This is one lousy prayer, I don't even have a siddur with me. I asked for one, by the way. And a menorah. And a mezuzah. I'm gonna get it a month late, but hey, what can you do?
So here's the thing--my life fell apart, and then I put it back together, but now I'm dead and it's even more apart, and I'm trying as much as I can to throw myself back into things but it's hard. I died, for one. That sucks. I miss my kids and I miss my career and I miss my family--that's the big one. My family. I was ready to give it up and hit the road but wouldn't you know, now I just miss 'em. Even Zelda.
Zelda the most, honestly.
Is praying to you even gonna to work, Big Guy? Why is this the afterlife? It is not what you advertized, just for the record, but I guess I shouldn't try to pick a fight with God when I'm literally praying.
I just--I know I shouldn't ask for anything but if there's even a little, tiny sign that you're with me I need to hear it.
[ He listens. After failing to be of aid to anyone for two weeks of involuntary sleep, it's the least he can do. Listen, and help where help is needed. Prayers are few and far between in Beacon, though in the wake of the past two weeks, Castiel can feel them more strongly.
It's not unusual, he supposes, that people will turn to faith after harrowing experiences. Many of them got hurt.
It should have been him. He should have been there.
He can feel the tug on his grace that comes with prayer, even the slightly off-beat feeling of this faith not being exactly the one he was created for - but then, what do divine beings care for the details of human worship. Faith... is faith, at the end of the day. Besides, Christianity gets most things wrong, so why would he limit what little purpose he can scrape from his continued existence so artibtrarily. So he feels it, the thread of prayer that would back home allow him to fling himself through space to reach anyone, anywhere. Here, the ability is much more limited. She's not far from familiar ground, but somewhere he hasn't personally been before.
Castiel starts walking before her prayer is done, moving with purpose. He could message her, speak to her on the device, but he never liked that.
She needs a sign.
He's only sorry that all she's gonna get is him. ]
Miriam.
[ It doesn't take him long to find her, once he reaches the Independance. He's flown what distances he could on the way to make the trip as short as possible.
[ It's fine, she thinks. Sometimes you have Moments. Some moments are worse than others, but as long as she can continue to put her best foot forward and give it 150%, she'll be alright. She knows that.
It's just hard, sometimes. It's hard being away from her family, it's hard being away from her manager, it's hard being away from New York. Would she feel that way if it were the tour she's supposed to go on, and not the afterlife?
There's a thought.
And of course there's no sign. It's stupid to think there would be--Midge isn't going to burn for all eternity, but she's here and she's dead and she's not exactly in paradise. It's stupid to even pray.
Castiel walks in, though--weird guy, and his tie bothers her every time she sees it--and her smile is on, all charm and politeness. ]
No need to apologize--I didn't even realize you were helping out, must have slipped my mind. Can you peel potatoes?
[ He doesn't mean to pry, except he's already listened to her prayer, so to card his senses through her surface thoughts is really hardly more invasive than that - or is it? Sometimes he still struggles with humans and their sense of privacy.
The fact is that she's asking for a sign, and... with nothing else listening in, he's all that can be offered.
He feels regretful over that. ]
I wasn't going to at first.
[ Castiel looks at the potatoes. How hard can that be? He picks one up, and a horrifically ill suited knife to go along with it. Rather than set to the task, though, Castiel just stands there, contemplating. ]
It's not stupid of you to pray.
[ It's just... not her fault if nothing and no one is listening. And therein lies the tragedy of the sort of faith he used to have conviction for. ]
What? [ Did she hear him right? He does this sort of mumble gravel-voice thing, so maybe not. She grabs the knife out of his hand and puts the proper one in it as a replacement. ]
That's a boning knife. Potatoes have eyes, not bones.
[ Castiel holds the potato in his hand. He looks at Midge, then down at the vegetable, a line creasing between his brows as he contemplates that statement. After another moment he looks back at her, satisfied with his inspection. ]
The potato has neither eyes nor bones. It appears to be a normal vegetable.
[ He has no idea why she'd ever find him comical. But then again, his own humour is something strange, something he had to learn and discover for himself, that sits at an angle to most human sensibilities.
He gives her a look, and there is almost a softness to the corners of his mouth that betrays the line between 'deliberately obtuse' and 'just plain obtuse'.
He sets to work. With blades, at least, he's good, even if this isn't exactly within the usual application of his skills. How hard can it be? ]
Would you like to get back to the topic of your prayer?
