All The Lies - 4/5
Oct. 12th, 2019 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silver_sunPart 4
Exhausted didn't seem a strong enough word, Aziraphale thought as he held Crowley close. Weary beyond caring just about covered it. Except that he did care. If he hadn't he'd have released Crowley some time ago, he'd have saved his own aching shoulders and trembling legs, and collapsed to the floor.
The current problem, well at least current minor problem that he potentially had some control over was that they couldn't stay there forever. Or to be honest much longer at all, he decided as his knee gave a warning twinge of cramp. Falling over and knocking Crowley down with him was hardly a good way to show affection. Patting Crowley's back awkwardly, he said, "Are you still awake?"
Crowley raised his head enough to look at him, eyes half closed. . "Um...maybe."
"Would it be alright if we went to bed now, my dear?"
Crowley let this head fall back against Aziraphale's shoulder. "'s not a good idea. Not tonight."
"No? Oh suppose we might have bad dreams. I mean...oh no. Did you think I meant....Oh dear, no really I didn't mean that, not after...." He knew he was getting flustered and babbling, but the words would've seem to stop. "What meant was...well...umm...you did say I should sleep and you're nearly asleep. So we could sleep. Not anything else, no other meanings, I really mean just sleep. If we can. Only I'm not sure how much longer I can stand here before I fall ov- no, not fall. Not Fall Fall, not that sort thing, I mean trip or..um...just you know just...err... sort of flump."
Crowley gave a strange little shudder which for a moment worried Aziraphale that he'd made things worse. At least until he realised that the demon was trying his best not to laugh.
"Flump? Really?"
Feeling weak with relief, he said, with a joviality that was, to his surprise, almost entirely genuine, "Well I like the word. It's very descriptive. Like wiggle or squish."
There was another muffled laugh and then Crowley straightened up, although he still kept a protective arm around him. "Alright, bed it is."
It was just as well it was only a few steps away to the bedroom, Aziraphale thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed, as he doubted he'd have made it much further.
The bed was oversized, ridiculously soft and covered by a thick duvet, patterned to look like the night sky. It was, he thought, such Crowley thing to have. It was somewhere he could lounge about, sprawl all those long limbs wherever he wanted in complete comfort. It made him wish that they'd made use of the the night they'd come back from Tadfield instead of drinking themselves half into a stupor on the sofa. Admittedly the drinking had helped them to understand what Anges Nutter last prophesy has meant and reckless enough for them to try it. If only the there had been a few more of them then maybe they'd have a clue what to do now.
"...shoes."
Not wanting to admit that he hadn't been listening, Aziraphale looked down at his shoes and blinked owlishly. They were definitely still there and there didn't appear to be anything wrong with them. He felt thick headed with tiredness, not quite able to work out what he was supposed to do next. Was he even supposed to do anything?
When he hadn't made a move to do or say anything, Crowley said, "Well take them off then. You're not getting in bed with on."
"Oh, yes, right of course, silly me." Carefully he toed them off, relieved that he'd not worn anything with laces.
He should probably take his coat off, the bow tie as well, he thought reluctantly. They'd get dreadfully creased if he slept in them, but taking them off, give how sore and cramped his shoulders were, would hurt. That said he could hardly refuse to do it without Crowley getting suspicious and worrying. He sighed. He was being pathetic. It was a few bruises. It wasn't a serious injury. He'd been a soldier of Heaven once, he'd fought... He clamped down tight on the memory. The point was, he told himself firmly, that he'd known real pain and this was not it. This wasn't even close. He'd let himself get soft and weak. Gabriel had been right about that at least.
He took a shallow breath, readying himself. He could ignore it. He would ignore it. The bruises throbbed in protest as he tried to slip the coat free. It was nothing. He could do it. He wasn't going to be beaten by something so stupid. A sudden sharper flare made him gasp, but he pushed it aside. He nearly had it. All he had to do was- The muscles in his shoulder spasmed, pain lancing down his arm and he couldn't quite manage to choke back cry.
