sauntered_downward | for salutosinedelectat

for salutosinedelectat

Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

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The angel looks at him, close as they are, with a thoughtful look on his face, albeit a gentle one. It’s funny, really, how things feel a little bit less...well, not less pressing, as they do very much need to ensure their own survival, but, in the very least, time seems tp have slowed down, even if just for a few hours. Lying here, like this, with him, after what they just shared, makes everything else not feel as overwhelming. And the irony of that detail, considering what had always kept them from true honesty, kept him from facing what was there, is not lost on Aziraphale.

But he soon smiles. Bringing up a hand to hold onto Crowley’s, he reaches the other to the back of the demon’s neck, brushing his thumb on the small hairs on his nape.

“That would be too dangerous.” And he’d make more of a fuss about it, but the moment calls for softness. He’s happy to deliver. “Much rather have you safe. Here.” A beat, and a coy, quiet tone. “With me.”

Not that the angel believes he can guarantee safety. But he can try. And having Crowley rush into Heaven making demands seems to maybe go directly against that.

Crowley leans down, pressing a kiss to the angel's chest right above the black mark left there by Hastur. This is really the first real battle scar they'll have to endure in this struggle, he knows. There will be others, on both sides. There will be more fights, more problems, more times they'll have to run.

But right now, they have this.

"Nowhere in the universe I'd rather be," he says, pressing another kiss to the angel's chest. "Than with you."

It's the truth. The whole world can shove it for all Crowley cares. He'd walk right into Heaven without a second thought if it could ensure they'd have every night like this together. But he can wait. They can figure something out together.

They'll have to figure it out. They'll have to. And they've had other times in the past where they did, too. At least this time there won't be time wasted in running around pretending to still be playing for opposite sides.

The demon presses his lips on his chest and the touch, the feeling is still something so new, but so right. Warm and comforting in ways Aziraphale never considered he could have.

But it brings to attention the mark that's right there. Looking at it again, even just what he can see, what little Crowley isn't in the way or, is still rather...

Had the Duke actually damaged his vessel in a way he couldn't change? The idea, feasible enough, still bothers him. He's happy to still be alive to feel anything at all about it, or course, specially without knowing what would happen if he got discorporated, or whether his essence could ever survive such an attack, but he really could do without such a... Mark.

"Then I can count myself lucky, my dear." Pulling up the same sort of soft hopeful tone, after a pause.

Lucky. Crowley thinks they're both lucky to be alive after this evening, really. Lucky to have found a moment of reprieve to just be together. Things could have gone so much worse.

If Aziraphale had been discorporated, Heaven should've expected Crowley to come knocking at their door for his angel. He wouldn't just leave him there, hoping they'd let him out. That's for damn sure. If Aziraphale were gone forever----that's something Crowley can't bear to think about.

"Do you want to sleep?" he offers. "Get more rest for you?"

There is something to say about the angel, which he doesn't himself realize: despite all the risks he takes when he's cornered and feels like there's absolutely no other way around a situation, at least he gets results. And the result, in this case, had been a discorporated Duke, an extension on their rate of survival, and a nasty scar to remember everything by.

They did, at least, find their way to relative safety and had a rather...thorough series of intimate moments, so he'd count most of it on the positive. Much better than expected, considering their last few months.

He hums mutely. "I've never quite been much for sleeping." He idly reaches a hand to gently brush a few loose hairs away from Crowley's brow. "But I do suppose I could give it a try."

Less for the sleep, and more for just a couple of hours of rest, of nothing, after how chaotic everything's been. As long as they can remain in each other's arms.

Crowley could sleep. He rather likes sleeping. Turning his mind off for a bit, letting dreams take over for a while. He's spent whole decades napping before and that's never been a problem for him. Can't exactly do that here, of course. Too much at stake to waste a few months or years asleep.

And that would mean less time with Aziraphale. He can't imagine sleeping away this time right now.

"Do you ever dream?" he asks. "Best part of sleeping, the dreaming part."

