"Oh," Balthazar says softly, "you're stuck with me forever, one way or another. Time will unravel and existence will be forgotten, but it won't change a thing between you and me."
He waits, patient and calm cuddled into Lucifer's arms, vessel passive and relaxed, but all his celestial eyes are open. He's watching the body language, the cosmic light and fire, the movement of Lucifer's Grace. It never ceases to amaze him how easily a mortal, limited being can strike at the emotional heart of even the most powerful. He's seen it in Castiel, and now he sees it in Lucifer, magnified tens of thousands of times. How are they so dangerous?
Drinking and opium, he imagines, exacerbated any potential problem between Dorian and Lucifer. He's a little surprised to hear this took place in front of the others. The dynamic must have been subtle. Maybe that makes it worse.
The shudder of mild shock when he says he let the man touch his Grace may be discomforting to Lucifer. There is no judgment in it, but the idea of letting anyone so close is frightening. There have been a handful of other angels he's touched that way, but aside from that, Levi or another True Vessel are the only ones he can imagine permitting so close. As if in response, his wings curl closer and his own Grace reaches out as if to twine around Lucifer's and protect it.
But that explains it, in a way. How it could happen with other angels so close by. How it was not a magical binding, but an emotional violation with the potential to turn physical. People find it all too easy to see Lucifer in terms of reputation, power, danger, glory, and miss the metaphorical beating heart, and aching scars, beneath. It's one of the things that burns him the most where the Winchesters are concerned. Seeing angels in terms of what they can do. Treating people--treating Balthazar's family--as miracle-dispensers, a means to an end, or mere nuisances to be defeated. If all humans were like that, he'd be happy to see their world come to an end, without pity.
But they're not. The soul flickering with worry inside the shared vessel is a blessed reminder of that. Levi isn't hearing this discussion, but he knows Lucifer is distressed, and he's concerned.
Maybe Lucifer can feel the flare of emotion in Balthazar's Grace in turn; anger on his behalf, frustration at selfish coldness of certain elements of humanity.
"It's not your fault," he says thickly, swallows hard and clears his throat. "They don't all have the capacity to understand that we're people. And you can't always teach them kindness by being kind, or fairness by being just."
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branchandroot
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Date: 2020-10-18 02:55 am (UTC)He waits, patient and calm cuddled into Lucifer's arms, vessel passive and relaxed, but all his celestial eyes are open. He's watching the body language, the cosmic light and fire, the movement of Lucifer's Grace. It never ceases to amaze him how easily a mortal, limited being can strike at the emotional heart of even the most powerful. He's seen it in Castiel, and now he sees it in Lucifer, magnified tens of thousands of times. How are they so dangerous?
Drinking and opium, he imagines, exacerbated any potential problem between Dorian and Lucifer. He's a little surprised to hear this took place in front of the others. The dynamic must have been subtle. Maybe that makes it worse.
The shudder of mild shock when he says he let the man touch his Grace may be discomforting to Lucifer. There is no judgment in it, but the idea of letting anyone so close is frightening. There have been a handful of other angels he's touched that way, but aside from that, Levi or another True Vessel are the only ones he can imagine permitting so close. As if in response, his wings curl closer and his own Grace reaches out as if to twine around Lucifer's and protect it.
But that explains it, in a way. How it could happen with other angels so close by. How it was not a magical binding, but an emotional violation with the potential to turn physical. People find it all too easy to see Lucifer in terms of reputation, power, danger, glory, and miss the metaphorical beating heart, and aching scars, beneath. It's one of the things that burns him the most where the Winchesters are concerned. Seeing angels in terms of what they can do. Treating people--treating Balthazar's family--as miracle-dispensers, a means to an end, or mere nuisances to be defeated. If all humans were like that, he'd be happy to see their world come to an end, without pity.
But they're not. The soul flickering with worry inside the shared vessel is a blessed reminder of that. Levi isn't hearing this discussion, but he knows Lucifer is distressed, and he's concerned.
Maybe Lucifer can feel the flare of emotion in Balthazar's Grace in turn; anger on his behalf, frustration at selfish coldness of certain elements of humanity.
"It's not your fault," he says thickly, swallows hard and clears his throat. "They don't all have the capacity to understand that we're people. And you can't always teach them kindness by being kind, or fairness by being just."