It isn’t only the simple contest of grudge-holding that formed Hell or the fact that conflict resolution practices are banned in the workplace. It’s more demons don’t know how to forgive, they’re never asked. So it’s natural Crowley falls silent when Aziraphale asks, “Can you ever forgive me?”
The first response to run through Crowley’s head is, “There’s nothing to forgive.” It’s the tempting answer, but it’s not the right answer. It’s not the answer Aziraphale needs, nor is it really the answer Crowley means.
He answers, “For what?”
“For…”
Aziraphale falls silent.
“For,” Aziraphale begins after a time. “For not-” the words leave him. Is forgiveness worth less if you ask for it?
Angels aren’t forgiven.
Angels forgive. They’re made for it, they’re the ones spending eternity dealing it out like cards. But there is no such thing as an angel’s repentance. An angel that requires forgiveness is no longer an angel.
“For driving you off,” Aziraphale says first. “For lying to you,” Aziraphale says next. “For pretending I didn’t care.”
“Can you forgive me for scaring you?” Aziraphale asks. “Can you forgive me for hurting you?”
Crowley realizes something here: this is not for him.
Not truly, because Crowley cannot recall a time when he was angry, truly angry at the angel, for any reason that did not stem from his own fear. His own love. Crowley has forgiven him for that- demon or no, angel or no, Crowley has- long ago, he thought the angel knew that. Perhaps he does, but knowing is not always enough.
This is not for Crowley to hear, this is for Aziraphale to say.
Crowley steps forward. He kneels down in front of his angel, who had been sitting silently, half-reading a book. Crowley can always tell when the angel is agitated, and he knows in those moments it is better to wait for Aziraphale to speak. If you ask, you’ll never get an answer.
Crowley knows.
He takes the angel’s hands in his. He kisses his knuckles, and he whispers. “I forgive you.”
I want to write a book called “your character dies in the woods” that details all the pitfalls and dangers of being out on the road & in the wild for people without outdoors/wilderness experience bc I cannot keep reading narratives brush over life threatening conditions like nothing is happening.
I just read a book by one of my favorite authors whose plots are essentially airtight, but the MC was walking on a country road on a cold winter night and she was knocked down and fell into a drainage ditch covered in ice, broke through and got covered in icy mud and water.
Then she had a “miserable” 3 more miles to walk to the inn.
i really believe that discussing the character with someone who shares ur interpretation is the closest u can get to modern day philosophy. we are like plato and aristotle but talking about a fictional guys trauma
Hey btw I don't know who needs to hear this, but those adults telling you that your teen years are the best years of your life? Yeah I don't know what the hell they're smoking, either. I'm 29 and every once in a while I just sit here and think "man, it sure sucked to be 14. Glad I never have to do that again."