The expression on the angel’s face is soft and gently thoughtful. As emotions settle down into a comfortable quiet, he truly does appreciate this as a space made their own. Everything feels a little lighter. Everything feels a little fuzzier. He doesn’t remember any time he really felt like this.

He thinks about the question, looking in the middle distance for a moment, a hand resting on Crowley’s back and his thumb gently brushing against the skin.

“Well, I haven’t actually...slept in a rather long time.” Always found something to do. Some other way to spend his time. “So I can’t remember the last time I’ve dreamt. But I assume it’s...possible.”

"Dream about all sorts of things," he says. "About the past, about the future. About the Bentley flying over Heaven while we flip your superiors the V-sign. Would actually love to do that one, even if we don't dream it."

Crowley often dreams about being an angel, which is sometimes disconcerting. He dreams about the life before, of being a questioner, of being one who sort of vaguely sauntered into his life as a demon. He's never been bad enough to be evil, but Aziraphale has always been too good to be an angel. What a strange pair they must seem to be to the ones chasing them.

The angel listens curiously as he lists his dreams, and the last one makes him tut, but not without a barely contained amused smile.

"That would be a bit much, I think." No, it wouldn't. But he has an image to maintain.

He takes a nice deep breath through his noise, ending in a calm sigh, and rests his head back on the bed. Not sleeping, not yet, just thoughtful.

" I do wonder", he starts vaguely. "What it will take for them to finally leave us be."

"The only reason it worked the first time is because they were afraid of us," Crowley says, tucking himself up against Aziraphale's side and wrapping a leg around him. "And even then it didn't work for all that long."

He looks at Aziraphale. All white curls and blue eyes and softness. Hard for him to think of the angel as someone anyone could be afraid of. Crowley has always thought of Aziraphale as someone he associates with comfort and...well...home, really. Being safe. Crowley's made lots of people afraid in his time. None of his superiors, mind, but that's because he doesn't really go in for the scary parts of being a demon.

"Be nice if we had something to hold over them, something that would put us at an advantage."

Well, to be fair, Aziraphale doesn't think of himself as someone anyone could be afraid of, either, which does leave them at the same level.

He always assumed Crowley was better at that sort of thing. Not that he thinks Crowley himself is that intimidating, but it has more to do with the airs one can keep. His whole dark and mysterious image could probably be used to that nature, Aziraphale thinks. Sometimes he wishes he could do something like that.

(He did have some fun with it during the trial, however.)

He glances, and moves to comfortably wrap an arm around Crowley's slender figure.

"It would." Said just as vaguely, as he tries to think of something that could be used that way. "Though I'd have to admit that I did believe that would have been it."

"I thought it would have bought us a little more time. A century, at the very least," Crowley says, letting out a sigh.

They didn't have anything. No weapons, no abilities that their enemies didn't have or have better than them, and they were basically surrounded on all ends. All they had was their knowledge of Earth, which their superiors didn't have. And oh, but they did know Earth very well. Crowley loved Earth and everything about it. Their superiors still hand-write notes to each other while Crowley was hacking into emails and inventing the selfie.

"Still, they'll be talking downstairs about how you discorporated a Duke of Hell," he adds. "Not a small feat, angel."

While his eyes are kept to the ceiling, there's an unmistakable smile that he tries to mute, just a little. He did do that, didn't he?

"Oh, well." That had been a terrible moment, but he's so very glad it worked. "It was more of an-- well, an accident, really."

It is true that they don't have much. They had hid before, but, now, they're targets. But they have their millennia of experience on the planet, they know they way around it. And, more importantly, they have each other, and they will always have each other's back.

"Oh, yes," Crowley agrees, giving a little nod. "Even more of a feat then. Discorporating a Duke of Hell by accident. Not sure I could've done it on purpose."

He can't help his smile. Aziraphale saved himself in that moment, and saved Crowley. If he weren't already madly enamoured by the stupid angel before, his bravery certainly turned up the enamoured-ness a few notches.

