sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

It's like a blanket, covering Crowley completely. Insulating him with a warmth that he's never felt before. Not from anyone, not from Heaven when he was an angel, certainly not from Hell. It's completely new, and it belongs to Aziraphale.

To be loved like this----well, he must have done something right in his miserable life. How could he possibly show Aziraphale that he appreciates that? He isn't a being of love, but all that he has, he sends back to him, to share with him. Demons aren't supposed to love anything, so he doesn't even know if his love is any good, really, but it's all he has.

His other hand is still above the wound on Aziraphale's chest.

You should rest, he thinks to him. His concern floods over him, his need to care for the angel. How long he's wanted to watch over him, be there for him----sort of like a twisted little guardian demon, keeping him from getting into too much trouble.

And this is the worst trouble they've both ever been in.

One could say he already has been watching over the angel. And, history would confirm, they would be right.

He feels the concern. He accepts it, and, for how much the current buzzing of emotions and feelings and expectations and longing all swirls around in his head, he remembers how deeply tired he is. He remembers the pain on his chest - a physical one, that, which is oddly lingering. And he gently steps back to reality, but just barely, just enough to remember where they are, and how they got there.

He pulls back silently, lingering for a moment before he opens his eyes slightly. Theres a solemn expression in his face, perhaps thoughtful, perhaps distracted, but calm, for the most part. He’s still so close and he’s giving himself a chance to look at Crowley from this new point of view. To bring up a hand to cup his cheek and gently brush his thumb over it. To consider him, closer than they’ve ever been.

Maybe he’s not ready to say it, yet. But he’s better at showing it.

Crowley leans into Aziraphale's touch.

He's not an inexperienced person, not by any stretch of the imagination what with temptations being what they are, but he's never experienced intimacy like this. This sort of closeness, the touching of their souls or even just the touch of Aziraphale's hand on his cheek. Part of him, the part that will always be a demon, wants to run away from it because it is too good and feels too kind. Part of him wants to change it, to turn it into desire or something he knows better, something he's more comfortable with. He could easily give Aziraphale a temptation to remember, and that would be almost easier than just being close.

But he doesn't want to sully this. This is oddly pure, and the part of Crowley that was never very good at being a demon loves that.

They met here, like this. Finally. He's not going to take one step further, not when they've waited so long to go this far. They have the rest of their lives to see where this goes.

"You can sleep," he says. "I'll stay awake, make sure nothing happens."

Wherever this goes, they'll go together, this time. All he asks is that they hold their hands together and keep each other at a manageable pace.

When Crowley speaks, he finally glances up to meet his eyes again. Takes a second to think of the suggestion, then smiles warmly.

"Ah, I don't tend to sleep, my dear." In fact, he can't remember the last time he has. And he's not entirely sure that sleeping will necessarily soothe his mind or fix his vessel. And he's not sure if he could sleep, now, or if the quiet would simply bring him all the fears that are watching him from the sidelines in this tender moment.

"I do suppose we're due for some repose, however."

Repose. Crowley could do with a bit of repose. Crowley has also been known to sleep full decades away when the mood strikes him, but that's just his way of coping.

He nods to the table near the couch, where two bottles of wine have been left, a gift from the host of the flat. Not the best years or the most vintage of wines, but certainly better than the petrol station brands he'd picked up before.

"Glass of wine?" he offers. "I still have the sushi waiting for us, as well. Or we could order a takeaway."

Nothing that involves too much miracling. Not that he truly imagines they'll see through the neutrality of this place. All the same, he doesn't want to run the risk. Not when all they truly need is a break. Just for a little while.

After a second of confusion, a fond, slightly amused smile gently places itself in the angel's face, as he remembers when Crowley took care to pack away the sushi for him.

The little gestures. They add up. They've been adding up for years - the ones that are entirely centered around the angel's interests, without him ever having to say a word, most times.

"Wine sounds wonderful." He won't even kick a fuss about the quality of it. He doesn't care about that, not right now. He just wants the break, and to appreciate this...this place where they find themselves.

Crowley nods, and carefully releases the angel's hands to go to the wine. Part of him doesn't want to leave the angel's side----ever, actually. Basically to protect him forever after what's just happened and transpired between them.

But he heads over to grab two glasses from the small kitchen, as well as the wine opener. They need a break, he thinks. They need to think about nothing but the wine and the time they have now. Hastur can't take that from them, Heaven can't either. He'll spend as long as they have left together trying to protect that.

"We've got this place for as long as we want to have it," he tells the angel as he opens the bottle. "No rush to go anywhere."

Aziraphale takes that moment to finally take in his surroundings. The books, the TV. The V feeling of peace in these grounds. Not quite holy, no, or his companion would have been struggling. But a welcoming feeling none the less, specially right now.

