from god that is our father, blessed angels came

[demonicmiracle]

Who: Crowley & various
When: December 15 onwards
Where: Around town
What: Event prompts & catch-all. Closed prompts atm but hit me up if you'd like a starter
Warnings: Violence, dead bodies, possible talk of drowning, will update as necessary

Comments

lorna;

[demonicmiracle]

[The blizzard seems to have let up overnight, a little warmth creeping back into the day, enough that Crowley, bored and restless, decides to brave the icy roads to pop down to the shops, pick up a few extra supplies. The snowmen that have been gathering outside the houses are unsettling, and after Halloween, he'd like to be prepared.

After the exhausting experience on Ray's lawn, he's well aware of what's inside the snowmen, so when he sees a young woman approaching one with a shovel in hand, he feels compelled to pull over.

He's too late, though. There's a sickening crunch as he climbs out of the car, parked haphazardly across the sidewalk and not caring, as he pulls his coat tighter and jogs over to the woman.]

Don't look at it!

[It's the best warning he can give, now. Too late to stop her, but maybe he can spare her from looking too closely.]

a week late with the sugarplum latte

[chromiums]

[ she swears the things have been popping up whenever she turns her back on the lawn, taking whatever opportunity they have to multiply their numbers when people aren't looking. there's one that's close enough as she's started shoveling the car's way out of the driveway for her to test a theory, see if it moves when she tries knocking it over.

it doesn't even dodge. but the sound and impact it makes definitely indicates that the snow is covering something, and her hands instinctively tighten around the handle of the shovel so she doesn't drop it out of shock.

that's when crowley comes out of the car, running over to her, and her head whips in his direction just as the corpse tumbles to the ground. she glances briefly at it anyway - it's still covered in snow, but enough has cleared away that she can make out what it is, and she practically leaps back to get out of its way. ]

Oh, Jesus. [ she looks at crowley, eyes wide and horrified, still clutching the shovel. ] Are they all hiding that?

make it a peppermint latte and we can talk

[demonicmiracle]

[Well, he did his best, and therefore no one can criticize him.

Once it's clear Lorna has seen the corpse, he slows to a jog while closing the last few meters between them, approaching the body first, because he's curious if they're all the same as what he's seen so far.

The answer is yes.]

Afraid so. [He grimaces a little as he looks back up at her, but it's more annoyance than horror or disgust.] You alright?

[Probably not, because normal people are perturbed by corpses.]

you got a deal!

[chromiums]

[ he gets points for trying, anyway. lorna looks a little horrified at what she's just seen, but seems otherwise steady; death and having to deal with bodies isn't exactly uncommon where she's from, but people generally don't desecrate corpses like this. if there are people behind this. ]

Considering we're getting steadily surrounded by corpses? I guess I could be worse. [ she could be one of those corpses. ] How did you find out about them?

perfect

[demonicmiracle]

[She's got a point, though Crowley suspects that... these people might've done this to themselves. Not that it makes it better.]

Uh, got a little off course on the driveway, knicked one with my car.

[Not going at particularly high speeds, thankfully, so he and Ray just had to deal with a knocked over corpse rather than one that had been run over.]

I know it isn't much help when there's a bunch of 'em, but we can get rid of this one, if you want.

[With a nod towards his car. Which is an awful, ugly station wagon, but at least it's got plenty of room for a corpse in the back!]

[chromiums]

Yeah. [ the fact that more keep appearing is troubling and she's pretty sure they're going to end up having to deal with the rest later on, much like they did with the children who had drowned during halloween, but right now she'll be happy just to get rid of this one. good thing she's already got a shovel!

well, definitely not one she can dig into the frozen ground with, but still, she has one. ]

Where did you bury the last one?

[demonicmiracle]

["Bury" is a strong word, but they don't need to get into that.]

Out into the woods a bit. You could try the cops, too, but I heard they don't, uh, seem to see the bodies? Didn't bother trying myself.

[What is he, a narc?

