(open) to feel anything deranges you

[demonicmiracle]

Who: Crowley & you, perhaps??
When: First half of January
Where: Around town
What: Hanging about town, feel free to run into him wherever!! Prompt 2 is less for immediate interaction but I'm cool with anyone saying they've seen his "serial". Alternatively: HMU if you'd something specific I'M BAD AT OPEN POSTS
Warnings: Alcohol in the first prompt. Torture in the second prompt



a) day-to-day routine; open

[Before the Antichrist, back on Earth, Crowley's routines were often defined in years, decades, rather than in days. It was defined by assignments, by travel, by the occasional evening spent with Aziraphale for every half dozen years that passed. Moving in to the Dowling's residence to raise Warlock had changed that, routine became dressing the boy, feeding him, playing with him outside of his lessons, popping him into a bath at night and then reading him stories before bed. The evenings had been reserved for Aziraphale, when Crowley could sneak out to the little gardener's cottage, where wine and company would be waiting.

In Santa Rosita, the routine has shifted again.

Made woefully human and aware of the dangers present in town, he's taken up new habits. Running being one of them, as loathe as he is to do it. He often goes in the morning, hair tied back in a bun, hating every moment of it even as his stamina improves. On the days he sleeps in accidentally, or is distracted in the mornings, he ends up going once he's home from work, sticking to the sidewalk and nature strip to avoid running afoul of any cars, when it's dark.

The rest of the work week is relatively simple. He stops for coffee on the way to work, and while he often nips home on his lunch break to eat with Aziraphale, sometimes he'll grab something at a nearby diner or café, stopping by a park to toss crumbs to the pigeons, or taking up a spot at a diner counter. Throughout the week, he visits the butcher or the grocer, picking up supplies for the week, mulling over whether Aziraphale would prefer pork chops or steak. They've got better at cooking, the both of them, the simple act of taking care of bodies that were suddenly too human, too fragile, that need so much upkeep.

There's the occasional deviation from the routine. As wonderfully domestic as it is, living with Aziraphale, sometimes it gets a bit too much. It's too nice, not the type of thing a demon should be allowed to have. Those are the evenings he finds his way to a bar, nursing a drink and getting lost in his thoughts. If he spots anyone he recognizes, someone who isn't local to the town, he'll offer a little wave or nod in greeting. He's not opposed to company, he just needed to get out of the house.]

b) Science Fiction Double Feature; CW Torture, mostly vaguely described but it's Hell, y'all. They aren't nice!!!

[It had seemed like a safe enough idea; go to the drive-in, catch a movie with Aziraphale, eat terrible junk food. And he always loves a good spooky movie, even when apparently living one.

He isn't expecting to see himself on the screen.

Immediately, he knows what memory is being played out. He wore that particular style of tunic for a long time, but the fact he's sitting on a cramped chair in a dimly lit room, fingers twisting anxiously around the fabric of his belt, tells him everything he needs to know.

Crawly. Come. The voice is deep and rich, seeming to emanate from all sides. On the screen, Crawly gets to his feet quickly, eager to get this over and done with, walking through the open door at the end of the room with his head respectfully bowed.

Inside the room, it's all darkness and fire, and Crawly looks uncomfortable, in pain and trying to hide it. There's a roar from somewhere in the room, and he falls to his knees as if pulled down, fingers scrabbling at the cold stone beneath him as he forces himself not to make a sound.

You failed. It was a simple job, Crawly. I expected better from you.

The version of himself on the screen turns as if looking to the camera and winks, yellow eyes fully on display. He started wearing glasses, once he got back on Earth, but he'd relied on the veil when necessary, until then. Crawly opens his mouth as if to speak, but another roar cuts him off and he simply bows his head in supplication and pain, nearly on all fours on the floor.

The Dukes Hastur and Ligur will be responsible for punishing you. And then it's five years in a pit.

No one needs to come drag him away. Crawly staggers to his feet, gathers his tunic up so he doesn't trip on it as he returns out to the hall, where two men are waiting. They're dressed in tattered robes, one with white hair and a toad atop his head, the other dark skinned with a chameleon plastered to the side of his face.

