guardianofeden | PSL's Catch-All

PSL's Catch-All

Because hey, I just realized that sometimes people want to do PSL's that aren't attached to memes, right?

If you have a PSL in mind, just ask me or leave a starter here! ٩( ᐛ )و

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It was a particularly busy morning at the Lucky Cat Cafe, and Baymax had offered to lend Aunt Cass some assistance. A great many of the regulars were there for breakfast, but there were some new faces as well. One in particular drew Baymax's attention, in part because he had drawn Mochi's. Normally the cat avoided the cafe during its busiest times, as he found the amount of activity and unknown humans stressful, but he was currently curled up on a booth seat contentedly napping next to an older man in mildly old fashioned clothes who was reading a book while he waited for his order to be ready.

And as it happened his order had just be completed, so Baymax took it over to him, careful not to spill anything. "Hello," he said in his typical pleasant monotone to alert the man to his presence before he set the food down. "Here is your cinnamon tea with honey and blueberry scones, sir. I apologize for the delay." There was a slightly strange cadence to how he stated the order, as if he were reading the items from a 'fill in the blank' form, but the pleasant monotone remained.

One thing he had to give the humans in this city - they certainly loved their newfangled electronic devices. Aziraphale had seen more of them in the couple of days he and Crowley had been there then he'd seen in a century back in London, and while he didn't understand how they worked, he wouldn't pretend not to be at least a little bit fascinated by their existence. It hadn't helped, either, when Crowley had snarked at him that they were "just machines, Angel. Like Siri, only bigger." Because that had made him ask who Siri was, making the demon pull out his phone and ask it to "tell me a joke." The fact that this Siri "person" lived in his phone and was sentient enough to make jokes and tell the weather and all sorts of other various relevant information had just made the awe even greater, which Aziraphale suspected hadn't exactly been the demon's intention.

By the time he had left to find breakfast, however, he'd managed to rein his bright-eyed wonder back under control so that he wasn't spending the entire time waiting for his food simply staring at the cheery, round inflatable robot as it tottered around the cafe. Harder, though, was reining in the unconscious habit of petting soft things as he read, something he'd developed after he and Crowley had begun living as each other's shadow after the Armageddon That Wasn't, when the demon would lay his head in his lap for a kip as they sat on the couch. His hair was very soft. So when that very round, very soft cat had perched itself next to him and begun rumbling away like a very tiny motor, he'd smiled to himself and let his hand rest on its head to stroke idly through its fur.

When, a few minutes later, the sound of the friendly mechanical being bringing his order over to him drew his attention, he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face as he looked up from his book. Even with the strange cadence when it spoke, he couldn't not see the...creature? as a living, thinking entity, and he was equally fascinated and charmed by it.

"Thank you, dear, it smells lovely!" Granted, Crowley would have probably pointed out that he found all food 'lovely,' but Crowley wasn't there to tease him, nor to distract him with that particular staring thing he tended to do when they were dining together. Still. As lovely as the food smelled, his own curiosity was giving his appetite a run for its money, and it wasn't long before his sense of propriety won out over his sweet tooth, and before the robot could toddle away again, he turned another smile up to it. "I-...If you don't think it rude of me, what's your name?"

Crowley could tease him all he wanted to, later. He couldn't just let the Siris and Alexas and Roombas of the world be treated as if they weren't worthy of attention, the way the humans seemed to sometimes do.

Whatever a Roomba was. He had no Earthly idea, but that hadn't stopped him from saying that he absolutely would, when the demon had accused him of being the type who would make a bed for one, if he'd had one. And maybe he should, just to show him!

"I do not," Baymax said. As far as he knew, there was nothing rude a about a simple request for an introduction. Though the man's accent identified him as being British, and Baymax was unfamiliar with how specific social norms in the United Kingdom might differ from those he'd become accustomed to in San Fransokyo. "I am Baymax, a personal healthcare companion. I reside with the cafe owner's family and sometimes assist her in the cafe when it is required."

"I see that you are petting Mochi," he added. "Stroking a pet is known to have beneficial effects such as a reduction in stress and anxiety and a reduced risk of cardiovascular disease. And studies have shown that the frequency of a domesticated cat's purring can also have a beneficial effect on joint mobility, especially after injury." Yes, when you have Baymax as your waiter, your meal sometimes comes with a side of fun medical facts.

That was, in fact, something that Aziraphale had noticed about people who lived "across the pond," as it were. It wasn't uncommon for random strangers to strike up a conversation with you in the middle of a store, or while you were waiting for a bus, where back home, it was seen as somewhat unusual, even if his angelic presence tended to make people want to talk to him regardless. For once, though, he was the one striking up the conversation. He smiled at the robot, mentally feeling a small, smug bit of glee at just how sentient it - he? - seemed after all. This was certainly no 'glorified toaster!'

Aziraphale: 1, Crowley: 0

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Baymax. My name is Aziraphale." He went to take a sip of his tea before the name of the cat he was still petting occurred to him and he stopped, glancing down at the massive, furry creature and giving a tickled little laugh. "Oh. Oh, that is adorable. He is certainly shaped like a piece of mochi, isn't he?"

He blinked as Baymax rattled off a series of Petting-A-Cat facts, finally taking a drink of his tea as he listened, giving a small hum of delight at the taste of it. Oh, it may not have been proper English tea, but it wasn't bad, all things considered.

"You know, I believe I had heard that somewhere, though I'm not sure where. Perhaps on the same telly channel I saw that film about the gorillas." Not that Baymax would have any idea what he was talking about. He hummed thoughtfully, looking back down at the cat and giving it a scritch down its back, to its belly, and the particularly soft, squishy feel of its tummy under his fingers made him laugh despite himself and give a tiny, happy wiggle of his shoulders. "No wonder hum-er-people enjoy their company so much. I'll admit, if their lives weren't so short, and if they didn't have such a strong dislike of my-...er..." Friend? Partner? Colleague? None of those words quite seemed to fit right, anymore. "the person I'm traveling with, I might have been tempted to own one. Animals really don't agree with Crowley." Probably due to the whole demon thing. Or the snake thing. Either way, he could only imagine the arguments that would have ensued should he adopt a cat, all made in nothing but hissing noises from one furred dependent and one scaled demon who should know better then to argue with an animal, but would do so regardless.

To be fair Baymax was technically a prototype, and more advanced than most AI enabled devices that were available on the general consumer market. And he was fortunate enough to live with a human family and friends who treated him mostly like an equal, which allowed him to gradually advance further as a learning AI.

"Yes, his general body outline is similar to the shape of most mochi," Baymax agreed. Most of it was just fur, but especially when curled up, Mochi did tend to look round enough to do credit to his namesake. And curled up seemed to be his favorite sleeping position, though he did shift slightly onto one side to allow the angel to rub his tummy. The cat gave the angel's thumb a few lazy licks before settling back to sleep properly.

Regarding Aziraphale's traveling companion and the general reaction animals often had to him, Baymax only nodded slightly. Well, as much as his construction. allowed, but it was still only slightly by human standards. "It is unusual for Mochi to be in the cafe when it is busy," he said. "Like many domesticated cats, he finds the presence of so many unfamiliar humans stressful, and usually remains upstairs. However, my scans indicate that he is currently entirely relaxed."

Crowley was tired. So very, very tired. It wasn't because he hadn't slept in ages. He didn't need sleep, of course, but he liked it very much. But he hardly saw the point in sleeping anymore. Sure it would make this lonely eternity end or at least pass by faster, but it was so impermanent. It's not exactly like time existed anymore anyway. Not how he'd always experienced it, at least. The sun and the stars weren't even there anymore to keep him company.

He hadn't used his voice since his worst day. There was no point. Even Antia stopped talking to him. She was his only companion, but she was also literally him, so it wasn't the same as...

He sat on a hunk of rubble that used to be a part of an old stone building in London. The Great War had happened. All the forces of Hell and all the forces of heaven clashed on Earth. No one cared what happened to the planet or its inhabitants.All of humanity perished in the fight, either from their own machinations (nuclear bombs, bullets, blades), or as collateral damage of demons and angels fighting with everything they had.

He'd tried to stop them. Both he and... Aziraphale... had tried to stop the war before it began. And for that they were both branded as traitors and hunted down until... Aziraphale didn't make it. Aziraphale didn't make it and it may as well have been his fault. If he hadn't convinced him to try and stop the war maybe he wouldn't have been...

"Thinking like that won't solve anything, you know." Antia spoke her first words in a long time. Her voice was a bit rough from disuse, but she continued, "We did everything we could."

But it wasn't enough to keep his angel safe and he wasn't about to rise to her bait. He laid back on the uncomfortable rock, causing the little gecko to bounce on his sunglasses. If only this great dead Earth could swallow him whole and end this. This must be his punishment. Neither Hell nor Heaven would take him when the retreats sounded, not that he'd want to go. Neither deserved him and he didn't deserve them. But the Earth? This was where he belonged. He just wanted it to be full of People, full of life, and especially full of Aziraphale.

But that wasn't how this world worked. That wasn't the fate he'd been handed. There was so much he would do differently if he'd had the chance.

As he lay there on the uneven and uncomfortable rock, he finally closed his eyes. and as he started to drift off for the first time in ages, he suddenly felt like gravity had been switched off and Antia let out a tiny yelp. His eyes snapped open as he felt something solid and decidedly more smooth against his back. There was the sound of a lake lapping gently against the dirt edge and ducks quacking.

He sat up immediately, oblivious to the distressed sounds his gecko soul was making from her perch on his shades. He had no idea how it happened, but he was seated on a bench in the decidedly intact St. James Park. His head whipped around even as his eyes stung from how bright the moon and the streetlamps were, taking in the signs of life everywhere, from the smell of the nearby flowers to the sounds of the creatures about. And People! Glorious, wonderful, imperfect People.

