Chapter Text
In heaven, they called him Jophiel, an archangel. He avenged for the Lord. One that fought wars in the great Beginning and carried out God’s will when commanded. But in one great war, Jophiel killed an angel on the same side as him in battle. It was done with hate in his heart for the other angel. He used the war for a cover to be violent towards an angel he hated. That angel was cruel to the young cherubs and mean to the principalities below him. But was that a crime worthy of death? Jophiel thought it was so. But God did not.
God sent him to earth, stripped him of his wings and title as punishment. He would live to be human, and serve human kind. It was not Lucifer’s punishment. It was not hell. But Jophiel was angry all the same. That was, until he found the church. It satisfied that anger towards his Father, and gave him the ability to serve his fellow man. He took on the name Jud Duplenticy, to remind himself of his duality. And became a priest to do his best work.
It was strange to worship from such a human point of view, but Jud found that he liked it. Most of all, he just liked humans. He got to watch them close up in their rituals and behaviors. It made him understand why God created them. Humans were his favorite part of earth.
One thing that God did not take in his punishment, was his angelic ability to heal. All avenging angels could heal, despite the inherent contradiction. It was all about balance, the Lord said so. Jud suspected that God let him keep his healing in order to fix what he had failed. He intended to do just that. While he could not heal himself, he could help those in need, and that was all the balance that mattered.
But sometimes with humans, the loudness of the bad outweighed the majority of the good. That asshole Decan had it coming. When all that angelic fury returned, he knocked him backwards with a square hit right to the jaw. Jophiel—Jud, Jud Duplenticy, looked to the heavens, surely this was it, his last straw. But no other punishment came, except being sent to the Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude. Bishop Langstrom saw him off. It was a much lesser punishment than Hell, which he would not blame the Lord for sending him too anymore.
“I’m sorry Bishop I just, when I heard what he said, I couldn’t help myself. I know what I did wrong.” Bp Langstrom held up his hand. He knew killing one of his fellow archangels was wrong, too. But he had continued anyway with his hands, he didn’t even use his sword.
“Look Jud, you’re a good priest. Just be careful, the Father there is…he has his followers, but he’s a real piece of shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m serious. Nobody is upset at you for clocking Deacon Clark, but something must be done. You sure you’re ready for this?” Jud nodded, eager to show his gratitude. Because, how many times could he be forgiven?
“I promise, it’s this, not this.” He opened his arms instead of putting up his fists. He used to use a sword. He couldn’t imagine what he would’ve done to that Decan if he had his full angelic capabilities. Beaten him until his face became contorted with swelling. Every bone in his body broken.
“Good. I’m sure you’ll do great. You’re a good Priest, Jud.” Bp Langstrom said.
He sure hoped he would. But any convictions on being non-violent almost left his angelic soul when he met Father, no, “Mongsinor” Wicks. This man was volatile, screaming and shouting his Father’s word like he understood it. Jud wanted to kill him like he had killed that angel. What was worse, was Wicks knew it, so he had to be the one to throw the first punch.
The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the church, aside from the missing cross, was a picture of him. Well, him in his angelic form. It was a portrayal of him as Jophiel, in a long white robe, his wings, back when he had his long yellow hair. The picture was completed with him, cradling God’s son as he weeped. He had not been the one to comfort Jesus when his time came. But while the picture was false, the composition was lovely.
“Picked that up from a garage sale.” Wicks said. His holy image, in a garage sale. Someone wanted nothing more than to give him away.
“It’s a good find.” Jophiel said. Wicks smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Martha liked it.”
“Martha?”
“Hello Father Jud.”
“Jesus!” Jud almost jumped out of his skin when Martha came up behind him.
“Welcome to the church, Father Jud.” As she walked away, he got the sense that he wasn’t welcome. Despite the painting.
“Thank you Martha. And uh sorry for saying Jesus!” Wicks turned to him.
“Take my confession.”
The weeks leading up to Wick’s murder were nothing short of exhausting. Jud tried to get in with Wick’s Flock. During his “secret prayer meeting” he wanted so desperately to show them what he was truly capable of. Give Simone some relief, Vera hope, Cy guidance, Lee passion, to find Dr. Nat love. But he couldn’t. It was God’s final punishment that he couldn’t fully help the people he wanted too. Because that wasn’t faith. Surely he’d be cast out for good if he crossed that final barrier.
