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A little bit of a between-ish part, I think, but there you go. My apologies for the lateness of it. Also, I've just realised this is the first part I've written from Aziraphale's POV. Weird. And Cas only got that one, too. Huh. Obviously I find straight-up angels difficult, for some reason.
Title: Rest
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Follows from Grace
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, Dean, Castiel, Sam, Gabriel, Anansi. Aziraphale/Crowley, Dean/Cas, Sam/Gabriel
Summary: The results of Cas' plan, a deal with a Trickster, and where to go from here, at least temporarily
Wordcount: 4559
Warnings: I may have been a wee bit cruel to poor Dean at the end there
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me
Aziraphale smiled a little. Oh yes. Castiel may have been willing to sacrifice everything, may have honestly and truly been ready to die for this, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to hedge his bets a little too. A little bit of smarts to leaven your faith went a long way down here, and it looked like Castiel had figured that one out very, very quickly.
Now all they had to do was hope it was enough.
It took ... a long time. Or seemed to. Maybe objectively, not so much, but watching it ... it took a long time. Watching it. Feeling it. Feeling the pulse and flow of Grace, feeling every time it wavered, staggered, every time Castiel seemed about to slump, burned dry, every time it seemed it was about to end, watching the humans react to every twitch and motion of those two forms, watching Sam and Dean clench fists against the fear of it, the hope ... Aziraphale's breath stopped so many times, he was finding it difficult to get it started again against the burn in his chest, against the pressure on his ribs ...
Then he realised, somewhat belatedly, that the pressure there wasn't coming from inside. Startled, he looked down, and saw Crowley.
Crowley, still mostly unconscious, still serpent-shaped, coiling tighter and tighter against him. Crowley, blunt head turned blindly, blearily towards the angels next to him, pressing back as far into Aziraphale as he could, his throat vibrating with a low, sub-vocal hiss, agitated and fearful. Crowley, too exhausted to remember properly where he was. Crowley, who'd just faced down the Devil himself. Crowley, who didn't know what was going on, only that whatever it was had called out enough angelic Grace to smite him fifteen times over, all of it sitting less than two feet away.
Crowley, who in bewildered terror had started crushing Aziraphale's chest between his coils, trying to retreat.
Aziraphale's heart did that little floppy thing in his chest. The thing it always did at the sight of Crowley in pain, Crowley afraid. The thing it had tried to do for the last time, when Anansi told them what had happened. The thing he had no defense against, and no reason at all to try.
Reaching down, biting his lip, he caught his Serpent's head in his hand, cupped his palm beneath Crowley's chin. Raised it, ran a hand along the coil to coax it up, turned it so that golden, bewildered eyes blinked up at him. Stroked a finger gently along the scales, and smiled.
"Hush, dearest," he whispered, very gently. With some difficulty, considering the compression on his chest, but he ignored that for the moment. "Crowley, dearest, you're safe. Easy, love. Hush now ..."
He kept murmuring, endearments and promises, bribes and petty threats, little laughing teases, hands moving softly, gently, over and over, coaxing his Serpent out of his fear. Coaxing Crowley back to consciousness, teasing him back into the world. Prompting him gently to uncoil, to release the powerful pressure bending Aziraphale's ribs, to let loose the hard knot of his terror. To come back. He coaxed Crowley back.
It was only as it worked at last, only as the coils unwound around him and slithered helplessly into his lap, only as he finally looked up ... that he realised Castiel had gone away as Crowley came back. That he realised the angel had closed his eyes as the demon opened his.
He stared silently, Crowley crumpled and blinking in his lap, as Castiel's hand dropped to the floor, as his head tipped down into his chest, and slowly, so slowly, the angel tumbled to his side. He stared as Dean scrambled after him with a choked cry, stared as the human gathered the angel up into his arms, into his lap, stared as Dean hunted for a pulse, for a sign that Cas was alive.
He stared as beyond them, behind them, the aching, battered joints of six hundred archangelic wings faded from view, slipped back into the ethereal plane. Stared as Gabriel slumped backwards with a sigh, eyelids fluttering as he crumpled, head bouncing off Sam's shoulder as the human caught him desperately. Stared as Sam tugged the unconscious archangel to his chest and curled protectively around him.
He stared as two humans clutched two broken angels, in nothing short of terror, in nothing less than love.
Crowley, very quietly, curled his tail loosely around Aziraphale's waist and looked up at him. "What'sss going on here, angel?" he hissed, his head bobbing a little as he looked between Castiel and Gabriel, as he watched the Winchesters shift together across the floor, side by side, holding what was theirs. "What have the idiotsss gone and done now?"
Aziraphale shook his head mutely, reaching down to carefully untangle Crowley so he could move, shooting his demon an apologetic look as he laid him gently on the floor, but he had to check. It was very important. He had to check.
Dean looked up at him as he shuffled close, angry and desperate, his arms tightening around Cas as if he thought Aziraphale meant to take him away. His heart aching again, Aziraphale tried to smile, tried to reassure, even as he reached out carefully to pull at Castiel a little. Just a little. Just enough to see. Dean fought him for a second, stubborn and furious, already half-grieving, and then ... then the human let go. Enough to let Castiel's head roll free from his chest, enough for Aziraphale to lean down, to touch the forehead and the heart, to feel the pulse beneath them.
Enough for Aziraphale to see if Castiel still existed, if the angel was still theirs.
There was a moment where everything froze. Where there was nothing but three pairs of eyes on him, and the forehead warm and flushed under his palm, and the weak, steady beat of the heart beneath his hand. Where a thousand hopes and fears and loves and pains tangled in the air around him, and all he could feel was the rawness of it.
And then, quiet through it, he felt it. The soft, insistent pulse against his essence, the gentle whispering under his hand. The narrow, stubborn thread, shining beneath him, of an angel's Grace.
