{Cary}

<exorcism how to>

<use Jesus name>

<say Jesus is Lord>

<nothing else owns you>

<nothing else gets to speak or act>

<find the back door>

<what let it in>

<ask Jesus to show Jon maybe>

<like a big hurt>

<unforgiveness/bitterness>

<making a vow>

<doing a wrong thing>

<or it can pass from parents>

<you need to pull the rug out>

<no more back door>

<so say sorry or forgive and release or take back the vow>

<out loud so it can hear>

<ask Jesus to kick it out>

<CALL ME>

{Kurt}

Cary Douglas was a hell of a slow texter. Kurt's phone buzzed intermittently against his leg for the next half hour while he drove, eyes aching as he scanned the horizon in the rearview for sunrise. All he'd been able to read before Jon/the thing that was riding behind Jon's eyes kicked the phone out of his hand was: <use Jesus name> and he'd had to make the rest up as he went.

After hours of driving, the interior of the car was warm as blood and smelled like coffee and Skittles. Jon had stripped off his coat and was using it as a pillow to sleep against the door. His boots were off, his sock feet tucked under him on the seat. He still shivered occasionally, hugging his arms around himself, the cuffs of his hoodie pulled over his hands.

Faint singing came from the shelter of Jon's hood and comforted Kurt. Jon had plugged his ears full of what Kurt guessed was Jesus-y music, or his partner would have asked Kurt to put it on his phone. Music felt safe--way safer than whatever voice Jon had been hearing in the back of his mind all his damn life, saying he should die.

They were off the divided highway; two wide lanes were available now plus a shoulder and a grassy ditch on either side of the road. Kurt pulled out his phone, holding it against the wheel to glance over Cary's texts as he drove.

"Fuck me. It's the 12 steps," he said to himself. He tucked it under his leg again to think. In AA, holding on to resentment was a big open door to use again; so was refusing to own your own shit. The first step to any kind of freedom from addiction was admitting you were powerless and turning to a higher power for help.

And everyone knew shit got passed to them from their parents; many of the people in Kurt's group were second and third generation alcoholics, including Kurt himself.

He didn't know what he'd expected in response to his desperate long shot of a text, but this practical step by step removal of access points was not it. He was a little disappointed not to have to collect herbs and light candles to make a spell.

Cary picked up on the first ring. "Kurt," he said evenly. "You safe?"

Kurt exhaled. "Yeah." He pitched his voice quiet, glancing at Jon. "Still on the road to Jasper. Jon's asleep."

"There's blood all over my counter," Cary said. "And a knife on the floor. Know anything about that?"

Kurt made a small noise. "Um. So Jon is not--himself. Exactly? He said he went to make a snack and freaked himself out? He said the knife bit him. And then he--kinda took that back. Because it sounds crazy, obviously. But then when I asked him about this night, and the nightmares he has on this week..."

Kurt blinked and blinked, seeing his partner's face transformed into this snarling thing with black holes for eyes. "He kind of lost it," Kurt whispered. "Like it didn't look like him anymore. That's when I texted you. And I did what you said and talked to him about Jesus and he's back to kind of normal now. But I'm freaking out a little. I don't think that thing is gone, just gone quiet."

Kurt tried to laugh. "Or maybe it's just dark and I've been reading too many Stephen King novels? You can just tell me I'm crazy and we'll laugh in the morning about how over-dramatic I am. I would be super fine with that." His body was shaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush of being trapped in the car with Jon looking like, and talking like, and acting like someone else.

Cary took a slow breath. "You're not crazy."

Kurt's throat made a small noise and he waited for the other man to say something more, heart tripping, but the phone line was silent. "Oh my God, Cary, please don't leave me hanging," he hissed. "If I'm not crazy then I'm fucked! I'm the character that gets possessed or dies in the first third of the novel. I just took communion for the first time in like a decade and I'm not good enough to take this shit on for Jon, am I. I'm still basically going to hell if we get hit by a car right now."

"I need a coffee," Cary grumbled. "Jesus. Take a breath, Visser and gimme a minute."

Kurt took a couple of breaths, pushing his feet into the floor as he exhaled, listening to the far away sound of water pouring and the clatter of the kettle on the stove-top. It was deeply comforting to picture Cary's big body in their kitchen going through the motions of making a pour-over like he did every day.

