Happy Holidays, hiddenlacuna!
Dec. 2nd, 2019 06:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goe_mod posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
go_exchangeRating: T
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley, also appearing Anathema and Newt.
Crowley was looking right at him, glasses off and eyes blazing. But he wasn’t angry. A thousand emotions were raging on his face, but anger wasn’t one of them. Aziraphale felt his heart clench, miss a beat, and then the moment was gone.
Let me be your ring of fire
The battle is raging around him and he can’t see anything. The blood is everywhere and the screams don’t stop, and no matter where he looks, there’s dead and dying people – humans, angels, demons, anyone and anything – and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, pain searing across his body and racked deep into his very bones. Heavenflame burns like nothing humanity has created, and it feels like half his face has disappeared; maybe it has but he can’t think about that now because if he thinks about that now, he’ll just...stop. The screams just keep going on and on and on and he’s running through the brimstone and the molten glass, and he’s just running and screaming, and the screams are coming from him and from everywhere around him. He doesn’t know what he’s running from, he’s just running. Running from the heat and the flames and the choking, awful, deadly smell of hellfire and bubbling blood. He tries to open his wings and fly away away away from the massacre, but he only flies so far above the ground before he just can’t and plummets, crashing into rubble.
He can’t move, can hardly think, the pain is everywhere and all he can register before darkness overtakes him is a bent, dark figure with a horrendous, sickly smile and –
I
He woke up in his cold bed, the rain tapping at the window and the sheets wound up all around him. He’d obviously been cold during the night, twisting and turning and hugging the bedclothes close to him. That dream again… That sticky feeling of being watched and followed… Of being about to lose...
He snapped down on a thought before it spilled over, but it was there, nestled in the deeper parts of the turmoil of his mind; everything had gone down so fast that they’d just not had time to really think about the consequences of their actions. After the fire had burnt down the bookshop, Crowley had let Aziraphale sleep at the flat, curled up in the too-big bed, while he himself had counted the hours looking out of the windows and just waiting for the sun to rise. Then Adam had re-invented the bookshop and Aziraphale had smiled softly, excusing himself for having been a nuisance for a few days. There had been a vague invitation to come and have tea once they’d both settled down again, and then he’d left.
He’d been gone for
(six days, 22 hours and 48 minutes)
a week and Crowley just had no idea what to do with himself. He really should have been doing something instead of just watching the walls of his flat like some sort of idiot. And the nightmares have been coming every night.
He didn’t need to shower but it was pleasant to just feel the warmth gather around him. He stretched out his wings with a hum, not caring about the water pooling all over the floor, and just stayed like that, under the hot water with his eyes closed. It was heading towards that time. Soon the cold would come, soon the drenched streets and the lashing rain, and the dark and the general overall yuck. People were naturally more cranky during the winter months and he found that it made his job easier. So much less work to get to the same result as usual. But this year would be different. What was the point of tempting humans for Hell, if he wasn’t even sure he belonged there any more? Maybe it would be easier to just give up on –
He snapped his eyes open and steadied himself against the stark black and white tiles, his face reflected straight back at him. The past few events had shaken him more than he’d imagined if he was getting dreams and hearing voices. The best thing to be would be to have a good drink and a conversation, and everything would go away. And Aziraphale would definitely not let him live it down if he started to talk to himself.
So he slithered out of the shower and got dressed in the blink of an eye, before grabbing an umbrella and heading out. Soho wasn’t so very far away, as long as he didn’t think about it and just walked. He needed to clear his head…
The rain was pounding on his umbrella but he didn’t hurry, looking around at the lights and the life and the people walking around. They’d never know how close they’d come to disaster, how close they’d come to losing all of it. And how close he’d come to losing even more… But he wasn’t going to let himself think of that right now and just knocked at the familiar door, half-hidden in shadow.
The scuffs were no longer there. Adam had recreated everything, all brand new, and he couldn’t have known about the marks of age in the wooden door. Marks that had come with the door, right from the time Aziraphale had established his bookshop. It was a shame, like there was nothing left –
– Crowley? Are you alright?
It took all the demon’s self-control to not jump out of his skin as the door opened. Aziraphale was looking at him with a hint of concern and a cup in his hand, and Crowley smiled back.