Aziraphale closed his eyes. Closed his eyes against the swell in his heart, the clutch in his chest. Against the love that tried to batter him silly, for this angel, these angels, these humans. For his demon, and his family. For these people. And for his Father, who rewarded faith with Grace and withheld his strike. He closed his eyes, feeling his mouth stretch involuntarily into a smile, into a laugh, a bubbling, delighted thing, harsh and pained and joyous. Feeling the joy spread through him.
He opened his eyes, looked up at the human glaring down at him. Met Dean's frantic, confused, angry eyes. He opened his eyes, and smiled.
"He's alright," he whispered, laughing around the words. "About as exhausted as Crowley, dead to the world for the next week, I think, but ... He's there. It worked. He's there, he's here, he's still an angel. Castiel ... he's still here."
Dean didn't react for a second. As if he was afraid to, as if he thought that if he reacted to what he'd heard, it wouldn't be true, wouldn't be real. As if the world didn't work that way, and the only possible result had been Castiel's death, and now that his angel was still alive he just ... couldn't quite grasp it. Couldn't quite understand. Aziraphale felt his hands curling into soft fists, felt something small and angry uncurl in his chest for the lack of hope in that expression, for the history behind it.
Then Dean closed his eyes, making a soft little sound, a broken little breath, and pulled Castiel back into him. Tugged the angel's head onto his shoulder, buried his hands in Castiel's hair and his face in the angel's neck, and clung tight. Curled down into him, pressed him close, and just shuddered in quiet, broken relief. Beside them, pressed against Dean's side with an archangel in his arms, Sam echoed the noise, relief and pain and aborted grief. Side by side, two brothers and their angels, and there was something almost ... closed ... about it. A strange sense of something encircling them, something Aziraphale wasn't yet part of, something broken and wary and desperate and close.
Biting his lip a little, Aziraphale sat back on his heels, watching them. Watching over them. For just a little minute, that was all. Just a little minute, to let them rest, to let them realise that they still had each other, they hadn't lost anyone. Just a minute, until ... until his eyes stopped blurring, maybe. Until his heart stopped twisting in his chest.
Something hissed quietly beside him. Something warm and weighty, pressing against the side of his leg, a narrow, blunt head bumping his arm, and he looked down through blurry eyes to see Crowley. To see his Serpent, who he'd almost lost, who he'd almost lost as surely as Dean and Sam had almost lost their angels. Crowley, who was looking up at him with something like embarrassment, and something like warmth, and something so very close to love that really, there was nothing else the demon could try and claim it as.
Though he would try. Knowing Crowley, he would try.
Mouth wobbling faintly, Aziraphale reached down. Reached down and curled fingers beneath the heavy curves of his demon, feeling the press of scale against his arms and the weight as his demon slithered up around his shoulders. Felt the bony bump against his chin as Crowley pressed close, the tickle of a forked tongue against his cheeks as his demon silently cleaned away his tears. Nuzzled close, ignoring the faint, indignant hiss, and pressed a weighty coil close against his chest, pressed Crowley close against his heart and held tight.
"Hussssh, angel," Crowley whispered in his ear, all cracked and nervous and shifty like he didn't want to be caught doing what he was doing, uneasy as any demon comforting an angel, and suddenly Aziraphale couldn't breathe around the love in his throat, couldn't speak around the relief.
So he just closed his eyes, dripping tears all over his demon's scales, pressed his cheek to the curve of Crowley's coils, and settled down to wait until someone was ready to move. It was safe, he knew that. Not for long, maybe, but for now. Crowley would keep watch.
Crowley would always keep watch.
Possibly it was because about two minutes into their little group crying session, someone very carefully cleared their throat and knocked politely on the remains of the steel door.
Probably it was that last one. Aziraphale had a feeling. The fact that he was standing, sword in hand and alight, moving protectively in front of the boys and their angels all of half a second after hearing it, may have been a hint. Around his shoulders, Crowley had raised himself into a warning arch, head curled up past Aziraphale's and swaying warningly. He rather thought Crowley had done it on pure instinct, and not even his own instincts either. Crowley was still just tired enough to have the snake take over before he caught it, and awake enough to be grumbling about it under his breath even as they faced the intruder.
Aziraphale badly wanted to snuggle him for that. There were times when his demon was just precious.
In the doorway, Anansi looked a mixture of apologetic and terribly amused, with a twitch of his mouth that promised much, much blackmail in the future, when they were all well enough to appreciate it without trying to smite him. But, credit where it was due, as the little god moved cautiously forwards into the room, he made no effort to test that appreciation now.
Which was probably a very good plan, the angel thought. Behind him, he could hear the Winchesters shifting up into defensive crouches over their respective angels, weapons ready and in hand. Somehow, he didn't think they'd be in any mood for a Trickster's jokes.
"I've put up a little bit of misdirection around the place," Anansi explained gently, spreading his two hands in a carefully exaggerated shrug. His head tilted to the side, watching Aziraphale warily. No. Watching Crowley warily. "Had to drop the kid off with the missus first, of course, but I thought you could maybe use the help ...?"
Aziraphale frowned. "That's ... that's very nice of you?" he tried, a little confused. He'd thought the god had left, before Castiel had even suggested his plan, before Aziraphale had stopped frantically petting Crowley enough to even notice that Gabriel was injured. He was sure he remembered something, remembered the god making hurried excuses about getting his child away, remembered nodding in agreement. This was no place for a child, certainly. But he'd been sure Anansi had gone without intending to return. He'd been sure of it.
Anansi smiled lopsidedly, his eyes fixed on Crowley. Though with a little look beyond them, maybe. At the people behind them. "Not really," the Spider demurred, nodding at the demon. "I just happen to owe someone here a little helping hand, yes?"
