Nothing Aziraphale was saying made sense to him. He slowly shook his head as the angel spoke as his description of events started getting more and more off from what he'd lived through.
"No... No, no... That-- That'sss not what happened..."
Suddenly what Antia had said, that Aziraphale was an impostor hit him like a ton of bricks. That niggling little feeling he'd felt and ignored that this wasn't real or right or... Well, somehow Antia was right. He let go of the being before him and tried to withdraw from him. This being before him felt unmistakably like Aziraphale, but how could he get the events of the apocalypse so horribly wrong? It didn't make sense.
Because the boy failed. He'd tried to stop it with them, yes. But everything had just gone too far and all the forces of Good and Evil would not be assuaged by one paltry little anichrist and two bumbling fools off an angel and demon. Sure they'd had a momentary reprieve, but that didn't last. They lost. And he lost the only thing that really mattered to him. And everything else he cared about to boot.
He trembled with the weight of his past and the weight of his present, not even really able to pull away from the fake Aziraphale's gentle grip. The pleading in his voice and the clear worry he was exuding gave him pause. It was enough that, even though his mind was screaming about how wrong this was, he took a breath and shakily spoke.
"The War wasn't ssstopped, Angel. The boy couldn't convince his old man to back down. Beelzebub and the Metatron went back to their armies and war broke out between them. We..." He paused, not wanting to think about their first narrow escape any more than he wanted to give voice to the rest. "We fled, barely. We had to regroup and try and convinccce them to a peace negotiation. People were dying, the world was being destroyed."
It somehow got easier to talk as he went on, despite the lump growing in his throat. "It wasss a missstake. They used it jussst to ambush usss." He swallowed hard and the lump didn't go away. "They wanted nothing but to kill the traitors and then move on back to their fighting. Michael, he... He ran you through with a flaming sssword the moment you had your back turned to him."
His facial muscles quivered, unable to settle on an expression. The guilt he'd held onto for so long was eating him from the inside. "I... I couldn't ssstop them. I ssshould have taken you and run far, far away..."
Not that anywhere was truly safe. Everything was destroyed. And he was left on a lifeless husk of a planet without even a star to warm it or distantly sparkle. And still somehow the vast oceans of blood didn't freeze or coagulate. They just existed, reminding him that everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rosecarmine
(no subject)
Date: 2020-04-06 04:10 pm (UTC)"No... No, no... That-- That'sss not what happened..."
Suddenly what Antia had said, that Aziraphale was an impostor hit him like a ton of bricks. That niggling little feeling he'd felt and ignored that this wasn't real or right or... Well, somehow Antia was right. He let go of the being before him and tried to withdraw from him. This being before him felt unmistakably like Aziraphale, but how could he get the events of the apocalypse so horribly wrong? It didn't make sense.
Because the boy failed. He'd tried to stop it with them, yes. But everything had just gone too far and all the forces of Good and Evil would not be assuaged by one paltry little anichrist and two bumbling fools off an angel and demon. Sure they'd had a momentary reprieve, but that didn't last. They lost. And he lost the only thing that really mattered to him. And everything else he cared about to boot.
He trembled with the weight of his past and the weight of his present, not even really able to pull away from the fake Aziraphale's gentle grip. The pleading in his voice and the clear worry he was exuding gave him pause. It was enough that, even though his mind was screaming about how wrong this was, he took a breath and shakily spoke.
"The War wasn't ssstopped, Angel. The boy couldn't convince his old man to back down. Beelzebub and the Metatron went back to their armies and war broke out between them. We..." He paused, not wanting to think about their first narrow escape any more than he wanted to give voice to the rest. "We fled, barely. We had to regroup and try and convinccce them to a peace negotiation. People were dying, the world was being destroyed."
It somehow got easier to talk as he went on, despite the lump growing in his throat. "It wasss a missstake. They used it jussst to ambush usss." He swallowed hard and the lump didn't go away. "They wanted nothing but to kill the traitors and then move on back to their fighting. Michael, he... He ran you through with a flaming sssword the moment you had your back turned to him."
His facial muscles quivered, unable to settle on an expression. The guilt he'd held onto for so long was eating him from the inside. "I... I couldn't ssstop them. I ssshould have taken you and run far, far away..."
Not that anywhere was truly safe. Everything was destroyed. And he was left on a lifeless husk of a planet without even a star to warm it or distantly sparkle. And still somehow the vast oceans of blood didn't freeze or coagulate. They just existed, reminding him that everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.
"It'sss my fault. It'sss all my fault."