𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖞

Crowley isn't always fantastic at saying what he wants to say. He'll want to say something significant, want to tell Aziraphale something important, and instead he'll be flippant, or he'll just stare at the angel, and expect his words are somehow understood. And, now that he thinks about it, they usually are. They don't need to say things, not always. Not really. They understand each other.

Like now. Right now, he wants to say I love you, and Please be safe, and I'll come back to you. Instead, he says:

"Oh, have it your way."

And he steps out from the corner, heading over to face Hastur. The Duke is on the stage, setting various parts of the bar on fire, surrounded by the chaos he has created, laughing. Oh, he has such a backwards, unpleasant laugh. There's nothing but malice in everything Hastur does.

"Hastur!" Crowley calls out, brandishing his crowbar. He can do this, he thinks. He can get him talking, he can get him distracted. Give Aziraphale time with the humans, give him time to get them out.

"Crowley," the demon says, satisfied. He immediately throws a blast of fire at Crowley, throwing him back until he flies up, hitting the far wall of the bar. Crowley lands on the ground with an unpleasant thud, dropping his weapon.