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It was unnervingly quiet when Azrael dropped onto one of the buttresses jutting out from the cathedral. Usually the streets of Gotham after dark were full of some sort of racket; a car alarm blaring or a group of drunk people out too late or a child crying. Noise was annoying but it was also useful. That way he could tell where he was needed.
But tonight there was nothing. Above, the night sky was littered with stars, and from where he was it seemed like he could reach up and grab one.
Although his eyes were cast upwards, he still registered the movement in the corner of his eye. A flash of dark fabric and almost soundless footsteps on stone. Almost.
He whipped around and a blade slid out of his gauntlet, pointed at the person who was lurking behind him.
“Come out,” he ordered. It could easily be one of the bats; lord knows they do enough sneaking around in shadows. But there are many other, more dangerous things that spend their time watching people from darkness.
After a moment the form moved into the watery moonlight. Purple costume, black hair falling loose around her shoulders.
“Huntress,” he said, lowering his blade in recognition. It slid back into his gauntlet.
The woman– Huntress– tilted her head like she was sizing him up. They were familiar with each other and had worked together before, but not enough to say that he really knew her.
“Azrael. I assume you didn’t come here to pray.”
He frowned, although there was no way she could tell that from behind his mask. “And you did?”
“Yes,” she said simply. She hooked a thumb through the chain of her necklace and pulled it up. There was a silver cross charm dangling from it.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the religious type,” Azrael said.
“Why is that?”
“Fifth commandment.” Thou shalt not kill.
It was her turn to frown, although it was so slight that he almost missed it.
“I’ve made my peace with that. If all Christians were perfect then there would be no use for the church in the first place.”
True, he supposed. It wasn’t exactly his place to judge.
“Do you believe in God, Azrael?” she asked. At his hesitation she continued with, “Your name. The angel of death. Is that how you see yourself? Acting in God’s name? Or against it?”
“I didn’t choose the name,” he replied. He floundered in his thoughts for a few more seconds before saying, “I used to believe in… I used to believe. But it was not really who I was.”
In his mind he saw flashes of memories; the robes of the monks, fragments of St. Dumas swirling together with bits and pieces of memories from his earliest days as Azrael. Those visions he saw that he could have sworn were real enough to touch, spoken to him by some invisible thing. But they were not real and he could touch them as much as he could pluck a star from the sky.
“I see.”
He wasn’t sure she understood, but then again he didn’t understand her either.
Her eyes went distant for a second. He wondered what was occupying her mind; she looked lost in distant memories. He probably looked like that, too.
“I will say a prayer for you tonight,” Huntress said, as if coming to a decision.
He fumbled, unsure whether to thank her or not. He settled on, “I’ll say one for you,” which was quite a claim from someone who didn’t pray at all.
She looked almost amused when she said, “I don’t need it.”
And with that, she launched herself back into the shadows.
Later that night (or early in the morning) Jean-Paul lay in bed, trying and failing to fall asleep. It could be that he was afraid of what he would see in his dreams, memories newly dredged up.
Maybe it was the unnaturally silent night that he was throwing him off. In the absolute quiet and darkness of his room it seemed like every breath he took ricocheted off the walls, echoing back at him like a snake's hiss.
He realized that he hadn’t really answered Huntress’ question about believing in God. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he even knew the answer.
After a couple more seconds, he hauled himself up and turned on his bedside lamp, bathing everything in soft warm light. He put his palms together, closed his eyes, and thought, If you’re real, don’t ever let me know.