– Hey angel. Just wanted to come and see how you were doing. How you were getting used to all the place again, you know.
– I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Do come in, dear, you look half frozen.
Even if he’d wanted to refuse, how could he resist the warmth flowing out of the bookshop and out from Aziraphale’s smile; he let himself be guided inside, even if he knew the place by heart, and sat down in one of the chunky chairs near the window. He could almost fall asleep like this
(he already had a few times)
and snuggled into the soft cushions. So familiar and so achingly different now. Because now there wasn’t even the Arrangement to hide behind or to be an excuse, now there was just two man-shaped ethereal beings, left on their own and to their own devices. No Up-There or Down-There, no reporting, no little white lies, nothing but the raw reality. And Crowley was beginning to think that he wasn’t cut out for raw reality right now. For a start, he was seriously afraid that he was going mad.
– Hey, Aziraphale? Has anything weird happened to you lately?
No answer.
– Aziraphale? Aziraphale, are you even listening to me?
Still nothing, and this time Crowley jumped out of his chair and sped over into the back-room, almost colliding with the angel; the cups teetered on the edge of the platter, and the plate of biscuits was only saved from disaster by a (literal) miracle. Crowley must have had a Look on his face, because Aziraphale simply set the platter down on the floor and guided him to the closest chair.
– Crowley, please tell me what’s going on? You look –
– Just the cold, that’s all.
– … Come, sit down and have a cup of tea, it’ll warm you up and you can tell me all about it.
– It’s nothing...
– Don’t be ridiculous. Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.
– It’s nothing! Stop talking about it!
As soon as he’d said it, Crowley wished he could take it back. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault, after all. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault that he was
(terrified)
(haunted)
(in love)
in this state. He didn’t deserve to be shouted at for nothing, but true to the whole angelic nature of his being, he hadn’t said anything and simply sat down opposite Crowley, eyes full of compassion and warmth.
– Have you been sleeping lately?
– You know I have.
– Have you been having nightmares?
Crowley’s eyes snapped wide open.
– How…?!
– It’s not hard, Crowley. You look exhausted, even I can see that. Those glasses of yours don’t hide much, you know. And you can take them off around me, you know that.
– No!
He hadn’t meant to sound so snappish but it came out so very testy anyway. He had only wanted to say that he probably looked even worse without the dark glasses hiding the disaster. But it had come out vicious and he regretted the words once again. So he stood up and walked out, without a second glance. And he knew that it was a stupid idea and it wasn’t going to help anything, and he still had Aziraphale’s quizzical look burnt into his mind, but he slammed the door and hurried out under the rain once more.
And that’s when everything went black
**II**
He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he could barely think. When the grogginess lifted, he was hardly surprised to find himself in a darkish room, somewhere, sigils painted on the walls, the doors, the ceiling and the floor. Right. It was going to be one of those days. It wasn’t even surprising, if he was honest with himself. He’d been expecting a call from his superiors for ages, and they’d finally decided to get an explanation out of him. Or maybe Heaven had decided to “take care” of him instead.
– Ok, who’s playing silly buggers? Gabriel? Zaphkiel? Right, no answer, so it’s the other crowd, is it? Beezlebub? Paimon? Who is it?
There was no answer, and Crowley huffed, trying to get a better view of where he was. And it was only then that he noticed the steel bands across his wrists, effectively keeping his hands tied.
Right. This was most definitely not a good situation. Because he recognised the symbols etched on the metal surface, and they were old. As in old Enochian, old Babylonian, old-as-time-old, ensuring that even a higher demon would have difficulty getting out of the room. So someone like him? Not a chance.
– Ok, ok, you win, I lose, now get these things off me. Hey! I’m talking to you! Where are you hiding?!
– Right in front of you, Crawly.
– It’s Crowley.
– don’t care.
The lights blasted the darkness away and at last Crowley could see who the voice belonged to. And he couldn’t help but snort at the long black robes and pointy hoods.
– What the fuck are those? Does this look like a bloody Eric Kripke episode? Ok kids, playtime’s over, let me out and we’ll call it even.
– You’re not going anyway, hellspawn.
– I said stop with the stupid stereotypes. But seriously, where did you get the manacles? Heaven-forged items aren’t easy to get, and I don’t suppose you’ve got an archangel or two up your sleeve. Black market? The dark web? Fucking ebay?