He thinks for a moment about where they are, and what they know. They're experts on Earth, at least as far as the other angels and demons are, and their fighting ground is here, on Earth.

"Do you think we could get the humans to help?" he asks. "Turn the tides a bit in our favor? Send a few hashtags against them to keep them out of our way?"

The angel turns his head to look at him, as the comment about hashtags soars right over his head.

"I'm not quite sure what they could do if we did." Which isn't a comment on the strength or kindness of mankind, but in worry of what might happen to them if Heaven and Hell did come down and declared war against, well, everything and everyone.

The thought begins to make itself comfortable, right next to the one about their own chances. He looks lost in thought again.

"If Heaven and Hell did did somehow stand together against all of us, I..."

He trails off, unsure whether he really wants to finish that thought.

"Right now they're still working on their own sides," Crowley says. "Heaven following us, Hastur attacking us. They're not working together yet, and they might not. Even hating us as much as they do might be too much for them to stomach working together."

Then again, it might not. He remembers seeing the demon walk up with Hellfire for Aziraphale's execution. They seemed so pleased to be working together for that brief moment. He cant imagine what it was like in Hell with all that Holy Water. And they thought it was perfectly normal to behave that way.

"Humans are God's favorites, aren't they?" Crowley adds. "She made them. She wouldn't want them fought for something that isn't one of her Plans."

Aziraphale remembers Michael walking in with the holy water. The spectacle of it all, the trial, the Lords, the audience, Michael. If it hadn't been for the situation at hand, the casual manner in which all the exchanges happened would have you believe you were watching an tense exchange between-- well, colleagues. Which is a terrifying thought.

Nearing that edge and staring down that spiral he's called home soon after this all began, he looks at Crowley again and considers the slight change of subject.

And he looks at the ceiling again. There's a couple of more seconds of silence than necessary, as happens with most difficult subjects.

"I would believe so." They were Her creation. Most things were Her creation, but they had been different. They were special. And she didn't take kindly when that first was put into into question by those who were to become the first Fallen. "She certainly had dedicated a lot of Her attention on them."

But, Plans? Oh, Aziraphale has learned the hard way, the hardest way, to finally accept that none of them know Her plans.

"If they start killing humans with abandon, start to wage war against them," Crowley suggests. "Then they'd be going against something She's put so much effort into. Couldn't possibly be what they'd want. No matter what side----even downstairs they don't want to pick a fight with Her directly."

It wouldn't even be that hard, Crowley thinks. A few choice photographs of Hastur sent out with a hashtag like #pantygrabber or something obnoxious like that and he wouldn't be able to skulk anywhere without being harassed. He'd be a laughingstock downstairs too, which is always a plus in Crowley's mind.

"It's our biggest advantage. We know humans and they don't."

The hand resting against his chest is subtly fidgety, certainly the more he thinks about it all.

"You do have a point." A beat. "But we all know that interpretations of Her Plan may...vary." Not an easy thing to say out loud, still.

"The moment the Great Plan was adverted, the systems that were in place ever since this all began suddenly became dust in the wind." He remembers the moment he finally had to face the Plan, and he remembers it clearly. Metatron looking down at him with indifference. And he had six thousand years to know the Earth and it's inhabitants - even he can't imagine what those that didn't have the exposure he did felt the moment everything was pulled out from under them.

Which, you know, doesn't really make up for the fact that they're trying to murder them. Again. Repeatedly. It just makes things more complicated.

"Who knows what they may come up with next."

For as much as he appreciates not being tethered to Heaven as he once was, he can't afford himself the blind certainty he had then, the certainty that everything was right and everything would be okay. And he's trying very hard not to focus on that void.

"Whatever they come up with, I won't let them hurt you," Crowley says, tightening his arm around Aziraphale. "Not now, not ever."

He almost lost Aziraphale tonight, and that thought hasn't left him. Aziraphale saved them both because Crowley couldn't move fast enough, but that won't happen again. He will be smarter, next time. Faster. He'll use everything he has to keep the angel safe. He thinks about the skills he has, the things he can do and there has to be something to keep them alive.

