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The Ocean Styx, as unforgiving as its storms were, had mesmerized the Ferryman. They sat, precariously, at the peak of their ferry. A life or death balancing act they oft dabbled in; a stray wave could knock them off, sending them plunging into the abyssal depths below.
And yet, the balance was well practiced. They knew what they were doing. They knew just where to keep their limbs to secure them to the ship. It was just a safer way for a Ferryman to get that adrenaline kick.
Something that lately they’ve been missing, from the lack of attacks on their ship and souls needing guidance. The Ferryman’s gaze was firmly affixed to the waves that beckoned. Studying the details of the water, allowing the waves to rock them into a lull. Such long periods of time without much responsibility left them lost. They needed a purpose, and although a break was nice, the silence was much too deafening.
In the meantime, as they awaited for a purpose, the Ferryman took back up painting. Prone to a wandering mind, they decided to dedicate themselves once more to a passion that previously drove their love for life.
Painting was soothing, and an experience shaped only by you and your mind. Messy or precise, fact or fantasy, only the confines of your mind would curb what could be created. This was much appealing to a younger Ferryman.
Now, it is more obligatory. Needing to occupy themselves, a brush, a canvas, and a palette seems to be the only things grounding themselves to reality. Else, they would be stuck in permanent daydream. That would not be such a horrid fate, were it not for the immense amounts of guilt that the Ferryman harbored. So paint it shall be.
In their lap was a comedically small canvas. Painted on was multiple layers of blue, depicting the waves and a horizon where the starless skies started. The Ferryman focused back on this small canvas, seemingly upset with what they had done. Little imperfections, the wrong shade of blue— anything that they deemed incorrect would only agitate them more. The artist was always cursed by being their own worst critic.
They took a deep breath, and gently shoved themselves back onto the deck. The Ferryman placed aside the canvas, alongside a box affixed to the ground. Their precious tubes of oil paints were confided in that box, what little they had left. Perhaps they should stop by another ferry sometime soon for a friendly visit, perhaps trade for some new paints. Just another pain of a hobbyist artist, especially in Wrath; supplies were scarce.
They took one more moment to admire the unusually calm Ocean Styx before sitting down to attend to their art supplies. Yet another day goes by where they are unsuccessful in their artistic endeavors. Maybe tomorrow will prove more fruitful.
They tenderly opened the box, and began inventory. Taking each tube and gently placing them into their lap, counting and taking note of the colors that they were low on. Most colors could simply be mixed from others, but unsurprisingly the colors they lacked most were the primary colors.
Their entire train of thought was cut off by the sound of footsteps. The Ferryman gave a glance behind them. They were taken by surprise at the sight.
Gabriel had appeared, silently, before them. This was most perplexing to the Ferryman, as his entrances never failed to be grand. Loud, ear splitting echos, bright flashes of light. A chorus of his own voice announcing his presence. And yet, here he was, with no prior indication.
“My lord! Ah… I had not expected you, please excuse the mess… To what do I owe the pleasure?”
They had no immediate response. The silence echoed inside the Ferryman’s skull. Upon further inspection, their angel looked sullen, restless. Broken somehow. His wings did not shine as bright, his halo lacked the glamor it usually had. His confident demeanor had fallen. They shuffled in their sitting position, turning their body to face towards the other.
“…My grace? Are you well? I may prepare a bed, if you wish—“
Their offer was interrupted by the collapse of Gabriel. All of his weight pressed into the Ferryman. His head hung over their shoulder. An immediate observation of theirs was that his body lacked the same heat they always felt from him. He felt ice cold to the touch.
After a moment, Gabriel spoke.
“I failed.”
His voice was quiet. The Ferryman could not formulate an appropriate response. They had nothing to say. Their angel, broken in their arms. They had never seen such grief from such a holy being.
Voice quavering, he continued on.
“The council snuffed the Father’s light from me. They no longer deem me worthy.”
Shaking, he wrapped his arms around the other’s skeletal figure. Nothing could have prepared the Ferryman for this kind of grief. Unsure if they should speak, they simply let Gabriel cling.
“Heaven has forsaken me, and my death awaits,” he whispers, choking on his words. It sounded like he was crying. “You are the last thing I have that is holy. A reminder of home… The home I no longer belong to.”
Their mind spun with questions, concerns. Panic welled up and overflowed like a boiling kettle, but they could not let this show. They needed to be there for their savior, first and foremost. Hesitantly, the Ferryman wrapped their arms around the other. Their hands placed firmly on Gabriel’s wings. Ice cold. The result of the light being stripped from his body, the Ferryman thought. How cruel.
With a sigh, Gabriel continued on.
“It’s ironic, is it not? A sinner, damned eternally to Wrath, holier than an angel crafted to serve God. You have not failed Him as much as I have.”
Gabriel clutched to the other, and all the Ferryman could do was hold him. Hold him in their arms, so lovingly, just as he had done for them. Their savior, coming to them in his final moments. They could not help but silently weep.
“You are holy, with or without the cloth. Just as I had known.”
And Gabriel sobbed. An angel, a representative of the Father, torn and tattered. Deemed unholy, damned by the council that ran Heaven in His absence.
The Ferryman could not help but feel as if there had been a mistake. Gabriel, holy Gabriel, could not be a sinner. And yet, the freezing cold skin that gripped ever so tightly onto their cloth told them that he spoke the truth.
They had no words to soothe the other. No prayers to give. Nothing but a loving embrace. Countless times had Gabriel saved their soul, and now they could not even save him.
Their hands trailed to Gabriel’s wings. No words they could form could soothe the looming death of the angel. But perhaps a simple preening of the wings would allow him one last comfort. Carefully, they ruffled through Gabriel’s feathers, plucking ones that needed it. Gentle palms massaged his wings as they went along.
A soft, sad coo could be heard faintly from the angel. His wings spread themselves out wider, to give the Ferryman more access to the feathers. A melancholy loomed over the whole interaction; the silence shared was not one of comfort, as previous visits from Gabriel had gone. The Ferryman broke this silence with a heavy question.
“…Do you, ah… Know how long you may have left, my lord?”
Gabriel winced. “A few hours, at most.”
The Ferryman’s shoulders fell. They could not help but be overcome with grief. What a terrible fate, and what a punishment of the highest degree. To witness the death of their life’s purpose. Gabriel was their everything. And soon he would be ripped away from them.
“I wish I could do more,” was all the Ferryman knew to say.
“It’s okay.”
Gabriel buried his helmet far into the Ferryman’s shoulder. His wings pressed up against their hands, demanding more attention, even in such a sullen moment. The comfort of a preening at least brought some soothing to the mind of Gabriel.
The Ferryman rested their head on Gabriel’s. If they had a heart, it would have shattered into innumerable pieces, scattered across the Ocean Styx, never to be repaired. This cold, broken angel in front of them… It would certainly kill them with him.
“Can we stay like this?”
“Of course. I’m not letting you go, Gabriel.”
Gabriel wrapped his wings around the Ferryman, securing them into place. This is where he would stay until his fate came. And the Ferryman would hold him in their arms, until his soul passed on.
“You’re so warm…”