Happy Holidays, bazzpop!
Dec. 10th, 2024 04:53 am![[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: G-T
Words: 3044
Summary: Crowley gets sent to Russia for a mission. Being exothermic by nature makes it hard, but just when he finds a place to warm up at he hears about a certain Angel that might have pulled a 1793. Of course Crowley has to go save him again, but whom ends up saving whom here?
Crowley grumbled miserably. The mission notice had arrived that morning, by way of a charred piece of paper being spit out at him by the hearth. Still flaming, it had hit him in the face as he walked by. Crowley was all for fomenting discord, and rebellion, but why couldn’t he do so somewhere nice and warm like Africa or South America? Why of all the places to start an uprising did Hell have to send him to the coldest most desolate part of the arse end of Siberia?! And of course those bastards Downstairs had put a teleportation miracle on his missive. It teleported him to his general (‘general’ being in the loosest possible sense of the word here) location of the assignment.
Crowley had never cared for cold weather, but it wasn’t until he had been unceremoniously dumped into the snow by the teleportation miracle that he learned that he REALLY hated the cold! He was a snake who was human-shaped for Hea-, for He-, for somebody’s sake!
Now Crowley, unlike real snakes, had some control over his body temperature, but even if he wasn’t fully exothermic, in these temperatures even the meagerest excuse of a spark that passed for an inner Hellfire couldn’t warm him up enough to not feel numb, sluggish and tired. Stay in it too long, and he couldn’t even perform miracles anymore.
After several slow tongue flicks in each cardinal direction, as best as his inner compass could locate them, Crowley struck out towards the nearest town. He had to get somewhere warm quickly, else this mission was going to end with a snake-cicle.
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With an unhappy whine, Crowley flopped down in front of the hearth of the hotel’s common room several hours later. Soaking up the glorious heat emanating from the hearth, he listened to the humans gossip around him. By the sound of it, he didn’t even have to be here to start anything. Hungry, miserable and poor, the humans had taken to rioting all on their own; no demonic influence required.
It was all the humans in the small inn could talk about. Crowley had been happy to doze while listening to them while warming up enough for a transportation miracle home—where he could comfortably write up a bullshit report about it all and not become a demonic snake-cicle. He’d nearly fallen asleep when something the humans said jerked him wide awake.
“I do hope our dear doctor Ezra is alright! The poor thing, we’ve not heard from or about him in months now,” a woman said.
“It is not likely. He went to aid the late Tsar’s son, and we haven’t heard of him since. He likely got caught up in the violence, poor sod,” a man said.
“This Doctor Ezra, he didn’t happen to have almost-white blond curls, blue eyes? About this high, portly gentleman?” Crowley asked, casually interjecting.
Aziraphale went by Ezra on East European missions. Surely he wasn’t here! Surely he would have mentioned having a mission!
“Yes, do you know him?” the woman answered.
“We studied together; you said he went to Tsarskoye Selo?” Crowley prompted.
“Yes, he was called upon as a man of renowned healing skill to see the late Tsar’s ailing son. After all the murder and war there, it is unlikely that he made it out alive. Especially since he’s not been heard of since the fighting started,” the man explained.
Crowley felt a chill run through him that had nothing whatsoever to do with the weather, and turned to leave immediately. Aziraphale needed him. If he had been discorporated, Crowley would have known. He was in trouble, obviously. Stupid, caring, wonderful angel…
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Crowley stalked through the streets of Tobolsk. He’d only just gotten warm enough to teleport himself to this town, and he was already too cold for another miracle. He could feel the angel here somewhere, but getting to him meant he’d have to rely on getting locked up. If he could achieve that, he could use a demonic suggestion, leaving enough energy for a single miracle to save the angel.
Hastur and Ligur had always scoffed at using the power of demonic suggestion as being a cheap trick for the weakest of demons. Those lunkheads were too stupid to see the potential of not wasting a miracle on a temptation when one could simply suggest the human to do something they were already considering doing anyways. Crowley had used the power to its fullest potential as appropriate.
