#(also… Added the tears I knew Crowley was holding back...... I really think a lot about this scene.....going insane..........)

[patoslover]

A little wip…. Reviving not so old memories from s2….

(this kiss was hella hard to draw, I seemed to not be able to figure out how anatomy works here yhjjfkd)

[apocalypticbadass]

Sapphic Vampire Lovers (Smut)

A/N: Hey guysss it’s Alice smut time. Haven't been able to get the woman out of my head recently so here are my musings. You live with the Cullens and Alice is your girlfriend, but no one at school knows. You��re basically an adopted sibling so I might refer to the kiddos as your brother/sister. Also I’m not saying Alice can't see the future in this but like...lowkey...it’s hard as hell to write for her when she already knows everything lol.

Warnings: Smut, cursing, I think that’s it.

----

You sighed loudly as Mike Newton continued to prattle on about unimportant matters by your side. The bell signaled the beginning of class, and you feigned an apologetic look, which Mike believed wholeheartedly as he scurried to his seat. Poor boy. You turned to Emmett, your “brother” who sat next to you in Chem.

“He doesn’t give up, does he?” Emmett snickered.

You shook your head and sighed. “Oh shut it, Em.”

“You should just turn him away at this point. It’s going too far. Alice is starting to really notice.”

“Wait actually? She can’t possibly think I would ever pick Mike Newton over her.” You replied, getting quite nervous that Alice might be upset with you.

“I’m just sayin’. He’s always flirting with you, the last thing you want is for Alice to get the wrong idea.” “Yeah, you're right. Thanks Em.”

He smiled at you and ruffled your hair before you both turned towards the front to pay some attention to your teacher. You couldn’t sit still for the entirety of class, Emmett kept having to pull your hands out of your mouth to stop you from biting your nails or rest his hand on your knee to keep your leg from bouncing. The bell rang after a painfully long class, and all you wanted was to get out of there. It was the last period of the day, so you and Emmett grabbed your things and booked it out of class, he understood your desire to leave. What the both of you had missed while you were too busy worrying about your anxiety, was that Mike Newton had left class 10 minutes early with Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley. How Emmett’s incredible hearing and sight had missed that, you’ll never know. Or maybe he just thought it was unimportant. The rest of your family caught up with you, and Alice linked her arm in yours.

“Hi baby.” She said with a smile.

“Hi Ali.” You answered, nuzzling into her shoulder as you walked.

As you all got closer to the parking lot, Emmett gasped. “Oh my fucking God...”

“Oh Jesus, here we go.” Rosalie sighed.

Draped across the side of Mike’s minivan, made of canvas and paint, was a sign that read “(Y/N), will you go to prom with me?”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

No way was this happening.

You turned, horrified, to look at Alice’s face. She was staring straight ahead, jaw set, eyes unreadable. You softly disconnected your arms and rushed over to Mike, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

He beamed as he saw your urgency. “So, what do you think?”

“Mike, take it down right now.” You pleaded. “I’m sorry but I won’t go to prom with you.”

His face fell as Eric and Tyler moved to take the sign down and save Mike a little bit of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry Mike, I have to go.”

“Yeah, no, it’s cool.” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

Your family was on your left and they were already getting into the car. Alice was at the back, and you grabbed her wrist while begging her to turn around and talk to you. “Alice, please, can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about?” She spat, venom in her voice. “Clearly you gave him a reason to think he should ask you. You’re very friendly, and I love that about you, but I think flirting with someone when you have a girlfriend is way too far.” “Alice you know I would never do that. You know how loyal I am to you, Mike could never hold a candle to you. I swear I’ve never flirted with him in my life, he’s just obsessed or something.” Your eyes shone with tears. “Please, baby. Trust me, not him. I swear on my life I only love you.”

You could see the slightest softening of her defensive exterior as your (y/e/c) eyes bore into her deep amber ones.

She stepped closer to you and sighed. “You’re right, I’m overreacting, I suppose. You haven’t given me any reason to believe that you’d flirt with him.” Alice placed her lips below your ear. “Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to pay for poor Mike’s mistake. I’ll have to remind you who you belong to, just incase you needed a refresher.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a blush creeping onto your cheeks since you knew that your family could hear you quite clearly from inside the car.

“I’ll meet you at home.” She said before turning on her heel to walk home, she’d be back before the rest of you.

You got in the car behind the passenger seat, head in your hands as Emmett laughed from the other side of the car. “What did I tell you?”

“Drop it, McCarty.” You glared at him.

“She’ll come around.” Jasper said, hand on your knee. “She’s not actually mad, just jealous that he can be so carefree with his feelings while you both have to hide yours.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just sucks.” “At least you’ll get good sex out of it.” Rosalie said nonchalantly, looking at her nails, which she had painted last night.

“Get some!” Emmett cheered, which made you bust out laughing.

The car ride home was comfortably quiet, everyone else’s mind wandering to other things, Rosalie and Edward speaking to one another in a nearly inaudible tone.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you pulled up to the Cullen house, met by Alice leaning against her Porsche, arms folded neatly across her chest. Jasper squeezed your shoulder in encouragement, feeling your nerves flow, and eased your anxiety as best as he could, one last time. Alice got in the car before you could get over to her, and just before she shut the door, she gave you a “come hither” motion. You opened the passenger door and sat carefully inside of the car, careful not to track in any mud.

“Hi.” You said softly as she began to drive.

“Hello.”

You fell into silence, zoning out while looking out the window, wondering where the hell you were going. You tried very hard not to let her know how nervous you were, but the attempt was futile because she could hear your erratic heartbeat.

“Where exactly are we going?” You managed to say, in a calmer voice than you thought you could muster.

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun.” She said lightly, tossing you a wink.

20 minutes later, Alice pulled into a hotel parking lot, probably the fanciest building you had ever seen. You knew you were in Seattle, but had never been to this secluded area with these fancy buildings. You felt severely underdressed, the both of you casual, but her level of fashion much higher than yours, her walk far more graceful. She gave the keys to the valet as they pulled luggage out of the trunk. Alice took one bag for herself and handed one to you. She kept her hand on the small of your back and led you through the massive glass doors, which were opened for you of course. The gorgeous decor of the lobby kept your gaze until Alice had signed you both in.

“Come on now, love.” Her voice was like melted honey.

Your gaze flipped to her and you followed her to the elevator, where she pushed the button for the top floor. Your eyes went wide as you remembered peering up to the peak of the building and how high it was. As you stepped out, there was one single door in front of you. Alice swiftly unlocked it and ushered you inside, bolting the lock shut immediately. As you walked around in awe, you felt yourself being whisked away, vision blurring as Alice ran you both into the bedroom, where she tossed you onto the silk duvet. Her dainty, but incredibly strong hands pushed your shoulders back onto the bed. 

“What to do with you?” She pretended to think before pulling a pair of cuffs from behind her back. 

You bit your lip as you felt butterflies down below. Your wrists were in one of her hands in a second, cuffed to the headboard before you could even blink. “Are you going to be good for me, darling?”

“Yes baby, I will.”

“Good.” She muttered into your ear, tearing your shirt off to suck on the exposed skin of your breasts. All you wanted to do was tangle your fingers into her short hair as she marked your body. Your wrists audibly struggled against your confines and you groaned. Alice laughed. She tore your bra off in a fluid motion, gently worrying one of your nipples between her teeth.

You sucked in a breath. “Ali, please. Wanna touch you.”

She swiftly flipped you onto your stomach. “No ma’am. Not allowed.”

She then pulled your pants and underwear off in one go, leaving you completely exposed. Alice slid a finger towards your clit, circling it slowly. You whined and squirmed, so she ripped all contact away from you. You felt her cool breath at your ear and her disapproving tsk. “I thought you said you were going to be good for me.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You better.” She replied, swiftly inserting one finger into your vagina. You took a sharp breath through your nose, trying to keep still. She curled her finger into your g-spot at an incredible pace, causing you to take a mouthful of the bedsheets to keep yourself quiet. She was pleasantly surprised at how good you were being, so she added another finger, scissoring you open. It took absolutely everything in you to just stay still and quiet.

Once you felt stretched enough, she placed a kiss at the base of your spine and retracted all contact, flashing across the room to grab a bag. You were unable to see this, but her clothes were off in an instant, and she had fastened one of her many straps around her hips. She’d chosen your favorite attachment, a hot pink dildo that measured around 7.5 inches. She leaned down to whisper in your ear while allowing the toy to nestle into the cleft of your butt.

“You’re not even gonna remember Mike Newton’s name after this.”

With that comment, she slid the tip of the toy into your entrance, slowly pushing into you, stretching you all the way out. “You can make noise now, love.” She purred.

Immediately, a string of profanities left your mouth. “Holy fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good inside me.”

After a few moments, you felt her icy hips hit your butt, felt her lips sucking marks onto your shoulder blades. “Move please, baby.” You whined, trying not to struggle against her. She pulled out of you slowly, and entered you once more. Taking her time, Alice picked up a pace that made your toes curl, she hit your g-spot every single time.

“Jesus fuck, Ali, God you’re so good. Feels so good, so fucking good, babygirl.” You babbled on as she drilled you into the bed at an inhuman pace, hands tangled into your hair.

“You just needed a little reminder, didn’t you, doll? Just needed to remember who you belong to. Mike Newton could never fuck you this good.” She growled, nipping at your earlobe. You wanted to make a sarcastic remark, but your words couldn't get past the way Alice was making you feel. Your clit gained some friction as each thrust pushed your body into the mattress a little further.

“Alice I’m so fucking close babes, please don’t fucking stop.” You cried out, the inferno in your stomach threatening release.

“Come for me, love.”

With her words, you came hard, squirting all over the duvet, leaving it soaked. Alice pushed all the way into you and stilled for a moment, relishing. “You were so good for me, babygirl. So beautiful.” She praised, pulling out of you and flipping you over.

“Wanna taste you.” You whined. “Sit on my face.”

Alice smirked at you and quickly unfastened the strap before positioning her dripping pussy over your mouth, settling softly with a moan. She had remained untouched until now, so the contact was quite welcome. “Christ, babe. Your mouth feels so good.”

Your tongue explored her walls, licking every surface, nose bumping her clit every so often. She leaned back and placed her hands on your thighs, squeezing them softly to get a grip. You moved to her clit, lips wrapping around it and drawing it into your mouth, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lover. You fervently continued, fully putting your mouth to work.

“Please, gonna come.” She rasped out, just before coating your face with her slick. “Oh my God, (y/n), so incredible.” Alice moaned while you continued to suck on her, drawing out her orgasm. You gazed at her with doe eyes from between her legs before she got off of you, reaching for the key to unlock your cuffs. She rubbed your wrists to soothe them before nuzzling into your neck and tangling her legs into yours.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way you taste.” You said after a few moments of silence.

Alice giggled. “I can absolutely say the same for you. That was amazing.”

“Totally. I love you. Sorry Mike asked me to prom.”

She let out a belly laugh, pulling you on top of her. “No need to apologize. I’m sorry for overreacting, quite dumb of me to be honest.”

“It upsets you that we can’t express our emotions for each other as freely as Mike can express his emotions for me.” “I just wish people could understand our love, understand that our gender is totally irrelevant.” She sighed, stroking your hips as she spoke. “I just love you so much and I wish I was able to show it in public without fear of something happening to you. God forbid anyone got violent.” “I know, baby, it’s really scary sometimes.” You cupped her face, stroking her cheekbone with one hand, combing through her hair with the other.

“I don’t want to say it, but you know what I’m thinking.” Alice whispered, expression growing serious.

“I’ve been thinking about it recently as well, I think we have to do it. Sometime soon, I want to be with you forever. We’ll set a date.”

Alice gave you a lopsided grin. “Can’t wait to be sapphic vampire lovers until the end of time.” 

You laughed, leaning down to kiss her. “Oh hell yeah.”

[twistedlymad]

UwU Your writing is amazing !!!!! I loved the puppy and cat escapades \ ^o^ / . Would you be willing to do one in wich the mc is bullied by the extras, because you know, no magic and already a director, how would the boys react?? Will this be the end of the extras?!?? Ill be eternally gratefull. iTs okay if you cant throug. Hope you have a wonderfull day, and dont forget to drink plenty of water, and take breakes. Take care of yourself!!!!

Originally, I had planned this to be another chaos fic, but, I realize while writing this, that bullying is something that cannot be taken lightly. In the Twst Fandom, we also had our fair share of bullying from a few anons and that isn’t okay. 

So, in writing this fic, I made it more sentimental and just so you guys know, if you’re having a bad day or a bad time in general, feel free to talk to anyone, including me! Do not ever hold in your sadness. 

But anyway, I hope this fic lives up to your expectations anon! Thank you for requesting and have a lovely day!

What if you got bullied? (Ft. Everyone!!)

What was supposed to be a great day, turned out to be the worst day you could ever have at Night Raven College.

Your day started off normally, in fact, it started off well! You woke up with a good mood. You saw the furball that you loved so much beside you, sleeping peacefully. You smiled as you gently shook him awake.

“Grim, wake up, it’s already morning.”

“Fgnaaaaa, five… more minutes…” The sleeping creature said, swatting your hand away. You just shook your head at his antics.

“No can do, remember what Crowley would do if he caught us being late again.” You said and the creature’s eyes immediately shot opened and he jumped out of the bed, scurrying about to get ready for the day. You saw his slightly panicking self and giggled to yourself.

“(Y/N)! We shouldn’t be dancing and prancing! If we do, we’re going to be late!” Said the creature as he saw you heading over to your closet in a small waltz.

“Oh, Grim, I woke you up 10 minutes earlier than usual.” You said as you grabbed your uniform and headed to the bathroom. “You have 10 minutes to spare, take your time.” And you left the mumbling little furball in the room, face planting himself back into the bed after hearing your words.

The first half of your day had gone by rather quick and uneventful, not that you were complaining though. It’s nice to not have fights and chaos to settle every once in a while. You had a lot of laughs and smiles here and there with your group of first-year goofballs.

However, your peaceful day was about to turn upside down.

You were walking back to your classroom. Your friends were reserving your spot in Professor Trein’s class while you went to Crowley’s office to take care of some business involving Ramshackle Dorm. You and Grim made your way down the hall to the class.

Some students saw this and thought it was a great opportunity to make you trip and fall. So, one of them stuck out his leg while you were making you were walking. You didn’t have enough time to react and ended up falling for their antics. You immediately turned your body around so Grim, who was in your hands, would be shielded using your body. Your back hit the ground, HARD. A few gasps here and there were heard.

Grim rose his head from your chest to see you using your elbow to prompt yourself up.

“Fgnaaa! (Y/N)!” The furball immediately went to help you up by providing some support.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there.” The student who tripped you said as his friends were laughing.

“School rules say that no magic or fights are allowed on school grounds.” His friends snickered.

“I’m fine… Just… Let me get up.” You said to Grim, who was still helping you.

“Pffft, look at her, so defenseless, she shouldn’t even be at this school!” The student said harshly.

“Hello?! Night Raven College is a place for prestigious mages. Not humans who can’t use magic and defend themselves.” Another student said to you.

“And to think she’s a prefect! Hahahahaha! You couldn’t even compare to the other dorm leaders!” His friend added and they all agreed.

“Looks like Crowley had made a huge mistake in bringing you here, why don’t you just crawl back to that sad excuse for a dorm of yours alongside your lousy furball!” And the group of students cackled at their snarky comments about you.

You just drooped your head down. Even though you didn’t want to admit it, but, they were right.

You had no magic, you were ridiculed at the entrance ceremony but, Crowley still gave you a place to stay and he even made you an official student here. While others struggled in getting here, you sort of knew why they hated you.

You tried your best to hold in your tears as you felt them pricking at the corner of your eyes while your friends defended you.

But, one comment had pushed past your boundaries.

“You’re not even considered to be human in my eyes! To me, you’re just trash. Go find a trash can and make yourself at home!”

Was… Was this what the other students really thought about you? Trash? Useless? No value? You closed your eyes, taking everything in, ignoring everything and everyone else around you. And proceeded to walk away without saying a single word.

Grim shouted for you but you payed no attention to him and just kept speed walking. Your walking slowly became running and you were then running as fast as you could, just letting your legs lead the way. After awhile of running at full speed, you had slowed down and stopped to take a breather. You looked around to see where you were in order for you to get back to school if needed.

However, you were back at Ramshackle Dorm. Your dorm. The tears you had been holding back flowed out as you took slow steps to the dorm you loved. You went in and closed the door behind you. Leaning your back against the door, you cried out your heart as you slowly slid down.

All the student’s words are stuck in your head, reminding you of what everyone else thinks of you. Your tears just kept flowing as you used your sleeves to wipe them away.

‘They’re right, I’m not meant to be here in the first place.’ You thought to yourself. ‘If everyone hates me so, then, I should just disappear.’ You said in your mind as you stood up and went to your room.

You packed some clothing and madol, ready to leave and hopefully start a new life outside of Night Raven College. You stuffed everything into a duffel bag and went to the main entrance of your dorm. You placed your hand on the doorknob, thinking of a route to leave the school undetected. But when you opened the door…

You were faced with everyone you ever knew.

And I mean everyone! Your group of best friends, the dorm-leaders and your seniors. They were all gathered in front of your dorm.

“Ahh! (Y/N)!! I’m so glad we found you!” Ace said as he, Deuce, Epel, Jack, Sebek and Grim came to hug you. You were surprised, too shocked to even register what had happened.

“We heard about the incident today, we already reported it to the headmaster.” Riddle said.

“But the first-years also reported that you were nowhere to be found. So, we came looking for you and your dorm was the only place we haven’t checked.” Azul continued.

“So, we all gathered here after our search!” Kalim concluded. The first-year boys pulled away from their hug and they noticed your bag.

“(Y/N)? What’s going on? Why are you leaving?” Epel asked you. Your eyes slowly travelled to the bag.

“Um…” You started but Deuce cut you off.

“Is it because of those damned students?” Deuce asked you. “Did they threaten you?”

Now, everyone’s eyes were on you. You averted their stares by lowering your head.

“No…” You said, dropping the duffel bag.

“They didn’t threaten me. But, what they said was true, was it not?” You lifted your head to let everyone see your tear-filled eyes. “I am just a human, I don’t possess any magic powers and yet here I am in this school for magicians. Not only that, but I am also the dorm leader for this dorm and I have been made a prefect! Isn’t that unfair to everyone else?” You said out loud, letting everyone hear you.

“I understand why they would have these kinds of thoughts. I understand why they hate me. That’s why I thought that if I have left, no one would have these kinds of thoughts ever again. After, I am the problem, aren’t I?” You concluded.

Truth be told, the boys were shocked. They… They have never seen this side of you. Heck, they never thought you would be capable of producing these types of thoughts. In their eyes, you were always so cheerful and kind, even when things got out of hand, you would remain calm and solve the problem to the best of your abilities. To think someone this pure and precious to them would have such depressing and degrading thoughts is beyond them.

However, this shocked Grim the most. The creature practically lived with you for so long and he didn’t even have a single clue of this side of you was scaring him.

“No, you’re wrong.” Grim lowly mumbled, but you couldn’t hear him.

“What?” You asked the furball.

“YOU’RE WRONG!” He practically screamed at you.

“Grim-chan…” Cater said softly.

“Even if you did leave, their thoughts won’t change! You’re not the problem! It’s them!” The furball yelled to you. Everyone was taken aback by Grim’s sudden outburst. But the first-years were quick to back him up.

“That’s right! It’s not your fault (Y/N)!” Ace said to you.

“Students at NRC are picked by the mirror of darkness. No one can easily come and go in this school.” Leona reminded everyone.

“Exactly, you arrived here for a reason.” Rook said.

“You assisted us with our overblots, not every child of man could do that.” Malleus said, representing every dorm leader.

“You had us working together in sync during the Inter-High Magift Tournament.” Ruggie added.

“You brought us together as friends.” Sebek stated.

“Most importantly, you let me have a place here at NRC. Because of you, we were only able to attend the school as a student.” Grim said. “No one has ever done something like that for me before.” The creature said as he slowly crawled up to you.

Everyone’s words had stunned you. You were so busy thinking about the negative comments about you, you forgot about all your relationships with your friends and seniors.

Like, how you always had tea in Heartslabyul. Riddle would always invite you to have tea with him and the others, you would enjoy the peacefulness of the dorm under the supervision of their dorm leader. Trey would always ask for your help in the kitchen and you would have a fun time with him while making sweets and desserts for everyone. Cater would whisk you away to either a selfie-session in the dorm’s gardens or a photoshoot in any new place that the he had found to be photogenic. Ace and Deuce would invite you to play croquet with them from time to time, of course, you were very careful with the flamingos and hedgehogs as you didn’t want to hurt any of them, but, you couldn’t resist in using the flamingo to bonk on either Ace’s or Deuce’s head every once in awhile. It’s okay though, the flamingo understood completely.

Like, how you always trained yourself in Savanaclaw. Leona would sometimes go easy on you if you were invited to join one of their many Magift activities, although, you weren’t sure if he was pitying you or he was just being lazy in general. You would help Ruggie prepare food for everyone as you knew he could use an extra hand or two, it also meant you could pick up a new recipe here and there and you got to taste test all the food. Jogging sessions with Jack were also a normal thing, hey, if you’re going to be joining in Magift tournaments without magic powers, the least you could do is train yourself physically.

Like, how you always felt welcomed at Octavinelle. Azul would welcome you into the VIP lounge when Mostro Lounge was extremely busy and you couldn’t find a place to sit at. You would also help out around Mostro Lounge when you saw that the place was packed to the brim. Usually, Jade would entrust you with drinks while he and Floyd went to prepare food for everyone else. When Mostro Lounge closed its doors for the day, you would enjoy some tea with the three underwater mermen or you and Grim would play around with Floyd, pranking other students and dorm leaders. Heck, you and Floyd even pulled off a few enormous pranks against the staff members.

Like, how you would be invited to feasts and parties at Scarabia. Kalim would always have a big smile on his face whenever he invited you to go dine with him at Scarabia. Jamil always appreciated your help in the dorm, let it be helping him prepare food for the party that Kalim had just decided to have five minutes ago or just keeping an eye on the dorm leader while he went to settle some other business involving the dorm.

Like, how you would have small makeovers at Pomefiore. Every time you walked past the beauty-queen/king, you were immediately stopped by him, because either your bow or tie was crooked or your hair was a mess, well no matter the case, Vil would fix it for you. When you visited Pomefiore from time to time, Vil would take the chance to give you high quality beauty products to try and he would always go on a rant on how you should always take care of your image. Sometimes, Rook would sweep you away just to go on a mini hunt with him. Although, let’s be real here, you two always ended up spying on Leona at the Botanical Gardens while he skipped his classes. Epel would whisk you away to his room and teach you to on how to carve apples. You managed to carve a few of the staff members and even your friends onto the apples, of course, you would carve on a few extra features onto your masterpieces. Like, say, a moustache for Ace or funky-looking ears for Crowley. You also helped to keep Epel in check whenever Vil and Rook were teaching the first-years on table manners and proper etiquette.

Like, how you would enjoy mini-gaming sessions at Ignihyde. Usually, you would initiate the session with Idia. You two ended up playing both Co-Op and PvP games. While playing games that require you to cooperate, the two of you would discuss your plans and pick out the best course of action. The same cannot be said for Free-For-All games though. A few minor insults here and there are thrown between the two of you. But at the end, the victor will always do a little happy dance before continuing onto the next game. You loved Ortho like your own brother! Always treating him to various desserts and helping him drag his brother out from his room. Ortho looks up to you like a sister as well. There may have been a few times he’s actually called you big sis.

Like, how you would go on quaint little walks at Diasomnia. If you needed a breather, you would usually find yourself at Diasomnia. Due to a large forest surrounding the building and the silent atmosphere the dorm provides, it is the exact place where you would go to take a walk to clear your mind. Malleus would sometimes accompany you on these quaint little walks. You and Tsunotaro would chat about your everyday lives and problems the first-years would create. Lilia would make some tea for you after your walks and you would enjoy the tea and bits of biscuits and crumpets alongside the tea. You would also break up arguments between Silver and Sebek. The two would get into fights about the tiniest of things, from blaming each other for losing track of Malleus to blaming each other for not preparing for a test. Sometimes, Silver would accompany you on your walk instead of Malleus and you two would also have little chats here and there. Other than that, Sebek’s view of you actually improved after befriending him. He used to think you were a powerless human as well but after spending time with him and your friends, he realizes that you aren’t just any human being.

But for Grim, you had the greatest impact in his life. You accepted him, you took care of him, you loved him. And he loved you back, just as much. To him, you were his family since he had never had one.

In conclusion, you matter.

You. Are. Of. Value.

You are precious to them, you bring peace to them, you brought them together as a whole.

Once that thought had nested in your brain, you realized that you were foolish in having these thoughts in the first place.

“I’m sorry…” You said, crying. Grim went and hugged you.

“It’s not your fault… Just know that we’re here for you.” Said the furball as everyone also came and comforted you. You had spent the day with them as a whole, you watched a few movies, horror movies in that case. It was fun hearing the dorm leaders and their members scream shout yell made a loud sound whenever a jumpscare appeared.