Crowley's head dipped past Aziraphale's cheek, lowering to stare at the god, eyes narrowing dangerously. Anansi stared back, calm and amused and genuinely regretful. Genuinely apologetic. And it was only then, only seeing that, that Aziraphale actually remembered what the god had done. Actually remembered that Anansi had sold his demon out, sold him to the Devil himself. With a very good reason, mind, and even then Aziraphale had understood that, but that didn't change the debt that was owed.
And gods tended to take debts very, very seriously ...
"You could ..." he started, maybe a little nervously, maybe a little hopefully, ignoring Crowley as his demon swayed to look at him. "If it's not too much trouble, I don't suppose you could arrange for some transportation out of here?" He spread his hands apologetically. "I'm afraid moving five people at once, three of them unwell ... I have been a little worried about trying to manage that. If you wouldn't ... wouldn't mind?"
Anansi blinked at him. A lot. His brown face beetling into a frown, the little god studied him very carefully, eyes warily tracking between Aziraphale and Crowley. He looked ... confused, which Aziraphale quite frankly could see no reason for. It was hardly that unreasonable a request ...
Crowley looked between them himself, head bobbing gently in the air, and Aziraphale could swear that after a second the demon looked nothing short of amused. Chuckling gently inside his head. Aziraphale could just hear him.
"You realise," Anansi started, carefully, but faintly amused himself. "You realise I owe your demon a blood-debt, don't you? Between almost getting him killed, and Gabriel finding my child's location for me ... I do owe the pair of them rather a lot." He looked at Crowley again, dark eyes suddenly serious, pained and grim. "Even a life, if they feel it necessary ..."
"Don't," Crowley cut in, shortly. "Don't, Spider." He swayed uneasily, glancing back towards Gabriel, tucked against Sam's chest. "Can't speak for Sleeping Beauty there, of course, but ... You know I've never been one for the whole blood-and-souls crap. Not my department, that. Never was." A faint smile, as he glared at the god. "Which you knew full bloody well when you sold me out in the first place, so I don't know why you're looking so nervous now!"
Anansi chuckled a little, a little loose-limbed shrug. "Yes, well. I don't apologise for recognising you for the soft touch you are, Serpent," he grinned, laughing a little at Crowley's scowl. Shaking his head, the Spider smiled at him, before his expression turned a little serious once more. "Though that is not an excuse for what was done. And all this was before you destroyed some fifteen demons in one psychic assault, so ... perhaps you cannot blame me for my recent worries?"
Crowley grimaced. "That was purely self-defense," he muttered, looking almost sheepish, staring at the floor uncomfortably. Aziraphale bit his lip on a smile for that look, though he really didn't blame the Spider. Not for being worried. He remembered hearing the first scream in the corridor. Remembered knowing what it meant. Remembered calling a warning to Cas, remembered slamming his hands over Sam's ears and mind, remembered shielding the human psyche as Crowley let loose. Remembered thinking, with something close to awe, that he'd never felt such fury from his demon in a long, long, long time. Not in outright millennia. And never, never on that scale.
Even now, he wondered what it was the Devil had done. How he'd managed to hurt Crowley so much, to bring that rage out. What he'd done. And even now, thinking about it, he could feel an unfamiliar rage bubbling in his own chest. Even now, he could feel the horrible, pained urge to hurt someone, to hurt the person who'd hurt Crowley like that.
Apocalypses were not healthy for him, he thought absently. They really weren't. When they got this one sorted out, he was going to have to send a very strongly worded prayer to the Almighty. Non-interference was all very well, but after two in a row, if this persisted Aziraphale was not going to be responsible for his actions.
Anansi snorted softly, gently, looking at the pair of them. Looking at Gabriel and the others too. "Self-defense my eye!" he grunted quietly, smiling as Crowley's head shot up warningly, as his demon gave a very impressive threatening glare. Aziraphale watched, curious, and the Spider took a moment to actually wink at him, laughing at Crowley's squawk, but saying nothing further. Whatever little secret lay between them, whatever the Trickster knew that Crowley didn't want revealed, Anansi would not betray it. Not now. There had been enough betrayal for now.
Instead, the little god bowed politely, and nodded at them. "Well then. We'll take that request to be going on with, shall we?" he grinned. "What manner of transportation would you like, and to where?"
"Where are we?" Dean cut in from the back, around numerous scuffling noises. Aziraphale turned to see him and Sam on their feet, doing their best to lift two full-grown angels between them, and not being very successful with it. Tutting in annoyance, he tucked his sword into his belt, and went to help them. Sam, at least, had the grace to look a little sheepish.
"Ah," Anansi blinked, mildly distracted with watching them juggle angels. Around Aziraphale's neck, Crowley seemed to echo his amusement. In between getting poked in the eye by an unconscious Gabriel, that was. Although that poke had seemed suspiciously accurate for someone who wasn't even awake enough to groan when Dean accidentally knocked his head into Sam's. Which also looked rather suspiciously un-accident-like. Aziraphale frowned at the lot of them.
"State, county?" Dean prompted with a faint grin, finally getting Cas slung between him and Aziraphale, with Gabriel on the angel's other side between him and Sam. With Crowley draped around his neck, two angels slung across his shoulders and two humans snickering at him from either side, Aziraphale felt rather put-upon, and more than willing to chivvy the god along to an answer himself. Perhaps sensing that, the Spider stopped wheezing and thought about it.
"Somewhere on the Nebraska/Iowa border, I think," he murmured at last, tilting his head. "Close to Sioux City?"
The two humans looked at each other, startled and then relieved, hopeful. Dean grinned a little. "Bobby?" he murmured, very quietly, looking at his brother. Sam grimaced for some reason, looking at the line of angels strung between them, but nodded while Aziraphale and Crowley looked back and forth between them in confusion. Dean turned back to Anansi, and grinned.