Closing his eyes, he gripped his arm, hoping that he hadn't been heard. Sucking in a shaky breath, he waited for it to pass.
Any hope that Crowley somehow hadn't noticed disappeared the moment the mattress dipped beside him. "What is it? What wrong?"
The pain had already ebbed back to a dull throb, but he didn't open he eyes. "Stupid bruises."
"They're still there? Why are they still there? Why haven't you miracled them away?" Crowley moved closer, his hand coming to rest of Aziraphale's thigh. "And don't you dare think about telling me some utter crap about deserving it."
"It's not that," he replied, feeling suddenly very ashamed. "I just can't."
There was a worried silence then Crowley asked, "What do you mean? You can't do miracles or that a miracle won't work?"
"Um neither? I mean I've not tried, not for this sort of thing. I can't, it's not allowed."
"Not..." Crowley sounded appalled. "Who said that? Why?"
"Well everyone. Punishment from an Archangel, it's..." He stopped, hating the shivery, tearful feeling that threaten to overwhelm him. It was awful, utterly humiliating. He didn't feel like himself at all, but he had no idea what he could do to stop it. Annoyed more at himself than at Crowley for asking, he said defensively, "The point is we're supposed to bear things these things with humility, with the grace and forbearance befitting an angel. I can't imagine it's any better down there."
Crowley took Aziraphale's hands in his. "We're not talking about there, and for the record, no. If we're hurt we fix it as quickly as we can." He give his hand a squeeze. "You don't want to show any weakness."
It made sense, but it didn't help. He was beyond help. "I just can't do it. You wouldn't understand, you're a demon, so of course you can't understand. It's about propriety and..." It sounded fake even to his own ears. He sighed. "But I suppose the main thing is Gabriel would know."
"Going to pretend I didn't hear that first bit," Crowley said with ill concealed hurt. "But really he'd know? How would he know?"
"How?" Aziraphale echoed faintly, wondering now how Gabriel would know and why he'd never questioned it before. "I don't know, but he's an Archangel. He's always said..." He stopped the words dying in his throat as he could feel the anger pouring off Crowley, as heat and sulphur tinged the air. Fear too innate to ignore made him tremble. "I'm sorry. Please-"
Crowley's anger died instantly. "No, no. Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you." Taking Aziraphale's hand he held it against his chest, over his heart. "I'm not angry with you. Gabriel, Heaven, the whole miserable lot of them I could burn to the ground and not care."
"Crowley! You can't say things like that."
"I can say what I like. I can be angry at what they've done to you. What they did to..." He stopped and sighed. "How about I do it? Bet they didn't make any stupid rules about that. You know a little demonic miracle of my own, you know I can." He gave an encouraging smile. "No more bruises, you get a good sleep and we'll think of something in the morning."
"Won't you get into trouble, healing an angel?" Aziraphale asked doubtfully.
"Really don't care." Carefully swinging his long legs, up onto the bed, Crowley moved to kneel behind him. "It's not like they can hate me anymore than they already do. Anyway, you're worth the risk. You always were."
"Oh."
"Yeah, well, let's just leave it at that, before it gets embarrassing." He touched the sleeve of Aziraphale's coat. "How do you want me to do it? I'm going to need to see what I'm doing."
Aziraphale had fantasised about Crowley peeling off his clothes layer by layer, driving him wild with the slowness of it, until he was begging for him to hurry up before he embarrassed himself. It really was a very specific fantasy, and it was one that definitely wasn't going to be played out tonight. Lust really didn't feature in his current thoughts. Gratitude, relief, love. Yes, those were all there. Plus a little bit of worry that it would hurt and it would make Crowley feel bad about it.
"However you think is best. Just don't lose them. I've had those a long time."
With a snap of Crowley's fingers, the shirt, waistcoat and coat Aziraphale been wearing were now neatly folded on a chair in the corner of the room. He was about to ask how ask how bad it looked when he heard Crowley's sharp intake of breath.