You guys also played games together, but, I am not allowed to share any details because I actually know nothing. No, I’m totally not being threatened here Reader-san, don’t worry about me.

Send help pls.

Also, after the bullying incident, the boys were a bit more protective around you when in class/school. Usually, your group of first-years would accompany you wherever you go, let it be from your dorm to the cafeteria or from the class to another dorm, at least one of them will be at your side. And when they couldn’t be there, either a dorm leader or an upperclassman would be near you. Any student who seem like they have bad intentions to either you or Grim, would face unspeakable consequences.

And I mean unspeakable. So, I cannot inform you of these consequences as I am under an oath to not reveal anything. Um. Yeah. Good luck persuading the boys to tell you : )

[icefire149]

Happy Birthday Dean Winchester!!! 

I wanted to write a little something and this ended up spiraling into something longer than I planned.  (2,231 words) (Also please forgive me for any spelling errors. It’s after 3am) Enjoy!~

/////

For Dean, the weeks and months following Chuck’s defeat went by in a dizzying, unrecognizable blur. Despite Sam and Eileen’s best efforts to take care of Dean, he spent the majority of his time buried deep in the bunker’s archive. A lot of the time Jack is with him.

There was an ache in his chest that feared what stupid things he might have done by now if the kid wasn’t right there. Helping him. Talking to him. Actually getting to bond with him without Chuck’s interference. It was the one good thing in this fucked up situation right now.

So far their search for anything about the Empty was a disaster. There was virtually nothing. More and more often Jack would apologize. With his new position as God, yes, he could make a doorway into the Empty. That much they did know for a fact. But could he put them to sleep? Could he kill them? What would be the consequences of that?

The only other thing that they knew for certain was that the Empty could claw their way into Heaven and tear it all down. That was the only thing that was keeping Jack from snapping his fingers and restoring Cas right then and there.

It was tearing them both apart, but regardless, they continued their search.

Today, Dean opened his eyes and rolled onto his back. It was his birthday. Most years he spent it like any other normal day, but this one….after the Mrs. Butters incident…Sam and him had decided they should be throwing real celebrations. It was one thing when they were living out of motel rooms and the impala. It was completely understandable. But now they have a permanent home. So why not?

He knew now why not…..there was no point in celebrating a man that’s only half here.

Dean closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep the day away. He didn’t realize that he had fallen back asleep until he was startled awake by a pounding on his bedroom door. He shot up to a sitting position in bed, chest pounding and eyes wide with fear. It was a moment before he realized that he was in his room and not….

“Hey Dean? You up yet?”

His heart rate was still slowing, but he recognized the voice. Sam.

“I’m awake now. What’d you want?”

“Lunch is ready. I figured you’d wanna eat by now.”

“Fine. Be up soon.”

When Dean was dressed and ready as he would ever be, he opened his bedroom door. He stood there blinking in confusion for several moments. There were balloons tied to the doors of every room down the hallway.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he followed the balloons into the kitchen where the party decorations looked like they threw up. There was a happy birthday banner over the kitchen doorway and balloons….so many goddamn balloons everywhere.

“Surprise!” Jack popped up out of his chair and crossed the kitchen to hug him. “Sam let me decorate for your birthday. He told me I had to contain it to one room though.”

Jack took a step back with a look of concern. “Is that okay?”

“What about the hallway?”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed. “A hallway by definition isn’t a room.”

That set Dean off in a fit of belly deep laughter. He slapped a reassuring hand onto Jack’s shoulder. “You did awesome kid.”

Jack’s mouth pulled into a beaming smile. He went back to where he was sitting, and Sam came into the kitchen.

“Good. I didn’t think you were ever getting up.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Good to see your face too, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and started pulling plates out. Dean went and sat by Jack.

“So what’s for lunch? I’m not seeing anything.”

Sam brought the plates over. “Well, you slept through the pancakes Jack helped me make this morning. Eileen should be here any minute with lunch.”

Dean shot Jack a look. “Sorry kid.”

“It’s okay. They were really good.”

“What’s Eileen bringing?” Dean turned his attention to Sam, but before he could answer Eileen came walking through the door.

“I hope everyone’s hungry.” She placed a stack of three white boxes on the table.

The familiar bakery smell hit him instantly. He pointed at the boxes. “Is that?”

Eileen grinned and crossed her arms. “Sam told me you liked pie.”

“Thank you, you majestic, wonderful being.” He turned his gaze to Sam. “You better marry her.”

That got Eileen laughing while Sam ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

Dean grinned and made eye contact with Eileen. “I’m so sorry, I know you can do so much better than Sam too.”

She laughed again, and then her mouth curled into a teasing smile. “I know, Dean. I know.”

“OKAY.” Sam clapped his hands together. “Can we move on from the embarrassing Sam portion of today?”

They eventually did. For a long time the three of them sat in the kitchen laughing, telling stories, and eating way too much pie. At one point Sam handed a big gift bag to Dean.

“It’s…from Jack and I.” Sam sounded unsure.

“I hope you like it,” Jack added.

Dean opened it to find several wrapped in tissue paper objects. Soon enough he found out that they were all various framed pictures. Silently, he spread them all out over the table so he could stare at them all.

There were pictures going back a decade. Easily. There were so many smiles and glares and candid shots. Fuck they were all so young looking.

Charlie in her Queen of Moondoor costume. Mom with a bowl of popcorn. Kevin and Sam asleep surrounded by piles of books. Claire on her 18th birthday with the ugly stuffed cat doll. Rowena moments before she hexed the camera. Jack looking amazed at the giant multi-scoop ice cream cone Dean bought him against Sam’s wishes. Kevin and Linda at Garth’s safe-houseboat. Dean, Sam, and Bobby at one of the cabins fishing. The hectic attempt at a family photo from Jody’s. Garth and his family. And Cas…..there were so many just of Cas or ones with him present or ones of just the two of them.

Sam coughed awkwardly. “I know you’ve been saying for a couple years now that you wanted to start printing some of the pictures we’ve been dumping onto one of the old laptops. So I thought….”

“Thank you, Sammy.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pictures. Especially the candid he’d never seen before. It was of him and Cas leaning against the side of the impala, completely lost in their own bubble of conversation. Dean felt like there was a cinder block dropped into his stomach. “You did good.”

And he meant it. Still, it hurt to remember everyone he lost.

“Oh, I think you missed one,” Jack said poking at the bag.

He was right, Dean realized when he reached a hand in and pulled out a smaller wrapped frame.

Sam laughed. “I forgot about that one.”

Dean opened it and burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was a picture from his mark of cain days of him and Crowley in matching cowboy hats. As much as he didn’t want to remember those days, he still couldn’t bring himself to delete the picture. “I miss that dumb son of a bitch.”

“Hey!” Sam chimed in. “That’s insulting to Rowena.”

That had Dean laughing again. “Well, she can take a number kicking my ass. You know the moment Cas sees this he’s gonna use it and me as his personal dartboard.”

The words slipped out before he could even process it. Sam’s smile faded. Dean’s laughter turned into crying. No one said anything while Dean fought to compose himself. He was grateful for that.

When Dean’s face was dry and he dared lift his head up, Jack asked him about the people in the photos.  And that’s how they spent the rest of the afternoon. It was hard to imagine his life without Jack being present somewhere so he was happy to indulge the technically toddler in what the people in the pictures were like. All the stories Dean could pull from his memory. It hurt initially, but after a while he felt lighter.

Later that day Dean was taking a break in his room when Sam peeked in the ajar door. “What’d you need, Sam?”

“I-uh…” He stepped into the room. A neatly wrapped in green box with a card on top was in his hands. “I have one last thing to give you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but isn’t another present going overboard? What gives?”

“It’s not from me.”

“Oh. Hand it here then.” Excited, Dean sat on the edge of his bed and held his hands out.

Sam stepped forward, but he didn’t hand the box over. “It’s from Cas.”

Dean’s hands fell down, and Sam was happy he waited. “What’s in the box?”

Sam placed it on the bed next to Dean. He shrugged. “I don’t know. He asked me quite a while ago to hang onto it.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I figure he thought you’d be least likely to find it if it was in my room.”

Dean cracked a small smile at that. His chest felt like it split open just to ache again. He knew why Cas asked Sam to hold onto it. “Thanks Sammy.”

Sam left the room, closing the door behind him. It took a while before Dean could muster up the courage to open the card.

His hands shook as he pulled the folded over pieces of paper out of the envelope. Turns out instead of a generic store bought card, Cas wrote him a letter. It was a bittersweet sight. Despite how devastated he normally felt whenever he thought about Cas, he was good seeing his handwriting. In his hands was actually a new message from Cas. A message from Cas to him!

Happy Birthday Dean,

If you’re reading this then that means I failed. I wanted to burn this letter to ashes, but clearly I’m not there to do that. I’m so sorry, truly. I’m not sure what could have happened to bring us here, but I need to confess something important. I know you said no more deals when Jack died, but I still made a deal with the Empty anyways.

When I went to Heaven to bring Jack’s soul back to his body things didn’t go as planned. The Empty was furious Jack’s human half sent him to Heaven. It tore through Heaven like it was tissue paper. I did what I had to for Jack, and for Heaven. My life for his.

I don’t regret it. But the Empty did promise not to claim me until I gave myself permission to be truly happy. I’m still trying to puzzle out exactly what that could be. My family on Earth: Sam, Jack, and you - make me happy each and every day. I need you to remember that.

Please be safe and live a happy life. You are so loved by your friends and family. They need you for the next several decades. I mean it Dean. (I may have been curing you of liver and heart disease every year on your birthday. Well fixing to the best of my abilities the damage you keep causing on those poor organs.)

I hope you enjoy the present I picked out. Quite honestly, I got it because it made me laugh.

I miss you.

Castiel

Dean felt like a tangled mess of emotions. He needed to remember to breathe. Minutes later he carefully tore open the green wrapping paper. Curiosity poked at him. With Cas’ odd sense of humor, it could have been anything in the box.

Under the wrapping paper was a generic cardboard box, but inside were a handful of new cassette tapes. Dean fell over to be laying on his side. Laughing happily for quite a while, he studied each and every tape. They were all cassettes of modern music, specifically the pop artists Cas loved so much. The ones Dean used to tease Cas about while they’d be out on long drives.

He immediately knew which memory Cas was thinking of when he planned this. Dean remembered they were in the impala and Cas wasn’t in the mood for any of Dean’s old tapes. He teased that anything that came out after cassette tapes wasn’t real music. And only real music got to play in the impala.

Closing his eyes, Dean could picture the smug look Cas would be wearing right now. Tears started bubbling free from his eyelids. God he missed Cas with every ounce of his being.

A while later Dean got up and left his room, taking the tapes with him. He went for a long drive circling the neighboring towns while he worked through several of the tapes. If he relaxed enough, he could almost imagine Cas sitting in the front seat next to him, mumbling along to the lyrics of the songs he liked most.

Dean vowed that this time next year things would be different. He was owed a birthday wish and this was it: next year he’d be somewhere warm with his toes buried in the sand, and he’d have Sam, Eileen, Jack, and Cas with him.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Within the Circles: Chapter 5 (+ Epilogue)

The final chapter and epilogue of "Within the Circles" have been posted to AO3!

After the harrowing experience, Aziraphale and Crowley start the healing process. But recovery from this sort of trauma is never easy. Featuring the return of Anathema and Newt, who I don't write about nearly enough.

--

Crowley didn’t want to linger in the awful basement, but there was too much down there that would be dangerous if discovered, more than he could handle on his own. Fortunately, one of the necromancers had left a mobile in the wreckage.

When Anathema and Newt arrived, Crowley—human-shaped again—was still picking his way through magic ingredients, while Aziraphale rested in the corner, wrapped in a red cloak.

“Here,” Newt said, kneeling next to the angel. “You’re not really either of our sizes, but I think Shadwell’s old jumper should fit you, and Tracy had this skirt. It’s not ideal—”

“I think this will do marvelously,” Aziraphale said with a weak smile. “Thank you, young man.”

“And, ah, Tracy also found a pair of sunglasses…?”

They were extraordinarily pink, but Crowley wore them anyway.

Next, Anathema looked the angel over, Crowley hovering behind, ready to throw her across the room at the first sign of magic. “If I had to guess, it’s this one.” She pointed to a symbol drawn onto Aziraphale’s shoulder with Sharpie, then traced again by a blade, leaving bright red cuts. “Power regulation, basically a surge protector. Whatever she was siphoning off you, it was just different enough from a demon to get, mmmph, major feedback.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Newt pointed out.

“It’s all it takes.” Crowley said, shooing the witch away so he could sit beside his husband again, help him pull the jumper on. “I…I’ve seen them fail for…much less.”

A long pause. Crowley tried not to think about the questions on everyone’s mind. It wasn’t any of their business, except in a way it was now. He did his best to push all those thoughts aside.

“I’m just glad no one was badly hurt,” Aziraphale said with a shaky smile.

“Except you,” Crowley grumbled, not even trying to hide the fact that he was fussing. “And one human had a few broken bones, but as I understand, he really deserved it.” No, that didn’t help. There was a pinch of horror around Aziraphale’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything yet. “Here, something’s missing.” Crowley tugged the rumpled bowtie out of his pocket.

“Oh!” his angel’s face lit up. He quickly looped it around his neck, struggling to tie the knot with trembling fingers. Crowley helped—though his own fingers were just as bad—and eventually there was a crooked tartan bow in place below his chin. “Yes. I feel worlds better now.”

Crowley leaned close and kissed him, gently, almost afraid that Aziraphale would break—or that he would. “Just a bit longer, Angel. Few things to take care of. Then we can go home.”

“Of course, darling.”

Aziraphale was holding together surprisingly well, but Crowley knew. All those times he’d been summoned cut him deep, the pain, the humiliation, piling on in layer after layer until they smothered him in darkness—

He wished he knew what to say. Words were too fucking hard.

Crowley stumbled over to where he’d gathered the shit the summoners had left behind. A sack full of Aziraphale’s beautiful feathers, another of his hair. A cooler with vials of blood, faintly glinting gold. A jar of clear liquid marked Angel Tears that almost made him wish he’d let Aziraphale rip the bastards apart.

“What do you think?”

“Based on the prices we saw, a million pounds, at least,” Newt said, earning a glare from the demon. “Sorry. Just…” He hunched back over the computer, and a few seconds later it was an inert hunk of metal and plastic, any information about angels lost to the universe. He started on the phones next.

“Don’t know about the feathers,” Anathema said, “but for the rest…probably dispose of it all in a river. Running water’s a reliable way to neutralize the power. But there’s still a lot.”

“Is that a problem?”

She squeezed his shoulder, tried to give an encouraging smile. “No. We’ll take care of it.”

“Nhhh.” Crowley looked down at his feet. “Thankyou.”

“Thank you for calling.”

He nodded, turning away. “Mmmmh. We’ll take the feathers. Figure out something to do with them.”

“What about that thing?” Newt gestured to a hollow stone column, a deep red glow inside. “Looks…really dangerous.”

“Less than you might think.” Crowley leaned against the energy well. All the power that had been drained from Aziraphale as he was interrogated was stored in there, a flickering amorphous cloud of light. “They used to just let it dissipate into the air, until someone figured out how to collect it. But it’s inert like this, and I’ve got no idea how to activate it, so I usually just…” he shoved at the stone until it tipped over, clattering against the concrete floor. The light inside fluttered weakly and went out.

“Well. That’s alright then. Last of the electronics,” Newt added, tossing a black-screened phone against the wall. “We’ll need some equipment for all that.” He gestured vaguely to the rings embedded in the floor. “Hammer. Prybar. Maybe acid.”

“Or just demolish the place entirely,” Anathema suggested.

Her boyfriend nodded. “If you can think of a way to convince them this is our property, I’ll call those fellows who did the renovations for us.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley objected.

“I think I do.” Newt looked at the circles and shuddered. “Unless you were thinking of stealing one of those diggers up the street. Then, by all means…”

“Nnnnnn.” The demon rolled his shoulders until they popped. “Think I’ll leave this one to the contractors.”

“And that just leaves…” Anathema nudged the books with her toe—grimoire, spell book, and notebooks full of dangerous information about angels. “How do you all feel about a bonfire?”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said, staggering to his feet. “Though I’m afraid my weekend plans involve recovering in bed with my husband. I’m going to be quite busy with that.”

“Ahhhh, shit.” Crowley ran his fingers through his hair. “The bed! I…I de-manifested it. Not going to have the energy to bring it back for a couple days.”

The angel snapped his fingers, frowning. “I appear to be out as well. I may have overdone things a touch.” That would be something to discuss later. Three times, summoners had driven Crowley into a berserk rage, draining him even of reserves of energy he couldn’t normally access. Aziraphale had apparently discovered the angelic equivalent and it was…chilling.

The two humans glanced at each other. “We’ve got a spare room now,” Anathema said. “Looks like it’s about to have its first guests.”

“Oh, no,” Crowley said.

“That sounds lovely!”

“Absolutely not.”

“A weekend in the countryside, just what we need.”

“No, no, no, no.”

“Crowley, dear, what is the matter?”

“I am not riding all the way to Oxfordshire in that disaster he calls a car!”

Read the rest on AO3!

[kaesaaurelia]

nature is healing

For @whumptober2020 day 28: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops (specifically "accidents" and "hunting season").

Continues on from day two, wherein Aziraphale was kidnapped by very health-conscious Satanists, day nine, wherein we find out how Crowley got there, and what the Satanists are after, day ten, wherein the Satanists took a lot of Aziraphale’s blood and made a potion, day sixteen, wherein they fed the potion to Crowley, who is no longer thinking clearly, and not entirely sure what he should do with this delicious prey the Satanists have given him, day twenty-one, wherein Aziraphale would be a very happy monsterfucker but being bitten by a venomous snake is a bit much, and day twenty-five, wherein Crowley is himself once more, and Aziraphale gets them both free.

Aziraphale/Crowley; not explicit, but many allusions to sex, xeno, and sex pollen; also discussion of 2020 Stuff.  Implication of offscreen physical violence and psychological torment.

Aziraphale watched Crowley slither off, and then sat in one of the very uncomfortable, badly-warped pews of the ruined church to clear his head for a few moments. Poor thing, he was all wound up now. At least maybe he could take some of that aggression out on the Satanists.

What happened after that... well. Aziraphale would try not to get his hopes up too much, but he thought that probably after this he had learned his lesson about hoping for Crowley to break the rules and come see him during quarantine.

Aziraphale overheard shouting from outside the ruined church. He miraculously replaced some of his lost blood -- not all of it at once, that didn't always go well -- and wandered outside to see what the ruckus was about.

He poked his head out of the door to the church and saw Crowley, still extraordinarily serpentine, gripping the leader of the Satanists by the neck and holding him about a foot off the ground.

Crowley was speaking too quietly for Aziraphale to hear, but he imagined that whatever he'd said to the fellow must have hit home, because he was shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. Crowley shook his head in disgust and slithered away. He was terribly handsome, Aziraphale couldn't help but think. Although he did hope Crowley wasn't stuck that way; he'd be so put out about having to refit his car so he could drive it without feet. And there would be no more of those very tight trousers he'd been wearing for the past few decades.

Aziraphale supposed he ought to go and offer comfort to the Satanist, even though the fellow had tried to kill him; it was only polite. "Hello," he said, ambling over to the man, who was still sitting in the middle of a dirt path.

"I'm sorry, I'm -- I'm sorry!" the man told him, shivering. He began to sob.

"Yes, well, all water under the bridge," said Aziraphale, agreeably. He ignored a horrified screech from another one of the Satanists. Might've been the one who'd been looking forward to the fires, now Aziraphale thought about it. He decided that that wasn't important. Crowley would do what he felt was best. But a lovely thought occurred to him. "You don't happen to have a copy of that recipe you used, do you? For reference," he added quickly, "not to use, obviously." And, in fairness, this was not entirely a lie; he wanted to see if it had any nasty side effects that might hurt Crowley down the road. But, also, if... if there weren't any nasty side effects, and if Crowley was amenable...

"I'm -- oh, oh, god, I'm sorry," said the Satanist, wiping his tears away on the very elaborately-embroidered sleeves of his robe and reaching one shaky hand inside his robe to pull out a worn, folded scrap of paper.

"Thank you very much," said Aziraphale, smiling at the Satanist.  But the man didn't stop weeping, and Aziraphale's face fell. "Good Lord, what did he do to you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't -- I didn't want --"

Aziraphale cut him off by putting a hand to the man's forehead and looking inside him. "Ah," he said. "I see. Well. You did want that, didn't you? In a way."

"I'm sorry!" he said, lost in his own head.

Aziraphale knew he would gradually come back to himself, but he'd always remember having slain two people in a poorly thought-out but surprisingly effective Satanic ritual, and he would have to live with that for the rest of his life. "Chin up," he told the man. "At least now you know you're not cut out for this sort of thing. Takes some of us a lot longer to work that out." And he wandered off towards the van.

"No, no, please!" he heard somebody shout. Wherever that unfortunate cultist and Crowley were, Aziraphale couldn't see them, and he ignored the shouting as he leaned up against the van they'd kidnapped him with and perused the recipe.

It did not appear to be designed with an angel in mind; that little wrinkle had been added by the Satanists. In fact, Aziraphale couldn't really tell if this was a ritual to get a demon to go after somebody you didn't like, or a ritual to summon up a demon for... personal and private amusements. Aziraphale felt it would have been easier to just go to an appropriate venue -- a private club, say -- and engage in polite conversations and lovely meals and let things take their course, if one was lonely in this particular way. He did not pretend to understand the ways of human demonologists, though. And he couldn't really fault them for finding demons attractive.

"Help! Somebody? Anybody!" a man cried in the distance.

There'd been six cultists; Crowley had dealt with four of them. Aziraphale still had a bit of time. He squinted at the recipe.

Was it possible -- oh no, Aziraphale thought, that was silly, why would anyone do that?

Desperation, perhaps? And a lack of knowledge of the fundamentals?

It had been an awfully bad year.

Given that, Aziraphale began to suspect that the Satanists' precursors had failed to keep particularly good records, and these particular ones, in their desire to quickly pull together a ritual to make things better, had accidentally combined two potions; one to set a vicious demon against one's enemies, and the other to summon an amorous demon. And now poor Crowley was a bit of both.

His eyes settled on the note at the bottom. Effects to last until demon has taken (?) its target.  And underneath that, with an arrow pointing at the word taken, the same hand had written How is this defined???

Aziraphale could think of several ways he might have defined taken in this context, but perhaps that was wishful thinking.

"No, no, let me go!  I’ll give you anything!  Please, don’t hurt me!" Aziraphale heard one of the Satanists shout.  That was number five.  He supposed he ought to be getting ready to go, then.

Aziraphale opened the door to the van, and then remembered that these things needed keys to start, too.  Of course, he could just make the thing start, but he was woozy and he'd rather just have the keys.

He wandered back to the head of the cultists.  "So sorry to trouble you again," he said, "but I'm going to need to borrow the keys to your van."

Apologizing and sobbing, the man fumbled around for a few moments before producing a handful of jangling keys.

"Thank you!" said Aziraphale, brightly, and left him alone again to go to the van.  He wondered if there were any snacks in it.  That was supposed to help with blood loss, wasn't it?  Aziraphale thought he'd earned it.

He was just opening the back of the van to look when he heard Crowley shout, "Angel!"  He looked to see Crowley slithering over, carrying the last Satanist by the scruff of her jacket.  It was the one called Gemma, who'd got all the ingredients for the potion.  "That'ss the lot of them."

"I thought you were going to deal with them all," said Aziraphale, frowning at her.  "What do you expect me to do, I'm not going to smite anyone."

Crowley dumped her on the ground in front of the van.  "No, you idiot, 'coursse I don't want you to ssmite her, but we need a driver.  I can't drive like thiss," he said, gesturing down at his scaly torso.

"Well -- I mean... I could do it," said Aziraphale, feeling a bit overlooked.

"No, no, no, angel, have you even got a licssensse?" Crowley asked.

"Have you?" Aziraphale asked; he was going to be very surprised if the answer was yes.

"That'ss not the point," Crowley said.

"Well, how hard can it be?  I've watched you drive plenty of times," said Aziraphale.  “You barely even look at the road.  And you take your hands off the wheel all the time.”

Crowley looked taken aback by this.  "How -- how hard can it -- angel, what'ss -- why do you --"

"Excuse me?" Gemma asked, brushing herself off and standing.  "Hey!  Hello?"

"Thiss iss not your problem," said Crowley, waving her off.  "Angel, do you want to learn to drive?" he asked.  "Becausse I'd -- I'd be willing to show you -- but right now I'm in no sstate to --"

"Excuse me," said Gemma, again.

"Not now," Aziraphale snapped at her.  He turned back to Crowley.  "I don't really want to drive, only -- is she even willing to do it?"

