for salutosinedelectat

[sauntered_downward]

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.

Comments

omg that poor stewardess

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale doesn't even have the time to smile apologetically to the young woman, but he's definitely not going to berate Crowley. It's difficult, finding the time to just...find their footing, as it were. He would know.

"Oh." He straightens up, and his hands twitch. "Yes, right." Right.


He still glances down at their hands, just a moment. And, for just a moment, pulls one of his own over Crowley's, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

Something is else is said over the intercom, but he doesn't pay attention to it. After another moment, he moves to put his seat belt on.

she deserves it! maybe

[sauntered_downward]

There is the passive touch, of a hand in a hand, and then there is the active touch, of Aziraphale's thumb running across Crowley's knuckles. And Crowley feels himself hold his breath for a moment, because that sort of touch, it can mean something, it could mean something unsaid. Something that needed to be said.

"Angel---" he starts, but the words get caught in his throat. What does he say? If there aren't any lines, where do they stand?

[salutosinedelectat]

It does mean something. It means something he can't quite say, can't neither call a request or a question or even a statement. It means something, but he doesn't know how to explain what that meaning is.

"--Yes?" He looks up at him, pausing halfway through his fiddling with the seatbelt. And there's something there, too, and part of it is the guilt of putting the question in Crowley's hands.

It's a loaded look, but there's vague, nervous hope in it.


Though this is hardly the best time and place for this conversation, which he's also painfully aware of.

everybody roll initiative

[sauntered_downward]

No, it isn't the right place, but Crowley steadies himself. Because Aziraphale is letting him, he's allowing him to talk about it, and he does, he wants to. He's always wanted to tell the angel, but there's----well, there's always been this and that going on, and he hasn't been able to. Or maybe that's just an excuse. Maybe it's just the lines between them that's been the excuse. Maybe it's all excuses.

But now there aren't any lines. Now they're here, together, and maybe it's time.

"Aziraphale, I---"

The plane suddenly rocks with turbulence. There's a rumble of thunder outside, which could explain the turbulence, if it weren't a completely clear night outside. Crowley turns his head and inhales.

"Can you smell that?" Something's wrong.

AGh but also I *cackled*

[salutosinedelectat]

The plane rocks, the thunder cracks, and he's immediately clinging to his seat, but ready to absolutely fly off of it.

"I--"

Oh. Oh no.

No no no no no. Here? Here--oh, no, of course it would be here, they're trapped in a flying box full of innocent humans.

"No.

--I mean, yes, I--" Yes. Yes, he--well, doesn't smell it, but yes.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley looks out the window. What's changed? What's out there? What did they send? How did it find them? He had once told Aziraphale he thought that Hell might have their scents---maybe it send something that was a good tracker, could sniff them out.

He gestures out of the window, where something dark moves across the wing. It sparkles vaguely against the night.

"Do you see that?" he says. "Did you see it?"

aziraphale says 'this is how I die'

[salutosinedelectat]

Oh, he saw it.

He definitely saw it.

"We have to go." The angel's nails are very much digging into the nice fake leather and will probably leave a mark. If he had a heart, it'd be jumping out.

"Now."

it's okay crowley will save you bb

[sauntered_downward]

"If we teleport out of here, we'll direct all of their eyes on us, they will all know we're here," Crowley says, firmly.

All the same, he watches as the creature begins to curl tighter and tighter around the wing of the airplane and it shakes harder. He doesn't know what that is, but it looks like something very unpleasant. One of Hastur's pets, maybe? He always kept a few, and none of them were particularly, well, friendly. He couldn't see any other way out of this.

He holds onto Aziraphale's hand and takes a breath, steadying himself for the movement through space. He thinks about the ground, he thinks about the tarmac and the airport.

"Are you ready?"

[salutosinedelectat]

What happens if they're discorporated? Where do they go? Would they even get a chance to run away, as essences, as their real selves?

What's even out there? Oh-- oh the mortals. That thing out there is going to plunge them all to their death, just because they're there, just because of something they're not even involved in.

He's gripping Crowley's hand tight. He looks ahead at the stewardess, the one Crowley scared off, holding onto her seat. He hears the warning from the captain. He hears some nervous chattering from the other side of the curtain.

His heart aches. And he hopes - and he hates that he does- he hopes it follows them.