He would have let out a whoop of joy, but his voice was in such disuse no sound came out. It didn't really matter anyway. How he got here didn't matter. Was it a dream? Was it a chance to change things? Fix his mistakes? Save his angel? He didn't care, really.

There was really only one thing he knew he had to do. He had to find Aziraphale.

Even with it being fairly early in the evening, Aziraphale couldn't exactly explain the sudden desire he had to go out to the park, bag of frozen pees miracled into his hands, to feed the ducks at such an hour. He didn't sleep, no, but more often then not, once the sun went down, he was just happy to stay inside the bookshop and read to pass the night away. Perhaps it was because of his newfound freedom. He didn't have to wait for Heaven to send him any new orders. Didn't have to do anything they wanted him to do, could go where he wanted, could spend time with whomever he felt like spending time with, could decide one day to simply buy a little cottage down south, just for the He-...just for the experience. And maybe he would! But tonight, it seemed, was a "feed the ducks" night.

And why shouldn't he? It wasn't...strange. He didn't need to second-guess the sudden incomprehensible need he'd had to stand there, in the middle of the park, lit only by streetlamps as people passed by, tossing out ice-cold bits of vegetable to the birds, as if something had told him he needed to be there. Crowley had been sleeping off the past few days, anyway, had at least had the forethought to warn him ahead of time that he was going to be incommunicado for a little bit to recuperate from the frankly massive amounts of power he'd had to spend the previous week, instead of simply curling up in his massive bed and blocking out the rest of the world for a few decades straight. So it was understandable that the angel might have been feeling a little...bored, now that he had all this time to do whatever he wanted, and nobody to do it with. Not that he blamed him, of course. He had looked to be falling asleep in his seat when they'd last lunched at the Ritz, anyway, and if it weren't for those stunts he'd pulled, Aziraphale wasn't even sure if they would have been able to survive the way they had, so he had earned the rest as far as he was concerned, and it wasn't his fault that Aziraphale just wanted nothing more then to spend every single waking hour of his non-sleep-filled life with him, now that he had the cha-...!

The soft, tickling sensation of a miracle fluttering through the air behind him stilled his hand and his thoughts for a brief moment, before his face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning, and he turned, looking around with unhidden joy. "Crowley!" But no. He didn't see that familiar shock of fiery-red hair, the unmistakable silhouette of the demon as he swaggered up on legs that moved as if they weren't even connected to his hips. His smile wilted in confusion as he glanced around, barely giving the nearby form on Their Bench a second glance before he reached out with his angelic senses, feeling around for the source of the magic.

Oh, but there. The man he'd at first overlooked, who now that he focused on him seemed to be looking around in a fit of shock as faintly alarmed noises rippled through the air from somewhere vaguely around his jet-black hair. For a moment, the world felt as if it had shifted awkwardly, a half step to the left of where it should have been, and Aziraphale blinked in dumbfounded bewilderment as he stared at the figure with his ethereal set of eyes. There was no denying that soul, he would recognize it anywhere, even if his friend had apparently been given a brand new body.

Regaining his composure, he found himself rushing forward, the demon's obvious state of unrest and his unfamiliar physical manifestation immediately sending a jolt of worry through him.

"Crowley, what's happened to you? Were you discorp-who is that?!" Now that he was close enough to see it in the lamplight, the source of those distressed noises made his feathers ruffle in the ether, his wings mantling behind his shoulders where only another celestial would have been able to see them, a defensive sort of stance as he stared at the small lizard resting on top of his head. "What's the meaning of this? Decided that if you couldn't kill him, you would...would..." He huffed, confused, gesturing at the form in front of him even as he snapped out in indignation at the reptile who was hitching a ride on his best friend's head. But no. There seemed to be nothing but Crowley in front of him, no other demon's soul emanating from the tiny scaled form. Just Crowley, looking - at least to someone who knew how to read his mannerisms as well as Aziraphale did - very shocked, in a new body, and with an equally shocked passenger that seemed to be a part of him.

"No...no, I'm sorry, my dear. I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? It's alright, settle down, you're safe. Now, what's happened?" Because the last thing he needed right now was for Crowley to let that shock get the better of him. He could be flighty and impulsive when he felt like he was cornered. And Aziraphale suspected "cornered" was as understatement, if something severe enough had happened to have forced him into his current state.

He'd overlooked the slightly frumpy, pale being feeding the ducks in the lamplight. His mind was a million places at once, after all. He knew where he was, there was life teeming all around him. The sterile, barren place he'd been was nothing more than a memory, he hoped. And he knew his angel had to be out there in the world.

But when the pale (read: bright, he was squinting even under his sunglasses) being rushed over to him and started barraging him with worried questions... Well it didn't take long for him to realize just who it was in front of him. Aziraphale! He could not believe his good fortune at finding the one being he wanted to see more than anything in the universe. It didn't matter that he looked different, his aura was unmistakable. There was no one this being before him could be except the angel.

His cracked lips parted slightly as he looked up at the holy creature taking him in, a sight for literal sore eyes. And.... Words just couldn't come to him. All his hopes, all his loneliness, all his regrets came crashing down on him and he nearly broke in that moment. Could this truly be? His brow twitched with the waves of conflicting emotions roiling through him.

For his part, Crowley looked like he'd been through the ringer. His suit was frayed and tattered around the edges, his sunglasses were scratched, he had scuffs about his paler than usual skin, and his dark hair was unkempt. He'd never looked so rough even after a trip down to Hell.

And then of course, was the small (yet full sized) gecko sticking to the demon's sunglasses. She looked dull and dirty, but it was unmistakable that her scales were bright underneath, greens and reds and yellows and blues. And she was looking right at Aziraphale with her yellow (almost golden), slit-pupiled eyes that looked exactly like Crowley's (but in a Gecko's face).

It was, of course, Antia who spoke first. Crowley couldn't. He wanted to say everything, but his breath was trapped in his throat. "Aziraphale?" Even her voice, still a touch raspy from the time she'd remained silent, wavered with Crowley's rough emotions. "Aziraphale I can't believe it's you. I can't believe this is real."

Her eyes watered before she dipped her little head to wipe the excess liquid with her foot. Odd though as geckos don't... shouldn't have tear ducts. But here was this small gecko very clearly crying tears of relief and joy and sorrow.

Crowley finally found it in him to move at the sound of Antia's voice. It wasn't much, but he carefully lifted a trembling hand to reach for the angel's own. Maybe, he thought, maybe if I can feel him I'll know this isn't a delusion.

Crowley didn't immediately respond, at least not verbally. And the longer the silence lingered, the more he saw the demon's emotions war for dominance on his face, the more concerned he became. Trying to look at him more closely through the lens of the ether did little good. Where normally he would have expected to see an aura that shone in varying amounts of irritation, mischief, boredom, contentment, anxiety, and something that a more instinctual part of him wanted to reach out to respond to but his conscious mind had trouble reconciling, now all he could sense was pain, like a deep void where his friend's vibrant spirit should be, that rippled around the edges the longer he looked with fear and expectation and bright but fragile flickers of happiness that burned with that same familiar-but-inexplicable emotion his mind told him he shouldn't name because it couldn't be what it appeared to be.

It wasn't something that the two of them did; looking at each other like that, the way they might have had they met in Heaven, before the war, when Angelkind was so much more open and joyful with their emotions with one another. But he had never seen Crowley in such a state, and even knowing on a conscious level that they were supposed to be free of their former superiors did little to quell the underlying instinctual paranoia. So he certainly hoped the demon would forgive him any impropriety in opening his senses to him like that, seeking out what could be seen of his true form where it sat compressed into a frail human body.

When an answer finally did come, from that small lizard and not from Crowley himself, speaking in a voice that did and did not sound like him at the same time, when he saw the way the small creature wiped at the tears that pooled in its eyes and Crowley's hand lifted to reach for him as if he were terrified he disappear, the weight of just how wrong things felt finally sank in. He only had to reach out his hand for a brief instant before Aziraphale took it in his own, sitting on the bench next to him, on their proper sides, before looking up and around them, reaching out just enough attention to feel for any celestial interference before dropping an invisible wall around them. The humans wouldn't see, the humans wouldn't even know they were there, and it left him free to manifest his wings in the Earthly realm, arching one around Crowley's back as he leaned in close, closer then would have been normal for the two of them to sit, the other wing shielding them from the front and giving them a small, secluded bubble of shelter as he rubbed that hand between both of his.

"Of course it's me, Crowley. I'm here, I haven't gone anywhere." He wanted to pull those sunglasses off so that he could look him properly in the eyes, but the tiny creature seemed quite settled there, and he didn't know why it was speaking for him, or therefore what he might do if Aziraphale tried to pull it away. The state of his clothes, the disarray and dirt and filth that seemed to cover him, not to mention the fact that he was wearing something so different from the style he'd become so fond of for the past couple of decades - longer then even his usually mercurial fashion tastes - made everything about him seem as if Aziraphale had left him asleep for years and not just a week.

The memory came to him, though, as he looked between the lizard and the human-shaped face in front of him, of what it had been like to inhabit a human's body after his own body had been discorporated, and though he wasn't sure exactly how it might have caused the demon to not only need a human vessel but also a tiny lizard through which to talk, he wondered if something similar might have happened to him, and if the process might have not gone so well for the human Crowley had attached himself to. It would certainly explain the body's haggard appearance and half-step-to-the-left clothing.

"Crowley...why are you in another body...? Can you tell me what happened after you went home to your flat last week?" His voice was soft when he asked it, nonjudgmental but obviously worried. Everything he knew about him said that possession wasn't really his cup of tea. Frankly, though, absolutely nothing about this was normal, so he wasn't sure exactly what he hoped for, besides enough information that he would finally know what to do to make it alright.

