Chapter Text
Arthur Lester is kneeling.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been kneeling, just that it’s been long enough that he no longer has feeling past his ankles, and his thighs are going numb.
All Arthur knows is that he cannot get up.
He doesn’t want to get up.
He can feel the sharp bone that makes up the floor digging into his knees, and Arthur is sure it was painful once, but the pain is nothing compared to the presence he feels before him.
His presence.
Arthur basks in it. In its holiness.
Before, Arthur never understood devotion.
He didn’t understand his parents, so willing to give their lives to their cult.
He didn’t understand Catholics, who believed in a god they never saw.
He didn’t understand anyone who could follow something, devote their entire lives to it, without ever seeing the face of what they worshiped.
Arthur Lester has learned.
As a child, Arthur hated going to mass. He hated sitting there with the rest of the orphanage as they were instructed to sit, kneel, stand, kneel, sit, stand, sit, kneel, stand, kneel, kneel,
kneel,
kneel,
kneel.
Each mass would leave him bored and frustrated with the constant instructions, making it impossible to space out, and the pew’s kneelers were hard and uncomfortable, leaving his knees sore and bruised.
Now, Arthur can feel the warmth of his blood where the floor has cut his knees open.
The feeling is divine.
The Cathedral was one thing Arthur did enjoy about mass in his early years. It was grand and divine and beautiful in all senses of the word. He remembers wishing he could spend hours alone, in that place, just admiring its architecture.
Its beauty is nothing now, not compared to what has been described to him.
When Arthur got older, he still hated going to mass. He hated how it told him he was a sinner, he hated how it tried to hide The Church’s sin behind its "holiness”, he hated how it labeled him as disgusting and wrong and unclean.
He hated The Church for teaching him to be ashamed, and he hated himself for listening.
And Arthur still hates it; he hates The Church because even when he left, running halfway around the world, it followed him.
The shame followed him, wrapping around his neck like a noose and pulling tight.
When Arthur married Bella, it was there.
When Arthur fled his life in New York, it was there.
When Arthur left Parker’s room in the middle of the night, it was there.
When Arthur sought the touch of a hand that was his and not his at the same time, it was there.
But now…
Arthur never believed in a savior, in someone who could wash away the sins of humanity, and Arthur still doesn’t, because his savior is not for humanity.
Arthur’s savior is for him and him alone. His savior washes away the sins humanity has made onto Arthur, and the sins Arthur has made onto humanity.
He purifies Arthur.
He corrupts Arthur.
He accepts Arthur and takes away the burden of shame in his unending grace.
And in return Arthur worships Him on his knees within the Cathedral of bone He made for Arthur.
Arthur hates cults.
Arthur is in a cult, forever its sole member.
Thou shalt have no other gods before me.
That belief, that commandment, which Arthur believed he’d long since abandoned now thrums in the very soul of his being.
Arthur will never put another being before his god.
Before John.
Who he worships, kneeling at the altar of the Bone Cathedral, in front of John’s abandoned body.
Arthur will never see John, never see his grandness, his holiness, nor will Arthur ever see the cathedral of his own bones John built for him. But Arthur has no need to see, not when he was blessed with the honor to house his god within his own body. Nothing Arthur could see will ever compare to what John has described to him.
Not a word has been said since Arthur fell to his knees.
Nothing needs to be said.
Arthur is kneeling.
He will get up, soon–too soon–Arthur will get up and they will continue their journey, leaving behind their place of worship.
But Arthur won’t stop kneeling, sure his knees will be unburdened from the sharp floor, but the worship of this moment will never cease.
Arthur will kneel in front of Him forever.
Arthur will worship John past his dying breath.