The reaction to being touched was more violent than Aziraphale had expected, and he'd been expecting it already. When Crowley threw himself out of his seat, Aziraphale very nearly threw himself in the opposite direction, stopped only when he bumped into the Crowley behind him, who had also startled in his own more subdued way and then immediately reached up to grab the Angel by the arms and steady him while also giving himself enough leverage to throw him behind him if the flailing demon in front of them had been on the attack.
When instead, he tucked himself into the corner of bookshelves and cowered in on himself, when that tiny, intelligent reptile dropped to the ground and trembled with the intensity of her own reactions as she looked back at them, the two of them seemed to wilt. Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest, making him reach up and clench his fist in the lapels over his chest, and behind him, all of the remaining tension in Crowley's frame, every bit of fight he'd been keeping stored in his long limbs as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, melted away, and even his mantled wings drooped enough that they disappeared into the ether where threat displays weren't needed.
"...Angel, what's going on?"
"I...I don't know." Aziraphale whispered as he shook his head, going silent as he stared for the span of a breath, two, before gently pulling away and stepping slowly, quietly closer. He kept his hands close to his chest as he approached, kept himself small and left enough space between them that hopefully the demon wouldn't feel as if he'd been boxed in and cornered. "Crowley? What's happened? Talk me through it so I can help."
He kept his voice soft as he leaned enough to try and see his face through the wings and hands hiding him in the darkness of the corner he'd claimed, but he made no move to pull him out of it before he was ready to come out. It was so strange, so heartbreaking, to see him reduced to such a state. He'd seen humans like this countless times over the eons, and he'd even learned a little about how to help, when he'd been more prone to interacting with them directly then he was, now. But he never in all those years would have ever thought he would see a day when Crowley was so broken, and seeing it now was enough to make a very real pain settle in the middle of his chest, whether it was the red-headed demon or not.
He reached out gently with his powers, as he had done so many times for the humans in the past, sending waves of reassurance, of love and compassion and comfort and peace, and he didn't even care if Crowley couldn't feel love, or that if he could, he might have suddenly realized who that love was coming from, and whom it was intended for. If his thousands of years of quiet repression and denial had to come down, then it might as well have been now. He would deal with the consequences later.
Behind him, the ginger stared as he approached, jittery with worry and confusion, his eyebrows arching so high over his sunglasses that not even they could hide the expression that was on his face. Finally, unable to just stand back when he was so used to having to act on instinct alone when something was so completely wrong, his gaze shifted, glanced around the bookshop as if to look for something to help, and then landed on the tiny, shivering reptile at the other demon's feet.
"Alright. You." The words weren't really the snarl they wanted to be, especially not with the waves of calm that the angel was sending out into the room like a warm down quilt fresh out of the dryer that made it hard for even him to keep his paranoia engaged. "C'mere. Explain."
He loomed over, bending down and reaching for the creature that looked like some random, run of the mill garden reptile but felt to every one of his senses like another demon, a familiar demon, someone that he knew even more closely then he knew Aziraphale, and the implications for that were more than he could or even would allow himself to think about. But if she was a demon, she could talk, and that was the important part.
Still...the sight of her trembling and panicking as she was, not even he could keep up the stern facade he'd tried to effect, and even before his hand had gotten within a meter of snatching her off of the ground, he visibly caught himself, twitching his head with a click of his tongue in consternation, and crouched low, twisting his hand until he was holding it palm out, extended, an offer for her to come closer instead of a grasping gesture to snatch and restrain and hold.
He hated being so out of sorts, but worse, he hated to see something that was so obviously suffering.
Well. Ok, he hated to see things suffering needlessly. He could think of a few demons who deserved to endure a little turmoil for the things they done. He wasn't nice or anything. He just preferred to know that the things that were suffering deserved it.
And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that everything about this reminded him of nothing more strongly than himself, in his very worst moments, in those millennia immediately after the fall when every demon was trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered bodies and minds and piece themselves back together again, make sense of themselves and their new reality, of those early days of terror and agony and suffering he'd endured. Of those few short, soul-shattering hours he'd gone through only days before, between finding Aziraphale's bookshop engulfed in flames and seeing his apparition manifesting in front of him in a bar as he had tried to drink himself until he couldn't even think, let alone feel, and waited for the end of the world to take him.