In this case it was a matter of convincing his captor to put him in the same cell as Aziraphale, rather than walking him an extra 10 minutes to a cell three floors down. The man was dead exhausted as it was; it took Crowley no time at all to instill the suggestion and get the man to cave to the simpler option.
“Enjoy your cellmate while you can. Come dawn you’ll both be put to death for treason,” the jailor taunted before walking away.
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“Crowley?” Aziraphale gasped hopefully.
“Y-yeah. H-hope y-you saved a few. Got enough in me f-for t-the lock, but t-that’s i-it,” Crowley grumbled, teeth chattering uncontrollably already.
“Why did you come, you silly serpent?! You know you can’t miracle when cold!” Aziraphale scolded worriedly. “B-because y-you’re pulling a 1793 a-again! y-you n-never s-said y-you h-had a mission!” Crowley grumbled, angry that the angel was mad at him, rather than happy to see him.
Crowley realized he’d not thought this mess through at all. He was rapidly losing what body heat he’d built back up and would not even be able to miracle the lock.
“It was a minor blessing of a hotel owner, and then they came to the town asking for healers to save the boy! What was I to do? Let him die? At least I didn’t accept a mission to the middle of Siberia KNOWING that I’m exothermic!” Aziraphale hissed angrily.
“Hell doesn’t asssk nicely angel! They ssssay go, and you’re thrown into a ssssnowbank roughly fifty milessss north of where your mission issss!” Crowley retorted, cursing the blessed hiss that he could not control.
“Well, we’ll just have to wait for nightfall. If you can pick the lock, I’ll deal with getting us home and keeping you from discorporating. Horrible way to discorporate, hypothermia,” Aziraphale said quietly, pulling Crowley closer in hope that his angelic corporation could supply the demon with much-needed body heat.
Crowley was about to speak when he stiffened and threw himself across the cell away from Aziraphale. Seconds later a stranger in the garb of a Bolshevik appeared in their cell. Aziraphale remained silent as the stranger, clearly a demon of lower rank, began to taunt Crowley.
“Having fun on yer mission Crawley? Gonna love seeing you become a snake-cicle!” he taunted happily, with a fang-filled snarl.
Crowley didn’t respond and remained huddled in on himself where he’d flung himself earlier.
“And in jail with an angel! Gonna be in biiiiig trouble Crowley! Real big trouble!” the demon cried, kicking Crowley roughly in the side.
“Hmg, t-too c-cold… c-can’t… s-sssssensse a t-thing… sssss jusssss a h-human i-innit?” Crowley responded quietly.
Plausible deniability. Hell knew he was practically a mortal when this cold. They would believe it if he was convincing enough; being near discorporation had to count as a convincing reason to not sense anything anymore, right?
“Well then yer won’t mind if I tear ‘im apart, yeh?” the demon cackled, rounding on Aziraphale.
He hadn’t, however, been prepared for the angel in question to have snapped the cast-iron shackles he’d been bound in, nor for said angel to deliver a solid, jaw-shattering left hook to his face.
“Googh, Ah lighe the feighy ones! (1)” the demon grinned as he fixed his jaw with a single brush mid-sentence. A
ziraphale prepared to either dodge Hellfire, or catch any punches the demon aimed at him. The demon, having jumped out of reach over Crowley, kicked the near unconscious demon’s body at Aziraphale, and used the distraction to grab the angel’s arm and twist it behind him violently.
“Demons don’t fight fair!” the demon taunted, pulling harder still.
Aziraphale grunted as a sudden crunchy pop told him the demon had dislocated his shoulder and possibly torn some ligaments. Not an issue so much as an annoyance. He felt Crowley slither under his shirt in serpent form. Good, that’d free up more options for self-defense at least, not having to worry about where Crowley was during the crossfire.
Aziraphale used his injured arm, to the demon’s surprise, and tossed the demon off his person and hard against the jail’s wall. Aziraphale didn’t even give the demon a chance to get up. As he rushing over, he tore a bar from the jail door which immediately caught fire as he thrust it at the demon’s chest.
