demonicmiracle: (006)
anthony crowley ([personal profile] demonicmiracle) wrote in [community profile] logsville2020-12-16 08:48 pm

from god that is our father, blessed angels came

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
bibliophilicbells: (081)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 10:31 pm (UTC)(link)
[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.]
bibliophilicbells: (070)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 10:54 pm (UTC)(link)
[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.]
bibliophilicbells: (038)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
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?]
bibliophilicbells: (012)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 11:25 pm (UTC)(link)
I know.

[So does Aziraphale.

It's not the easiest thing, getting Crowley out of his clothes; he's still keen on the tight-fitting garments, and trying to maneuver someone out of tight clothes that are both cold and wet...

And bloody —

Aziraphale spots torn skin as he works Crowley's pants off, the sight registering like a brick to his head.]


What — ?

[It looks like a bite mark, a neat row of teeth angrily circling his calf. Aziraphale sounds a little lost, and hoarse, and helpless when he continues with:] I thought you were going to get milk.
bibliophilicbells: (118)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 11:42 pm (UTC)(link)
[Aziraphale mouths something. Whether it's oh, for God's sake or oh, for fuck's sake is undetermined.]

Right. Of course.

[Magical doors leading to the inside of a frozen lake, home to some undoubtedly wretched thing. Aziraphale knew there had to be something wrong with that village.

Crowley's pants go, his socks go. Aziraphale hesitates — ]


Sorry, um. It's not the first time, hm? So —

[They've seen each other naked before. History's just Like That, and it didn't mean anything. The human body is... whatever.

Aziraphale is very quick and clinical about the rest of his work, stripping Crowley down completely before bundling the top blanket around him.]


I'm going to get bandages. Back in a jiffy.
bibliophilicbells: (008)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-17 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's not sensible, and Aziraphale will advise him of as much shortly.

For now, he simply returns with the kit he's grown far too used to needing, positions himself at the foot of the bed, and eases Crowley's leg toward himself — foot on a thigh, hand 'round an ankle.]


I know this is a lot to ask, but if you could please try to stop shivering for a moment? I promise you'll feel better soon. I promise you that, but I need you to be steady right now.

[He needs to see how deep the wound goes.]
bibliophilicbells: (098)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-18 12:13 am (UTC)(link)
[Aziraphale makes a sympathetic, pained sound as he checks the wound. It's not as bad as it could have been; it won't require a hospital, hopefully, if he does a thorough enough job of cleaning it and it clots quickly.]

Thank you.

[There it is again. That thing he'll say-but-won't-say.

It's there, too, in the way he handles Crowley, in the way he cleans him up and bandages him. It's there in his efficiency, in his gentle touch, in the almost absent way he rubs Crowley's foot once done — trying to warm it up, starting with his toes.]


I'll get you more blankets in a moment. And some tea, that'll do you good. We need to warm you from the inside out — no baths. Can you feel that?

[The rubbing, he means.]
bibliophilicbells: (099)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-18 12:29 am (UTC)(link)
Sure.

[In a minute, though. He's hesitating again, worry still writ large on his brow — now that the panic has passed, he just wants to stay here. Right here, with Crowley, to keep an eye on him. To make sure no other darkness tries to swallow him up.

He gives Crowley's foot a fond sort of squeeze.]


Let's get you tucked in first.
bibliophilicbells: (105)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-18 12:46 am (UTC)(link)
[That earns an odd smile from Aziraphale, crooked and soft and a little tired around the edges.]

Of course.

[He makes a quick exit, then, feeling off-kilter. Sideways. Like the whole of the planet has shifted, something to do with gravity maybe, and he was given no warning, no time to prepare.

Luckily, making tea is routine enough that he can do it without issue — even with everything else being so somehow wrong. He fills the hot water bottle, fills the kettle, brews a whole pot of rooibos and arranges everything on a tray so that it looks nice and that's when he realizes his cheeks are wet and his eyes are hot and he's crying.

Crowley could have died.

Aziraphale knows he shouldn't focus on that, that he should instead be thankful, but it's not a thought he can ignore: Crowley could have died, and Crowley probably knows that, and it's probably the most scared Crowley's been in millennia, and Aziraphale couldn't have done a single thing about it. Even if he were there, it's not like —

He snaps his useless fingers and laughs a bitter, exhausted laugh. Nothing happens. Why would it?

Anyway.

He doesn't want to take too long, doesn't want Crowley to think something happened, so Aziraphale composes himself and dabs his eyes dry with the corner of a napkin, and heads back upstairs with the teapot and two mugs and the hot water bottle, as requested.]
bibliophilicbells: (039)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-18 12:57 am (UTC)(link)
Hi.

[Aziraphale won't say anything about the redness in Crowley's eyes if Crowley doesn't say anything about the redness in his.

He sets the tray down on the nightstand, nudging the lamp back slightly, and offers Crowley the hot water bottle first.]


Here. Keep it near your chest.
bibliophilicbells: (098)

[personal profile] bibliophilicbells 2020-12-18 01:06 am (UTC)(link)
I am indeed.

[A weak smile this time as Aziraphale pours the tea, careful to give Crowley only half a cup in case he starts shivering again. Or — in case he wants to knock it all back at once.

But the cup can wait, while Crowley curls around that warmth and lets some of it settle in. Aziraphale leaves it and props himself on the edge of Crowley's bed instead.]


Do you want to tell me any more about what happened?

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