I'm seeing some confusion out and about over the title A Companion to Owls (generally along the lines of 'what have owls got to do with it???'), so I'd like to offer my interpretation (with a general disclaimer that the Bible and particularly the Old Testament are damn complicated and I'm not able to address every nuance in a fandom tumblr post, okay? Okay):
It's a phrase taken from the Book of Job. Here's the quote in full (King James version):
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: and when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
--(Job 30:29)
Job is describing the depths of his grief, but also, with that last line, his position in the web of providence.
Throughout the Old Testament, owls are a recurring symbol of spiritual devastation. Deuteronomy 4:17 - Isaiah 34:11 - Psalm 102: 3 - Jeremiah 50: 39...just to name a few (there's more). The general shape of the metaphor is this: owls are solitary, night-stalking creatures, that let out either mournful cries or terrible shrieks, that inhabit the desolate places of the world...and (this is important) they are unclean.
They represent a despair that is to be shunned, not pitied, because their condition is self-inflicted. You defied God (so the owl signifies), and your punishment is...separation. From God, from others, from the world itself. To call and call and never, ever receive an answer.
Your punishment is terrible, tormenting loneliness.
(and that exact phrase, "tormenting loneliness," doesn't come from me...I'm pulling it from actual debate/academia on this exact topic. The owls, and what they are an omen for. Oof.)
To call yourself a 'companion to owls,' then, is to count yourself alongside perhaps the most tragic of the damned --not the ones who defy God out of wickedness or ignorance, and in exile take up diabolical ends readily enough...but the ones who know enough to mourn what they have lost.
So, that's how the title relates to Job: directly. Of course, all that is just context. The titular "companion to owls," in this case, isn't Job at all.
Because this story is about Aziraphale.
The thing is that Job never actually defied God at all, but Aziraphale does, and he does so fully believing that he will fall.
He does so fully believing that he's giving in to a temptation.
He's wrong about that, but still...he's realized something terrifying. Which is that doing God's will and doing what's right are sometimes mutually exclusive. Even more terrifying: it turns out that, given the choice between the two...he chooses what's right.
And he's seemingly the only angel who does. He's seemingly the only angel who can even see what's wrong.
Fallen or not, that's the kind of knowledge that...separates you.
(Whoooo-eeeeee, tormenting loneliness!!!)
Aziraphale is the companion.
...I don't think I need to wax poetic about Aziraphale's loneliness and grappling with devotion --I think we all, like, get it, and other people have likely said it better anyway. So, one last thing before I stop rambling:
Check out Crowley's glasses.
(screenshots from @seedsofwinter)
Crowley is the owl.
Crowley is the goddamn owl.
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you were raised in comparison.
it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.
you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.
you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.
what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.
it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.
you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.
you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?
a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.
you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.
it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.
something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.
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DPxDC snippet/prompt:
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“John.”
Zantanna’s voice had that cadence to it. Faintly strangled. Forcibly calm. Her rising blood pressure and rapidly approaching limit for his special brand of excitement evident in every single letter of his name.
Felt like old times.
“Z.” He said, smoke curling out of his mouth and billowing towards the dreary grey sky above. The one nice thing about Gotham, it had the same gloomy dark ambience of ol’ London town. “Long time no see. How’s show biz been treating you?”
He saw the faintest of twitches at the corner of her eye. Could almost hear her counting to ten in her head. He smiled at her winningly, leaning back against the damp bricks of the alleyway as he waited. More smoke drifted upward from beside him in time with a bored sigh. Patience was running out on all sides it seemed.
“That’s a child.”
“Sharp as ever.” He said, taking another drag. He nudged the child in question beside him gently with his elbow, glancing down with a sly grin. “See this is why the Justice League pay her the big bucks. Nothing gets past our Zantanna Zatara.”
He got a cloud of smoke blown directly in his face for that, little shit.
“John.”
“Z.”
“Why do you have a child? Why is the child smoking?”
“Long story.” He said with a wave of his hand.
“I learned it from watching him.” The kid said, with the same cadence as that old American commercial. All dramatic and overwrought emotion. The gremlin swooned against John's side in an imitation of collapse, hand holding the lit bifter coming up to their forhead to really sell the melodrama. He nudged his ghostly companion off, grinning at Zantanna’s slipping patience as he did.
“Don’t worry about it. Kid's fine.”
“A child wandering around with you in a dark ally in Gotham smoking cigarettes is fine?”
“I mean, I’m already dead. And short. It’s not like smoking is gonna be able to do any worse to me.”
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A part of you was unsure how your Orc Boyfriend would react. As you pruned the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you were starting to regret your idea. It was only a few paces from the camp now, surely you could just turn back around and throw it away, right?
Flowers were something that women received typically. Maybe he would think you were insinuating something about him, or that maybe he was weaker than you thought he was-
“Love! You’re back!”
Too late for take backs now. Hiding the bouquet behind your back, you watched as your Orc Boyfriend dropped a wood chopping axe and rushed over to you. “How was your walk? Did you get what you needed?”
You weren’t sure why you thought you could hide the flowers from him. He was at least two or three feet taller than you.
He peered over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “What’re those for? You’ve never brought flowers back before.”
Well, now or never, you thought. Meekly, you pulled them out from behind your back and held them out to him.
Your Orc stared at you for a minute, looking you up and down in confusion. “I… Um…” Where did you even begin with this? You must look insane.
Sighing, you lowered the bouquet and looked down at the different blooms. “When humans really like each other, sometimes they give flowers. So, I picked some flowers for you.”
There was silence for a moment and you felt your face burning. You knew it, this was a stupid idea.
“You picked these… for me?” His green hand came into view, wrapping around your interlocked fingers.
You nodded, still not looking at him.
Before you could stop him, he had snatched up the bouquet and held it high above his head. He bellowed to his others in the camp: “Look here! My lovely lady brought me flowers! What have you suckers got?!”
Orcs from their various work stations looked up, growled, snarled and swatted their hands at your Orc, “get stuffed you lug!”
Your jaw hung open at your Orc's audacity, before he looked back down at you and gave you the widest grin. “I didn’t know humans did such a thing,” he admired the flowers in his hand, seemingly as big as daisies in his huge hand. “You picked these yourself?”
“Wait, you like them?”
“Why wouldn’t I like them love?” Your Orc kissed you on the forehead. “You went out of your way to get them for me.”
“It’s just… I thought… Human men don’t normally get flowers, so I thought that…”
Your Orc let out a bark of laughter, “but I’m not human, am I love?” He pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tightly. His arms were the most reassuring and calming thing at that moment.
Hugging him back, you realised that there had been nothing to be afraid of. How could you have assumed that he would have been insulted by your gift?
“Anything from you is something to be treasured.” He mumbled to you, giving you another kiss on your lips.
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