The demon blocked the blow with his arms, but Aziraphale had put all his considerable angelic strength into that desperate thrust, and the bar went right through both arms and the demon’s chest with a sickening crunch. The demon’s corporation caught fire and disintegrated immediately. Holy water it might not be, but Holy flame could still destroy a demon’s physical form, if not their true form.
Aziraphale didn’t wait for the humans to come running at the noise, he miracled himself, and by extension Crowley, back to the bookshop.
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“Home,” Aziraphale sighed tiredly.
His dislocated left arm hung uselessly beside him now. Emergency teleportation he could explain, but a miracle to fix himself would surely get him another sternly-worded reprimand. He’d have to fashion himself a sling quickly. Crowley was disturbingly cold against his chest.
Aziraphale had only just made it to the register of his shop, when two angelic energy signals appeared behind him. He froze where he stood and prayed they wouldn’t notice Crowley.
“Why did you use an emergency teleport miracle, Aziraphale?” Michael asked in her fake kind voice.
“I was attacked, and well-injured as you can see?” Aziraphale answered nervously.
“Why haven’t you healed it, then?” Uriel asked coldly.
“Gabriel informed me that we are not to waste miracles on simple corporational injuries,” Aziraphale answered.
As if Uriel didn’t know this! She’d been there when Gabriel had scolded him not five months back, for healing his corporation after catching the brunt of an explosive on the battlefield where he was to bless a young soldier.
“Yes, but surely there are extenuating circumstances?” Michael commented.
“This is a minor injury, it is fairly simple to fix. It certainly doesn’t need to be miracled better. However, as my mission had finished, I felt it best not to stay where I had just discorporated a demon. The demon Crowley was also in the area, and could certainly have discorporated me in my current condition, had he chosen to show up. I felt it best not to court trouble,” Aziraphale defended.
“Well, why haven’t you already fixed it then?” Uriel said.
“Ah, yes. You see? While simple to fix, it-it isn’t something I can do alone. I’d planned to ask my human neighbor to help, but then the two of you arrived.” Aziraphale stammered anxiously.
“That doesn’t sound like a minor injury, Aziraphale,” Michael said coolly.
“Oh, but it is, though. It merely requires a second person to push the dislocated appendage back into its proper place,” Aziraphale explained tersely.
His adrenaline had run its course and the full extent of the damage was becoming apparent. He, however, didn’t want Michael and Uriel to stay long enough to discover Crowley on his person. The stench of the other demon covered Aziraphale enough that it seemed the two archangels wouldn’t smell Crowley, but as soon as the demon regained enough body heat, they certainly would be able to sense him.
“Fine. Uriel? Kindly push Aziraphale’s shoulder back into its proper place,” Michael commanded.
Uriel rolled her eyes, but did as asked. She wasn’t kind or gentle about it, and yanked the shoulder violently forward causing it to pop crunchily back into its socket. Aziraphale bit his cheek to not let any pain show.
“Thank you. Now if that is all, I’d like to tend to my other injuries please?” Aziraphale said, fighting against a wave of nausea.
“For now, yes. I will report our findings to Gabriel. He will expect a report soon,” Michael said dispassionately.
“It will be on his desk as soon as I’ve tended to myself,” Aziraphale promised.
The two archangels finally, finally left. Aziraphale waited long enough to ensure there would be no further interruptions, then extracted his first-aid kit from under the register counter and pulled out the sling. For once he was glad that he’d not thought to untie it when he’d last put it away after use. He winced as he put his arm into it. Uriel had been far too rough when pushing his shoulder back into its socket. Aziraphale could tell he would have bruises on his upper arm for sure, but for now he had Crowley to worry about.
Crowley, who had been disturbingly still and cold wrapped around his chest, suddenly stood before him. He stared at Aziraphale with glassy eyes, and brushed gentle fingers gingerly over Aziraphale’s injured arm.
“My dear, it’s quite alright now. Come let us get you warmed back up now,” Aziraphale said calmly.
“ ‘S not okay…s hurt… she broke it… ‘S not right her breaking it,” Crowley whispered slowly, with many pauses.
Aziraphale knew it was difficult for Crowley to speak when he was cold, what with the brain fog that always seemed to happen when Crowley’s corporation went into brumation as a survival strategy against the cold. It seemed to take his brain longer to process things.