Well, if this was a dream or a delusion, he would happily remain in it. Aziraphale felt real, felt warm and inviting and almost smotheringly concerned. It was more than Crowley could ever hope to ask for. The angel's hands wrapped around his outstretched, trembling hand and his whole being prickled with relief and the clashing of their opposite energies.

And then the angel was sitting beside him and there was nowhere else the demon ever wanted to be again. His fragile heart skipped a beat when not only did the angel sit beside him, but his precious, beautiful wings manifested only to wrap around him. It was too much for him. Too much good after so long he'd lived in ruins and emptiness. Too much of the angel he'd longed to see. Too much joy after all the sorrow he'd lived in.

And it broke him.

He desperately pulled Aziraphale into his arms, his mind only half registering the words coming out of the angel's mouth. It was just so good to hear his voice, even if it didn't sound quite right. None of that mattered. He held him tightly and finally after so many what he could only imagine were years (perhaps decades, maybe even centuries) alone he allowed himself to break down and sob. His whole frame shook with the force of the existence shattering grief he had done his model best to contain. But now he was safe. Now he had his angel back. Now he could let it go. He could let it all out like he'd needed to for so long.

Antia quickly skittered off Crowley's glasses and onto his head just in time as the sunglasses disappeared for Crowley to bury his face in Aziraphale's shoulder. She looked like she was about to say something, but she decided to remain silent. Crowley needed this. And she knew Aziraphale well enough to know that he would need a moment to process what was happening. Besides, she was having a tough time keeping it together herself.

And there just weren't any words for what was happening.

The moment he found himself engulfed in a suddenly-clinging, sobbing demon almost felt as if his entire brain had decided to shut itself completely off. What? Why-what? But-...huh??? Any further questions he had died before they could even come out of his mouth, and it was a very long, stupefied moment before he was able to shift his arms around enough to wrap them around Crowley's shoulders and hold him as he lost any of the composure he'd barely been hanging onto just moments before.

Never, not once, in his entire 6,000 years of knowing the demon had he ever seen him reduced to such a state, and he didn't know what to do with it. Oh, sure, Crowley could be emotionally prickly - surly, upset, morose, angry, and in a small number of very notable occasions upset enough that he got himself so absolutely pissed that he didn't come out of it for weeks - but never had he so openly let himself lose control, not like this. It was terrifying, and if he were being completely honest with himself, the sound of his sobbing was enough to bring Aziraphale close to tears, himself, even as he did his best to fight it back. He didn't need to lose his cool right now, not when Crowley needed him to be there. But he was finding it very, very hard.

When he felt him burying his face in his shoulder, he let one of his hands reach up to cup the back of his head, gently stroking through his hair as he settled into a slow sway, shushing him softly. The sight of that strange little lizard sitting on top of his head became something of a focal point, though it was difficult to make his eyes focus on it at that distance. What was he supposed to do? How could he have missed whatever it was that had caused whatever was happening, when only days before they had been seemingly celebrating their victory and their freedom over what had been an almost certain destruction?

They were supposed to have been safe! He'd tried so hard to put the fear of...of someone into the forces of Hell and even Michael themself, tried to prove to them that hurting Crowley would have been asking for their own quick demise! Had they found out? Decided to enact some form of non-permanent punishment on him, anyway? Time didn't exactly work the same way for Above and Below the way it did on Earth. Maybe they had trapped him in some pocket reality after they'd parted ways. Maybe they'd used his power over time against him. But how? And what could they have possibly done that would have put him in such a horrible state?

Slowly, as the shock settled and he resigned himself to sitting there with him for as long as he needed, the briefest of memories flickered through his thoughts, compounding on the shock of that Not-Quite-Crowley's-Voice that had warbled out at him from the lizard. 'Aziraphale I can't believe it's you. I can't believe this is real' and 'Lost my best friend' flitted about his head. Oh, he'd barely given that statement a chance to process before, distracted as he'd been with finding a body and the fear of the impending destruction of everything they'd known. And by the time the dust had settled, it had been almost completely forgotten, just one little, confusing detail in a great big mountain of other confusing, emotional details.

Oh, he felt like such a prat. Why hadn't he paid more attention? He'd known their fighting had upset Crowley at the time, he had never seen him more frantic or panicked then when he'd been as he screeched to a halt in front of the bookshop and begged him to run away for a second time. And he had refused, even knowing how to read him well enough to see how those refusals, that denial that their relationship had meant anything to him, had hurt him deeply. That had been the point of it, after all. He hadn't even known if he would be able to succeed, and time had been so short. He would never have been able to live with himself if he'd just abandoned the Earth to it's fate without doing everything he could, even if it meant he was caught in the end times himself, but he hadn't wanted Crowley's death on his shoulders, either. If he had been the only reason the demon had been staying, the he had decided to take himself out of that equation, cut the ties Crowley hadn't been able to cut himself, and let him go where he would be safe.

But it hadn't worked, had it? He may not have been able to see him when he found his presence as he flitted about the Earth without a body, but he'd heard enough in his voice to know that there was indeed a great deal of hurt. He'd carelessly ignored the implications of what that meant at the time, had let him go off on his own after everything had been said and done, foolishly thinking that whatever harms had been done must have surely been relieved, and now look at him. It was impossible not to wonder if he was somehow responsible, at least in some part, for what had brought him to the state he was in now.

Still, speculation would get him nowhere, and until Crowley was ready or able to explain, the best he could do was be there when he very obviously needed him, and apparently him in particular.

He rested his cheek against the top of his head, his comforting susserations quietly changing to a gentle, tuneless humming, and he reached out ever so gently with his grace, afraid of hurting him - he had never tried to comfort a demon this way, but it seemed to work so well for humans when they needed a more holy sort of comfort - simply wanting to let him feel the presence of his true form, know he was there even if he wasn't looking at him, hoping to at least chase out some of that dark, painful void that had encompassed his dearest friend. Oh, he so desperately hoped that their energies weren't so opposed on such an essential level that it would cause him harm, but it was all he could think to do to pull him out of such a broken state.

He didn't know how long he'd been alone with himself, but the angel's presence was indeed comforting, easing his pain, reminding him that this seemed very, very real. The angel's grace was at once both warm and enveloping and prickling at is dark nature. It stung, but oddly that was even more reassuring.

Slowly his sobs died down. Slowly he started to regain himself. The soft touches and warmth of the angel's body soothed his aching heart enough that he was finally able to find his words. Well, some of them.

He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed from the dryness of his throat. He swallowed and tried again, this time finally able to find his shaky, rough voice. If he didn't know that the sounds were coming from his own throat, he wouldn't have recognized his own voice.

"Aziraphale... I... I'm so sorry..."

Antia patted Crowley's hair gently. She knew there was nothing she could do to help him, after all what kind of help can you give yourself when the one being that could actually help was right there. If only Elisha was there for her to burrow among her feathers and feel at peace herself. She paused, her little gecko brow furrowing slightly as the popped her head up and looked around for the sooty albatross that was Aziraphale's daemon. To her surprise, Elisha was nowhere to be seen. Not in one of the nearby trees, not swimming in the nearby water with the ducks, not anywhere on Aziraphale's person. Something was desperately wrong here.

She gave Aziraphale a stern look. "Where's Elisha?"

It was a relief, when Crowley's sobbing finally began to still, and the sound of his voice - even rough and unfamiliar as that particular voice was - made him let out a soft sigh. It didn't even take a second thought for him to pull a bottle of water out of the ether, an actual modern plastic bottle at that, and he held it out to him as the hand in his hair lowered to rub soothing circles against his back, where his wings should have been if he'd pulled them out.

"Don't be silly, dear boy, what could you possibly have to apologize for?" Not that the apology itself did anything to help ease his worries. Crowley did not apologize, at least not in words. He showed it in actions, perhaps, offered symbolic olive branches when he knew he'd overstepped some boundary. Short of that panicked attempt at coercing him into his Bentley to run away, or the hushed whispers of sympathy he'd made when he'd had to tell him the bookshop had burned down, he couldn't think of any other time he'd heard those words leave his mouth, regardless of the voice he spoke them in.

Movement caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced up at the colorful little lizard as it patted the top of Crowley's head. And then turned to look around them, frantically searching for what he didn't know, and then leveling a look and a quirk of scales that he was sure an Earthly lizard wouldn't have been able to manage just above its eyes that made him feel like he was being scolded for something. He shook his head in bewilderment, transfixed for just a moment by what was undeniably a look he'd seen in Crowley's eyes more times then he could count but on a tiny lizard's face, his mouth gaping and working silently as he tried to parse out just who exactly "Elisha" was and what to make of the little creature. He could only deal with so many things at once, so her presence had gone somewhat ignored while he tried to calm down his friend, but now that things were beginning to settle, he was back to square one in terms of questions he had about the fact that the number of reptiles he was usually accustomed to dealing with had now doubled.

Had the other demons' animal companions ever gained the ability to speak on their own? For that matter, if Crowley was now saddled with an external manifestation of his serpentine nature, why wasn't the creature a snake? If there had been a coiling pile of red and black scales hissing out admonishments at him from on top of his head, he probably wouldn't have had any trouble reconciling her existence. This was just strange.

"I really sorry, but I don't have any idea who you're talking about. I think both-er...the...uh...all of us have a great number of questions that need answering." And then he was pulling his gaze away from the lizard and down to focus on Crowley again, twisting to try and catch his gaze so that he could speak to him properly. Not to force him out of the hiding space he'd found in his shoulder, no, but to simply judge his reactions and appease his own worries that he was feeling a little less fragile. And perhaps to let himself grow accustomed to this new face. It wasn't bad, certainly not. Simply new, especially given that he was unable to look past it and see the familiar face of his true form underneath it, which meant, somehow, this was him. No more red hair or those faint freckles that he'd memorized purely by way of seeing them so many times over the millennia, and not even that delicate, spiraling mark near his ear that branded him for who he was.

