Oh, that...that made no sense, except for a strange part of Aziraphale's brain that chimed in with a weird sort of recognition, of understanding, but understanding of a thing that wasn't possible and needed to be quiet! Memories of little paper books and stories in magazines that the humans came up with about fantastical things in a future that hadn't and wouldn't ever happen because they were well past the year 1993, and they hadn't invented flying cars or traveled to any other planet then the moon. And later on, big, heavy books written by very, very intelligent humans who took those little ideas and said 'But what if they're possible, after all?' He shook his head gently, his hands twisting to hold the arms that gripped his so tightly, and he felt like he understood, even having half a picture, even if it shouldn't have made any sense.
"Crowley. Crowley, we stopped the war, remember? You and I, Adam and Anathema and Shadwell and Tracy?" He stepped closer, speaking slowly, close enough to hopefully let him see that he wasn't going to leave, that he was paying attention to everything he said, but also trying to talk him down from whatever nightmarish scenario was in his head. "When Gabriel and Beelzebub came, we talked them down. And little Adam sent Satan away."
Even as absurd as it sounded in his own head, the sudden thought that this was Crowley, but this wasn't the Crowley he knew, hit him out of nowhere and refused to be ignored, told him it should have been the first thought that came to mind, you silly old fool! He didn't know what to do with it, or how to even prove it even if it was true, aside from trying to ring Crowley's mobile, even if it meant waking him from a deep slumber and inciting the panicked worry of the demon he would recognize more then the one standing in front of him? And just how in the Blessed Heaven was he supposed to handle the situation if that happened? He knew Crowley, possibly better then he knew himself. If he worried him over something like this, he would come barging in, demanding answers, posturing and hissing and then there would be two anxiety-fueled snakes to try and calm down!
Oh, it was absurd! Those things were just fantastical literary inventions the humans had taken a liking to! But it explained the state of the demon he was seeing in front of him more then anything else, and that just made it even more frightening then before.
Especially when his brain caught up to something he hadn't initially caught in his shock, when Crowley had started begging.
"Crowley, no one is killing anyone. Not Michael, nor Gabriel, nor Beelzebub nor Dagon. We stopped them, too. Michael came for you, and I didn't let them have you. And when Gabriel came for me, you did the same thing for me. And afterward, we went to the Ritz and we had dinner, and you went home to your flat to sleep. That was just last week. I was letting you sleep because you'd had a very exhausting day and you wanted to take a nap, and now you're here." He let his thumbs rub soothingly against the inside of Crowley's arms through his shirt, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to grasp onto any reality that would make more sense then the one that was flashing itself through his head in bold colors like the tawdry neon signs of Soho's seedier years. "Do you remember? What was the last thing we did, Crowley. Talk to me."
Because he was beginning to worry that not knowing what he had gone through was going to make it harder for him to know how to handle the situation, and the longer they went, the more he just wanted to bundle him under his wings and hide him in the shop where he would know he was safe, and that wasn't going to help the situation if he couldn't even get him to the bookshop to begin with. He was an angel made to love, and made to protect, and he'd long since learned to live with the way the first had left him with a deep, gnawing ache in his soul whenever Crowley was around, but the second instinct was beginning to flare even worse then it ever had before, then even when they'd had their fight more then a century before, and it was clashing with that first instinct in a way that made him feel like he was screaming underneath his skin in an unpleasant, panicky sort of way that was not going to do them any favors.
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"Crowley. Crowley, we stopped the war, remember? You and I, Adam and Anathema and Shadwell and Tracy?" He stepped closer, speaking slowly, close enough to hopefully let him see that he wasn't going to leave, that he was paying attention to everything he said, but also trying to talk him down from whatever nightmarish scenario was in his head. "When Gabriel and Beelzebub came, we talked them down. And little Adam sent Satan away."
Even as absurd as it sounded in his own head, the sudden thought that this was Crowley, but this wasn't the Crowley he knew, hit him out of nowhere and refused to be ignored, told him it should have been the first thought that came to mind, you silly old fool! He didn't know what to do with it, or how to even prove it even if it was true, aside from trying to ring Crowley's mobile, even if it meant waking him from a deep slumber and inciting the panicked worry of the demon he would recognize more then the one standing in front of him? And just how in the Blessed Heaven was he supposed to handle the situation if that happened? He knew Crowley, possibly better then he knew himself. If he worried him over something like this, he would come barging in, demanding answers, posturing and hissing and then there would be two anxiety-fueled snakes to try and calm down!
Oh, it was absurd! Those things were just fantastical literary inventions the humans had taken a liking to! But it explained the state of the demon he was seeing in front of him more then anything else, and that just made it even more frightening then before.
Especially when his brain caught up to something he hadn't initially caught in his shock, when Crowley had started begging.
"Crowley, no one is killing anyone. Not Michael, nor Gabriel, nor Beelzebub nor Dagon. We stopped them, too. Michael came for you, and I didn't let them have you. And when Gabriel came for me, you did the same thing for me. And afterward, we went to the Ritz and we had dinner, and you went home to your flat to sleep. That was just last week. I was letting you sleep because you'd had a very exhausting day and you wanted to take a nap, and now you're here." He let his thumbs rub soothingly against the inside of Crowley's arms through his shirt, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to grasp onto any reality that would make more sense then the one that was flashing itself through his head in bold colors like the tawdry neon signs of Soho's seedier years. "Do you remember? What was the last thing we did, Crowley. Talk to me."
Because he was beginning to worry that not knowing what he had gone through was going to make it harder for him to know how to handle the situation, and the longer they went, the more he just wanted to bundle him under his wings and hide him in the shop where he would know he was safe, and that wasn't going to help the situation if he couldn't even get him to the bookshop to begin with. He was an angel made to love, and made to protect, and he'd long since learned to live with the way the first had left him with a deep, gnawing ache in his soul whenever Crowley was around, but the second instinct was beginning to flare even worse then it ever had before, then even when they'd had their fight more then a century before, and it was clashing with that first instinct in a way that made him feel like he was screaming underneath his skin in an unpleasant, panicky sort of way that was not going to do them any favors.