The angel stares up at him, feeling like he should say something...encouraging? Something reassuring. Like he should pull Crowley in and hold him and tell him he’s not going anywhere, not this time, but those words again, those words: You could start over without me.
It’s what it takes to tip him over. He’s exhausted. He’s afraid. In a single evening, they’ve faced discorporation and actual, total, unequivocal destruction several different times in the span of hours. They’ve travelled across the world, not before already running and hiding for months, giving up their most loved possessions, all for the sake of their survival. Their survival. Together.
After everything, after— after all the times Aziraphale walked away. After all the times Crowley reached for him, with patience and understanding, with safety, only to have the angel leave him for fear of consequences and come back, after they nearly lost everything, and the angel finally, finally felt ready to reach back, after he finally settled into their side.
After he finally meets him there, where he’s always accused of heady to too fast.
“—No.” he finally says, sounding incredulous. “Y—No!”
He lets go and stands, ignoring the sting and the surprising lightheadedness. “You— after all of this, you really think, really believe I would, that I would just—“
He’s tired. He’s scared. He’s in literal pain, and he’s hurt, and if he hasn’t proven he’s finally ready, if its not clear he’s in this, then how, HOW could he ever make it clear?
Could he ever make it right?
Is it too late?
“We have been running from this— we have been surviving this all this time, we have nearly PERISHED more than once tonight, we—“ And he gestures pointedly, upset, angry and hurt, determined in his words, eyes perhaps a bit too wet. “And you honestly, truly believe I’d simply—
That I would just— abandon you?”
And he stares at the demon, a culmination of too much fear and stress and guilt, of too many things at once. He’s not human, no, but he’s not invincible.
He’s flawed. Very much so. But he's trying.
“—We’re not having this conversation.” An echo from another time.
no subject
The angel stares up at him, feeling like he should say something...encouraging? Something reassuring. Like he should pull Crowley in and hold him and tell him he’s not going anywhere, not this time, but those words again, those words: You could start over without me.
It’s what it takes to tip him over. He’s exhausted. He’s afraid. In a single evening, they’ve faced discorporation and actual, total, unequivocal destruction several different times in the span of hours. They’ve travelled across the world, not before already running and hiding for months, giving up their most loved possessions, all for the sake of their survival. Their survival. Together.
After everything, after— after all the times Aziraphale walked away. After all the times Crowley reached for him, with patience and understanding, with safety, only to have the angel leave him for fear of consequences and come back, after they nearly lost everything, and the angel finally, finally felt ready to reach back, after he finally settled into their side.
After he finally meets him there, where he’s always accused of heady to too fast.
“—No.” he finally says, sounding incredulous. “Y—No!”
He lets go and stands, ignoring the sting and the surprising lightheadedness. “You— after all of this, you really think, really believe I would, that I would just—“
He’s tired. He’s scared. He’s in literal pain, and he’s hurt, and if he hasn’t proven he’s finally ready, if its not clear he’s in this, then how, HOW could he ever make it clear?
Could he ever make it right?
Is it too late?
“We have been running from this— we have been surviving this all this time, we have nearly PERISHED more than once tonight, we—“ And he gestures pointedly, upset, angry and hurt, determined in his words, eyes perhaps a bit too wet. “And you honestly, truly believe I’d simply—
That I would just— abandon you?”
And he stares at the demon, a culmination of too much fear and stress and guilt, of too many things at once. He’s not human, no, but he’s not invincible.
He’s flawed. Very much so. But he's trying.
“—We’re not having this conversation.” An echo from another time.