[ Maybe Midge, too, is being deliberately obtuse without realizing it. Subconsciously, and all that--she returns to her own things, glancing oddly at Castiel before her head tilts up and she examines his work critically.
[ He works quietly and efficiently. The advantage of being billions of years old - he can apply himself quite well to a task such as this. He keeps his eyes on the knife in his hands and the potatoes that get a quite careful, precise skinning. ]
I know. Prayer don't require you to give them voice aloud to be heard.
[ It's easier, for some reason, to pay attention to anything other than Castiel. She feels oddly scrutinized, oddly open, vulnerable, and she can't quite place why. She's not sure she wants to, either, or at the very least not right now. She likes Castiel, but she doesn't like being thrown off balance. Off-kilter things are reserved for a fun house, in her opinion, or a very good standup.
God, she misses comedy.
Miriam's checking on a stove that doesn't really need to be checked on when she speaks. ]
I wasn't praying, I was lamenting my existence, which, by the way--
[ Castiel pauses for a moment, features sharp with serious thought. ]
You called it a prayer. You called it lousy, though I would disagree.
[ A small gesture with the hand holding the potato, indicating: He is here, because he heard something from her, as is just assuming she knows the difference between reading a mind and sensing a yearning, and hearing a prayer. ]
I could read your mind, if I so pleased. I'm aware it's considered impolite, so I try to... stay out of people's heads, as a friend puts it.
[ Read: He could reach into her mind and pluck out everything he wanted to know, and there's not a thing she could do to prevent it. He doesn't, though. At least, not actively or deeply. ]
In regards to prayer: My friend Dean is "lousy" with them. You aren't.
[ He does the air quotes, awkwardly while holding potato and knife. ]
[ Midge inhales sharply at that--it's very much reading someone's mine, in her opinion, and to curb this she suddenly finds herself very busy with something-or-other on the stovetop for the umpteenth time. Not before smoothing her hands out on her apron, though.
She shouldn't be shaken up about it. She shouldn't. Castiel is an angel of the lord, then--so that's... That's real. Okay.
She inhales sharply, blinks rapidly for a few moments, and when she looks at Castiel, it's with an expression that's hard to read. ]
[ Castiel doesn't pry - at least not to his own understanding. He doesn't reach out into her mind, at this point in time, just feels the roll of her surface emotions like one would hear the ocean crash upon a cliff, or feel a boat rock on unsteady waters. He himself remains calm, almost impassive at first. ]
I agree.
[ Slowly setting his potato and the knife down, Castiel turns to Midge. His eyes rest on her with the weight of his age, the truth of his existence. It seems that the shadows grow a little more solid around his shoulders, shapes stretched throughout the room and cast against the ceilings and walls, briefly, before they fade. ]
You have a good soul, Miriam Maisel. It... you are meant for sweeter rest than this, eventually.
[ To Castiel, this is a truth both simple and tragic. ]
[ There it is again, that sharp inhale as her lips purse and her posture straightens. She's perfect, poised--a reflexive habit when things get a little to serious. The universe might be unfair but Midge has a string of pearls and a great sense of posture.
Does she imagine it? The weird flicker? There's a strange weight in the room, something she can't place--is it the village, is it Castiel's shift in demeanor, or is it just her imagination running away with how this conversation is going?
For the first time in a while, Miriam's at a loss for words. ] --I'm not better or worse than anyone else here, but I can't do anything. You're a freaking Angel, my closest friends here are a scientist and a cop, and there's 12 year olds running around with superpowers, if rumours are anything to go by.
[ Her hand flies up to her face, covering half of it, eyes scrunched closed. ] I'm sorry--I didn't mean to just dump this all on you. That's not fair.
[ Castiel says it, and then blinks slowly, realizing that the comment might not be as helpful as he thinks it is. Humans, he knows, rarely find clinical facts comforting. ]
Do remember that I've come to you. I wouldn't be here had I not intended to listen.
[ No one heard his prayers. Or at least... no one answered them, and he will not easily forget the hurt of that. ]
I've found few humans know to judge their value accurately.
[ Which admittedly goes both ways - Castiel has seen humans who value themselves highly above others for no discernable reason.
The next words, though, he chooses carefully. He has a feeling Miriam wouldn't appreciate his opinions on self-important men in power - at least not at this very moment. ]
You don't need to have powers for your existence - here or elsewhere - to have validity and value. I do not believe any of us belong here, but...
