Happy Holidays, chonaku!

[goe_mod]

Title: To His Dust I Return
Recipient: Chonaku
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences, possibly Mature (for the death of a human character)
Pairing: Aziraphale & Crowley or Aziraphale/Crowley (feels more gen, but can be read as slash nonetheless)
Notes: I feel like apologizing to my dear recipient for how wistful this turned out, but it takes into account some mythology surrounding a figure from Jewish history, Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel. My recipient asked for a story about Aziraphale, Crowley, Rabbi Loew, and the Golem of Prague. This takes a known fact about Loew’s life and fuses it with the legend.
Summary/Teaser:

Aziraphale grimaced at the looping script and shoved it back at [Crowley]. “That’s where I’m headed.”

The parchment sizzled to ash in Crowley’s palm. “That’s not all I know. That Maharal fellow’s on his way out. Er, whatsisface—Rabbi Loew?”

“Then what are you doing here?” Aziraphale blurted, bewildered at Crowley’s presence. Upstanding religious leaders merited monitoring, but rarely by the other side. “I’m meant to…” He bit his tongue, wondering how much he ought to censor. “Follow up on an accomplishment he’s rumored to have, er, accomplished. See to it there’s no unfinished business surrounding…that.”

“What am I doing here?” Crowley snapped, growing agitated. “To find out how he bloody well did it, preferably before the breath leaves his body. D’you think I like watching humans die?”

Aziraphale leaned heavily against the brick wall, panting harshly as he glanced from side to side.

The alley was empty save for a few unsightly trash heaps, which meant nobody had seen him appear. Miracling oneself somewhere instead of traveling the good old-fashioned human way was now strongly frowned-upon, as humans had grown remarkably desensitized.

The night was dark, but the last thing Aziraphale wanted to risk was ending some poor soul’s life ahead of schedule by triggering a heart attack. He hadn’t personally witnessed someone snuffing it from sheer shock, but rumor had it Michael had set the precedent behind the policy change.

In spite of Earth’s calendar now reading 1609 on this particular continent, if one wanted to just pop from one place to another, one was strongly encouraged—or kindly threatened, depending on the way you looked at it—to do it the hard way. Bugger that.

Just Aziraphale’s luck, that as he turned to exit the alley while dusting off garb that would undoubtedly cause the locals to dismiss him as a bumbling Englishman, there was a forceful smack against the brick. It was followed by a low hiss of irritation, and not just any hiss.

“This is Prague,” Crowley said irrelevantly, pretending he hadn’t just made a bad landing. “Not your sort of place, I should think. Far too…Bohemian, d’you catch my drift?”

“Oh, that’s very funny,” Aziraphale said, folding his arms across his chest. “Taking up puns?”

“Look, you’re the one always telling me to lighten up,” Crowley said, attempting the same nonchalance Aziraphale had attempted on his own arrival, but with much less dignity.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed, indicating that Crowley should approach. “Let’s talk. We wouldn’t both be here if there weren’t something afoot.”

“I’ve got an address. That’s the only specific thing about my orders,” Crowley said shiftily.

Aziraphale pressed his fingers to his temples. “Is it written down? Any chance I might see it?”

Crowley shrugged, rummaged in his doublet, and held out a scrap of singed parchment. “Sure.”

Aziraphale grimaced at the looping script and shoved it back at him. “That’s where I’m headed.”

The parchment sizzled to ash in Crowley’s palm. “That’s not all I know. That Maharal fellow’s on his way out. Er, whatsisface—Rabbi Loew?”

“Then what are you doing here?” Aziraphale blurted, bewildered at Crowley’s presence. Upstanding religious leaders merited monitoring, but rarely by the other side. “I’m meant to…” He bit his tongue, wondering how much he ought to censor. “Follow up on an accomplishment he’s rumored to have, er, accomplished. See to it there’s no unfinished business surrounding…that.”

“What am I doing here?” Crowley snapped, growing agitated. “To find out how he bloody well did it, preferably before the breath leaves his body. D’you think I like watching humans die?”

Aziraphale was startled. One, Crowley knew exactly what Judah Loew ben Bezalel was rumored to have done. Two, he’d never quite considered that, had he—that Crowley’s aversion to heartbreak truly wasn’t feigned. He thought of all the times over the centuries he’d told Crowley to buck up, stiff upper lip and all that. Inwardly, he cringed.

“Listen here, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, clapping Crowley’s shoulder, “I’ll go in with you. Heaven knows my people don’t need to know I’ve shared my research on the, er, method behind the madness. Not that we have anything more than strange hearsay.”

“More like the method behind the mud,” Crowley muttered, shaking him off. “And Heaven is your people. You’ve made that joke before, angel.”

