Deo Gratias

Deo gratias:

Latin, meaning, thanks be to god.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

When Ash opens his eyes, it is still dark. Azazel is still asleep, on his side of the bed, just as Ash had left him. Ash sits up, looking down at Azazel, at his sleeping face, mouth hanging open and hair splayed on the pillow. Ash sighs, running a hand through his hair, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Ash carefully climbs out of the bed, slipping his boots on and tucking his day clothes into his bag. Ash wrinkles his nose at the chaos in the bag, but makes no move to fix it. Later, he tells himself.

Ash lurks near the door for a moment, trying to ascertain if anyone's up. When he deems it safe, he slides his boots off, wincing at the cold from the floor seeping through his socks. He begins to walk through the bowels of the house, running his fingers over the mazes of bookshelves, then grins when he finds himself in the kitchen.

He opens the fridge, which is oddly enough one of those antique ones from the 60s, grimacing when he finds it mostly bare. Ash hums, closing the door silently, then grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter. He bites into it, chewing contemplatively. Ash jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, turning to see nothing there.

"Goddamn sprites," he hisses, then mutters a curse when he feels the sprite push him. He whips his head around, shooing with his hand, then goes back to eating his apple. Azazel continues to walk, eating the core out of habit as he wanders the maze that is Ariel's and Sophia's home. Ash does not know what he is looking for.

All he knows is that he feels a sense of familiarity here, of comfort, in both the home and the homemakers. Ash does not know this place, yet he walks its halls like he has been here many times before. He walks it like he has lived here, like he has seen its secrets. He does not like this.

Ash walks back to his and Azazel's shared room, tucking his boots under the bed frame on his side, and climbing back into his side of the bed. Ash takes care, climbing back under the duvet, overconscientious of his every movement.

Ash sighs, resting back on the overly fluffy pillow. Ash rolls onto his side, gazing at Azazel. He tentatively reaches out a hand, brushing strands of Azazel's hair off his forehead. Ash touches him with a sort of reverence, knowing he is not enough to be doing this, that he does not deserve to touch a god such as Azazel so carelessly.

Ash retracts his hand, resting it on the seam of his and Azazel's pillows, and falls asleep like this, basking in the odd comfort that comes from the heat of another body in a bed, of how impossibly warm Azazel is.

-

Ash wakes up, and Azazel is not there. Ash doesn't find this odd, Azazel is a grown (?) man (?), and can fend for himself, but some part of Ash wishes that Azazel had woken him up, had dragged him out of bed and down into the bowels of this maze of a house and then to the kitchen.

He slides his shoes on once more, wincing at the cold bite of the air in the room, a chill seeping in through the darkness surrounding the house.

He slides through the house unawares, listening carefully for any signs that anyone else is awake. He hears voices, and follows them through winding hallways lined with shelves filled of books and trinkets.

“You have to tell him,” he hears a woman say, her soft voice low. Azazel speaks next, voice just as low as the woman's. “Soph, I can’t. I don’t know what he’d do.” Ash's brows furrow. There is only one other "he" in the house, so he assumes they're talking about him.

“He’s a mortal, what could he do?” Ash does not recognize this voice. He swallows thickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You know he’s more than that-“ Azazel again.

 “I know you see it too, brother.” Ariel.

 The voice laughs, and Ash shudders. “So what if he’s a little halfbreed? Big deal! I turned out fine.”

 “You didn’t, but that’s a discussion for another day. Tell him whenever. It’s not our place to do so. Just-“ 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Azazel says, and Ash can imagine him shaking his head, smiling non-nonchalantly, “‘Just tell him’. He’s smart, I’m sure he’d figure it out himself.” 

“That may be so, but we’re cutting it close," the foreign voice continues. "Michael’s going to be looking for you two.”

Azazel's voice is sullen. “I know that, Eli. Just give me the damn map already.”

 “Fine, Azazel. You know this is going be a difficult trip, right?”

 “Just give him the map already!” A different voice hisses.

“No need to be so snappish,” Ash hears Ariel groan, followed by a loud smack. “Get out of my house,” she hisses, and the first voice replies, “By the time you two get there, we should have everything set up.”

 “Good. Now go.”