An ache in his chest, a very real one, causes him to stop and look down again. The darkened, black and greying skin on the center of his chest, the way it splinters. The way he just can't quite seem to simply... Will it away. He frowns, looking at how much of it he can see without the aid of a mirror, then he sets to buttoning his shirt back up.

He looks around for his bow, finding it discarded where he had been lying. When he picks it up, he frowns some more, noticing the singe mark on the fabric.

Crowley pours two healthy glasses of wine and offers one to Aziraphale. He sees the singe on the bowtie. Normally, he'd just flick it away with a thought, but the idea of bringing in more miracles makes him nervous. They're so close to safe here.

"I can try to heal you again later," he promises. "I don't---I don't think it did much this time around. Not exactly built for healing, demons. I've done it before, but nothing like this."

It's almost embarrassing---no, it is embarrassing, admitting that he tried and failed to heal the angel. It would be easier to just say "Oh gosh Aziraphale, I did everything wrong today" and just be done with it. Couldn't protect him from Hastur, couldn't keep him from being injured, and he couldn't heal him afterwards.

"Bit of a lousy friend, I've been," he says, raising the glass in a toast.

The angel stops, quiet, looking at Crowley with confusion and a touch of awe. He doesn't raise his glass, no, specially as the words for the toast are a bit... Well, he doesn't quite enjoy them.

"Is that what you've done?" Said curiously, as he gently reaches and sets a hand on the demon's arm. No, lies are worth no toasts. He will not honor that self defeating sentiment.

What he will do is be thankful for all of Crowley's efforts. His strength. His patience.

"My dear boy, you've done it. You've brought us to safety. You've pulled us out of danger more than once tonight, you-" HE falters a little, with too many things to say. But he smiles, coy but warm.

"I can't thank you enough."

There was a time when Crowley would have recoiled against Aziraphale's thanks. When a thank-you from the angel would've been too dangerous to hear. After all, they were supposed to be enemies. He might've been commended for tempting the angel into the Arrangement, but never for saving him. Never for caring for him. No, the friendship that blossomed between them over the years was what earned them their banishment and now all the trouble that surrounded them.

Now---now, Crowley can't help but feel that he doesn't deserve Aziraphale's thanks. After all, it is his fault that they're here. Hastur hurt Aziraphale to get to Crowley. At the very least, a group of angels would've just killed them. Hastur had to make it hurt.

He takes a sip of his wine. "Should've done more," he says. "Will do, if he comes back for us."

Aziraphale’s smile falters a bit, but he tries to make it stay. For as much as he wants to tell the demon that none of that is true, he supposes they’re both much too tired to see things for what they are.

But they’ll get to it, eventually. He feels the need to let him know just how thankful he is. When they’re both ready and rested.

“ I believe”, pulling his hand away from Crowley’s arm and holding his glass with both. “we could both benefit without thinking about all of that for a little while.”

Aziraphale moves his hand away, and Crowley moves one to catch it, to take it. He doesn't want Aziraphale cross with him, and the last thing he really needs is to fall into self-pity while they're here. Not trapped, not really. Just hiding out for a bit until they have the opportunity to leave again.

"No, no, you're right," he says. "I just----nearly lost my best friend today. Not exactly something I can just shove off my mind."

The person who loves him. The person he loves. Did they really just admit that to each other only a few minutes ago? Would they ever be able to actually say it? Maybe one day.

The angel is surprised when he finds his hand caught, looking at it then back up at the demon. Its all still very new, but that fond smile is back on his face, no hint of ever even thinking about being cross with the demon just then.

Lost his best friend. Why does that sound so familiar?

“Well, I would say it all went quite better than expected.” As he holds that hand, brushes his thumbs over his fingers.

Theres still echoes of their confessions in the room. The wordless ones, at least, permeating the air. Oh, it feels new, and it feels wonderful.

"Better than it could have," he agrees. After all, Aziraphale is still here, still touching him. Still warm and alive. The alternative is utterly unthinkable.

Aziraphale's thumb brushes over his fingers, and Crowley remembers that touch, on the plane, and again in the bar. How slowly they've moved from touches to feelings. He can't imagine going through this life without Aziraphale by his side. He never will, if he has it his way.

"I still think you didn't do anything wrong," he says. "In the scheme of everything. Being an angel---you were thwarting evil, protecting life, and being generally good. They don't have any reason to want to chase you down at all."

Those little touches, tentative, careful. So much happening in one night, barely a blink of an eye to them, and still feels so fast. Too fast. But he’s trying to keep up, this time. He’s done waiting, and he’s done staying behind.

He wishes he could bring peace to the demon’s mind. Not that his own is quite that different, but he still wishes he could make it better.