Well, that was fine. He had learned to get used to his ever-changing fashions and ridiculous hairstyles over the years, and he'd rolled with his different names as he'd settled into them easily enough. This would be no different. Crowley was Crowley, that was all that mattered to him.

"Why don't we head back to the shop? I suspect being somewhere less open might be more comfortable, and we can sort this all out when we're there."

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..."

He couldn't help but feel as though he were being looked at through the same kind of lens that he was seeing Crowley through, as if the demon were cataloging and memorizing things that he did and didn't recognize, and it left a little thought niggling in the back of his brain, like a thought he couldn't quite grasp onto that seemed very important nonetheless. He found himself needing, on top of a very strong drink - though he thought perhaps alcohol wasn't exactly the best choice, given Crowley's current state, though he suspected he would want it regardless - to root through the shop and drag down any number of books that would hopefully have answers to questions that still didn't know they wanted to be asked. One step at a time, Aziraphale.

The indignant sputtering and postured hissing the little lizard gave from that mop of dirty hair made him forget for a moment just how tense the situation was, and he couldn't stop the unimpressed look he gave her, his lips pursing with subtle amusement.

"Just so you're aware, I've spent the past 6,000 years getting used to you-uh-his-er..." Lord, it was so hard to get over the feeling that talking to-...her? was just talking to Crowley in roundabout ways. "Literal hissy fits. I think you'll find tha-oh." He bit his tongue, his cheeks turning faintly red as he caught himself, ashamed for having poked fun at Crowley's nature when he wasn't himself. It wasn't the type of joke that would have landed well under most circumstances, would have made him irritable unless they were in a particularly spirited, playful bout of verbal sparring. He shook his head, casting his eyes away as he let Crowley put distance between them. "I'm sorry, my dear. That was unkind of me, wasn't it? Do forgive me."

He watched as Crowley unfolded from around him, somewhat unsettled by the knowledge that walking home would require enough distance between them to maneuver the streets. He didn't want to remove the comfort he had been giving, so even as he pulled back himself, shifted to stand, he kept his wings manifested and arching close, the arm that had been on his back hovering near his shoulder in a gesture meant to invite him to literally walk underneath his wing, should he still want the shelter and comfort he'd been giving.

And then, as he waited for him to stand, looking at the state of his clothes and hair and the layers upon layers of dirt and grime that covered him, he snapped a quick miracle with his other hand, removing the filth form his person and tidying and repairing what he could of his outfit, even from the scales of his tiny, persnickety partner. And then, hoping to draw out more of the Crowley he knew, he reached behind his ear, another quick miracle bringing one of the multitudinous pairs of sunglasses that had been left at the bookshop over the years from the ether and bringing them around to hold out to him like a sleight-of-hand coin with a small, playful smile.

"Tada. Consider it recompense for the paint on my coat." At the very least, being clean and less unkempt would probably help to make him feel more like himself. Crowley may have teased Aziraphale for his own fussiness, but he knew he was just as particular about his appearance, maybe even more-so in some ways.

Antia was not about to take that little jab lightly. She was already on edge with this clearly fake Aziraphale not even knowing Elisha or having the decency to pretend. She hissed again and snapped at the wind as it drew close. Not that even that would be enough to cause harm.

"How dare you, you-you-you imposter!" Snap. "Go away before you hurt us again!" Snap. "Not that it was exactly your fault since you can't be Aziraphale and it wasn't his fault either." Snap. "But We've been through enough that I'm not letting him be fooled by whoever you are!"

Crowley heard what Antia was squeaking at the top of her tiny lungs, but he frankly didn't care at this point. He didn't have the wherewithal to think too deeply about what she was saying. Not when Aziraphale was here and warm and real and present and alive. He got up gingerly as that release of emotion had rather drained him.

He would have appreciated the gesture more, had Aziraphale not tried to pull off the sleight-of-hand magic. Even with as tired and emotional as he was, he could not help the visceral embarrassment that crossed his face. The sunglasses weren't exactly his style (he tended to wear Ray-bans a lot), but he could get behind them.

He started to take the sunglasses when everything in his being gave way to anxiety with Aziraphale's comment. Paint on his coat meant... Tadfield... When was he dropped? Was the apocalypse impending? Maybe they had time to get away. It would be tetter to be labeled a deserter than a traitor, right?

"A-Angel... Let'sss get out of here."

That little snap drew little more then a bemused gaze from the angel, one of his eyebrows lifting as he watched her seething and snarling in her little lizardy voice. But throughout her ranting, he refrained form speaking, because the words that were coming out of her snapping jaw were telling, and upsetting, and his expression softened. Her sudden ire was, if not strange, certainly something he could respect, given that it seemed to come from a place of concern for the demon. Lord knew, there were countless times in the past when he had wished there were someone who could be a...well, "guardian angel" for Crowley, for all those times when he was on his own and things weren't going his way, when Aziraphale couldn't keep an eye on him himself.

He tried to take some kind of comfort out of that familiar embarrassed reaction, but the implications of what she was saying - that he had been the one to cause Crowley this pain, that he was the reason for whatever had happened to him - had made him feel as if his stomach had dropped right into his feet, and when he saw the way he hesitated as he reached for his sunglasses and heard that frantic, hissed plea, his face fell before he could hide it as a horrible sense of deja vu overcame him.

"Oh Crowley." This wasn't just an invitation to go get dinner. He'd heard that same desperation from him before, and to think that whatever he was feeling was sending him back full circle to the inescapable need to run away he'd had a week before was viscerally painful. He couldn't even reassure him that he was safe, the way he wanted to, because he didn't know what had happened between the last time they'd parted ways and now to have put him in this state. "Let's just go to the bookshop, I won't let anything happen to you there. Whatever's going on, I promise, the last thing I want is to hurt you."

Everything he was learning was only in snips and pieces, and without the full picture, it was just familiar enough that he could almost understand what the lizard meant when she accused Aziraphale of hurting him. Because he had, hadn't he? But there was so much more to what was going on that he didn't know, and it felt like something so much bigger then simply the lingering hurt from being rejected when Crowley had needed him the most.

He rested his hand gently on his shoulder, wrapping his arm around his back to hold him close, but doing his best to angle his wing just a little farther away, allow just enough distance between them that his tiny, protective passenger wouldn't feel quite so cornered and that Crowley would be able to pull away if he did something wrong.

"Would it make you feel better if I used a miracle to take us home more quickly?" The last thing he wanted was to just act on the urge he had to snap his fingers and take them to the bookshop in the blink of an eye, only to cause his friend's very strong flight reactions to kick in when he didn't expect the sudden change. He didn't care how large of a miracle it was, not anymore. Heaven and their bookkeeping could take his frequent miracles and stew on them for all he cared. But it would be counterproductive, to try and take him to a place he hoped he would feel safe, only to have it send him running instead.

He didn't mean just going back to the bookshop, though the thought was mighty tempting. No, he wanted to get them as far away from everything as he could. He had to protect Aziraphale this time. He had to be safe. He couldn't let him become yet another casualty to this pointless war.

He gripped both of the angel's arms, a manic look in his wide eyes. He had to get through to him. He had to be understood. This was no time to just go back to the shop like nothing was about to happen.

"Asssziraphale, we need to leave. The war isss about to happen and there's nothing we can do to ssstop it. They're going to kill you. I can't let that happen again. I can't let that bassstard Michael..." He couldn't bring himself to finish that last sentence. But if Aziraphale didn't understand with what he did say, he wasn't sure what more he could say to convince him.

Antia had the decency to stop her own tirade as Crowley spoke, not needing her for once to voice his own anxieties. Except he was harping on the wrong thing as far as she was concerned. She kept her eyes trained on Aziraphale, glaring daggers at him and just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

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.

Nothing Aziraphale was saying made sense to him. He slowly shook his head as the angel spoke as his description of events started getting more and more off from what he'd lived through.

"No... No, no... That-- That'sss not what happened..."

Suddenly what Antia had said, that Aziraphale was an impostor hit him like a ton of bricks. That niggling little feeling he'd felt and ignored that this wasn't real or right or... Well, somehow Antia was right. He let go of the being before him and tried to withdraw from him. This being before him felt unmistakably like Aziraphale, but how could he get the events of the apocalypse so horribly wrong? It didn't make sense.

Because the boy failed. He'd tried to stop it with them, yes. But everything had just gone too far and all the forces of Good and Evil would not be assuaged by one paltry little anichrist and two bumbling fools off an angel and demon. Sure they'd had a momentary reprieve, but that didn't last. They lost. And he lost the only thing that really mattered to him. And everything else he cared about to boot.

He trembled with the weight of his past and the weight of his present, not even really able to pull away from the fake Aziraphale's gentle grip. The pleading in his voice and the clear worry he was exuding gave him pause. It was enough that, even though his mind was screaming about how wrong this was, he took a breath and shakily spoke.

"The War wasn't ssstopped, Angel. The boy couldn't convince his old man to back down. Beelzebub and the Metatron went back to their armies and war broke out between them. We..." He paused, not wanting to think about their first narrow escape any more than he wanted to give voice to the rest. "We fled, barely. We had to regroup and try and convinccce them to a peace negotiation. People were dying, the world was being destroyed."

It somehow got easier to talk as he went on, despite the lump growing in his throat. "It wasss a missstake. They used it jussst to ambush usss." He swallowed hard and the lump didn't go away. "They wanted nothing but to kill the traitors and then move on back to their fighting. Michael, he... He ran you through with a flaming sssword the moment you had your back turned to him."

His facial muscles quivered, unable to settle on an expression. The guilt he'd held onto for so long was eating him from the inside. "I... I couldn't ssstop them. I ssshould have taken you and run far, far away..."

Not that anywhere was truly safe. Everything was destroyed. And he was left on a lifeless husk of a planet without even a star to warm it or distantly sparkle. And still somehow the vast oceans of blood didn't freeze or coagulate. They just existed, reminding him that everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

"It'sss my fault. It'sss all my fault."