Ash hears grumbling, and the voice comes near the door. He scurries back to his room, careful that his heavy boots make no noise on the floors. He glances over his shoulder, and sees a tall man looking at him. The man raises a slender finger to his lips, then disappears in a whoosh of fluttering dust and smoke.

Once he has successfully navigated back to his room, he closes the door, and goes back under the covers, sheltering himself once more from the freezing air in the room. He almost feels like a child caught up past it's bedtime, awaiting punishment and reprimandment.

Ash tries to sleep once more, but its hard to do so now. His heart pounds and head spins, dread lurking over his shoulder as adrenaline sprints through his bloodstream.

The door opens slowly, and Ash's eyes snap shut. He hears rustling coming from the other side of the room, and only when he deems it safe does he roll onto his other side and crack his eyes open. He sees Azazel settling on the floor, a spare blanket on the ground, his loose dress shirt crumpled on the floor.

"Get up," Ash whispers, and Azazel turns on his makeshift pallet to face him.

"What?" Azazel asks, sitting up with a wince of pain.

"Gods shouldn't sleep on the floor," Ash whispers. Azazel stands, blanket falling to the floor. Ash directs his eyes away from Azazel's bare chest. Azazel climbs into bed with him, settling stiffly onto his side. He lays there, not moving to cover himself with the blanket.

Ash pulls the blanket up, and rolls onto his side to gaze at Azazel, who still lies there wide eyed.

"Do gods sleep at all?" Ash asks, reverently, lovingly almost, as though he was talking to a lover he had not seen in years.

"I'm not a god anymore," Azazel eventually whispered, rolling to face Ash. "But we used to."

Ash hums. He wants to trace all the sharp contours of Azazel's face with his fingertips, and almost asks, but he doesn't, because this creature scares him.

"When I was a kid," Ash begins to whisper, "I would stay with my grandma after school. She would pick me up in her old station wagon, and drive me back home with the radio playing and the windows down. She was a devout Catholic, and instead of doing normal grandma things, she would sit me on her lap and read the Bible out loud." He looks up, as if he can still smell the stench of her house and her ancient Bible.

"She wasn’t the best mother, nor grandmother, nor person, but those days were the closest I had to something special. When she died, I became obsessed with studying Christianity, even if I was an atheist myself. One of my favorite things to do was to memorize as many angel names and traits as I could, and write it down. 

My grandma died when I was 11, and I grew out of studying religion when I was 12, but even still I can faintly remember the names of angels." He looks to Azazel, and finds him wide awake still. "You're supposed to be a demon," Ash continues, "So why are you so beautiful?"

He feels himself flush under Azazel's prying, golden gaze, and turns his back to the man.

Ash eventually falls asleep, his grandmas voice a faint echo in the back of his head.

Ash was not the first to think Azazel was too beautiful to be a demon, nor would he be the last. Ever since the revolution, Azazel had been nothing but an outcast, a beautiful has-been.

Azazel sighs, looking at the mortal that sleeps so peacefully by him. Azazel knows that now, with Ariel in possession of his wings, he too will be a half mortal soon, nothing more than a handsome semi-mortal man with no real access to his Godliness. Azazel can already feel his vis being cut in half, feel his body take on the weakness of a halfbreed.

He knows by the time he wakes up, his body will be rejecting whatever heavenly power remains, and assuming he can survive, he will turn into a nephillim. An albeit wingless nephillim, but a nephillim nonetheless. Azazel has not felt so helpless since El went missing, but he knows this boy is his and his kinds only help.

He knows he will do what it takes to protect him. He whispers this fact to Ash, despite how the boy slumbers.

He rolls onto his side, and hears a muttered, "Deo gratias," amidst a large amount of gibberish muttered in the throes of dreams.

Azazel closes his eyes, and sleeps. He dreams once more, of Ash, of his love, of his family, and deep down he knows that his fate will mimic theirs.

-

When Ash wakes, Azazel still sleeps. Ash's brow furrows, leaning closer to Azazel. He’s ever so slightly shivering, red hair damp from sweat. Ash frowns, folding the comforter in half to give his side to Azazel. He slides out of the bed, careful to not jar Azazel, and slips his feet into his boots.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, following the instinct seemingly ingrained into his mind of what path to take. Ariel and Sophia are already up, a cup of coffee held between Sophia's delicate hands, and Ariel at the counter. Ariel looks over her shoulder, her thick burgundy hair falling in loose waves down her back.