“What were you saying about lightening up?” Aziraphale jibed, but stopped smiling the moment Crowley shot him a withering glance. “Fine, business it is. Lead the way.”

Breaking and entering always felt underhanded even when Aziraphale was acting on orders. He couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley felt the same way as he miracled the lock open, hustled Aziraphale inside, and soundlessly closed the wooden door behind them.

“Why is there no one?” Crowley whispered nervously as they passed through the cold, silent scullery and into the main part of the house. “His wife, surely? Or perhaps a maid?”

“Pearl’s yahrzeit has come and gone,” Aziraphale replied. “As for household staff—”

“I know better than to deny entry to your kind,” called a strained voice from down the hall.

Realizing Crowley was no longer keen to lead him on, Aziraphale stepped boldly ahead and opened the bedroom door ahead of them. He stared at the partially moonlit four-poster bed.

“Whether I’m to be turned to salt, well,” said Judah, his voice subsiding to a frail rasp even as his lips twisted in mirth, “that’s of far more import to you at this stage than it is to me.”

“Hah,” Crowley exhaled, his jitters worsening as he flashed white teeth at Judah. “Good one.”

“Take those lenses off, young man,” said Judah. “Come a bit closer, eh? Spare my old eyes?”

“Where is it?” Aziraphale asked, no need for artifice since the old man knew what he was.

“Forgive him,” Crowley said hastily, approaching Judah’s bedside. “No manners, this one.”

Judah sighed, studying the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. “Gone from Creation. Nine years.”

Aziraphale frowned while Crowley uncomfortably pocketed his tinted glasses. “Destroyed?”

“Not by my hand,” Judah whispered, closing his eyes. “Not as rumor would have you think.”

“That’s…reassuring, though, right?” Crowley said, glancing upward in relief when he realized he wasn’t being treated as a curiosity. “Saves us the trouble of chasing the blasted thing down for you, eh?”

Judah’s eyes snapped open, narrowing in fierce, unexpected fury. “How dare you belittle him! You, with such imperfect eyes and tongue! He was even as I am. Flesh, fashioned from clay, even if not blood.”

“Apologies,” Aziraphale said, deciding the interview might fare better if he took it from there. “He?”

Judah moaned feebly, his anger subsiding into an instant, shocking display of grief. “My Bezalel.”

“Your…” Crowley rummaged frantically in his doublet, pulling out a few more scraps of parchment. “That was—wait, you must mean your father?”

“No,” Judah said sadly, finally regarding Crowley with unblinking pity. “He was my son.”

“Named for his grandfather,” Aziraphale said soothingly, frustrated that senility had seemingly blown the old man’s focus off topic. “He must have done the name honor. Er, if we might be getting back to the matter at hand—”

“This is all the matter I care to discuss,” Judah said with a reprisal of venom. “You will listen.”

Aziraphale bit his tongue, wondering if letting the old man ramble might get them to the information eventually. Surely such a momentous achievement was in his dying thoughts. Humans were proud creatures until the end of their days.

“I’ll listen,” Crowley said, his affect filled with genuine-sounding empathy. “Set your story straight, so to…speak.” He didn’t look happy about witnessing Judah’s decline or about the sequence of sibilants betraying him further.

“Bezalel was a bright boy,” Judah said, his gaze once again distant. “So fragile in comparison to his sisters at birth, our youngest. His mother wanted nothing to do with him at first, which…this, I could forgive. She’d had no say in his coming into this world.”

“She hadn’t wanted more children?” Aziraphale asked, knitting his brow in confusion. “Pity.”

Crowley didn’t speak, but his posture had grown curiously tense even as he leaned closer.

Judah misted over, his breath turning to a rasp. “Perhaps you would know a thing or two about being sent forth for a purpose you did not choose. You were collateral, no? As was my boy.”

“You could say that of any child,” Crowley replied tersely. “Rabbi, we don’t…have much time.”

“You mean I don’t have much time,” Judah rasped. “Where was I? Ah, right. Bezalel needed…much instruction, more than his sisters ever had. I taught him to speak, to read, to write. To laugh, play…grieve, fight…”

Aziraphale was growing more irritated by the second. The last thing that he and Crowley needed was for Judah to use his last gasp reminiscing about when he was a young father.

Crowley elbowed Aziraphale in the ribs. “Gone,” he said between gritted teeth. “Nine years.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Aziraphale said hastily. “No father should outlive his son.”

Judah shrugged, which was, when contrasted with the weight of his sorrow, an unusual reaction.

“Bezalel grew strong and smart. He learned, and he taught. But, at my bidding, he also fought.”

Crowley’s intake of breath was so sharp that Aziraphale jumped. “Oh no,” Crowley whispered.