– Shut up, demon.
– Or what, Buffy?
The lights flickered and switched off, and Crowley was once again in darkness.
*
The battle is raging around him and he can’t see anything. The blood is everywhere and the screams don’t stop, and no matter where he looks, there’s dead and dying people – humans, angels, demons, anyone and anything – and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, pain searing across his body and racked deep into his very bones. Heavenflame burns like nothing humanity has created, and it feels like half his face has disappeared; maybe it has but he can’t think about that now because if he thinks about that now, he’ll just...stop. The screams just keep going on and on and on and he’s running through the brimstone and the molten glass, and he’s just running and screaming, and the screams are coming from him and from everywhere around him. He doesn’t know what he’s running from, he’s just running. Running from the heat and the flames and the choking, awful, deadly smell of hellfire and bubbling blood. He tries to open his wings and fly away away away from the massacre, but he only flies so far above the ground before he just can’t and plummets, crashing into rubble.
He can’t move, can hardly think, the pain is everywhere and all he can register before darkness overtakes him is a bent, dark figure with a horrendous, sickly smile and –
Waking up felt even worse than the nightmare – the same bloody nightmare, exactly the same; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t move. A huge weight was on his chest where he’d fallen asleep on the cold hard floor and there was a smell… A smell like rotting meat and stale water, a touch of stale breath… He snapped his eyes open and almost recoiled from the sight of what was sitting on his chest, staring at him with cold, dead, rotting eyes. And as soon as the figure noticed him, it smiled and disappeared, leaving Crowley alone in the room.
– ...what...what the fuck...?!
– She likes you, you know. She’s been feeding off you for days…
One of the hooded figures was sitting just outside of Crowley’s line of sight, and the demon staggered up. The same horrible feeling was souring in the pit of his stomach and he walked towards the voice. He was angry, now. Angry and worried and annoyed and he just wanted out of this ridiculous room and this ridiculous masquerade and –
He screamed as a ball of bright fire, swift as lightning and hot as anything, rose up to block and repel him. The pure power of the fire threw him back and he crashed into the wall, feeling a bright line of pain run up and down his spine. The blow stunned him and he fell back to the floor, his still-tied hands curling into claws. He could feel bile rise up and something move inside, and without being able to control anything, his wings shot out and the lights flickered.
– What the fuck?!
– Surprised, demon?
– That
– It’’s fucking holy Jerusalem oil! Don’t you know what that is?!
– Of course I do. And so do you, apparently. That’s good.
Still that cold voice, with hardly an emotion. But the man was right in front of him right, and finally Crowley saw the face of one of his captors. And he wasn’t even surprised to see an unremarkable face. The face of a man he might have passed on a street one day and not noticed. The face of a man with nothing special whatsoever, except that he obviously more than dabbled in the occult. The face of the man who was going to try and kill him.
Jerusalem oil was one of the holiest anointing oils you could find on Earth and one of the most dangerous things for a demon, especially one such as him. Used in major exorcisms, it burnt the demon’s very soul away. He’d never seen any this close before and he’d never wanted to, feeling the flames get hotter and hotter. He crawled backwards, trying to get as far away as possible from the ring of fire, and the man kept looking at him, his eyes ice-cold.
– Finally you’re starting to show your true shape, demon. Confess.
– W – what?
– Confess your crimes against our Master and your end will be quick.
– What the bloody hell are you talking about….?
**III**
– He’s never done this before. Well, there was the Fourteenth Century of course, but I’m not sure this really falls under the same category.
Aziraphale was sitting in one of the chairs in Anathema’s living-room, a cup of tea going ignored on the small table. He had arrived, completely unannounced and agitated, and it was only when Anathema had pushed him physically into the chair that he had managed to start talking. And carried on talking. And even Newt knew what the problem was, judging from the looks he kept throwing her. Not that Newt was an idiot, far from it, but sometimes when dealing with supranatural beings, entities, magic and the end of the entire world, things weren’t simple.
– I mean yes, he has left from time to time, like after all that business with Attila, but it’s different now, don’t you see? I can’t believe he would just up and vanish like that.
