[sub][h3][center]Archie[/center][/h3][/sub][center][sub][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9nLqUQYoiE]♫ ♫ ♫[/url][/sub][/center][hr][i]“Archie, David. You got a text too?”
																			 			"Archie. Been a while, my man."			
												"Thank you."[/i]

Archie doesn't immediately respond to any of the addresses, mostly because none of them lingered long enough for him to respond. He was fine with this, honestly. Aside from David and Abel, most people these days didn't have much to say to him aside from expressing concern and word requests. He wasn't quite stable enough, or secure enough with the new reality that surrounded him, to handle much more anyhow. Few people understood the desire for seclusion in the way that someone like him did. Which wasn't inherently a bad thing- all things considered it was a good thing that most people didn't lose people they cared about on the regular. It just meant that they didn't [i]get[/i] the necessity of distance so soon after, or the unwillingness to form bonds again for fear of losing someone they cared about again. It was January 3rd, and a week prior on this day had marked the first Christmas Archie had spent without his wife and daughter, and three days ago was the first new years he had spent drinking alone in a long, long time. Not even David or Abel, bless their hearts, could truly empathize with that level of rawness.

Oftentimes he equated grief to a shipwreck in a storm, with bits and pieces of shrapnel and debris thrown out to sea. The waves of the storm batter you and drag you down as one fought tooth and nail to stay above the surface- to gasp for air. One would cling to whatever piece of debris they could in hopes of staying afloat, and as time passed the waves grew further and further apart. They never lost their intensity, but one would get the chance to catch their breath before being battered by the never ending storm again. Archie, for all his strength of character, was drowning inside. His lungs burnt and he felt like he had no breath to scream. He was [b]so[/b] angry. There are things which one can not explain in language. Things which words are too inadequate for. How the widower knew he was there is one of those things. How he struggled with getting out of bed in the morning. The struggle of looking at himself in the mirror and telling himself [i]I'm worth it[/i]. He struggled with knowing where the ammunition was in the cabinet, and how easy it would all be. 

Archie shut the door reverently behind him, only taking his hands from the wood and iron when he heard the gentle click of the latch. He stepped away from it, and turned. He took a few steps after the group, but seeing as they were all convening in easily visible places Archie allowed his attention to wander again. He absentmindedly allowed his mind to wander as the group made small talk- and without even thinking allowed himself to edge on the outskirts of their circle. He ran his hand along the worn wood of the church pews and found himself genuflecting. Be it out of habit, or maybe his last desperate grasps at his faith he was not sure. He didn't like speaking to others about his struggles, choosing instead to make the unhealthy call of bottling it all up. He eased himself into the seat, and made the sign of the cross along his head and chest- but did not kneel. It was an odd mixture of respect to god and disregard of typical tradition. Archie closed his eyes and pressed his hands together gently, interlacing his worn and weathered fingers together in prayer. He did not know who he prayed to, or even what he prayed for. God, if there even was one, hadn't heard his cries in a long time. But it was nice, if anything, to feel like someone heard him.

A small, auburn haired girl with soft features and grey-blue eyes took to the pulpit of the church's stage, and began to explain her reasoning for contacting them. That they were predisposed, that there was a witch, that it was all connected. That she needed their help because they were the only ones. Archie didn't much care for any of it. His mind kept relaying the message in his mind. [i]Remember you're all Ghosts now, act like it.[/i] He supposed that was quite apt, given the situation and who he was... he was already a dead man walking, wasn't he?

[i]You tell me.[/i]

Archie shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his head. Would he trust her? He wasn't sure what part of him answered; the part of him that wanted to be better, or the part of him that wanted it all to end.

"I will." Archie said with finality, first to answer the unfamiliar young woman. "I will trust you."