" Yes. "

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley watches the people around them, and his eyes turn to the kids. The two kids sitting a few seats ahead, clinging to their mother. They look absolutely terrified. They're holding onto her, asking what is going on. Oh, it's probably their first flight ever. It's probably their first flight, and it's going down because of Aziraphale and Crowley.

Crowley swears under his breath. He can't just let kids die.

He raises up a fist, which glows bright purple. And like that, he grips Aziraphale's hand and concentrates. An invisible cord pulls at them from their bellybuttons, lifting them from the plane and away, swiftly through space, and immediately down to the tarmac, down to where the plane will eventually land. Crowley lands on his feet and reaches out to catch the angel if he needs it.

[salutosinedelectat]

He does stumble when he lands, gripping on the demon's arm. It's not lack of experience, but urge to act as quickly as possible.

A quick look at Crowley, then up at the air - then around in several directions until he spots the plane lights in the dark night sky. He can't see it-- the thing, he can't see it, but he can't leave it like this. He takes a few hurried and tense steps and snaps both his fingers, no hesitation, not a second to spare.

A double purpose: steady the plane, keep the mortals safe; and making entirely sure the target is on them and no one else.


"We have to move." His eyes linger on the plane for another second or two, but he quickly turns and rushes back to his companion, gripping on his sleeve. "It's still-- we have to go."

[sauntered_downward]

Something tight in Crowley's chest lightens when he watches Aziraphale straighten the plane. He can do some miracles, he's done them before in the arrangement, and he's made stranger things happen in their lives, but he doesn't think he's as strong as Aziraphale, not like that.

"It's going to chase us," Crowley says. "I made sure it saw us." He shows Aziraphale his hand, which is still glowing. It will go out in a few moments, but for those moments, they are in real danger. He snaps a finger, and the door to the nearest luggage trolly opens up. He cringes a little, because it's a luggage trolly, but it'll do. With a little demonic influence, it can go as fast as anything.

He hops in and the trolly starts up immediately without the key.

[salutosinedelectat]

Well, he's an angel. An angel who was made to do good, to protect. A Principality, even though he fails to see how he deserves to be called one anymore, after everything.

He's also not about to waste any time. He quickly goes around and hops in the passenger seat, holding on and ready.

Bet no one's ever seen one of those trollies move that fast. Nothing like a little combination of demonic and angelic panic to get you where you need to go.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley steps on the gas. The trolly moves. Not nearly as fast as the Bentley could, but it does go, shooting its way down the tarmac, towards----well, towards wherever they can go. Crowley doesn't even have a destination in mind, just away.

He glances back over his shoulder to see something dark and twisting moving down from the sky, following them at increasing speed.

"There it is!" Crowley cries. "Hold on, we're taking a hard left!"

[salutosinedelectat]

Away from the mortals, away from prying eyes and innocent lives, he hopes.

He sure takes in that suggestion and grabs onto what he can, twisting around to look behind them and oh good lord what IS that thing.

"Is it one of y--is it from Downstairs?!"

[sauntered_downward]

"Definitely not something you'd see up in Heaven," Crowley replies, taking a glance back at it. "It's got to be one of Hastur's. He's always taking bits off of one demon, gluing it on others, making it stronger, breeding something nastier under the bed."

He turns left sharply, riding them up onto a small patch of grass before back onto the tarmac, and then onto a bit of road. He digs for his mobile.

"If I remember, we're right near Narita-san Shinsho-ji Temple----might be able to do something there, get something, I don't know, blast it out of here."

[salutosinedelectat]

He bumps against the door when they turn, jostled as they go, but he really could care less about that right now.

He stares at Crowley. "A temple--what about--" Consecrated ground. Probably a good plan, certainly the only one they have right now that doesn't involve possibly destroying a whole block and ruining a couple of nights.

But... "Crowley--"

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley glances down at his phone, then up at the street, still pressing as hard as he can on the gas. "Looks like there's a whole park in the temple grounds, all that water is probably blessed. If we could lure it in there, it would be easy to knock it in. Just a few drops would do."

He doesn't fancy the idea of driving or running into anywhere consecrated. Especially throwing himself anywhere near holy water, so close and so far away from anything else, but---

He glances back. The black shape dives down, slamming itself on the ground right behind the trolly.

"I don't have another idea, do you, angel?"

[salutosinedelectat]

He stares at Crowley, then stares ahead, wide eyed, at the dark road. Holy water...and lots of it. Natural or unnatural deposits of water. Exactly the best place for them to go to either ward off or destroy this creature.

