What could he possibly have to apologize for? There were so many things he couldn't even begin to articulate. He didn't (couldn't) protect him from Michael's wrath. He unknowingly led him into the ambush. He thought, he'd hoped that they would be able to broker peace between Heaven and Hell. He convinced him to try and stop the End instead of running off somewhere safe. He could only blame himself for Aziraphale's...
But he was here, arms soothingly around him. He hadn't been impaled and burned with holy fire. He was fine, here in front of him, whole and healthy. Maybe he could stop it happening again. As he was shifted he looked up into Aziraphale's face. It was different, thinner than he was used to, but most certainly Aziraphale. Had he been mistaken? Had the angel simply been discorporated and his memories of loneliness just an awful nightmare?
Antia's voice, tinged with worry and frustration, asking where Elisha was and Aziraphale's response gave him pause. Elisha had always been there, judging him from some perch while Antia climbed all over her. Aziraphale's soul made manifest much like Antia was his own. That she wasn't here was concerning, even through his grief-filled haze.
The tiny green daemon could do nothing but splutter at that answer. The angel didn't know who Elisha was?! That didn't make sense. It was impossible! Something was deeply wrong and she had to protect Crowley from being hurt, that much she knew. She hissed at the angel, a tiny threat from a tiny creature. She may not have many threatening tools at her disposal, but she would do what she could!
Crowley hardly noticed Antia's antics on his head when Aziraphale suggested they go the the bookshop. That sounded like exactly where he wanted to be. The cozy little bookshop that felt more like his home than his apartment. An intact bookshop that hadn't been destroyed like everything else. The bookshop that smelled of old books and sometimes weird smells to drive away people who wanted to buy books instead of the tangy metallic smell of blood from what used to be the Thames.
Going there was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he needed right now. He nodded weakly, slowly letting Aziraphale go from his desperate grip. "Please..."
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But he was here, arms soothingly around him. He hadn't been impaled and burned with holy fire. He was fine, here in front of him, whole and healthy. Maybe he could stop it happening again. As he was shifted he looked up into Aziraphale's face. It was different, thinner than he was used to, but most certainly Aziraphale. Had he been mistaken? Had the angel simply been discorporated and his memories of loneliness just an awful nightmare?
Antia's voice, tinged with worry and frustration, asking where Elisha was and Aziraphale's response gave him pause. Elisha had always been there, judging him from some perch while Antia climbed all over her. Aziraphale's soul made manifest much like Antia was his own. That she wasn't here was concerning, even through his grief-filled haze.
The tiny green daemon could do nothing but splutter at that answer. The angel didn't know who Elisha was?! That didn't make sense. It was impossible! Something was deeply wrong and she had to protect Crowley from being hurt, that much she knew. She hissed at the angel, a tiny threat from a tiny creature. She may not have many threatening tools at her disposal, but she would do what she could!
Crowley hardly noticed Antia's antics on his head when Aziraphale suggested they go the the bookshop. That sounded like exactly where he wanted to be. The cozy little bookshop that felt more like his home than his apartment. An intact bookshop that hadn't been destroyed like everything else. The bookshop that smelled of old books and sometimes weird smells to drive away people who wanted to buy books instead of the tangy metallic smell of blood from what used to be the Thames.
Going there was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he needed right now. He nodded weakly, slowly letting Aziraphale go from his desperate grip. "Please..."