#shitumblrtag

black wing / aziraphale’s pov

they say words hold power and we decide what matters and there is a weight when you say my name. there is a weight when you call me angel. it comes out of your lips like a song, a whisper, a sigh, a compliment, a quiet request. i would do anything you ask as long as you keep calling me that. i will guard the gates of your eden. i will crawl the earth with you. i will see to it that every star is turned and bright and clear and know your name. i will do everything you ask of me—even the ones you won’t. i will protect you from the harm that you don’t see. i will answer for the both of us for the only crime we’d ever commit; love. humanity. love for the world we have built ourselves. keep calling me angel and i will plant the very tree that will deliver us from the ineffable. just keep calling me angel.

white wing / crowley’s pov

the you that you think you are. the you that you constantly put down. the you that you think is selfish. the you that you think deserves the scraps that he gets from other people. the you that you think will never have love and family and security because you will never deserve it. the you that you think will end up alone in a house you’ll never be able to call home without anybody that you desperately try to hold onto. the you that you think you are; the self absorbed prick that doesn’t deserve anything for what he’s done.

but you’re wrong

because you are kind and giving and sensitive and sweet. you have been through hell and back and you always persevere. you never give up—not for anybody and it’s time you don’t give up for you. you deserve the world and i’m afraid i’ll never be able to give it, but there is nothing in this world i wouldn’t be ready to do other than try for you. because you deserve it, because you deserve more. and you will never end up alone, you will never end up without a kitchen full of love and a couch full of company and games and laughter.

i love you to the core.

and if chris does end up like you? the one chris and i know of you? wouldn’t i be the luckiest dad in the world to share that with you?

theyre both ready 🥹

Of course, he hasn’t. Buck goes above and beyond to please his peers, he makes himself big enough he doesn’t go unnoticed, he tries hard to make his name known, and he picks up every little thing to make people know he’s there and he listens and he’d be good to have on their team.

He may not always be the first choice, and that’s a cross that he has to bear—no one likes anybody who tries too hard, anyway. But it also means at some point, somebody will choose him because it’s better to be the one doing something, than nothing at all.

So, he had surface level relationships with the people at school. At home he’s always been invisible and he has learned to accept that—it’ll always be his reality with his parents no matter how hard he tries, doesn’t matter if he empties himself, doesn’t matter if he scrubs his skin dry, doesn’t matter if he tries.

When he met the 118, somehow, he kept being chosen. Even if it was in the more idiotic situations—he was being chosen. First, even, at times. They even made him feel that he didn’t need to try that hard anymore.

Then came Eddie.

And Christopher.

And for them, Buck didn’t even need to try at all.

Doesn’t mean he stopped, but he felt like he didn’t need to anymore. For the first time, he felt how warmth spread around his chest at the conscious decision of being chosen time and time again. It can be a hang out with Eddie, or being at the zoo with Chris, or asking to bake a dozen cupcakes, or just being there to taste whatever Eddie was trying in the kitchen.

He was the first.

He was the only one.

He was their emergency contact, their one call away friend, their runner, their best friend. Both of them. Especially Eddie.

Eddie who keeps his heart on his sleeve, who has walls around him that Buck has moved and pushed to the side with him, who took his time to show Buck every skeleton he has kept in his closet, who has peeled away layers of himself to show Buck.

It took years, and he has tried, and it is worth it.

Eddie chose him. Eddie chooses him. Buck feels chosen. Eddie finds him irreplaceable. Eddie finds him important. Buck rejoices.

This is how it feels like, he thinks, to be the first pick.

But then Eddie is leaning on another person, laugh ringing throughout the fire house, smile crinkling at his eyes and hasn’t it taken him a while to get that out of him?

And suddenly Eddie is saying no, and Eddie is saying wait, and Eddie is saying maybe.

Eddie has never been reluctant with him. Not for a long while.

And he remembers the first steps Eddie took here, in his house, in his home, how sure he was, how comfortable to cement his place in the heart of who Buck was? How he abhorred it, how he welcomed it just as fast.

He looks at Tommy now beside Eddie and how he abhors it. How he took his first steps—sure and comfortable and confident in Buck’s house, Buck’s home, in the heart of who he has in Eddie?

He takes notes of the similarities, of the easy banter that flows, of the stories they exchange, of how they fit so seamlessly without trying.

Buck tried for Eddie, and it worked. But he tried and worked, and it seems like Tommy doesn’t need to, seems like Eddie has welcomed him in spaces Buck tried so long to see without even asking.

And for a very long time; Buck feels like that elementary kid again waiting to be picked at dodgeball, knowing how hard he worked at PE so the other kids noticed how good he was, and only being chosen on the fifth call.

And he feels something wedge itself in the crevices of his chest, sharp and wicked and painful. He can feel it drip its slimy thorns in his flesh, poking and pushing him to snap, to explode.

If Eddie was to open him, he’d find his lungs green and beating his name. If Eddie was to open him, his ribcage would cradle him in, would house his body under Buck’s skin—he’s afraid he won’t let him out again. He’s afraid Eddie might let him go.

He’s afraid Eddie might not be choosing him this time.

People flee Buck.

People see how much he tries, and they don’t like anybody who tries that hard, anyway. It was only a matter of time. He should have known it was inevitable.

But he had hoped Eddie was different.

He hoped he was different to Eddie.

He thought that Eddie has carved a space for him right beside him, only meant for the shape of his head and the curve of his arms and the weight of his back. He thought Eddie has made him a room in his home, in his mind, in his heart.

He thought that was his space alone.