There was a small moment of relief as Aziraphale watched Crowley's wings hitch back into the ether, and though he protested to the thought of him having the alcohol when he was already in a compromised state, he simply clicked his tongue and sighed as he watched him down the entire glass as if it were necessary for his survival. Well, he supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised, anyway. He was self-aware enough to admit that the two of them might probably have been considered "high-functioning alcoholics" at the best of times, if they'd been human. And he had seen the way Crowley dealt with trauma, in those few times the demon had let him find him when he was having a bad spell. It hard hardly mattered, until now; they weren't human. It had little chance of harming them and they could simply be rid of the effects of it if they so needed to. Still, it seemed a bit ill-advised to start pouring a mood-depressant into the mouth of an already obviously-distressed Crowley.
But then all of his consternation at the drink was shaken out of him when the demon immediately fell against him, and he reached up in surprise to wrap his arms around his shoulders, heedless of the way it caused him to spill a good half of his own drink onto the floor as he held him steady in momentary worry that he had collapsed instead of simply turning to Aziraphale for comfort. It was so strange, so new, and yet such a twisted mirror of something he'd secretly wanted for so long, that the moment he realized just what had happened, he found his own breath catching in his throat as he held onto him more tightly.
And those whispered, pained words didn't help quell the struggle within him. It wasn't necessarily the surprise or relief of learning that the blood wasn't Crowley's, nor of learning who's it was. In fact, he found himself far less surprised to hear that it was the blood of another Aziraphale than he might have imagined. After all, if there were two Crowleys, that only stood to reason that there would be two of him, as well. But the implications of what those words implied-...
Behind him, the red-haired demon shrugged at the lizard's refusal of the drink and was halfway to bringing the glass back up to his mouth before those whispered words registered in his mind, and he froze, staring, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. When the small voice continued so close to his ear, he glanced anxiously between her and the two forms standing nearby, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. The blood-...Angel-...! But the lizard-...his head continued to glance back and forth as if on a swivel, the glass lowering to the table as his other hand reached up to cup around where she sat at glacial speed as if suddenly worried about her falling off and harming herself but too dumbstruck to know what to do with the things he was hearing.
She hadn't even finished her explanation before he realized he very much did not want to hear another word, did not want the images they caused to fill his mind. Because he could imagine it, all of it, found that it was far, far too close to the things he'd imagined only days before when he stood in the middle of a burning bookshop, when he drove away in a state of numb horror and found himself trying to drink away the mental images in the middle of a bar.
It wasn't often that Crowley let himself get drunk to feel physically ill. After the first time millennia ago, he was much more mindful, being careful to rid himself of the alcohol before he reached such a disgusting, painful state. He felt it, now, not even a full glass into his drink, and he swallowed hard against the sour taste in his mouth, grinding his teeth against the sudden burning behind his eyes. He didn't know where to let his eyes rest, beginning to sway slowly in the way he did when he felt threatened and anxious. No, he refused to think about it. He couldn't. This wasn't happening. He brought the drink up and downed it in one gulp, an almost mirror image of the other demon only moments before. But at least he had the bottle, and when the glass was empty, he put it down on the table, picked up the whiskey, and poured the amber liquid clear to the top before downing it again.
Aziraphale's gaze turned to watch him as he looked up at Antia now that he'd kicked the start of his increasing blood/alcohol levels into high gear and reached up slowly to hold his hand out for her to climb onto again.
"Come on. 'Sss too...too high up there. Don't need to be ssso tenuo-...per-...pruh-...ngk. Nuh-...On the table, 's-sssafer..."
Aziraphale sighed softly, his face pinching at the clenching feeling inside of his chest, but he directed his attention away and up around them, taking in the lights of the bookshop before reaching up to snap, the shades drawing and the lights dimming around them until they were in barely more than what might have been the light of a single candle, even the massive domed window above them darkening miraculously without even the need of curtains or blinds.
"We'll keep the lights down low, then, until you're more acclimated to them." Another gesture of his hand, and a throw blanket was in his grasp where he could lift it and wrap it around Crowley's shoulders. He didn't want to let him go too far, though, his arms returning to their place around the demon, and before he could even stop to think about what he was doing, he turned his face to press his lips delicately against his temple. A moment too late, he turned his face slightly away again, and gently guided Crowley back over to the sofa as if he hadn't done it at all.