But.

He swallows dryly, feels short of breath, which is extra terrible when he doesn't need to breathe in the first place.

"I--" Think. Think, Aziraphale. "You--I'll get its attention, get it to the temple, you-- you drive out of the way."

[sauntered_downward]

"It's following me," Crowley says. "Especially if that's one of Hastur's, that means it's got my scent. It won't follow you."

Aziraphale could just get away. He could go somewhere in the temple, he could hide. It could easily just become Crowley's problem, and that would----well, it would be terrible, but he could manage it on his own. If Aziraphale was safe. But the angel could do something Crowley couldn't---touch the water, touch the blessed objects. Strike a miracle that could send the creature away.

The creature strikes again, this time hitting the back of the trolly, which swerves and shifts.

"If I drive the trolly into the water, you can teleport us both away. It might just follow it right into the water."

[salutosinedelectat]

"It's getting closer!" Yelling the obvious doesn't help, but it doesn't do any harm, either, so.

But he double takes at Crowley, still very much holding onto what he can so he's knocked out of his seat entirely. "Wh--" It is a plan, is the thing. It is a plan, but if it goes wrong, if Aziraphale makes even a single mistake, acts too late, the consequences should be about the worst possible.

Flashes of the trial. Of the small test demon. Of how they all cowered. Of the word 'assurance'. They aren't just risking discorporation.

He's staring at Crowley with genuine fear of someone who might lose everything on a single play of the cards.

"I--" He falters again. He tries to think, he tries he tries, but he's never been good at making up plans on the spot. "Crowley." The tone says all of it in one.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley's lips tighten into a thin line as he drives the trolly straight ahead. The temple gates, with a few lingering tourists, are up ahead of them, and Crowley barrels over the stairs to move up. The moment they drive over consecrated ground, he can feel it, the heat and discomfort of being there, being somewhere he's not supposed to. Somewhere holy. The thing behind them must feel it, too.

It grips onto the trolly again and slams it back, knocking Crowley up. He grips tighter onto the wheel.

"You can do it," he says to Aziraphale. "I trust you, you can save us both. You can save me."

It's just a discorporation for Aziraphale, but who knows where he'll end up without a body. Where he'd go. Crowley, well, he'd just be no more. It was almost easier that way.

[salutosinedelectat]

You can save us both. You can save me.

His ears are ringing. Why would an angel's ears be ringing? How would anyone's ears be ringing with all the awful racket of this particular endeavor?

He stares ahead, feels as the trolly rattles and shakes and is once again attacked and slammed. He's knocked against the door again - probably a bruise or four, should he ever actually get those - but he holds on tighter, keeps his eyes ahead, watches as tourists yell and run out of the way. As they start to reach the temple, ahead at the trees past it.

He's gripping the door as tight as he can. He's not even blinking.

"Okay." Quiet enough, considering the racket.

He can do this. He's got to.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley can see the glimmer of the water. No guards or anything around holy water, that still boggles his mind! But he thinks, he imagines the car can go faster. And the speed picks up, but the creature starts to circle it. Black, inky smoke, twisting in strange tendrils. Crowley can almost hear it sniffing, picking up the dying purple light in his palm that amplifies his aura and scent.

The creature twists and the trolly convulses.

"No, you don't!" Crowley says, and he presses harder. Faster. They head directly for the small, delicate looking red bridge over the body of water in the garden.

I'd like to thank Google Maps for the help

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale is pushed back against his seat, grimacing, waiting, still unblinking. Watching the car take some lower branches with it, the approaching red bridge, the rushing, the clattering and the shaking. And he has to wait, he has to wait until they're almost in the water, he has to make sure it touches the water, he--

The car crashes through the side of the bridge in a terrible sound, the water approaches at a deadly pace, he suddenly grips one of Crowley's hand on the wheel--


There's the millisecond of the front of the car hitting the water, and maybe even the splash against the windshield. But, then, a pull, and they're gone.

Right over the rest of the water, right outside the park, suddenly dropping on the hard ground of a mostly empty parking lot just outside the park limits. Aziraphale hits the asphalt with a grunt, but it's worth noting he never let go of the demon's hand.

Good thing it's dark. Can't just have a car crashing into a small lake and two people apparating out of thin air in the span of seconds, in a nice place like this.