"Any chance you could rustle up a car, then?" he asked. Not exactly politely, but Aziraphale could perhaps forgive him under these circumstances. Though he'd have to have a word with the boy later. "Nothing fancy. Just something big enough for six. We've got a friend not too far from here."
Anansi tilted his head, and grinned back. "Oh, I think I can arrange something," he smiled, and Sam stiffened. Aziraphale too. Anyone who'd ever spent any amount of time trying to work with a Trickster or a demon knew that expression. Knew it, and dreaded it.
But before any of them could say anything, Anansi made a little rippling motion with one hand, like plucking strings on a harp, and they were somewhere else.
The factory loomed behind them, grim and weighty. Crowley shuddered a little against his chest, coiling tighter, and when Aziraphale looked down there was something strange in his demon's face, something stretched and pained and bright. He tilted his head, waiting until Crowley looked up at him, silently asking.
The demon shrugged. An awkward gesture in a snake, especially one coiled low on one angel to avoid bumping into the other two. "Nothing," Crowley muttered. "Nothing, angel. Just ... Nothing."
Aziraphale frowned at him, but let it go for now, distracted by a strangled squawk of outrage beside him.
Dean stared at the vehicle in front of them, shaking. Nearly vibrating, actually, and Aziraphale opened his mouth in concern, ready to ask what was wrong. Then Sam, on his other side, started snickering. Helplessly, breathlessly, waving his free hand in Aziraphale's direction when the angel looked worriedly at him. He blinked at the pair of them, confused and concerned, until Crowley turned away from the factory to see what the fuss was about, and his serpentine jaw dropped open.
"No way," Dean growled, stabbing a finger emphatically at air. Anansi had disappeared, unsurprisingly, so there was no-one for the hunter to voice his ire at, but he'd apparently decided to voice it anyway. "No fucking way! I am not setting foot in that monstrosity! No way."
"Sure, Dean?" Sam grinned, wheezing faintly. "Because it's just your colour, you know ..."
Dean made a very rude gesture in response. Aziraphale was going to give out to him for it, when Crowley piped up.
"I'm with Winchessster," he hissed, staring in pure affront at the car. "Sssspider, you rotten bassstard, you get back here and fix thisss! You owe me, you ... you ..." He trailed off with a furious hiss. The car stayed serenely the same. Aziraphale looked at it in some confusion.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked mildly, blinking at them. Dean stared at him like he'd just committed some terrible blasphemy, and Crowley blinked up at him in something close to agonised despair, a scandalised mutter of 'angel' under his breath.
Dean twitched. "I am not driving into Bobby's yard in that ... thing," he said, very slowly and very carefully. "I am not being seen driving that thing. I am not. Driving. That. Thing."
Which was nicely emphatic, but not really all that enlightening. Aziraphale just blinked, until Sam took pity on him, swallowed his laughter, and explained.
"It's, um," he said, clutching Gabriel close. "It's the colour, Aziraphale. Mostly the colour. Though the car itself, too ... Ah. Lets just say that ours is not a lifestyle that readily lends itself to hot pink stretch limousines, yeah?" He looked down at the archangel in his arms, a funny little smile flickering over his lips. "Well. Not until recently, anyway. I guess it really is a Trickster thing, and not just him wanting to mess with us ..."
Dean growled at him. "Yeah, yeah. Your archangel boyfriend isn't the only jerk in the world. Congratulations, Sammy. Doesn't help us fix this!"
Sam smiled at him serenely. "Oh, I don't know. It's not that bad, Dean."
A muscle worked in Dean's jaw. Aziraphale had the sudden impression that if the hunter hadn't been holding Castiel up at this point, he'd be contemplating actual violence. "Sam," Dean said, very, very quietly. "Sam. I don't know if you've realised this. If we get in that thing, if we drive that thing ... Bobby's going to see. We will be driving up to Bobby's door, in a fucking pink limo, with a pair of unconscious angels who we've been shacked up with for the past two days, the gayest angel in creation, and a snake. A demon snake! Who leers! What the hell is Bobby supposed to think, if we do that? Huh?"
Sam's face worked, jaw twitching like he couldn't quite decide what expression he should settle on. A toss up between horror and amusement, Aziraphale thought, though he couldn't really see any reason for either.
Crowley, on the other hand ... Crowley, for the first time that day, despite everything, despite everything they'd just gone through, everything Crowley had just gone through ... Crowley started laughing. A wheezing, desperate hiss, his coils vibrating around Aziraphale's chest, his head shaking helplessly from side to side as he dangled, his eyes squeezed shut. Dean glared at him in mutinous affront, growling under his breath about holy oil and snake fricassee, but Crowley just laughed.
And leered, just a little. For good measure. It was his demon, after all.
And Aziraphale, tilting his head towards the shadows at the base of the factory walls, at the cobwebs and the spiders spread across the old, battered surface, smiled a little himself, and gave a grateful nod to the Spider god. Making his demon laugh after all he'd been put through wasn't enough to make up for putting him through it in the first place. Not by a long shot. But ... it was a good start. A very good start.
Then, smiling faintly to himself (and at Sam, who seemed to have decided to appreciate the humour rather than worry about this Bobby's reaction), he set to work herding them all into the 'Monstrosity' and getting them home. A home, anyway. But really, so long as these people were there, so long as he had them ... that was what home meant, wasn't it?
Besides. He was rather curious about this Bobby person ...