Behind him, Crowley's eyes took in the entire moment, his swaying slowing to an almost standstill before returning with a vengeance, a low, distressed hiss starting in his throat despite the way he fought against the urge.
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rosecarmine
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Date: 2021-04-02 12:58 pm (UTC)But then all of his consternation at the drink was shaken out of him when the demon immediately fell against him, and he reached up in surprise to wrap his arms around his shoulders, heedless of the way it caused him to spill a good half of his own drink onto the floor as he held him steady in momentary worry that he had collapsed instead of simply turning to Aziraphale for comfort. It was so strange, so new, and yet such a twisted mirror of something he'd secretly wanted for so long, that the moment he realized just what had happened, he found his own breath catching in his throat as he held onto him more tightly.
And those whispered, pained words didn't help quell the struggle within him. It wasn't necessarily the surprise or relief of learning that the blood wasn't Crowley's, nor of learning who's it was. In fact, he found himself far less surprised to hear that it was the blood of another Aziraphale than he might have imagined. After all, if there were two Crowleys, that only stood to reason that there would be two of him, as well. But the implications of what those words implied-...
Behind him, the red-haired demon shrugged at the lizard's refusal of the drink and was halfway to bringing the glass back up to his mouth before those whispered words registered in his mind, and he froze, staring, his eyes going wide behind his glasses. When the small voice continued so close to his ear, he glanced anxiously between her and the two forms standing nearby, his mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. The blood-...Angel-...! But the lizard-...his head continued to glance back and forth as if on a swivel, the glass lowering to the table as his other hand reached up to cup around where she sat at glacial speed as if suddenly worried about her falling off and harming herself but too dumbstruck to know what to do with the things he was hearing.
She hadn't even finished her explanation before he realized he very much did not want to hear another word, did not want the images they caused to fill his mind. Because he could imagine it, all of it, found that it was far, far too close to the things he'd imagined only days before when he stood in the middle of a burning bookshop, when he drove away in a state of numb horror and found himself trying to drink away the mental images in the middle of a bar.
It wasn't often that Crowley let himself get drunk to feel physically ill. After the first time millennia ago, he was much more mindful, being careful to rid himself of the alcohol before he reached such a disgusting, painful state. He felt it, now, not even a full glass into his drink, and he swallowed hard against the sour taste in his mouth, grinding his teeth against the sudden burning behind his eyes. He didn't know where to let his eyes rest, beginning to sway slowly in the way he did when he felt threatened and anxious. No, he refused to think about it. He couldn't. This wasn't happening. He brought the drink up and downed it in one gulp, an almost mirror image of the other demon only moments before. But at least he had the bottle, and when the glass was empty, he put it down on the table, picked up the whiskey, and poured the amber liquid clear to the top before downing it again.
Aziraphale's gaze turned to watch him as he looked up at Antia now that he'd kicked the start of his increasing blood/alcohol levels into high gear and reached up slowly to hold his hand out for her to climb onto again.
"Come on. 'Sss too...too high up there. Don't need to be ssso tenuo-...per-...pruh-...ngk. Nuh-...On the table, 's-sssafer..."
Aziraphale sighed softly, his face pinching at the clenching feeling inside of his chest, but he directed his attention away and up around them, taking in the lights of the bookshop before reaching up to snap, the shades drawing and the lights dimming around them until they were in barely more than what might have been the light of a single candle, even the massive domed window above them darkening miraculously without even the need of curtains or blinds.
"We'll keep the lights down low, then, until you're more acclimated to them." Another gesture of his hand, and a throw blanket was in his grasp where he could lift it and wrap it around Crowley's shoulders. He didn't want to let him go too far, though, his arms returning to their place around the demon, and before he could even stop to think about what he was doing, he turned his face to press his lips delicately against his temple. A moment too late, he turned his face slightly away again, and gently guided Crowley back over to the sofa as if he hadn't done it at all.
Behind him, Crowley's eyes took in the entire moment, his swaying slowing to an almost standstill before returning with a vengeance, a low, distressed hiss starting in his throat despite the way he fought against the urge.