Snafu

Upside Down - Part 2

A/N: I don't usually do much in the way of content warning since this story is mature, but I wanted to toss a quick note on the beginning of this chapter that there is some significant physical/psychological violence directed at Cole in this part.

...

They pulled up to a church twenty minutes and a much emptier bottle later. Even though he had kicked off his heels and decided to face the rest of the night in bare feet, Cole stumbled out of the car so badly that he actually put his hands on James Barta to keep his balance. This was his death march anyway, so what did it matter if he offended the devil incarnate? Mr. Barta just good-naturedly helped him steady his feet. He liked to play the part of a gentleman apparently, manners mild to cover up the rotten core beneath.

Above them rose the steeple of a church illuminated by floor lights. It towered over the long brick building. A set of steps led up to the front doors, from which hung two wreathes made from plain branches woven with purple cloth. The church sign advertised normal services as well as special Ash Wednesday services.

Cole took a moment to squint at the sign and feel grateful that it was not Sunday morning. He would offend all the little church ladies in their hats and sensible dresses with his glittery shorts that did not even cover his entire ass. The little strip of fabric also did nothing against the cold night air. Goosebumps pimpled every inch of his skin. His teeth chattered violently as a gust of wind whipped up the sidewalk.

"Can we even get married this late at night?"

"Sure." Mr. Barta grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the church doors. "You boys will just have to go down to the courthouse tomorrow to make it all legal."

"Yeah, but, like, is there even a priest willing to stay up this late?" Cole slurred. He fumbled around so much on the steps that Mr. Barta had to practically lift him up each one, cursing under his breath, probably regretting letting Cole touch the bottle.

Then Cole put his foot down and leaned all his weight away to stop their forward momentum. Mr. Barta swore louder and grabbed both of Cole's arms before he careened back down the steps.

"Will a priest even let me," Cole gestured to his tiny shorts and nothing else, "into the church?"

"Yes, he will," James assured him.

He decided Cole was too much trouble to handle personally and foisted him off on one of the security guards who hauled him up the final steps, through the doors, and into the entryway where they keep the little bowls of holy water. The security guard let him go and went to stand with his buddy. Cole pointed to their sunglasses and giggled. He wondered if bodyguards all came factory-ready, looking like that.

Then, he wandered towards one of the bowls of holy water. He was not Catholic or any type of religion, really, although his mom used to take him to some kind of orthodox church on Christmas and Easter when he was little. But he decided he needed all the blessing he could get at this point and dipped his fingers into the cool water.

James returned with the priest, who looked shockingly unphased by the sight of Cole leaning up against the wall, scooping holy water up in his hands and pouring it over his head. This was probably the same priest who did the final rights for guys as they bled out from gunshot wounds while the crime scene was being cleaned up around him before the cops arrived. He probably baptized all their babies. He was on the payroll, which was why James was so sure he would not have a problem marrying a sloshed gay hooker. It suddenly felt a little like Vegas.

Cole stopped pouring water over his head, shivering at the way it soaked into his hair, trickled across his neck, and dripped down his torso. "Did we drive all the way to Vegas?" he asked suspiciously.