#hellsrhapsody

[from here]

“Crowley…”

Considering the state the demon in his care was currently in, Aziraphale very honestly tried to keep his tone gentle. But, despite all his enormous efforts, there still was a certain amount of frustration in his voice, his patience - and the Principality did have a patience of a saint, no less - wearing thinner the more Crowley squirmed and wriggled under the angel’s hands, doing everything in his —  quite limited at the moment —  power to avoid going to sleep, as Aziraphale advised him to.

The angel just couldn’t understand why his friend was being so stubborn while everything Aziraphale was trying to do was help. It was difficult enough without being able to use his healing powers ( not that the Principality couldn’t use them but using his holy influence on the already hurt demon seemed like a bad idea, and the angel didn’t want to take such risks, not yet ). However, it wasn’t the first time Crowley has fallen ill and, therefore, wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had to take care of him ( well, the Principality didn’t really have to do that, but helping his sick friend and nursing him back to health was something that the angel considered as his own personal duty ), so he was proud to say that he’s gotten rather good at handling the other’s illness the human way.

Still, for his help to be efficient, the demon had to actually listen to him and follow his advises — something that Crowley, by the looks of it, most certainly wasn’t going to do.

With a sigh that could have been just a little bit exagerrated, Aziraphale temporarily gave up on his attempts to tuck the demon in —  there was no point in trying to do so when his friend instantly ruined his work, time after time after time again —  and sat down on the bed, almost visibly exhausted from that ridiculous fight. However, the moment Crowley moved the Principality was back on his feet again, all but fussing over the demon, helping him to sit up and placing both large, pastel pillows behind his back ( if the angel couldn’t force him to lie down and sleep, he could at least make sure that his friend was comfortable ).

“Well, we don’t get sick, either,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath —  loud enough for Crowley to hear, though —  leaning over the demon to readjust the pillows. However, the angel failed to mention that he wasn’t that resistant to sickness, either. And that the first time he’s gotten sick ended much worse for him than it ever did for Crowley.

To think of it, that urge to look after his friend while he was sick, to protect him from all the possible unpleasant consequences of being ill may have been born from the Principality’s own painful experience. Memories of his first — and only, for now — discorporation, of pain and suffering were still too vivid, even after all those years. But what always hurt the most wasn’t even the illness itself. It was having to go through it alone, with no-one being there to take care of him and soothe his suffering. Sometimes, if Aziraphale dwelled on those memories too long he thought he could even remember himself praying that someone would find him, help him… But his memory was too vague due to the mostly delusional state he was in at the time to be fully trusted.

After taking an extra moment to fluff up the pillows, the angel pulled away but not far. There was no hiding the worry he felt — not that the Principality even thought about hiding it, too focused on the demon’s concerning state of health — that was clear in the way his attentive blue eyes scanned Crowley’s pale face and flickered, just for a moment, to a waste bucket he mindfully placed beside the bed, in the way he carefully touched the demon’s forehead and cheek with the back of his hand and his brow creased. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Aziraphale sat down on the bed again, almost unconsciously reaching out to pull the blanket a bit further over Crowley’s lap — a tender gesture more than anything.

‘‘My dear...’’ he began in the softest, gentlest voice he was capable of ( strangely similiar to the one parents use to coax their children into doing something they don’t want to do ), “I know you don’t want to sleep, but that kind of rest will definitely do you good.”

After a moment of consideration, though, Aziraphale added as if trying to give the demon a choice, while in reality the angel no less than dared him, stormy blue eyes sparkling with something other than just a worry:

“Unless you’d like to tell me what exactly happened to you, in which case I most likely would be able to do something more to help you.”

[from here]

The corners of Aziraphale’s lips twitched upwards in the closest thing to smile he could manage at the moment when Crowley used the angel’s own phrase in response to the Principality’s shaky and scared - human -  question.

He would be more than happy to say that he’d never ever discorporated in his whole life - with Crolwey being there for him whenever Aziraphale couldn’t defend himself.

