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icarus_chained) wrote2011-01-29 02:42 am
icarus_chained) wrote2011-01-29 02:42 am
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Meme result
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neotoma. In which, for a change, I massively fangirl Aziraphale and Crowley. *grins*
neotoma. In which, for a change, I massively fangirl Aziraphale and Crowley. *grins*The Judicious Interpretation of Orders
[For some reason, it keeps being Gabriel who's showing up in the one-shot crossovers I keep doing. Maybe I just have it in my head that Gabe fits in everywhere? But this fic ... this fic was about Zira and Crowley, really, and an angel who'd actually sit still long enough to listen to them]
Aziraphale came downstairs to find a demon knocking frantically on his door. The past couple of centuries, it was getting to be a reasonably common occurrence, although Crowley was usually more civilised about it. Really, what kind of hour did the demon call this? [I love how normal they are with each other, how casual. *grins*]
The perfect hour to show up on his doorstep with an unconscious archangel, apparently. [Which is not exactly a common occurence, even for them -_-;]
"Ah, dear ...?" he managed faintly, staring at the short, very badly rumpled figure tossed over Crowley's shoulder. "That's ..." [Sort of an awesome picture, but anyway ...]
"An archangel, yes," Crowley chirped back, with the manic cheer of the badly rattled. [*grins at him* I love that phrase, but Crowley does get like that, all ... stretched and grinning and holding-burning-cars-together ...] "Mind if we come in, angel?" He bobbed in place, and gestured around the street with an agitated flutter of his hand. "As opposed to discussing this outside under an open sky with one of Heaven's heavy-hitters unconscious over my shoulder ...?" [Maybe that's the Cold War thing coming back out, but ... serious Paranoia Fuel, no? Being opposed to the forces of the All-knowing ...]
Aziraphale blinked, maybe more than a little rattled himself. "Ah, yes. Of course." [Ever the gentleman, this angel. *grins*]
He opened the door properly and stepped back, letting the demon come in out of the Amsterdam night (the city had been very good to the both of them, recently, but Crowley probably enjoyed it more, having fun setting up the first ever example of what he called a 'stock exchange', which Aziraphale could only see going in a very devilish direction ... naturally enough). [*frowns* I'm still not sure why 17thC Amsterdam suggested itself as a setting. I didn't even know about the stock exchange until after I looked it up. But still ... *smiles wickedly* Something very them about it, no?] He watched in something close to amazement as Crowley manoeuvred his way in, managing to clonk the archangel's head on the doorjamb in passing, blessing under his breath.
To be honest, he stared. And couldn't stop staring. The archangel, once Crowley had him propped up against the wall, looked ... debauched. [Again, interesting image, Gabe in a heap on the floor, looking like that ...] Speaking as someone who'd seen Crowley after really letting rip, he recognised the look. Also ... distinctly pagan. In fact ...
"Is that ... is he ... wearing a god?" Aziraphale stared in horrified fascination, [I keep changing my approach on how GO angels react to the whole vessel thing, but it does seem like a freaky concept when Aziraphale has a body all his own] crouching down to get a better look while Crowley collapsed on the bottom step of the stairs and got his breath back. Regardless of the fact that he didn't technically need to breathe, which usually meant he was attempting to avoid something. [*smiles* One thing I've always loved, how their little human gestures both cover up and reveal what they really are] Aziraphale glared up at him until the demon shrugged carefully.
"Don't look at me," Crowley muttered. "I swear, angel, I only just found the bugger. Not every day you stumble across an unconscious archangel in the wake of ..." He grimaced, and looked up. "Dionysus is passing through France at the minute. Full Procession. The works." [Spent a while looking Dionysus up, by the by. The god, and his rituals, are fascinating]
"Ah." Yes, well. That would explain ... well, not much of anything, really, but at least the unconsciousness made sense now. Also the distinctly rumpled state. And the smell of ... ahem. Well, the smell, too. [*smiles* I love that slightly prissy side of Zira, the fussy, flustered little mask he wears]
"No idea why he's wearing a god," Crowley went on, waving a shaking hand absently. "No idea why he's knocking around Earth, playing pagan and finding his inner truth in the bottom of Dionysus' cups, either. In fact, no idea why anything, aside from the obvious effects of the all-night party. [Random, but I love that section there. I love Crowley. I really do] Gabriel, right? Bit hard to tell, with the god, and the fact I haven't seen any of the buggers up close and personal in ... well, there was the Flood, but I'd rather not remember that one ... Anyway. Gabriel, yes?"