Contd: Home
Title: Rest
Rating: PG-13
Fandoms: Good Omens, Supernatural
Continuity: Follows from Grace
Characters/Pairings: Aziraphale, Crowley, Dean, Castiel, Sam, Gabriel, Anansi. Aziraphale/Crowley, Dean/Cas, Sam/Gabriel
Summary: The results of Cas' plan, a deal with a Trickster, and where to go from here, at least temporarily
Wordcount: 4559
Warnings: I may have been a wee bit cruel to poor Dean at the end there
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me
Rest
The explosion of Grace that unfurled between Castiel and the archangel was something Aziraphale hadn't felt in a long, long time. Not timid, not the quavered half-hope that seemed to be the hallmark of Heaven's younger angels. Not brutal, either. Not the raw outpouring of power he had been expecting. Castiel was better than that. Smarter. Not knowing how much he had to spare, believing but not knowing, the angel had followed his own Grace as it spilled into his brother, and directed it as best he could. Not a power-driven inferno, but a lance, severing only what was needed. Though it used more, far more, of the angel's Grace than was safe (perhaps, even still, more than was survivable), it did not drain him dry inside a second the way it probably should have done.Aziraphale smiled a little. Oh yes. Castiel may have been willing to sacrifice everything, may have honestly and truly been ready to die for this, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to hedge his bets a little too. A little bit of smarts to leaven your faith went a long way down here, and it looked like Castiel had figured that one out very, very quickly.
Now all they had to do was hope it was enough.
It took ... a long time. Or seemed to. Maybe objectively, not so much, but watching it ... it took a long time. Watching it. Feeling it. Feeling the pulse and flow of Grace, feeling every time it wavered, staggered, every time Castiel seemed about to slump, burned dry, every time it seemed it was about to end, watching the humans react to every twitch and motion of those two forms, watching Sam and Dean clench fists against the fear of it, the hope ... Aziraphale's breath stopped so many times, he was finding it difficult to get it started again against the burn in his chest, against the pressure on his ribs ...
Then he realised, somewhat belatedly, that the pressure there wasn't coming from inside. Startled, he looked down, and saw Crowley.
Crowley, still mostly unconscious, still serpent-shaped, coiling tighter and tighter against him. Crowley, blunt head turned blindly, blearily towards the angels next to him, pressing back as far into Aziraphale as he could, his throat vibrating with a low, sub-vocal hiss, agitated and fearful. Crowley, too exhausted to remember properly where he was. Crowley, who'd just faced down the Devil himself. Crowley, who didn't know what was going on, only that whatever it was had called out enough angelic Grace to smite him fifteen times over, all of it sitting less than two feet away.
Crowley, who in bewildered terror had started crushing Aziraphale's chest between his coils, trying to retreat.
Aziraphale's heart did that little floppy thing in his chest. The thing it always did at the sight of Crowley in pain, Crowley afraid. The thing it had tried to do for the last time, when Anansi told them what had happened. The thing he had no defense against, and no reason at all to try.
Reaching down, biting his lip, he caught his Serpent's head in his hand, cupped his palm beneath Crowley's chin. Raised it, ran a hand along the coil to coax it up, turned it so that golden, bewildered eyes blinked up at him. Stroked a finger gently along the scales, and smiled.
"Hush, dearest," he whispered, very gently. With some difficulty, considering the compression on his chest, but he ignored that for the moment. "Crowley, dearest, you're safe. Easy, love. Hush now ..."
He kept murmuring, endearments and promises, bribes and petty threats, little laughing teases, hands moving softly, gently, over and over, coaxing his Serpent out of his fear. Coaxing Crowley back to consciousness, teasing him back into the world. Prompting him gently to uncoil, to release the powerful pressure bending Aziraphale's ribs, to let loose the hard knot of his terror. To come back. He coaxed Crowley back.
It was only as it worked at last, only as the coils unwound around him and slithered helplessly into his lap, only as he finally looked up ... that he realised Castiel had gone away as Crowley came back. That he realised the angel had closed his eyes as the demon opened his.
He stared silently, Crowley crumpled and blinking in his lap, as Castiel's hand dropped to the floor, as his head tipped down into his chest, and slowly, so slowly, the angel tumbled to his side. He stared as Dean scrambled after him with a choked cry, stared as the human gathered the angel up into his arms, into his lap, stared as Dean hunted for a pulse, for a sign that Cas was alive.
He stared as beyond them, behind them, the aching, battered joints of six hundred archangelic wings faded from view, slipped back into the ethereal plane. Stared as Gabriel slumped backwards with a sigh, eyelids fluttering as he crumpled, head bouncing off Sam's shoulder as the human caught him desperately. Stared as Sam tugged the unconscious archangel to his chest and curled protectively around him.
He stared as two humans clutched two broken angels, in nothing short of terror, in nothing less than love.
Crowley, very quietly, curled his tail loosely around Aziraphale's waist and looked up at him. "What'sss going on here, angel?" he hissed, his head bobbing a little as he looked between Castiel and Gabriel, as he watched the Winchesters shift together across the floor, side by side, holding what was theirs. "What have the idiotsss gone and done now?"
Aziraphale shook his head mutely, reaching down to carefully untangle Crowley so he could move, shooting his demon an apologetic look as he laid him gently on the floor, but he had to check. It was very important. He had to check.
Dean looked up at him as he shuffled close, angry and desperate, his arms tightening around Cas as if he thought Aziraphale meant to take him away. His heart aching again, Aziraphale tried to smile, tried to reassure, even as he reached out carefully to pull at Castiel a little. Just a little. Just enough to see. Dean fought him for a second, stubborn and furious, already half-grieving, and then ... then the human let go. Enough to let Castiel's head roll free from his chest, enough for Aziraphale to lean down, to touch the forehead and the heart, to feel the pulse beneath them.
Enough for Aziraphale to see if Castiel still existed, if the angel was still theirs.
There was a moment where everything froze. Where there was nothing but three pairs of eyes on him, and the forehead warm and flushed under his palm, and the weak, steady beat of the heart beneath his hand. Where a thousand hopes and fears and loves and pains tangled in the air around him, and all he could feel was the rawness of it.
And then, quiet through it, he felt it. The soft, insistent pulse against his essence, the gentle whispering under his hand. The narrow, stubborn thread, shining beneath him, of an angel's Grace.
