He knows he will. The angel knows he’d do anything in his reach to help him. Whether it’d be over genuine care in itself, or through some sort of misplaced guilt. The angel knows, and the appreciates it a lot more than he could even begin to let on.
“ I’ll be alright, my dear.” Still keeping his hand over Crowley’s. Mutual comfort, with new gentle gestures and contact that they never had, or were allowed, before. He’s feeling the sharpness of the pain fade for something a lot more dull. Manageable.
It didn’t end him yet. And he thinks (hopes) that means it can’t. Whatever Hastur had been doing to the angel, it was interrupted just in time.
He can’t ask him not to worry. But he hopes his smile is clear enough, his appreciation. He could slip back into that place, before, not even an hour ago, when they kissed again.
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“ I’ll be alright, my dear.” Still keeping his hand over Crowley’s. Mutual comfort, with new gentle gestures and contact that they never had, or were allowed, before. He’s feeling the sharpness of the pain fade for something a lot more dull. Manageable.
It didn’t end him yet. And he thinks (hopes) that means it can’t. Whatever Hastur had been doing to the angel, it was interrupted just in time.
He can’t ask him not to worry. But he hopes his smile is clear enough, his appreciation. He could slip back into that place, before, not even an hour ago, when they kissed again.
“We will be fine.”