Mostly he just didn't want to draw attention to it, from the police, so disposing of the body himself (with Ray's help) seemed safer.]

aziraphale;

[demonicmiracle]

[Somehow, eventually, he makes it home after his unceremonious swim in the pond. He is, mostly, dry, except for his boots which he'd reluctantly put back on, and his coat, which never quite dried out fully next to the fire. Not to mention his hair, still damp near his scalp and drawing new shivers. Aziraphale is going to be worried and furious, but he doesn't really know where else to go; he's desperate to sleep and the angel is the only person he trusts enough to do that around.

He has no idea where his house key is, so he just knocks on the door, leaning heavily against the doorframe once that monumental task is completed. He's not quite on death's doorstep anymore, but there's a pale and slightly blue tinge to this skin that would likely be worrying, could he see himself.]

[bibliophilicbells]

[Aziraphale has been standing in the hallway for nearly an hour now, staring at a photo of Crowley — rather, this place's approximation of Crowley — as a child. He's on what looks like a backyard swing set, defying gravity, his hair wild and shining like copper in the sun and a scared but thrilled smile frozen in time on his face. His eyes are closed, but Aziraphale pictures them the right way in his mind: golden and serpentine and beautiful.

Presumably, it's a parent he never had on the other side of the camera, finger to the shutter release. A parent who, in this false narrative, loved him enough to keep him — and to buy him a swing set, and to want to capture this memory forever.

It looks like summer, and one can barely make out a scab on the child's knee.

Aziraphale swallows, anxious, and thinks for the thousandth time this month about the realization he's come to. How he's spoken it aloud without saying it, exactly; how he can't bring himself to say it, exactly, for so many reasons.

I'm sorry.

Dance with me?

Promise me you'll be careful.

— and how he's shown it, time and again, but never while Crowley's been conscious. Never while Crowley could possibly notice. How he's shown it only in the midst of nightmares, only in fleeting touches to rouse Crowley and offer tea or warm milk or a listening ear.

(Each offer turned down, of course. Brushed aside. It's better that way, probably.)

He loses track of time like this. He loses track of time and doesn't realize how worryingly long Crowley's been gone until there's a knock at the door, and the little knot of anxiety in his throat turns to what feels like a noose. It's strange, how he seems to just Know in that instant that something is wrong. It's not his angelic senses returning, it's nothing supernatural. It's — ]

Crowley...?

[Aziraphale stares, briefly dumbstruck at the sight of him once he's opened the door. And again, again, it's nothing angelic or supernatural that has him reaching out to catch Crowley — there's no sixth or seventh sense at play. It's a reflex. It's fear.

Eventually, Aziraphale will admit that what it also is is love.]

[demonicmiracle]

[In this place, away from the watchful eyes of God, Aziraphale is allowed to reach out to him. Away from the watchful eyes of Hell, Crowley lets him, stumbling forward with bloody hands on his arms, gripping tight around his biceps to try to hold himself up.]

Hullo, angel.

[It's a terrible facsimile of his usual greeting, the words come out strained, his chest tight from the cold that seems to have sunk into his bones. Crowley knows burning, knows the pain of heat, but he didn't know how much it's absence could ache.

He wonders if it's some buried serpentine instinct, that makes him want to press against Aziraphale to absorb his warmth, or if humans are like that, too.

His mouth opens as if to offer more of an explanation, but his teeth start chattering instead, so he clenches his jaw and shakes his head. Everything he needs to say is written across his face, in his stupid, human eyes. One of many words that he's not allowed to say out loud, not to Aziraphale.

Help.]

[bibliophilicbells]

[It's a bit like welcoming an icicle into his arms, isn't it? It doesn't feel like Crowley at all. It doesn't feel like a body at all, really.

He curses in a whisper, drops slightly under Crowley's cold weight, and then allows himself to go on autopilot — to be the healer again, to welcome someone hurt into his home and fix them. It's Halloween all over again, but worse. So much worse.]

's okay, you're okay — I've got you, just — easy...

[He's not as strong as he once was, but thank God for adrenaline: Scooping Crowley up is easy enough, moving his feet to get them both to the bedroom is easy enough, placing Crowley down on the bed without causing further hurt (he hopes) — ditto, ditto.]