[ Castiel won't make a point out of it directly... but people like Midge are why he's chosen to die for humanity, more than once. This world full of people like Midge, whose biggest concern should be their grocery list and their children's schoolyard tussles, is worth it. They're works of art, all of them. ]
There's no use in things like me existing if not for humans like yourself. What would be the point of putting up a fight, if there's no one on whose behalf to fight? Your existence here is unfair to you, yet I look at you and that bright, sharp soul you have, and see the cause I will defend at all cost. Your importance lies in the simple fact that you exist. Have faith in yourself, if having faith in anything beyond that is difficult here; you do plenty by just being.
[ Midge listens. It's rare, getting Miriam to be quite long enough when she's in a tizzy--she's no longer the obedient housewife she was, despite appearances and the tasks she's given herself in Beacon. She's far more independent, stronger than she looks, except now.
Castiel really is an angel, she thinks, and that adds another layer to things, and that combined with the weight of everything--with the warmth and sincerity of Castiel's words, how his voice is strangely soothing despite its gravelly tone...
Well. It's absolutely unbecoming of her to cry in front of anyone, let alone a semi-stranger who she'd somehow summoned, but she curls on into herself, one hand wrapped around her torso protectively as the other raises up just in time to cover her mouth as she sniffles. ]
I want to go home.
Please tell me if my research into Judaism led me wrong here, I have 0 practical knowledge
[ For a moment, it's all Castiel can say. His shoulders slump, slightly. Not in defeat - it's just that he wishes this was a request he could grant, or at least answer more positively. He wishes, too, that he knew how to handle her sorrow better. She's not Dean or Sam, whose measure Castiel has taken for so long that he knows how they handle their pain - poorly, for the most part.
With Miriam... he imagines he's the worst person to try and help her pain.
So after a moment he does something Castiel tends to be profoundly uncomfortable with when done with people he's not close to, and even then not often something he does proactively without particular cause; he reaches out to touch her. A warm hand, light on her elbow.
He's not particularly good at hugging, but will not deny her that if it's a comfort to her. ]
I... suppose I could offer reassurances. It's just... I'm told I'm something of a poor liar.
[ Not entirely true. He did manage to lie to and betray Castiel and Sam and Bobby for the better part of a year. Still... not the point.
Lacking any other comforts, he falls back on what led him here... prayer. His own broken faith need not impact hers. So he speaks the Dayan ha'emet, the blessing for negative experiences... and funerals. Hers... he might not believe that this is any sort of afterlife, but however they ended up here, the fact remains that death was inolved in some way. ]
[ It's real. It's real, and Castiel says that much--and in a weird way, that helps. It soothes, though not completely, and it seems to do the trick.
The touch does more, though--Midge doesn't hesitate the moment she feels it, and she lowers her hand from her face to grab desperately at Castiel, pulling him into a hug. She should probably ask, but she's working on emotion now--she holds him as tight as she can, finding their height difference perfect to bury her face into his shoulder. He prays and she cries harder, completely unaware of anything but the only source of comfort that feels even remotely real. ]
Thank you.
[ She's not sure if she imagines it or not--she feels a strange woosh, a warm feeling, like something else holding her. Something ethereal.
Miriam's just glad she's found someone that she can confide in. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Prayer; thoughts i guess?
So here's the thing--my life fell apart, and then I put it back together, but now I'm dead and it's even more apart, and I'm trying as much as I can to throw myself back into things but it's hard. I died, for one. That sucks. I miss my kids and I miss my career and I miss my family--that's the big one. My family. I was ready to give it up and hit the road but wouldn't you know, now I just miss 'em. Even Zelda.
Zelda the most, honestly.
Is praying to you even gonna to work, Big Guy? Why is this the afterlife? It is not what you advertized, just for the record, but I guess I shouldn't try to pick a fight with God when I'm literally praying.
I just--I know I shouldn't ask for anything but if there's even a little, tiny sign that you're with me I need to hear it.
no subject
It's not unusual, he supposes, that people will turn to faith after harrowing experiences. Many of them got hurt.
It should have been him. He should have been there.