Aziraphale closed his eyes. Closed his eyes against the swell in his heart, the clutch in his chest. Against the love that tried to batter him silly, for this angel, these angels, these humans. For his demon, and his family. For these people. And for his Father, who rewarded faith with Grace and withheld his strike. He closed his eyes, feeling his mouth stretch involuntarily into a smile, into a laugh, a bubbling, delighted thing, harsh and pained and joyous. Feeling the joy spread through him.
He opened his eyes, looked up at the human glaring down at him. Met Dean's frantic, confused, angry eyes. He opened his eyes, and smiled.
"He's alright," he whispered, laughing around the words. "About as exhausted as Crowley, dead to the world for the next week, I think, but ... He's there. It worked. He's there, he's here, he's still an angel. Castiel ... he's still here."
Dean didn't react for a second. As if he was afraid to, as if he thought that if he reacted to what he'd heard, it wouldn't be true, wouldn't be real. As if the world didn't work that way, and the only possible result had been Castiel's death, and now that his angel was still alive he just ... couldn't quite grasp it. Couldn't quite understand. Aziraphale felt his hands curling into soft fists, felt something small and angry uncurl in his chest for the lack of hope in that expression, for the history behind it.
Then Dean closed his eyes, making a soft little sound, a broken little breath, and pulled Castiel back into him. Tugged the angel's head onto his shoulder, buried his hands in Castiel's hair and his face in the angel's neck, and clung tight. Curled down into him, pressed him close, and just shuddered in quiet, broken relief. Beside them, pressed against Dean's side with an archangel in his arms, Sam echoed the noise, relief and pain and aborted grief. Side by side, two brothers and their angels, and there was something almost ... closed ... about it. A strange sense of something encircling them, something Aziraphale wasn't yet part of, something broken and wary and desperate and close.
Biting his lip a little, Aziraphale sat back on his heels, watching them. Watching over them. For just a little minute, that was all. Just a little minute, to let them rest, to let them realise that they still had each other, they hadn't lost anyone. Just a minute, until ... until his eyes stopped blurring, maybe. Until his heart stopped twisting in his chest.
Something hissed quietly beside him. Something warm and weighty, pressing against the side of his leg, a narrow, blunt head bumping his arm, and he looked down through blurry eyes to see Crowley. To see his Serpent, who he'd almost lost, who he'd almost lost as surely as Dean and Sam had almost lost their angels. Crowley, who was looking up at him with something like embarrassment, and something like warmth, and something so very close to love that really, there was nothing else the demon could try and claim it as.
Though he would try. Knowing Crowley, he would try.
Mouth wobbling faintly, Aziraphale reached down. Reached down and curled fingers beneath the heavy curves of his demon, feeling the press of scale against his arms and the weight as his demon slithered up around his shoulders. Felt the bony bump against his chin as Crowley pressed close, the tickle of a forked tongue against his cheeks as his demon silently cleaned away his tears. Nuzzled close, ignoring the faint, indignant hiss, and pressed a weighty coil close against his chest, pressed Crowley close against his heart and held tight.
"Hussssh, angel," Crowley whispered in his ear, all cracked and nervous and shifty like he didn't want to be caught doing what he was doing, uneasy as any demon comforting an angel, and suddenly Aziraphale couldn't breathe around the love in his throat, couldn't speak around the relief.
So he just closed his eyes, dripping tears all over his demon's scales, pressed his cheek to the curve of Crowley's coils, and settled down to wait until someone was ready to move. It was safe, he knew that. Not for long, maybe, but for now. Crowley would keep watch.
Crowley would always keep watch.
---
In the end, it didn't take long for someone to be ready to move. Possibly because two of those awake were hunters with a hunter's instincts for when it was safe to have a breakdown and when it wasn't, possibly because one of the remaining was a demon and therefore too paranoid to sit around being mushy.Possibly it was because about two minutes into their little group crying session, someone very carefully cleared their throat and knocked politely on the remains of the steel door.
Probably it was that last one. Aziraphale had a feeling. The fact that he was standing, sword in hand and alight, moving protectively in front of the boys and their angels all of half a second after hearing it, may have been a hint. Around his shoulders, Crowley had raised himself into a warning arch, head curled up past Aziraphale's and swaying warningly. He rather thought Crowley had done it on pure instinct, and not even his own instincts either. Crowley was still just tired enough to have the snake take over before he caught it, and awake enough to be grumbling about it under his breath even as they faced the intruder.
Aziraphale badly wanted to snuggle him for that. There were times when his demon was just precious.
In the doorway, Anansi looked a mixture of apologetic and terribly amused, with a twitch of his mouth that promised much, much blackmail in the future, when they were all well enough to appreciate it without trying to smite him. But, credit where it was due, as the little god moved cautiously forwards into the room, he made no effort to test that appreciation now.
Which was probably a very good plan, the angel thought. Behind him, he could hear the Winchesters shifting up into defensive crouches over their respective angels, weapons ready and in hand. Somehow, he didn't think they'd be in any mood for a Trickster's jokes.
"I've put up a little bit of misdirection around the place," Anansi explained gently, spreading his two hands in a carefully exaggerated shrug. His head tilted to the side, watching Aziraphale warily. No. Watching Crowley warily. "Had to drop the kid off with the missus first, of course, but I thought you could maybe use the help ...?"
Aziraphale frowned. "That's ... that's very nice of you?" he tried, a little confused. He'd thought the god had left, before Castiel had even suggested his plan, before Aziraphale had stopped frantically petting Crowley enough to even notice that Gabriel was injured. He was sure he remembered something, remembered the god making hurried excuses about getting his child away, remembered nodding in agreement. This was no place for a child, certainly. But he'd been sure Anansi had gone without intending to return. He'd been sure of it.