Steeling himself, he glanced round. Not that he could see much, but brief sight of a finger tip shaped bruise, the pale skin turned a virulent deep purple was enough. He swallowed hard. Perhaps looking hadn't been such a good idea after all. "You can do your thing now, if you want to, I mean."
Crowley didn't speak, but his touch was feather light on his skin as he leant in closer, his breath warm and soft as he blew gently across the discoloured skin.
It was a strange feeling, not pleasant precisely, but certainly not painful. It was a little tickly really, he thought, a little shiver running through him.
"Almost done, you..." Crowley stopped, hands falling away from Aziraphale's shoulders. "Angel, these go all the way down. Your true form. I thought..." He stopped again and pressed a kiss to the back on his neck. "I can't do the rest. I'm sorry."
The kiss made him shiver and he decided that some other time when they weren't both such a mess that he would very much like to do this again. "It doesn't matter, dear, it feels so much better. Thank you."
Crowley made an annoyed inarticulate sound and held him a little bit closer. "Matters to me. How could he do that? Hurt you."
"It would hardly be much of a punishment if it didn't. A lot of angels rarely go corporeal, so it needs to." Aziraphale replied. Then worrying that he sounded a little too blasé about the whole the thing, added, "It doesn't hurt, it's sort of like a memory of it, that's all. It will fade."
"Not the point. What he did to you, that was desecration, not you wanting to be loved. He wanted to hurt you, wanted to leave a mark, wanted..." He stopped, gulping back anger and frustration. "He doesn't get to tell you what to do, he doesn't get to lecture you and he doesn't get to hurt you. Never again. Never."
It was a nice idea, but one Aziraphale couldn't quite bring himself to believe, not yet at least. How could you push aside centuries of reality in just a single moment? Even if it were a very nice, comforting moment. For a short while at least, he told himself, he could indulge the fantasy.
At some point, although Aziraphale couldn't remember when or how, their embrace on the edge of the bed became one under the covers. More than half asleep he thought to change his trousers for a more comfortable pair of pyjamas.
Crowley laughed softly in the near dark bedroom. "They're tartan, aren't they?" Then with wave of his hand his own clothes were gone, save for his underwear.
If they hadn't been before, they were now, Aziraphale decided, just a little smugly, as he settled back against Crowley's chest.
There was something very comforting about the feel of bare skin against his own, in the strength of the arms holding him close and the slow, soft sound of breathing heading toward sleep. Despite it being the first time that he'd allowed himself such a comfort, it felt unbelievable right.
Yes, they were decidedly human things. Things that he'd been told angels, and presumably demons too, shouldn't want or need. But, Aziraphale thought, a little giddy with the revelation, they weren't wrong things. God had created them as beings of love, not even Gabriel would dare to dispute that. They were meant to be protectors of the weak and comforters of those who were hurting. How could they do those things if they were not allowed receive them when they themselves were in need?
Yet God had never demanded such selflessness from them, he realised, breath catching in his throat, body trembling at the enormity of it. They had done this to themselves. After the rebellion the fear had been so great, so terrible that they had all tried to be perfect and in doing so they had lost sight of who they were supposed to be.
Crowley said nothing as he felt Aziraphale shudder in his arms. Instead he slipped his hand into his, fingers threading through, and held on tight.
By the door a small lamp, its glow soft as distant starlight remained on. There was probably something deeply symbolic about it, Aziraphale thought, something about not losing hope when everything else around you seemed at its bleakest.
Now wasn't the time for any more thought, deep and meaningful or otherwise. He'd had quite enough revelations for the evening. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale let his breathing match the soft breaths that tickled against his ear, and finally let himself rest.
Part 5 - last part
Note.
This part totally got away from me, I meant to post it back on Thursday, so sorry for the delay.
Originally when I planned this story out I'd decided that just having Crowley tell him that Gabriel was twisting the truth would be enough. So the last bit would have been an epilogue, just to tie up loose ends. Having got this far it doesn't feel like that the case, so what would have been the epilogue I have renamed as part 5. So one more part, but now no epilogue.
Part 5 should be posted in a couple of days time and it definitely will be the last part.