"We're unique, you and I," he says. "They won't know what to expect from us, and we have to keep that to our advantage."

Crowley can do things that demons can't. He can love. He can heal. He can make humans bond and move together. He can do it again.

Aziraphale turns his head to face him again. Crowley, always, always, as he has been this whole time, puts an emphasis on protecting the angel. Aziraphale does, of course, appreciate it - it makes his chest flutter, it makes his heart soar, it makes him feel loved and cared for in ways he’s never felt before now. But it also terrifies him. It scares him to think the demon might put himself in danger to save him. He’s said and implied as much, all the way back in that motel room, to earlier in the evening - is it still evening? He can’t tell what time it is -, and, as hypocritical of him as it might be, the angel can’t stand the idea that he may ever get hurt, or worse, for him.

Crowley says something else, about their uniqueness and advantages, but the angel keeps on thinking, keeps on looking at him, eventually reaching his free hand to touch the side of Crowley’s face.

Crowley. The demon. Hereditary enemy turned friend, best friend. Companion. Turned...so much more.

Crowley shifts himself and leans forward, pressing his mouth to the angel's.

He would do anything for Aziraphale and he knows it. There's no fear there, not really. He'd fight for him, he'd die for him, and he'd do it all with a saunter to his hips and a smirk on his lips because Aziraphale deserved to have someone who would. He's been a mess of emotions for Aziraphale for centuries---longer even---and he's not even remotely sorry for it.

They'll get out of this somehow. He'll work out a plan, he always does. They'll figure this out together.

Heaven and Hell come and go from his life. Aziraphale is his one constant. He's not giving him up.

Constants. They are each others constant. And while it's been incredibly obvious for a very long time, there was also a very long time where Aziraphale didn't face what that really meant for them. He almost threw it all away because he didn't know where he stood. But he does now, even if he's still learning to consolidate being who he is, with what he is, where he is. But he's always been a little different from his kin, always bent the rules a little, so it's not like the difference is as extreme as it could be. And Crowley, Crowley's always been there with him, specially when he was not himself, not yet.

A gentle, lingering kiss. He pulls back after a few seconds, keeping his hand on the side of Crowley's face, looking into his eyes. Not searching, no, he knows what's in there, he's seen into his soul now. But he still looks, and he hopes his own sincerity rings clear.

"We will make it." In this moment, he can believe it. He can begin to believe that, if Crowley helps him.

"Of course we will, angel," Crowley agrees. They can't have come this far, experienced this much, to suddenly lose, could they? Of course not. They've done too much. They've felt too much.

Crowley isn't one to pray, not when he's certain his words are falling on deaf ears, but he would, for Aziraphale. For what they've found together. He'd pray that they could make it out of this. That some sort of a solution, an escape would present itself to them. It would have to, wouldn't it? She couldn't just leave them, not if the demon actually prayed.

Maybe he will, when Aziraphale is sleeping. Maybe he'll properly prostrate himself in front of the Almighty for Aziraphale's sake. That would be a laugh, wouldn't it? One of the Fallen, begging for some sort of guidance for the sake of love?

If he knew, Aziraphale would probably have trouble encouraging him to do so. They haven't talked about it, but he's come to terms over the Almighty perhaps being a bit too distant nowadays - even to angels. Even to those who believe they're doing Her will. But there's barely a chance he'd ever see Crowley like that.

He smiles faintly, softly, when Crowley reassures him. That's all he needs for now, all he needs to hear to keep it together for a little while longer. He's happy with what they've found; unearthed, really, to use a more accurate term, as it's been there for quite some time.

He brushes his thumb over Crowley's cheek and lingers, before letting go and shifting until he's on his side, resting an arm over his middle.

for salutosinedelectat

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just casually cuddling and discussing methods of survival

add in avocado toast and they're basically millenials

ugly cackle

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