One of the most important things to know how to do, at least when dealing with humans and their fragile emotional states, was to just turn off his mouth and listen when someone was in a very bad place. He didn't use it very often; Aziraphale had stopped dealing very much in the direct lives of humans a long time ago, unless he absolutely had to. But it was still something he could do when he needed to, practically came with the whole "protecting" thing.

So, though Crowley wasn't a human, and was so much more resilient then humans and their delicate minds, that was what he did. Even as his obvious panic and the pain that he could practically sense coming off of him in waves made his heart feel as if it wanted to just take a vacation for a week - in fact, yes, he thought perhaps it had decided to do just that, thank the Lord that it wasn't exactly needed - and made tears burn at the edges of his vision. He let him pull away, fighting the way he wanted to just pull him against his chest and tell him he was going to be ok, his wing still reaching out to shield him but lifting away just enough that he had more room if he needed it.

And he was silent, even as the reality Crowley had seen clashed with the one in his own memories and ran headlong into the increasingly-believable theory that had blossomed into life in his mind. If he had seen a world where the war was merely postponed and not stopped, where Heaven and Hell went to battle despite them all and succeeded in their misguided hatred and desire to destroy everything She had created, then could that happen again? How much time did they have? When did the War start again? He was terrified, beginning to fight not only his need to reassure the demon that everything was fine without having the full picture but also the sense of panic he was feeling in himself. And what was his first instinct when things went south?

Call Crowley.

He couldn't. Crowley was in front of him. But this wasn't the Crowley he'd left a week ago, even if he had the same soul. Whether changed by time or by reality itself, he was a different demon, and Aziraphale's hands flexed in anxiety as he mentally stamped down the urge to rush to the bookshop and ring Crowley's flat. Perhaps, if what this Crowley was saying was true, they were on borrowed time, but that would still have to wait. He wasn't just going to abandon him here in the park on his own, when he very obviously wasn't alright.

But then Crowley was laying the weight of everything that had happened on his own shoulders, and Aziraphale couldn't fight the need to comfort any longer, and he reached out again, tutting as he put a hand on his back, shifted again, broadcasting what he was about to do with his posture before he was pulling him into a hug. Blinking away tears that had decided they were going to rebel against him the way his heart had and finally roll down his face. This, it seemed, was a line too far for him to handle.

"Oh, no, Crowley, no. I don't care what happened, none of it was your fault. You were the one who wanted to stop the whole thing! I...If you hadn't been here, I never would have..." He huffed to himself gently, his own self-doubts rearing their heads, reminding him of how much he'd fought against the whole plan, how he'd forced Crowley to twist his arm into even trying in the first place. How he'd fought him on it even until the last minute, even then. "I never would have taken my head out of my own arse and realized what a fool I'd been. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. I won't have you blaming yourself."

He rubbed his back, his other hand reaching up to hold the back of his neck as he poured as much love and reassurance as he dared out through his grace, the demon's earlier acceptance of it assuring him that it wouldn't cause him any undue harm. At the same time, he had never felt the need to give in to Crowley's insistence that he "get with the times" and at least buy a mobile phone more then he did right that moment. Alright. First things first, he would get this entire mess sorted, and then he would let Crowley take him to that..."Eye-Apple" store everyone seemed to get all their fancy gadgets from and show him which one of those little idiot boxes was a mobile.

The angel's words struck ineffectively against Crowley's pain. Of course Aziraphale wouldn't blame him. Of course he would try and shift the blame onto himself when none of this could ever be his fault.

Fortunately, he thought, telling Aziraphale about what happened, even though he should already know, helped him calm some and distance himself from his own pain if only for a moment. He felt numb again and it was a relief after letting all that out moments before.

He didn't feel Aziraphale move at first, so when the angel pulled into an all-enveloping embrace and radiant grace the demon tensed. It wasn't until he realized what was happening moments later that he sank into him, allowing the angel to move him however he wanted. It felt good to be held by the one being, however wrong he was, like this. He'd never touched Aziraphale this much, after all, never held him close. They'd had all the time in the world and somehow it wasn't enough time to even get beyond admitting they were friends. Out loud.

But his long solitude with himself had given him more than enough time to reflect on his feelings for the angel, feelings that had no possibility of being reciprocated considering. He realized long ago that he felt more for Aziraphale than he could ever let on. Since well before the arrangement, perhaps even as far back as Eden there were tiny embers of love that he had to keep hidden from both himself and the outside world. Demons didn't do love, after all. But he was once an angel and he remembered how it felt to be made of and surrounded by love. And secretly he missed it. All in all, though he was repeatedly decorated, he was a terrible demon. It wasn't that he wanted to be an angel again or anything like that, but he cared far, far too much. For Earth, for People, for Aziraphale...

And try as Antia might, it wasn't enough to get him to openly admit his feelings to the angel. His own stupid pride, fear of what heaven and hell would do to them, uncertainty of Aziraphale's own feelings, whatever it was something held him back from truly expressing himself. But what did any of that matter now? Aziraphale was both dead and yet also alive and well and rubbing his back as he held him, it seemed.

The rapid fire changes in his life were suddenly overwhelming. He clutched onto the angel holding him again, suddenly feeling very aware just how in public they were. It didn't matter that it was the middle of the night and Aziraphale was forcing humans to redirect their gaze from them. He wanted away, somewhere safe and private. "Angel, please... Take me back... Back to the bookshop." Because despite the fact that he never lived there, he felt the most safe there. "Now."

He let the silence last as long as it needed to, let Crowley cling to him as much as he wanted as the emotionally raw moment passed him by and left him too exhausted to argue. Even that, in and of itself, was something of a worry. Crowley never stopped talking, he always had something to say, some argument to make, some questions to ask, and it was one of the reasons Aziraphale enjoyed his company so much. His wit, while often vexing for the angel, was also always amusing.

He rocked them gently as the seconds dragged on, soothing as he held tightly to him and rubbed his hands up and down his back, pressed his hands against the ephemeral place where his wings would have been and stroked his thumbs across his shoulder blades reassuringly. No, he wasn't often this physically expressive with the demon, but it wasn't that it was against his own nature. In some ways, it was quite the opposite, but had been another aspect of his self that had been quashed underneath the harsh, rigid need to conform to Heaven's ideals for so very long. And if any time were a good time to kick off that cruel social stigma, now seemed to certainly be it.

And then, finally, Crowley was asking to be taken home - at least to one of their homes, and he would have been lying if he'd said he hadn't noticed how comfortable he had always seemed to be in Aziraphale's bookshop, how he had always seemed to turn up there when he needed a friend, even if he couldn't admit to it - and Aziraphale gave a sigh, some of his own tension melting away as he nodded and pulled away just enough to broadcast that he was about to act.

"Very well, dear boy. Just a quick miracle now and we'll be home, safe and sound."

There was a snap of fingers behind Crowley's back, and in an instant, they were in the small nook behind the register in the shop, the old, beaten-up settee just behind Crowley's legs where he could settle into his favorite place once they shifted apart. The fireplace in the corner roared to life as Aziraphale moved, looking around the building at their surroundings as if wanting to make sure there was nothing out of place, and with a thought, the deadbolt was bolted, the kettle in the kitchenette was set to boil, and an old afghan appeared in his hands before he wrapped it around Crowley's shoulders and bundled him up against the cold.

The snake hated the cold, always seemed most comfortable and content when the bookshop was kept nice and warm, and at that very moment, the best thing Aziraphale could think of was to make sure the place was in exactly the condition that would make him feel most safe and secure and relaxed.

"There we are, nice and cozy. No one will be able to reach us here, I promise. Now just make yourself at home, while I get you something to drink, alright?"

At the very least, maybe a bit of that scotch he had squared away for a rainy day would help settle both of their nerves, while Aziraphale considered what his next course of action would be.

The bookshop was thankfully the same as he remembered it. It was cozy and warm and he felt safe. He started to relax, if only a bit. It certainly helped that Aziraphale was doing everything he could to make him cozy. And the promise of something to drink was more than tempting. He nodded silently as he curled up under the blanket.

As Aziraphale left his sight to get whatever he was going to get, he couldn't help but start feeling anxious again. Antia moved from her perch on the top of his head to be able to give him some gentle forehead pats. Crowley felt absolutely drained. He'd been on such an emotional roller coaster for so many years at this point, coming to a head with arriving here, wherever here really was. He decided that if he actually had died back in that dead world he had come from, then this was as good of an afterlife as he could dream of. Not that there really was an afterlife for demons or angels.

"I wish any of this made sense, Crowley. But... Maybe we managed to earn something nice." In spite of herself and her earlier rage, she wanted this to be good and real and wonderful for him. He would never admit it to himself, but he deserved good things. And everything he'd been through had more than certainly earned him this break. Assuming it was real and good and wouldn't get ripped away from him.

The demon curled up tighter under the cozy blankets and looked back toward the little kitchenette Aziraphale had disappeared off to. He hoped he would be back sooner rather than later so he wouldn't be left to stew in his own, exhausted thoughts.

He left Crowley to get comfortable, bustling about the kitchenette in a ball of anxious energy. Putting the decanter and brandy glasses on the tea tray with a couple of mugs and the teapot and sugar bowl before bringing them all to sit on the coffee table in front of him. He could hear the small reptile cooing and reassuring him as he neared, the words sending another small spike of pain through his chest. Simply the mere thought that he had to "earn" safety and freedom from emotional turmoil was too much, far, far too much.

"Here you are. Drink your fill, my dear. I know you don't normally take milk with your tea when you drink it, but if you change your mind, let me know and I can find you some." He straightened, fidgeting for just a moment as he tried to decide what his next course of action should be, and then...and then he smiled, false brightness as he glanced at the phone on the counter. "I know! I can order take away for you! What do you say to something from that Thai place around the corner? Oh, I hope they aren't closed for the evening!"

