A Man of Sorrows and Acquainted with Grief

reading the bible was obviously a little hard for jack. sure, he was in an adult body, existing pretty much as an adult. but he was still only a child, no matter what he looked like. but he knew, from stories sam and dean had told, that angels could time travel. which stood to reason that he could time travel too. it had taken a few tries - and maybe he should have asked cas first before trying - but here he was. here, in a different time far before his own, to learn what was hard to read.

he's a little shorter than @griefacquainted - but that's okay! jack is shorter than a lot of people! blue eyes look up at jesus and jack smiles, feeling a sense of warmth. of almost familial recognition. he knew jesus was g-d's son, so maybe that made him jack's uncle?

"hi!" one hand raises, palm up. a greeting that's half a wave and half jack's way of showing he means no harm. he had to hold himself back from giving the other man a hug. ( dean said guys don't hug each other. it's not manly, apparently. and also you aren't supposed to hug strangers ... or go to new locations to meet strangers! well, hopefully dean wouldn't be too mad. ) "i'm jack," he doesn't say he's lucifer's son. doesn't want jesus to send him away. that was a scary thought.

FOR THE LORD SEES NOT AS MAN SEES: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart. Jack doesn't need to disclose his parentage for it to be known, and yet it matters not to this particular Son. Jack's father may have made him, but that's to say nothing of the character within.

❝ Hello, Jack. ❞ Yeshua smiles, stopping along the path He was walking in prayer. How timely that His communion with the Heavenly Father would bring him a visitor, and one from another time no less.

❝ It's good to meet you as well. I see you've TRAVELED QUITE A WAYS TO BE HERE. Do you plan to stay a while? We might need to get you some new clothes, before the others start asking questions they're not ready for answers for. ❞

The serpent stills entirely at the question, down to her very breath.

Does she? Perhaps she had, once. Long ago. Before she better understood Heaven's callousness, its indifference. For all it claims to be a source of Goodness and Love, she has seen angels act with as much cruelty as any demon. At least as she is, there's no hypocrisy. In that, she finds what solace and dignity she can.

"No," she responds at length, barely more than a whisper.

Again, she dares to meet His gaze, the unbearable kindness in His eyes striking her to her core. He's different from most of Heaven; more genuine, sincere in His compassion. If the angels were more like Him, perhaps her answer would have been different.

Of course He's the one who must suffer and sacrifice for the Great Plan. It's wretchedly unjust—and so very like the Almighty.

❝ OF COURSE, ❞ The Son answers honestly, with the heaviness of what is to come weighing on His heart. ❝ No one wants to do what I must do, but that is why it holds the value it does. ❞

Yeshua's reminded of words He will soon say, within a room of rumors, sorrow, and misunderstanding. Crowley, however, will be the first to hear them.

❝ Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. ❞

Weary eyes smile as He senses the serpent's heart—one that was hand-crafted with a great capacity for love, although such a gift is always coupled with a immense RISK OF PAIN.

THE CHOSEN: Season 3, Episode 7: Ears to Hear

Then they brought to Him one who was deaf and had an impediment in his speech, and they begged Him to put His hand on him. And He took him aside from the multitude, and put His fingers in his ears, and He spat and touched his tongue. Then, looking up to heaven, He sighed, and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” Immediately his ears were opened, and the impediment of his tongue was loosed, and he spoke plainly. Then He commanded them that they should tell no one; but the more He commanded them, the more widely they proclaimed it. And they were astonished beyond measure, saying, “He has done all things well. He makes both the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.”

She'd watched, cowed and quiet as Yeshua helped heave the body off the road. He'd bedded it carefully, strong arms, a working man's arms, wrapped around the dead until it was safely ushered into a bed of tall grass and buckwheat. She thinks of the girl in the diner, crying over her hash browns. He'd put his arms around her the same careful way. Doing too much. Is she a dead deer in a field? Is she a dead deer on a highway?

Miriam sits with her roiling stomach, backlit by the faint glow of a three-part billboard they pass by. Fat shiny letters blare in her periphery: JESUS SAVES — GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! — DON'T SETTLE FOR LESS. Call Roberts & Martinez, attorneys at law.

She shouldn't have said anything but as per usual that occurs to her after she's closed her mouth again. She crowds herself against the passenger door, caresses the handle as if she contemplates a full length dive into the guard rail.

NORMAL. Strange it is—that word. One uncommon in His experience and yet not unknown. How normal is it to wish to see the ocean? How normal is it to seek out food at a fair? How normal is it to hold a girl—one so weary and heavy laden with prophecies she spoke not—as she weeps, a cry of the soul?

Yeshua swallows, grip tightening on the steering wheel with a slow exhale. It's her fingers, the ones on the doorhandle—the touch, the ache, the CLAWING OF A CAGED ANIMAL eager for escape, even if that escape is its own destruction—that scratch gently at the inside of His heart.

❝ You may see one path, but I see many. ❞ A correction, although He does not chastise her for it. It's a reasonable conclusion for someone in her situation: one path, one destination, both one and the same: pity for the lost, damned thing. Damage control for the blight of a false prophet. ❝ I, for one, think YOU'VE BEEN CONTROLLED ENOUGH, don't you? ❞

All-seeing eyes flicker toward the passenger side before they return to the road. A car, one driving far too fast to get nowhere, blows past them, headed in the opposite direction. It would be thirty-two miles before it would pass the carcass of the deer, not that the driver would ever notice, see, or acknowledge it. Tawny fur lost with the landscape of the Earth.

To say it had been a shock to be approached by Judas Iscariot some 1,400 miles and nearly a decade separated from Golgotha would have been an understatement, though far more surprising had been having the title of teacher thrust upon him. Hardly a fitting role for a demon, at least under usual circumstances. The man's situation, however, was anything but usual.

Hell had gotten wind of it all (though Crowley would hardly be surprised if that had been intentional on the part of Heaven---another bet, perhaps? He didn't know, and certainly wasn't going to ask), and it had been easy enough to sway the Dark Council to believe he was simply doing what he does best---interfering with the Almighty's plans. If Judas is to be tested, who better to assure he fails the test than the Serpent of Eden?

Of course, it wasn't that simple. Not for Crowley. In spite of himself, something entirely unbecoming for a demon had taken root in him---pity. It wasn't Judas's fault that he'd been chosen to be a pawn in Her game, after all.

At some point over the centuries, that pity had given way to something akin to fondness---not that Crowley will ever admit to that. But, well. When one is immortal, it can be hard not to form some sort of attachment to someone who won't die in a handful of decades and who isn't completely unbearable to be around.

Which has led to moments like this. Demon and ageless human catching up over drinks in a pub.

"Nah, you don't get it because you can't do it," Crowley insists, glass deposited on the bar with a graceless thunk.

NOW, Crowley has his interest, although Judas finds it's oft the case with such infernal company, and he leans forward with his next question—a singular word:

❝ POWER? ❞ The temptation Crowley speaks of isn't a mere silver tongue, after all. It's an ability: one that surpasses human capability. Could the same be said for culpability?

Of course, Judas has seen the demon demonstrate some strange occurrence or another over the years, but never this. It sends his fingertips tapping alongside the mug cupped in his hands. Tea—he does enjoy the manner in which it's evolved over the centuries.