Work Text:
The last time he had been seen, he was chilled to the bone with his sister cowering in his arms, watching feather and bone be crushed by a maw soaked with blood and gore.
Now, he stood naked in a layered suit, each stitched thread being pulled out tantalizingly slow and discarded on the floor by empathetic eyes and methodical hands.
It was embarrassing.
It was terrifying.
It was
religious
.
An ache in his knees tempted them to hit the ground, begging to feel the frozen tile under his shoes. The urge to get down and clasp his hands together, to intertwine fingers and hold them against his head, tears tracking their way down to puddles on the floor, was all too real. He needed to pray, to beg, to speak and be heard.
The eyes on him mimicked the view of God's; seeing his body be a cage made of glass, an amalgamation of raw anxiety and lust held inside, without issue; seeing him, and accepting him as he is viewed.
He prayed, to God and to the man in front of him, that the wings on his back had not shed to black in the time it took for him to realize he had been betrayed.
If he were to have fallen, would that justify why his tears burned down his cheeks?
A place made for them in this world, a forbidden fruit in a garden.
A bite taken, and knowing too much, seeing too much.
The invention of human nature, punished for its curious facets.
A fallen angel’s love for its God, and exacting revenge for His betrayal.
He knew he was naked, his person suit shed and leaving him bare to the man before him. He knew he should cover up, grab the zipper behind him and bite and tear until he no longer had teeth.
But there was something so biblical about having eaten the fruit, about knowing of good and of evil, of one's nakedness, of one's nakedness being bared by another's eyes, and doing nothing about it. Perhaps, even reveling in it.
If he were to be killed right now, would the man before him lay him down to rest as gently into a grave as he would into a bed?
But, he is already dead, isn't he?
It ceases to matter, when the twice frozen ocean curls around their forms. Once of blood and betrayal, and once of salt and forgiveness. Both of love.
He feels the frost encase his body, the shock of winter in the gore of his wounds. In the sloshing abyss of his concussed mind, the cold reminds him of the home he once had, lost amongst red snow and ice. He wonders if the sound of waves and the float of water reminds the other man of his own home.
He wonders if they will survive.
In the end, it isn't in his hands.
It's in God's.
And in the blood, betrayal, salt, forgiveness, and love- he's okay with that.