"Willing doessn't really come into it," said Crowley.  "She wasss part of thiss whole thing and she'ss not horrible enough to punish in any of the ways I could think of sso --"

"Fuck's sake, I'll drive, I haven't got transportation otherwise," said Gemma.  She grabbed the keys from Aziraphale.  "Thank you," she said, and stomped around the other side of the van to get into the driver's seat.

"Well.  That'ss ssettled, issn't it," said Crowley, smugly.

"Out of curiosity, what exactly did you do to the others?  And why didn't you do it to her?"

"I gave them all exactly what they thought they wanted," said Crowley, "but then..."  He rolled his eyes.  "I found her hiding in a tree trying to get recsseption sso she could look up how to de-esscalate a demon ssummoning without phoning the police."

Aziraphale processed this.  "De... escalate?"

"All she sseemed to want out of thiss wass a fun ssocial event without loadss of people about, and then they sstuck her with the grocsseriess and she felt obligated.  D'you know, she wass the virgin ssacrifice Mr. Fancssy Robess mentioned earlier?"

Aziraphale made a face.  "Oh dear."

"Apparently Ssatanisstss are rubbish in bed, though, which, I mean, I could've told her that," said Crowley.  "I told her to get an app or ssomething."

"Or, you know... mail order... devices," said Aziraphale, trying to strike a balance between sounding very worldly and not sounding like someone who'd actually sampled such devices.  He tried especially to not sound like he'd gone with mail order because the devices he wanted were too esoteric for the shop next door to carry.

Crowley grinned.  "You gonna give her ssome recommendationss, angel?" he asked.

"No!  No," said Aziraphale, firmly.

"Come on, let'ss get back to London," said Crowley.  "I can't turn back -- I tried -- sso I think I'd better ride in the back where there's room.  You can be in the front, keep her out of trouble, ssort of thing," he suggested.

"Of course," said Aziraphale.  "And... about changing back... I think you had better come stay with me at the bookshop until we sort that out."

"I... I don't think that'ss a good idea," said Crowley.  He looked very worried about this, for some reason.

"I got the recipe for their nasty little potion, and I think I know how to get you turned back," said Aziraphale.  "But I'd rather discuss that in private.  So.  Have her drop us both off at the bookshop?"

Crowley looked pensive.  "Yeah," he said, finally.  "All right."

"It'll be all right, Crowley," said Aziraphale, smiling at him.  "And if it isn't, you know, we'll just... find a way to make everyone think you're normal."

"We will, will we?" Crowley asked.

"The snake people of London are returning to terrorize the streets in vintage cars once again," said Aziraphale, loftily.  "Nature is healing."

It was the first genuine smile he'd got out of Crowley in -- well, in months, actually.  So that was something, anyway.

[next part]

[abbybubbls]

5 Easy Steps

I wrote a Good Omens thing a while ago, it’s on my AO3, but I felt the need to post it here... because I can. This fic is VERY self-indulgent. My mental health obviously hasn’t been so great throughout this year (just like everybody’s), and I have been projecting myself onto Aziraphale a lot. Writing this really helped, and I hope yall like it.

(I also fixed and added very minimal things to this, so I guess I gotta do the same for the AO3 version, huh? Yeah, I’mma get to that.)

If you’re ever feel the need to talk to somebody, please do. Reaching out for help can go a long way. :)

- Enjoy -

Summary: A month has passed since Aziraphale last called Crowley, and he suddenly gets a message. Good thing he’s not a heavy sleeper.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. “This is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style.” Bee-EEP!

Crowley opened his eyes slowly.

“Again…? Uh- Crowley? Are you there? I- I don’t know if you can hear me, but ah… I don’t… I’m not feeling my very best, and uhm… I was hoping we could talk to get my mind off of it, but… I know you don’t like being interrupted in your sleep, so… I won’t stop you. If you want, you can call back whenever… Goodnight, Crowley.”

“Angel, I’m right next to you.”

“CROWLEY-!”

With a jump, Aziraphale dropped the phone to the floor. He clutched his chest, holding onto the corner of his desk. Crowley simply had his hands in his pajama pants’ pockets, with this subtle concerned look on his face. His hair was noticeably a tangly mess.

“You alright?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale swallowed and tried to compose himself by straightening his vest.

“Not after seeing you inches close!” he exclaimed. “At least knock the door, Crowley…!”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley shrugged a bit. “Heard you weren’t feeling great, and I wanted to see for myself.”

“Well…” It sounded like Aziraphale was conjuring up some kind of retort, but he paused. His frightened posture softened. “You didn’t have to, but… thank you.”

Crowley’s response was a small nod.

“Nobody has seen you outside, breaking any rules,” Aziraphale asked. “Right?”

It took Crowley a few seconds to remember that there was a lockdown still going on. “Oh- no, I miracled here, in the middle of your message.”

“Okay…” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet. Crowley glanced down to see his hands wringing together. He’s seen this before.

Without looking behind him, Crowley plopped down on the couch, patting an open spot. “C’mere, sit.”

Aziraphale promptly did so, adorably politely sitting next to Crowley, with his hands on his lap.

The two sat in silence for a moment. Crowley was observing Aziraphale, catching up notice that every few seconds, he’d try to come up with something to say, only to stop himself multiple times. His fingers were clutching onto each other as if they had their own little ten lives, and they all depended on hugging so tightly, that the knuckles almost went white. Crowley took notice of this, seeing Aziraphale’s face turning pink. He could sense the anxiety in the whole bookshop. He’s seen this before.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, only getting skittish glances. “Aziraphale-”

“Yes!” The response was quick, with the angel turning to Crowley with a small and nervous grin. “What- What is it?”

Crowley pursed his lips. “You gonna… tell me what’s wrong?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth and stopped for the nth time. “Well… I don’t know if it’s something that is wrong at all.”

“I mean, it’s gotta be something that’s bothering you,” Crowley said. “You did say you’re ‘not feeling your very best’, so… what’s up?”

A small sigh. “I’m just… antsy, I suppose.”

“Over what?” Crowley asked. His arm was draped over the top of the couch, and over behind Aziraphale’s shoulders. The angel wiggled a bit and cleared his throat.

“Over… this.” He gestured weirdly with his hands. Crowley doesn’t get it. “This year has been… strange. We all thought this year would be something special and exciting, but it just… spat at us with a bunch of things at once.”

Crowley shrugged lightly. “We’ve had big pandemics every one hundred years. It happens, angel. You know that.”

“I do,” Aziraphale replied, hands still clasped together. “I do, but I… I know it’s nothing for me to worry about, and I know I should try to focus on myself for once, but… so much has happened, that I  can’t  focus on myself at all. Even in America, I’m worried. Can’t people just go by the rules? Is it that hard for people, who claim to just love love LOVE their country so much, to stay indoors and respect others by how they look? Whatever happened to common human decency?!”

Crowley has been taking a nap for a month, so he obviously hasn’t caught up on the news, especially with what’s happening in America… but from the tone of Aziraphale’s voice and his wording, Crowley could tell that something big must be going on over there… again.

Aziraphale leaned back on the couch, with Crowley noticing his hands gesturing around and shaking as he spoke. “And I know! I know there are good people, who are fighting and protesting for a wonderful cause, and they’re all putting their lives on the line, but… no matter what I hear, from two people taking walks outside, to a single person I let visit my bookshop for comfort, it’s always bad news, everywhere…”

Crowley silently nodded along, and Aziraphale’s voice started to waver. “I’m sick of it. To the point where I’m not sure what news could be real or not- I…”

Aziraphale almost flinched at the feeling of a careful hand on his back. Crowley was frowning, watching him attempt to wipe his eyes with his trembling hands multiple times.

“I just feel so helpless,” he said as a whisper, now clenching fists against his lap. “At first, I liked staying in the bookshop, because staying home would be helping people. I’m an angel, I’m supposed to help people. But now, with everything that is happening out  there… I hate it here. I hate staying cooped up, I hate not being able to do anything about these problems that have absolutely nothing to do with me, or you.”

For some reason, it’s always a surprise to Crowley that Aziraphale would sometimes use the word ‘hate’. And he loves just about everything in the world.

“I’m just…” Aziraphale held in a breath and sighed shakily. “Not feeling like myself lately. I want this ‘bad news’ year to be over. And we thought 2016 and Armageddon were bad, heheh…”

He laughed, weakly. It was a poor time to add humor into this, but Crowley would have to give the angel credit, at least he tried.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale kept wiping his eyes, sniffling lightly. “Oh, I’m- I’m sorry, Crowley, I- I… I figured you wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this. I knew waking you up was a bad idea.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley shifted on the couch, facing the angel. His hand was still on his back, comfortingly. “Feeling like all of that is okay. You’re not the only one-”

“I know, Crowley!” Aziraphale was gritting his teeth, making Crowley hold his hand back. The angel quickly looked guilty from his sudden snappy tone, and tears welled back up in his eyes. His voice broke. “I know.”

“Angel-”

Aziraphale then started crying. Frowning deeply, Crowley immediately pulled him into a gentle hug. “I’m sorry- It’s okay, it’s alright. I’m here, angel. Shhhshhshshshshshh. I’m right here.”

Aziraphale tugged onto the back of Crowley’s shirt, sobbing. Brushing his fingers through the angel’s hair and rubbing his back, Crowley began rocking from side to side. “Let it out now, Aziraphale, it’s alright. I’m here, it’s okay.”

Minutes have passed, and Aziraphale’s crying quieted down. Crowley figured that he’d be feeling better by now, but once his arms went free, Aziraphale’s grip around him tightened, which began another round of soft crying.

“Shhhhhh.” Crowley sighed and continued rubbing Aziraphale’s back gently. “Breathe. You’re alright.”

There were only small, desperate whimpers. Crowley sighed through his nose, feeling his eyes sting a bit. His eyebrows then raised, remembering something. He put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Aziraphale, look at me.”

Aziraphale was lifted off of Crowley, but his head was down with his eyes shut closed. Crowley cupped his cheeks, wiping dried tear streaks off. “Look at me, angel.”

Melting at his touch, Aziraphale’s hand went up to hold Crowley’s. His eyes opened slowly, puffy from crying, looking into Crowley’s.

“You wanna try something for me?” Crowley asked. “I think it’ll help.”

Both hands were being held as the two shifted on the couch. Aziraphale cleared his throat multiple times.

Crowley held up a hand freely. “Name five things you see.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and stopped.

“Five things you can see,” Crowley said. “You don’t have to list every single thing in the shop.”

“I know…” Aziraphale’s voice croaked, and he cleared his throat again. “Uh… The lamp… the desk… the bookshelf… the phone… and you.”

“Alright,” Crowley said, holding up four fingers. “Four things you can feel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. With his leg dangling off the edge of the couch, his toes wiggled in his sock. “My socks…”

He glanced down to see his thumb fiddling underneath his pinkie ring. “My ring…”

He gripped onto the blanket on the couch. “The blanket…”

He felt Crowley’s hand holding onto his, carefully. “And you.”

Crowley held up three fingers. “Three things you can hear.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Well, that one must be a bit difficult to understand, don’t you think…?”

One of Crowley’s eyebrows quirked upward, and he was smirking. Aziraphale blushed. “Right. Uh… me…”

He looked around the room, seeing his record player, not playing anything. “Whatever song is playing in my head… if that counts…”

“It does, don’t worry,” Crowley said.

“And you,” Aziraphale finished.

Smiling softly, Crowley held up two fingers. “Two things you can smell.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath through his nose, and sighed with a small smile. “My leftover cake from yesterday…”

Another deep breath, and Aziraphale blinked up at Crowley. “And you…”

Crowley was curious as to what the Someplace Aziraphale might have caught that smelled like him, but another part of him just went, “No, he’ll just fuss over how weird you smell, you’ve been sleeping for a month, get it together, man.”

Crowley shook it off, and held up one finger. “One thing you can taste.”

“Oh, now that’s just too many to choose from,” Aziraphale muttered, making Crowley snicker. The angel snapped his fingers, in an attempt to recollect any remaining taste from the cakes he’s had. His hand then clenched into an excited fist, and he grinned. “The cherries from my Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte!”

Crowley’s smile widened along with Aziraphale’s. He held onto both of his hands now, feeling the trembling go away. A little bit of the anxieties were still there, but at least the angel was smiling.

“It wasn’t any miracle,” Crowley said. “But you can use that little shtick to help you if you’re ever feeling worried again.”

“I still am feeling worried…”

“And that’s okay.” Crowley’s voice was soft. “You can just use it to be more aware of your surroundings instead of what’s going on somewhere else. And yeah, it doesn’t get rid of how you’re feeling, but it helped, right?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “It did.”

“Right,” Crowley replied, cupping the angel’s cheek again. “It’s just a little reminder that you’re still here. And you’re safe. You have every right to be worried about America. There can be dumb people and there can be smart people. Try not to let it take over your whole head when you think about it. Okay?”

Aziraphale nodded again with a smile. “Alright, I’ll try. Thank you, Crowley.”

“No problem, angel.” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale again, pulling him in for another tight hug. “If you feel the need for help, just ask me. I’ve helped you dozens of times before, and I’ll keep doing it dozens of times again.”

There was a tearful chuckle. “I just don’t want to push all of my troubles onto you.”

“I honestly don’t care,” Crowley said. “I’m not the  best  therapist demon in the world, but I still want to help you in any way that I can.”

The only response to that was Aziraphale’s grip, tightening around Crowley’s shirt. He could practically feel the angel smiling. He could tell he was thankful.

Minutes have passed.

“You know, Crowley… you don’t have to stay over here.”

“Yeah, I know. But I want to anyway.”

“Oh… you’re too kind.”

“‘Kind’ is a four-letter-word, Aziraphale.”

“Uh… you’re too… great?”

“Better.”

A tiny scoff, but the hug didn’t break. “I admire you, but you can be a real pain in the wing over such simple words.”

A shrug. “Eh. What can you do.”

“Well… nothing, really.”

“Great.”

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Luke 15:32

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Well, time to meet Larry.

***

“Have more cake.”

“Ah, thank you, I believe I am--” 

A large slice of carrot cake landed on Gabriel’s dish before the words ‘quite full’ were even out. Gabriel’s gaze shifted from it to the dog - whose name was Arthur Canine Doyle, he’d learned, Doyle for short. It was resting its muzzle on Gabriel’s knee, looking up pleadingly. A very pink tongue emerged to lick its snout the moment he looked down. It sure made itself hard to ignore.

Gabriel was beginning to suspect it was after the cake.

“... And so he asked me to marry him,” Berenice was going on, serving herself a generous amount of cake as well.  “I mean, with the papers in order, new documents and all, he really didn’t have any excuse left not to, you know? But he maintains he planned to ask all along.”

“I see,” Gabriel said, smiling a little and letting his gaze wander across the room. They were sitting in a living room, whose walls were covered in paintings of seaside landscapes; an half-finished painting was at the far end of the room. It definitely explained the dashes of color on Berenice’s jumper, and the strong smell of paint.

A chuckle, and she took a sip of tea. “We married in summer 2006 and it rained the entire bloody day, of course it did, but the ceremony was lovely. My son walked me down the aisle and everything. We also had my old dog as our ring bearer,” she added, nodding to something on Gabriel’s right. 

He followed her gaze, and found himself looking at a framed photo of the dog in question - huge and hairy as Doyle, with a long lolling tongue, but completely black. However, it wasn’t the dog to catch his gaze as much as the newlyweds standing right behind it, smiling for the camera. 

At first sight, Lawrence Brown didn’t resemble his younger brother at all. Daniel had been on the short side but broad, a full beard covering half his face, and the most elegant attire Gabriel had ever seen on him consisted of clean jeans and a flannel shirt. Lawrence’s build was slighter, and he was dressed in an impeccable suit that Gabriel was certain had to be tailored. He was clean-shaven, iron-gray hair neatly combed back, a black cane with a silver handle in one hand; the other arm was around Berenice’s waist. 

And yet there was something in the broad smile, the aquiline nose, the cheekbones and… ah, yes, the same dark green eyes. They two brothers didn’t quite resemble each other, but they did share some features upon closer inspection. It made Gabriel smile a little. Daniel would be glad to know that. “That’s a really nice photograph.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Berenice smiled. “I don’t think I ever spent so much time doing my hair before or since, but it was worth it. Towards the end of the ceremony his bad knee was bothering him, did I say it was bloody rainy? So I suggested we took the photos sitting down, but he wouldn’t have that. He’s stubborn, did I mention that?”

Gabriel smiled. “A few times,” he said, and was about to start eating the third slice of cake out of politeness - time to find out how much his stomach could really take - when Doyle’s ears suddenly perked up. The dog pulled its head off Gabriel’s knee and stood, running to the next room, where the entrance was, with a wagging tail and a noise that sounded much like ‘boof’.

“Ah, there he is,” Berenice murmured. She put her cup of tea aside and stood from her armchair. “I’ll let him know you’re here,” she added, the smile gone from her face - a stark reminder to Gabriel that he was not there to deliver an especially cheery message. It made sense for her to want to prepare her husband for what was to come.

He put the dish aside and nodded, his mouth pulled in a tight line, as Berenice quickly went through the entrance. Through the doorway, Gabriel could just hear a man’s voice asking the dog who was ‘a good boy’, which he found mildly confusing, not least because he knew dogs were unable to utter a response. Then he was cut off, and Gabriel could make out Berenice speaking in a soft tone, although he couldn’t grasp the words.

A message to deliver. It’s what I do best, Gabriel thought, instinctively reaching up to straighten his tie. Please, please, do not cry, he thought immediately afterwards. Until not too long ago, if it had been over a message God tasked him to deliver to a mortal, the thought of his words being met with tears might have been mildly awkward at worst. Now, something in his chest ached at the mere thought. 

It should be Daniel sitting here. Not me. This is not fair.

Mortal lives are short, something whispered in the back of his mind. 

They needed more time, Daniel needed more time, he should have gotten to grow old.

Ah, that wouldn’t have mattered until a few months ago, either. He had been ready to follow the Great Plan and see humanity annihilated, because it was the plan and there was nothing else he ought to care about. Billions human lives lost, Daniel’s and his brother’s and his wife’s among them; billions with unfinished business and years to live, and he hadn’t cared.

Aziraphale had cared. A demon had cared - but not him. You’re a good man, Daniel had written. Ah, if only he’d known.

In the next room there was more quiet talking, a brief silence, and then steps. Gabriel stood as Lawrence Brown walked in with a slight limp, looking at him with those dark green eyes that looked so familiar. He was older than in the photo, but there were few differences - a few more wrinkles around his eyes, his hair having gone from iron to silver, more informal clothing. The one big change, of course, was on his expression; the broad smile had changed into a polite one that barely hid the hurt, the many questions he certainly ached to ask.

And Gabriel would answer, at the best of his abilities.

Don’t say ‘fear not’.

“Mr. Brown,” Gabriel greeted him, holding out his hand. “My name is Gabriel Archer. I-- apologize for the intrusion.”

Lawrence’s smile seemed a little more sincere as he reached back to shake his hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said, and sat on the armchair in front of him while Doyle went to lay down at his feet. Berenice walked up to the armchair, putting a hand on his shoulder; he reached up to hold it, but his gaze never left Gabriel. “... I assume I wasn’t easy to find.”

Telling him both Heaven and Hell had been going crazy looking for him would have made for a truthful answer, but not a very wise one. Gabriel nodded, sitting as well. “You were not, but I-- I owed it to Daniel.”

If only I’d asked for assistance earlier, we could have found you on time. Before he died.

The name caused the smile to fade, and Lawrence drew in a deep breath, holding a little tighter on his wife’s hand. “Is what you told my wife true? That Daniel’s-- gone?”

A weight seemed to settle in Gabriel’s stomach as he nodded. “I am afraid he is. He passed away in his sleep a few weeks ago - heart failure.”

Lawrence let out all air in his lungs in a long breath, lowering his eyes. He swallowed before he spoke, Berenice still holding his hand in silent, steady comfort. “He’d have been fifty-five.”

“He was.”

“Fifty-six on the tenth of August. St. Lawrence’s day.” A shaky breath. “He was not old.”

“No, he was not,” Gabriel said, very quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Unfair, that. Margaret Thatcher lived a lot longer than that, may she rot in Hell.”

“She is.”

“Sorry?”

“Uh, nothing.”

A pause as Lawrence glanced at the photo and then back again. The pain was there behind his eyes, raw and palpable, but kept at bay. It was the gaze of someone who’d learned to deal with pain. Someone who’d lost an entire family before. Someone who’d been cast out, and had to learn to deal with it. It was a gaze Gabriel had seen in the mirror before.

“It is hard to imagine,” Lawrence said slowly, his voice a little less strained. “He was only ten last I saw him. A little boy. He still had gaps in his mouth where his baby teeth fell off.”

“I have a photo.” Gabriel reached in the internal pocket of his jacket and pulled out a photo of Daniel during a dinner for Łukasz’s birthday. It had been Fabrizio to take it, and he’d done Gabriel a huge favor by having it properly printed out; it showed Daniel sitting back against the backrest of his chair, a pint in his hand, laughing at something. He handed it to Lawrence, who hesitated a moment before taking it with a slightly shaky hand.

The photo of a stranger, Gabriel found himself thinking, why would he care to see the photo of a stranger? Daniel was no longer the boy he knew. He doesn’t know him at all.

“It has been a long time,” he had told Beelzebub. “We are not the beings we were then.”

“Oh,” Lawrence said, after looking at it for a few moments. His features twisted a moment - that pain again, trying to come to the surface - but in the end, he smiled. “Here he is, dear,” he finally muttered, glancing up at his wife. “My little brother, all grown up.”

Berenice smiled as well. “Almost as handsome as you.”

“I know, right? I like the beard, it never did much for my face - now that was a disappointment - but it looks good on him. He… heh. He looks like our father.”

Knowing what he did about his and Daniel’s parents - which was little, but none of it good - Gabriel was not quite sure what to think of the oddly fond smile that curled Lawrence’s lips for a moment. Nostalgia, maybe. However it was gone quite quickly, and Lawrence looked up at him again. He didn’t put down the photo, Gabriel noticed; he held it in his hands, as though unable to let go of it. “Thank you,” he said, his voice a little strained again. Gabriel managed a smile. 

“You’re welcome. I just finished what he started. He-- was looking for you.”

A shaky breath, and Lawrence shook his head. “No, he was not.”

“Huh? No, I assure you, he’d been trying for years--”

“He was looking for Alison. That was not me.”

Beelzebub, not Ba’al. 

No. Enough. They have nothing to do with any of this. Ba’al fought God and fell and is no more.

Gabriel closed his mouth, at a loss for words for a few moments-- but then he remembered the letter Daniel had written for him to memorize, and shook his head. “He was looking for you. Only under the wrong name, is all. There were things he did not know.”

I want you to know I loved you then and I love you now, wherever you are. You were the best sibling I could have asked for, I am sorry I couldn’t see that. I am sorry I never read your letter.

“... He was sorry for what he said to you. He didn’t mean it. He regretted it his entire life.”

A long pause, a sigh. “He was only a child, then. I never held it against him. It was not his fault,” Lawrence said, looking down at the photograph again. “God, he looks so different.”

“Still your little brother,” Berenice spoke softly, reaching to brush back his hair. 

“... Yes. He was.” He brushed a thumb over the photo. “I should visit him. Where is he buried?”

Oh, that. “The… funeral has not gone ahead yet. They were trying to locate his next of kin. Which would be you,” Gabriel said, gaining himself a startled look.

“Just me? Isn’t there… anyone else?”

“He was married, but his wife passed away years ago. He had... an eventful life.” Gabriel managed a smile. “I’d be happy to fill you in, if you’d like. So that you know more about him.”

A long look, and he smiled. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand still holding the photo. “... I would appreciate that more than words can say,” he replied. Berenice smiled, and squeezed his hand one more time before letting go. “I’ll be making more tea for everyone.”

“No need, I still have a cup--”

“Which you let go cold, Mr. Archer,” she cut him off with a chuckle, reaching to take it. “No, no, sit. Please. You have a lot to talk about.”

And he did, he truly did - filling in Lawrence with all he knew about Daniel’s life, the ups and downs, the happy life and marriage, the death of his wife, illness, homelessness, how he pulled himself out of it; what a good worker he was, how respected by everyone he worked with him.

And most of all he told him everything that Daniel was; a good man, a generous man, someone who’d share the last of his beer with a weird frazzled stranger he met in a park, and then let him sleep in his tent when he became too drunk to go anywhere else. Lawrence listened, smiled, and got misty-eyed - and it was all right, because so did Gabriel and he found there was no shame in that. It was a fundamental part of being human, after all. 

By the time he finished speaking, Lawrence Brown looked many things - saddened and grateful, nostalgic and thoughtful, but most of all he looked proud. “He turned out well,” he said, and smiled down at the photo. “He was always a good kid. I was sure he’d be a good man.”

“He was the best hum--” ah, wait. Not the right wording. “The best man I have known. Ah, thank you,” Gabriel said, taking the cup of tea Berenice was handing him. Behind her, Lawrence sneakily passed a biscuit to Doyle. 

“Well. It seems I ought to get in touch, then, so I can organise the funeral. I will let you know all the details so you and your colleagues can attend,” Lawrence added. “I am… very grateful to you for going through the trouble of coming all the way here.”