Anansi smiled lopsidedly, his eyes fixed on Crowley. Though with a little look beyond them, maybe. At the people behind them. "Not really," the Spider demurred, nodding at the demon. "I just happen to owe someone here a little helping hand, yes?"
Crowley's head dipped past Aziraphale's cheek, lowering to stare at the god, eyes narrowing dangerously. Anansi stared back, calm and amused and genuinely regretful. Genuinely apologetic. And it was only then, only seeing that, that Aziraphale actually remembered what the god had done. Actually remembered that Anansi had sold his demon out, sold him to the Devil himself. With a very good reason, mind, and even then Aziraphale had understood that, but that didn't change the debt that was owed.
And gods tended to take debts very, very seriously ...
"You could ..." he started, maybe a little nervously, maybe a little hopefully, ignoring Crowley as his demon swayed to look at him. "If it's not too much trouble, I don't suppose you could arrange for some transportation out of here?" He spread his hands apologetically. "I'm afraid moving five people at once, three of them unwell ... I have been a little worried about trying to manage that. If you wouldn't ... wouldn't mind?"
Anansi blinked at him. A lot. His brown face beetling into a frown, the little god studied him very carefully, eyes warily tracking between Aziraphale and Crowley. He looked ... confused, which Aziraphale quite frankly could see no reason for. It was hardly that unreasonable a request ...
Crowley looked between them himself, head bobbing gently in the air, and Aziraphale could swear that after a second the demon looked nothing short of amused. Chuckling gently inside his head. Aziraphale could just hear him.
"You realise," Anansi started, carefully, but faintly amused himself. "You realise I owe your demon a blood-debt, don't you? Between almost getting him killed, and Gabriel finding my child's location for me ... I do owe the pair of them rather a lot." He looked at Crowley again, dark eyes suddenly serious, pained and grim. "Even a life, if they feel it necessary ..."
"Don't," Crowley cut in, shortly. "Don't, Spider." He swayed uneasily, glancing back towards Gabriel, tucked against Sam's chest. "Can't speak for Sleeping Beauty there, of course, but ... You know I've never been one for the whole blood-and-souls crap. Not my department, that. Never was." A faint smile, as he glared at the god. "Which you knew full bloody well when you sold me out in the first place, so I don't know why you're looking so nervous now!"
Anansi chuckled a little, a little loose-limbed shrug. "Yes, well. I don't apologise for recognising you for the soft touch you are, Serpent," he grinned, laughing a little at Crowley's scowl. Shaking his head, the Spider smiled at him, before his expression turned a little serious once more. "Though that is not an excuse for what was done. And all this was before you destroyed some fifteen demons in one psychic assault, so ... perhaps you cannot blame me for my recent worries?"
Crowley grimaced. "That was purely self-defense," he muttered, looking almost sheepish, staring at the floor uncomfortably. Aziraphale bit his lip on a smile for that look, though he really didn't blame the Spider. Not for being worried. He remembered hearing the first scream in the corridor. Remembered knowing what it meant. Remembered calling a warning to Cas, remembered slamming his hands over Sam's ears and mind, remembered shielding the human psyche as Crowley let loose. Remembered thinking, with something close to awe, that he'd never felt such fury from his demon in a long, long, long time. Not in outright millennia. And never, never on that scale.
Even now, he wondered what it was the Devil had done. How he'd managed to hurt Crowley so much, to bring that rage out. What he'd done. And even now, thinking about it, he could feel an unfamiliar rage bubbling in his own chest. Even now, he could feel the horrible, pained urge to hurt someone, to hurt the person who'd hurt Crowley like that.
Apocalypses were not healthy for him, he thought absently. They really weren't. When they got this one sorted out, he was going to have to send a very strongly worded prayer to the Almighty. Non-interference was all very well, but after two in a row, if this persisted Aziraphale was not going to be responsible for his actions.
Anansi snorted softly, gently, looking at the pair of them. Looking at Gabriel and the others too. "Self-defense my eye!" he grunted quietly, smiling as Crowley's head shot up warningly, as his demon gave a very impressive threatening glare. Aziraphale watched, curious, and the Spider took a moment to actually wink at him, laughing at Crowley's squawk, but saying nothing further. Whatever little secret lay between them, whatever the Trickster knew that Crowley didn't want revealed, Anansi would not betray it. Not now. There had been enough betrayal for now.
Instead, the little god bowed politely, and nodded at them. "Well then. We'll take that request to be going on with, shall we?" he grinned. "What manner of transportation would you like, and to where?"
"Where are we?" Dean cut in from the back, around numerous scuffling noises. Aziraphale turned to see him and Sam on their feet, doing their best to lift two full-grown angels between them, and not being very successful with it. Tutting in annoyance, he tucked his sword into his belt, and went to help them. Sam, at least, had the grace to look a little sheepish.
"Ah," Anansi blinked, mildly distracted with watching them juggle angels. Around Aziraphale's neck, Crowley seemed to echo his amusement. In between getting poked in the eye by an unconscious Gabriel, that was. Although that poke had seemed suspiciously accurate for someone who wasn't even awake enough to groan when Dean accidentally knocked his head into Sam's. Which also looked rather suspiciously un-accident-like. Aziraphale frowned at the lot of them.
"State, county?" Dean prompted with a faint grin, finally getting Cas slung between him and Aziraphale, with Gabriel on the angel's other side between him and Sam. With Crowley draped around his neck, two angels slung across his shoulders and two humans snickering at him from either side, Aziraphale felt rather put-upon, and more than willing to chivvy the god along to an answer himself. Perhaps sensing that, the Spider stopped wheezing and thought about it.
"Somewhere on the Nebraska/Iowa border, I think," he murmured at last, tilting his head. "Close to Sioux City?"