Aziraphale frowned, squinting down, but he already knew. It hadn't exactly been stated outright, or anything, but when Heaven's agent on Earth was asked to maybe keep his eye scanned for a certain archangel, who was ... incognito ... with the requests getting increasingly edgy and vague as time went by ... well, there a number of relatively easy conclusions that could be drawn. [One gets the impression that Heaven keeps thinking Aziraphale is stupid, or something. That they haven't maybe accounted for the possibility that 6000 years in the field has taught the angel a few things that aren't in the rulebook ...]
"He's been missing for centuries," he said softly, looking up to meet the demon's narrow, shaky stare. "Not that they've advertised the fact, or anything, but one does get good at inferences in this game, after a while ..." They shared a long, eloquent look. "Why did you pick him up, by the way? I wouldn't have thought ..." [This is the ... the spy thing, the Cold War thing ... I love that dynamic they have, the beleaguered agents trying to make grand orders work in the real world, and understanding each other better than their superiors ever could because of it. *grins* Plus. Aziraphale would be awesome as James Bond ...]
Crowley grimaced expressively. "No idea," he muttered, head dipping. "There was still a bit of a haze in the air, the remnants of the Procession, and ... well, didn't seem ... right, did it, leaving an archangel wiped out on the floor, where bloody anyone could happen on him ..." He very pointedly looked away from the soft smile Aziraphale could feel creeping over his features. "I swear angel, you say one word about true selves ..." [*grins* It's a bit like the dove thing, I think. He just ... picks them up and fixes them, and then has to go 'er ...']
"Wouldn't dream of it, dear." He was not smirking. No. Never that. Though he might, just possibly, be smiling at his friend's bowed head. Might, just possibly, be beaming. [I love the ... they've corrupted each other. Not one more than the other. For every dark thing Crowley's lured Zira into, Aziraphale's prodded him into something good in turn, and by the time we get up to this period, neither of them are quite what they ought to be anymore]
"Anyway," the demon scowled. "Aside from anything else, it'd seriously screw things up for both of us, someone from my side took a chunk out of a dead-to-the-world archangel. I just ... wanted to avoid the mess, that's all." [*grins* I love that about Crowley, too. For every decent reason he has for what he does, he has an equally compelling pragmatic one, and it's up to you to decide which is more influential ...]
"Of course," Aziraphale said, still smiling, but he did understand. Keeping both sides as reasonably happy as possible was a full time job, these days. "Perfectly right, though. They may not be all that happy with him right now, if the tone of the requests is anything to go by, but if anyone else were to ..." [Heaven does have the whole swift-and-terrible-vengeance thing down pat, after all ...]
"Yeah." Crowley made a face. The demon really did have the most expressive features, this corporation around. "And no-one sane wants to be in range of that expression of displeasure." [Self-serving. This must never be forgotten. *grins*] He paused, looked the crumpled figure over contempatively. "So, what are we going to do with him, then? I suppose you could report him, let Upstairs handle it, but ..."
"Yes," Aziraphale finished softly. "It doesn't seem ... quite right, does it?" [This is why angels aren't supposed to do the whole 'independant thought' thing, as far as the bureaucracy are concerned. As Crowley says, once you start thinking sensibly about things ...]
"Seems cheap, siccing the bureaucracy on someone like that," the demon muttered, hunching in on himself and rubbing one shoulder uneasily. Aziraphale had noticed he tended to do that sometimes, when the subject came up. [Not sure quite what this was. Some old reaction floating up. I don't know where it came from] "Besides. He's wearing a sodding god. I'm gonna go out on a limb, here, and guess he maybe didn't want to be found." He paused, and asked hesitantly: "Heaven must be having a hell of a century, for an archangel to up and leave ...?" [Careful, cautious. How bad are things getting, really?]
"A number of centuries, now," Aziraphale said quietly, reaching out instinctively to push the archangel's hair out of his mouth, tucking it gently behind his ear. "The orders have been getting increasingly ... well. They've required a bit more ... creative interpretation, recently." [Bad. Short answer, bad. This story was a closer marrying of the two canons, I think, and slightly AU from both, perhaps] He smiled, faintly. "Oh, and if anyone should ask, dear? You've spent the last few decades increasing aetheric disruption around my communication channels, alright?" [*grins at him* I love sneaky!Zira, yes? It probably shows ...]
Crowley blinked languidly at him. "I have? Good for me. How have I been doing that, then?" [*laughs* I love the idea that this is their game. That this is the game they've been playing with their respective superiors for a long time, and they are so good at it by now, so unflappable within the rules of it ...]