Gabriel smiled. “I had a debt of gratitude.”

“To Daniel, but not to me. How may I repay you?”

“Well…” All right, he ought to word this in a way that was not weird, because telling him he wanted to know more about his life so he could tell Daniel about it was not an option, unless he wished an ambulance to be called to take him. “You seem to have had an interesting life yourself. I grew curious as I searched you - if it’s not too much to ask for you to indulge my curiosity…?” 

A chuckle. “Ah, it was not as interesting as you might believe, so prepare to be disappointed. When I left Plymouth after… well. When I left it was early May - the first of May, I think. Or was it the tenth? Well, one of the two. Either way, I decided to board the first train to London…”

***

“Aren’t you going to miss London at all?”

“Ah, maybe the nightlife. But whenever that happens, we can always hop on the Bentley and go like the wind.”

“That is a slightly frightening thought.”

“Oh, come on, you know I never crash.”

“But you have caused others to crash upon occasion, do I have to remind you-- oh, this one looks nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it? It’s got a big loft, too, we can miracle it to be bigger on the inside. Nice large window, lets in plenty of natural light.”

“It would make a perfect library!”

“... I was thinking of houseplants.”

“Is that necessary? This comes with such a lovely garden, you can have all the plants you wish.”

“Ah, right. Still had my brain wired on ‘flat’.”

“Well. I see no reason why we can’t have houseplants in the library. Is that tree in the garden?”

“An apple tree? Yes.” Crowley had to admit it was an amusing coincidence. He scrolled through the photos. “Ah, that corner over there would be perfect for shrubs, and that spot in the sun… hedges all around… yes, I could turn it into something like Eden with some work.”

“Oh, and I could help you!”

“What?”

“In the garden.”

“Angel, if you so much try to go all Brother Francis again and be kind to garden pests--”

“I promise I will not, as long as you promise not to raise your voice at the plants.”

Crowley sighed. “Yes, yes, compromise. I am reasonably sure we already discussed this point. Didn’t we?”

“I think we did, yes.”

“Would be easier to remember if we didn’t keep getting interrupted to babysit--”

Aziraphale’s phone rang. Crowley rolled his eyes. Case in point.

“Ah, it might be Gabriel,” Aziraphale said. As far as Crowley was concerned, it was all the more reason not to answer the phone - if the idiot got himself stabbed in Luton it was his own problem, he’d received a fair warning - but Aziraphale picked up the receiver before he could voice those thoughts.

“Hello? Oh, Gabriel! I did wonder why you didn’t call-- oh, you found him? Wait-- Paington? How did you get there from Lut-- ah, I see. Well, that’s delightful news, isn’t it! When are you going to-- oh, you already… my, wasn’t that quick! And how did it go? Wonderful, wonderful. I’m sure your friend will be happy to know that. Is there anything more we can do to assist? Oh. Oh. Ah, you’re quite welcome, you’re quite welcome. Of course, it was no trouble at all. Take care, then.”

As the call ended, Crowley raised an eyebrow. “So, he found the bloke?”

“He did. He called to thank us,” Aziraphale replied, sounding mildly surprised.

Crowley frowned. “Us?” he repeated. The former Archangel fucking Gabriel thanking him, too?

“Yes, he specifically said ‘both of you’,” was the reply. Well, now that was… unexpected. 

“Looks like he finally learned some manners,” he muttered, and Aziraphale chuckled, nudging him with an elbow as he sat back next to him, looking down at the cottage they might just pick.

“Before it slips my mind, one thing we should check is if there’s a good bakery in the vicinity…”

***

Lawrence and Berenice insisted for Gabriel to stay for lunch.

At first he’d thought to decline, if anything because the amount of cake he’d been fed throughout the morning almost dwarfed what Aziraphale had been trying to get in his stomach with varying degrees of success - but after so long looking for Lawrence, Gabriel found he wanted to stay a bit longer. 

He wanted to get to know him a little better, gather more details he could pass on to Daniel, and answer any more questions Lawrence may have about his brother. He couldn’t answer all of them, because what he knew of Daniel’s life before they met he’d only heard about, but he did his best. 

And besides, he found it was very easy to discreetly slip food under the table to Doyle in order to keep his stomach from bursting without refusing food, which Berenice had made clear would not be tolerated. If anything, Doyle appreciated his initiative a lot. By the time Gabriel left, after exchanging numbers and thanks and with polite handshakes, it was mid-afternoon and… a pleasantly mild day overall, despite being just early March. 

It was only a short walk to the seafront, where a few people were walking their dogs or kicking around a spherical object - ah, right, a soccer ball - only to have it stolen by a dog who then ran off, forcing a couple of people to chase it. But they were laughing, so Gabriel supposed they were not especially bothered by the inconvenience. 

He sat outside a café, ordered a coffee, called Aziraphale to update him as he waited and then he pulled a small notepad from the inside pocket of his jacket to start jotting down all that Lawrence had told him about himself and his life, so that it could be passed on to Daniel. His memory used to be infallible, as that of all angels, but that no longer was the case: he retained all he had learned in his existence as part of the Heavenly host, but new information was harder to fix into his mind now that he was a mortal. 

An interesting side effect, considering that, other memories had been making a comeback.

“I know you,” he’d said once to a Virtue known as Ba’al. 

“No. You do not.”

Not the beings we were then.

Why would he care to see the photo of a stranger?

“My little brother, all grown up,” Lawrence Brown had said. 

It has been a long time. He doesn’t know him at all.

“Thank you for coming,” he had said. “Thank you for bringing Daniel back to me.”

“... Sir? Is something the matter with your coffee?”

“Huh?”

Gabriel blinked, and realized three things at once: that he had been stating in the distance towards the waves with the pen in mid-air for several minutes, that the coffee in front of him was untouched and growing cold, and that the waitress was looking at him with mild concern. 

He smiled. “Ah, I got a bit lost in thought. Thanks for snapping me out of it,” he said, and she smiled back before leaving. He picked up the mug, took a sip and ah, it needed more sugar, it was so bitter only Beelzebub could possibly appreciate-- no, best not to think of them. Not now. 

All too soon, he suspected, they would show up to demand he repaid the favor, and Gabriel would keep his word. He had to.

But for now, he would focus on the task at hand - the message he truly wanted to pass on. Gabriel put down the mug, picked up the pen, and began writing.

***

“A risk analyst? Is that an actual thing?”

“I am fairly sure it is.”

“Gabriel’s got to be shit-- pulling my leg,” Daniel Brown said, to his credit correcting himself very fast when he noticed Uriel’s raised eyebrow. Beside him, his wife seemed amused. 

“Not the career you had imagined for him?”

“Not what I’d imagine for anyone, since I didn’t know it existed. When Ali-- Lawrence left, she-- he’d-- agh, I keep fucking this up.”

As Uriel sighed in defeat - that man’s language was impossible - Liv Brown chuckled. “You’ll get used to it,” she said. Uriel was not entirely certain she was talking to her husband about his use of correct pronouns, or reassuring her that sooner or later his language would cease bothering her.

To be honest, Uriel had no plans to stay in the lower spheres of Heaven long enough to get used to any of it.

Unaware of her thoughts, Daniel Brown shrugged, scanning the message of several pages Gabriel had sent back for him. “Hope so, I keep slipping up and feeling like an arse-- an idiot, I mean. But… a risk analyst. I imagined he’d, I don’t know, boarded a plane to Australia to be a kangaroo herder or something. Not board a train to London to become a risk analyst. I can get he’s a guy but what job is that supposed to be?”

“... It doesn’t sound particularly adventurous, I agree. On the bright side, getting to him might have been a little more difficult if he lived in Australia herding kangaroos.”

“Ah, fair.”

They kept going over the latter together, and Uriel silently left the room without either of them noticing. Her work there was done; Daniel Brown may have never met his brother in life - he would in Heaven, most likely, if Lawrence Brown’s file was anything to go by he was well on course to get in - but at least he had the answers he had been seeking. 

Uriel, on the other hand, still has no answer to the questions that wouldn’t leave her alone - nor Michael nor Sandalphon, she knew that - ever since the order had come to cast Gabriel out, and they’d obeyed. So many questions, and not one answer. 

God owed them no answers, Uriel knew, and questioning was a dangerous thing to do in Heaven… yet it was all she had been doing for the past several months. All they had been doing.

And maybe it was time for them to ask those questions out loud, come what may.

***

"But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." -- Luke 15:32

***

[Back]

[Next]

[badsext]

The Substance of Love - Chapter 3: Klaus x Female Reader

Chapter 1 is here

Chapter 2 is here

Word count: ~ 1950

Warnings: This is where the tender, loving SMUT is.

_________________________________________________________

“So you finished it?,” Klaus inquired, his mouth full of instant noodles.

“Yeah”

“And….”

“Oh my god, it’s so epic.  I never thought I’d root so hard for the antichrist….Heaven is full of hard ass warmongers…The devil is a deadbeat dad.  That shit is priceless!  And, of course, Azirafale and Crowley are so perfect together.  I’d ship them.”

“I really like you, Y/N.“  Klaus said, his eyes focused on you.

"Aren’t you, uh?…You stammered.

"What?"  He grinned, still staring and enjoying your embarrassment a little. 

"I mean, I’m not completely…either, but I thought…” Your voice got caught in your throat and your cheeks grew hot.

“Never mind.  What I meant to say is, me too, Klaus.  I like you too.”  You started frantically checking around the pillows on the couch.  “Oh for fuck’s sake - Where is the remote?  I still need to show you my favorite movie.”

“Since when do you swear this much?,” Klaus teased.

You bopped him in the face with one of the pillows then settled into a comfortable position.

“I guess the ghosts decided to give you a break, hu?”

“Oh no.  We’re definitely not alone.  It’s like listening to two or more conversations at once.  My brother, Ben is here.  He’s a real chatty bitch.”

“Is he the one with the…"  You mime a creature bursting out of your chest.

Klaus laughed. “Yeah.  You know he can see you.”

“Oh, right…I’m just saying ‘Aliens’ might not be the best choice of movies.”

Your phone buzzed with a text from Kendra.  It said ‘call me - important.’

“Ooh.  I’ve gotta make a quick call.”

“Alright, I’ll go outside for a smoke,” he said. You narrowed your eyes at him.  “Just a smoke,” he assured you.

“Okay.  Give me five minutes."  Klaus shut the door and you turned your attention to Kendra.

"Hey Kendra, what’s so important?”

“Is Klaus there?"  Her tone of voice made you nervous.

"He went out for a smoke, why?”

“I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this….She paused and took a deep breath.  "Klaus and I have been seeing each other. I know you two are close.  Has he mentioned it to you?

"Um, no."  You reply, still processing the information.

"That’s what I was afraid of.  I just hope he’s not giving you the wrong idea.  He’s also been telling me things.  He told me why you got fired from Mount Saini.  I just wanted to warn you, before you got too involved.  He’s not who you think he is, Y/N.  Just be careful.

"Okay, I appreciate you telling me."  You wiped the tears that had already formed on your face as Klaus opened the door.  He noticed immediately that something was wrong.

"What is it?  What happened?"  He rushed over and tried to comfort you, but you just stared at the ground with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, hurt but not wanting to confront him.  You were embarrassed for thinking Klaus might have romantic feelings for you.

"I have a job interview in the morning.  I think you should go,” was all you could manage to say without crying.

“Please tell me what’s going on,” he pleaded.  His hands gripped the back of his neck and he looked as if he was about to cry himself.  The more he insisted, the more you felt like you were being played.  Kendra’s words still rang in your ears.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.  Just get the fuck out,” you said, effectively ending the argument.  Klaus searched your eyes for a compromise, but he found them unrelenting.  Instead of slamming the door, as you may have expected, Klaus closed the door so carefully it barely made a sound, which was somehow worse.  You started crying as soon as he was gone.

A few minutes into your breakdown, just as a headache was beginning to form, you went into the kitchen for some water and it dawned on you.  Maybe Kendra was lying.  Klaus looked genuinely confused and upset. After leaving your place, Klaus would have gone to Kendra’s or to the club to score drugs.  If you found him at the club, that could mean he wasn’t with Kendra after all.  It was worth a shot. 

You headed downtown to the spot he always talked about in group, 'The Shark Tank.'  You were so conflicted. Part of you wanted to find him there, suggesting that maybe he did have feelings for you and not Kendra.  Another part of you was devastated to think of him using again and that you had something to do with it.  You were so torn, you thought about buying some street pills and just getting high.  This is the point when you would have called your sponsor, which reminded you that you needed a new sponsor ASAP.

Klaus’ description the club in group really flattered the place.  It was actually a grimy hole in the wall, chock full of sweaty club kids.  It would seem that at thirty, Klaus had outgrown it.  But then there he was, leaning against the wall looking despondent.  You were relieved to see him there, but still anxious about what you might learn.  He looked up at you confused.  The music was so loud you had to get close and practically yell into his ear.

“Did you take anything?"  Klaus just opened his hand.  In it was a standard little plastic baggie of amphetamines.  He looked up at you, clearly feeling the blunt force of his emotions.  He was clean.

"What stopped you?"  You asked, wondering how he had the strength.

"I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you."  The significance of this made your heart jump, but you couldn’t let it stop you from your purpose. 

"Klaus, I have to ask you something." 

"Please!  I have to know what you’re mad about.  I seriously have no clue.”

“Kendra knows about my past, not about my power, but she knows the reason I was fired from the hospital…You didn’t -”

“No, I didn’t tell her that!  I wonder how she would-”

“You’re not sleeping with Kendra, are you?”

“God, no!  I haven’t talked to her since the last NA meeting.  She came onto me, but I wasn’t into it.  I turned her down and she didn’t take it well, but I didn’t think she’d try anything like this,” Klaus replied, looking genuinely distraught.

You looked into those haunted green eyes and you knew you believed him.  Klaus was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar.  Kendra had raised some doubt during a moment of weakness, but she was manipulating you.  You had real, tangible feelings for Klaus and it was time he knew it.

You held his head in your hands and kissed him delicately on the lips.  Then you pulled back holding your breath for his reaction.  A split second passed which felt like a millennia while he sorted his thoughts.  Then he smiled, pulled you close, and kissed you with an intensity that affirmed everything you had hoped for.  His passion persuaded you to move your body to the music with his.  Dancing was something you had rarely, if ever done sober.  But it felt so good to finally have your body pressed against his that the rhythm came naturally to you.  His hands were wrapped around your waist and yours had found their way to the back of his neck.  Klaus nuzzled into your ear and whispered, “Wanna get outta here?”

Buy the time you got to your apartment, you were so desperate for each other, you barely made it through the door without tumbling onto the floor.  You each began shedding your clothes.  Your eyes raked over his smooth skin and lean muscles, adding to the growing wet heat between your legs.  He was likewise aroused by the sight of you removing your sundress.  His tight leather pants were made tighter by the sight of your naked silhouette.  You grabbed teasingly at his bulge while he explored your mouth with his tongue.  “Let me help you with this,” you said into his lips, as your fingers fumbled with his fly.  He trailed sensual kisses down your neck and shoulders.  

When his pants fell down around his ankles he kicked them off then lifted you off the ground to straddle him. Your breath caught in you throat as he spun you around towards the bed.  He put you down gently and trailed his fingertips softly through the hollow between your breasts, over the soft curve of your stomach, and down to your aching pleasure center.  He looked into your eyes as his fingers danced and played with your sensitive flesh.  You gasped and moaned, reacting to his subtle and not so subtle movements.  He dragged his lips down to your breast and sucked your nipple into his mouth while he slipped his fingers into your tight wet void.  You bucked forward and he swirled his thumb against your swollen bundle of nerves.  There was no holding back, you came before you even realized what was happening, moaning and twitching and spasming around Klaus’ fingers.

“We haven’t even gotten to the best part,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and giving them a little taste.

You reached up, wrapping one hand gently around his neck and purred, “I need you now, Klaus.”

That was all he needed.  You felt his throat muscles clench and his erection press harder against your belly.   He slipped into you so easily and filled you completely.  Then he began thrusting, grinding, and building friction exactly where you wanted it.  Another orgasm pulsed through you, and Klaus watched your body arch and react.  He cracked a proud little smile as he continued.  After riding out your climax, you seized his shoulders and rolled on top of him.  You wanted to make him feel the way he made you feel.  You rocked your hips forward until he was buried to the hilt.  You intuitively wrapped your hands around his neck and squeezed lightly as you bounced up and down.  It wasn’t long before Klaus was bucking and releasing himself deep inside you. 

“Wow, that was….”

“Um hm.”

You dismounted carefully and rested your head on the pillow next to him.  You laid there together a moment, just catching your breath.  He grabbed your hand and laced your fingers together.  

“So, this is going to sound random …My father died a few weeks ago. You were still in rehab. I went back home for the funeral and saw all my brothers and sisters. It got me thinking.”

“Oh god, that’s right.  I remember seeing it in the news. I’m so sorry, Klaus.  I can’t believe I didn’t even acknowledge it.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it…He will not be missed…The point I was trying to make is that if you’re interested, I ‘d like to take you home…to meet my family.”

“Oh my god, Klaus, yes!”  You peppered his face with featherlight kisses, then you settled in behind him, one arm under the pillow and the other slung over his hip.

“Oh, wait.  I really do have a job interview in the morning.”  You suddenly remembered and leaned over to set your alarm.  “And let’s confront Kendra at the next meeting.  She shouldn’t get away with this shit and I’d love to know where she got her information.”

“Mmm,” Klaus writhed against you.  “You’re sexy when you plot revenge.”

“Go to sleep,” you chuckled, kissing his curls.

Want more?

@moorehollandplz @helena-way07 @bubblyani @yeetskeetbuddy @zoemassingale @zohrayoung @ohyoubringmejoy @mywinterivy @waywardtrashfam @fiowersnack @becka1703 @zohargreeves @slutonside @klaushollandyoung @bekindbeslutty @hmblergah @justahufflebird @salty9winter9adult @kit-kat-is-me-lol @victor-criss-bish

[bookenders]

Storyteller saturday! What was the first thing you knew that /had to be/ included in your wips? What's special about it? What is giving your motivation to work on your current projects? What's a neat worldbuilding thing you came up with?

Storyteller Saturday!

Hey hey @timefire25! Thanks so much for the asks, friend!

I’m gonna tackle these fantastic questions in order: 

[H2H = Heart to Heart

FF = Fish Food

AOPC = All Our Painted Colors

TND = The Neither Days]

1.  What was the first thing you knew that /had to be/ included in your wips?

H2H: Lesbians. Happy, live-beyond-the-end-of-the-story lesbians who can do magic and are ridiculously wholesome. Also: a strong, loving community; social commentary; enough fluff to stuff a whole set of pillows; cool science stuff.

FF: Humor! Without it, this story would be super duper way too dark. Also, lots of social commentary on… *checks notes*

That. And legit depictions of mental health issues.

AOPC: A culture centered around ART. I love art. And stories.

TND: Okay so there’s this one scene coming up that’s super rad and I’m really excited about it. It’s been in my head since the beginning and it’s like, the second scene I thought up. I love the imagery and the symbolism and the feelings. It’s great.

2. What’s special about it?

H2H: Sometimes you need to read something that will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside. Fluff makes the world go ‘round, ya know? And lesbians gotta survive. Also, I’m passionate about found families, which is why the story has one at its very center. I love writing stories about people who don’t feel at home somewhere, so they find with other people who feel the same and call a new place theirs. It’s an important thing to learn: there’s always somewhere for you, and always someone out there who can catch your drift. 

FF: Stories like this one are ways to see the truth of reality. Okay, that sounded super intense. What I mean is that this is a story about a group of people who have been used coming together to fight back against a system that’s doing its best to tear them down. Including accurate and respectful depictions of mental health in this story is important to me, too. I feel like this genre is a great place to explore that. 

Also, I need to work on my humor writing so that’s pretty special, I guess. 

AOPC: I loved the idea of a culture based on art. What do they value? How to they keep records of events and their history? How do they share information? What do they hold dear? It’s sort of my own version of the Legato Conservatory, for those who listen to TAZ. I don’t know of any other fantasy cultures 100% centered on art, either. It’s a story about storytelling and all the ways you can use it. And I think that’s pretty special.

TND: The metaphor and the symbolism, with the context of the canon, is so full of feels it makes my heart clench. It’s an unexpected coming together, a reaching out of two hands that meet in the middle while the world spins off-kilter around them. It’s an oh and a gasp in the same breath. It’s a fall that feels like flying.

That’s about as poetic as I can get without spoilers.

3.  What is giving your motivation to work on your current projects?

Right now, not much, to be honest. It’s midterms time and I’m a grad student, so life is pretty much study hell right now. But my stories are my creative therapy, so I expect I’ll start writing again pretty soon after all my business chills out. 

But on the regular: I really want to tell everyone about the big giant spoilers and how they happen in H2H, and one of the big confrontation scenes in FF (seriously, it’s a huge twist I don’t think a lot of people will see coming - one of them anyway 😉), and I want to figure out what the hell happens next in AOPC, and in TND, I really want to get to the switched POV chapter because it’s full of mutual pining and it offers a lot of really good insight into one character’s head (it’s my motivation to finish this transition chapter too because it’s taking forever).

4.  What’s a neat worldbuilding thing you came up with?

H2H: The magic types I developed are pretty cool! Astromancy, Totem Magic, Sigilcrafting, and Pact Magic. There are a few others, but that’d be spoilers, my friend. Making these info posts was also very fun. I got to do nerdy research about magic and science! 

And something I haven’t mentioned yet: liminal spaces are very important in this story! The town of Linsay is a liminal space. Gemma’s house is a liminal space. The police station is a liminal space for Oz. The lake is a liminal space. This is important: transformation takes place at liminal places. Magic is strongest there. The old is left behind and the new is just ahead. And the fae inhabit liminal spaces.

FF: I made a WIP page that mimics the Coalition of Heroes’ database! It took forever and it was really hard but I did it! And I think it looks rad. 

In-world, hmm… I really like Lithium’s bar. It’s a place that’s like a hero-themed TGI Friday’s or Red Robin, and it’s also the hangout for off-duty heroes. They all chill there like it’s a cop bar for officers who are all undercover. It’s great. None of the civilians who go there know that they’re sitting next to high level super heroes. And Lithium thinks it’s hilarious.

AOPC: There are so many cool worldbuilding things in this story. One is the marriage ceremony I made up. The couple stands before the Namestone and the most senior Elder binds the bride’s left hand to the groom’s right. Then the men of the tribe line up behind the groom, and the women line up behind the bride. They’re ordered so the people closest to them, like family and lifelong friends, are first. One by one, the women dip their right hands in purple paint and mark the bride’s back with their hand print. The men do the same with green paint on the groom’s back.

After everyone’s marked the bride and groom, the Elder blesses the couple, holds their foreheads together, and then they turn around and press their backs together, mixing the paint and blending the colors together. The party starts as soon as their hands are unbound. 

TND: Since most of the worldbuilding for this has already been done by the canon, here are a few recurring story threads I’m working with: Crowley vs. ducks, liminal spaces being the most comfortable and calming, “a good shock to loosen the tongue,” and the kinds of miracles that don’t work. 

Thank you so much for these awesome questions!! 💜

I’ll add my tag lists since there’s a lot of information worth tagging about:

H2H

WIP Intro Post | H2H WIP Tag | Character Page | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro

Character Tags: Gemma | Mel | The Ladies | Fred Coriander | Officer Oz

OC Intros: Harry | Mary | Oz | Jill | Treena | Fred | Gemma | Mel

H2H Tag List: @katekyo-bitch-reborn, @cawolters, @wasting-ink-not-youth, @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @mvcreates, @writeness, @half-explored, @dcdarrells, @aslanwrites, @minusfractions, @purpleshadows1989, @royalbounties, @waterfallwritings, @the-clockwork-anything, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @abalonetea, @timefirewrites, @tricksexual, @introspective-outreach, @alternativeforensicscientist, @sumoranges, @hermiones-writeblrr

[Let me know if you want to be added or removed!]

AOPC

AOPC Tag List: @quilloftheclouds, @snickertoodles, @half-explored, @chemistwriter, @purpleshadows1989, @waterfallwritings, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @abalonetea, @alternativeforensicscientist, @hermiones-writeblrr

FF

WIP Intro Post | FF WIP Tag | WIP Page | PowerPoint Intro

Character Tags: Iron Will | Overseer | Lithium | Babylon | Nightmare | Sparkplug

OC Intro Post:  Phase 1 | Phase 2

Individual Intros:

Phase 1 (Main Cast): Iron Will | Overseer | Lithium |  Babylon | Nightmare

Phase 2 (Supporting Cast): Sparkplug | Battalion | Ferro

***

[Let me know if you want to be added or removed!]

