Work Text:
Petrichor
(noun)
greek: πέτρᾱ (pétrā), stone + ἰχώρ (ichṓr); ethereal fluid;
The earthy scent that rain produces when it falls on dry soil.
“You mean like a sudden rainstorm forces them together beneath the canopy. They look into each other’s eyes, and realize they were made for each other.”
“Ah, yes. Just like that. It seemed so simple in the beginning” — stammered Crowley, walking sloppily down the street — “Before the beginning, I mean.”
In conventional stories, rain always represented tragedy, rawness and revelation. “Pride and Prejudice,” he laughed to himself (He hadn’t read the books; reading was a delicate subject. But he saw all the movie adaptations he could find). In the rain, you’re naked and vulnerable.
It was under a meteor shower that Aziraphale fell in love with the lively, eccentric angel with red curls who protected him. It was under the rain in Eden that Crowley took interest in the blond, apprehensive angel, so peculiar, who lied for humans — just like him. Who didn’t move away, even when he saw the blackness of the “fallen one’s” wings. Who returned the favor.
In contrast to the Divine Scriptures, a storm represented for them a beginning, not an end. Each drop was a feeling born, an unspoken word, which accumulated with many others to form a flood.
“But of course,” — he turned another corner, approaching the square — “we weren't looking into each other's eyes on those occasions. That's why… it didn't work out. That's why we didn't realize before." And the sound of the raindrops was drowned out by the thunders.
Now the rain was over. Nothing remained. Nothing but wet faces — whether from the drops themselves or from the tears, it made no difference. — Nothing but that familiar scent, left by the water when it touched the ground. "Petrichor" was its name. That once comforting smell that lingers in the air, reviving so many memories.
The demon stared at the bench for a few moments. Its white dye was quite worn — "because of the rain", he concluded without thinking, and a sad, ironic almost-smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
He closed his tired eyes and took a deep breath.
Petrichor. May the rain come down once again, opening the Heavens and bringing back my beloved. May I once again find myself in his starry eyes, hear his voice echoing through the ricochet of the drops on the ground of this Earth that we love, calling my name. May I once again feel the calming touch of his hand. May I once again smell his sweet scent.
...Amen? Crowley came to his senses and realized that, unconsciously, he had dropped to his knees.