Work Text:
You weigh a decision,
Remake the soul first or the man?
You and yours have fought for his soul, not behind the most heavily guarded door but close enough another one of you says. You have never been to hell, had no reason to. It is a vile disgusting place, made for the one who disobeyed.
You know you will disobey; you will love and laugh and soon fall and fall and fall. In some reality, its already happened, so you do not worry about it for now. You were given an order, and you intend to follow it.
Save him.
When a righteous man sheds blood-
When you see his soul, its soaked. You would not know it was him, that it was human, if some other version of you (a future version perhaps, a different one) had not memorized it and how it fits against yours. It is a bright and hurt soul, haunted by things it could not change and driven by the things that it can. But it is soaked, soaked in blood that is not his and shame and anger that are. With the power that you hold right now, you cannot fix it all, so you decide to remake the man first.
Save him.
You were not given any further instructions, the others must have assumed that what you chose would suffice, the order in which you raised this man would not make a difference. You have seen his soul and his thoughts; you know that some scars were put on his form on purpose. There are scars that he wants so, when you build him back from atoms, you leave them. There is no pain left there.
You hold his hands as they form again, marvel at the combination of his mother’s and father’s DNA. You remake them unbroken, leave the gun callouses, knowing that he will miss them if you take them away. You run a finger along his nose as you straighten it, reliving every time it has been broken as if it were your own.
The mold from which you are made is the size of a galaxy, stars like marbles glittering through time. There are supposed to be freckles on his skin, so you take inspiration from your father’s toys. A protection sign sits over his heart. A part of you knows that it matches with his brother, you take a moment to wonder how you know that and why you feel so strongly about re-etching it into his skin. You do not press anymore protection into him, soon you will, this you also know.
His eyes are green gold, like the sun on fields of grass, and sly like a cat. You look at him, really look, and know that he has winked and cried with those eyes, that soon they will be things that you wish to examine unhindered. You create them as they were, they need nothing extra.
When the righteous-
You find it amusing that his knees face outwards and his ankles are warped from the boots he likes to wear.
Save him.
So you do. You save him and you feel in your being that you will continue to do whatever it takes to save him.
When you hold his soul, it weighs as much as a feather and as much as the earth itself. What a curious thing, you think. When placing it inside the body you have made, leaning over it in its resting place, you balance with one hand on his shoulder. When you touch him, you are all of a sudden standing outside of yourself. But you do not look like you should, you look human, know that you will feel human too. Your eyes shine with tears that are yours, not the vessels, yours. Your hand will fit over his shoulder again and you will push him away from you, apologizing and professing all in the same breath. You wonder what it feels like to breathe, you cannot feel it quite yet. Caught up in sights that do not belong to this version of you, his skin burns. You decide to keep it. It is a sign, more protection you think, an explanation of your orders.
Save him.
There is a force that rebounds when you place his soul inside his body. Physics apply even to you, even to your true form. The pines around his burial are beautiful and you are sad to see them fall, but you had an order you intend to keep. His brother picked this place, this very spot, perhaps hoping that where his soul was would be as picturesque.
You watch as he crawls from the dirt, bathes in the sun as if for the first time. For this body, it is, and you feel the same heat. You watch as he walks back into civilization, breaks into a gas station to find food and water. You feel like you are hiding from him, waiting to see his course of action. He lifts up his shirt in the mirror there, searching for scars from the attack of the hell hounds that killed him. Instead, he finds nothing but the same two knotted scars on his chest. It a world wrapped in halos; you know that you press your lips to every inch of them but you are not in that world yet. You are patient.
I have saved you. No harm will come to you on my watch. You are safe now.
You call out to him, thinking that maybe he can understand your true voice. Some part of you knows that he cannot right now, but there will come a time when he can hear you clearly. Glass shatters and he covers his ears, ears you lovingly recrafted so you stop speaking. You watch still, as he makes his way back to his family. As he looks at his unblemished skin and holds up a knife, cuts to show that this body you made is really his. It makes you think of children tearing paper off of a box, claiming it as their own.
You watch as his brother holds him tight as you wish to. Soon, a part of you whispers, soon. You hear as he accuses his brother of rebuilding him, of carrying him out of hell. There is no part of you that feels jealousy, not yet, so you watch and listen still. He is puzzled, he does not know you, knows nothing of you and does not understand what has happened to him.
As he breaks so shall it break.
You hear your kin whisper this over and over, thousands of voices replaying his torture. As if they could withstand the same, as if they are judge and jury. Only your father should judge, you know that, so you keep quiet.
I want you to know that you are safe. That I will never let them hurt you.
Your voice shatters the mirrors and windows around him. His ears bleed this time, and you are regretful. A new feeling, you notice.
An unfamiliar woman asks to see you, demands it. She has her hand over where you left yours, almost a direct call straight to you. She demands to see your face; you know that she may have the gift of vision, but you know that she cannot see you. You are not yet in a vessel and you know that your true form will harm her. You tell her this, somehow in this state she can hear you, even though he cannot. She demands again and not understanding her power at first, you cannot resist. She sees your true form and she bleeds too. There is so much screaming and bleeding that you hide. You visit the man that is your vessel and find him safe. His family is worried. You care for his daughter, knowing that there is a blonde human with piercing blue eyes in your future. She looks at you strangely, but she knows that you care for her. It is strange to feel the future but not yet live it. You look back to your charge.
I invoke, conjure, and command you, show me your face.
You see him in a barn, protected from things that are not you. His family is with him, pouring ingredients into a bowl and burning it. The smell reminds you of his soul before you held it. He is asking for you so you tell your vessel, the man who has been praying to you, that it is time. He puts on his coat and walks out the door. He asks to keep his family safe. You know that soon you and he will be the same. You agree.
It feels strange, trying to fit yourself into this human form. It is uncomfortable at first, you do not know what to do with only one head and only two hands. But he is asking to see you, so you go. Your vessel's jacket fits well, like he wears it every day, but you still feel too big for it. The lights break and the roof claps, like in the gas station and his motel room and in that woman’s eyes but you walk to him. Seeing him through a human’s eyes is just like seeing him through all of yours.
Still beautiful, still-
He shoots you; you feel the salt, but it does not burn like he expects. You know the friction of the gun on his palms, the way it is still comfortable in his hands. You are not expecting the knife, though it does not hurt. You do not know what you look like to him. He soon calls you a holy tax accountant, not believing that you are what you are. Then again, he does not believe he is what he is.
I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.
When you say your name with your vessel's mouth it feels right, your coat finally fits. He still does not believe you. So you show him your wings, spread them wide and proud- as he shows the skills his father taught him.
Why’d you do it?
Hearing him speak is a gift, you feel the air rush through your wings and your home start to speed away from your view. You hear him speak and you know it is worth it.
Because god commanded it.
Because your soul was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in any moment of human history. Because I know you, I love you starting now until I hear the car that you love pull up to me, your eyes glinting in the sun that my son has made for us.
Love is not in the having and I do not have you yet, but this will be enough.