Fish Food Tag List:  @theevolutionofledarose, @kriss-the-writing-nerd, @quilloftheclouds, @waterfallwritings, @dontwritethatone, @aeschknight, @abalonetea, @ladywithalamp, @writevevo, @danger-writes, @anika-writes-things, @sunlight-and-starskies, @writing-every-other-star, @shadeshadow234, @jaimistoryteller, @leave-her-a-tome, @dowings, @alternativeforensicscientist, @sumoranges, @notanalien51, @hermiones-writeblrr​

TND

Link to Story | Story Tag

TND Tag List: @every-book-has-a-secret, @at-thezenith, @ofinkblotsandscript, @alternativeforensicscientist, @abalonetea

[cryptidkieren]

come around (5/6)

im back guys!!  🎉🎉

dogsitting a puppy while 3 dogs are already in the house is a STRUGGLE, let me tell you

here’s the ao3 link for those who prefer that!

-----

Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t talk about what happened at Solstice.

The week following passed normally, though, with both of them basically joined at the hip. New Year’s Eve found the two otherworldly beings once again in Aziraphale’s flat. Twin flutes of champagne clinked as the newscaster on the telly counted down to midnight along with the rest of London. Fireworks exploded in the sky, the Thames far enough away that the eruption of cheers wasn’t deafening.

Aziraphale wished he was brave enough to set their glasses on the coffee table, take Crowley’s face in his hands, and steal a kiss from the demon that he had loved for millennia. He wished he was brave enough to talk about his feelings, openly and genuinely, without the fear of being rejected. He wished he knew Crowley returned his feelings, that the demon loved him just as fiercely.

He wasn’t brave, though. At least, not brave enough to do as he wished.

Instead, the angel laced his fingers with Crowley’s free hand. He smiled at the demon’s surprised look, his eyes uncovered for once. The fireworks booming outside the window lit the sky with a kaleidoscope of color, bathing the room with light and haloing around Crowley’s copper hair.

It always hit Aziraphale at the most inopportune times, just how much he loved Crowley.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, begging to come out. The angel choked them back with a shaky breath. Rather, he raised their entwined hands and kissed the demon’s knuckles softly.

“Happy New Year, Crowley.”

Crowley was frozen where he sat, his surprised look shifting into one of astonishment before mellowing out into something softer, almost like fondness but… Different. Warmer.

“Happy New Year, angel.”

-----

Winter had eventually melted into spring, helped along by the dreary rain that London was known for. Aziraphale stood at the front window of the shop, the tea on the small table next to him long gone cold, as Crowley made a nuisance of himself. A record the demon had put on played softly from the gramophone on the counter.

“I think we should get out of here,” Aziraphale spit out suddenly, spinning to stare apprehensively at Crowley. The demon looked up, the paper tower he had constructed out of the angel’s record-keeping index cards collapsing immediately.

“Okay,” he drawled, an eyebrow raising in question as he stood up from his previously hunched position over the cards. “Where would you like to go, angel? I’m sure the Ritz can squeeze us in, since a table for two just opened up.”

Aziraphale only made a sort of frantic noise through his nose. His hands fluttered uselessly by his sides, clenching and unclenching with anxiety. “No- I-”

“Hey, alright, calm down, Aziraphale,” Crowley quickly rounded the counter to stand in front of the angel. He gripped his arms firmly, golden eyes glinting in concern over dark glasses. “What’s wrong?”

The angel sighed noisily, steeling himself to force the words out. “I think,” he choked out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before continuing. “We should leave. London, that is.”

Crowley’s brows raised to his hairline, blinking at him over his lowered glasses. “What?”

“Oh, you heard me, Crowley! Don’t make me say it again!”

“Yes, I heard you, angel, but I’m not processing it!” The demon pushed his sunglasses up to rest on his forehead, releasing the angel and completely uncovering his bewildered eyes. “You love London, your bookshop is here, why would you want to leave?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his pocket watch, intent on not meeting Crowley’s gaze. A quick glance at the demon, though, only revealed questioning amber eyes.

“Well, it’s dangerous to live here right now, Crowley,” the angel began haltingly, eyes firmly planted on Crowley’s leather shoes. They were quite nice, though he imagined the demon had just wished them into existence instead of buying them at a shop. “Heaven and Hell know exactly where we are, because we haven’t done anything different in so long. They could come at any time, be that tomorrow or ten years from now! I-I don’t want them to hurt you again.” Aziraphale finally raised his head to smile at the demon, trying not to let this flash of bravery fizzle out too quickly. “I also recall asking you to run away with me during the Winter Solstice.”

It was silent a moment, every second making the angel’s anxiety grow, before Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale’s smile dropped, nonplussed at the demon’s amusement. His shoes really were quite fascinating, a second look wouldn’t hurt. “That’s really not necessary, Crowley. A simple ‘no’ would’ve-”

“No!” Crowley wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “No, angel, I very much do.”

The angel blinked. The swirl of rejection and hurt that had started to form in his heart dissipated as he met the demon’s eyes. “You do? Really?”

Crowley, his lips still twitching with amusement, shook his head at the angel’s confused expression. “Of course I do, Aziraphale. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Aziraphale felt like he was both sinking and flying at the same time, his entire being floating as his heart clenched painfully.

“The fact you thought otherwise is hurtful and, frankly, unbecoming of you,” the demon continued after a moment, dramatically placed a hand over his ‘wounded’ heart, his face a picture of over-the-top sorrow. Aziraphale grinned at his antics, his relief almost palpable.

“Well- good!” The angel sniffed, trying to hold back his smile. “It would be a pity if you had disagreed, after all. You would be missing out on some superb tea making skills.”

“I rather think I would be missing out on a lot more than that, angel.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat as met Crowley’s eyes, the demon’s own expression so soft that it sent the angel’s heart into double time. He bustled off to the tea service he had set out earlier, already talking a mile a minute in an effort to hide how flustered he was.

‘He’s going to be the end of me,’ thought Aziraphale as he watched Crowley jump up to sit on the front counter, index cards fluttering into a semi-neat pile as the demon tried to convince him that a castle would be perfect instead of some lowly house. The angel could only smile into his fresh tea, the pot steaming again with only a thought, and jump into the playful debate. ‘Not a bad way to go, though, is it?’

-----

It didn’t take them long to find what they were looking for. Well, not long after Aziraphale started dropping hints with newspaper clippings of houses placed where the demon was likely to find them. Hung on the front door of the shop, taped to the windshield of the Bentley, even on the demon’s pillow in his flat. It took a pile being dropped on his face while napping on the tattered couch in the back room for Crowley to get fed up and drag the angel out to look at properties.

The cottage they had decided to look at first was beautiful. The stone walls were covered in climbing ivy and a plethora of other blooming fauna surrounding the perimeter, making it resemble something out of a fairy tale. It stood on a cliff, a sheer drop only a few dozen feet from the edge of the property’s fence that opened up to the expanse of the churning ocean around them. The sea air was brisk, but rejuvenating to Aziraphalel. It was so different to London, so new.

(Well, not new, exactly. He had lived by the Roman coast during his visit in 41 AD, if only briefly. But that was neither here nor there!)

After a moment, though, the angel started to notice little things about the cottage. It had the air of being abandoned for a long while. The front garden was overgrown, wild and forest like. The stacked stone wall that surrounded the property was covered in moss and falling apart, entire sections laying defeated on the ground. The wrought iron gate was almost completely rusted over and barely hanging on by a hinge. And that wasn’t even touching on what the situation inside might have in store for them.

“This place, angel?” Crowley turned to him, his disdain evident despite the ever present sunglasses. “It’s a dump!”

“It has… Character!” Aziraphale blustered. “Really, my dear, just give it a chance!”

The demon only groaned theaterically, drawing the attention of the real estate agent standing by the worn front door. The woman smiled genially at them as the two of them approached.

“Gentlemen!” She shook their hands in turn, her grin deepening the small wrinkles by her eyes. “I’m Danielle Rochette, the realtor for this property, but you can just call me Ellie. You must be Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley!”

Aziraphale returned her enthusiastic handshake, already liking this human. “Yes, I’m Ezra Fell and this is-”

“Anthony Crowley,” the demon cut in smoothly. His smirk disappeared for a moment as he kissed the back of the woman’s hand, causing her to let out a dreamy little “Oh!”

Crowley yelped his own “Oh!” when Aziraphale viciously pinched the back of his arm once he released the poor woman, the angel’s polite smile still in place. Crowley could only grumble and rub the attacked spot as the other two chatted idly.

They soon entered the cottage, the air a bit stale and dusty. Aziraphale had to hold in a sneeze when the door swung shut behind them. They had entered into what was probably the living room, which then led directly into the outdated kitchen at the back of the house. A hallway to the left of the front door held three doors along the same wall and was equally covered in cobwebs. The sparse furniture left behind by the previous tenant was either worn down or broken into pieces on the floor.

It was dreary and in desperate need of a good cleaning, and Aziraphale loved it.

“Listen, I know it looks bad right now,” cautioned Ellie, her nose wrinkling a bit. “But I think it would be back in tip top shape with a bit of paint, a mop, and some new furniture!”

“Oh, that would be no problem,” Aziraphale smiled, winking at Crowley with absolutely no subtlety. The demon snorted inelegantly as the realtor looked between them with a confused smile. She cleared her throat a moment later, launching into her pitch for the house. The angel nodded along, making affirming noises at the right places, but his mind was as far as it could be from the conversation.

The cottage really was what they were looking for. Aziraphale could easily picture how the place would look if they moved in; how the floorboards would gleam when they were cleaned, the fireplace cleaned out and a log crackling happily away inside, cozy blankets and throw pillows piled on the new sofa. The both of them cooking together in the remodeled kitchen, Aziraphale sneaking tastes of whatever was on the stove while Crowley halfheartedly threatened him with a wooden spoon, soft music from the gramophone enveloping them with the sense of home.

A hand on his startled Aziraphale out of his fantasy. He blinked, seeing the cottage as it actually was again. An ache started up in the region of his unneeded heart at the loss of his daydream, as sweet as it was.

Crowley had moved closer when he wasn’t paying attention, the demon’s hand slightly cooler where it was wrapped around his own. “You alright, Aziraphale?”

“Of course, darling,” the angel sighed, patting Crowley’s hand lightly before pulling away with a wistful smile. “Absolutely tickety-boo.”

The demon only raised an eyebrow at him before turning back to Ellie. The realtor had moved on to the kitchen, still going on about various facts about the property without noticing their little aside. They moved to the hallway at the front of the house soon after, disturbing the dust as they went.

The hall itself was dim, making it feel smaller than it actually was. Granted, the two windows were covered with the climbing ivy on the front of the house, allowing in barely any light.

“Now,” Ellie stopped at the last door in the hall, grinning cheekily. “We’re going to leave the best for last, so stay with me, yeah?”

When the two of them bewilderedly nodded assent, she led them into what could only be the bedroom. The same dark flooring was continued in there, making the chipping plaster walls seem brighter with the sun shining through the large windows. It was of a decent size, obviously remodeled at some point in its history.

“This is the master suit, since this a one bedroom property, but I think it’s perfectly fine for two gents such as yourselves.” Ellie stood by the door with a smile, allowing them to take their fill of the room.

Her words caught up with Aziraphale a moment later, setting his face aflame. He hadn’t even thought of the sleeping situation, since he rarely partook in the activity. He also hadn’t thought how it would look for two men to be buying a one bedroom house together.

As he tried to nervously correct her, though, Crowley only sidled up next to him and wrap an arm around his waist. It was very effective in stopping his witless stammering, at the very least.

“Well, I think it’s perfect for what we’re going for. Don’t you, angel?” The demon’s smile was positively saccharine, his voice like candied honey. The thread of teasing amusement was hard to miss, too.

“I-I mean- Well, yes, of course-”

Ellie had a hand covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile, though her laughter was a bit harder to conceal. She led them out of the room, Aziraphale’s face still dreadfully warm. Crowley had released him, thankfully, as they came up to the next door in the hall.

This one opened into a terribly outdated bathroom. Salmon colored tiles covered the walls, while aquamarine tiles of a different size made up the floor. It made the small room feel even more confined. Even the angel couldn’t stop himself from grimacing as he looked in horror. The only saving grace (no pun intended) was the large white clawfoot tub that dominated the space.

“There’s no windows,” commented Crowley, his eyebrows making a break for his hairline as he looked over Aziraphale’s shoulder in disgusted awe.

Ellie, on the other hand, only grinned mischievously at them. “That’s where the best is saved for last.” She ushered them back into the hall before gesturing to the door nearest the entrance to the hall. “I know you were looking for an office to store your books, Mr. Fell. I think you’ll rather fancy this room.”

The two otherworldly beings glanced at each other, equally perplexed, before the angel turned the knob. For a few moments, he could only stare in wonder.

The room opened into a short hall spanning the length of the bathroom, floor to ceiling shelves running along the right wall. It opened up to a fairly large room, about half the size of the bedroom, with the other two walls covered in the same shelves.

The back wall, however, was almost entirely comprised of glass. A set of glass double doors at the center led out into a sunroom at the back of the house, very reminiscent of a greenhouse. The view was facing the back garden, which was closed off with more of the collapsing rock wall. After that was the cliff behind the property, with the rolling ocean right beyond it all the way to the horizon. It was breathtaking.

“Oh my,” breathed the angel, utterly overcome with emotion as he looked around at all the empty shelves. The windows let in an enormous amount of light, making the room feel open and airy and perfect.

“The current owners put that in around seven years ago,” Ellie said brightly. She opened up the glass doors to allow them into the sunroom. “Trying to make it more interesting, I reckon.”

Crowley gently led him through the sunroom and out to the back garden. The salty air hit him with the force of a blow, effectively breaking the trance the office had placed on him. The sun had finally broken free from the cloud cover, warming the small group as they stood in the overgrown grass. Aziraphale, still amazed by the view, felt something brush his hand softly. Without even thinking about it, the angel wrapped his hand around Crowley’s, trying to ignore how his heartbeat kicked up a notch at the simple touch.

“I’m going to be frank with you, if I may,” Ellie started slowly, her red painted mouth turned down. The wind whipped her chestnut hair around her face, pulling it from its previously tidy bun. “The previous owner died some time ago. Her husband had passed years before her, so she was alone when she finally followed him. Their sons live in the city and want nothing to do with the property, hence why it’s in such disrepair. I’ve been the agent for this place since I started selling real estate, probably some 10 years ago now, though no one has been keen to fix this place up like it should be.”

Aziraphale hummed. A glance at Crowley emboldened him when the demon smirked and shrugged fluidly, the creaking of his leather jacket almost lost in the wind. “Well, I think we’re very keen. Cleaning this place up shouldn’t take too much time, and our godson and his friends would love to play at the beach during the summers.” The angel smiled brightly at the woman, who mirrored his grin.

“Fantastic! Let’s see to some paperwork, shall we?”

-----

[beginning] // [previous chapter] // [next chapter]

[houseofglass]

When Jensen released the video announcing the conclusion of the series, I had a very weird feeling. I respect their decision but I think it was more Jensen idea than Jared and this annoys me a lot, but it seems that if you say something like that you are not a real fan. What do you think about it? You have no idea of ​​the insults I took because I dared to say that Jared and Jensen think differently...

I agree with you Nonny. I think it was Jensen’s idea too.

Bottom line: Jensen wants to move on, therefore, the show must end.

Longer version:

Jared has wanted to leave the show for a long time. Or, maybe not leave, but definitely not be in front of a camera for a while. He’s said that he’d like some time off after spn ends, but any actor that takes time off rarely gets back in the spotlight. But he wouldn’t leave as long as Jensen wanted to keep doing the show. Jared didn’t want to put the crew out of work (Oprah had similar concerns with her show, and I think she gave two or three years notice before ending), but he was also burning out. The show gracefully allowed more characters to reappear, which gave Jared a lighter workload. This worked for years.

Jensen wants to stay in the industry, but that means they can’t just end spn, they have to plan it out to the last day. In that planning is prep work for Jensen to show the industry who he is, what he’s capable of, and that he’s on the market again. That involves PR work to help guide public perceptions. This can be seen by Jensen’s public image lately: Architectural Digest shoot, King Bacchus, FBBC heavily promoted, and the texting ad, just to name the ones off the top of my head. This is radically different from Jared’s public persona: meeting fans, partying, drinking, and marathon running.

The video showed me that Jensen is ready for the next step, but Jared needs more time to mourn. But houseofglass, you said Jared wanted to leave! Yes, but he holds his emotions much closer to the surface than Jensen does. I think Jared, even though he’s tired, would have kept going on with the show just to keep his lifestyle afloat. I also think that even though they planned this out, seriously planned it, that it wasn’t real for Jared until they told the crew. As long as the workplace was in the dark, Jared could keep his fantasy of leaving alive. But once it became reality, several things probably fell into place for him.

What are those things? This depends on your perceptions Nonny. I don’t know if you’re a tinhat, a shipper, or a casual fan, so I’ll give a couple of explanations.

Casual Fan:Both have said they’ll keep going until the writing doesn’t work. Well, objectively, that would’ve been a few seasons ago. I mean, God’s sister? Crowley had a mother? WTF? The writers have been adding extra characters, presumably to give J2 time off, but the show has suffered as a result. Anyway. Let’s move on.

Jared’s adult life has been consumed by this show. He was 22 when he filmed the pilot, and is now 37. He has no idea of what adult life is without the show. Everything hinges on it. Travel, family time, filming, vacations, work related PR, conventions, meeting fans, all of it. Sure, he acted before the show and had a life before it as well. But his formative adult years were spent at one job. Imagine being married during the same age range for the same duration. Ending that marriage, whether toxic or not, is difficult.

Without the show, Jared has to figure out who he is and what he wants to do to fill his days. That’s really scary for someone who has mental illness or spends a lot of time inside their own head. As soon as the crew was notified, Jared had to face up to the fact that he agreed to this, that his life will now change, that his cornerstone is going to be gone, that it’s now REAL. So while he might have been ready to move on intellectually, he wasn’t quite ready to deal with the reality of it.

Jensen wants to keep working and try new things. Supernatural is holding him back. Don’t @ me, it is holding him back. He’s typecast. Pigeonholed. He’s Dean Winchester; tough guy with a soft heart. Trying to get another role will be difficult. If he stays in the industry and works behind the scenes he has a better chance, but first he needs to put spn behind him.

He knows Jared wants a break. He knows the crew will be unemployed. He knows spn contributes a lot to Vancouver/BC’s economy. He also knows he has to do difficult things to get what he wants. He has to end the show, and do it gracefully. I have no doubt he’s shaken up by his decision, but is comfortable with it.

Jared, however, seemed less comfortable with it even though he’s made it clear he wants a break. Wanting something and getting it are two different emotional states.

Shipper:Shipping isn’t a problem for J2. Kim Manners used to show them the Wincest fics and even print them out and post them on a bulletin board. J2 found it funny and a good release of creative energy. Neither appeared to have any issue with shipping.

Until they did.

Jensen could brush off all Destiel shipping questions pretty easily at first. It was an expression of creativity and his attitude was ‘to each their own’. But some Destiel shippers became militant and started asking invasive questions at cons. They also started hounding him on SM about Destiel. He’s handled it very well over the years, despite the hatred he received in return. But when he said, “Destiel doesn’t exist” at a con, I think that was the turning point for him.

Dean Winchester was a character Jensen really liked. Kinda tough, liked cars, masculine, good-natured, free lifestyle, that kind of thing. But somehow Dean got boiled down to half of Destiel. And I don’t mean with just the fans. I have eyes, I’ve seen the show, they queerbaited Cas and Dean when Cas was new. Although I think a lot of that queerbaiting was in the editing room. They could slow film down or change the colour saturation if they chose to, and this could change the audience’s perceptions of what’s going on.

Sidebar: I watched a show named unREAL which was about the producers of a show like The Bachelor, and in unREAL they demonstrated how to make two people look like they had chemistry. I had to pause the show, rewind, and watch again. I didn’t know that slowing film down could make glances seem significant. I know now.

So, here’s Jensen, playing a character he likes, only to have it 'twisted’ into something he doesn’t believe it is. For a while this was fine. Let the fans think what they want, it brings in ratings, it doesn’t change how he acted. Then it wasn’t fine, he got more and more irritated with the whole thing. If he kept going on with the show, he might have had to play a character in a way that was more like pandering and less like being authentic to the character.

On that note, Jensen has been distancing himself from Misha over the years. Why? Because Misha fuels Destiel whenever possible. Well, not lately. He’s switched to Sastiel. Anyway, despite being able to draw a crowd at a con with a Destiel panel, Jensen only does one a year: Jus In Bello. Please gently correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’m sure there’s only one Destiel panel and it’s in Rome. Jensen participated in the charity campaign with Misha, but not much since then. I suspect he did it because TPTB insisted he do something, and he agreed to the YANA campaign. Remember, celebrities are beholden to PR.

So now Jensen is doing a show with a person that isn’t respecting a boundary (stop pushing Destiel), and the perceptions of his character have changed in a way he doesn’t like. Time to end the show. Being a true professional, he ensured the fans and crew had enough notice to adjust to the idea.

Jared didn’t seem bothered by any shipping at all. If this is the primary reason for the show’s end, it was Jensen’s idea more than Jared’s IMO.

Tinhat:I believe Jared wanted to end the show after PR tried to separate him and Jensen by insisting they get married to women. Jared’s first breakdown was right about that time, and I always wondered if it was because he was living in a happy bubble with his lover and his show, and now he had to pander to the (perceived) hetero audience. Leading men just could not be gay back in the day. There’s more outed gay actors now, but fifteen years ago things were different. He held on, did as he was told, and his world continued.

Jared’s marriage seems to be falling apart, and I, personally, suspect it’s already over and done. Papers signed, custody arrangements made, properties split. If the show was still going on, he’d have to field questions about his divorce. But, if the show is announced it’s ending and then he announces his divorce, the divorce will take a back seat to the show’s finale. Timing is everything.

Jensen has seemed happy as a pig in shit for the entire run of the show. Sure, he’s had bad days, but mostly he’s enjoyed his time on spn and the lifestyle it’s awarded him. He didn’t seem as upset about getting married as Jared did (seriously, go find the pics of Jared’s wedding. He looked like he was kissing something repugnant), but Jensen had a different upbringing that conditioned him for a celebrity lifestyle. He probably knew beards were mandatory and it was just a matter of when, not if.

In order for them to still spend a ridiculous amount of time together, they had to keep the show going. It wasn’t a problem, the network was fine with it. But the pressure was hard for Jared and has been for a long time. If not for Jensen, Jared would have left years ago.

But then they announced the show was ending and their reactions were a bit off. Jensen appeared somewhat together, a bit excited, a bit sad, but ready. Jared looked like he’d been crying for hours and still had days worth of tears to shed.

The tinhat in me says this is because their entire world is about to change, and it may not be for the better. Nobody can predict the future. How much of J2’s success as a couple is reliant on them being together for most of the time? How will they navigate their relationship if only one is working? Will they come out? Probably not, if Jensen wants to stay in the industry. Jared won’t have his lover acting with him, he won’t have his lover for most of the hours in a day/week/month/year. He’s going to be alone, and that’s scary.

For the tinats: I’m not saying their relationship won’t survive. I don’t have a crystal ball. But it might be rocky at first while they figure out their new dynamics.

TL;DR: yes, Jensen seemed happier than Jared in the video. Jared seemed much more upset, and even tried to look at Jensen, who looked toward Misha instead of meeting his eyes.

Oh, and I didn’t really address Misha in this because it’s always been said that as long as J2 want the show to continue, it will. Him being in the video is more of a PR thing to me: Misha also needs to build his portfolio and I suspect his agent has negotiated more uh, 'lead exposure’? for him. I don’t know what the correct phrasing is, but he’s been lumped with J2 more and more lately.

Oh, and if you read this far, thanks for letting me babble :)

[moodycastiel-writes]

sacrifice

summary: reader undertakes the trials to close the gates of hell in sam’s place. this is a little au that takes place during the season eight finale!

pairing: sister!reader and winchesters

warnings: angst. lots and lots of angst. foul language. y’know, the usual. there’s not a happy ending with this one. please don’t hate me (:

author’s note: i wasn’t originally going to write the confession, but i had a lot of ideas on how to establish a relationship between reader and the brothers, and i felt having her confess to her sins would make her more of an empathetic character. so yes, this is a small au that i had in mind where reader is sam & dean’s older sister who does the trials instead of sam. (((oh, also, cas does end up believing metatron and him and naomi kill metatron so the angels never fall.))) ((double also, crowley calls reader ‘fatale’, which is a rocky and bullwinkle reference, since he calls sam and dean moose and squirrel. just wanted to throw that out there in case anyone was confused to that reference!)) anywho, yeah, i hope y’all enjoy!!

——————————————————————————————————

You could hear your blood pounding in your ears as you stood at vestibule of the run-down church, your shaking hand loosely holding on to the can of red spray paint, eyes trained on the devil’s trap you painted. This was it. Everything that has happened this past year is finally coming to an end.

You let out an uneven breath as the doors opened gently, the heavy footsteps of your brothers approaching you with caution.

“Do you have him?” you asked, not bothering to lift your tired eyes to meet them.

“Yeah,” Sam spoke, a level of uncertainty to his voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I have to,” you answered, turning around curtly and brushing past Sam and Dean, leaving the church as you neared the Impala. It was only a few moments before they were both at your side again, the hot sun doing little to warm the permanent chill that settled into your soul when you first started the trials.