He darted over before Crowley could even answer, lifting the receiver off of the hook and dialing a familiar number.

It rang once, twice, three times before he began tapping trembling fingers against the counter, and then one more ring just for good measure before the sound of the line being picked up cut it off short. There was the sound of rustling, fabric jostling and an irritable groan, before the sound of a beloved, tetchy voice croaked out through the line.

"Mmnnnghwhat?" He froze, every muscle in his body tightening in shock, and he couldn't manage to react for a very long moment. "...Angel? Please tell me you meant to call...I don't want to have been woken up by you butt-dialing on a rotary-phone. Only you would figure out how to butt-dial on a rotary phone-"

"Oh, dear me, I'm sorry, Crowley, they do appear to be closed, now. I've simply reached their ansaphone, silly me. Ah well, maybe later. We should be fine for now, I suppose. No reason to make any fuss." The groggy voice on the other line barked out in sudden confusion as he slammed the phone back down, and by God, he hoped he'd gotten the hint. At least give him some time to get things settled before he barged in - and oh, he knew he was going to be barging through that door sooner or later, now - and made the fragile situation worse then it already was.

Turning back, he smiled again, trying very hard to hide the sheer, confused panic that he'd managed to cause in himself in one single minute. He should sit down, yes. In his chair, where he always sat. Pour himself a cup of tea, that would help sooth his nerves while he tried to make sense of what was happening, of the traumatized demon and his companion in front of him. Smiled up at them again, clutching his cup tightly in his hands to try and stop his hands from shaking. Either this was a very well-constructed ruse, or something was happening that defied everything he knew about the way Creation worked, and he sincerely did not want to believe that the Crowley in front of him was lying.

"There, now. Settled in? Are you feeling a bit better, my dear?"

Even if Aziraphale was kind of a whirlwind of words and motion, Crowley could tell he was deeply distressed. And he could tell most of that distress was centered around him. And he just didn't know how he felt about that.

Still, he did reach an arm out of the blanket cocoon to grab a cup of tea, much to Antia's chagrin. Yes, good job. Don't consume anything for years and then immediately reach for tea. Probably better than the scotch, but still. Crowley would probably be feeling it later. Bodies weren't meant to starve and then suddenly feast. Not that she would feel it, but she would have to endure his complaining.

The question once Aziraphale finally settled down caught him a bit off guard. He considered it, sipping his tea. "I suppose. This is a lot to take in, you know."

He watched him with his tea cup, his own fingers drumming gently against the outside of his own. He kept an ear perked for any sounds of danger, those inconsolable words the demon had sputtered out earlier still present in the back of his mind - and for the sounds of an unmistakable engine from outside the shop as he calculated the time it took for a normal motor vehicle to drive from Mayfair to Soho in mid-evening traffic, taking into consideration that the owner of said motor vehicle would refused to drive it at a Normal Motor Vehicle speed, and determining that they had probably only a few minutes before things got even more complicated. If the Crowley in the Mayfair flat actually did what he always did, and try and swoop in to save the day like some strange, demonic savior.

"Hm...?" His eyebrows lifted in mild surprise as he realized what had been said before he gave a small smile. "Oh, Y-...yes, it is, rather. At the very least, I feel as if there is a great deal of the story that one or both of us is missing. But..." He drummed his fingers on his tea cup again before taking a drink. Under normal circumstances, he would think that he should word what he was going to say next very carefully, or risk the demon getting surly and huffy in indignation, but given what had transpired in the past half hour, he doubted there would be much of an argument. "Well, perhaps it's best left until you're feeling a bit more like yourself. There's no need to...to stress ourselves too much, for the time being."

Give him time to get over his shock and distress before making him explain at length just what he had been talking about before. It would do neither of them any good to make him tread through such intense emotional wounds again so quickly, and it wasn't as if they would have time to get a full explanation out in the time he suspected they had. Best to let him get comfortable and as at ease as he could before the next shock.

Wait. Should he warn him? That would be a rather rude thing to dump on his lap otherwise, wouldn't it?

Oh, but what if there was some small chance that this was all a ruse, and warning him would put Aziraphale in further danger? Was the demon in front of him-...?

No. No, he couldn't even think it, not with the familiarity of his soul and the very obvious pain he'd been experiencing so recently. He doubted any denizen of Hell would be able to successfully pull off such a convincing facade, could show enough emotional wisdom to know how to express so much pain. None but Crowley, himself, of course.

"Um...I...I feel maybe it's best to inform you, and I don't mean to alarm you, so...so, so..." He put the tea cup down again, shifted forward in his seat to sit up just a bit straighter, fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat. "We may have a visitor very shortly. No one of Heaven, I assure you, I haven't had word with them since that whole debacle. I didn't realize you would be coming by, you see, and I suspect he's already on his way over, so I doubt I could reach him if I tried. Just so you aren't caught off guard, you understand."

Yeah. Sure. That worked. Just...some guy. Some random other person, no reason to worry. He hoped the smile on his face conveyed the reassurances he tried to give.

Now that Aziraphale was back in sight, the demon didn't take his unblinking, uncovered eyes off of him. He'd spent so long with only his memories to sustain him that simply being in his presence was enough to start the healing process. Of course, it would take a lot more than just basking in Aziraphale's Aziraphale-ness to really recover from the trauma he'd experienced, that he knew would take years of hard work and may still never truly leave him, but he did start to feel at least a little bit better.

But...

Aziraphale was nervous about something, that much he could tell. As much as the angel was attempting to appear calm, his nerves were seeping through and it was starting to put Crowley on edge. He sipped his tea, but found it did nothing to soothe the slowly bubbling panic just beneath the surface. He managed to set the teacup down in time before Aziraphale started saying things that really set him on edge.

Someone was coming.

Crowley's heart felt like it was threatening to break out of his rib cage as the panic started to bubble over. He didn't know who was on the way, but Aziraphale was nervous and he... He couldn't take the thought of Aziraphale's life being threatened again. No one would harm the angel as long as he lived.

Disentangling himself from his blanket cocoon, the demon stood up from the sofa. He would protect Aziraphale with everything he had, everything he could use. He looked around for a potential weapon and saw nothing really of use. Maybe a large book?

"Don't worry, Angel. I'll keep you sssafe." No matter what it cost him. He closed his eyes for a moment to reach into himself and manifest his wings, big and white and unkempt with decades of neglect, still spattered and stained with rusty brown spots from when Aziraphale...

He wouldn't let that happen again. He couldn't. Crowley maneuvered himself between Aziraphale and the front door, picking up a heavy book as he went, ready to take on whoever this intruder might be.

To most, the sight of those unblinking, inhuman eyes staring at him like that would have probably been mildly alarming at best, but he had grown so accustomed to the look of them, to the way he just wanted to gaze into them, and to Crowley's unflappable tendency to stare so long ago that at first, he didn't even realize that the demon was beginning to get anxious again. Usually, a Crowley who was giving him his absolutely undivided attention was either contented and calm, or was focused enough on their conversation that he didn't feel the need to avert his gaze, glance about, squirm around, pace the room, and it meant there was a level of calmness that it normally gave the angel.

So he had almost let himself grow complacent in the quiet of the bookshop as he'd prattled on, all until Crowley had suddenly thrown off his blanket, and the pacing and darting glances were back. Different face, foreign at first glance, but still so familiar in his own way. Familiar enough that Aziraphale instantly felt his own anxiety rocket back to the forefront, standing and following after him in a flurry before he found himself sputtering in disbelief.

"Safe? Me? Believe me, Crowley is-..." Er. The last person who would cause him any harm? Right. And also standing right in front of him. "There is no need for that, I'm perfectly safe, I assure you."

And then he was picking up a very old, very large book, and Aziraphale's feather's bristled in the ether as he reached out for the heavy tome.

"I don't know what you're doing with my first-edition Dumas, but p-..." And that was about the time he heard it. Distant, yes. But those older motor vehicles were so very loud, and this one was very distinct. When he really cared to stop and listen for it, he could hear it coming from at least a block away. "Please put it down. Everything is fine. Just calm down!"

Only his own sudden surge of barely-restrained panic probably wasn't helping, nor was the sound of screeching tires outside the front of the shop, the slamming of a thick, metal door, and then the surprise of the bookshop doors slamming open all on their own accord before the familiar redhead had even reached them.

"AZIRAPHALE!"

"Oh, damnit all, here we-"

"AZIRAPHALE! WHAT'S HAPPENING? Who is this who are you and just what is your big idea? Get away from-"

"Crowley, lower your voice, there's no need for that, calm down!"

The newcomer was already advancing, puffing up his chest and hissing low as he glared daggers into the smaller demon through his sunglasses, and Aziraphale did his best to intercept them both, reaching out to stop him as he tried to step between them before there was any violence. Crowley would not hurt him, no, but he had proven more then once that he would do harm if he felt there was no other choice, that Aziraphale was in even danger of simple mild inconvenience, and that was the last thing the angel wanted.

Aziraphale's words barely registered as the sound of an old car (but not as old as his car, thankyouverymuch) rumbled to a halt directly outside the bookshop and the front doors blew open. He hissed and bristled, his blood-stained wings puffing up to look bigger.

Aziraphale started to move toward the stranger and Crowley's panic started to bubble over. He spread out his wing in front of the angel to keep himself between Aziraphale and the threat in the doorway.

"I don't know who you are, but I won't let you hurt him if it's the last thing I do," he growled out, addressing the stranger and glaring right back at him with his yellow, serpentine eyes. He waved the book at him menacingly as if to say he was not afraid to use it to bash his head in to protect Aziraphale.

