apocalypsehowcomm | (log) march catch-all

Hmm.

[ A vaguely agreeable hmm. A hmm for collected people, who may or may not be pressing X to doubt. Crowley was technically hunted, murdered, and on first aid duty. If that's not exhausting, what is?

An armchair is more comfortable than not, though. He's always liked a nice chair. ]

That should be alright. For a bit.

[ It feels on par with being a bad host, but not a terrible host. He doesn't know how long he'll end up sleeping, is all.

If Aziraphale tries to start running mental permutations on a bed-sharing arrangement as a background process, that's his business. Goodness knows that would be-- forward. Ugh. He'll work on it. ]

[For a bit could be some disagreement with the sleeping arrangements, or it could simply be that Aziraphale knows he won't want company for an extended period of time. Unlike — last time, Crowley won't push for him to stick around. Sort of funny, how that whole mess felt more fraught than this, than thinking he was dying and saying all sorts of nonsense to Aziraphale as a result. Maybe it's different, when they're both in it.

Or he's just not fully processed today, yet.]

For a bit, sure.

[He gives Aziraphale's wings a final once over, a gentle wipe down with a damp cloth and then spares a few seconds to straighten any feathers that haven't been set to rights just yet, making sure everything is as tidy and comfortable as can be.

For good measure, he gives Aziraphale another gentle shoulder squeeze, too.]

You're all set, angel. Hopefully if you've still got a bit of power left over they'll heal in no time.

[They'll have to address the issue of getting the wings hidden again later. If they have to find a way for Aziraphale to feed the Eye again, so be it. He can't just wander around with them out, not when they're so vulnerable.]

[ Crowley touching his wings can stay on the objectively a nice feeling board. There is no one else in existence on the wing-touching board and no one else Aziraphale's ever really thought "maybe they could be on the board" about, but still.

The context is a shame. This universe likes to do that. Force hands on things that should be very personal. Sharing deep truths, unusual intimacies, laying fears bare.

It's not fair at all.

He reaches up to give Crowley's hand a return squeeze, because he doesn't know what the timer is on how long reassuring touching will go uncommented on as a Thing between them but he's sure there's no point in knowingly ending it early. ]

Ideally, yes. The less trouble they are, the better.

[ He prefers them hale, whole, and stored away where manifestations of eldritch influences can't easily get grabby with them. Which is also how he prefers Crowley, thinking about it.

Off the stool he goes. Thank you for your service, stool, but you are now secondary to helping clear up. Aziraphale turns to look at Crowley from the non- gently cuffing with a wing safety zone. Gives him another study, a little looking over, searches the lines of his face like any completely normal platonic friend does.

The good thing, he thinks, is that there's no universe where anyone could do a passable enough imitation of Crowley to fool him. And that's simply a fact, not having to be concerned with the reality of this. ]

Would it be overly redundant to thank you again?

[ Aziraphale imagines he could roll out a veritable red carpet of gratitude and not feel like he's gotten it across. They're very good at stepping around those sorts of things, though. ]

[The brief sting of regret that comes as Aziraphale withdraws isn't really appropriate, considering the reason behind all this, but Crowley can't help immediately missing being able to touch his wings. It's unlikely he'll ever get an opportunity again. It would've been nice to actually enjoy it more, without having to worry about whether he was going to hurt Aziraphale.

Nothing to be done for it, though.

He starts moving to tidy up, only pausing when he catches Aziraphale looking. He pauses, eyebrow raised, hand on his hip and looking fond as anything, patiently waiting for Aziraphale to do whatever assessment needs to be done. It should feel uncomfortable, the scrutiny, but it hardly stacks up to everything else that's happened today.

The question earns a considering hum rather than the outright disdain it would in most other situations.]

You can thank me by not being a stubborn bastard for the next couple days, hm?

[If he's going to have gratitude shoved at him, he's going to weaponize it.

There's absolutely no question that Azirapahle is going to be a stubborn bastard about being careful as he heals.]

[ It's lovely to get some free scrutinizing real estate. Given the option between looking at Crowley or being emotionally vulnerable for longer than a minute, Aziraphale will take looking at Crowley every time.

Maybe that's healthy, maybe that's not. That's his business.

But he does always love how fondness looks on Crowley, so. At least there's that.

In one piece, not keeling over, being a tiny bit ridiculous. Another day on the planet to unknowingly have someone thinking about kissing him. ]

I'm sure I don't know what you mean. [ Yes he does. Hence: ] But if that's a request, I'll take it into consideration.

[ What is he supposed to do? Leave himself space for thoughts to creep in? It sounds abominable. Then again, overall, it also sounds like a problem to deal with tomorrow. ]

[Crowley doesn't bother to point out that Aziraphale knows exactly what he means, not when this is all just part of the silly little games they play. It's almost comforting, the familiarity, when so much else has changed so intensely. It's difficult to imagine being given the chance to touch Aziraphale's wings, or having had him wash his hair, if they were still on Earth.