[demonicmiracle]

[A little stupid from the cold, Crowley laughs as he's picked up, a humorless, slightly hysterical thing with how insane all this is. It's not supposed to be like this, he's the one that's supposed to swoop in and rescue Aziraphale, that's the game they've been playing for centuries.

But he's cold, and he hurts. He should have done something about the bite on his leg, but in the grand scheme of things, it hadn't seemed important.

When he's set down on the bed, he winces, shivers, then starts mindlessly pulling at his coat, trying to get it off his body.]

S'wet. G-gotta get dry.

[Drier than he could get in the middle of an abandoned Christmas Village.]

[bibliophilicbells]

I'll help, be careful —

[He eases Crowley upright, tugs at the coat to pull it down and off his arms, shoves it away until it falls in a damp heap on the floor. He goes for the boots next, visions of frostbitten toes already flashing through his head.

It'd be easy enough for him to laugh, too, given what he was just thinking about.

And now here they are, Aziraphale undressing Crowley in a frenzy.

It's funny, right? In an absurd, cosmic sort of way?]

peter;

[demonicmiracle]

[Ah. Crowley thinks, the moment he hits cold water again having been attempting to step through a door at the office. This again.

He orients himself as quickly as possible, this time using an elbow to break through the ice rather than his already battered hands, eager to get out before the thing in the water has a chance to grab him.

It's a good idea, in theory. He manages to get his arms and head out of the water, gasping for breath as his fingers scramble for purchase on the ice. And then pain shoots through his thigh as something digs in. He kicks frantically, shouting wordlessly in anger and fear, holding onto the ice for a moment longer before he's dragged under again.

He could use a little help.]

[webdesigned]

( Peter has dealt with being deposited in the Christmas Village, a lot. it's starting to feel like a trite and unsubtle message that he's not Festive Enough, though transplanting him here over and over has just left him annoyed and not merry. his not-dad has made a point of removing practically all the doors in the house so there's less chance of opening one and ending up somewhere else, but he'd insisted on keeping his bedroom door and that need for privacy is to blame for him being trapped in the village, again, only it's in the middle of a blizzard.

he's not dressed for this. he doesn't even have shoes on, and it's freezing. shockingly so, considering this is supposed to be California. the space feels eeriely vacant compared to the hustle and bustle of before, but maybe that makes sense with the inclement weather. Peter is trudging miserably toward one of the buildings and hoping he can call home or somewhere for a ride (can anyone even get out here in this kind of storm?) when he hears something in the howl of wind.

ice breaking? cracking? not the weirdest sound, but, there's also a splash, then more cracking. it's enough to make him at least look out across the water, and while it's hard to see anything in the squall it almost looks like someone is trying to drag themselves out of the frozen lake, and they don't quite make it. there and gone so fast it's hard to tell if he really saw it, but the dread that builds in the pit of his stomach makes it feel real. too real to ignore, for sure.

despite a complete lack of superpowers that he usually relies on in situations like these, Peter does not hesitate to stumble through snowdrifts and across the ice, even as the cold sears through his socks and wind bites through the sweater that was hardly warm enough indoors. when he gets closer the cracked thin edge, he lies down and slides the rest of the way. ) Take my hand! I'll pull you out! ( it's absolutely impossible to tell if he can be heard, but he shouts it anyway.

Peter doesn't let himself think about how cold it will be and sticks his arm into the inky black water. he grimaces, but instead of recoiling shifts his upper body in a little farther, straining as far as he can reach. if this doesn't work, he really doesn't know what Plan B is. if they even have time for a Plan B. )

[demonicmiracle]

[The words are garbled and meaningless underwater, but Crowley sees a hand just within reach and doesn't hesitate to grab it, freezing fingers closing around Peter's with a desperation that he won't admit to, once he's above the surface.