Exhausted didn't seem a strong enough word, Aziraphale thought as he held Crowley close. Weary beyond caring just about covered it. Except that he did care. If he hadn't he'd have released Crowley some time ago, he'd have saved his own aching shoulders and trembling legs, and collapsed to the floor.
The current problem, well at least current minor problem that he potentially had some control over was that they couldn't stay there forever. Or to be honest much longer at all, he decided as his knee gave a warning twinge of cramp. Falling over and knocking Crowley down with him was hardly a good way to show affection. Patting Crowley's back awkwardly, he said, "Are you still awake?"
Crowley raised his head enough to look at him, eyes half closed. . "Um...maybe."
"Would it be alright if we went to bed now, my dear?"
Crowley let this head fall back against Aziraphale's shoulder. "'s not a good idea. Not tonight."
"No? Oh suppose we might have bad dreams. I mean...oh no. Did you think I meant....Oh dear, no really I didn't mean that, not after...." He knew he was getting flustered and babbling, but the words would've seem to stop. "What meant was...well...umm...you did say I should sleep and you're nearly asleep. So we could sleep. Not anything else, no other meanings, I really mean just sleep. If we can. Only I'm not sure how much longer I can stand here before I fall ov- no, not fall. Not Fall Fall, not that sort thing, I mean trip or..um...just you know just...err... sort of flump."
Crowley gave a strange little shudder which for a moment worried Aziraphale that he'd made things worse. At least until he realised that the demon was trying his best not to laugh.
"Flump? Really?"
Feeling weak with relief, he said, with a joviality that was, to his surprise, almost entirely genuine, "Well I like the word. It's very descriptive. Like wiggle or squish."
There was another muffled laugh and then Crowley straightened up, although he still kept a protective arm around him. "Alright, bed it is."
It was just as well it was only a few steps away to the bedroom, Aziraphale thought as he sat down on the edge of the bed, as he doubted he'd have made it much further.
The bed was oversized, ridiculously soft and covered by a thick duvet, patterned to look like the night sky. It was, he thought, such Crowley thing to have. It was somewhere he could lounge about, sprawl all those long limbs wherever he wanted in complete comfort. It made him wish that they'd made use of the the night they'd come back from Tadfield instead of drinking themselves half into a stupor on the sofa. Admittedly the drinking had helped them to understand what Anges Nutter last prophesy has meant and reckless enough for them to try it. If only the there had been a few more of them then maybe they'd have a clue what to do now.
"...shoes."
Not wanting to admit that he hadn't been listening, Aziraphale looked down at his shoes and blinked owlishly. They were definitely still there and there didn't appear to be anything wrong with them. He felt thick headed with tiredness, not quite able to work out what he was supposed to do next. Was he even supposed to do anything?
When he hadn't made a move to do or say anything, Crowley said, "Well take them off then. You're not getting in bed with on."
"Oh, yes, right of course, silly me." Carefully he toed them off, relieved that he'd not worn anything with laces.
He should probably take his coat off, the bow tie as well, he thought reluctantly. They'd get dreadfully creased if he slept in them, but taking them off, give how sore and cramped his shoulders were, would hurt. That said he could hardly refuse to do it without Crowley getting suspicious and worrying. He sighed. He was being pathetic. It was a few bruises. It wasn't a serious injury. He'd been a soldier of Heaven once, he'd fought... He clamped down tight on the memory. The point was, he told himself firmly, that he'd known real pain and this was not it. This wasn't even close. He'd let himself get soft and weak. Gabriel had been right about that at least.
He took a shallow breath, readying himself. He could ignore it. He would ignore it. The bruises throbbed in protest as he tried to slip the coat free. It was nothing. He could do it. He wasn't going to be beaten by something so stupid. A sudden sharper flare made him gasp, but he pushed it aside. He nearly had it. All he had to do was- The muscles in his shoulder spasmed, pain lancing down his arm and he couldn't quite manage to choke back cry.
Closing his eyes, he gripped his arm, hoping that he hadn't been heard. Sucking in a shaky breath, he waited for it to pass.