The way they smile at Crawly is a threat. They grab him roughly by the shoulders, bind his wrists and drag him to the wall, where he's pinned against it, arms strung up above him. The look on his face is the look of someone determined not to show a single flicker of emotion, even when the first knife plunges into his arm.

He's lost track of the times he's been tortured, but he remembers this being one of the worst, because after the knives and fists and hot brands burned into his skin. After Ligur has taken a few fingers and Hastur has cut out his tongue, a third person enters the room, wearing thick leather gloves and carrying a single, large metal nail. The sort of thing used in construction.

Do you know what this is, Crawly? Ligur, the dark skinned man, asks.

Crawly spits blood at him, because it's expected, because he can, because it doesn't matter that Hastur punches him in the stomach in retaliation.

I wonder what it'll do to you. It's got his blood all over it.

Hastur pulls on a pair of his own leather gloves, takes the nail and drags it along the exposed skin of Crawly's bicep. Smoke hisses up from his skin and he makes a sound for the first time, a pained whimper as he tries to pull away from it, his attempts useless with how tightly he's bound. The Dukes laugh, even as Ligur is moving beside Crawly, grabbing a fistful of his long hair, using it to yank his head back despite his struggles.

Ligur lines the nail up against the soft hollow of Crawly's throat, and the screen goes black with the sound of his ragged, wet scream.]

"Tune in next week for the thrilling second part!"

/end content warnings

c) [insert Hozier reference here]

[In the wake of everything, his wings returning, being with Aziraphale, the awful display at the movie theater, Crowley finds himself going for a walk on a Saturday afternoon, his feet carrying him towards the nearest church without any input from his brain. It's not his first time coming here, but that had been a quick visit, testing a theory about his current predicament and consecrated ground.

That isn't why he's here, now.

The church is quiet, any stragglers from the morning service seem to have filed home, and if there's a minister, he isn't around right now.

Uncomfortable is the most appropriate way to describe how Crowley feels, walking between the pews. It had been different rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, he'd had a purpose then, was all flash and distraction until the bombs fell. This time, he's alone, here for a reason he can't quite name, searching for something he isn't certain he wants to find.

He sits somewhere in the middle, hesitant to stray too far from the exit. He doesn't kneel, doesn't clasp his hands together, doesn't bow his head. It's tipped back, instead, staring up at the ceiling and to the sky past that.

At least until he hears the door open and footsteps at the entrance, at which point he hastily gets to his feet, planning to slip out and pretend he was never here at all.]

Comments

( prompt c: i never heard a hozier song before forgive me. )

[sunborne]

[ unforunately, daylight is quick when it comes to picking details up. he's even quicker when it comes to shooting off that mouth of his: ]

Someone else here? I hear the footsteps, you know.

[ the doors to the entrance are large enough that daylight can stroll right in, his new and excessive height gain not deterring him for once. during his epichish quest for a bible to give agatha, he found this church rather friendly and welcoming.

he had dropped by hoping to have another conversation with someone and. well. someone's here, for sure. ]

Please don't scream. [ that's the first thing daylight says/requests when he does confirm that, yeah, someone else is here. he raises his hands for emphasis, showing off how his sleeves don't reach his wrists anymore and how his outfit comically does not fit him well. ] I swear, I'll do what I can to not jumpscare or something. I'm just here to speak with the, um, head church... person... leader.

[ got it. ]

this is clearly a sign to give him a try

[demonicmiracle]

[Well, so much for sneaking out the back door. Crowley tries for an attempt to look casual, which involves leaning against a pew but missing his grip on it and subsequently stumbling slightly before he straightens up and clears his throat.

This is the being responsible for original sin.]

I'm not going to scream, André.

[He gives Daylight a once over because damn, boy, but he's seen weirder in his life than eight foot tall Jonas brothers, so he's not about to faint or anything.]

Minister. The word you're looking for is minister.

