PSL's Catch-All

[guardianofeden]

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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[eyesofaserpent]

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."

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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.

[guardianofeden]

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?"

[eyesofaserpent]

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."

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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.

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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.

[guardianofeden]

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."

[eyesofaserpent]

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?!"

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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.

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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.

[guardianofeden]

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."

[eyesofaserpent]

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."

[guardianofeden]

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.

[eyesofaserpent]

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..."