This is all an embarrassing affair, the idea that the serpent of bloody Eden can be dragged down to the depths by some half-baked horror. It hasn't even bothered to show itself, could at least clamber up towards the surface to give everyone a proper scare. This is just pathetic, hiding at the bottom of the pond and waiting for snacks to fall in. On a professional level, he has a lot of criticism. On a personal note, he'd just very much like to not die.

He holds on and he kicks at the thing trying to drag him under, breathing in a lungful of cold water in his panic, ignoring the pain as he tries to fight his way upwards.]

[webdesigned]

( the grip on his suddenly frozen fingers is surprisingly solid. the grip of someone afraid of what might happen if they let go. he's felt it before. as strength goes, Peter feels exactly how lacking in strength he happens to be. usually this sort of stuff is easy, more effort is gone into not pulling too hard rather than a fear of not being able to pull hard enough. the slip of the ice, the frigid bite of the water, things that might not have bothered him before make the situation feel impossible before he even starts.

but he can't afford to think like that. like there's a chance that he could fail. Peter refuses to allow that to be an option, so soon after it happening. he drags upwards as hard as he can, straining more than he'd expect. shouldn't there be some buoyancy to a body floating in water? it's almost like something else is pulling in the other direction.

Peter grits his teeth, shoving his other arm into the water to grab at the fabric covering the flailing body's shoulder, and then hauls as heavily as he can with both hands. )

[demonicmiracle]

[It isn't the most dignified situation he's ever been in, being hauled out of the water by a teenager, but it's better than being dead. With a final, solid kick, the creature loses it's hold on him and Crowley scrambles out with Peter's help, coughing up water and quickly pushing himself away from the break in the ice, lest something follow him up.]

F-fuck. [He's already shivering, teeth chattering, and a glance at his rescue makes it obvious neither of them are prepared for this weather.] We g-gotta move.

[Also like. thank you. But he'll get to that in a second.]

[webdesigned]

( it's on the edge of darkness, overcast and aggressively snowing. but it still feels like he sees something moving in that water, which ... okay, that kind of explains how it feels like something is pulling back, like this is the most macabre game of tug-of-war ever. the sudden panic is enough that he pulls even harder, and his frozen grip gets a little tighter.

between that, and the ... whatever that was letting the guy go, that he can scrabble and pull and drag until the stranger (wait, is it a stranger) is half beached on the skating rink. )

Holy — ( the profanity dies before he finishes it, which is fine. Peter isn't big on cursing anyway. ) Y-yeah, okay. ( for once, it's teeth chattering to blame for his stuttering, and he drags himself back to his feet. walking on the ice is treacherous and a little painful in bare socks, but, he wobbles toward the shore anyway.

and it feels a little dangerous to be too close to each other — more weight on the ice that it can't handle — but he keeps an obvious eye on Crowley all the same. after a dip like that, he might need help. )

diana;

[demonicmiracle]

[Being transported to edges of the Christmas village while trying to go outside to shovel the driveway is incredibly annoying, but on the plus side, he was dressed appropriately, and hasn't ended up under the ice this time.

He's already tapping out a message to Aziraphale, telling him what's happened and asking him to order a cab to the village ASAP, when there's wet, tearing sound to his left, and the pained groan of a reindeer. Crowley is... not eager to find out what the cause of the sound is, having watched more than enough horror movies to know that going towards the unpleasant sounds is a terrible idea. But he has no idea how long he's going to be waiting for a cab, with the weather what it is, and he'd rather feel in control of the situation, than have something come stalking out of the falling snow to eat him.

Which is how he ends up bolting through the Christmas village, being chased by... something. With claws and teeth and bones, that looks somehow too demonic and not at all like a demon. He's more focused on the thing behind him than anything in front, so when he rounds the corner and nearly barrels into Diana, he's about as surprised as she likely is.]

Fuck! Move or we're about to be dinner!

[It all comes out in a rush, because of the big scary thing chasing him; he doesn't have time to explain the specifics.]

[monomachy]

[This isn't the first time this week Diana has ended up in the eerily abandoned village, but it is the first time she's shown up conveniently prepared. She'd been on her way out to chop firewood for one of her neighbors (a move that had garnered her some strange looks and remarks from the Santa Rosita natives), but when she'd opened her door, she'd ended up on top of the iced-over skating pond. At least she isn't beneath it this time, which means she sends a prayer of thanks up to the spirits of her gods.