[If this is the dude that he talked to about religion earlier, Crowley is going to throw himself into the lake.]

[sunborne]

[ alas, poor crowley is going to need to find a shortcut to the lake and fast.

because the first thing the jonas brother-lookalike says, ]

It's Daylight. [ he pockets his hands into his comically tiny jacket and huffs, looking a little puzzled by being addressed by a name and a regular name at that. still- he looks around, trying to see if it's really just them inside the church. ] Have you seen the, um, minister guy when you came in? He was a pretty nice guy when we last met. Gave me the bible without making me endure a whole lecture for it

[demonicmiracle]

[Why has God abandoned him.]

I — yeah, it's — never mind. [Obviously his name isn't André, but now that Crowley knows his actual name and has put the pieces together, he figures that a reference to wrestler-slash-actor from Earth isn't going to make much sense, so.] He's probably in the rectory, it was empty when I got here.

[In the sort of tone of someone who thinks they're about to be accused of something. He definitely didn't murder the minister or anything, officer.]

[sunborne]

[ having heard that tone before - whether using it for himself or hearing one of his friends when they got (usually falsely) accused of something they didn't commit - day is quick to show he's trying to be friendly.

daylight is quick to raise his hands up and flash a bright and chipper smile. (and just as quick to try and fail in keeping his sleeves from being too tight around the elbows, urgh. this height thing sucked.) ]

Wanted to be sure, is all. I know Sundays are when churches are at their busiest but, thought, I don't know, this place could be closed on the non-Sundays. [ definitely not a religious person. ]

b, after cw for discussion of all the stuff in the prompt ig

[undiagnosed]

[nothing puts one of their shitty cheap popcorn quite like seeing a familiar face being tortured. or just... torture in general. archer's incredibly used to it, but that doesn't mean he wants to see it. archer's had more than his fill over the course of his career, his body littered with scars from similar "sessions" between the occupational hazards, even though you could count cold-blooded torture amongst them.

he catches crowley outside the theatre while he's dumping his popcorn into the ticket office (asshole) and tilts his head, tone less vitriolic than usual. however he's feeling about it, he keeps it close to his chest, as he always does. he's not offering pity or empathy or anything, it's more a general line of questioning.]

Did you know...? [that they'd be showing that. he assumes it was from something recent enough for the wounds to heal, but -- he also knows what real pain and terror is. that wasn't acting.]

[demonicmiracle]

[It had probably been stupid to hope that no one else had seen what was on the screen; the locals seemed not to have been witnessing it, but they're obviously different than the people brought here.

He'd found a reason to excuse himself, not able to bear Aziraphale's anger or pity, and desperate for a cigarette, which he's halfway through when he sees Archer.]

You know, funnily enough, no one told me they'd be playing reruns of my performance reviews. I'd have stayed home if I knew.

[There's no need to repeat that particular experience.]

[undiagnosed]

[he takes his flask out, holding it to crowley, about as close to sympathy as he'll get.]

I'd like to know how they even got that footage. Puts a bunch of stuff in a whole new perspective, huh?

[demonicmiracle]

[It's as close to sympathy as he'd accept, really, so it works. He takes the flask, takes a sip, then hands it back to Archer.]

Fuck if I know, not as if they had cameras back then, and even if they did, Hell's always been a bit behind the times.

[It's not as if he can hide it, now. Between his real eyes being visible, the toad and chameleon on Hastur and Ligur. The fact he took enough damage during that little torture session that a human probably would have died.

Seems silly to play pretend, after all that.]

C

[purplejaguareye]

[Kipo isn't the church-going type, but it's on her list of places to explore. To find clues to help them get home. She's not gonna stop until she examines every nook and cranny, because what else does she have to do really?

And then she meets her rescuer, trying to leave.]

Hey, it's you!

[demonicmiracle]

[It takes a monumental effort not to groan at loud at getting caught, but Crowley isn't going to be a dick for no reason, so he manages something of a smile. It's a little uncertain, but hey, points for trying?]

It sure is me, hi.

[Can he make people sign non disclosure agreements re: seeing him in a church? Probably not.]