He can feel the tug on his grace that comes with prayer, even the slightly off-beat feeling of this faith not being exactly the one he was created for - but then, what do divine beings care for the details of human worship. Faith... is faith, at the end of the day. Besides, Christianity gets most things wrong, so why would he limit what little purpose he can scrape from his continued existence so artibtrarily. So he feels it, the thread of prayer that would back home allow him to fling himself through space to reach anyone, anywhere. Here, the ability is much more limited. She's not far from familiar ground, but somewhere he hasn't personally been before.
Castiel starts walking before her prayer is done, moving with purpose. He could message her, speak to her on the device, but he never liked that.
She needs a sign.
He's only sorry that all she's gonna get is him. ]
Miriam.
[ It doesn't take him long to find her, once he reaches the Independance. He's flown what distances he could on the way to make the trip as short as possible.
Oh, she does not deserve to be here. ]
My apologies. It took a while to get here.
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It's just hard, sometimes. It's hard being away from her family, it's hard being away from her manager, it's hard being away from New York. Would she feel that way if it were the tour she's supposed to go on, and not the afterlife?
There's a thought.
And of course there's no sign. It's stupid to think there would be--Midge isn't going to burn for all eternity, but she's here and she's dead and she's not exactly in paradise. It's stupid to even pray.
Castiel walks in, though--weird guy, and his tie bothers her every time she sees it--and her smile is on, all charm and politeness. ]
No need to apologize--I didn't even realize you were helping out, must have slipped my mind. Can you peel potatoes?
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The fact is that she's asking for a sign, and... with nothing else listening in, he's all that can be offered.
He feels regretful over that. ]
I wasn't going to at first.
[ Castiel looks at the potatoes. How hard can that be? He picks one up, and a horrifically ill suited knife to go along with it. Rather than set to the task, though, Castiel just stands there, contemplating. ]
It's not stupid of you to pray.
[ It's just... not her fault if nothing and no one is listening. And therein lies the tragedy of the sort of faith he used to have conviction for. ]
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That's a boning knife. Potatoes have eyes, not bones.
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The potato has neither eyes nor bones. It appears to be a normal vegetable.
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[ there's an edge to her voice, though--just a bit of her humour peaking through. Castiel's hilarious. ]
You? Peel the skin off--unless you're going to tell me potatoes don't have skin, either.
horrifically late, but as discussed ;)
He gives her a look, and there is almost a softness to the corners of his mouth that betrays the line between 'deliberately obtuse' and 'just plain obtuse'.
He sets to work. With blades, at least, he's good, even if this isn't exactly within the usual application of his skills. How hard can it be? ]
Would you like to get back to the topic of your prayer?
no subject
[ Maybe Midge, too, is being deliberately obtuse without realizing it. Subconsciously, and all that--she returns to her own things, glancing oddly at Castiel before her head tilts up and she examines his work critically.
Wow, he really is good with a knife. ]
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I know. Prayer don't require you to give them voice aloud to be heard.
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God, she misses comedy.
Miriam's checking on a stove that doesn't really need to be checked on when she speaks. ]
I wasn't praying, I was lamenting my existence, which, by the way--
[ Oh.
Oh. ]
You can read my mind?!
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You called it a prayer. You called it lousy, though I would disagree.
[ A small gesture with the hand holding the potato, indicating: He is here, because he heard something from her, as is just assuming she knows the difference between reading a mind and sensing a yearning, and hearing a prayer. ]
I could read your mind, if I so pleased. I'm aware it's considered impolite, so I try to... stay out of people's heads, as a friend puts it.
[ Read: He could reach into her mind and pluck out everything he wanted to know, and there's not a thing she could do to prevent it. He doesn't, though. At least, not actively or deeply. ]
In regards to prayer: My friend Dean is "lousy" with them. You aren't.
[ He does the air quotes, awkwardly while holding potato and knife. ]
no subject
She shouldn't be shaken up about it. She shouldn't. Castiel is an angel of the lord, then--so that's... That's real. Okay.
She inhales sharply, blinks rapidly for a few moments, and when she looks at Castiel, it's with an expression that's hard to read. ]
I don't think I belong here.
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I agree.
[ Slowly setting his potato and the knife down, Castiel turns to Midge. His eyes rest on her with the weight of his age, the truth of his existence. It seems that the shadows grow a little more solid around his shoulders, shapes stretched throughout the room and cast against the ceilings and walls, briefly, before they fade. ]
You have a good soul, Miriam Maisel. It... you are meant for sweeter rest than this, eventually.