There's some freedom in the distance, even he misses his flat and London and his bloody powers.]

Much appreciated. I'll even get you some new books if it means you'll sit still.

[Bribery is the most effective way to handle Aziraphale.

He gets back to tidying, mostly by throwing out anything that got bloody or dirty, and packing up the first aid kit; he decides to leave the feathers for now, he'll have to get a broom or vacuum to deal with those.]

[ Hmmm. New books do appeal. It's not much of a collection he's got here by his old standard, but he's certainly wound up still collecting. Always nice to have a bit more variety.

Crowley hypothetically leaving to get books has all the same appeal of Crowley hypothetically leaving to get anything at this juncture. None. The opposite of appeal. A creeping tendril of terror that Aziraphale has to work to wrestle back down by leaning very firmly on the term hypothetical. Not imminent.

By the time that hypothetical comes, if and when it does, it will clearly be-- fine. (Citation needed.) He is a mature ethereal being. It doesn't even bear thinking about. Obviously. He's sort of just arguing that point to his own mind, though, so Aziraphale does go ahead and get the broom himself purely for the sake of breaking the hypotheticals cycle. Feather pile duty for avoidant birdbrains. ]

I suppose I was a tad overdue for a shake-out.

[ He wonders if gifting feathers is too forward in the real sense, and not just in the sense where he overthinks and convinces himself that what humans would consider very mild "I am in love with you" steps are too forward.

Well. Maybe he'll leave one on Crowley's dresser sometime later and they'll simply not discuss it. ]

[Bold of Aziraphale to assume that Crowley won't just order books from Amazon, all without needing to leave the flat, which is the best way to conduct transactions when he doesn't want to leave Aziraphale's side for more than a handful of minutes.

Cleaning up isn't half as much of a distraction as Aziraphale's wings were, leaving an opportunity for too many other thoughts to creep in, as Crowley tries his best to ignore them.

He doesn't want to think about dying, not when he knows it's likely waiting for them back home.]

We could have done that without getting all the blood involved.

[Local demon suddenly mortified by letting we slip when he obviously has no right to insert himself into Aziraphale's Wing Grooming Habits.

Time to make a trip to the kitchen sink so he can wash his hands and pretend he's not embarrassed.]

[ If Aziraphale fully commits (or admits) to retaining knowledge about certain modern trappings, he starts losing free chances to sometimes have his crush lean over his chair to help work a phone app.

He must invent intricate courting rituals, and never mind that Crowley has also been historically inventing rituals, or that they will both likely continue on inventing rituals when some become unavailable.

It's the principle of the matter as much as it's his refusal to access or express specific emotions. Like anybody refuses to do. ]

We do manage most things without getting blood involved, don't we. [ He found it. The remaining tethered shred of dry humor. All he had to do was pick up some feathers. And just as well that Crowley is of a mind to go wash his hands. Gives Aziraphale a chance to be scrutinizing about which one he may or may not happen to squirrel away as he goes along.

There's no point if it isn't presentable. ]

Well, maybe next time.

[ Call that, however distractedly, a plausibly deniable date. It's a nice thought, if nothing else. 'Next time's are a balm on the soul right about now, within a reasonable out-of-their-universe parameter. ]

[It's a relief that Aziraphale manages a quip back, that he's as present as he is considering how — awful everything must have been. Crowley isn't sure he'd be half as functional if he'd thought he'd lost Aziraphale.

It's equally a relief that he isn't being sneered at for making ridiculous assumptions.]

Except that time you were playing at being a shepherd during lambing season.

[There have been a handful of situations involving rather a lot of blood, but this is one of the more harmless ones that Crowley could dredge up from his memory. Blood associated with birthing isn't quite the same as blood associated with dying, and he's not callous enough to remind Aziraphale of death, right now.

He's startled enough by the offer of next time, even softened by a maybe, that he turns to look over his shoulder, half expecting Aziraphale to tell him that it's a joke, before he remembers himself and looks away again.

This day has been too long already for him to try to decipher what the hell that might mean.]

Mine'll be due for a groom again before yours will be, now.

[Whatever that means!

Crowley shakes himself like someone visibly trying to pull themselves together, drying his hands with slightly more force than necessary.]

We probably ought to get you into bed, angel.

[And then they can never address any of this ever again.]

They were adorable, though.

[ A mess, probably wouldn't do anything like it again when he could just see lambs on a farm or something, but very. Enriching. It's always been a little bit nice crossing historical paths with Crowley for something low-stakes.

More fun to play the shepherd than the wolf.

