Chapter Text
Nathan wasn’t the type of person to just leave a guy who was clearly in need of some help. Fortunately for this man, he’s guessing some sort of priest from the 17th century, the flimsy Puritan-like hat was a big indicator, and also the cross necklace that reflected from the light that shone slightly through the leaves.
Nathan is hardwired to instinctively comfort every person he meets within seconds of meeting them. Why? He likes everyone, he doesn’t really question it. It just feels like it is his duty to “bring good,” though that doesn’t feel in character. It was a pathetic reminder, a reminder that once, no one ever had really reached out when he was in need of that comfort. The comfort of someone who would listen, someone who you can talk to. So, when the man groans, his body lying between the bushes and rocks inside a ditch, Nathan once again finds himself in a position to help.
“I have been on this property awhile. How long have you been stuck here? Do you need help? Oh! Perhaps we can be friends, and then my niece can help you out of that ditch, you know, since we ghosts can’t really touch any physical object. I don’t tend to think about it that much.” Nathan begins to rest his hands on his chin as he recalls the cons of being a ghost. The priest doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move much either, just stuck in the eternity of this pit. His face was covered, mysterious, and pitch black, yet you could only see the desperate despair in his eyes, he was very lonely, Nathan concluded.
“You're probably wondering why I’m here at the edge of the property line, with all that being here is the forest. Well… My family went out to search for these relics that make you see your “parallel self” in a different dimension. It's something I’m curious about. I wonder if the parallel me became a successful clown. Maybe it doesn’t work on ghosts.” He said in thought. Then rustling became underfoot, sounds of grunts as the man began to sit himself up, and Nathan quickly shut his mouth.
“You shall leave me be. Among other things, this is punishment. I must acknowledge myself as unworthy of the foot of God.” The man only whispers, his voice creaks upon every sentence, and he sounds depressed. The man faced his head away from Nathan, his left hand resting on his chest, his right hand—fiddling with the cross, a sort of mechanism.
“I can’t just leave you here…” For a paused moment, he could hear the sounds of nature in the forest. “Hey, uh, tell me, what’s your name?” Nathan smiles.
“Orwell.”
“Hey, woah. Gnarly, would you look at that? A hole!” He said when the both of them were completely left on their own, pointing at the gaping wound on his torso. Nathan called in a favor with Esther, and now she has the privilege of Nathan being a lookout when she does something she’s not supposed to. What a great uncle he is. Esther didn’t really question Orwell. Her seeing ghosts was a regular occurrence and something that she doesn’t bother with anymore unless it’s tied to her own benefit. So when she pushed a heavy rock so Mr. Orwell could climb out, she quickly left, scavenging around, no questions asked.
Orwell tugged on his lapels, head down slightly, he took a breath for brief moments before he began to walk away from the pit. “I was laden with this puncture when I awoke. I couldn’t move—my weariness plagued my body, and then I realized. I would rather spend my days here. Trapped in this ditch, in which I deserve.”
“Oh! So that’s why I haven’t seen you anywhere. You are just too depressed to move! (And also because you physically can’t get out.) Well, don’t worry, buddy, I’m here.” Nathan responded as he tried to place his hands on his shoulder. Suddenly a pressure of sensation went through the both of them, a shiver, and then a panic expression came across the priest's face. They tumble backwards in opposite directions, both caught off guard. “That’s new.”
“Refrain from doing that. Please.” Orwell crosses his arms in defense, hands grabbing onto the sides of his elbows, and continues to walk down the path, causing Nathan to rush down alongside him. “I didn’t mean to do that, actually, I didn’t know you could do that. Hey, wanna try again!”
“No.” The priest shivered. “Do you even know where the hotel is?” Nathan asked. Orwell stopped and stood to gather his thoughts. “Ho…hōˈtel?”
“Right, you're from like 300 years ago. Uh, it’s kinda like an inn, where you provide rooms for like—uh, travelers.” Nathan smiles. “Never mind that, I will just show us the way!”
Hissed! Abaddon clung onto the leather of the couch as his uncut nails dug deep into the couch’s leathery skin, a mistake from Katherine, as she had forgotten that he was supposed to cut his nails a long while ago. “This is the vessel's father, the one who stains me onto this mortal realm. Leave at once, out of my hotel!” The boy begins to shake his head in an involuntary movement, and Ben hurries and holds down Abaddon before he freaks out more than he already has.
Orwell, with his large eyes, grew ever larger, widened at the appearance of a similar-looking figure, and hurriedly clutched onto the necklace in a slither. “No wonder, I thought you looked similar, buddy.” Nathan came in front of him, though he knows that there’s nothing he can do with him being a ghost and all. Nathan tips his head towards his friend, and sees a look of horror overflowing onto his face.
“My…my boy. No…you’re not him.”
“Hey, look, it’s okay. Abaddon has really changed his whole life around, you know. Instead of killing right on the spot, he makes the effort to threaten, he makes the effort to at least try to understand the whole story. Great kid. Honestly, he’s like a sort of uh, demon son, I never had!”
“Son…?” Katherine gives Nathan a look, she definitely didn’t want to call that one-thousand-year-old obsessed fruitloop demon a nephew ever again. “I always wondered what fatherhood felt like.”
“No offense, but you will be a pretty bad dad.” Katherine's eyes wrinkle. “Hey, uh… we should probably calm him down before he ruins more of my jacket.” Ben says as he tries to make Abaddon stop sucking out the life of his hoodie, a face of disgust struck his face. “Ewww! Get off of me.” Ben pushes Abaddon off.
“Ugh, his saliva is everywhere. Aw man, and I just bought this jacket too.” Abaddon hurried and ran into the vents in a fleeting second, his eyes could be seen as fiendish and a tiny bit of fear.
Nathan looks over at Orwell and walks over. Nathan wasn’t expecting this to happen, actually, he didn't know that Abaddon was somehow connected to him, which he should have guessed, but it’s kind of a gray area to say if you knew this person because you guys died in the same century. And maybe the indistinguishable face feature was something he should have counted on, and his weirdly fidgeting manners—it was the way that Abaddon would twitch when he didn’t feel comfortable at the moment, or when Abaddon would chew on something if he felt thwarted. But he thought all pilgrims were like that: twitchy and filled with anxiety.
“I’m sorry that happened, honest to god, I kinda forgot to mention that a demon was here, since you're a priest and all.”
“It’s fine.” Orwell said. It sounded like he was not fine. Of course he wasn’t fine, if Nathan had a son, and that son was possessed by a literal demon, he would probably be scared shitless also. “Hey, uh, do you want to look around for a bit?” Orwell twitches his head up to Nathan’s big green eyes, it was a look of comfort, and Nathan swears he finally saw color on the priest’s face.