But that would be a lie.

Because, no matter how unwilling he was to admit it, he did. Once. It was rather early on during his time on Earth, and, being still new to that whole having-a-living-and-breathing-human-body thing, the angel - due to the lack of experience - ended up getting severely ill, which lead him to going through one of the worst pains he’s ever been through and, after an agonizing while that seemed to him like an eternity but could have been just a day or two, discorporated. That painful experience was enough for the Principality to never want to got through it again.

However, judging by the way he felt and Crowley’s terror which was practically palpable despite all the demon’s attempts to keep himself together, Aziraphale had a very good chance of doing it now - and that prospect all but terrified him.

And not only because of the pain, but because of the fact that discorporating meant leaving his… his best friend for an indefinite period of time. And the angel wasn’t even sure what they would do to him in Heaven. How long would it take for him to get a new body? Would they even give him a new body? Would they let him get back on Earth?

After coming as close to being called back to Heaven as in the year 1800th, the fear of being robbed of Earth and all the good things on it - food, art, books, his shop, his demonic accomplice - settled somewhere deep inside the Principality, making him even more anxious during his interactions with higher-ups than he was before.

And now that fear could be very well justified.

Panic from those thoughts along with the pain and the blood loss - the bleeding still hasn’t stopped in spite of all Crowley’s attempts to make it stop - was taking its toll on Aziraphale’s body as his breathing picked up a pace slightly, along with his heartbeat, and all the little colour that was still left in the angel’s face drained from it, making him appear almost deathly pale.

Still, there was just enough sanity left in Aziraphale to fight off the urge to reach out and grasp the demon’s jacket - just to have something that would ground the angel in the moment - and beg him to help him because it hurts, hurts so much, mentally and physically… help me, oh, please, help me..! don’t let go..!

Instead, the angel rested one of his already bright red hands - when did he get the blood on them? he couldn’t remember… - on top of Crowley’s one, pressing down with all the strength he had - which was practically no strength at all - and wincing from the new wave of pain that washed through him.

But it was good.

As long as he could feel the pain - anything - he was here. He was alive.

“No, I c-can’t,” the Principality shook his head weakly in reponse to Crowley’s question, deciding that he deserved an answer even though it was obvious, and added with a somewhat sheepish expression on his face, looking away “I may have ov-verexerted m-myself a l-little the ot-ther day… N-need time to rec-cover.”

Oh , it came out nicely ! Aziraphale stared down at the steaming lasagna , smilingly brightly at his own creation. Not only did it look edible - he’d been quite nervous , due to that one time his cookies came out rock-hard ( it should be known he only cried for eleven minutes ) - but it smelled exactly as he’d imagined it would. He placed the tray on top of the stove , not trusting his clumsy self to hold it any longer.

“I do hope Crowley likes it...” The angel whispered to himself. He’d been the one to invite his companion over for dinner , since they’d stopped the world from ending and all that. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Then he’d entered the bookshop and realized he didn’t know a blessed thing about cooking dinners. Tossing pasta into boiling water? Easy. But lasagna? It had taken him three recipe books and a visit to the library to come up with a satisfying recipe. 

Now he stood in front of the stove , eyes locked on the floor , wondering if his hard work was good enough for the demon. Aziraphale’s eyebrows fused together as they slid down his forehead. He nearly jumped when a certain someone knocked on his door. 

“Come in,” Aziraphale stood in front of the stove , as if to block it from view. A smile replaced his previous grimace when the demon decided to step through the doorway. “I made us dinner! It’s lasagna - oh , I’m sorry my dear , do let me explain. Pasta , covered in sauce and cheese. Of course , if you want something else - we can go to The Ritz.” The sides of his mouth twitched ( no , of course he wasn’t nervous ), but his smile never faltered. 

@hellsrhapsody

“They’re what?!”

A frantic angel scrambles through the crowd, looking a healthy mix angered and frightened. “My books- oh, bugger you, Crowley, that’s not funny!”