"I thought of that picture you drew," Kurt said, his voice lifting uncertainly. "Of those things creepin' around your body in the dark? At the time I thought they were like a metaphor. But Jon sees them in his nightmares--he calls them 'hungry things.' Do you still--do you still have those creepin' around?"

"No," Cary said gruffly. "Counselling closed the back doors and Mel did clean up prayer for me. For a couple months there she'd be praying with me almost every week, asking Jesus to clean shit out and going through my room to bless it with oil. It's more common that you might think. Usually not a big deal; people get their shit sorted out one way or another and when there's no more open door, creepers clear out on their own to find an easier target. My shit was sticky because..." He paused. "Not important. Why are there creepers hanging around Jon? Has he been using?"

"No." Kurt's voice cracked. "He's been cutting instead of opes. He turned in all his sharps but he's still jonesing to hurt himself. It's scaring the hell out of me."

"That's never good." Cary voice was quiet. "Self harm is blood in the water."

Kurt swallowed, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "Do you know about Mel?" he asked softly. "That she attempted suicide with sleeping pills?"

"Yes," Cary said and Kurt could hear how alertly he was listening now.

"Do you know Jon found her?"

There was an abrupt silence. "No."

Kurt's throat was tight and he tried to stretch his chest open. "On this day--the day Judah died. Jon found her. Called 911. Put her in a recovery position. Looked after her until someone came. When he was six, Cary." A sob broke out of his body and Kurt swiped his eyes clear of tears to drive. "And he's heard them ever since. Whispering that they're coming for him too. That he should die."

It clicked together for Kurt even as he told this story; attempting suicide was self-harm. There had been blood in the water already when Jon walked into that bathroom. For all they knew, Jon had stepped into the middle a feeding frenzy of hungry things more than happy to latch onto the vulnerable offspring of their latest victim.

Kurt's heart was kicking like a bass drum, shaking his whole body. He really wanted to go back to not believing any of this was real. "Tell me what to do," he whispered. "How do I save my partner from something I can't even see? I'm terrified I'm gonna find him on the floor of our bathroom one day because those little mind-fuckers are strong and they're in his head already and they don't need sleep--"

"Snap out of it." Cary's voice was sharp. "Say Jesus' name."

"Jesus--" Kurt took a huge shaky breath. "Christ." As he exhaled, it felt like his head screwed back on his body and his heart slowed. "Jesus Christ Jesus Christ," he whispered, pressing a C-major chord on his chest, like it was a song. Then he went rigid with alarm for a new reason. "Oh shit. He's listening too, yeah? If they're real he's real?"

"Yeah Jesus is real." Cary's gruff voice was calm and steady. "He's bigger. That's why his name works like it does. He's in Jon and Jon belongs to Him. These creepers just need reminding. Gimme a minute to think."

Kurt slumped in the seat, tucking the phone against his shoulder to reach his free hand and touch Jon, clasping his ankle lightly. His partner's warmth, the sound of his breathing was reassuring but he could still feel Jon shivering under his fingers.

He was at a loss to wrap his mind around what Cary was telling him. Jesus' name had been nothing more than a colourful cuss word to him for years. Way back in his memory, Jesus and his Father had been a pair of levers his family and his Sunday school teachers used to manipulate him: Jesus died for you Kurt; every time you sin you put the nails back in his hands. Sin makes the Father very angry Kurt, that's why Jesus came to die.

The vivid imagery and emotional language had been overwhelming for little Kurt's highly sensitive heart. He was always hurting Jesus and making the Father angry and he didn't mean to hurt anyone. He bent over backward to keep from making his own parents angry; it didn't feel fair that even his wayward thoughts might be detected and touch off the Father's wrath, killing Jesus again. He was as good as one energetic, creative, impulsive little boy could be.

When he put the pieces together and realized his big feelings for other boys were the Father's least favourite thing, it had flattened him right into the ground. Little Kurt had kept his mouth shut, his head ducked and his heart far out of reach in the months that followed.

It had been a huge relief when it occurred to him that since fire had not rained down on his head after his first kiss with a boy maybe Jesus and his Father were just made up, a big stick to make children behave, no more real than Santa Claus. He'd stayed in church to make his parents happy and make music, nothing more.

"I don't know if Jon even believes in this part of his religion anymore," Cary muttered, and Kurt felt like putting his hand up to say 'Hello, me too.'