It was still too raw, too soon. Some of those traumas would never leave him, not even the oldest ones. The fact that looking at the demon(s???) in front of him felt like watching himself in those times from outside of his own body made all of his previous anger and suspicion shrivel up and die.
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rosecarmine
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Date: 2020-11-23 09:25 am (UTC)When instead, he tucked himself into the corner of bookshelves and cowered in on himself, when that tiny, intelligent reptile dropped to the ground and trembled with the intensity of her own reactions as she looked back at them, the two of them seemed to wilt. Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest, making him reach up and clench his fist in the lapels over his chest, and behind him, all of the remaining tension in Crowley's frame, every bit of fight he'd been keeping stored in his long limbs as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, melted away, and even his mantled wings drooped enough that they disappeared into the ether where threat displays weren't needed.
"...Angel, what's going on?"
"I...I don't know." Aziraphale whispered as he shook his head, going silent as he stared for the span of a breath, two, before gently pulling away and stepping slowly, quietly closer. He kept his hands close to his chest as he approached, kept himself small and left enough space between them that hopefully the demon wouldn't feel as if he'd been boxed in and cornered. "Crowley? What's happened? Talk me through it so I can help."
He kept his voice soft as he leaned enough to try and see his face through the wings and hands hiding him in the darkness of the corner he'd claimed, but he made no move to pull him out of it before he was ready to come out. It was so strange, so heartbreaking, to see him reduced to such a state. He'd seen humans like this countless times over the eons, and he'd even learned a little about how to help, when he'd been more prone to interacting with them directly then he was, now. But he never in all those years would have ever thought he would see a day when Crowley was so broken, and seeing it now was enough to make a very real pain settle in the middle of his chest, whether it was the red-headed demon or not.
He reached out gently with his powers, as he had done so many times for the humans in the past, sending waves of reassurance, of love and compassion and comfort and peace, and he didn't even care if Crowley couldn't feel love, or that if he could, he might have suddenly realized who that love was coming from, and whom it was intended for. If his thousands of years of quiet repression and denial had to come down, then it might as well have been now. He would deal with the consequences later.
Behind him, the ginger stared as he approached, jittery with worry and confusion, his eyebrows arching so high over his sunglasses that not even they could hide the expression that was on his face. Finally, unable to just stand back when he was so used to having to act on instinct alone when something was so completely wrong, his gaze shifted, glanced around the bookshop as if to look for something to help, and then landed on the tiny, shivering reptile at the other demon's feet.
"Alright. You." The words weren't really the snarl they wanted to be, especially not with the waves of calm that the angel was sending out into the room like a warm down quilt fresh out of the dryer that made it hard for even him to keep his paranoia engaged. "C'mere. Explain."
He loomed over, bending down and reaching for the creature that looked like some random, run of the mill garden reptile but felt to every one of his senses like another demon, a familiar demon, someone that he knew even more closely then he knew Aziraphale, and the implications for that were more than he could or even would allow himself to think about. But if she was a demon, she could talk, and that was the important part.
Still...the sight of her trembling and panicking as she was, not even he could keep up the stern facade he'd tried to effect, and even before his hand had gotten within a meter of snatching her off of the ground, he visibly caught himself, twitching his head with a click of his tongue in consternation, and crouched low, twisting his hand until he was holding it palm out, extended, an offer for her to come closer instead of a grasping gesture to snatch and restrain and hold.
He hated being so out of sorts, but worse, he hated to see something that was so obviously suffering.
Well. Ok, he hated to see things suffering needlessly. He could think of a few demons who deserved to endure a little turmoil for the things they done. He wasn't nice or anything. He just preferred to know that the things that were suffering deserved it.
And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that everything about this reminded him of nothing more strongly than himself, in his very worst moments, in those millennia immediately after the fall when every demon was trying to pick up the pieces of their shattered bodies and minds and piece themselves back together again, make sense of themselves and their new reality, of those early days of terror and agony and suffering he'd endured. Of those few short, soul-shattering hours he'd gone through only days before, between finding Aziraphale's bookshop engulfed in flames and seeing his apparition manifesting in front of him in a bar as he had tried to drink himself until he couldn't even think, let alone feel, and waited for the end of the world to take him.
It was still too raw, too soon. Some of those traumas would never leave him, not even the oldest ones. The fact that looking at the demon(s???) in front of him felt like watching himself in those times from outside of his own body made all of his previous anger and suspicion shrivel up and die.