Be Not Afraid, he’d tell them. But what good would it do? He could heal the sick and injured without letting them know his true power. He could stop wars. Kill the corrupted powerful. And he wanted too, God did he want too. But he couldn’t. Because deep down, he still believed in his creator’s love.
He did not heal Wicks when he was murdered on Good Friday. Did that make him guilty?
Benoit Blanc would probably think so. So as he wrote his story, along with hiding the flask, he did not tell Blanc about his angelic properties. He wouldn’t believe him anyway, not without proof.
“Why’d you do it?”
“The question is why did I think I could hide from you. Why did I think I could lie to you and get away with it?” How much did he know? Jophiel—Jud, his name was Jud, Judas, he was Judas. He couldn’t know anything he didn’t want him to know. He was an angel, fallen or not. Blanc was only human, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You didn’t lie. You just didn’t say the dishonest part outloud.” Jud sighed. Only Blanc didn’t realize just how far the lie went, beyond being dishonest, beyond being good.
“Why protect him?” Jud huffed. If he wanted to protect Wicks, he would’ve healed him with God’s almighty strength.
“I don’t care about Wicks. I mean, I care about all human beings. But I did it to spare the people who believed in him, just a little disillusionment.” Blanc sat beside him. For a moment, just a split second, Blanc looked at him curiously. Like he saw something he shouldn’t have. The flicker of the candle light briefly illuminated the remaining shadow of his wings. But the moment passed, Jud was grateful Blanc had no such faith.
“But surely everyone knew,” he scoffed.
“Not Samson.” Blanc rang his hand through his hair.
“Now where is the flask? You’re not protecting anybody now, cherub.” He knew blush reached the top of his ears. But in his own form of mercy, Blanc didn’t say anything about it. He thanked God for that.
Jud got up and looked inside his drawer, of course, there was no flask. If he were permitted to use all his capabilities as an angel on earth, he would search this entire state, but he couldn’t. He was stuck here. Trapped. In this body God had chosen for him, not that he didn’t look good or hated his new form. But any body would be confining for an archangel with many wings and many eyes and so so vast—
“Father Jud?” Blanc’s eyes had softened, blue eyes and oh so human.
“I—there’s no flask. I don’t know where it is, someone broke into my house and I’m—” useless, he wanted to say. All of this would have been solved if he had just healed Wicks when he had the chance. But no, he just had to carry out God’s wrath one last time. What did that say about him? That he couldn’t be good, even as an angel?
“Now you see the enemy we’re up against. You protected their bubble of belief, therefore concealing a killer in plain sight. You have listened to this flock’s story with empathy, we’re done with that now, we’ve wasted enough time. Tomorrow we will use the burial to question them all together. We must discover what happened that night. And what this flock of wicked wolves is hiding. But for now, you need some shut eye.” Jud almost laughed.
“I don’t need to sleep.” He said, which was only sort of a lie. He was exhausted, even angelic beings got tired. And he was not a full angelic being anymore. But he didn’t want to sleep. It felt too much like giving in, giving up. He did not kill Wicks. But he might as well have condemned him.
“Come on now, everybody needs sleep, you can’t sustain yourself on God’s will alone Father Jud.” Jud chuckled, he rang his hand through his hair. Blanc seemed to watch his every move. Quizzical eyes that reminded him of Metatron’s in a way.
“No, I suppose I can’t. I’ll sleep. See you at the burial.” Jud said. Blanc didn’t move.
“That’s the second time you’ve lied to me today.” He had that curious look again. He liked that look, it flattered him, like he was worthy of being curious about. But if Blanc poked too much to the truth and boy did he like to poke, he might look too far. And then what? Jud went to his little bed and got under the covers. One thing he liked about being human, was the ability to feel all the little comforts of one. But these blankets scratched and the mattress was lumpy. Not that he didn’t appreciate the room he was given.
“Happy?” Blanc laughed. It rang loud and proud in a way that gave him goosebumps.
“Of all the childish things, yes alright. Do you want to be tucked in?” Jud didn’t bother to stifle his yawn. He looked up at him, and wished he could ask him to stay. But that would be very childish indeed.
“No detective Blanc. But goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he could hear Blanc’s reply, he passed out.