#((i tried my best 🥲🫶 /lh))

[a-bastard-worth-knowing]

[ bullet ] // maybe some historical based thing?? idk 👀

This all feels much too familiar to the first bet She had ever made with downstairs. Satan, with all their diabolical and fiendish behavior, poked and prodded at Her patience by taunting about how humanity would only fall further into his grasp if they had nothing. They thank God for their daily bread and payments, but if they had none of those things, what would there be to thank Her for?

And of course, they had to be proven wrong, right?

‘The Great Depression’ is what they called it. It’s devastating, and while the angel had been told not to intervene — ‘your job is to watch and come back with any advancements, not thwart with Her plans’ — and to simply watch from a distance, what harm could be done by returning that daily bread to those that lost it? It was small portions, nothing more, he’d swear it underneath the Lord’s gaze. Even so, all of this wasn’t permanent. They’d be rewarded for their faith after the tide had cleared, as always.

Perhaps his internal dilemma was why he hadn’t heard the click of a gun until the barrel had made impact with the side of his head, sending him tumbling down with a quick bleed forming. It all happened too fast. One moment the culprit is threatening to discorporate him (that would be most unfortunate) if he doesn’t hand over everything he has, and the other, he’s watching Crowley appear out from somewhere and step in front of an oncoming bullet.

Always saving him, it seemed.

“Crowley—!” The angel cries out in surprise, alarm, panic, every emotion swirling in his chest as he rushes over to kneel beside him. This couldn’t destroy him completely, why was he being like this? And yet the sight of him clutching at a bleeding wound is nearly nauseating, his own hands hovering over it nervously. “You fool, you— why would you ever—” He nervously scrambles for the right words, concern clearly written on his face.