“We should get started,” you said, turning to Dean, “the sooner the better.”

Dean nodded his head and smiled at you, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He opened the trunk and pulled out a handcuffed Crowley, completely at your disposal. Dean walked the demon into the church to get him ready, leaving you alone with Sam.

“How are you holding up?” he asked you as you grabbed the jar of holy oil from the back seat.

“Fine,” you responded, an unintentional iciness to your voice. “I’ll be better when this is all over.”

Dean walked back outside to meet you and Sam, wiping his hands on his pants. “Crowley’s all prepped and primed,” he turned to look at you, “How we feeling about this?”

“Honestly?” you asked, looking between your younger brothers, “Good. Better than what I have in a while. I think we’re finally going to win. This is all going to be over,” you sighed, a ghost of a smile appearing on your face for the first time in a long while.

Sam clapped a hand on your shoulder, but Dean cleared his throat behind you two. “All right, well, no dancing in the end zone until we're finished. What's the good father's playbook say now?”

You looked around the outside of the church eyes falling over the stained-glass windows. “Well... Now that we got the consecrated ground, I just, uh,” you cleared your throat, “I slip Crowley one dose of blood every hour for eight hours and seal the deal with a bloody-fist sandwich. That oughta do it.”

“Your blood's supposed to be purified, isn't it?” Dean remembered, “You ever, uh -- you ever done the ‘forgive me, father’ before?”

You shook your head, gaze dropping to the ground. “No, never. I have no idea what I should even say,” you admitted.

A thousand things were running through your head. All the countless times you’ve fucked up over the years. From the second your mother burned on the ceiling of Sam’s nursery to now, there was so many things you could confess. All the lies and betrayals, the murders and all the innocent people you’ve let die. Tears pricked your eyes, but you cleared your throat and blinked them away.

“Well, I could give you some suggestions,” Dean tried.

“O-okay, yeah. Sure,” anything could help.

“Alright,” he glanced at Sam, who had a disapproving look on his face. “Well, there was the whole siding with the demons thing. Or, um, ditching me when we were in Purgatory. Saying yes to Michael. Oh, also—”

“I get it!” you cut him off, not believing all the things he was currently throwing in your face. A wave of guilt washed over you, and an unsettling silence washed over you three.

“Well, we’re not getting any younger,” you finally said, passing Sam the jar of holy oil before making your way to the church.

“Hey!” Dean called after you, “Maybe open what you did to Penny Markle? In the sixth grade?”

You shot him a confused look, “That was you.”

Dean paused, the memory of what he did to poor Penny coming back to him. Clearing his throat, he waved you off. “Nevermind! Carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at him and made your way back into the church, closing the door behind you. You did you best to ignore Crowley’s eyes following your every move as you walked into the confession room, taking a seat on the bench.

“Okay,” you let out a shaky breath, “if anyone is listening, here we go.” You paused, your eyes screwing shut tightly. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” A cool blast of wind rushed by you, ruffling through your hair. You took it as a sign that someone, somewhere was listening, and continued on. “I have made a lot of mistakes. I have so many regrets, so many sins, that I don’t even know where to begin. I watched my brothers die, so many times, for what? To fulfill some stupid prophecy? I should have protected them. I—” you stumbled on your words, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

You wiped at your face and continued on. “I never should have let Dean sell his soul for Sam. It should have been me. I was supposed to do everything I could to protect those boys. If I just strapped on a pair, Dean never would have went to hell, and the seals never would have been broken. This is all my fault. I have to fix it.” The tears were falling freely down your face now, but you didn’t care enough to wipe them away. “I shouldn’t have let Sam ever say yes to Lucifer. I could have said yes. He never would have gone to Hell and lost his soul. It’s all on me.”

You took in another shaky breath, trying to calm down. “Leaving Dean alone in Purgatory… I don’t even know what I was thinking. I was so stupid,” you let out a humorless laugh. “I thought I was doing my best to protect him, but deep down I was trying to get away from him. From Sam. I caused so much pain in their lives, that it would be better if I just disappeared from their lives all together. 

“But those things I’ve confessed, those sins I’ve committed, they’re not even the icing on the cake. I have so many things just piling up that I could sit here forever, but I don’t have enough time. My greatest sin, the tip of the iceberg… What I want forgiveness from the most is how,” your voice broke as you choked back a sob. “My greatest sin is how many times I’ve let my brothers down.”

An ache settled in your chest as you confessed what you never thought you’d say out loud in a million years. Another breeze of wind brushed past you, and you took it as a sign that your confession was over. You wiped your face, leaving behind all the traces of your confession in that booth and stepped out, your guilt weighing on your soul heavier than before.

Crowley stared at you with a smug look on his face, no doubt he heard everything you had just said. Eyeing a roll of duct tape on the table with your gun, the needle, and holy water, you grabbed it and ripped a piece off, tightly taping the demon’s mouth shut.

“Not a word,” you sneered, walking out of the church. You saw Sam and Dean talking with Castiel at the Impala in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out what they were saying from the distance you were at, and crept closer to them to make something out.

“—You’re asking us to leave her, Cas. Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing all the heavy lifting, it’s [y/n]” you were able to make out from Dean’s whispering. His confession about you was like a slap in the face. Did he really not trust you that much? Thinking you needed a chaperone for everything you did?

“You should you,” you announced, startling your brothers. You knew Cas was aware of your presence, and did nothing to acknowledge him.

They turn to look at you, a guilty look on their faces. “Seriously,” you added, not wanting to continue this conversation.

“Yeah, and leave you alone with the King of Hell? Really?”

You frowned at Dean, not understanding why he can’t trust you to do this one thing. Did he really expect so little of you where he is always prepared for you to fuck up and need someone to clean up your mess?

“Yes, really,” you snapped. You ignored the look of hurt that crossed over his face. “You two can’t do anything to help me. This is on me. I think I can get through one little thing without fucking it up.”

“[Y/n], you know that’s not what this is about,” Sam said gently. “It’s not that we don’t trust you. We don’t trust Crowley.”

“Crowley is bound to where he sits,” you argued, “nothing, not even the king of Hell, can get through both a devil’s trap and the chains we have him in.”

“Fine,” Dean said, “Start the injections now. If we’re not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation.”

“Yeah,” was all you responded. Castiel placed a hand on each of your brother’s shoulders and with the flap of his wings he was gone, leaving you alone at the church. With a heavy sigh, you made your way back into the building, facing Crowley. His words to you were muffled under the duct tape, but that didn’t stop him from blabbing. With a roll of your eyes, you ripped the tape off of his mouth, ignoring his wince of pain.

“You really think injecting me with human blood is gonna make me human? Did you read that on the back of a cereal box?”

You ignored the demon as you picked up the needle, pushing it into the vein in your arm. You drew enough blood and slowly ejected it, and walked over to Crowley.

“Are you listening to me, brat?”

“Shut up,” you sneered, thrusting the needle into his neck. He howled in pain as you yanked the needle away.

“You're miles out of your league, kid,” Crowley barked at you as you turned your back on him.

“See you in an hour,” you called over your shoulder, walking to the table at the altar. Your arms began to glow that golden color that always appeared after you completed the trials. Why was it showing up now? You bit back your pain, your hands forming into tight fists, waiting for the pain to go away. When the light finally faded from your veins, you let out a breath of relief and sunk to the ground, your back resting against the altar. You looked up at the cracked statue of Jesus on the cross and closed your eyes, waiting for your watch to beep, signalling the next round of injections.

—————————————————————————————————————

When your watched finally beeped after an agonizingly long hour, your were up on your feet as fast as you could get, the needle already in your hand. You ejected more blood from your veins into the syringe and made your way back over to Crowley, who looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. You ignored the look in his eyes and issued the second dose of injections into his neck. In the blink of an eye, Crowley’s head turned and his teeth sank into your forearm, hard enough to draw blood.

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed in pain, drawing your arm back and clutching the new wound in pain. You gave him an exasperated look before punching the demon across the face. “Seriously? Biting? What are we, five?”

You shook your head as you walked away from him, placing the needle back onto the table. You spared Crowley another bitch-face as you walked out of the church, slamming the door behind you. You walked to the trunk of the Impala and grabbed bandages to wrap up your arm. As you secured the bandages, your arms began to glow again, and you fell to the rubble on your knees.

“Stop it,” you groaned as the light grew brighter. “Please.”

Finally, the light faded again, leaving you struggling to get a grip on your breathing. With struggle, you turned your body to sit upright against the Impala, your head falling back, staring at the sky. The sun had begun to set in the distance, the sky painted with beautiful sparks of color.

“I can do this,” you whispered determined to yourself, “I can do this.”

—————————————————————————————————————

Another hour had passed by and you made your way back into the church, stuffing more bandages in your pocket before doing so. At the sound of the door opening and closing, you heard Crowley chuckle.

“How we doin’, Fatale? Ready for another round of injections?” he asked, a joyous tune to his voice. You ignored him and filled the syringe with another dose of your blood.

“Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes,” he began singing, you instantly recognizing the David Bowie song, “turn and face the strange. Ch-ch-changes, just gonna have to be a different man. Time may change me, but I can't trace—”

His singing was cut off by a loud sound, the church beginning to rumble. You quickly turned to face Crowley who seemed unfazed by the sudden shock to the church.

“What did you do?” you shouted at him over the sound of the quake. He remained stoic, but the hint of a devilish smirk rose to his face. The floorboards began to creak under your feet, a large crack running down until it severed the devil’s trap that you painted right down the center.

“Did you really think you could kidnap the King of Hell and no one was gonna notice, dumb nuts?”

An expression of fury and fear took over your features as the door to the church were ripped open, Abbadon revealing herself on the other side of the door.

“Now that’s what I call an entrance,” she gloated, patting herself on the back.

“Abbadon?” Crowley questioned. “They told me you were dead.”

“So not.”

“Where’s the rest of the cavalry?”

“It’s just little ol’ unkillable me,” she smirked. You turned quickly, reaching for your discarded gun, but with a wave of her hand, Abbadon sent you flying across the church and into the wall, your head slamming against the wood. You groaned as you landed on your stomach, your vision going blurry.

“Brilliant. Why send in a few grunts when you can send in a knight? Say your prayers, Fatale,” Crowley smirked. You tried to get up, but the Knight waved her hand again and sent you through the stained glass window to your right, immediately falling unconscious.

—————————————————————————————————————

When you came back to, it took you a minute to remember what had happened. You scrambled to your feet, hoping not a lot of time had passed in your impromptu siesta. Looking around for a weapon that you could use against Abbadon, your eyes settled on the jar of holy oil you had given to Sam. He must of left it for you, in cast of an emergency. You let out a silent thank you and patted your jacket pockets, striking gold when you felt your father’s lighter in your pocket.

You crept to the entrance of the church where the doors were still open and peered inside, eyes landing on Abbadon hovering over Crowley. You snuck inside, careful to step around any loose pieces of wood to prevent any unnecessary noises to alert your presence.

“Right now, you and I are going to talk about a regime change,” Abbadon said, crouching down to send another punch to Crowley’s face.

“You little whore,” he barked, “I am your king!”

She punched him again, this time hard enough to shut him up. When she went to stand back up, you ran forward and threw the holy oil over her body.

“Burn, bitch,” you spat, throwing the lighter on her. You watched with a smirk as her body lit up in flames and she screamed in pain as her vessel burned. Her mouth opened wide and she exited the body before any further harm was done to her, and she escaped the church in a flash of black smoke.

Without wasting any time, you made work of picking Crowley back up and fixing the chair so it was back in the devil’s trap. He groaned as he came back to consciousness, watching you with a glint of something… admiration, maybe? to his eyes.

“You did good back there, Fatale,” he congratulated you. “I'll deny it if you ever quote me, but I'm a proud man. I'm proud of you.”

You ignored his comment, instead focused on gabbing the can of spray paint you left on the table to fix the trap where it broke.

“Wait, what are you doing?” he asked.

“What does it look like?” you snapped, overly agitated at the events that had just transpired. You finished up the devil’s trap and threw the can to the side, it clattering to the ground noisily.

“Are you joking?” he asked, incredulously. “I just saved your life!”

“Seriously?” you dead-panned.

“Seriously? Me, seriously? We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the --the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?!”

You ignored his tangent and grabbed the needle, filling it up with your blood and jamming it into his neck before he could get another word in.

“Aah! Aah!” he exclaimed in pain, before a whole new emotion washed over him. “Band of Brothers? The Pacific?” he asked. “None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once?” You shook your head at him, confused at where he was going. “Girls? You're my Marnie, Fatale. A-and Hannah, she just—she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all—you, me; we deserve to be loved. I deserve to be loved!” he shouted, before lowering his voice back down to a whisper, “I just want to be loved.”

You cocked your head the the demon. “What?” you asked.

A confused look washed over him, and his expression mirrored yours. “What?”

As the moment of Crowley’s tangent passed, a wave of fatigue passed over you. The pain of where the needle was injecting into you suddenly took a toll on you. You walked back over to the table and placed it down, grabbing the spare bandages from your pocket. You wrapped where the puncture wounds were tightly, wishing right about now you had some extra strength tylenol. You took more blood from your opposite arm, wanted to be prepared for the next dose of injections just in case something else was going to happen.

“Would it be possible, Fatale, I’d like to ask you a favor,” Crowley spoke, his voice sounded drained and exhausted. “[Y/n], earlier you were confessing back there, and… well, I didn’t hear much, not really, so I’d like to know what you said.” You gave him a look that read ‘that’ll never happen.’ At the sight of your expression, he instantly clarified his statement. “ I only ask because, given my history...it raises the question... Where do I start...to even look for forgiveness? I mean…” he trailed off.

You paused, shocked at the revelation. The cure, it was working.

“You start with this.”

You held the needle out in your hand, showing him what you meant. Crowley tilts his head to the side, exposing his neck where the marks of the past injections were. You gently pushed the needle through at his submission, and unlike the past ones, he showed no signs of pain, but rather contentment.

“This is going to work, Crowley,” you reassured. “You’re going to be cured, and you’ll be redeemed. I promise.”

A gust of wind blasted through the church, and your arms began to glow again, but this time there was no pain. “We’re almost done,” you whispered, not sure Crowley even heard you. “It’s time.”

You took a deep breath and began the exorcism, the final piece to purify him. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, hanc animam redintegra, lustra.”

As you pulled your knife from its holder, the light grew brighter, and you sliced across your palm. You walked closer to Crowley, and as you were about to feed him your blood, footsteps barreled through the church.

“[Y/n]! Stop!,” you turned at the noise, coming face to face with the worried looks of your brothers. You backed up from them, your hip bumping into the arm of Crowley’s chair, a confused expression on your face.

“Easy there,” Sam coaxed gently, putting his hands up. “Take a deep breath.”

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” Dean said, slightly more aggressive than Sam.

“What? What’s going on?” you asked. “Where’s Cas?”

“Metatron lied,” Sam explained. “Him and Naomi are going to confront him.”

You shook your head at him, still not understanding what was going on.

“You finish these trials, you’re dead,” Dean said bluntly, trying to get you to understand what was happening. You looked between your two brothers, then back at Crowley. You scoffed and shook your head, looking back to face them.

“So?” you said, your voice slightly breaking.

Sam and Dean’s faces melted from worry to an emotion you couldn’t place, but it was somewhere along the lines of hurt and betrayal. Betrayal. Even now, after you’ve confessed and sought forgiveness, you were still letting your brothers down in ways you couldn’t stop. It had to stop. Finishing these trials with your death, it’ll all stop.

“Look at him!” you exclaimed, pointing down to Crowley. “Look at him! Look at how close we are! Other people will die if I don't finish this! Who cares about me?”

You could feel the tears pricking at your eyes, but you ignored the sensation. Dean took a small step forward, his brow creasing. “Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here. But we can't do it without you.”

“You can barely do it with me,” you fired back immediately. The confused look on his face egged you to continue. “I mean, you think I screw up everything I try. You think I need a chaperone, remember?” you couldn’t help the single tear that fell from your eyes as your voice cracked on the last word.

Sam frowned. “That’s not what he meant—”

“No, that’s exactly what he meant!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. You let out a humorless chuckle. “You want to know what I confessed in there?” you asked, pointing to the confession booth with the hand that you didn’t cut. “Do you want to know what my ultimate sin was? The thing that held me down the most?”

When neither of them answered, you continued. “My greatest sin was—is— how many times I’ve let the two of you down. I can’t keep doing it. Not again. Finishing this, it’ll end it all.”

“[Y/N]—” Sam tried, but you continued talking.

You held back a sob as the tears finally began falling. “You two don’t trust me anymore, I can see it in the way you look at me. Like I need one of you with me at all times. You haven’t trusted me in a long time, and it took me awhile to realize it, but now that I have I feel so fucking stupid for not seeing it before.” Another humorless laugh escaped your lips.

“I know I’ll never earn your trust back, there’s nothing else I can do to prove that I love you both more than anything. You don’t see it, and I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of watching you guys turn to other people when you get sick of me.” At their confused expressions, you elaborated. “Who will it be next? Another demon? Another angel? Another vampire?” You shook your head.

“You have no idea what it feels like to see the two people you thought—”

“Hold on, hold on!” Dean cut you off, finally breaking you from your tangent.

“You seriously think that?” Sam questioned, taking a step forward to be back in-line with his brother. “Because none of it, none of it is true.”

“Listen, [Y/n],” Dean began, “I know we’ve had our disagreements, all of us, okay? Hell, I know I have said some really fucked up things to get you thinking the way you are but you need to understand… I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you.”

Your shoulders slumped at his confession, and the tears fell faster from your eyes. You looked between Sam and Dean, then down at your bleeding hand, and in a split second you made your decision. You turned and brought your hand up to Crowley’s mouth, and instantaneously you felt him drinking your blood. The pounding in your ears resumed, and you barely heard Sam shouting words of protest behind you.

You pulled your hand away, and the light erupted throughout your entire body. “Kah-nuh-ahm-dahr,” you whispered. Crowley let out a gasp, his eyes flicking to his demonic red, then faded completely back to his human eye color.

“It worked,” you laughed, turning to face your brothers. They looked at you with wide eyes, not daring to move. You had no time to celebrate your victory of the trials, instead a large rumbling echoed throughout the church, and the ground began to crack again.

This time, underneath the cracks in the ground, a hellish light peeked through, eating away at the floorboards. A hole opened up underneath your feet and you jumped back far enough to the edge, opposite of your brothers as your watched with wide eyes as black smoke broke through all the windows of the church, glass shattering everywhere. The sound of hundreds, if not thousands, of demons screamed as they were forced back into hell against their will. The wind picked up harshly and you were thrown back from the portal to hell, losing the sight of Sam and Dean through the smoke.

When every last demon was through the portal, it closed up tightly, no signs of what had just happened anywhere. When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, you looked across to your brothers, a smile creeping up on your face.

“I did it,” you whispered, pinching yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Your heart hammered in your chest and you groaned at the pressure, stammering back an inch. Immediately, Sam and Dean were at your side as your legs began to give out, helping you to the ground. “I did it,” you repeated, your voice getting weaker, your eyelids becoming heavier.

“Yeah, [Y/N],” Sam sniffled, “you did it.” He gripped your hand tightly, squeezing it in his large one.

You smiled weakly up at him, using what little strength you had to squeeze his hand back. You looked to your other side to Dean, whose eyes were red-rimmed.

“I’m s-sorry,” you whispered at him, at the both of them.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Dean said, finally looking over your pale form.

“You have to… you have to promise me,” you croaked out, struggling to get out your final words. You coughed, doubling over as it overpowered you. Raising your free hand to your mouth, you coughed up blood into it. “No bringing me back,” you finally said. “I’m at peace.”

“You can’t ask us to do that,” Sam said. You turned to look back at him, smiling sadly at him. You grabbed Dean’s hand with your free hand, feeling your last breaths creep up on you. You could have sworn you’d seen a person standing over Sam’s shoulder, but they had disappeared before your vision could focus.

“I love you both, so much,” you whispered, you eyes falling shut. Your grip on your brothers’ hands loosened, and your chest stopped rising and falling. Your head lulled to the side, your body completely still.

You stood over your two brothers, holding your body in their arms as they wept for you. A cold hand rested on your shoulder, and you turned around with a gasp.

“Tessa,” you said, staring at the reaper.

“[Y/N],” she greeted, a welcoming smile on her face. “It’s time.”

You nodded your head and she stuck out her hand. You spared one last look at your baby brothers, and grabbed her hand in yours, your soul leaving Earth to face judgement. You did not know where you were going to end up, if your final quest was good enough to outweigh all the shit you’ve done in your life.

You knew that Sam and Dean would be okay. They always were without you.

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 12 - Adam and Lucky have feelings

so many feelings

this was a very long and very intensely emotional chapter for a lot of reasons, so writing it was a lot like walking uphill through quicksand, which is why it took so long

but we here now so let’s hit it

This fic is NOT ON AO3 YET SO here’s some links:

Start with chapter 1 here

Refresh on chapter 11 here

or check out my fic tag for all sorts of goodies

--

The boys considered the best way to approach calling Crowley and Aziraphale for a long time before they did it. They went back to the hotel room. In awkward silence, they changed into sweatpants, and sat down on Adam’s bed, his phone inert between them. They discussed how to start. Discussed what they had shared with what they now knew to be their mutual guardians, and how much they might suspect the two boys would have put together*. They discussed whether or not they should both speak right away, or if Lucky should wait until Adam had a chance to break it gently.

[*Almost nothing, Adam asserted with confidence. He assured Lucky that although his childhood memories depicted Brother Francis as the bumbling, oblivious one and Nanny as the sharp, observant one, they were both in fact, actually the bumbling oblivious one.]

They talked it over, they considered it and then, eventually, they swallowed their nerves and screwed up their courage and decided to call. With a few final muttered agreements, and a solemn nod, Adam tapped the phone, tapped Crowley’s name, and then tapped speakerphone. Lucky, next to him, swallowed nervously.

It might have been three in the morning in the South Downs, but Crowley answered on the third ring anyway. “Adam?”

“Hi, Crowley.” Adam realized he was sweating a little, and his t-shirt felt uncomfortably cold against his skin in the overzealous air conditioning of the hotel room. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad. How’s America going? Everything alright?” There was an undercurrent of anxiety there, stuffed behind a curtain of casual confidence. Lucky sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and then bit his lip, swallowing any further sounds. Even so, the demon heard it. “Are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, America’s great. Did you get the videos?”

“Yeah, we did. Really something, it looks like. How’s it stack up to your expectations? Learning a lot?”

Adam nodded in spite of the fact that they were on the phone. “Loads. It’s really wicked, too … it’s wild, how powerful they are.”

“Told you, didn’t I?”

In spite of himself, he smiled softly, shot a glance at Lucky. The other boy was cross-legged, his elbows on his knees and his chin nestled in his hands, his eyes shiny and wet. He caught Adam looking and smiled too, waving a hand encouragingly. “Yeah,” Adam said with an easy laugh. “Yeah, you did for sure. Hey, is Aziraphale there?”

“Oh, yeah, hang on.” There was the sound of tapping, and then Crowley spoke again, a little more distant this time. “Right, you’re on speaker now. It’s Adam, angel.”

“Hallo, Adam! Staying safe and sound, are you?”

“Yes, yes, promise.”

The next to speak was Aziraphale. Adam was too absorbed in his own thoughts, his own tangle of anxieties, to notice that the angel’s usual easy tone was strained and tight. Worried. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Just checking in? Not that we’re not happy to hear from you, of course.”

In the little motel room, the boys shared a look across the phone. Lucky nodded. “Um,” said Adam, before he took a deep breath and squared up his shoulders. “Well, sort of. Actually, I … I actually have a few questions. Some weird stuff has been happening.”

The silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. Adam winced. “Where are you?” Aziraphale asked, finally. “I can be there in a moment, Adam, if you need -”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I don’t … I don’t think I need you to come here, anyway. I just have some questions.”

“If you’re sure.” Crowley sounded doubtful. “Really, Aziraphale can be there in a second, and I could -”

“I’m sure,” he cut in firmly. “Really sure. Just some questions.” He didn’t wait for them to respond, and instead blurted out with the first: “What was the name of the other kid? The one you thought was the Antichrist?”

This time, the silence stretched. It was a long silence, an uncomfortable silence, and Adam stared at the phone, brows knit, while Lucky sat with his chin in his hands, tears welling up in his eyes. He swallowed, looked to Adam, and opened his mouth - this was a bad idea, he was going to say, Adam thought, a really bad idea - but then, softly, Crowley spoke.

For a moment, he sounded Scottish. “Figured it out already, did you?”

“Nanny.”

“You knew?” Adam boggled. “You … were you gonna just let us like, spend weeks together and not tell us?”

There was a sigh in the background, and Crowley went on, in the same soft, highland voice, “Didn’t take you two very long, did it? We figured you’d get there eventually, when we saw you’d be doing the same program, but I thought we might’ve had a few more days. Hello, Lucky.”