– Maybe he just needed to clear his head? After all that’s happened, I’m almost surprised you haven’t gone for a little trip yourself. ?
– I’m too set in my ways now, dear.
– What about Adam? Surely he could help you.
– I did ask.
(Well he had asked the Them, but all he’d gotten for an answer was that Adam was on holiday with his parents, and that he was going to bring presents back to his friends, but that it as a Surprise. And it being a Surprise meant that nobody could know where he was. And Adam being the Antichrist meant just that : nobody could know where he was. So that was that idea gone down like a lead balloon.
He’d thanked them anyway because that’s what you did, but they’d all looked at him in a rather disconcerting way. It was very odd, like being stared down by a group of large ducks, until Pepper had nodded and looked at the others.
– You lot owe me a fiver. Each.
The Them had groaned, Pepper had grinned, and Aziraphale had taken his leave. Whatever was going on was nothing to do with him, after all.)
Finally Aziraphale noticed his cup of tea and took it up, not even sparing a miracle to heat it up and just drank it cold, as it was. Anathema once again glanced over at Newt; if Aziraphale wasn’t even bothering to look after his creature comforts, then he was clearly not thinking right. Or maybe just a little too right. So she stood up and went to rummage inside a box. It should have been ornate, it should have been covered in occult symbols and sigils, but instead it was just that : a box. From which she took out a well-weathered map and a pendulum and smiled.
– Well, since you’re here, we might as well try something.
The map covered the whole of the table, Newt scrambling to get the cups and the books and the various bits of clutter off of it. More for show than for anything else, Anathema lit up a couple of candles (sticking them in an empty milk jug that was drying in the sink), grabbed a branch of rosemary that just so happened to be lying around and made two or three brisk movements with it as she opened the windows. She wasn’t a mediocre witch by any standards, and she figured that drawing on the angel’s power would help.
But apparently not. She asked and asked and scryed and pulled out cards and even a crystal ball she’d had nestled away for a while, and nothing. Absolutely nothing. Newt sat down opposite them both and scratched his head.
– You’d think it would work, wouldn’t you? Unless Adam is hiding him somehow?
– No, Adam went on holiday long before that…
– So where’s Crowley? Why can’t you find him?
– Maybe he doesn’t want to be found? He’s not the Antichrist but I’m pretty sure that he could do that if he wanted to…
Aziraphale hadn’t said a word, and Anathema nudged him softly.
– What happened? What did you argue about?
– We didn’t argue, what gives you that idea?
– You look exactly like someone who’s had an argument and regrets it immediately. What happened?
– Nothing happened. Like I said, he’s been a little wound up after the Apo – after all that business. I only wanted to help with his nightmares. Because he’s been sleeping really poorly at the moment, but he won’t tell me. I thought we were friends…
Newt smiled and put the kettle on, once more.
– You are friends, Aziraphale. But some things are more complicated? I shouldn’t be saying these sorts of things to a supranatural being, should I?
– It would appear that I miss a lot of things, supranatural being notwithstanding…
– But I didn’t know that you could have nightmares? Bad memories, yes. But nightmares?
– We don’t...not really… Well, we do, but we’ve become a little more human. And humans are more receptive to outside influences than angels or demons, so… I suppose we might have to deal with that as well. But Crowley is missing and that I can’t find him. And I don’t believe that he would just disappear without telling me. Or without leaving something behind… I don’t know why, but I can’t believe it. And he looked so – so afraid. Like something was hunting him – Oh…. Oh how could I have been so blind?! He needed help and I didn’t even see it!
Aziraphale stood up so fast the heavy armchair tipped over. The electricity spat and flickered and for a brief, split second, Newt and Anathema spied a decidedly not-very-human-at-all shape in front of them instead of the chubby and well-groomed blonde man they’d always known. And his voice trembled, something flickered and started to burn inside.
– Something was hunting him and has him. Something is keeping Crowley prisoner, something is keeping him from me and how dare they…
Once Aziraphale had quite literally flown away, Anathema put the kettle back on and smiled. At least he’d finally figured it out, even if it had taken 6000 years.
**IV**
– You actually wanted the Apocalypse to happen? ...Why?
– We would have won, demon. We would have won, and you betrayed our master.