Researching this spell had taken him a little while. At least a day or so. He had to make sure that these things were going to work. He had learned that lesson the hard way. Even still he was prone to a few fuck ups. Still. Figured after all the times he had been thrown around and beat up he’d be better. But there were a few times even now where he misjudged how strong something was. Never seemed to learn from some of his past mistakes. If he had he wouldn’t be dealing with this shit. Yet here he was having spent the last day hunched over the books and looking honestly at a demon that judging from what he had been reading or even hearing. John had some good connections in a few questionable places. Not many of them are glad to hear from him or hear him asking questions. John Constantine usually meant trouble for someone. Whoever he was working with. John raked a hand through already messy blond hair. He lost track of what number he was on for his cigarettes. He chained smoked on a regular basis, the fact that he was going to have to bring in some bloody demon bastard like this? Not really a habit he liked being in but when he wasn’t sure where else to turn. He had gotten better at knowing how to control the situation. Mostly through hard learned lessons. Newcastle. That had been one of the biggest teachers. But there had been smaller cases that had left him rather battered and bruised. 

He had gotten better. Didn’t mean it was perfect every time. This was supposed to have been an easy job. That was what everything had told him before he walked into the damn thing. Now he was second guessing himself. But now here he was trying to find a way to actually summon the bastard to have… a chat? Not a real conversation more of a ‘please fuck off’ kind of conversation. But still that took a bit more than what he thought it would have. He had to make sure that this was completely right. Or as right as he could. He was going to have to make substitutions which could be hit and miss. But these damn summonings he found always seemed to be put together by someone who could afford whatever they wanted. Or had some access to the good stuff. John usually conned what he needed, or stole it. Little more difficult this go round. So he was going to have to make do. 

He had taken his time putting things together getting the circle made and everything. “Well… done worse.” He muttered to himself as he finished off the circle. Not the worst but certainly up there in the stupid department. But as he had been told before he was the man who perfected the bad idea. Taking another long drag off his half smoked cigarette before dropping it with the rest of them. Yes he was aware these things caused cancer. Been there, done that. Got it healed thanks to some well placed deals and pissing off the first of the fallen. Which has resulted in a bit of a war there. There were a few other demons that would love to have a piece of him once he gets into hell. Being an exorcist meant he got the call when something looked a little bit off. Well the last poor sod was more than a little off. Fucker was dead and had not died easy or nicely. It was a bloody mess that he could have gone a good long while without seeing. But he got the call and it was a part of his job to see what was happening on this one. What he read seemed to make him think they just did it because they could. Which was about right for the bastards.

Doing what he could to hide just how many cigerttes he had feeling like if this went over easily or quickly enough he was getting a fucking drink. Once he was ready John stood at the front of the circle and began to chant. If the thing was big enough and decided he didn’t want to play ball this was going to be frankly ignored until John decided that he needed to up his fucking game. He had enough he could figure out another way if he had to. Hopefully something that wouldn’t take much more than this. A few drops of blood should be enough. At least that was what he was hoping for anyway. 

Liked for an angel starter!

- - -

  “Y’don’t need to be so cautious. I know exactly who you are. The wily adversary, that’s what Aziraphale called you.”

 He looked wily alright. And Camniel had heard things of his own, little rumours and murmurings on the angelic grapevine about the demon Crowley and his work on Earth. But those were nothing compared to the murmurings of the angel Aziraphale, and the special light that entered his eyes whenever he spoke about the demon. The so-called enemy.

 Camniel smiled, giving a gentle shrug and shoving his hands in his pockets, making himself nonthreatening. He hated violence, and prayed he would never need to lift a flaming sword ever again. And so far, so good. For the moment.

@hellsrhapsody

Purgatory was an awful place. Both demons and angels could agree it’s featureless gray walls, harsh buzzing, and flickering light, along with low and ever-present groans of the soils toiling to get to heaven.