FIC - All Souls Day
Title: All Souls Day
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: PG
Summary: for this month’s Purgatory prompt at nekid_spike
Spike had settled into Angel’s penchant for falling back on the Catholic traditions of his youth every now and then, especially during certain times of the year. He didn’t seem to think much of Christmas or Easter, but during Lent, Spike would sometimes notice that Angel had gone weeks without something he usually indulged in on a fairly regular basis like coffee or whiskey, then spent hours alone on Good Friday. He never said anything about it, or explained why, he’d just say he didn’t want to be disturbed for a while.
And then there was this - Spike had only known about it for a couple of years, but on All Souls Day, Angel prayed. It had taken him a minute to catch on, after all, he was English and the Anglicans thought the whole purgatory thing was bollocks from the start. As a kid, Spike’s family hadn’t been particularly religious, but they observed the usual Christian holidays like everyone else they knew.
Now, Spike was aware of the Catholic holiday and its purpose - to pray for the souls in Purgatory. Those that weren’t quite up to par for Heaven but not exactly bound for Hell, either. Far as Spike was able to tell, it was like some kind of in-between place where the souls were supposed to be purified so they could catch a ride up to the pearly gates at some point. Didn’t make much sense to him, not being much of a praying guy himself, and never particularly religious, but he’d learned a bit about it.
Praying for the souls of the dead wasn’t specific to Catholics, he knew that much. After Buffy…well, while she was gone, he’d heard Red pray. Though she was wiccan by that time, she clearly wasn’t so far past her Jewish upbringing to resort to the traditional prayer for the dead she’d learned as a kid. Spike had heard her more than once during those months, and he remembered.
God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heavens’ heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of your Shechinah, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest. May You who are the source of mercy shelter them beneath Your wings eternally, and bind their souls among the living, that they may rest in peace.
Spike thought it was nice. Useless, probably, but nice.
Over the past little while, Angel and Spike had been intimate, and things seemed to be going well. At first, it was probably just the comfort of survivors clinging to each other in a time of great loss, but whatever it was between them seemed to have gotten past that recently, a genuine affection they had for each other and a closeness borne partly from shared experience, partly from shared grief, and partly from genuine affection for each other.
Maybe that was why, this year, Angel had asked Spike if he wanted to stay on the night of November the second. There had been no expectation of participating, just sharing the experience. Spike had agreed without hesitation. He loved Angel, in their way of loving each other, and he was happy to be with him while he continued a tradition that was important to him.
Angel was on his knees, as he’d been for at least an hour. Spike sat on the floor, cross-legged, next to him and just listening. Sometimes Angel was silent and contemplative, a couple of times he said a prayer out loud, reciting it from memory, things about forgetting offenses and being mindful of loving mercy, fulfilling desires to be made worthy. Eventually, he reached out for Spike’s hand, and as Angel started to recite another prayer, Spike realized he was mimicking his actions, closing his eyes and bowing his head.
Jesus, for the sake of the agony that You endured during Your fear of death in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the Scouring and Crowing, on the way to Mount Calvary, at Your Crucifixion and at your Death, have mercy on the souls in Purgatory and especially on those who are completely forgotten. Deliver them from their bitter pains, call them to You and embrace them in Your arms in Heaven.
Figured he’d put particular emphasis on that one, Spike thought. Suffering, redemption, forgotten souls, it was Angel from start to finish.
Their own souls had changed them both, and in the end, made them both mindful of the souls of others.
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: PG
Summary: for this month’s Purgatory prompt at nekid_spike
Spike had settled into Angel’s penchant for falling back on the Catholic traditions of his youth every now and then, especially during certain times of the year. He didn’t seem to think much of Christmas or Easter, but during Lent, Spike would sometimes notice that Angel had gone weeks without something he usually indulged in on a fairly regular basis like coffee or whiskey, then spent hours alone on Good Friday. He never said anything about it, or explained why, he’d just say he didn’t want to be disturbed for a while.
And then there was this - Spike had only known about it for a couple of years, but on All Souls Day, Angel prayed. It had taken him a minute to catch on, after all, he was English and the Anglicans thought the whole purgatory thing was bollocks from the start. As a kid, Spike’s family hadn’t been particularly religious, but they observed the usual Christian holidays like everyone else they knew.
Now, Spike was aware of the Catholic holiday and its purpose - to pray for the souls in Purgatory. Those that weren’t quite up to par for Heaven but not exactly bound for Hell, either. Far as Spike was able to tell, it was like some kind of in-between place where the souls were supposed to be purified so they could catch a ride up to the pearly gates at some point. Didn’t make much sense to him, not being much of a praying guy himself, and never particularly religious, but he’d learned a bit about it.
Praying for the souls of the dead wasn’t specific to Catholics, he knew that much. After Buffy…well, while she was gone, he’d heard Red pray. Though she was wiccan by that time, she clearly wasn’t so far past her Jewish upbringing to resort to the traditional prayer for the dead she’d learned as a kid. Spike had heard her more than once during those months, and he remembered.
God, filled with mercy, dwelling in the heavens’ heights, bring proper rest beneath the wings of your Shechinah, amid the ranks of the holy and the pure, illuminating like the brilliance of the skies the souls of our beloved and our blameless who went to their eternal place of rest. May You who are the source of mercy shelter them beneath Your wings eternally, and bind their souls among the living, that they may rest in peace.
Spike thought it was nice. Useless, probably, but nice.
Over the past little while, Angel and Spike had been intimate, and things seemed to be going well. At first, it was probably just the comfort of survivors clinging to each other in a time of great loss, but whatever it was between them seemed to have gotten past that recently, a genuine affection they had for each other and a closeness borne partly from shared experience, partly from shared grief, and partly from genuine affection for each other.
Maybe that was why, this year, Angel had asked Spike if he wanted to stay on the night of November the second. There had been no expectation of participating, just sharing the experience. Spike had agreed without hesitation. He loved Angel, in their way of loving each other, and he was happy to be with him while he continued a tradition that was important to him.
Angel was on his knees, as he’d been for at least an hour. Spike sat on the floor, cross-legged, next to him and just listening. Sometimes Angel was silent and contemplative, a couple of times he said a prayer out loud, reciting it from memory, things about forgetting offenses and being mindful of loving mercy, fulfilling desires to be made worthy. Eventually, he reached out for Spike’s hand, and as Angel started to recite another prayer, Spike realized he was mimicking his actions, closing his eyes and bowing his head.
Jesus, for the sake of the agony that You endured during Your fear of death in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the Scouring and Crowing, on the way to Mount Calvary, at Your Crucifixion and at your Death, have mercy on the souls in Purgatory and especially on those who are completely forgotten. Deliver them from their bitter pains, call them to You and embrace them in Your arms in Heaven.
Figured he’d put particular emphasis on that one, Spike thought. Suffering, redemption, forgotten souls, it was Angel from start to finish.
Their own souls had changed them both, and in the end, made them both mindful of the souls of others.