"But it would help to pray this over him out loud," Cary went on. "Creepers don't read your mind--there's only a tiny little spot they're allowed to be in. He's sleeping?"

"Mm-hm?" Kurt confirmed unsteadily.

"Okay Visser, here's what you do. You just ask Jesus to protect him and shut the creepers up. Ask Jesus to hide him under His blood so they can't stand the smell of him. Tell them Jesus is the boss of Jon and they have to do what He tells them. I think Jesus will do the rest."

Kurt cleared his tight throat; all the 'Jesus' in those sentences made him flinch. "You want me to pray? Out loud?" His voice was hoarse.

"Yeah, you're there. It doesn't have to be fancy."

Kurt slowed the car and pulled onto the shoulder with a soft lurch. Wrapping his arms around himself, he pressed the steering wheel into his chest and the phone into his ear. "I don't--" He could barely get these words out. "Cary, I don't do that anymore." He was trembling, circling the stick he'd been beaten with to try and pick it up and use it somehow. He turned his face to look at Jon's curled form, tears sliding hot down his cheeks. He would have opened his own veins if it would help Jon, but he literally couldn't make his mouth use those words again.

"I believe you now," Kurt said. "That it's real. And maybe...Jesus is like you say. But, um, I'm not gonna lie. They battered the hell outta little me with all of that and I never planned to get anywhere near again. And I've come this close now because of Jon but I just--I can't. With the Jesus." His voice broke into pieces, and he wiped the cuff of his jumper over his face. If Jesus was real, had Kurt been hurting him all this time? The idea was crushing; God, he wanted not to care so much.

Cary made a soft, growling sound. "I hate that someone wrecked Jesus for you. I could just..." His sigh was gusty through the phone, and there was a muffled noise like he was rubbing his face. "Aw Kurt. I'd be hugging you now if you were here."

Kurt laughed damply. "I'd be hugging you back."

"Put me on speaker," Cary said. "I'll do the thing for Jon."

Kurt laid the phone on the dash and put his hands lightly on Jon's body, not wanting to wake him up. As Cary's gruff, quiet voice spoke through the phone, Jon took a breath, curling up small small. He made a soft noise like he recognized Cary's voice, and Kurt stroked his hands over his partner's trembling back. In his own heart, he whispered to Grandma Visser-God, You'll help, won't you?

Cary had paused, like he was listening. The quiet went on for a while, and Kurt realized Jon was uncurling, taking deep breaths like he did when he was doing yoga. He didn't know what Cary had said or done, but his partner wasn't shaking anymore.

"That'll do for now," Cary said. "Thanks Jesus. All my love, as usual. In your strong name and by the power of your blood shed for me and Kurt and Jon. Amen."

Fumbling a little, Kurt took the phone off speaker and put it back to his ear. He didn't want any of Jesus' blood shed for him but he wasn't going to make a fuss about that now when Jon was breathing so peaceful.

"How's he look?" Cary asked.

"Relaxed," Kurt whispered. "For the first time all night. So thank you, Cary."

"It's not magic," Cary said gruffly. "He's gonna have to do his own homework and get to counselling. I've been bugging him about that for years. But it'll serve for now. Give him a little space to think clear and move forward on that."

"He's starting NA next week," Kurt offered, his voice still a little unsteady.

"Thumbs up," Cary said. There was another pause. "Kurt, you don't have to pray out loud for Jesus to hear. If you get the heebie-jeebies again, you can just call Him in your heart and He'll be there. He's always got his ear turned to hear us."

Kurt exhaled. "You know, I actually believe that. For Jon."

Cary huffed a soft laugh. "Well you're Jon's person now. That probably counts for something. Text me when you get there safe."

"Yeah will do." Kurt tucked his phone back in his pocket to keep close, grateful to know Cary was awake now and just a call away.

He stepped out of the car to stretch his legs and get a face full of fresh air. Very faintly, on the edge of the eastern horizon, there was a glimmer of greenish light--dawn coming round the edge of the planet. Kurt tipped back against the car, tucking his fingers in his pockets against the freezing cold, pulling in big deep breaths of the winter air.

Was there anything better than this, a day off with his person in the gorgeous great outdoors? What was the point of hurting his own feelings about whether or not Jesus was real and cared about him? If there was Someone in charge of the Universe they clearly loved him or he wouldn't be here right now.