Aziraphale grinned a little. "I've been mostly going with the old 'demonic summoning ritual in the immediate vicinity' idea. Though I doubt it'll hold up much longer. They've gotten some wunderkind named Castiel to up the warding on the channels. I've had a look, and it could probably keep a clear line if someone pulled the full Rite of AshkEnte two feet away." He pulled a face of his own. "They ever let that kid down here properly, I've a suspicion he's going to be dangerous." [*grins* Slipping a Cas reference in there somewhere. I always loved that whole soldier-scholar thing he had going in S4, and it seemed a nice place to slot it in ...]
"Good to know," Crowley said dryly. "Nice of you to tell me about this after it's too late for me to profit by it, by the way. I could have done a lot with a report on direct interference with angelic affairs." [*smiles* Don't blame me without at least letting me get something out of it, angel!]
"Sorry, dear," he said, genuinely. "I've been a bit distracted lately." He looked down, took in again the worrying sight of an archangel propped unconscious in his hall. "So ... getting back to our friend here?" [You'd think an unconscious pagan archangel wouldn't be something you'd forget about, even for a moment, but there you go ...]
Crowley shrugged. "Gonna take him awhile to wake up after playing with Dionysus, archangelic constitution or no. Don't know how the god he's wearing will play into that, but either way. He's gonna be out until at least tomorrow morning. [I have a very strong suspicion that Crowley spent the first few minutes after finding Gabriel cautiously poking him, just to be sure of this] I guess we could ... I mean, he'll be safe here, more or less, right? What I figured, when I brought him?"
Aziraphale blinked. "You want to wait for him to wake up?" [You want to stick around for an archangel to potentially smite you? Who are you, and what have you done with Crowley?]
"Er. Well, no. Not ... exactly." The demon offered him a queasy smile. "I was more thinking maybe you could wait until he woke up. Since he's nominally on your side, and all?" [*grins* That's better. You had me worried ...]
Aziraphale rather felt the look he gave the demon then more than adequately expressed his opinion of that suggestion. "You found him, dear," he reminded, smiling grimly. "I'm sure he'd quite like to know how he got here, and I wouldn't be much use there, would I ...?" [...which still doesn't mean you get to weasel out of this, mind]
"But ... angel, on the lam or no, he's an archangel, and I'm ... look, the last time I was within a continent of one of these guys, there were smitings being tossed around like confetti ... and I should just shut up, shouldn't I?"
"If you'd be so kind." A little tart, maybe, but rather justified, he felt. "I'll make the chocolate. Be a dear, lie him in on the guest bed before you come get yours?" [*grins at them* Have I mentioned I love the to-and-fro between them?]
"... Right." Muttering under his breath, including a number of things that even Bacchanalian revelers might have have balked at, Crowley heaved himself back to his feet. Pulling the archangel awkwardly back over his shoulder, he shot Aziraphale an eloquent glare, and staggered up the stairs. Knocking the archangel's head on just about every doorjamb on the way, too. Rather pointedly, Aziraphale thought. [Crowley is most himself when being petty and vindictive, I think. *grins* So does Aziraphale]
He smiled, just a little, and went to put on the chocolate.
---
The night passed well enough. The chocolate was the best from the Spanish court, which Aziraphale had managed to get his hands on by decidedly nefarious means, but considered it a small enough indulgence not to count. Crowley, once he'd started spiking it liberally, had relaxed enough not to keep looking over his shoulder at the ceiling, which improved conversation considerably. All in all, not bad for an evening that started with a demon and an unconscious archangel arriving at his door. [Again ... with these two ... how casual they are. Enemies who call each other up and invite each other of meals to discuss the end of the world ...]
Unfortunately, around (and possibly because of) sunrise, the archangel declined to stay unconscious, and it was back to square one.
The first they heard of it was a terrible thump from the upstairs bedroom, the kind of thump you get when a limp and badly hungover body rolls out of the bed and hits the floor, followed by a moan of anguish straight from the depths of Hell, or at least the aftermath of one of Dionysus' parties. They both winced in unwilling sympathy. Oh, yes. A hangover of truly godly proportions. They remembered all too well. [*grins* They must be about the only angels going with a true appreciation of the horrors of hangovers - which, by the way, I haven't. Don't know how badly it might have showed, here, but I've never drank, so I've never had one -_-; I was just going on what I've read]
"On the upside, he's not likely to be an immediate threat, not in that condition," Crowley muttered, standing up and moving to put on a fresh pot of chocolate, and fishing around the cupboards for a tankard to put the water in. [Self-serving pragmatism, and just that flash of long-suffering decency. Crowley is gorgeous] Aziraphale smiled at him, and ambled over to the medicine cabinet, and the hangover cure a lovely witch had given him back in the eighth century [Again, random thing floating up. I almost want to write that story - Hungover Aziraphale and the Witch]. Not that it'd do much, but it would make the world just slightly less oppressive, and the taste should serve as a fine distraction from misery, which he suspected was most of the point.
