The question nearly pierces Aziraphale’s heart. It hits him somewhere between the ribs, the doubt and sorrow and all the implications of what Heaven’s become, and for a second he can’t breathe either. It’s too horrific for words, too big and awful to look at head-on.
Both of them are intimately acquainted with human suffering and death, with the ripples grief leaves in its wake and the wounds that survivors pass on to those who survive them in turn. But Heaven, for all their posturing, don’t see it as real enough to merit concern. (To be fair, Hell don’t really care about the specifics of suffering inflicted on human souls either—they’ve got quotas to meet, not consequences to consider.)
Then five thousand years’ worth of love and familiarity rise up in him, from that well of strength that Crowley’s filled in him where his faith used to be. Like a star, constant in its brightness, this is a knowledge that stands firm against the wave of oncoming dark.
“Because you know it matters,” he whispers, the words raking through Crowley’s cropped hair as surely as fingers. “Because you know it’s not just numbers. Because you do good things that aren’t their work—you have been for as long as I’ve known you. Right back to the beginning.”
His hands find Crowley’s back and stroke, soothing, the firm touch turning to a feather-light glide when it finds his scars.
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timeasmymeasure
I HAVE MISSED YOU TOO <3
Date: 2020-06-23 11:26 pm (UTC)Both of them are intimately acquainted with human suffering and death, with the ripples grief leaves in its wake and the wounds that survivors pass on to those who survive them in turn. But Heaven, for all their posturing, don’t see it as real enough to merit concern. (To be fair, Hell don’t really care about the specifics of suffering inflicted on human souls either—they’ve got quotas to meet, not consequences to consider.)
Then five thousand years’ worth of love and familiarity rise up in him, from that well of strength that Crowley’s filled in him where his faith used to be. Like a star, constant in its brightness, this is a knowledge that stands firm against the wave of oncoming dark.
“Because you know it matters,” he whispers, the words raking through Crowley’s cropped hair as surely as fingers. “Because you know it’s not just numbers. Because you do good things that aren’t their work—you have been for as long as I’ve known you. Right back to the beginning.”
His hands find Crowley’s back and stroke, soothing, the firm touch turning to a feather-light glide when it finds his scars.