Because as much as he loathed violence, he really would do anything to anything to protect Aziraphale, no matter his own mental repercussions later. And boy would there be. He was still dealing with the only life he'd ever taken: Ligur. Even after Aziraphale had been killed he had been in such shock he couldn't do anything. Death and violence, while unavoidable, always hit him hard. It was a million times worse for him is he was the one committing the acts.

But none of that would stop him now. Not with Aziraphale threatened.

He was ready to go, muscles ready to spring to action at the slightest provocation. He wouldn't attack first, but he also wouldn't let this intruder get very far if he made any moves. And anyway, he'd have to get through Crowley and his massive wings first.

A number of things happened all at once; First, the sight of those large, blood-stained wings spreading out and ruffling themselves defensively and the sound of the threatening hiss coming from the smaller figure made the redheaded Crowley react in kind, his own wings manifesting in an instant, spreading out and mantling in just as much of a threat display as the brunette's as he hissed back, his serpentine tongue darting out to scent the air.

"Wh-J-I don't-who do you think you are?"

He took a step forward, offended at the thought of another snake, and one who dared to wield one of Aziraphale's books as if it were a weapon after he'd only just managed to get them back clashing with the utter bewilderment that seemed to hit him square in the face at the familiar scent-sense of the demon in front of him. Even under the overwhelming odor of blood, there was something unmistakably recognizable about the smaller man-shaped being, though recognizing one's own scent was a little unusual, when it wasn't coming from ones' self.

And behind the traumatized Crowley, Aziraphale's eyes suddenly registered the appearance of his wings as he shoved it between them, both for the unusual color and for their disgusting, blood-caked state. He gasped, stumbling back a step before reaching forward as if to touch before pulling himself up short.

"Oh, God, Crowley, what happened to your wings??? Where are you hurt, why didn't you say anything?"

So distracted was he by his sudden flash of horror that he didn't see the way the other Crowley's eyes darted up at him at the sound of his name from behind his sunglasses before darting right back to the smaller demon. And then back. Nor did he see the moment of boggled realization as his eyebrows arched up over his sunglasses and almost disappeared right up into his hairline as he looked back and forth between the two of them a good five more times in rapid succession before looking the smaller demon up and down another four times alone.

"Wot???"

His jaw dropped open, tongue flicking repeatedly - scenting, scenting, scenting - and if Aziraphale had been paying attention, he would have recognized the sensation of his demonic presence rippling over the two of them as he made the effort of actually looking past mortal eyes and with his true form in the ether, as he saw the same undeniable soul the angel had seen in the park. He hissed again, though to those who were fluent in the language of snakes - and in such late years on the Earth, there were none so fluent in them as those three beings who now currently occupied the bookshop - the sound was one wordless confusion, shock, the snakely equivalent of someone shouting "What the He-...Heav-...fuck is going on???"

There was even a moment when his wings arched up higher, no longer a threatening defensive display but one of a bird who's flown through an open Bentley window as it barrelled down the highway going over 100mph, impacted with the passenger seat, and found itself along for the ride in a vehicle it neither understood nor even cared to. But then Aziraphale's attention snapped back up to him again, and the sound of his name being barked out in the form of an order managed to shake him out of the momentary stupor as he looked up at the angel.

"Stop standing there and go find me a first-aid kit! I think I had one in the upstairs en-suite, in the small linen closet next to the clawfoot bathtub!" Nevermind the fact that Crowley hadn't ever actually been upstairs in the en-suite until now. But he blinked in response, if not a little dumbly, before tucking his wings behind him and racing up the small spiral staircase on the other side of the room.

Which left Aziraphale downstairs with the other Crowley, whom he finally reached out to gently touch, one hand gingerly pressing against his shoulder as he tried to coax him back down and turn him around. His other hand obviously wanted to settle that blood-stained wing into a relaxed position, hovering as it was just next to the leading edge of the primaries. But he was afraid to touch, until he could see what had caused what must have been an immense amount of damage, if they had been left in such a terrible state, and without leaving the demon even enough energy or ability to care about healing them or grooming them.

"Now, there, my boy, don't give him any mind and let's go sit back down, alright? Let me see how severe the damage is, and we'll get them taken care of, I promise."

To say Crowley was confused would be putting it lightly. He had no idea what was going on, but at least Antia seemed to be picking it up more than him. She climbed down to his ear to whisper, "I think it's safe. Aziraphale seems to trust him. Stand down, Crowley."

At Antia's insistence and the clear lack of tension between Aziraphale and the stranger took the edge off Crowley's stress. After a moment, watching the stranger disappear up the stairs, he carefully set the book down.

He didn't quite understand what Aziraphale was going on about. What damage? What is he saying? He sits as directed, looking at the angel in confusion.

"What are you talking about? Aziraphale, what's going on? Who is that?!"

From upstairs, the muffled sounds of clattering and banging filtered down as Aziraphale fussed and fretted as he followed Crowley back to the sofa, looking relieved that he'd stopped threatening to do violence against his other person but still distressed over the fact that Crowley didn't seem to even notice how severely he must have been hurt.
The only thing to seem to be able to distract him from this fact was the shouted "Angel, there's just more books in here," at which he gave an exasperated roll of his eyes towards the upper floor.

"Behind the 18th century cartography books, my dear!"

"Oh, right..."

At the resumption of the commotion above them, the angel finally seemed to feel comfortable with helping Crowley shift his wings so that they were more relaxed, in a place that he could inspect them for damage, though his hands on the feathers were infinitely delicate and gentle for fear of pushing them in a way that would cause him pain.

"Your wings, Crowley, just look at them! Show me where they're hurt, please, I-..."

He hesitated, his lips pursing now that the question of the other demon's identity had been asked directly, now that he was calm enough to listen. He didn't want to dump too much into his lap with the state he was in, but he knew he couldn't just lie about what was happening, not with the others' presence so impossible to ignore.

"Well, you see...obviously, that's Crowley. When you appeared in the park, I thought you were him. Well, I mean, you are him, obviously, it's not that I think you're not you, of course. I mean to say I thought that Crowley had woken up from the nap he started a few days ago and had finally come looking for me. So you can understand my conf-"

"Aziraphale, you have got to be kidding me, this box is from World War II! If these bandages were alive, they'd be dead already!"

Crowley's fast, heavy footsteps thundering back down the stairway signaled that he had, at last, found the first aid kit, and he was waving it in the air by his head as he charged back down to rejoin them, as loud and thundering as ever. Aziraphale could only sigh.

"It's fine, Crowley. You know I wouldn't let anything in my shop do anything as gauche as succumb to something like a little dry rot, bring them here."

The demon grunted, marching over and holding the old, battered government-issued first aid tin out as he stood just over his shoulder, making no attempts to hide the way he was staring at the bloodied demon in front of them, and his very tiny reptilian friend.

There was something about the way they talked with one another. The warmth and familiarity between Aziraphale and the stranger felt... right. Like they belonged together. A matched set, as it were.

And he was the odd one out. He obviously didn't belong here. His world was broken and dark and nothing but rubble and blood and him and his soul. Neither Aziraphale or the other had a daemon. It was just him and Antia.

But he didn't really have time to think about it as the angel's attention turned to fuss about his wings. And... The feeling of the angel's hands on his wings, no matter how delicate and careful, sent little electric jolts through him. Under normal circumstances he would gently extract himself from the touches, or under good circumstances he would lean into it. But this was different. This was... He didn't really know what this was, but he did know that now was not the time to go mucking about in his plumage.

He jerked his wings away from Aziraphale's touch, more on instinct than anything else, catching sight of the old blood stains. He recognized what, who, they were from immediately and his stomach lurched. That was Azira-- He scrambled away, as if trying to get away from his own wings and managed to wedge himself into a corner of bookshelves, his hands covering his head as if to protect himself from the sight of his angel's blood on his wings.

Antia barely managed to stay on Crowley in his panic. Once he was in place and dipped his head down, she fell off and landed on the floor with a squeak. Her eyes wide, she didn't know what to do. "Cr-- Crowley! It... You're..." She looked back at the angel and the approaching demon helplessly, trembling with the weight and flurry of Crowley's emotions.

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.

Crowley trembled, his whole body shaking with the force of his fluctuating emotions. Seeing the dried blood on his wings brought up the memory, so fresh and clear, despite decades of distance from the actual event.

They'd gone to meet with both sides. Aziraphale had turned his back on the other angels to offer Crowley reasuarances. He was still so certain they were making headway. Before either of them could react, Michael's sword ran straight through Aziraphale, soaking Crowley in the angel' blood. He watched in horror as the life fled from his angel's eyes and Zaphira had disintegrated like she'd never even existed before he fled. He didn't want to just leave him there. It was the last thing he wanted. But he had to live. He had to survive. Aziraphale would have wanted it. Aziraphale would have wanted him to succeed where he had "failed". Not that Crowley thought Aziraphale had failed. Clearly Heaven and its angels had failed Aziraphale. He hadn't once pulled his wings out after that most horrible of days. Hadn't seen the bloody mess that his once pristine wings had become.

That is until Aziraphale, this Aziraphale, had reached for his wings. The sight had caused him so much panic he couldn't even retract his wings. All he could do was duck for cover and tremble.

Aziraphale's soothing energy cut through the panic, wrapping it and him up in warmth and love and everything that shouldn't calm him as a demon. It was everything he'd longed for since The Beginning. Everything he was sure he'd never have again for the last thirty years. Even if this wasn't his Aziraphale, he was still an Aziraphale in a world that seemed like it might be relatively at peace. And he seemed to want him here and safe and... something...

He shook as silent, dry sobs overcame him, his wings sagging to the floor in a jumbled mess of bloodied feathers. A few feathers fell out of their own accord after decades of neglect. Even without the blood his wings were in a worse state than Aziraphale's usually were.