By the time the archangel had pulled enough wits about him to make it to his feet, and shamble clumsily down the stairs, they had a place all ready for him, with a pot of chocolate, a pint of water, and a very old cup containing a queasily brown-looking concoction. Crowley had kept sneaking worried looks at it, and treating the cup as if it contained something on the order of holy water, or Ogden's finest [Which ... now that I look at it, is a Harry Potter reference. What's with all the random crap floating up in my brain, this fic?]. Aziraphale had had to keep hiding his smile. [He does dote on his demon a bit. *smiles at him*]
"Mpfff. Wha? Who?" Gabriel leaned desperately on the doorjamb, and Aziraphale had to hurriedly stiffle a giggle. Oh, he did look unwell. Also, mildly concussed, and angel or no, Aziraphale was not going to mention how that one came about. [*grins* Rumpled, hungover Gabriel with a sore head from demon's lugging him around. *snuggles him tightly*]
"Sit down, dear," he said, once he'd managed to straighten his face. "Just here. There's water, you'll want that, and chocolate, but first ..." He proffered the bubbling cup, and watched Gabriel's face go green, and Crowley's vacillate between fellow-feeling and gleeful amusement. "You'll want to drink this, first." [And the angel's not at all gleeful himself about this. No. Not at all. *grins*]
"Nuh-uh!" Gabriel shook his head vehemently, and immediately regretted it, one hand flying to cradle his temple. "Uggghhhh!" [It couldn't be angsty to start. I mean, it gets angsty later, everything Gabriel gets angsty later, but for these three, the first few moments had to be ridiculously silly. *grins at them* They just ... flow that way]
"Trust us, we know," Crowley commented, mouth twitching terribly. "And it is as bad as it looks. Believe me, it's as bad as it looks. But ..." [I wonder how many times Aziraphale has shoved it down his neck ... and how long it took him to forgive him for it]
"But everything good for you has its price," Aziraphale finished primly, and did his absolute best not to laugh at the expression on the archangel's face. If looks could kill ... actually, if Gabriel was properly himself, that might actually be a concern, but as it stood ... [*grins at him* I love Aziraphale when he's playful. When he's hiding how sneaky and Crowley-influenced he is beneath the stern, stuffy facade ...]
"'m not drinkin' that!" [I wouldn't either]
Aziraphale let an eyebrow twitch, and a hint of ice enter his tone. "Well, if you want to continue to have the hangover from hell, I'm sure you can be my guest, dear. I'm only trying to help, after all, but if you'd rather suffer, I'm sure I can't stop you." [How many times have people played that card, to guilt you into taking your medicine? *smiles* Or possibly I was just a stubborn kid ...]
He'd never mention it, certainly since Crowley was already clapping his hands over his mouth, but that was more or less exactly what the witch had said to him. He'd even done his best to emulate her tone, since the woman had had a gift for guilt-inducing like none he'd ever seen, and it worked wonders ... Such as an archangel, green and glaring fit to kill, grabbing the cup clumsily from his hand, breathing deep and horrified, and downing the entire thing in one desperate gulp. [I've a feeling Gabriel is easy to goad into things ...]
His face slowly went from green to white to near-translucent, his eyes going wide and glassy. And then he ran for the scullery, made it just in time, and proceeded to rather spectacularly throw up, which Aziraphale suspected was the rest of the point. [... and then really regrets them afterwards. *pats him*]
"There, dear," he said quietly, coming up to rub the archangel's back sympathetically, and hand him the tankard of water. Gabriel looked up at him in mute suffering, and a certain degree of battered hatred, and Aziraphale smiled gently down at him. "Normally we'd just heal you, or get you to sober yourself up before it hit, but Dionysus' brew takes a little more effort, I'm afraid." [I'm not sure where the impression comes from, but I can't help but feel Aziraphale has this slight tendancy to gloat ...]
"Like a month curled up under a rock at least a decade away from civilisation," Crowley commiserated, handing over a cup of chocolate in his turn. "For the taste," he said, and grimaced in sympathy. [And Crowley this unwilling tendancy to empathise ...]
Gabriel stared at the pair of them. Slowly, his brain actually waking up some, enough to realise what they were, if not necessarily who, and Aziraphale saw Crowley's hands curl silently into fists, the demon balanced warily to run if he had to. Oh, yes. This was the dangerous part.
