The original prompt for this was Devotion, however after writing it I opted to go with Faith instead. It seemed fitting and I was in a sentimental mood.
Side note….the conversation between the priest and Cisco is an exert from "Proven Guilty" by Jim Butcher, slightly modified since Dresden isn't in the TV series.
Cisco walked with quiet steps into the cathedral style building, a lost look in his eyes still wet from tears from his brother's funeral. It had been years since he had walked through these doors, not since he had started at Star Labs almost right out of college.
Being a man of science, despite his mother's best efforts to keep him going to church, he felt he needed a sense of peace to keep his head on straight. The large building was empty since there were no scheduled mass, and it was nearly midnight.
His brother's funeral was 2 days ago, and he felt lost. All of his family were wrapped up in their own grief, but he needed quiet and solace rather than crowds of well-meaning people. As he sat in the huge almost empty room his gaze wandered upwards, not really seeing anything, then bowed his head in quiet contemplation, letting the tears flow freely down his cheeks.
How long he sat there he didn't know, but soon he felt the bench shift slightly and a quiet presence felt beside him. Looking up he looked into the face of a much older man, a face lined with years, soft brown eyes, and nearly pure white hair. The white collar tucked into his plain black shirt marked him as a priest at the very least, but when he spoke his voice was as smooth as fine silk, and rumbled slightly in a light bass voice. "You look troubled, my son."
Cisco pressed his lips together and looked away.
"It's all right," the priest said quietly. "If you wish to tell me, I'll speak of it to no one."
"Maybe I don't want to talk to you," Cisco said.
"Of course," he said, nodding. "But my offer stands, should you wish to talk. Sometimes the only way to carry a heavy burden is to share it with another. It is your choice to make."
Sometimes Cisco thought it might be nice not to make any choices. If he never had one, he could never screw it up.
"There are things I don't care to share with a priest," Cisco told him, but he was mostly thinking out loud.
He nodded. He took off his collar and set it aside. He settled back into the pew, reached into his jacket, and drew out a slender silver flask. He opened it, took a sip, and offered it to Cisco. "Then share it with your bartender."
That drew a faint, snorting laugh from him. He shook his head, took the flask, and sipped. An excellent, smooth Scotch. He sipped again, and told him about the accident, his grief, the lashing out at his friends and family whom while they had meant well didn't truly understand his loss. A niggling thought at the back of his mind vaguely knew that Barry had felt much the same loss, between his mother and father, but since he was the cause of the accident the tiny voice was silenced.
"Death is never easy, my son. It can take anyone in the mere blink of an eye, and leave behind those that would otherwise be none the wiser. Faith in your choices makes the world a better place, faith that you will be a better person and be able to move on past the hurt comes with time and more faith. But for one to get to that faith one must weigh the choices one makes regarding their lives and those of them around. Faith can move mountains, turn the blind to seeing, and bring those in doubt even closer. Faith in yourself is always the hardest because of the choices you make or don't make. We are only human and make mistakes, but from these we draw strength from them and these choices make our own faith that much stronger."
The priest stood up then, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Have faith my son, your pain will come to an end, and it will open your eyes to the world a little bit more. Find the faith to forgive yourself and your friend, and healing from within will come about from that."
Cisco somehow doubted that, but he felt as if a small weight had been lifted from his heart, just being able to talk to someone. He watched as the old man walked away and for the first time since the accident, a small smile crossed his lips though the pain was no less.