“Hi Nanny.” Lucky was shaking, leaning over the dark screen of the phone. “This is … weird.”

“Right.” That was Aziraphale in the background, and there was a rustling, like he was moving around. “Where are you, I’ll be there, I’m sure you’re both confused.”

“I can -”

“No, don’t. We’re confused but uh.” He laughed, dry and tired, and rubbed his head a few times, mussing up his already-messy blonde locks. “Super confused, but I think … I think we’re gonna be alright without you guys in person. I think.” He looked to Lucky for confirmation.

“... Yeah,” Lucky said after a beat. “Yeah, we’re okay. Promise.” He looked to Adam to go on, but the other boy gestured to the phone, an invitation to steer the conversation. “Nanny, Brother Francis … First of all, you didn’t ...  it wasn’t me that you were supposed to be raising. I’m not the Antichrist. Uh. You know that, though.”

“Of course, dear. But in the end it wasn’t really relevant what we were supposed to be doing, was it? What’s important is what happened.” It was the first time Adam had ever heard Crowley call someone dear, and in that soft voice, it almost made Adam jealous, just for a second, until he remembered that he’d stolen Lucky’s parents, he’d stumbled in to the family that was full of love and support, and Lucky had been left with a father that was disappointed in his lack of interest in football or baseball or hunting, and a mother that had treated him like an amiable acquaintance. The least he could have had, Adam thought, was two godparents that watched him, guided him and, by the sounds of it, loved him.

“So you still - I mean, I’m not … you don’t …” he trailed off and made a frustrated little noise. “I don’t know how to say what I want to say.”

“You are not, never have been, and cannot possibly be a disappointment, if that was it,” said Aziraphale. “You weren’t the antichrist, Lucky, but you were also a wonderful boy in your own right. Still are, for that matter.” 

More quietly, Crowley added, “For all the mess that happened with the whole Armageddon business, Lucky, you were one of the wonderful things that came out of it.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t come over there? Really, it wouldn’t be a lot of trouble, you could always just summon Crowley, he’ll talk you through the circle -”

Adam laughed. “No. No, don’t. Not yet, anyway.”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “Right, you’re gonna have to get some chalk and have a flat surface to work on, preferably at least two feet across, I can fit in smaller but it’s really not pleasant -”

“Are you really a demon, Nanny?” Lucky was crying, and Adam clambered off of the bed to retrieve a box of tissues off the desk. “Sorry, I didn’t want to start crying again, it’s not about the demon thing, it’s just this has been a … weird day?”

“Right, that’s it, I’m coming through. You have this on speaker, I assume?”

“Don’t-” Adam started, but it was too late. There was a curious sound, like satellites screaming, or a million tiny gold-plated circuits howling in surprise, and then there was just Crowley, standing in front of them, a little mussed for, apparently, crossing the Atlantic through a wifi connection but mostly just the way he always looked, black and sharp and unspeakably cool. Next to him, Lucky gasped.

Crowley shrugged, a little apologetically. “Yeah. Demon. Sorry, I just thought might be better to have this conversation in person, ah. You know.” He might have said more, looked prepared to say more, but Lucky was on him then, arms wrapped around his shoulders and hugging him like he may not ever let go. Crowley stiffened up for a second, like Adam knew he always did, and then visibly relaxed, pulling Lucky close and running his hand through the taller boy’s hair. “There, there, dear,” he said, in the same Scottish accent as before.

Lucky sobbed. “Nanny.” His breath hitched, like maybe he wanted to say more, maybe wanted to start talking and explain the whole day and never stop, but he wailed instead, biting off and swallowing the sound and holding Crowley tighter still.

Crowley didn’t move, save to rub the kid’s back, but he did look to Adam for a beat. “Aziraphale’s coming too - he’ll be at the door.”

“Got it.” It was a relief to turn away. He liked Lucky, tremendously really, and felt awful about telling him about everything and pulling the rug out from under his world, but at the same time, a haunted doll had sort of got it all started, and it wouldn’t have been fair to hide all that from him. Especially, Adam thought, if it was going to involve elements of … Antichristliness. Either way, whether he liked Lucky or not, he felt a little uncomfortable standing there watching him choke out hitching sobs, clung to Crowley after years of physical absence. Sure, the motel room was small and it wasn’t as if Adam could go far, but he took the excuse and stepped a few feet away, hovering nervously by the door to the room and waiting for the knock.

“I’ve got you, Nanny’s got you, devil. Come on, sit.” That was Crowley in the background, sort of awkwardly inching Lucky toward the bed. 

“I missed you.”

Adam swallowed. It was because of him. They’d had to leave Lucky behind because he had been the wrong boy. Because Adam had been the right boy. Because they had to keep an eye on him, and make sure he didn’t end the world while their backs were turned. I’m sorry, he wanted to murmur. He ached to cross the room and put a hand on Lucky’s shoulder and apologize, let him know how sorry he was, but he needed this time with Crowley - Nanny, which was weird, and would take some getting used to, certainly - and so Adam stood by to wait for Aziraphale.

As if on cue, no sooner had he thought about the angel then the door rattled. He yanked it open and Aziraphale stepped in without a word, hands on Adam’s shoulders. “Dear boy…” He glanced to Crowley and Lucky, now side-by-side on the bed, Lucky’s face buried in Crowley’s shoulder, his sobs a little more subdued. He and Crowley must have exchanged some kind of non-verbal communication, because Aziraphale nodded then, and turned his attention back to Adam. “Dear boy, are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed hard, and realized his eyes were watering. “Kind of. Not really, actually.”

“Then that’s just fine.” And Adam found himself in the arms of an angel, crying and hugging Aziraphale, his hands twisted into the old dun jacket, grounding himself in the feel of the fabric across the shoulders, just slightly threadbare, and the way the angel was warm and soft and familiar. “That’s it, take your time,” Aziraphale soothed, running a hand through Adam’s hair and tugging out an errant knot. 

“Every time I think I’m over it,” Adam forced out, between gasps. “I always … I think I’m past it but then something happens an’ it’s just …” He whimpered. “Should I not have … maybe I should have just not said anything.”

“I’m certain you had a very good reason to do what you did. You said something happened.”

“Yeah.” He took a breath, shuddering and deep, and tried to talk, but Aziraphale shook his head and, with a handkerchief produced out of nowhere, wiped Adam’s face.

“Take your time. No rush, dear boy. Shall we sit down?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Aziraphale tucked him under his shoulder then, and he leaned into the angel as they walked to the bed, Aziraphale sitting next to Crowley, the pair of them flanked by a couple of eighteen-year-olds that had been joined at birth by a set of unbelievable and absurd supernatural circumstances. 

Adam recovered first. He had, after all, had more time to process the entire thing than Lucky had. Lucky, who had just discovered the truth of his birth this afternoon, right on the heels of learning that ghosts, demons, angels, God, Satan, and Antichrists were also real and, in some cases, more familiar than he might have thought. Lucky, who had for years believed that his beloved childhood nanny and her strange gardener companion had moved away to some remote village in England, only to ever be reached through telephone and e-mail again. Lucky, who had believed said beloved Nanny was just a weird Satanist human, and not an actual demon, and said gardener was just a devout man, rather than an actual angel. 

Granted, the demon thing didn’t seem to be bothering him too much. He had his arms slung around Crowley’s neck now, crying gently into his shoulder, while Crowley rubbed his back and looked very tired, and a little defeated. 

“I thought I wouldn’t ever see you again in person,” Lucky managed after some length of time - Adam hadn’t really been keeping track, and it wasn’t important, not really. “I thought you were too old and sick to travel, and you never gave out your address, and I just thought …”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley ruffled Lucky’s long hair. “Really, Lucky. Really sorry. If there was a way to be in two places at once …” He trailed off, while Lucky nuzzled into his shoulder, shoulders still shaking intermittently.

“I’m sorry too,” Adam mumbled.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Why would you be, Adam? All of this is hardly your doing - you’re as much of a victim of circumstance as Lucky.”

“Still can be sorry.”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale sighed. “I think we all feel sorry, really.”

“I’m glad you came,” Lucky said into Crowley’s shoulder, after a while. “Even if we said not to.”

“Sometimes kids just need their nannies.” Crowley smirked, looking down at Lucky with a fondness Adam had rarely seen before, and more rarely still towards anyone besides Aziraphale. “Even if they are too tall and have beards.”

Lucky laughed wetly and sat up a little, enough to swipe a tissue across his nose. No one decided to say anything about the tears and snot still left in his beard and mustache. “I could shave it.”

“Why would you, if you like it? Didn’t I teach you to always do what you want? Everyone else can piss off.” Lucky laughed again.

“I don’t think you used those words, exactly.”

Crowley nodded. “True. But in my defense, you were four.” That got another giggle, and this time, when silence settled over the little motel room it wasn’t quite as thick and tense as it had been. 

“So,” Aziraphale started, his hand still on Adam’s shoulder. “Would you like to hear the whole story? Then you can tell us what happened, how you figured it out.”

“I would.” Adam looked shyly over. “Not sure … would you?” Lucky nodded. “You’re sure you’re okay, you don’t want to -”

“I just want to understand a little bit more.” Lucky took a breath. “Even if there’s no good answers, I just want to understand.”

“Very well.” Aziraphale fidgeted a little on the side of the bed, hand coming off of Adam’s shoulder, all the better to fiddle with the sigil ring, which Adam always knew was a sign of discomfort. “Crowley, I believe you were there at the start of it.”

Crowley swallowed. “I want to make something very clear before I tell you both this, alright?” The boys nodded. “I … well, in Hell’s books, this all is my fault. I fucked it all up, made all the mistakes at the beginning, what’s new there right? And from your point of view, that’s probably going to be true, too. What I should have done -”

“Hey.” Adam cut him off, quiet and calm, eyes still watering just a little, but otherwise as composed as ever. “Crowley? The world didn’t end, so you can’t have done that much wrong, right?” Aziraphale squeezed his shoulder.

“That’s what I’m always telling him.”

Adam swiped his hand across his eyes, drying away the wetness there, even if just for a minute. “Right. So you can talk all about what you should have done, should have gone, should have known, an’ yeah, maybe it would’ve changed stuff, but then also maybe I would have ended the world and incited the final battle between Heaven and Hell? Which wouldn’t be … ideal.” He waved a hand. “Not that any of it’s ideal but like … Well, I wish Lucky wouldn’t’ve had to be involved, or the other kid, whoever he is, but. You know.” He forced a little laugh. “Could’ve been worse. Sorry, Lucky.”

“Well.” Lucky snorted, swallowed, and shrugged. “I mean. When the alternative is the very real possibility of Armageddon like … yeah. Wish it wasn’t me, I guess, but like in this case we can actually say with confidence that it could’ve been way worse.”

“So much worse,” Adam agreed, and Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a relieved glance. “So okay yeah, some bad stuff happened, but that happens, right? Part of the world. And you guys taught me that sometimes when bad stuff happens, the stuff that happens after turns out okay anyway, and sometimes it sucks. In this case I think it … was kind of both. But more okay.”

Lucky nodded. “Yeah. More okay. No Armageddon.” He sighed. “And my parents were - are - kind of jackasses, but like … they did some stuff right too, I guess. Plus I had Nanny and Brother Francis.”

“You can call me Aziraphale now, dear boy.” He looked a little bashful. “If you’re comfortable with it. It is … well, it is my name.”

Lucky looked to Crowley, but before he could say anything the demon already answered the question on the tip of his tongue. “Nanny’s just fine. Or Crowley. Whatever. Just not Crawly.” That garnered a strange look, and he patted the boy on the shoulder. “Tell you about it later, sometime.”

“So hang on.” Lucky took a deep breath, and through narrowed eyes peered at the two man-shaped beings. “Actually an angel and a demon?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you just magically come through the phone?”

“I did.”

He frowned, and sighed, and put his head in his hands. Crowley patted him on the back, consoling. Muffled, Lucky went on, “So much makes sense about that, but it’s so weird. I only like, half-believed in ghosts until this afternoon, you know?” He spread his hands. “Now my Nanny’s a phone demon or something, and the gardener was actually an angel the whole time and not just like, a weird monk, and I went to the Middle East when I was eleven because everyone thought I was the Antichrist.”

Crowley bit his lip, shrugged, and sighed. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“You’re not a phone demon,” Aziraphale said reproachfully. “Actually, in the Beginning, he was -” Crowley cut him off with a glare. “Ah. Well. Perhaps later. I suppose it’s not entirely pertinent right now.”

“Tell you later,” Crowley assured Lucky, who was watching him warily. “You sure you want to hear this? Now the secret’s out, not like we’re going to have to stay away anymore.”

Adam found himself nodding. “Yeah, we could all wait, I sort of gave you the brief at the restaurant.” He frowned though, because suddenly Lucky was grinning like an idiot. “Uh.”

“You can come visit now? Really?”

“I … suppose we could.” Aziraphale looked thoughtful. “I don’t see why not. Before it was all a question of logistics, but I suppose now that you’re aware of ah, the particulars, instantaneous travel isn’t entirely unexpected.”

Lucky was hugging Crowley again, and if the demon had actually needed to breathe he might have had a serious problem doing so. As it was, he was looking a little strained, and Adam found himself listening for the crack or pop of a rib, maybe, under the intensity of the other boy’s embrace. “You will, right?” he asked, voice a little thick again. “You will?”

“Of course, devil-child. Ungh. Gentle.” Lucky loosened up on his grip, and when he sat back he was beaming, although he looked exhausted under that excitement. “Yeah, we’ll visit.” The shifting in accents was a little disconcerting, after all the years Adam had known Crowley to just be … Crowley. He imagined Lucky was having a similar sensation of disorientation, although heading in the opposite direction.

“What prompted all of this?” Aziraphale asked Adam quietly, gesturing vaguely to the four of them, all seated awkwardly on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you start there, instead? If you both know the generalities of the, ah, of your beginnings.”

“Might all be a bit much for a day, yeah.” Adam looked to Lucky. The other boy shrugged, trying to put on a brave face, but under the thin smile he was tired, wrung-out, as Adam’s mum would say, with pale skin under the dark beard, and gray circles around his eyes. “You think?”

“I do wanna know. But yeah, maybe another day.” He rubbed his eye with a fist, and yawned. “I guess I sort of have the idea, anyway. But yeah. We saw a ghost or something, today.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley, and then to Adam, and then back to Lucky. “Go on,” he said, at last. 

“We were touring haunted houses,” Adam said, while Aziraphale hummed in acknowledgement, urging him to continue, “and looking for ghosts. Which we weren’t finding, ‘cause, you know.”

“Right.”

“And them we were in this room with a bunch of dolls -” he chose to ignore how Crowley winced, “- and we were just gettin’ ready to leave, but then one of the dolls said ‘Antichrist’.”

Aziraphale boggled. “What?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. An’ so we were like, what was that, an’ he started talking to it.” Adam pointed to the other boy.

“It was the dolls,” Lucky clarified. “Like. All the dolls at once, and I asked who was there, and they just said ‘us’.”

Crowley rankled. “Legion. Bet it’s that bastard Eric, bet you anything, I thought he’d at least honor the agreements -”

Aziraphale patted Crowley on the shoulder, politely and gently cutting the demon off. “What happened then?”

“Well,” Lucky said with a sigh, “first, we tried to run away. But the door slammed shut and then Adam couldn’t get it open.”

“It was like it was stuck or something. It had shut on its own, too.” He shivered a little, and Aziraphale wrapped him in a one-armed hug. “I couldn’t find the knob, or whatever. An’ then the dolls were floating an’ everything, and they said, ‘Beware, Antichrist.’”

“Beware?” Crowley looked surprised, one eyebrow raised incredulously. “Unexpected.”

Adam shrugged. “Dunno. But yeah, they said beware, an’ then they started really freaking out, an’ then they said -” his face creased in puzzlement as he recalled the exact words, “- ‘Beware the Duke, beware the Warrior. You hear us kid? Beware!’” He took a deep breath. “An’ then everything went right back to the way it was before, like nothing happened.” He did look over to Crowley then, still thoughtful. “Smelled a bit like sulfur, I thought.”

“It did.” Lucky was frowning, too. “And like … fresh paper. Or something like that.”

“Sulfur and fresh paper,” Aziraphale said, thoughtfully, while Crowley muttered something about the Duke and the Warrior. “Was there … anything else?”

The boys exchanged looks and then, eventually, shrugs. “Don’t think so,” Adam said. “But, uh, yeah, that’s what happened.”

“I started telling him how you used to call me the Antichrist,” Lucky told Crowley, also sparing a few sidelong glances at Aziraphale. “And how you were … well, I thought you were just both sort of weird. But I told him that, and I’d already said something about being born near Tadfield, and I guess he knew enough.”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “From what you guys told me. I kind of figured. And then I thought, well, I wanted to call you two anyway, because ghost, an’ Lucky was there for it, an’ there was the whole Antichrist thing and I just thought …” He trailed off, and stared into some middle-distance in the direction of the stucco wall separating the room from the bathroom. “I thought I owed him an explanation. Because I figured things would start getting weird,” he concluded, after a long time.

Lucky laughed. “Start? They’d already started getting weird.”

Adam managed a grin. “Well. You know. Weirder.” Then the grin fell from his face, and he turned back to Aziraphale for a moment, and then Crowley. “So what are the Duke and the Warrior? Do you know them, or?”

“The Duke,” Crowley said, leaning back onto his hands, elbows locked, as he stared toward the ceiling, “I’m almost positive is Duke Hastur. Duke of Hell.”

Adam’s eyes widened a little as he drew in a quick breath. They’d talked about Hastur before, at the restaurant, and he hadn’t put it together then. Stupid, he thought, and then he forgave himself, because sometimes things don’t come as easily when you’re under pressure. “Oh, yeah. That’d make sense.”

“Hastur la Vista?” Lucky balked. “He’s a Duke of Hell? Does this mean he’s like … watching us?”

“Might be.” Crowley scowled. “Who’s the Warrior, though?” He looked to Aziraphale. “Any of your old lot, do you think?” His mouth dropped open. “Not Michael, couldn’t be Michael, do you think?”

“Oh good,” Lucky said faintly. “An Archangel.”

Aziraphale had winced as soon as Crowley had suggested it. “It’s probably Michael. And to imagine them in cahoots …”

Adam was looking between them, a little desperate. “Are they after me? I thought after everything at the airfield, you two retired.”

“Eh … in a manner of speaking.”

“You can retire from being an angel? Or a demon?” Lucky asked, stunned and wide-eyed with disbelief. “But you came through the phone …”

“I’m still a demon,” Crowley elaborated with a little shrug. “But not working anymore. No more jobs from Hell. Officially.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Get the occasional milk run kind of thing, nothing significant.”

Adam looked to Aziraphale, who also shifted a little. “I’ve popped in for a few minor blessings for Heaven, as well. You have to understand, after 6000 years -”

Lucky spluttered for a second, before stammering out, “6000 years?”

“Tell you later,” Crowley replied quickly. “I will, devil-kid, I promise. For now, it’s late, and you two had a big day, and -”

“And an Archangel and a Duke of Hell might be after me,” Adam said harshly, bristling. “Why? No more, I told them! No more, and here they are, back again! I told them!” He looked afraid then, and searched frantically around the room, as if Michael or Hastur might be lurking behind the reading lamp. “What do they want? I’m not restarting it, I … I can’t restart it!” He waved his hands, and then ran them through his hair. “I can’t do that stuff anymore.”

“Which is why I’m very glad you called us, indeed.” Aziraphale leaned in to Adam, bending forward and twisting until he met the boy’s eyes. “Listen to me, Adam. Whatever they’re doing - and I don’t know yet, what that warning means, what might be happening, but I have every intention of figuring it out - I’m fairly certain it’s not ah, official. So to speak.”

Crowley shook his head. “Definitely not from my side. I can call Zozo or Eric just to make sure, but.” He stopped. “And someone warned you. You said you smelled sulfur?” 

“Yeah.”

“So someone from Hell warned you, for sure. Ghosts don’t smell like sulfur.” He thought for a minute, muttering intermittently to himself as he did. “So Hastur could have gone rogue, not surprising and hardly like anyone cares, these days.”

“I thought Beelzebub said I was to be left alone.” Adam looked hurt. “You said.”

“Ze did, but ah, Ol’ Beelz is a little preoccupied these days.” Adam was watching him, imploring and scared, and Crowley slumped. “No one’s seen Lucifer in at least five years, Adam. Rumor has it the Dark Council saw him once, right after everything at the airfield, and then no one’s seen him since. You didn’t hear any of this from me, by the way.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Lucky said faintly. “A Duke of Hell is chasing you, and no one’s seen Lucifer, so, you know, actual Satan is out there somewhere, too.”

“Certainly not chasing you,” Crowley hurriedly assured Adam, who suddenly looked on the verge of tears. “You’d know. No, leading theory right now is he fucked off to some other planet or something, which good riddance if you ask me. Either way, no one’s been able to track him down, and they’ve been trying.”

Lucky laughed, a strained, forced little sound that wheezed out of him in a few sharp barks. “So what,” he said, looking to Aziraphale, “Satan’s gone, you’re gonna tell us God’s MIA too?”

Adam gulped. “Well I don’t think … I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s not exactly new. Is it?”

“God is all around us,” Aziraphale responded automatically, while Crowley rolled his eyes. And then the angel looked a little embarrassed. “But ah, you are correct in that no one has … heard from Her … in quite some time.” He concluded, in a very small mutter, “At least a millenia or so.”

“... Oh.” Lucky swayed a little. “This has been a long day.”

Crowley was up then, and tapping Lucky lightly on the cheek. The Scottish accent was back, as well. “You need to sleep. Nothing we’re going to do about any of this in the next few hours. Get ready for bed, on you go.”

As if on autopilot, Lucky rose, and shuffled into the bathroom to wash up. Adam, left alone with his godfathers, looked between them. “So what’re you gonna do?” he demanded. “If you think I’m gonna sleep, if you two are gonna go off to talk to your old bosses, then you’re wrong, ‘cause -”

“You are going to sleep,” Aziraphale cut in firmly. “And we’re going to stay here all night, and try to puzzle out what on Earth all this is about.” He looked Adam up and down severely. “And if you think you’re going to be finishing your trip on your own, young man, you’re quite mistaken.”

Adam blinked for a second before he said, a little dumbly, “There’s not room for you in the truck.”

“We’ll rent a car,” Crowley assured him, hands tucked into his pockets. “Go on, get ready for bed. One of us’ll be here, if not both. I’m gonna have to go get a car,” he added, and because Adam was glaring at the floor of the motel room, he didn’t catch the wink Crowley shot Aziraphale over his glasses. “Might be good - could do with a walk, clear my head. Sniff around for anything unusual.”

Adam looked to Aziraphale and suddenly, in spite of growing up, the two-day stubble and the broad shoulders of a grown man, Adam looked very much like the frightened eleven-year-old they had met on the tarmac seven years ago. “What if they come? What if they come and you’re alone?”

“A reasonable concern but,” Aziraphale said, standing up and rooting around in Adam’s duffle bag for a moment before producing a soft pair of tartan pajamas that Adam was certain he had not packed or, in fact, owned when he left England. “But all signs at this stage would seem to imply that if Michael and Hastur are up to something it is not official business. And you may well have someone else watching out for you, if the dolls are any sort of indication.” He waved a hand and a similar pair of pajamas - blue, instead of brown, but otherwise the same pattern - appeared on Lucky’s bed. “Although at this stage we don’t know who.”

“We’ll be working on it, though.” The bathroom door opened, and Crowley kept talking as he bundled Lucky over to the bed, shoving the miraculously new pajamas into the boy’s hands. “Get dressed, there you are. You too, Adam. I’ll see what I can dig up while I get the rental car. Call up Zozo.”

“You think they’ll tell the truth?” Aziraphale asked doubtfully, holding his hands out to Adam and helping the boy to his feet. “They are a demon …”

“Eric, then. Eric’s a good egg, more’s the shame.  One of ‘em’ll work.” He frowned. “We just need to know if it’s official. If not, it’s Hastur on his own, which isn’t great but it’s not the worst thing. It’ll mean he has to use indirect interference too, which makes it easier for us to re-route things. He won’t be able to just call up a spout of Hellfire or anything.”

“Wonderful,” Adam mumbled. Aziraphale pointed him toward the bathroom door, and he took a few steps, suddenly feeling just how incredibly bone-tired he was. Each step was a labor, and although his brain was racing around, trying to think about what to do, how to deal with this, about Michael and Hastur and Heaven and Hell, his eyelids drooped. He stumbled through his nightly routine, spending a full minute staring blankly at his reflection with his toothbrush in his mouth while his brain kept running in the same circle - Michael, Hastur, beware kid, beware - before he spat the toothpaste foam into the sink, gargled half a cup of water, and stumbled out of the bathroom.

Lucky had laid down, Crowley sitting on the edge of his bed and watching him, while Aziraphale was holding Adam’s phone, a little nervously. “It went off,” he said, holding the thing out toward the boy. “I didn’t look at the message.” Adam shrugged. Aziraphale probably had, he was fairly certain, but the angel was funny about what he did and didn’t want people knowing he’d done, so Adam went along with the charade.