Ash sits at the table, sitting next to Sophia. Sophia slides the cup of coffee over to him, resting a careful hand on his. "How did you sleep?" She asks, looking at Ash knowingly. He swallows, not meeting her gaze.

"Well," he answers. "And you?"

Ariel barks out a laugh, turning to face Sophia and Ash. "Silly boy," she teases. "Gods don't sleep." Ash raises a brow, lifting his mug to his lips and sipping the coffee.

"Leave the boy be," Sophia gently reprimands. "He does not know much of us and our kind, as can be expected." Ariel scoffs, turning back to the counter.

Sophia rises, her long dress swaying around her ankles. "Come, little one," she beckons, a hand stretched out. Ash takes her hand, abandoning his coffee to be dragged through the house once more. Sophia takes him back out to the garden, leading him through it until they reach a patio in the center of the garden.

"I have much to tell you," Sophia begins, carefully watching Ash with all knowing eyes. "And I must ask you to remain quiet and attentive. Can you do that for me?" Ash nods. Sophia sighs, sitting in a chair on the patio. Ash sits across from her, leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed.

"The beginning… does not matter so much," Sophia begins, folding her hands together to keep herself from worrying at her nails. "It is important, but it does not matter so much." She inhales deeply, as if the words are struggling to get out. "What matters, is the end. Or, more accurately, the beginning of the end. The beginning of the end began long after civilization started, and it started with a man. You know of him as Adam." Sophia pauses, gauging Ash's reaction.

"But we, we know him as the First Son. The Primus Filius. He took over the throne of our god forcefully, rewriting human history to be easier to control. It is thanks to him Christianity is what it is now." Sophia wipes a tear or two away, not looking at Ash as he watches on in horror.

"We used to be a beautiful religion. He killed many of my kind, and banished those who refused him. As payment for Azazel's defiance, he would not let him go, forcing him to write those books of yours. Your prophecies.

"He enslaved the dream angels and the prophesies, using them and their power to foresee the future to better manipulate the humans, his own children." Sophia points to a mountain range a ways away from the grounds of her home. "Look there." Ash looks there. "That is the path to Hell. There, you will be safe from Adam."

Ash raises a brow. "Why is Adam after me?" Sophia looks at him fondly, despite her sigh.

"Because," she whispers, leaning closer to Ash, "We have reason to believe you will be the one to end his reign."

"Me?" Ash laughs, running a hand through his unruly, currently very tangled hair. "And why would anyone think that?" He chuckles, looking at Sophia as if she is about to tell him she was telling a joke.

"You are the only one in the current history of mankind to not have a prophecy. You did not perish when Azazel brought you here. And most importantly, the most powerful man in both the mortal and immortal realms wants you dead." She stands, her brow furrowed. Ash rises, towering over her.

"I'm not your savior," he sneers, "I'm some guy who got bullied all his life." He laughs, looking down at Sophia with hurt and disrespect in his eyes. "If I can't stand up to two losers, how do you expect me to take down a literal god?"

Sophia sighs, taking Ash's hand. "All the answers are in you," she whispers, "they always have been, and always will." She meets Ash's eyes now, craning her head up to meet his gaze. "None of it is your fault."

This is the breaking point.

Ash collapses in Sophia's arms then, sobbing into her shoulder as she whispers soothing words and hums a song. The song is familiar, but as Ash cries, he knows he has never heard it before. How odd.

When Ash has calmed down enough, he wipes his eyes, scrubbing at the salt on his cheeks. "I do not want to be your savior, but I will." He looks around at the garden, at where Sophia's and Ariel's house stands proudly amongst the trees and rose bushes. "For you. For this," he says, gesturing at the garden.

"Thank you," she whispers, looking down, almost shamefully.

"And, I'm sorry I got so upset," Ash reluctantly adds, looking at Sophia's small figure with remorse.

She inhales, as if she can purge Ash's sorrow and shame, making it her own. "It is not your fault."

He bows his head, and he prays. He does not know who he prays to, but he hopes someone, anyone will hear.

"Deo gratias," Sophia whispers, just as Ash finishes his prayer.

He does not question this.

He's getting rather good at that.