Any hope that Crowley somehow hadn't noticed disappeared the moment the mattress dipped beside him. "What is it? What wrong?"
The pain had already ebbed back to a dull throb, but he didn't open he eyes. "Stupid bruises."
"They're still there? Why are they still there? Why haven't you miracled them away?" Crowley moved closer, his hand coming to rest of Aziraphale's thigh. "And don't you dare think about telling me some utter crap about deserving it."
"It's not that," he replied, feeling suddenly very ashamed. "I just can't."
There was a worried silence then Crowley asked, "What do you mean? You can't do miracles or that a miracle won't work?"
"Um neither? I mean I've not tried, not for this sort of thing. I can't, it's not allowed."
"Not..." Crowley sounded appalled. "Who said that? Why?"
"Well everyone. Punishment from an Archangel, it's..." He stopped, hating the shivery, tearful feeling that threaten to overwhelm him. It was awful, utterly humiliating. He didn't feel like himself at all, but he had no idea what he could do to stop it. Annoyed more at himself than at Crowley for asking, he said defensively, "The point is we're supposed to bear things these things with humility, with the grace and forbearance befitting an angel. I can't imagine it's any better down there."
Crowley took Aziraphale's hands in his. "We're not talking about there, and for the record, no. If we're hurt we fix it as quickly as we can." He give his hand a squeeze. "You don't want to show any weakness."
It made sense, but it didn't help. He was beyond help. "I just can't do it. You wouldn't understand, you're a demon, so of course you can't understand. It's about propriety and..." It sounded fake even to his own ears. He sighed. "But I suppose the main thing is Gabriel would know."
"Going to pretend I didn't hear that first bit," Crowley said with ill concealed hurt. "But really he'd know? How would he know?"
"How?" Aziraphale echoed faintly, wondering now how Gabriel would know and why he'd never questioned it before. "I don't know, but he's an Archangel. He's always said..." He stopped the words dying in his throat as he could feel the anger pouring off Crowley, as heat and sulphur tinged the air. Fear too innate to ignore made him tremble. "I'm sorry. Please-"
Crowley's anger died instantly. "No, no. Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to hurt you." Taking Aziraphale's hand he held it against his chest, over his heart. "I'm not angry with you. Gabriel, Heaven, the whole miserable lot of them I could burn to the ground and not care."
"Crowley! You can't say things like that."
"I can say what I like. I can be angry at what they've done to you. What they did to..." He stopped and sighed. "How about I do it? Bet they didn't make any stupid rules about that. You know a little demonic miracle of my own, you know I can." He gave an encouraging smile. "No more bruises, you get a good sleep and we'll think of something in the morning."
"Won't you get into trouble, healing an angel?" Aziraphale asked doubtfully.
"Really don't care." Carefully swinging his long legs, up onto the bed, Crowley moved to kneel behind him. "It's not like they can hate me anymore than they already do. Anyway, you're worth the risk. You always were."
"Oh."
"Yeah, well, let's just leave it at that, before it gets embarrassing." He touched the sleeve of Aziraphale's coat. "How do you want me to do it? I'm going to need to see what I'm doing."
Aziraphale had fantasised about Crowley peeling off his clothes layer by layer, driving him wild with the slowness of it, until he was begging for him to hurry up before he embarrassed himself. It really was a very specific fantasy, and it was one that definitely wasn't going to be played out tonight. Lust really didn't feature in his current thoughts. Gratitude, relief, love. Yes, those were all there. Plus a little bit of worry that it would hurt and it would make Crowley feel bad about it.
"However you think is best. Just don't lose them. I've had those a long time."
With a snap of Crowley's fingers, the shirt, waistcoat and coat Aziraphale been wearing were now neatly folded on a chair in the corner of the room. He was about to ask how ask how bad it looked when he heard Crowley's sharp intake of breath.
Steeling himself, he glanced round. Not that he could see much, but brief sight of a finger tip shaped bruise, the pale skin turned a virulent deep purple was enough. He swallowed hard. Perhaps looking hadn't been such a good idea after all. "You can do your thing now, if you want to, I mean."