He tapped the screen, read the message, and typed out a single-letter reply: ‘K’. “It’s Rachael, one of our guides. She says we’re s’posed to meet in the lobby tomorrow morning at nine. We aren’t going to be going far - there’s a good system building up over Nebraska that’ll probably do something cool.” He flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling for a minute, hands folded over his belly. After a time, he started fiddling with the button on his new pajamas. “Seems kind of dumb to keep storm chasing, doesn’t it? Maybe I should just go home. I could make something up about a family emergency. Wouldn’t totally be a lie.”

“No, don’t,” Aziraphale admonished. “Adam, you were looking forward to this.”

“Before I knew an Archangel and a Duke of Hell were gonna be after me, yeah.” He glanced over to his roommate. “I don’t wanna put anyone in danger.”

“You aren’t.” Crowley was looking at the floor, elbows leaned onto his knees, hands folded. “You’re being a kid that’s doing something they love. Hastur and old wank-wings are the ones putting people in danger.”

Aziraphale frowned, the picture of disapproval, although Adam started laughing as soon as his brain had caught up with his ears and processed ‘wank-wings’. “Crowley, I’m not any more enthusiastic about Michael than you are, but really, that nickname.” He sniffed. “It’s unbecoming.”

“Of who?”

“Hm.” Gently, Aziraphale took Adam’s phone and set it on the nightstand. He didn’t bother to plug it in, but it made the little sound it did when it started to charge anyway. “Regardless, Adam, he’s right. Any danger is not your fault. It wouldn’t be fair to you to cut the trip short.” He pulled the covers up to Adam’s nose, practically, and, casually, as respectfully as he could, Adam pushed them back down to his chest again. “Besides, we’re here now. We can be … ah, sort of like … like, er … Help me, dear.”

“Secret agent bodyguards,” Crowley whispered enthusiastically. “Your supernatural secret service.”

Adam giggled. “You make it sound very cool, when you put it like that.”

“Whole point, innit?” The demon shrugged, grinned for a second, and then continued, “Listen, Adam, I - we - don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but we’re gonna work on it, see if we can’t figure it out. If you go back to England, you’ll have the wards we have there to protect you, but whatever those two are up to, it won’t stop that. So you might as well do what you came over here for, now we’re here, while we run interference and figure it out.”

Aziraphale looked mildly excited at the prospect. “One-to-one defense, man-on-ma - oh. Ah. Perhaps angel-on-demon.” He blanched. “That doesn’t sound very good, does it?”

Crowley was downright leering. “Depends on who you’re -”

Adam winced. “Don’t be gross. Secret service agents aren’t gross.”

“You’re eighteen, dear boy, I hardly think two consenting and sentient beings in a respectful and affectionate relatio -”

“Yeah but it’s like watching my parents get all in love,” Adam hissed. “It’s weird. Don’t.”

“You’re going to have to wear sunglasses,” Crowley said suddenly. “Secret service agents wear sunglasses. I have some extra pairs, oh, and maybe a black suit-and-tie…”

“I hardly think that will be necessary.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Although it was a bit sunny earlier today, I suppose.” He looked to Crowley, who was grinning, and coughed. “I don’t know if your sunglasses will match my coat, though, dear.”

“Nothing made after 1900 matches your coat, angel.” Still, he looked pensive. “I could get a selection tonight on my way back with a car. Stop off at Target, get you some glasses, summon Zozo, be back here in two hours.”

“Perhaps leave the shopping bit out. The sooner you’re back, the better.” 

Crowley looked a little downcast at that, but he stood up anyway. Before he turned to leave, he looked to Adam imperiously. “You’d better be asleep by the time I get back. You’re getting up at eight.”

Adam snorted. “Okay, Mom.” Crowley made a face at him, which he returned, and for a second it was almost like he wasn’t in mortal danger again. Then the demon left, slipping out of the motel room and into the night. Adam rustled around under the covers a little, trying to find a comfortable position in the new silence, the little room filled only with the buzzing of the air conditioning unit. After a time, he sighed.

“Yes?” Aziraphale looked up from his book - where had he found a book? Oh, it was Meteorology and Severe Weather, Second Ed., out of Lucky’s stuff - and frowned at Adam, radiating concern as well as a soft golden light from his halo. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Dunno how I’m supposed to just go to sleep, when someone might be trying to kill me.” He sighed. “I know you’re here, and it’s great, really, and I’m tired, but I just can’t get to sleep.”

“Of course. That’s very reasonable.” He closed the cover of the book, keeping one finger tucked into the pages to mark his place. “I have something that could help, if you’d like.”

Adam shook his head back and forth emphatically. “No. No miracles.”

“That was not what I was going to offer. I know how you feel about miracles in situations like this, Adam.” He rustled his free hand around in a pocket, and produced a little white-and-blue pill bottle. “No, what I do have here is some nice, good, old-fashioned Nytol.”

“Oh.” Adam suspected there might have been some kind of miraculous component behind the appearance of the Nytol, but after years of hanging around Aziraphale and Crowley, he’d learned that most of the time when they pulled something out of the ether, it had existed somewhere real previously, and had just happened to get pulled through whatever little hole in space-time angels and demons sent stuff through. Which, somehow, made the Nytol in Aziraphale’s hand alright. “Yeah, I’ll take one.”

“Let me get you a cup of water.”

--

While Aziraphale was putting Adam to bed, Crowley was out for a walk in Kansas City. When the boys had called, he and Aziraphale had parked the 4-Runner in a Wal-Mart parking lot, the better to leave it unharassed until they could get back to it or otherwise sort out what they were going to do next. They hadn’t been far, what with their entire goal being keeping an eye on Adam, and so Crowley walked, hands in his pockets, deep in thought, turning over what Adam and Lucky had said about the day.

He wondered if they sold chalk at Wal-Mart, and immediately chided himself for even thinking such a thing. Of course they did. Probably had it next to the rifles, or something. This was America, after all.

So lost in his thoughts was Crowley, that when he walked past a plain brown sedan parked outside of Adam and Lucky’s motel, and he felt a wave of Holy power, he paid it no mind. Probably, his subconscious brain reasoned, just some residual energy leftover from Aziraphale appearing there - it certainly wasn’t enough to be an avenging Archangel or anything else of consequence. It might even have been a human offering up a particularly heartfelt prayer, if they were faithful enough. He shooed the thought from his mind and walked on, past the car, and didn’t notice the thin man dressed in all brown sitting in the driver’s seat, watching him go over the top of his book.

In the car, Raziel made a note in a little spiral notebook he’d set in the center console, smiled, and returned to his reading.

-

Now with Chapter 13!

[dorotheajanegilmore]

Devil’s Daughter [Dean Winchester]

Previous: 1,2,3,4

Chapter five

Rowena was at the bunker before lunch and had her candles, potions and herbs set up ready to do a blood test. I learned that Rowena Macleod is Crowley's mother and a witch. Sam also warned me that she can be a little scary and to be careful with what I say around her.

"So what do I have to do again?" I gulped, looking at the giant ass knife she had presented in front of a small bowl.

"It's alright dear, nothing to be afraid of." Her calm and soothing voice made me feel at ease, her accent helped her to sound jolly and sweet and I for one needed that right now. "I just need a wee drop of blood for the spell."

I nodded and held out my hand. She took the knife and trailed it along the back of my hand. I hissed in pain, clutching Dean's arm as a large gash appeared, dripping blood into the bowl.

I watched my hand heal before my eyes, the skin knitting itself back together so unbelievably quick.

"Sorry bub, I'm afraid we'll need a little more." Rowena told me before mercilessly dragging the knife across my hand once more, this time digging it a little deeper. She seemed to be smiling and humming a happy song to herself, as if she was enjoying hurting me. The blood filled up the bowl and she nodded. "Perfect. Thanks, Doll."

"Jacky boy, you're turn." She sung and Jack held out his hand. Rowena used a different bowl and sliced across his hand too. As he bled into the bowl, she looked between us. "You know, you both have the same cheekbones. Very lucifer-esque . And you have the same blonde-ish brown hair, oh I don't know. You definitely look a like."

I looked at Jack and noticed that we did in fact have similar features, however that idea was dropped when Rowena added, "Then again, Jack does look an awful lot like Cass so I guess looks don't mean a thing."

"Isn't Castiel, Jack's uncle?" I posed the question and looked around for a response.

Castiel nodded. "Technically, yes. But I look at him as more of a son." Jack smiled, was genuinely touched that Castiel loves and looks out for him that way.

I smiled and rest my head on Dean's shoulder, feeling myself becoming very sleepy.

———

"Rowena, what's happening?" Dean asked as he looked down at the sleeping Elle on his shoulder.

"This spell is a tough one, Deano. It's gonna wear them both out." Rowena told him honestly as Jack fell onto Elle, causing more wait to be added to the hunter. Dean grunted and looked at Sam for a little help.

Sam places Jack on one couch and Dean places Elle on the other. Rowena continues her changing and burning of herbs as she mixed a drop of Elle and Jack's blood.

"How do we know if it's positive?" Sam asked, receiving a small glare from Dean. "What? This isn't exactly a normal paternity test."

"They're not exactly normal people." Dean added sarcastically.

"Hush you too." Rowena scolded as she tried to concentrate. "Well know if the blood separates, that means it rejects the connection. If it mixes and becomes one, then congrats. It's a girl Luci."

———

Rowena used a spell to awaken me and Jack and asked us to chant with her. We sat either side of her holding hands, forming a circle around the pentagram she had made with red string.

"Ooh look, look." She squealed in excitement, shaking mine and Jack's hands to get our attention.

When I opened my eyes and saw what she was looking at I gasped. Our blood matched, we were related.

"I told you she was the one." Rowena said to Crowley. "I used Lucifer's blood to find you, Elle. I knew it was you, dear!"

I shook my head in disbelief. If this is really true, my entire life has been one huge lie. "So...what does this mean?" I asked. "What do you need me to do?" I hurried to my feet, breaking the circle with Rowena and Jack.

Crowley stepped forward and folded his arms in front of himself, standing confidently before me. "Well we'll need to unleash your powers. You've spent your entire life as a human so they'll be weak, we need you to be in top form to be able to put Lucifer back in his cage."

"And how do we do that?" Sam asked from his seat on the couch.

"A series of tests?" Crowley offered up, pulling a face of uncertainty.

I rolled my eyes and placed an annoyed hand on my forehead. "Any chance, while you guys figure this out, I can go home and see my family?"

Sam and Dean shared a look, seeming to be able to silently communicate. Dean cleared his throat and nodded. "I don't see why not. But we'll be coming with you, just to make sure you don't run away. Ya’know?"

"I get it." I shrugged. I really do. If this Lucifer is as bad as everyone makes out, he needs to be locked away. And if I'm needed for that, in whatever way, so be it.

"Can I come to?" Jack's smile faltered and he looked hurt. "I've just met you, I don't want to lose another person."

I smiled and stepped over Rowena's spell bowls to get to him. I reached up and pulled him into a hug. "Of course you can." I told him. I felt him hug back and release a deep breath.

———

I pulled the red leather jacket Rowena gave me closer to my chest, feeling the wind coming from Sam’s open window as

Dean drove. Sam directed from the passenger seat while myself and Jack sat in the back with Castiel, playing twenty-thousand questions.

"And what's your favourite colour?" Jack added, rambling like a child in a candy shop trying to list all his favourites.

I shrugged, I didn't really have one. But I didn't want to upset him so I answered. "I guess it would have to be burgundy. You?"

"Probably blue." He nodded, proud of his choice.

“If you two are finished playing teenage sleepover games, Elle can you try some of those exercises Rowena told you about?” Dean raised a brow at me, looking at me through his rear view mirror.

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. “No, I don’t think I will. You see there’s something about being in a car with breathing people that’s telling me not to try and use powers I’m supposed to have in case, oh I don’t know, I could hurt someone?”

“Who cares? Give it a go.” Dean shrugged. He was just curious as to whether or not I actually have power now that Rowena’s confirmed my true parentage.

Rowena told me to close my eyes and picture the blood flowing through my veins. To incision every pump of my heart. To focus on my breathing. So that’s what I did. I held my hands out in front of me, just behind Sam’s seat.

I pictured my heart and blood flowing through me, and then I heard gaps. I opened my eyes to see a small ball of red wisps forming in my palm. “What the...” I couldn’t form a sentence as I started at the energy glowing in my hands.

Jack looked at me with tear filled eyes as Dean pulled over to the side of the road. Castiel gave me a thumbs up and rushed around to open the door for me, not wanting me to break the energy ball.

Sam and Jack watched from the car as Dean slammed his door and ran around to keep an eye on me. He glanced around at the empty field and quiet road before pointing at a tree. “See if you can throw it at that tree.” He was breathless as he spoke, almost mesmerised by the power in my palms.

I gulped before nodding. I felt the wind pick up, blowing the black borrowed dress and my hair. Here goes nothing I guess. I twisted my hand and sure enough, the power followed, seeming to flow out of my fingers. I pulled back one arm and the energy ball stretched, with one mighty throw I sent the red ball of energy at the tree.

My hands flew to my mouth in shock as the tree hit the ground with a massive thud!

“Oh my god!” I shrieked. “What the hell! What the actual hell!!”

Dean laughed and shouted, “You did it!” He pulled me into a bone crushing hug and lifted me from the ground, twirling me around in excitement.

Castiel stood back, looking from the tree to my hands. He mumbled to himself, voice full of concern, “What else are you capable off?”

Next: 6

Tags: @lilulo-12 @vicmc624

[kaesaaurelia]

sick day

For @whumptober2019 day 24: secret injury.

This is a followup to day 5: gunpoint, which was Gabriel/Crowley noncon.

Aziraphale/Crowley, content warnings for references to rape, illness, vomit, and... drug abuse, I guess?  (I mean, it’s just cold medicine, but it’s definitely an abuse of cold medicine.)

Crowley was watching television when the knock at the door came.  His stomach was still roiling from the morning, and he was in such a foul mood that he genuinely hoped it was a door-to-door salesman.  Hell was in the midst of road construction, anyway, and could use the extra building material.

But when he cracked the door open, it was Aziraphale, looking politely worried, as if he would stop worrying if it was inconvenient at the moment.  (He wouldn't, Crowley knew.)  He was holding several plastic bags and two cartons of soup.

Crowley hadn't realized until now that Aziraphale was both the only person he wanted to see right now, and also the absolute last person he wanted to see.  He tried to make himself speak but all that came out was a very hoarse approximation of "Angel?"

"Oh, my dear, you sound positively awful," said Aziraphale.

"Thanksss?" he said, but Aziraphale hadn't waited for a response before bustling in, the plastic bags rustling.

Crowley drifted into the kitchen in Aziraphale's wake and watched him take out a big cardboard box from one of the bags.

"Do you have bowls?" Aziraphale asked him, tugging a block of styrofoam out of the box and pulling a kettle out of it.  He unwound the cord quickly and plugged the kettle in.  At no point did he consult Crowley on any of these decisions, which was actually fine, because Crowley didn't want to make decisions right now, about anything, although he was still very certain he didn't want Aziraphale to be here, and equally certain that he just wanted Aziraphale to sit next to him and talk to him forever about nothing.

"Er.  No?" Crowley said.

"You do now," said Aziraphale.  He filled the kettle up and set it to boil.  "I'm afraid they didn't have a fancy kettle with a lot of bells and whistles, I know you like that sort of thing, but there are only so many bells and whistles one can add to --"

"What are you doing here?" Crowley blurted.

Aziraphale took a bowl out of his cabinet -- fussy porcelain ones, in a blue and white pattern -- and began to spoon soup into it, out of the carton, with a ladle that Crowley also definitely hadn't owned before.  "I'm keeping you company," he said.

"Didn't know you needed soup for that," said Crowley, watching the bowl fill up with soup.

"It's supposed to be soothing when you've got a sore throat," said Aziraphale.  "Which you do.  How's the coughing by the w-- oh, oh dear," said Aziraphale, as Crowley suddenly remembered just how scratchy his throat was and began coughing again.  A nasty little glob of mucus and blood ended up on his hand, which he tried to hide from Aziraphale, and failed.  "Is that blood, Crowley?"

"I'm fine, it's fine, just -- just a lot of coughing.   It's a cold, or ssomething."

Aziraphale gave him a look, the sort of look that made Crowley wish he was wearing his sunglasses.  "When have you ever had a cold before, Crowley?" said Aziraphale.  "Ever?"

In the background, the television emitted syrupy clarinet music as Crowley tried to come up with something to say.  "Well," said Crowley.  "Well I mean."  He cleared his throat.  It tasted metallic.

"Crowley, what happens when you get a cold?  What are the symptoms?" Aziraphale asked, in his I am being very patient with you now, I hope you know that voice.

"Well, there's coughing, and sneezing, and, and headaches," said Crowley, "and... throwing up?" he hazarded.  Seemed a safe bet.  Most human ailments tended to have throwing up in there, and he had definitely been throwing up.  "Oh, and sores," he added, with confidence, because he'd definitely heard of cold sores.

Aziraphale looked no less worried.  "How do you know it's a cold and not... something worse?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Well.  Well it might be, I don't know, tuberculosis or something," said Aziraphale.

"It's not tuberculosis," said Crowley, rolling his eyes.  "Where would I even get that?"

"I don't know!" said Aziraphale.  "But I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong, Crowley!"

"I didn't asssk you to h--"  Crowley promptly started coughing again.  It went on and on, and Crowley genuinely wondered if he was going to discorporate from this, if his body wouldn't just shake apart from the violence of the cough, and his eyes were watering and his head hurt terribly, and when he was finally able to stop coughing, he was dizzy for a good few breaths.

Finally, when Crowley had caught his breath, Aziraphale said, "May I please stay and keep you company, at least?"

"Fine," said Crowley.  "But I don't want to talk about it."

Aziraphale gave him a tiny, hopeful smile, and Crowley's eyes started watering again, but thankfully, Aziraphale had to turn away for a moment to put the bowl of soup on a plate, and Crowley wiped the tears away before Aziraphale handed him the soup.

Crowley didn't want the soup.  He didn't not want the soup, but his stomach had not been the same since it'd had an archangel dick in it.  Crowley wasn't sure if it was a physiological issue or if his stomach simply objected to archangels on lack of principal, but either way, he'd been nauseous on and off all day and had had to reinstall the gag reflex a couple of times.  He'd decided just to leave it in for now.

Maybe the soup would get the taste out of his mouth, metaphorically.  He took a spoonful.  It was nice.  Salty.  It stung going down, but it didn't make him cough, at least.

"Why don't you go sit down with that?" Aziraphale said.  Normally Crowley would have objected to being ordered around in his own home (or out of it), no matter how gently, but coughing was tiring and there was a couch to loll around on.

Aziraphale joined him in a few moments, with his own bowl of soup, and also two mugs of tea.  Crowley could feel Aziraphale's eyes on him, soft and worried and kind, and he almost told him; he almost said So the actual thing is, your boss squirted holy water down my throat and then stuck his comically large dick down same, and then, not to be outdone in sheer depravity, I bit off his dick and ate it, but the trouble was...

The trouble was, really, that Aziraphale might believe him.  He might not, and Crowley didn't want to think about that, didn't want to consider the possibility that Aziraphale would think he'd make something up like that.  But the real trouble was that Aziraphale might hear that, and think, Yes, Gabriel would do that, and then he would think But that's horrible!  Somebody ought to do something about him! and then -- and then Aziraphale would march right up to Heaven and say -- what?  Crowley was no longer familiar with the procedures of Heavenly Resources, but he couldn't imagine this going well for Aziraphale.  At best, he would end up Falling so Heaven could save face and shut him up.

Aziraphale didn't deserve any of that, so Crowley wasn't telling him, ever.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the television host wander around a dilapidated garden, talking about vegetables and occasionally fondling hedges in an overfamiliar way.  "Where is this house, anyway?  I think I've been there," said Aziraphale, after a while.

"Dunno, I missed the start of it while we were arguing about soup," said Crowley.  "Now we'll never be able to follow the plot."

"We weren't arguing about soup," said Aziraphale.

Crowley stopped talking.  He was aware of Aziraphale, on the other side of the couch, without seeing him; aware of the weight of him on the cushions, the warmth of him, the mild scrape of his spoon against his bowl.  He closed his eyes, and tried to make this be enough.  This should be enough, he knew; it had been more than enough only a week ago.  But now he wanted to lean against Aziraphale, and if he did that it still wouldn't be enough; he'd want Aziraphale to hold him.

He tried not to think about Aziraphale's hands on his back, or in his hair, or how Aziraphale smelled.

After the television provided a thrilling recital of statistics about glasshouses, Aziraphale put his soup bowl down on the coffee table and cleared his throat, awkwardly.  "Was it a... was it a work thing?" he asked, tentatively.

Crowley didn't have it in him to start another fight with Aziraphale.  "Yeah," he said, weakly.

"I'm sorry," said Aziraphale.

Crowley didn't ask what he was sorry about.  "It's fine, angel."

"Is the soup helping?" he asked hopefully.

"A little."  There was a chunk of chicken in his next spoonful, though, and the feel of it sliding down his throat was too much.  Crowley started coughing, getting chicken soup all down his front, and then hurriedly put his bowl down and rushed to the bathroom, whereupon he threw up once more.  The soup did not taste half as good coming up.  "Fuck," he muttered, chugged three glasses of water, and wandered back out, shakily.

Aziraphale was standing uncertainly outside the bathroom, looking more worried than ever.

"It's fine, angel," Crowley said, before Aziraphale could accuse him of anything.

"I brought, er.  I brought medicine," said Aziraphale.  "I don't know if it would help but that sounds -- well.  Very unpleasant."

"Mm.  Yeah," said Crowley.  "What sort of medicine?"

"I don't really know," said Aziraphale.  "I went to the chemist and said, 'Have you got anything for sore throats?' and they did, so I bought one of everything.  They seemed concerned.  I said it was a very bad cough.  Which it clearly is!"

Crowley considered this.  "Well.  Worth a try," he said.  "Did you get any of the stuff with heroin in it?"

"I don't think they sell that anymore," said Aziraphale.

"Ah, well, it's not very good if you drink it anyway," said Crowley.  They made their way back into the kitchen, where Aziraphale dumped his new collection of cough and cold remedies out onto the counter.  "Which one is the best?" Crowley asked, frowning at the lengths of the words on some of the labels.

"I asked, and they said it depended on the cough," said Aziraphale, as though he was suspicious they'd been withholding information.

"Could just try them all," said Crowley.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," said Aziraphale.  "It is medicine, after all."

Crowley ended up skipping anything in a tablet, because swallowing solid things did not seem like a good idea just now, but he worked his way through four or five (or six? He was beginning to lose count) nasty little plastic cups of various cough medicines, and then downed some tea with honey to get rid of the taste.

"Well?" Aziraphale asked, expectantly.

"'Ss all a bit ssswimmy," said Crowley.

"Oh dear," said Aziraphale.  Crowley made his way carefully back to the couch before collapsing onto it.  "Do you feel better, at least?" 

"Mm.  Nope.  Maybe," said Crowley.  Aziraphale sat down next to him.  "I feel.  I feel drunk."

"Well.  That might be better, depending," said Aziraphale.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, across the terrible distance imposed by the fact that the couch was not a loveseat, and decided just this once, it would be fine to lean up against Aziraphale.  He lurched across the couch, and ended up with his head resting on Aziraphale's shoulder.  "Definitely better," he said.

"Ah," said Aziraphale.  "You are definitely drunk.  Or something similar."

"Sssomething sssimilar," said Crowley, for the sheer sibilance of it.  "Tasssted bloody awful though.  Wine'ss better."

Aziraphale considered him for a moment, and then put his arm around Crowley's shoulder.  It was good.  It was much better than sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

He turned his face so that it was pressed against Aziraphale's chest, and this -- this was ideal.  He felt safe like this.  "'M glad you're here," he mumbled into Aziraphale's jacket.  "Talk to me?"

"About what?"

"Anything," said Crowley.  "Jussst want.  Jussst want to hear your voicsse.  Not work," he warned.  "Bookssss, maybe.  Anything.  After it happened, all I wanted wasss to hear your voicsse."

"Oh," said Aziraphale.  There was a long silence, and from the way Aziraphale's breath had hitched, Crowley realized, vaguely, that he might've said too much.  But then Aziraphale spoke again.  "Well!  Well, I started reading last night and forgot to close the shop, so my first customer today came in at seven in the morning -- can you imagine!  Buying books at seven in the morning!"

"Terrible," agreed Crowley, muzzily.

"Awful," agreed Aziraphale.  "Who raised these people?  So, of course, I said..."  He continued on in this vein for -- well, Crowley didn't know how long, because Crowley fell asleep soon after.

He woke up several days later in his bed, remembered everything with mingled horror and fondness, and resolved never to take cough medicine again.  But he did call Aziraphale and assure him that he was well, and he didn't cough all day, and they arranged to go to the show Crowley'd had to miss before, because Gabriel had mysteriously failed to arrange a meeting, and (Aziraphale had added) he didn't much want to see Gabriel anyway.