– You have absolutely no idea how bloody maniacal and idiotic you sound, do you?! The bloody Apocalypse! Armageddon! The End of fucking Days! What the fuck did you think was going to happen, even if Up-There had won? A party for the unholy victory? What part of “The End of fucking Days” was too hard to understand?!
Crowley was exhausted. Crowley was in pain and Crowley was losing hope. The Jerusalem oil was still burning all around him and eating at his form, but the Hag’s eternal presence was mostly to blame. She stood there, motionless, just outside his line of vision, just waiting for him to start to fall asleep before moving towards him. Her touch made him physically sick – the kind of sickness that wouldn’t go away
(ever)
for a long time. After the first two times he awoke screaming from the same same same same same nightmare again, he’d decided to stay awake. The Hag – Karabasan – Batibat – whatever the entity’s name – wasn’t going to get to him again. Those nightmares were the worse thing to ever happen to him, and he’d been around Vlad Dracul. And still she looked at him with that smile that dripped and warped and screamed oblivion, and Crowley was stuck between her, and the ring of holy fire that burnt his very being. His wings were scorched, the feathers limp and burnt; his face and hands blistered and bloody. He knew his permanent disincorporation was getting closer and closer, and knew it would be painful, but he didn’t have strength left to be afraid. But he’d be fucking damned again if he just gave up.
So he faced down the men standing just outside the ring of Jerusalem oil, his serpentine eyes nearly blinded by the prolonged exposition to the holy fire.
– You seriously think that any of those buggers winning would have made any sort of difference to us, except made things worse?! Do you have any clue about what would have happened?! If you could see the fucking nightmares I’ve been having, you’d –
– Yes, the nightmares.
The leader of the satanic cult (Crowley was sure they probably had names but honestly, learning them had been the least of his worries…) gave a tight smile, looking over at the Hag.
– We weren’t even certain it would work to summon her, no-one knew demons could dream. But now we know. And how else to punish the demon who caused all our work to fail than to show him his worst fear? Over and over and over and over again? How was it? What do you fear the most in the world? Holy water? The agony of exorcism? Wings broken with a silver rod ? Face it, demon. Heaven and Hell are both out for your blood.
Crowley didn’t answer – couldn’t answer – and just stared at the flames until the pain made him cry. If only they knew what he was the most frightened of… and the countless tortures of Heaven and of Hell didn’t mean anything to him next to the one thing he was terrified of : losing him. His mind wandered back to the darkest parts of his nightmare, back to the last thing he remembered each time. Yes, there was the Hag’s leering grimace, yes there were the screams and the blood, but there was him, in his arms, those blue eyes frozen in the middle of that soft face, a sigh half-finished on his lips and blooming roses covering the ground beneath him. There was him – Aziraphale – dead and cold in his arms. Any other sort of torture that Uriel could come up with paled in comparison with that.
It was just a nightmare, just a nightmare exacerbated by the Hag, but it was a nightmare speaking directly to his heart. And his heart, that treacherous thing, whispered that Aziraphale should already have come, should already have broken him out of here, should already have held him close if only he felt the same way, if only –
– Shut up…. Shut up, shut up, shut up shut shut up!!
Crowley sank to the floor, pressing his manacled, bloody hands against his burning eyes. How long had he been here? Three days? A week? A year? He didn’t know, he couldn’t even guess. His heart and his mind had been whispering things to him for so long and anyone would have given up by now. But he’d gone through bloody Armageddon and come out alive, so these insane cultists were certainly not going to break him.
(Only one thing would break him and it would never, never, never happen)
– Stop talking, stop it! I’m not listening anymore! I’m not listening, I’m not playing this bloody game anymore!
He stood up, wings flexing and hands curled into tight claws.
– Kill me if you’re going to kill me, but shut the fuck up! I don’t care about your hurt feelings or your damaged ego! I’m not going to do or say what you want so kill me if you think you’re able to!
It was a boast, and a boast coming from a hollow vessel but he’d never known when to shut up…
– Get in here and face me, if you’re so bold!
– What..?
– You heard me! All of you, get in here with me, and let’s see just how brave you are! What, afraid? After all the shit you’ve put me through, you’re still fucking cowards?! Heaven and Hell both want my head? Let them fucking try and take it!