“Uriel is rather impatient, and doesn’t understand that corporations are less durable than true forms. She so rarely has to wear hers after all,” Aziraphale soothed, attempting to steer the demon toward the stairs.
“She bro-broke your arm…had not right to- no right at all… ‘S rude an’ cruel… But I’m here, okay? I’ll fix it… th’ human way. Can’t miracle, too blessed cold still…” Crowley mumbled, pulling away and swaying violently as he walked back to the first aid kit.
“Oh, Crowley my dear! Really, it is quite alright! Come now, let’s get you warmed back up. I’ll let you tend to my arm when you’re feeling warmer, alright?” Aziraphale pleaded, but it was no use.
Crowley stubbornly continued to pull out the supplies he deemed necessary, and gingerly pushed Aziraphale to sit on the stool behind the register counter. He frowned a bit, then slowly and cautiously untied the sling from around Aziraphale’s neck and arm, moved Aziraphale’s sleeve garter off his arm, and struggled to open the tiny button of Aziraphale’s cuff.
“Here, my dear. Let me,” Aziraphale sighed, giving in.
As he moved his arm to undo the cuff button, he became aware of the pain he’d been ignoring in favor of tending to his demon, and had to admit Crowley was correct; he needed tending to sooner rather than later. Once the button slid out of its hole, Crowley gently took the arm back in his hands and, concentrating his hardest to be as careful as possible, pulled on the upper arm from two sides until Aziraphale felt the crunchy snap of his humerus realigning. Then the demon painstakingly held the arm steady, and placed two thin pieces of wood against it. Aziraphale assisted by keeping the sticks from moving, allowing Crowley to wrap the bandage around his arm. Two more of the thin pieces of wood were added one after the other with more bandage wrapping, until Crowley was satisfied and hooked the two little bandage clips into the bandage end and then, as far as they would, stretched and hooked them into the rest of the bandage to secure the wrap.
“There now, all fixed. Yes? Now will you allow me to tend to you, my dearest?” Aziraphale said once it was done.
Crowley nodded slowly, before keeling forward in his kneeled position to pass out with his head on Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale tutted quietly.
“Stubborn old Serpent, I’ve got you. I’ll get you nice and warmed up proper,” the angel murmured lovingly.
Aziraphale carefully drew Crowley’s body up higher with one hand until the demon’s head hung over his shoulder and Aziraphale could support Crowley’s bum with his uninjured arm and hand. He then got up and hoisted the demon a bit higher. It wasn’t easy to do, but Aziraphale was not about to drag the unconscious demon behind him like a savage. Who knew what else was wrong with the demon besides being too cold?
Aziraphale climbed the stairs in the back of the shop to the apartment above it, where a neatly-made comfortable bed awaited. Gently depositing the demon on the bed, Aziraphale turned to the fireplace and soon had a lovely fire going. He didn’t put any blankets over Crowley—the demon needed to absorb heat from his surroundings and the blankets would only hamper that. For now until the demon woke up, Aziraphale would have to keep the fire roaring, generating heat.
Thankfully the demon hadn’t suffered any permanent damage from his co-worker’s rough treatment. Aziraphale treated the bruises with some homemade Arnica ointment and then laid down himself to hold the demon close to his warm body.
Luckily for Crowley, Aziraphale had a much higher corporation temperature than mere humans. It came of his true form being made of eyes, wings and especially wheels of grace (2). Aziraphale was thankful for it whenever Crowley was like this.
Aziraphale, having nothing else to do until Crowley woke, did what he usually did, and picked a book from the stack he kept by this bed for this exact purpose. Crowley would wake up soon, and until then Aziraphale would be here to help warm him up.
- Good, I like the feisty ones! (Talking is rather difficult with one’s bottom jaw broken.)
- Humans unable to comprehend the true nature of holy energy (grace) had decided the wheels were made of fire. Either way, though, the wheels supplied warmth.
Lovely!
Date: 2024-12-10 11:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-10 08:28 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-14 07:04 pm (UTC)