When he dropped back into the driver's seat, Jon was stretching and yawning. "I had the best dream, Kurt."

{Jon}

The memory of the dream was already fleeing away, but the sweetness of the feelings that went with it filled Jon's body with a warm hum of joy and peace.

Kurt narrowed his eyes in a smile for him, but his face looked tired and the skin around his eyes was pink and tender. "Was it a bikram yoga sesh with Ryan Reynolds?"

Jon burst out laughing. "Oh wow, he's so smooth--he's gay yeah? He has to be one of us."

Kurt chuckled quietly. "Put on your boots, love, and come see the Northern lights."

Jon shoved his feet in his boots and scrambled out of the car without bothering to lace them up. The car dipped as Kurt hopped onto the hood, hooking his boot heels on the bumper, and Jon leaned between the frame of his legs. Hugging him close, Kurt rested his chin on Jon's shoulder.

On the western horizon, where the night sky was untouched by any hint of dawn, a veil of light hung rippling in an solar wind neither of them could feel. The abandoned highway was utterly silent except for their breathing and the quiet ticking of the car as it cooled. For a second it seemed to Jon like he could hear a pure high note like a finger run around the rim of a crystal glass.

"Are they singing?" he whispered.

Kurt's laugh brushed his neck. "Have you never seen the Northern lights before?"

Jon shook his head. The city was too bright and his family had never camped in the winter, when the phenomenon appeared. "Have you?"

"Mm-hm," Kurt said, but he didn't seem in the mood for telling stories. He held Jon tight, his hands pressed over Jon's heart; Jon was more than content to lean into him and match his breathing to Kurt's as the ribbon of light swayed slowly in the sky ahead of them.

He felt Kurt turn his face and lay his cheek against his shoulder. "Are you happy with me, Jon?" he asked.

"So happy," Jon said, pressing his hands over Kurt's and turning his head to try and see his face.

"You don't regret--I'm your partner?" Kurt's voice was husky. "And not someone--better for you?"

Jon turned quickly, his hands finding Kurt's face and brushing through the tears there. "Why would you ask that, love?"

"I just got thinking about some old shit and hurt my own feelings. Is all," Kurt said low.

Jon cupped his scruffy cheek. "Where's it hurting? And I'll make it better."

Kurt tapped his fingers against his coat over his heart. Jon worked his hand between the buttons of his coat, pressing his palm flat against the chunky knit of Kurt's jumper. He used his other hand to turn Kurt's face back to his. Kurt's lips were trembling, his lowered lashes thick with tears.

Jon's own mouth made the unhappy line his partner was wearing. "Kurt, love. We belong together. Good days and bad days. We're not keeping score--you taught me that." It made Jon's heart hurt that his partner needed this reassurance so often. He knew in his gut that was about all the previous experiences Kurt had had with people who said they loved him and then left him with these holes. Jon stroked Kurt's hair and tucked it behind his ear, smiling to see a tiny smile start on Kurt's own mouth. "There's only ever been you for me. I'll love you for always. And I'll tell you that every day you need to hear it. I don't need you to be my everything. Just my Kurt Visser. My partner."

Kurt hid his face against Jon's neck. "That's me." His hand came up to clasp the back of Jon's neck. "Jonathon Nathanial White care specialist."

Jon laughed softly. "Love being in your hands, Kurt," he said in his partner's ear. "Love sleeping next to you. Love making food with you. Love going to all the places with you. Wanna have all your babies."

Kurt's laugh shook him, and he darted Jon a sparkling look.

"Wanna have you dress me every day. Wanna see you dye your hair every colour of the rainbow before you lose it."

"Oh no," Kurt said, half laughing, half dismayed.

Jon laughed back at him. "Should I go on?"

Kurt shook his head, his lips curling up shyly as he covered Jon's hand with his. "You made it better."

"Good," Jon said smiling back.

Kurt's legs snugged around his hips, and his eyes touched the sky above Jon's head. "You're missing the show," he said.

"No I'm not," Jon said softly, and leaned in to touch his mouth with his.

3607 words.

*Do you want me to write a glimpse of Jon's beautiful dream here? I wasn't sure I should slow down the trip to Jasper for that.

Now tell me truly, step by step instructions about how to do an exorcism is what you've been missing all along and never knew it, right? LOL. Be well today, lovelies, and be good to one another.*