It was madness but he was exhausted, his back was (figuratively and literally) against the wall, and he quite simply had had enough. And when the first couple of cultists crossed through the holy fire, the demon grinned (or at least, his lips parted and his teeth were showing) waiting for them to get on with it.
And before the first punch was thrown, the wall behind them exploded in a rain of blue fire.
The angel was haloed in fire, but a fire so bright and so terrible that they all averted their eyes. Crowley knew it was an angel only because he’d seen them before in their holy fury. It was a being of pure light, eyes as cold and as deep as the universe, wings outstretched and burning. In one hand the angel held a sword, and when he spoke, the language of Heaven that no human words could translate, it was with a thousand voices. Like a maelstrom of divine wrath, every step and every word sent holy fire flying.
Crowley’s skin (what was left of it) began to crawl ; here was the incarnation of heavenly fury, sent to this dingy place to recover the angelic artefacts that the cultists had obtained and punish the thieves. His own presence wouldn’t have been noted, not against Jerusalem oil and thorns from the Holy Crown, but the angel would see him and that would be the end. A minor demon like him, beaten, broken and almost powerless, was nothing against a what was obviously a Principality in front of him, all decked out warrior garb with a golden crown upon his hair. During the first Heavenly War he’d faced warrior angels like this one, the unmoving soldiers of God, and he knew that he had no chance of getting out alive.
A Principality.
– Aziraphale….?
The cold, slimy feeling he’d not been able to shake since his capture started to melt away. What were the chances of another Principality randomly showing up, when another one was in the same general cosmic area? But if the angel had heard him, there was no sign. There was only a flash, a movement so fast that human eyes couldn’t see it, and the cultists simply disappeared. No blood, no screams, nothing. The fury of an angel was something terrible to witness…
The Hag was gone. Either by her own means or by angelic ones, and the last remnants of sickness faded. But Crowley didn’t take notice of that right away and went to stand right in front of the terrible figure, holding out his bound hands.
– Stop it! Stop it, Aziraphale! Listen to me, you ass! Stop bloody shining and listen to me!
Those endless eyes turned towards him...and suddenly in front of him once again was the slightly pudgy form he’d come to know by heart. Gone were the flames and the golden crown, there was only Aziraphale, holding a spatula and blinking.
And Crowley just burst out laughing, all the pain and worry of the last few days (???) melting away.
– You look ridiculous…
Aziraphale lifted a finger, and just like that, the engraved manacles fell to the ground, Crowley following just behind.
**V**
Aziraphale was sitting on the ground, ashes scattered around them both, and humming lowly, running his hands over Crowley’s wounds. Soft blue light engulfed them and his wings were encasing them both in a soft cocoon. He’d not seen Crowley like this, not ever. The prolonged exposure to the Jerusalem oil had burnt nearly all his skin off, leaving the demon raw, and the manacles had rubbed his wrists raw. His eyes were bloodshot and so very, very reptilian, and without his glasses he hadn’t even been able to hide them.
– Those glasses of yours don’t hide much, you know. And you can take them off around me, you know that.
– No!
With a little sigh, Aziraphale reached out and covered the demon’s eyes with his hand. He’d probably complain about it not being the same pair, but at least that vulnerability was taken care of. Even if Aziraphale quite frankly loved seeing those golden eyes… But he had no time for such thoughts, he had to take care of Crowley. It had been a while since he’d healed anything bigger than a stray cat or a nightingale, and still he stayed as he was, eyes closed, willing the powers that still seemed to be with him to help. And finally, Crowley moved in his lap and groaned.
– Ow…
– Oh, Crowley. How do you feel?
– Like the bloody Wicked Witch of the East.
He tried to get up, but Aziraphale held him in place, his touch like a concrete bar.
– I wouldn’t move too quickly, dear.
– You healed me? Seriously?
– Of course I did, why wouldn’t I?
– I’m a demon, or had you forgotten? Won’t your lot Up-There find that a little bit suspicious?
Aziraphale had an answer all ready, about things that Heaven might have found a little more suspicious, but instead he simply smiled. Angelically.
– Why, why would they? What have I done that they would find reprehensible? Holy objects have been recovered and will return to the Vatican, and evildoers have been neutralized.
– And me?
– I haven’t done anything that would be considered wrong by saving you, Crowley.