[ To Castiel, this is a truth both simple and tragic. ]
no subject
Does she imagine it? The weird flicker? There's a strange weight in the room, something she can't place--is it the village, is it Castiel's shift in demeanor, or is it just her imagination running away with how this conversation is going?
For the first time in a while, Miriam's at a loss for words. ] --I'm not better or worse than anyone else here, but I can't do anything. You're a freaking Angel, my closest friends here are a scientist and a cop, and there's 12 year olds running around with superpowers, if rumours are anything to go by.
[ Her hand flies up to her face, covering half of it, eyes scrunched closed. ] I'm sorry--I didn't mean to just dump this all on you. That's not fair.
no subject
[ Castiel says it, and then blinks slowly, realizing that the comment might not be as helpful as he thinks it is. Humans, he knows, rarely find clinical facts comforting. ]
Do remember that I've come to you. I wouldn't be here had I not intended to listen.
[ No one heard his prayers. Or at least... no one answered them, and he will not easily forget the hurt of that. ]
I've found few humans know to judge their value accurately.
[ Which admittedly goes both ways - Castiel has seen humans who value themselves highly above others for no discernable reason.
The next words, though, he chooses carefully. He has a feeling Miriam wouldn't appreciate his opinions on self-important men in power - at least not at this very moment. ]
You don't need to have powers for your existence - here or elsewhere - to have validity and value. I do not believe any of us belong here, but...
[ Castiel won't make a point out of it directly... but people like Midge are why he's chosen to die for humanity, more than once. This world full of people like Midge, whose biggest concern should be their grocery list and their children's schoolyard tussles, is worth it. They're works of art, all of them. ]
There's no use in things like me existing if not for humans like yourself. What would be the point of putting up a fight, if there's no one on whose behalf to fight? Your existence here is unfair to you, yet I look at you and that bright, sharp soul you have, and see the cause I will defend at all cost. Your importance lies in the simple fact that you exist. Have faith in yourself, if having faith in anything beyond that is difficult here; you do plenty by just being.
no subject
Castiel really is an angel, she thinks, and that adds another layer to things, and that combined with the weight of everything--with the warmth and sincerity of Castiel's words, how his voice is strangely soothing despite its gravelly tone...
Well. It's absolutely unbecoming of her to cry in front of anyone, let alone a semi-stranger who she'd somehow summoned, but she curls on into herself, one hand wrapped around her torso protectively as the other raises up just in time to cover her mouth as she sniffles. ]
I want to go home.
Please tell me if my research into Judaism led me wrong here, I have 0 practical knowledge
[ For a moment, it's all Castiel can say. His shoulders slump, slightly. Not in defeat - it's just that he wishes this was a request he could grant, or at least answer more positively. He wishes, too, that he knew how to handle her sorrow better. She's not Dean or Sam, whose measure Castiel has taken for so long that he knows how they handle their pain - poorly, for the most part.
With Miriam... he imagines he's the worst person to try and help her pain.
So after a moment he does something Castiel tends to be profoundly uncomfortable with when done with people he's not close to, and even then not often something he does proactively without particular cause; he reaches out to touch her. A warm hand, light on her elbow.
He's not particularly good at hugging, but will not deny her that if it's a comfort to her. ]
I... suppose I could offer reassurances. It's just... I'm told I'm something of a poor liar.
[ Not entirely true. He did manage to lie to and betray Castiel and Sam and Bobby for the better part of a year. Still... not the point.
Lacking any other comforts, he falls back on what led him here... prayer. His own broken faith need not impact hers. So he speaks the Dayan ha'emet, the blessing for negative experiences... and funerals. Hers... he might not believe that this is any sort of afterlife, but however they ended up here, the fact remains that death was inolved in some way. ]
For what it's worth, Miriam. I'm sorry.
shhhh its beautiful you're beautiful
The touch does more, though--Midge doesn't hesitate the moment she feels it, and she lowers her hand from her face to grab desperately at Castiel, pulling him into a hug. She should probably ask, but she's working on emotion now--she holds him as tight as she can, finding their height difference perfect to bury her face into his shoulder. He prays and she cries harder, completely unaware of anything but the only source of comfort that feels even remotely real. ]
Thank you.
[ She's not sure if she imagines it or not--she feels a strange woosh, a warm feeling, like something else holding her. Something ethereal.
Miriam's just glad she's found someone that she can confide in. ]