Aziraphale suffers the bespoke torture of opening his mouth to try to find a graceful way to say "there is no world where I would not be interested in helping you with that grooming if you were interested in being helped with it" and failing to figure the graceful way out before the subject changes. He refuses to forget it. If he has to send a text message about it down the line to save both of them some face, then he'll send a text message.

Crowley has infinitely more reason to be wary about who he lets lay a hand on his wings, of course. ]

Right. I think I might actually be looking forward to a nap. [ Fucking... ghastly. Every day he wakes up and at some point has to go back to sleep. But it's a nice break from thinking. He'll admit that. ] Take your pick of chairs.

Once we got all the blood off.

[It's an easier memory to cling to when he's trying very hard to not think about dying and how Aziraphale looked at him and how nice it's been to touch his wings. Or how nice it might be for Aziraphale to touch his wings.

None of that would be especially productive.]

There's a sentence I never thought I'd hear. [Aziraphale really hasn't taken to sleep the way Crowley has, but he doesn't find that especially surprising.

He takes a second to consider the not-question, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.] Fuck, I dunno, whatever's easiest to drag in there?

[Chairs are heavy and he's tired.]

They were adorable either way. I just wasn't as keen on holding them.

[ The price one pays for a very light aesthetic. And he's going to stop thinking about that in any greater detail, actually. Blood on his aesthetic. Too much of a lingering phantom tackiness from earlier.

Better just to think about a lot of fluffy baby animals. And that's almost always true. ]

In that case, you can borrow my usual. [ It's the one Aziraphale has somewhat more experience with hauling into a bedroom to sit vigil in. They do need to stop meeting like that. He dutifully relocates his emotional support throw pillow from chair to sofa, the most important step of all. ] I'll push, you pull. Shouldn't take a minute.

[ People might guess that Aziraphale's favorite hobby is reading. They are right. But secretly it's tied with "having literally anything practical to be getting on with in times of emotional strife." ]

So that's why you invited me along.

[It's a light enough joke that he doesn't think it should skirt too close to anything unpleasant, especially thinking about how Aziraphale looked in the hallucination, his pale clothes covered in blood and ichor.]

What an honour. [Getting to borrow The Chair(tm). Absolutely not something that would be allowed were it a chair from the bookshop, so he'll take what he can get.

Even if it means wandering over to help with moving the chair.] Should we just pick up the damn thing? Might be easier?

[Than trying to drag it around.]

And for your company.

[ But definitely yes that was a deliberately considered factor. Aziraphale won't deny it.

Meanwhile chairs? Easier to move when it's two people picking them up? More likely than one thinks. He hasn't really had to think about it before. Every day he misses miracles, just not enough to give the Eye the satisfaction of trading in for them. ]

Either way. [ Once he's napped he has no plans of remembering the chair process. Frees up more room for books. ] Mind your back.

[ Shoutout to the weird and unwieldy human process of carrying a chair. It's good to get the practice in now for next time they move. 10/10. ]

[It's a slight change of pace for Aziraphale to even admit that desiring his company was part of an equation; they usually don't address that sort of thing. But they also usually don't get trapped in a hallucination where Crowley thought he was dying, so here they are.]

I'm not eighty.

[And yet there is an old man grunt from Crowley as he hefts the chair. That has more to do with his absolute lack of upper body strength, though.

It isn't the most elegant thing they've ever done together, but there's a chair in Azirapahle bedroom and Crowley will count that as a win. Even if there are more annoying human things to consider.]

What're you gonna do about clothes?

[Since. Wings.]

[ Bold of Crowley to ask this valid and very sensible question. And by bold Aziraphale means he doesn't like that it's valid and very sensible and very relevant. Just generally. Crowley is not the issue. ]

I expect I'll just sleep in the shirts and then fully consider my options when I wake up. [ When he's recharged some of his brain cells. He starts unbuttoning his dumb little sleeve cuffs. ] Goes to show what I get for not thinking ahead while I had them put away.

[ A totally valuable moral lesson that he'll totally take to heart and definitely use to get better at thinking ahead, etc. etc. etc. Something like that. At least he has pajama pants in here somewhere. ]

[It isn't exactly a new experience for Aziraphale to be a bit annoyed when Crowley points out something sensible.]

We were both a bit preoccupied. [With the blood and the near death experience and the whole situation that still hasn't entirely sunk in. It's likely going to while Aziraphale is asleep, and he's not sure how to feel about that.] Plenty of time to sort it out in the morning.

[They're clever. Sometimes.]

Would it be rude of me to go change into pajamas?

[Like, it's kind of rubbing it in, but also he wants to be comfortable if he's going to be sprawled on a chair for several hours.]

[ Aziraphale loves him. It's absolutely sickening. It's ridiculous.

Imagine letting someone spend a night trying to get comfortable in those jeans. Goes against the most rudimentary of hosting principles. ]

It's only rude if you're smug about it. So do bear that in mind.