– Why?
The angel stood up, but not fast enough to avoid Crowley’s hand snake
(ha ha)
around his wrist. And when he turned back, Crowley was looking right at him, glasses off and eyes blazing. But he wasn’t angry. A thousand emotions were raging on his face, but anger wasn’t one of them. Aziraphale felt his heart clench, miss a beat, and then the moment was gone.
– I’m sorry, I didn’t see anything earlier. I had no idea…
– Forget it. I didn’t tell you.
Crowley stood up, fixing the creases in his un-charred clothes and running a hand through his hair. Aziraphale just stood there and looked at him, snatches of a poem he’d read about moonbeams kissing the sea and sunlight on the grass (Shelley, perhaps) and –
– Crowley… I came because…
– Because we’re friends and that sushi and wine is always better with good company?
– Because I love you.
And there they were, surrounded by ash and rubble, completely silent, staring at each-other like two wary cats. And Crowley found himself for one of the very first times of his life completely speechless. He opened his mouth, shut it, tried again, shut it again, and then coughed.
– You...you love me…
– ...Yes.
– You love me. You love me? You love me?!
– ….yes.
– And you never told me?
– I…. I didn’t think I should say anything. I thought...I thought…
He paused, and that pause was all Crowley needed to grab him by those ridiculous lapels and push him against the wall, kissing him furiously. He might have been still trembling after the agonising ordeal, he might still have the nightmarish visions still deep in his mind, but he kept his thoughts focused. Aziraphale was with him, wasn’t dead and bleeding like in his nightmares, and was tenderly kissing him back. There’d be all the time in the world to ask about little details like bloody sodding fuck he loves me as well, and what the fuck was that a flaming spatula??? Still, something was nagging at him, and he broke their embrace.
– Tell me how Up-There isn’t going to pitch a fit over you saving me? And now this?
– Well, there’s a phrase that is true Above as is Below. Because as God once said :“Let all that you do be done in love”.
– So you’re covering your ass with a technicality?
– Exactly.
– You’re a real hypocritical bastard, you know that?
Their smiles were identical, right before Aziraphale came closer once again, taking Crowley by the waist and engulfing them both in his wings.
– Somehow; for some reason or another, all that I have ever done was done in love. And all that I will do will be done in love.
– Good, I’m looking forward to that…
– Cheeky.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-03 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-03 09:11 pm (UTC)Thank you!!
Date: 2019-12-05 07:11 pm (UTC)Re: Thank you!!
Date: 2019-12-10 05:21 pm (UTC)Thank you again, mystery friend!!
I love love loved it! Very bamfy, ;) I especially enjoyed the clever nod to being hag-ridden as the mediaeval explanation for nightmares. And the flaming spatula! When mine do that, there’s screaming of a different kind.... and no sexy angels to comfort me afterwards.
You really built a lovely narrative with an interesting reason for Crowley to be captured. I enjoyed the scene in Anathema’s cottage, with everything being so bloody obvious that even NEWT is on to it. And Pepper better be making mad bank on that bet. Clever girl.
I liked the effective danger of Jerusalem Oil - a nice change from Holy Water being the only thing in the anti demonic world.
This is terrific and I thank you very much!! Looking forward to the reveal so I will know if I have a new writer to follow or whether I already know you. :)
Happy GOmas!
Re: Thank you!!
Date: 2019-12-19 05:41 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-07 02:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-12-22 05:02 pm (UTC)~threequarters
(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-01 04:08 pm (UTC)And poor Crowley with that holy oil but at least Aziraphale arrived to save him! And I loved the spatula as the flaming sword lol.
(no subject)
Date: 2020-01-02 10:52 am (UTC)Ahh, Aziraphale as the angel rescuer is quite something <3
I loved how he cares for Crowley' s feelings and hides his eyes for him <3
"And there they were, surrounded by ash and rubble, completely silent, staring at each-other like two wary cats."
What an image *_*
The whole fic full of such beautiful (and scary) dream-like imagery: ring of fire, Aziraphale standing there watching Crowley and remembering poetry..
"Somehow; for some reason or another, all that I have ever done was done in love. And all that I will do will be done in love.
– Good, I’m looking forward to that…"
<3 <3
Beautiful story, I enjoyed it very much!