“My dear.” He’d rest his other hand over Crowley’s, if it wasn’t otherwise occupied with the glass. “I don’t think that’s quite in our hands.” And it’s wrong, he thinks. That either of them still have to run. But, right now, right here, he feels...fine. He feels...happy.

“But as long as we have each other...Perhaps everything will be fine.”

As long as they have each other.

That has to be enough, he thinks. He doesn't need the Bentley, he doesn't need his flat or his plants. He needs Aziraphale. He needs his friendship. He needs his best friend by his side. The man he has finally come to admit he loves.

"What will we do next?" he asks, taking another sip of the wine. "What will we see? So long as we're here."

Oh, but there's so little they probably can see, considering they're still running. But Crowley wants to imagine, just for a moment, that they're just here. That they're two men on holiday together, the way he was pretending when they were on the plane. "So long as we're together, if we could go anywhere in Japan. Where do you want to go next?"

The angel keeps hold of the demon's hand, thumb still idly going over the knuckles of his fingers, gently trying to drive his mind into more pleasant subjects.

While he had tried to calm himself down on the coldly quiet evenings before their flight, keep himself from wondering too far into paranoid trains of thought, he'd tried to focus on maps. On the idea that this could have some good to it. Indeed it has, but in a rather surprising and unexpected manner.

He can forget again. He can just imagine it as that trip he's been meaning to do. As a simple little holiday away from home, not that they ever really needed to take those.

"There are...parks. A lake. Many restaurants." Of course he would have checked for those. "Many shrines-- although, aha, I'm not quite sure how pleasant that itinerary might be for you, my dear."

"I could manage," Crowley says. He thinks, anyway. He's not sure. "Well, if nothing else, I'll stand outside and wait for you."

It isn't the same, of course. There's something wonderful in companionship when walking through places one wants to see, in sharing it with others. Museums, other places, they're better shared. He imagines shrines are like that as well.

He takes another sip of wine and looks down at their hands.

"Do you ever wonder what it might've been like if we'd just been humans?" he asks the thought that's been on his mind. "Just...you know, two blokes. Met ordinarily, casually. No armageddon, no Heaven and Hell. Just got to know each other?"

Aziraphale goes to take a sip of his drink, but the sudden change in question causes him to pause. Not necessarily in a negative connotation, but simply unexpected.

He thinks about it, however.

"...I don't think I ever have." Said truthfully. "Well-- perhaps on the possibility of the world never... Almost ending, I suppose."

But they are who they are. What they are. And he finds it difficult to picture otherwise. The elements would all just be too different.

"Have you?"

"Recently," he admits. More often than he'd like to admit, he thinks. "I've been a demon for far longer than I was an angel. And you've always been an angel and we----well, what if there had never been sides at all? We could have just..."

They could have just fallen in love without anything stopping them. Without anything standing in their way, keeping them apart.

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. It is how it always has been. Just have our own side now. Better that way."

Aziraphale, much like before, simply listens. Pays attention until Crowley works himself into a corner and backs up, and the angel gets the urge to just try and push all of the demon's worries away.

He's been stuck in this with him. Doing the most he can. Garanteeing the angel could be as comfortable as possible. And he sees that. He's noticed it. He appreciates it.

He just hums quietly and squeezes his hand. There are a lot of feelings and emotions swimming around in his mind, but what they need right now is comfort and peace.

"Let's sit, shall we?"

Crowley wants to pace. He wants to be stressed. He wants to feel like this, because it matters.

"This has to be part of the Plan," he says, gripping Aziraphale's hand. "It has to be. Why make a demon who can love if we're just going to be trapped or destroyed? Why give us this together?"

No other demon in the universe has ever loved. And no other angel has been through what Aziraphale has----so where is God? Crowley wants to throw himself about the room and opine to the Almighty for why She isn't helping them right now. She should want to, She should want to help them, if she made them like this.

Aziraphale dons a more concerned expression. But weary, so weary, that even his often questioning mind doesn't entirely want to keep up with this right now.

He's... Followed what he thought was Her word for so long. Most of his existance. Spewed praise and belief and blind faith. Often times finding himself unsure as soon as he finished talking. And he's questioned. And he's found himself Heavenless. But not Fallen.

He doesn't know what that means. And he's in no condition to think about that now.

So he's looking at him with weary concern. He looks around for a place to set down his glass, a small table by the sofa, and he then reaches up to touch Crowley's cheek.

Aziraphale's hand touches Crowley's cheek, and Crowley looks down at the angel desperately. He loves Aziraphale. He has always loved Aziraphale. That has to be for something. They can't be like this for nothing.

He turns his head just a little to press a kiss to the angel's palm.

He lowers his hand down to Aziraphale's waist. They're on their own side, but why would they need a side if the Almighty would just fight for what she created? She created them, she gave them the gift of love. They deserve to live with it.

for salutosinedelectat

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