If you've come for the morning service, I think you're an hour or two late, sorry.

[purplejaguareye]

Oh I'm not here to pray. I'm looking for clues. See anything interesting in here?

[She's assuming that Crowley might be doing the same.]

[demonicmiracle]

[Oh, bless. He immediately latches on to that excuse.]

You know, I've not found much of anything, think this place might be a dead end.

[God has nothing to do with this place, he's sure of it. He wouldn't be allowed to be as happy as is, if She was.]

day to day.

[webdesigned]

( Peter is not really used to having to fend for himself, food wise.

his aunt always took care of that, back home. in fact, after he ruined his aunt's favorite pot trying to boil water, she'd outlawed him from the kitchen for a good month. and while Peter had admittedly grown more independent as he got older, he could tell Aunt May liked being able to cook for him. it was hard to turn her down. besides, she was way better at it than he was. meatloaf excluded.

that said, his "parents" in Santa Rosita are not his aunt, and Peter doesn't expect them to feed him. he's not sure either of them are any better than he is in the kitchen. so he ends up at the diner more often than he'd like to admit, getting something that doesn't cost too much and drinking way too much coffee, because the refills are free.

today, it's lunch. bordering on dinner, but there's not a cute word for that one like there is for brunch. he sees someone he recognizes though, and opts to sit by Crowley at the counter. )

Hey. It's good to see you at a comfortable temperature. ( the last time, both of them had been on the wrong side of that threshold. )

[demonicmiracle]

[Crowley has, lately, been starting to reconsider all those years out at fancy restaurants where he chose not to eat the food. Faced now with the options between what he can cook himself — he's getting better by the day, but is hardly a pro — and what he can find at restaurants and diners, it feels a bit like karma.

The steak sandwich isn't too bad, though.]

Hullo, uh — [Wait, he's got this. He can do this.] Peter, wasn't it?

[Please be proud of him, remembering names is really hard.]

Here for lunch?

[For a given value of 'lunch', considering the hour.]

[webdesigned]

( the food here is definitely not bad. and Peter knows the difference, because his aunt's cooking had a dangerous duality, wherein it could be great, or it could be her meatloaf. Peter is not picky and will eat practically anything (he ate some jello salad that turned out to contain meat), but he can take note of good and bad. and he's here more than enough to have a good body to critique at this point.

Peter probably wouldn't be that offended if Crowley didn't remember, but the recognition is nice. and he's too much of a dumb puppy to not show that he appreciates being remembered, offering a smile. ) Yeah, that's right. The really cold feet, this-is-fine guy. ( the one that was mildly conspiring whether he was in the midst of psychotic break when they first met, but he didn't provide that part. )

Yeah. My uh, not parents aren't my parents so I really don't expect them to feed me. ( honestly, he's not sure he wants them to feed him, either. Dean and Davinci both don't strike him as the type to focus much on cooking skills. ) Thankfully I can buy a meal for 50¢ or I'd really be hungry.

( that said, he doesn't have much money and often is kinda hungry, but that's because he's a teenage boy moreso than he has no food options available to him. )

[demonicmiracle]

[Putting a face to the actual situations they were in together isn't necessarily a problem, it's just names that tend to slip out of Crowley's mind, when there's a lot more important information to keep track of, like what Aziraphale's favourite pinto gris happens to be.

He gives a little nod of acknowledgement, to the point about parents. If he'd ended up with strangers, he knows he wouldn't have at all integrated his life with theirs. Probably would have ended up at a motel, frankly.]

If only you'd known you were ending up in the sixties, could've brought a couple twenties with you.

[They'd have gone pretty far.

Crowley lifts a hand to grab the waitress's attention, then gestures at Peter.]

