Work Text:
“Hey, Padre, you ever realize that Mary might’ve just been a dirty whore?”
Mark elbowed Bryon, grin on his face. A malicious grin. He was half-drunk and half-high on a Sunday morning in a Catholic church. If that weren’t bad enough, Bryon was only there because Angela’s family were Catholics. Bryon elbowed him to shut up. Tim shot a glare at Mark.
“Have some fuckin’ respect.”
“You’re the one smoking in a no smoking facility,” Mark jerked a thumb towards the ‘no smoking’ sign at the back of the room. “So maybe you should have some respect.”
Angela leaned over to Bryon, grabbing his arm, nails digging into his flesh. “Why the hell did you bring him along?”
“Because,” he shrugged. “He said he wanted to.”
It was a funny sight. Curly Shepard, out cold in a church pew. Tim Shepard, quietly cussing out a drunk Mark Jennings. And Bryon Douglas, peeling himself away from a furious and clingy Angela Shepard.
A few congregation members glanced over in shock, some even moving away. One man scoffed and turned away to pay attention to the pastor.
“Thank you, children’s choir for that, uh, beautiful rendition of Blessed Are They. You may all be seated.”
Bryon sighed and sat down. Thank God. Literally.
“We gather ‘ere because of the good grace of God Almighty!”
“Christ, he sounds more drunk than Mark,” Bryon muttered. A wave of ‘Amen’s followed from the congregation. He gritted his teeth.
Angel swatted his leg. “Have you ever even been in a church?”
“Not since I was maybe ten.” Not fond memories of his dad’s funeral crept in. He shrugged and silently wished that he was just as drunk as the pastor and Mark. “Or eleven.”
Tim flicked his ashes at Mark, swearing under his breath. No one wanted to be there. Expect maybe Curly. But that was only because he was out cold and it was safer than sleeping on a potentially-flea-infested couch near a landfill. It happened once. It would probably happen again.
“Move, Douglas. I need to go.” Tim motioned for him to scoot.
“What, you drink holy water an’ now the demons are comin’?” Mark was a bit loud and got a few glares from the family behind them.
“Funny,” Tim shot back with a fake smile. He turned to Bryon. “Don’t let him any more stupid shit, alright? He’s makin’ me want to blow my brains out.”
Angel lightly kicked Tim in the shin. “Maybe you should, then I can get your room.”
Tim rolled his eyes and slipped out of the cathedral, pulling out Paul Malls from his back pocket.
The preacher went on in this fusion of Latin and English that sounded more foreign than anything else. Half of his words were slurred, and the other half made no sense. Bryon kept looking to Angel, who was admiring her nails, and Mark, who had taken to shoving cigarette butts up Curly’s nose. He was alone in this sea of religious nuts and maybe some teenagers who had been dragged along against their will. He wanted nothing more than to listen to Jimi Hendrix and drink until he couldn’t see straight or hear Angela’s nagging.
“How much longer is this gonna go?” Bryon gently elbowed Angel, who was playing with a pretty pearl lighter.
“Not long. Maybe, I don’t know, 20 minutes or so.” She crossed her legs. “We can leave whenever though. This guy’s a real drag an’ I need a smoke.”
“I think I need one too.”
Angela half-smiled. “I think I need a kiss at some point too.”
Bryon shrugged, wrapping an arm around Angel’s shoulders. “We can do that whenever.”
Angela and Bryon exchanged looks, and he stood up.
“Mark, stay here. Angel and I will be back.”
Mark was balancing an empty cigarette box on Curly’s head and shooed Bryon away. “Yeah, okay, have fun sinning and swapping spit.”
“Eat a dick, Jennings,” Angela shot back.
Mark smiled. “I’ll start with Curtis, then.”
Angela yanked Bryon’s arm and led him away from Mark. Mark gave a mock-wave goodbye.
“What do you mean he ‘fell into a lake’? Do I look like a dumbass to you?” Tim held the phone close to his ear and slammed his free hand against the side of the phone booth. “An’ don’t give me that ‘I can’t actually see you’ horseshit. It’s gettin’ old.”
Some little old lady stood behind Tim, waiting to use the phone. Tim didn’t notice.
“Listen here motherfucker-“ he sounded calm but his knuckles were white around the phone, “-I don’t care about your excuses, I need an answer or I’ll climb into your stupid-ass car myself an’ beat it outta you.”
There was a click, and Tim sighed, muttering something about never working with Soc-hippie-fucks again. He stepped out of the booth.
“Excuse me, son.” The old lady tapped Tim on the shoulder.
Fucking shit.
“Yes ma’am?”
”Don’t use such language in front of a lady. And while you’re at it, go wash out your mouth with soap, and maybe attend church.” The old lady almost hit Tim with her purse. Tim just blinked and sighed.
“Yes ma’am.”
”What church do you go to?”
Tim blinked. “Uh, St. Paul Cathedral, off of Main Street.”
The old lady scoffed. “Oh, a Catholic. That explains the foul language.”
”Excuse me?”
Mark bit back a howl of laughter when Curly woke up from his nap. It was after service— finally— and most everyone had left. Mark just waited around to fuck with Curly Shepard a bit and see if Bryon would ever come back with Angel.
“Fucking— shit, did ya stick a weed up my nose?!”
”Not just that, pal, not just that.” Mark’s grinning and biting his lip so hard it’s bleeding.
Curly pulled out another cigarette from his other nostril. “Does this have spit on it?”
Mark lost it, nearly crying. “Oh my fucking god, it took you that long to figure it out?” He leaned on the pew for support.
“You’re a disgusting little fuck, you know that?”
Mark kept laughing. “Woah, hey, we’re in a church, pal. You can’t kill me.”
Curly kicked Mark in the shin. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you later then.”
”If you can catch me, go ahead.”
Tim slammed the car door behind him, rubbing his eyebrow. Curly jolted up from his nap in the backseat.
”Fuck happened to you?”
”Don’t ask.” He shoved the keys into the ignition. “Where’s Angel?”
”Prob’ly fucking Douglas,” Curly shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “D’ya wanna hear what Jennings did to me?”
”What?”
”He shoved a bunch of Kools up my nose. Perfectly good ones, too.”
Tim spun around to face Curly. “For the love of God, don’t be smokin’ the snot-covered kools.”
”I said they’re perfectly fine,” Curly flicked some ashes at Tim’s face.
”You’re fuckin’ disgusting, Curly, you know that?”
”Yep. My fuckin’ talent. Oh look, there’s Angel.”
Angela slammed the door behind her and fixed her hair. Tim narrowed his eyes. “Were you screwin’ Douglas?”
”No, I was givin’ head to the Pope.” She re-lines her lips in the rearview mirror. “Hell happened to you?”
Tim sighed. “An old lady, that’s what happened.”
Curly burst out laughing. “An old bitch did that to you? Ha!”
”Can it ‘fore I punch you in the jaw.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “Can we just go home now? I don’t wanna hang around ‘ere.”
“What, the sex that bad?” Curly tossed his cigarette butt at her and it landed in her hair. She shrieked, swearing and clawing her way to the back seat to strangle Curly. Tim revved the engine.
That obnoxious tune of “Blessed Are They” played over and over again. Fuck that.
Blessed Are They- Not.