Antia looked up at the tall, ginger demon, a mix of emotions crossing her small gecko face. The gall he had to even suggest touching her! Even if he... Didn't Aziraphale say he's Crowley? Well, that made sense there would be a Crowley if there was an Aziraphale here. They both looked different from their home universe. She stared at him for a very long moment, weighing her options, weighing the danger, weighing their lack of daemons here.

And finally she reached out, touched a foot to Crowley's hand before pulling it back as if afraid he would grasp at her. When nothing happened, she gingerly climbed onto his palm. It was a bit of a thrill! She'd never even touched Aziraphale, let alone anyone else. It was improper! It was dangerous. She'd seen beings who'd lost their daemons and they were essentially husks.

"Y-you better be careful with me. I don't think you fully understand what I am."

She realized moments later that didn't exactly answer his demand. As Crowley, her Crowley, became overwhelmed with emotions again, tears formed in her eyes again. Odd for a creature that shouldn't have tear ducts.

"Fuck, this... You might want to sit down for this." She climbed up his sleeve to perch on his shoulder, sniffling.

The sound of the demon's sobbing was almost enough to make Aziraphale's concern veer off into mild panic, his own anxious nature vibrating inside of him, wanting to fix it, to reach out, hold him until he was calmed, but too afraid to hurt him or scare him any worse then he already was. He stood for a moment, his hands flapping lightly in front of his stomach, as if he could shake the anxiety out of his body through his fingers like some tangible thing, before squeezing the fingers of one hand with the other.

When those unruly wings sagged and draped in a pathetic mess, it was finally too much, and though he still did his best not to touch, he stepped up close enough that if he focused on it enough, he could feel the heat of Crowley's body, close enough that he could drop his voice down lower than a whisper, soft enough that were it not for his demonic hearing, the Crowley behind them wouldn't have been able to hear his words. At the very least, it gave some semblance of privacy.

"Crowley, you're alright. You're safe. Put your wings away, dear boy, I won't touch them again. Please come out of the corner, no one is going to harm you. I won't let them, I promise. You don't have to tell me what's happened if you're not ready, but I would very much like to get you somewhere more comfortable. Is that alright, Crowley?"

Where he was behind them, holding out his hand for the small lizard, the words and the name Aziraphale used for the other demon made it impossible to ignore the unbelievable suspicion that had settled itself into Crowley's brain, and he shook his head, covering his mouth in thoughtful disbelief as the tiny creature climbed up into his hand. He did his best to pretend it wasn't happening, his head twitching to the side with a guttural grunt that wanted to sound nonchalant but sounded much closer to bewildered acknowledgment to trained ears.

"You're demonic, that's all I know." His eyebrows pinched closer together in obvious concern at the sight of the lizard's tears (he may not have known a lot about a lot of animals, but he knew enough about reptiles to know they didn't get tears. He was the exception to the rule, and that was bad enough as it was, thank you very much!) but once she was settled on his shoulder, he shrugged with the other before standing back up and shuffled across the room to the small tea nook and the accompanying liquor cabinet. "Got a better idea, actually. Well. Maybe not an alternative better idea, but an addition. Ngk. Hold on. Just...drinks first, telling after."

Inside the cabinet, he moved bottles around for a few moments before pulling out one of the angel's strongest bottles of scotch, the really good stuff, and reached for a trio of whiskey glasses before closing the cabinet with a bump of his hip and carrying the lot back to the other side of the room. He took a moment to set them on one of the side tables so that he could pour three fingers worth of the amber alcohol. He shuffled over to hold one of them out to Aziraphale, who took it unconsciously before realizing what was in his hand and giving the demon a confused but chastising look and almost seemed about to protest, but Crowley was already shifting around to reach close enough to set a second glass on the shelf just near the other demon's elbow.

"Here. Drink this. Angel's got the good shit."

"No, Crowley, really now, I don't-...is this really...Perhaps that's not the wisest thing right now..."

But he was already walking back to sit next to the table with the bottle, downing his entire drink in one go and pouring another glass and settling in to sip it properly.

"Naw, s'fine. Kid's been through some shit, right? Take it from me, Angel; I were in the state he's in, I'd have gone for the alcohol a long time ago." And with that, he turned his head to look down at the lizard on his shoulder, nodding at her with a jerk of his head. "Now. Alright. I'm sitting. What's going on?"

Which was immediately followed up by him getting a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before holding out the glass in her direction.

"Oh, uh, right...I didn't...shit. You ever had whiskey? Here. Try it. You're not a normal lizard. Should be fine."

Crowley slowly calmed with Aziraphale's warm presence. His Aziraphale was long dead, but this one, this one was alive and well and right here. Right here and trying his best to help him. And he wanted so desperately to allow him to do as much. He wanted to tell him everything. Every last little detail he'd been too stubborn to tell his Aziraphale. But even now he held back. It wasn't fair to this Aziraphale to have all his emotions dumped onto his lap. This Aziraphale wasn't responsible for forgiving him of his regrets. This Aziraphale couldn't change the past. And he wouldn't be the fool to ask him to.

It took him a moment to gather himself together enough to winch in his wings, but he did so, eventually. Well, about in time for the other... Crowley... to set the glass of scotch on the shelf near him. He looked up briefly, his yellow serpentine eyes meeting their reflection in his ginger version's sunglasses, before ducking his head back down to look at the offered glass. Aziraphale was protesting because of course he was. But even Antia knew better than to suggest he not. He took the glass in his trembling hand and looked at it for a long moment before he knocked it back.

He would have agreed it was the good stuff had he taken any time to savor it. As it was, it burned all the way down and warmed him from the inside. The soothing familiarity of the sensation grounded him. brought him back to the present. Held the ghosts of his past at bay if even for a moment. At least long enough for him to turn around and pitch forward against the angel's chest, drinking in his presence and just... Appreciating that he was alive.

Well, that is before he mustered up the courage to say in a raw whisper, "It's not... It's not my blood. It's... It's Aziraphale's."

Antia sniffed and stared at Crowley as he awkwardly offered her the whiskey before shaking her head. "Thanksss, but you should keep it for yourself."

She thought for a long moment, trying to decide just how much she should say. Surely some of it they had already figured out. Some Crowley had already told Aziraphale. Still, she wanted to talk loud enough so that Aziraphale could catch or confirm any details he hadn't yet. She took a long, unnecessary breath and began.

"Crowley we are, for lack of a better way to describe it, your double. We come from a world where every being with a soul manifests that soul outside their body in an animal shape, a daemon. I'm that for Crowley. I'm sure you've already figured it out, but this is why you have to be careful with me. Were something to happen... Were I to be separated, or worse, destroyed... Well, he wouldn't be Crowley anymore. He would be but a husk. A soulless, living corpse. And you don't just go around touching other being's daemons. I'm only granting you this liberty because of who you are and because you just don't know any better."

Crowley's breath hitched and he clung tightly around Aziraphale's waist, knowing full well what Antia was about to talk about. Not that he could, or would, stop her.

"That out of the way, our world had our apocalypse. It was messy. It was brutal. There aren't many on either side left. The Earth was reduced to a lifeless ball of rubble where once there were buildings and blood where bodies of water used to be. The sun was extinguished. Before it got that far, however, we tried to negotiate a truce. We didn't think it would go the way he wanted. We knew something bad would happen. Tried to talk him out of it. Even Zaphira thought it was a bad idea, but he wouldn't even listen to his own daemon. He had to try. Well, sure enough our suspicions were correct. Michael ran Aziraphale through with his flaming sword right in front of us and there was nothing we could do. We knew we had to run and hide and survive as soon as Zaphira faded away."

Antia paused, looking at the Crowley whose shoulder she was perched on. "That was thirty years ago, we think. Bit hard to tell the progression of time with no sun. 'Sss gonna take a bit for us to adjust to there being so much light again." And then she looked over at Aziraphale. "Haven't seen his wings since that day. Bit of a shock the blood's still there."

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.

Antia just watched as the Crowley she was perched on started getting immediately hammered. Not like it really surprised her, honestly. She was letting him in on a lot of heavy information. His protective hand amused her as well as his insistence the table was safer. She looked from his hand to his eye with a deadpan expression and then just opted to scale his face and perch on the top of the frames of his sunglasses.

"Might be, but I'm not made of glass you grade a dingus. I said all that so you would understand why I have to be near him and not treated like a pet, not so you would cover me in bubble wrap. I'm you, in a sense. I can take care of myself! Survived this long without the kid gloves."

She peered down between his sunglasses and his eyebrow to look him directly in the eye with eyes that were far too similar to his own. "I know you better than you know yourself and I know you won't do something so catastrophically stupid as to hurt me knowing what I am. So I need you to trust me to know what I'm doing. I will bite you if you treat me like a fragile object again."

Crowley, for his part, was aware enough to register the gentle kiss on his temple. He wasn't in a place to do anything with that knowledge though his heart fluttered slightly in his chest. The Aziraphale of this world was alive and had his arms around him and in spite of everything, despite himself, he felt... safe. He easily moved at the angel's insistence, shuffling over to the sofa again. He sat down on the sofa, taking the angel with him and curled against his soft, warm body.

"Thank you, Angel..."

Well that was unexpected. Not seeing another nonhuman walking down the street; that actually wasn't super uncommon on Main Street any more. What was unexpected was seeing said nonhuman go from walking along normally to gaping at everything around him like he'd never seen it before in the space of a few seconds. And a few moments later starting to speak in a language she couldn't understand.

While she couldn't understand what he was saying though, one thing was clear; he looked both lost and afraid. And incomprehensible or not, she couldn't just leave the poor guy like that. "Hey," she said as she approached him, "are you alright there?" Whether or not he could understand her, her expression and tone should hopefully get concern across fairly well.

(OOC: This thread is based on the premise of this scenario but in a different game's setting. Just to avoid confusion. X3)

Edited 2020-04-13 07:51 (UTC)

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PSL's Catch-All

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When there is nothing else to lose, does hope die too?

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