Crowley didn't speak, but his touch was feather light on his skin as he leant in closer, his breath warm and soft as he blew gently across the discoloured skin.
It was a strange feeling, not pleasant precisely, but certainly not painful. It was a little tickly really, he thought, a little shiver running through him.
"Almost done, you..." Crowley stopped, hands falling away from Aziraphale's shoulders. "Angel, these go all the way down. Your true form. I thought..." He stopped again and pressed a kiss to the back on his neck. "I can't do the rest. I'm sorry."
The kiss made him shiver and he decided that some other time when they weren't both such a mess that he would very much like to do this again. "It doesn't matter, dear, it feels so much better. Thank you."
Crowley made an annoyed inarticulate sound and held him a little bit closer. "Matters to me. How could he do that? Hurt you."
"It would hardly be much of a punishment if it didn't. A lot of angels rarely go corporeal, so it needs to." Aziraphale replied. Then worrying that he sounded a little too blasé about the whole the thing, added, "It doesn't hurt, it's sort of like a memory of it, that's all. It will fade."
"Not the point. What he did to you, that was desecration, not you wanting to be loved. He wanted to hurt you, wanted to leave a mark, wanted..." He stopped, gulping back anger and frustration. "He doesn't get to tell you what to do, he doesn't get to lecture you and he doesn't get to hurt you. Never again. Never."
It was a nice idea, but one Aziraphale couldn't quite bring himself to believe, not yet at least. How could you push aside centuries of reality in just a single moment? Even if it were a very nice, comforting moment. For a short while at least, he told himself, he could indulge the fantasy.
At some point, although Aziraphale couldn't remember when or how, their embrace on the edge of the bed became one under the covers. More than half asleep he thought to change his trousers for a more comfortable pair of pyjamas.
Crowley laughed softly in the near dark bedroom. "They're tartan, aren't they?" Then with wave of his hand his own clothes were gone, save for his underwear.
If they hadn't been before, they were now, Aziraphale decided, just a little smugly, as he settled back against Crowley's chest.
There was something very comforting about the feel of bare skin against his own, in the strength of the arms holding him close and the slow, soft sound of breathing heading toward sleep. Despite it being the first time that he'd allowed himself such a comfort, it felt unbelievable right.
Yes, they were decidedly human things. Things that he'd been told angels, and presumably demons too, shouldn't want or need. But, Aziraphale thought, a little giddy with the revelation, they weren't wrong things. God had created them as beings of love, not even Gabriel would dare to dispute that. They were meant to be protectors of the weak and comforters of those who were hurting. How could they do those things if they were not allowed receive them when they themselves were in need?
Yet God had never demanded such selflessness from them, he realised, breath catching in his throat, body trembling at the enormity of it. They had done this to themselves. After the rebellion the fear had been so great, so terrible that they had all tried to be perfect and in doing so they had lost sight of who they were supposed to be.
Crowley said nothing as he felt Aziraphale shudder in his arms. Instead he slipped his hand into his, fingers threading through, and held on tight.
By the door a small lamp, its glow soft as distant starlight remained on. There was probably something deeply symbolic about it, Aziraphale thought, something about not losing hope when everything else around you seemed at its bleakest.
Now wasn't the time for any more thought, deep and meaningful or otherwise. He'd had quite enough revelations for the evening. Closing his eyes, Aziraphale let his breathing match the soft breaths that tickled against his ear, and finally let himself rest.
Part 5 - last part
Note.
This part totally got away from me, I meant to post it back on Thursday, so sorry for the delay.
Originally when I planned this story out I'd decided that just having Crowley tell him that Gabriel was twisting the truth would be enough. So the last bit would have been an epilogue, just to tie up loose ends. Having got this far it doesn't feel like that the case, so what would have been the epilogue I have renamed as part 5. So one more part, but now no epilogue.
Part 5 should be posted in a couple of days time and it definitely will be the last part.