The two humans looked at each other, startled and then relieved, hopeful. Dean grinned a little. "Bobby?" he murmured, very quietly, looking at his brother. Sam grimaced for some reason, looking at the line of angels strung between them, but nodded while Aziraphale and Crowley looked back and forth between them in confusion. Dean turned back to Anansi, and grinned.
"Any chance you could rustle up a car, then?" he asked. Not exactly politely, but Aziraphale could perhaps forgive him under these circumstances. Though he'd have to have a word with the boy later. "Nothing fancy. Just something big enough for six. We've got a friend not too far from here."
Anansi tilted his head, and grinned back. "Oh, I think I can arrange something," he smiled, and Sam stiffened. Aziraphale too. Anyone who'd ever spent any amount of time trying to work with a Trickster or a demon knew that expression. Knew it, and dreaded it.
But before any of them could say anything, Anansi made a little rippling motion with one hand, like plucking strings on a harp, and they were somewhere else.
---
It was bright outside. Not very, just the faint pearlescence before dawn, but there was natural light instead of artificial, and a nice breeze, and more air than had been in that horrible basement. More air, and less pain. Aziraphale could breathe easier up here.The factory loomed behind them, grim and weighty. Crowley shuddered a little against his chest, coiling tighter, and when Aziraphale looked down there was something strange in his demon's face, something stretched and pained and bright. He tilted his head, waiting until Crowley looked up at him, silently asking.
The demon shrugged. An awkward gesture in a snake, especially one coiled low on one angel to avoid bumping into the other two. "Nothing," Crowley muttered. "Nothing, angel. Just ... Nothing."
Aziraphale frowned at him, but let it go for now, distracted by a strangled squawk of outrage beside him.
Dean stared at the vehicle in front of them, shaking. Nearly vibrating, actually, and Aziraphale opened his mouth in concern, ready to ask what was wrong. Then Sam, on his other side, started snickering. Helplessly, breathlessly, waving his free hand in Aziraphale's direction when the angel looked worriedly at him. He blinked at the pair of them, confused and concerned, until Crowley turned away from the factory to see what the fuss was about, and his serpentine jaw dropped open.
"No way," Dean growled, stabbing a finger emphatically at air. Anansi had disappeared, unsurprisingly, so there was no-one for the hunter to voice his ire at, but he'd apparently decided to voice it anyway. "No fucking way! I am not setting foot in that monstrosity! No way."
"Sure, Dean?" Sam grinned, wheezing faintly. "Because it's just your colour, you know ..."
Dean made a very rude gesture in response. Aziraphale was going to give out to him for it, when Crowley piped up.
"I'm with Winchessster," he hissed, staring in pure affront at the car. "Sssspider, you rotten bassstard, you get back here and fix thisss! You owe me, you ... you ..." He trailed off with a furious hiss. The car stayed serenely the same. Aziraphale looked at it in some confusion.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked mildly, blinking at them. Dean stared at him like he'd just committed some terrible blasphemy, and Crowley blinked up at him in something close to agonised despair, a scandalised mutter of 'angel' under his breath.
Dean twitched. "I am not driving into Bobby's yard in that ... thing," he said, very slowly and very carefully. "I am not being seen driving that thing. I am not. Driving. That. Thing."
Which was nicely emphatic, but not really all that enlightening. Aziraphale just blinked, until Sam took pity on him, swallowed his laughter, and explained.
"It's, um," he said, clutching Gabriel close. "It's the colour, Aziraphale. Mostly the colour. Though the car itself, too ... Ah. Lets just say that ours is not a lifestyle that readily lends itself to hot pink stretch limousines, yeah?" He looked down at the archangel in his arms, a funny little smile flickering over his lips. "Well. Not until recently, anyway. I guess it really is a Trickster thing, and not just him wanting to mess with us ..."
Dean growled at him. "Yeah, yeah. Your archangel boyfriend isn't the only jerk in the world. Congratulations, Sammy. Doesn't help us fix this!"
Sam smiled at him serenely. "Oh, I don't know. It's not that bad, Dean."
A muscle worked in Dean's jaw. Aziraphale had the sudden impression that if the hunter hadn't been holding Castiel up at this point, he'd be contemplating actual violence. "Sam," Dean said, very, very quietly. "Sam. I don't know if you've realised this. If we get in that thing, if we drive that thing ... Bobby's going to see. We will be driving up to Bobby's door, in a fucking pink limo, with a pair of unconscious angels who we've been shacked up with for the past two days, the gayest angel in creation, and a snake. A demon snake! Who leers! What the hell is Bobby supposed to think, if we do that? Huh?"
Sam's face worked, jaw twitching like he couldn't quite decide what expression he should settle on. A toss up between horror and amusement, Aziraphale thought, though he couldn't really see any reason for either.
Crowley, on the other hand ... Crowley, for the first time that day, despite everything, despite everything they'd just gone through, everything Crowley had just gone through ... Crowley started laughing. A wheezing, desperate hiss, his coils vibrating around Aziraphale's chest, his head shaking helplessly from side to side as he dangled, his eyes squeezed shut. Dean glared at him in mutinous affront, growling under his breath about holy oil and snake fricassee, but Crowley just laughed.
And leered, just a little. For good measure. It was his demon, after all.
And Aziraphale, tilting his head towards the shadows at the base of the factory walls, at the cobwebs and the spiders spread across the old, battered surface, smiled a little himself, and gave a grateful nod to the Spider god. Making his demon laugh after all he'd been put through wasn't enough to make up for putting him through it in the first place. Not by a long shot. But ... it was a good start. A very good start.
Then, smiling faintly to himself (and at Sam, who seemed to have decided to appreciate the humour rather than worry about this Bobby's reaction), he set to work herding them all into the 'Monstrosity' and getting them home. A home, anyway. But really, so long as these people were there, so long as he had them ... that was what home meant, wasn't it?
Besides. He was rather curious about this Bobby person ...
Contd: Home