[ Or else. None dare face the wrath of his tired disappointment. Just as well, actually. That ought to give him time to change the clothes he can change. ]

Quick as you like.

[ That'll basically only be one room away for a minute. Less time than getting the first aid kit out took. Perfectly manageable. ]

I suppose I can keep the smugness dialed down.

[The grin that Crowley manages to dredge up isn't quite as genuine as it usually would be, but he's doing his best not keep things feeling normal, as much for his own sake as Aziraphale's.]

Back in a mo'.

[There's a half-second of awkward hovering, where he isn't sure what to do, before he skedaddles out the door.

If he happens to make a fair bit of noise during the process of getting changed, brushing his teeth, and giving his face a quick wash, it's definitely unintentional and not done out of an attempt to make sure Aziraphale doesn't worry about him suddenly disappearing in a puff of smoke.

The whole process doesn't take more than ten minutes, and when he returns it's with a couple of his own pillows tucked under his arms, which doesn't stop him from lightly knocking on the door frame instead of barging right in.]

You decent?

[ A classic skedaddling. Among the top rankings of times one of them has had to skedaddle.

Aziraphale has successfully managed operation: pajama pants and a follow-up operation about making up a bed arrangement more conducive to sleeping with wings out. Whether or not Crowley happening to make plenty of noise is a direct tether line to him managing not to have a whole Time, meanwhile, is Aziraphale's business.

This may be a looming problem of some sort. The sort of seize in the chest, fingertips going cold with Crowley out of sight even though he knows full well they're actively in the same apartment... feeling. Nothing sustainable about that.

But that can be a morning problem. Or a day after tomorrow problem. A some amount of time from now problem that doesn't require him to acknowledge, process, lean into or otherwise hypothetically imagine his way directly into that little panic-lined scenario. ]

If I weren't decent by now, I never would be. But thank you for asking.

[ Right now, it's fine. And they're here. And they're fine. And he has a sword under the bed, so honestly, they're in a much better strategic position than they were all day, and that's some weight off of his shoulders. Enough to actually bother with the semi-awkward process of getting into bed, now that Crowley's back in range. ]

You'll wake me if something happens.

[ Things that are assertions and not questions: that. ]

Upside to your wings having taken the most damage.

[It's a simple statement, nothing as crass as jealousy in his tone, despite the fact that he is drawing a parallel with his own experience here. He's not sure he'd have traded hurting his ribs for his wings, but it certainly would've been easier to navigate the recovery process, when he wouldn't have needed help with so many basic tasks.

He makes a point of fussing idly with a few things while Aziraphale gets into bed, just so he doesn't have too much direct attention on him, and then takes the opportunity to brandish his pillows.]

Thought you might want a bit of extra padding under your wings, save your back some strain.

[Somebody slept face down with his wings out in the garden one too many times and remembers how achey he was afterwards.]

[ As silver linings go, it's not the worst. A lesser of several evils, so to speak.

He supposes he ought to be grateful for that. Well, ought to. He is grateful. In the leftover way that comes out of things that ought not to have happened to the two of them at all. A lightly salted gratitude.

Aziraphale's gratitude for Crowley is, of course, unsalted at present. ]

Oh, might do. [ He is systematically shutting down all thinking processes deemed nonessential or likely to branch into addressing the past few hours. But also mostly this is outside of his experiential purview. Extra padding: valid. Crowley leaving a room for ten or so minutes and coming back with an act of service: on brand. Sleeping comfortably incurring yet another step in the system: abhorrent.

Aziraphale extends a hand and is mostly successful in not feeling dumb about it. ] You have my word that I won't manage to damage them before you get them back.

[ Finally. A lowball, safe promise to make. ]

[It would make the most sense to just hand over the pillows and let Aziraphale attempt to sort himself out, but that's not what Crowley chooses to do.]

S'alright, I can sort it. Just lift a wing up a tad.

[At this point, he's had his hands in Aziraphale's feathers for almost an hour, so tucking a pillow under them isn't crossing any new boundary.

It's a little odd to be close to Aziraphale while he's lying down in bed, but Crowley can ignore that for the moment.]

And if you manage to mess 'em up, I'll be more impressed than bothered.

[How do you damage pillows when sleeping? It would take some effort.]

[ Aziraphale obligingly lifts a wing up a tad without protest.

He is horizontal. That's practically most of the way to sleeping already. Being deliberately obtuse and stubborn about "taking it easy" can be an issue for when he is vertical again, if he so chooses. He will probably so choose. ]

I'll take solace in that should the worst come to pass.

[ The worst. Ha. Already been to that point for the day. So a lower tier worst, for pillows. ]

I suppose I haven't gotten to considering it in vogue to sleep with a knife. They have favorable odds.

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