Diana carefully picks her way across the ice, finds a suitable tree, and begins chopping--until she hears the sick crunch and rip of bone and flesh. It's a sound she knows all too well, and it makes her stomach turn. Whatever is out here, she isn't in possession of her full powers, which means she probably shouldn't go looking for it.

That doesn't really stop her, though.

She's scouting out the abandoned village when she's nearly bowled over by someone running full-tilt away from something, and Diana's body reacts before her mind can. She grabs his lapel, yanking him to one side with her left hand as she uses her right to bring the head of the axe over her shoulder and into the skull of whatever it is that's chasing him.

The creature screeches, rears back, and nearly pulls Diana's arm out of her socket as she refuses to let go of the axe. The blade tears from its rotting corpse with a horrible squelching noise, and only decades of discipline keep her from retching on the snow. Instead, she backs up a few steps, one hand still on her unfortunate companion's coat, before she finally lets go so she can start running.]

This way!

[demonicmiracle]

[What — and he cannot stress this enough — the fuck just happened? Why is this town full of competent women and absolutely shithead men? These are questions that he doesn't have time to really dwell on, not when he's busy mindlessly struggling out of Diana's grip because there's a monster and an axe and he would like to be far away from both.

Some might call this sort of thing cowardice, but Crowley would label it as a survival instinct and strategic retreat. He didn't survive so long in Hell by picking fights he couldn't win.

Before he can contemplate abandoning the coat, Diana is mercifully releasing him so they can start running the fuck away again.]

Not saying — that wasn't impressive — but I don't think — it'll do much.

[Turns out talking and running is hard. Thank Satan he's made an attempt to take up jogging after the mess with the dead kids, at least. It means he's not about to keel over, not just yet.]

[monomachy]

[A strategic retreat is something Diana can get behind, especially right now. From the ache already starting in her shoulder, she can tell that in her current state, she'd be no match for this monster. So, running it is, and she's glad that Crowley is following her. Not that she knows where she's leading them; all that matters is that it's away from that thing.

The way he's breathing is worrisome, though Diana can feel that fatigue will set in for her far too quickly as well. She's still in shape, certainly, but there's a huge difference between being a woman in peak physical condition and a literal goddess.]

I didn't — expect it to.

[Gods, running and talking is hard.]

I just wanted — to stun it.

[She's scanning the area ahead of them frantically, trying to find a place they can hide until it moves on (she hopes it will, at least). Her gaze finally picks out the ice-skating rental building, now as eerily abandoned as the rest of this godsforsaken village. She points, using her hand and thankfully not the axe.]

The shack?

[demonicmiracle]

Oh, good.

[The response is as blithe as he can manage while literally running for his life, which is sort of a new one for him. Hiding, yes, absolutely. Even retreating. But it's usually done more carefully than just bolting in the general direction of away.

He nearly trips over his own damn feet when Diana points, his attention diverted, but he catches himself and nods.]

Sure, fuck. [Glancing back over his shoulder reveals nothing, which is worrying. If it was just chasing them that'd be one thing, but he doesn't like the sensation of being hunted.] Might as well die — in a shack.

[He puts as much of his energy into it as he can, that last burst to the shack, though Diana will likely make it before him.

At least the locks already been broken, they're not the first ones to want to get in there, apparently.]

[monomachy]

[She grits her teeth, booking it towards the door, going to wrench it open once she reaches it, grateful that the lock is already broken. She really didn't want to have to use the axe to hurt the integrity of their hiding spot any more.]

We are not going — to die.

[She's doing her best to calm her breathing, and once they are finally inside, she takes one deep breath. It'll have to be enough. She shuts the door behind them, wishing the lock worked, but a glance around the shack gives her some hope.]

We need to barricade the door.

[The windows, at least, are already boarded up. She leans the axe against the closest wall, grabbing the arm of a chair so she can drag it in front of the entrance.]