“Oh yes,” Judah said, eyes overbrimming at last. “The Word ought not to have lasted so long.”

Aziraphale scrambled to put the pieces together, arriving at the curious conversation’s horrifying, yet touching conclusion too late, always too late. And always, always a step behind Crowley.

“Your…son, he protected your people,” Crowley insisted, clearly struggling to keep it together.

Judah’s expression darkened, although he did not stop crying. “Name him. Speak what he was.”

“Golem,” Aziraphale said quietly, berating himself for having been blind. “Bezalel ben Judah.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, too,” Crowley said softly, glancing sidelong at Aziraphale. “There’s nothing to see here, angel. Nothing to report. It was a hoax. We’ll tell them it was—”

“To his dust I return,” Judah wheezed, hand outstretched. “Truth, at last, becomes death.”

Before Aziraphale could lift his hand in response, Crowley clasped the old man’s fingers.

“Goddamn it,” Crowley whispered, his bright eyes closing as Judah’s grasp went slack.

“No,” Aziraphale murmured, putting an arm around Crowley. “I assure you He will not.”

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

I read this a couple days ago, but haven't had time to leave a review. I was not familiar with this story or the myth behind it before reading your fic. Your portrayal of the characters and the emotion in this scene sent me down a research hole to educate myself. I like it when I learn things from fic. :) Thank you for such a compelling narrative the piqued my desire to learn. (from Ri)

[secret_kraken]

Thanks so much, Ri! The legend being played with/adapted here is the Golem of Prague, which has been interpreted and reinterpreted many times throughout Jewish storytelling, myth, and legend. Knowing what I know about the Rabbi's historical life, I fused a fact from there (the name of his only son, who died younger than the rest of his children) with the golem legend. I thought, well, what if he did create the golem, but became fond of it, raised it like you might a child, named it? Having to destroy it once it had served its purpose would have hurt more than if it was a mere construct, which is what golems are said to be - fashioned from clay, activated by the holy word inscribed on their forehead? The prompt was a great one to work with.

[improbabledreams900]

Lovely and melancholic story! I only knew part of this legend, and it was interesting to learn a bit about the rabbi associated with it. And what a clever ending line!

[secret_kraken]

Thank you! Admittedly, I took liberties in fusing known historical fact (the name of the Rabbi's son, the fact that said son died early) with the legend (i.e. I posited that the Rabbi raised the golem as a son, and was devastated when he had to deactivate/decommission it after it had served its purpose). Golems, being fashioned from clay, return to it. I imagine the Rabbi, in these circumstances, was eager to return to it, too.

[cursiell_4]

Barely knew about the golem of Prague before this. thank you for bringing the topic on with this prompt, It is such an interesting topic.
No wonder why Heaven and Hell were so interested in this man.
Very interesting to read, Aziraphale and Crowley trying to understand what was going on but also trying to hurry him and Rabbi being like “You are going to hear everything I’ve to say!”. But it was touching when they realised all what Bezalel meant to Rabbi and decide not to report to hell or heaven (Well technically only Crowley said it but Aziraphale’s silence is enough to me).
The title of the story is very fitting and poetic as his last words.

[secret_kraken]

Thank you so much for reading! As I've been saying in the responses to previous comments, I took liberties in fusing historical facts about the Rabbi's family (his son in particular, his only son, who died young) with the myth of the golem itself. It was a neat theory to test, and...I guess, maybe write a little midrash of my own ;)

[curiouslissa]

Oh it's such an unusual topic and scene to see them - at the deathbed... Now I need to learn more about this legend too.
And I really liked the way you portrayed Aziraphale and Crowley's interaction! This little bits of "you’re the one always telling me to lighten up" and "always, always a step behind Crowley".

[secret_kraken]

Thank you so much for reading. It has always seemed to me that Crowley is quicker to catch onto what's happening in a given situation than Aziraphale. In this case, realizing the import of the Rabbi's words hurt quite a lot. Then again, human loss always does hurt Crowley to an incalculable degree...

this fic is awesome and I must say it

[chonaku]

Sorry for my late answer, I wanted to give you a long review as you answered my favorite prompt and I could only do it now. First, as usual, your writing style is awesome, you have the skill to bring out an atmosphere very quickly. Second, I love very much this text! There are many details as I will point on the rest of the review.
First: “The alley was empty save for a few unsightly trash heaps, which meant nobody had seen him appear. Miracling oneself somewhere instead of traveling the good old-fashioned human way was now strongly frowned-upon, as humans had grown remarkably desensitized.”


I love when authors underline how the ethereal entities change over the years, I especially love the mention of Michael and the “bugger” moment. The latter makes me smile because it is a nod at the book, right?


