke through the bottom of the lifted mask. Sal lowered his head and Travis followed suit, taking the ciborium carefully with both hands and returning it to the Tabernacle. He closed the little golden doors and got down on one knee while he bowed his head, bringing his hands together. He prayed for forgiveness, believing he had tainted this holy communion by the way he had acted.
As he stood by his fathers right side on the lower pedestal, hands clasped behind his back, he bashfully glanced Sal’s way every so often. Could anyone else see him? Was God testing him? He absent mindedly scratched the skin of his palm raw as a million thoughts ran through his head.
When he had first laid eyes on Sal he was confused as to why such a person existed. In a small town such as Nockfell it wasn't a common sight, and what was not common to Travis he attacked. It was never out of hatred to him and his friends, but out of confusion. Confusion as to why this group of people who went so against his beliefs called to him so much. Sal especially. And then he realized, so he hated them even more. Hated himself above all else, hated his home, hated his father, hated his mother, hated his twin sisters. He had become the embodiment of hatred, so naturally everyone else hated him as well. He believed he was fine with that, but of fucking course Sal had to intrude. That day in the bathroom stall he had felt as if he had talked to an angel, the filthy graffiti door serving as a confessional booth.
The damn burst and Sal was there to witness it, all of the rawness that was Travis and his shitty fucked up life. And like a true Angel he didn't judge him, instead offered his forgiveness which Travis greedly took. He really had believed he was saved. Then a week later his father told him he should start helping out at the church and that he should ‘stop fooling around’ at school. His grades had been less than satisfactory that trimester and so Travis dropped out. He watched as families gushed about their sons and daughters graduating high school and how they were oh so sad they would move away. Sal’s family never visited the church so he never saw him again. Never knew where he had gone off to, leaving Henry Fisher oh so sad as well.
He looked Sal’s way again, this time he was standing. He looked the same, but different. Same hair, same clothes, same eyes. Different hairstyle, different mannerisms, different, deeper voice. ‘College changes people, ' his father had told him, ‘It makes it easier for people to fall into sin.’ As he watched Sal shake hands with those around him he wondered what kind of sins he had gotten up to.
His father ended mass and sound erupted around him. Those closer to his father walked up to him in praise of the message and how beautiful he had decorated. Nevermind the fact that it was Travis the night before draping heavy red curtains on banisters and dusting every possible corned and surface.
He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and gave a big smile. ‘Don’t ever make me look bad in front of people, Travis.’ His father warned him one night, so when he felt that familiar weight on his right shoulder he knew he had to act the part of Father Phelp’s boy.
He extended his hands, clasping an old woman's cold fingers, “Thank you for coming, God Bless you.”
He repeated the same phrase over and over, occasionally nodding as they told him a story, or gushed about what a man he was turning out to be. The big Phelps smile never leaving his face. When the last of his fathers flock exited, he looked around for a head of blue hair, but none was to be found, making him wonder if it really was a figment of his imagination.