Pop his meal on my check will you, love? And I'll have a bit more coffee. Ta. [She smiles and tells Peter to let her know when he's ready to order, then bustles off to get the coffee pot. Crowley turns his attention back to Peter.] Don't fuss about it, we'll call it even for you pulling me out of the water.

some nebulous time, at home

[bibliophilicbells]

[It's evening. A quiet one, with the music turned down low while Aziraphale thumbs his way through a book and Crowley peruses a magazine. Every so often, someone makes a sound in consideration of something — a noise that goes unnoticed, merely a blip in the background. This is what most of their evenings have looked like, lately, and it's... nice, actually.

All things considered.

But there's a weight on Aziraphale's shoulders, a cold and heavy thing not unlike fear. And it's not fear of this place, not really — it's a little worse than that, a little more unpredictable.

He's noticed it. He's ignored it. But it's gone from blip to siren, from a pebble to a boulder. It's evening, and it's quiet, and Aziraphale has to drop it because it's been gnawing at him and apparently Crowley thinks it's fine to go on not saying anything, to pretend like it didn't happen, to think Aziraphale somehow didn't find out — or that he wouldn't, or that he just wouldn't notice, or — what, wouldn't care?

No; it's probably not that. They just need to talk, right? They need to talk about it.

Aziraphale looks up from his book. He's been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.]

Why didn't you tell me?

[demonicmiracle]

[It's a nice evening, quiet and peaceful, the sort of thing that Crowley didn't ever expect to be allowed, not with Aziraphale, not without a million pretenses to cover up why they were spending time together. There's no need for that now, they spend time together because they live together, here in this house that's theirs, even if it isn't to either of their taste. Crowley nurses a small glass of scotch and he'd made Aziraphale a cup of tea an hour or so that he's assuming has gone cold while the angel was lost in a book.

He misses the internet, and decent TV, but he wouldn't trade either of those things for being able to have this.

He looks up when he's addressed, brow furrowed in confusion.]

About what?

[It isn't an attempt at deflection, or a lie, he's all but forgotten about the second jaunt into the pond, especially since Aziraphale hasn't commented on the scar. He assumed he hadn't noticed, and happily tucked the whole experience away, as he does with unpleasant things.]

[bibliophilicbells]

That you got hurt. [A pause, as his brow furrows — concern, not anger.]

Again.

[demonicmiracle]

[Ah, there it is, the sort of guilty, contrite look that's appropriate for the situation, now that he understands what the situation is.

He has no idea how Aziraphale found out; maybe he noticed the injury the first day they slept together and has been mulling it over since. It doesn't really matter, though. As much as he might obfuscate, he won't outright lie to a direct question.]

Didn't want to worry you. I was fine — so, saw no need to make a big deal of it, is all.

day to day... FINALLY

[thevalley]

[Like Crowley, Ellie is restless. Her own thoughts still eat at her and being in this town, away from Dina and JJ has only made them more corrosive. She dreams of Seattle. Of Abby. Of Joel. And now she can't even leave to go hunting by herself to try to find respite that never comes.

She just has this place and all the things in it. All the things she doesn't care about.

So that's how she ends up in a bar and how she makes eye contact with Crowley, a glass of whiskey in her hand. She moves closer.]

Fancy seeing you at the only bar in town.

its ok time is fake in RP

[demonicmiracle]

[It's an unspoken invitation, the way he nudges out the chair beside him with his foot, so she can join him if he wants.]

If only it weren't a shite bar.

[Like — it's fine, cheap enough and the booze isn't terrible, but he misses London and the variety, being able to spend an evening in a disgustingly upscale cocktail bar, then finish up the night in some dingy dive bar.]

You survived Christmas, then?

[thevalley]

It's the most intact bar I've ever been in.

[Back home, it's nothing but homemade moonshine. Still, she shrugs a little, as if that downplays the shit show that was Christmas.]

Gonna put myself down as officially "not a fan" of the holidays.

[demonicmiracle]

[He imagines the standards aren't high, considering the world she comes from.]

I'll agree with you on that, although I'd take the occasional swim in a frozen pond over having to listen to carolers.

[A joke, probably.]

I saw what happened with Ray, can't imagine that was easy.

[It's about as much sympathy as he'll offer. Really, it's more an invitation to complain if she needs to. He doesn't mind listening.]