“ “Look, you’re the one always telling me to lighten up,” Crowley said, attempting the same nonchalance Aziraphale had attempted on his own arrival, but with much less dignity.”

I love Crowley’s sentence and what it says about their relationship. Also, I love how he looks less dignified than Aziraphale (purée, I love book!Crowley so much).


“ “What am I doing here?” Crowley snapped, growing agitated. “To find out how he bloody well did it, preferably before the breath leaves his body. D’you think I like watching humans die?””

“Aziraphale was startled. One, Crowley knew exactly what Judah Loew ben Bezalel was rumored to have done. Two, he’d never quite considered that, had he—that Crowley’s aversion to heartbreak truly wasn’t feigned. He thought of all the times over the centuries he’d told Crowley to buck up, stiff upper lip and all that. Inwardly, he cringed.”

It is one of my favorite part of the fic, I love when, in pre canon fics, Aziraphale realizes some stuff about Crowley that doesn’t fit the image he has in mind.
Also, yes, Aziraphale, that demon snake is SWEET.

“ “What were you saying about lightening up?” Aziraphale jibed, but stopped smiling the moment Crowley shot him a withering glance. “Fine, business it is. Lead the way.””

: ) I love how you write them so much <3


“ “Forgive him,” Crowley said hastily, approaching Judah’s bedside. “No manners, this one.””

XD
I love the portrayal of the rabbi’s grief and how bitter he sounds, how he defends the golem. It is very much heartbreaking and moving. I love how Aziraphale is frustrated by Rabbi Loew’s behavior and Crowley is more uncomfortable (also, I love Rabbi Loew’s “now let sit, I will tell you everything because I am not impressed”)

““Bezalel was a bright boy,” Judah said, his gaze once again distant. “So fragile in comparison to his sisters at birth, our youngest. His mother wanted nothing to do with him at first, which…this, I could forgive. She’d had no say in his coming into this world.”

“She hadn’t wanted more children?” Aziraphale asked, knitting his brow in confusion. “Pity.”

Crowley didn’t speak, but his posture had grown curiously tense even as he leaned closer.

Judah misted over, his breath turning to a rasp. “Perhaps you would know a thing or two about being sent forth for a purpose you did not choose. You were collateral, no? As was my boy.””

Aaaaouch this parallel. Hurts. I love it. No, seriously, this fic is beautiful and heartbreaking. And very instructive, I didn’t know for the rabbi’s son before!


““Aziraphale scrambled to put the pieces together, arriving at the curious conversation’s horrifying, yet touching conclusion too late, always too late. And always, always a step behind Crowley.”
“Your…son, he protected your people,” Crowley insisted, clearly struggling to keep it together.

Judah’s expression darkened, although he did not stop crying. “Name him. Speak what he was.”

“Golem,” Aziraphale said quietly, berating himself for having been blind. “Bezalel ben Judah.””


I love this “play” over the golem/Bezalel’s identity, how his father truly sees it as his son (or something alike). I love Crowley’s reaction (also, I always love when a story … ah I don’t know how to say that, when a supernatural entity becomes more human through different steps, like naming, parenting and so one. But in this case, there was a tragic issue and you perfectly portrayed it).


““I’m sorry for your loss, too,” Crowley said softly, glancing sidelong at Aziraphale. “There’s nothing to see here, angel. Nothing to report. It was a hoax. We’ll tell them it was—””

I love you so much Crowley.

“ “Goddamn it,” Crowley whispered, his bright eyes closing as Judah’s grasp went slack.

“No,” Aziraphale murmured, putting an arm around Crowley. “I assure you He will not.””

This end <3 It is perfect. Thank you for this marvellous fic, I truly loved it. I love the golem’s history and I am very much happy you wrote it!

(also, the translator in me is like “how would I translate the last part of this fic” now)

Re: this fic is awesome and I must say it

[secret_kraken]

I'm so, so glad you enjoyed this! Your prompt was awesome. The Rabbi had a son, and his son died younger than the rest of his children. When I learned that fact, I got to thinking along the lines of, What if he considered the Golem his son? That's pretty much how I decided to do a folkloric/revisionist history here. It was an amazing opportunity; asking for something about the Rabbi and his Golem gave me a lot of room to play.

Happy Holidays, my friend!

[maniacalmole]

Oh, this was so moving. Very nicely written. And that last line!

[secret_kraken]

Hey, thank you very much <3 This definitely had a lot of opportunities for gut-punch lines. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

[hsavinien]

Well done, Rabbi! Humans ought to be a step ahead of heaven and hell more often. It's good for them.

[edna_blackadder]

This is brilliant, and so moving. I love your take on this story, and Aziraphale and Crowley's reactions (especially how Crowley *hates* watching humans die) and empathy. <3 Beautiful work!