"You're a demon," the archangel said, accusingly, as if Crowley had been the one to hand him dreadful concoctions that made him throw up. Aziraphale could feel his eyes narrow dangerously. [*grins fiercely* I love the faint protective edge, here. I have this soft spot for Aziraphale defending Crowley. Even if only with a little petty viciousness]
"Yes, he is," he said softly. "And he's also the one who picked your unconscious body off the ground where anyone could have found it, and brought you to where he thought you'd be safe." Raising his voice enough to be painful to the still-fragile archangel, pointedly vicious. "So the very least you could do in return, Gabriel, is keep a civil tongue in your oh-so-aching head!" [*shakes head at self* I know, I know. I have this thing with Zira's slightly darker edge, the 'just enough of a bastard' thing, but I love ... how they balance out, him and Crowley. How they're both tilted slightly off true, and into something that little bit more real ...]
"Uhhhhh," the archangel whimpered, pressing a hand to said head, and Crowley looked over at Aziraphale in frank admiration.
"You can be a real bastard sometimes, can't you, angel?" the demon observed, golden eyes hot and appreciative, and Aziraphale dipped his head around his tiny smile. [And I think they love it in each other, too. Much though they may deny it. *grins* Unless they're about to die, and they might as well admit it, of course]
"If I have occasion," he demurred, still glaring at the archangel. "But really, I simply have no interest in starting a fight today, and would be very grateful if other people did the same."
Gabriel looked at him crosseyed, still clutching his head. "If I agree, will you stop yelling at me? At least until the person trying to pry my head open goes away again?" [Poor dear. Caught between those two in his state ...]
Aziraphale smiled at him. "Go sit down and drink your water," he said, kindly. "It should fade soon enough. That brew is awful, but it does work."
"Chocolate's in the pot," Crowley nodded. "You'll eventually get rid of the taste, too." He grinned, snakelike. "In about a year or so, you might even be able to feel your tongue again."
The archangel looked between them, sick and sore and squinty-eyed with suspicion, and then he said, with the air of one pronouncing a great revelation: "You two are psychotic, you know that? Angel, demon, whatever. You're psychotic!"
Aziraphale patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, dear. But you do get used to it." He beamed, still deliberately and savagely cheerful, and Gabriel sank his head with a groan into the tankard.
"Psychotic," he mumbled, almost entirely to himself. "Definitely psychotic." [*grins darkly to herself* Is it wrong to love how they play off each other, even at poor Gabriel's expense? *smiles* Poor dear doesn't deserve it, not with that head, but I can't help enjoy watching them ...]
---
The archangel did perk up a bit after a while. Specifically, after roughly half a gallon of water, two pots of chocolate, six sweet rolls, and an orange. The orange had been mostly Crowley handing the nearest object to hand over, just to see if he'd eat it. Gabriel was probably rather lucky it had been nearer than the pat of butter, as Aziraphale didn't think that would have sat well on a hungover stomach. [*tilts head* That just snuck in too. Just ... something it felt like Crowley would have done, and it seemed to set the mood, just this air of wary and fascinated watching between the three of them ...]
"So," Gabriel said at last, watching them watching him with a wary, almost stunned expression, like a fish thrown suddenly onto land. "Guessing you know who I am, then?" [Seriously. Aziraphale and Crowley are not the kind of thing you want to have to deal with all unprepared, after a night out partying with Dionysus. Can't blame the poor guy]
"Archangels not being something I usually fall over after a long night?" Crowley asked drily. "You were drinking Dionysus' stuff, archangel. As in, the Dionysian Mysteries? Reaching your true self, releasing all earthly constraints? You're bloody lucky you didn't set the damn sky on fire! If you were going for incognito, you missed it by a small bloody continent!" [That did fascinate me about the god. The Mysteries, the associations attached to what Dionysus does. And, in turn, what that would mean for angels ...]
"Stop yelling," Gabriel hissed, as slit-eyed as the demon, touching his temple gingerly. "I don't need some demon telling me what I should and shouldn't have done, thanks all the same!" [He's so tetchy when he's hungover ... and when he's not ... *grins at him*]
"Nevertheless," Aziraphale interrupted, heavily. "Crowley does have a point, dear. Heaven has been looking for you, you know. Or at least, letting it be known, in certain circles, that they might like you to be found. I don't know why you left, but if you wanted to stay gone, that may not have been ..." [Kindly meant, walking right into it. I've a feeling Zira does that a lot, probably to Crowley's despair ...]
He trailed off, voice dying slightly as Gabriel turned to look at him with eyes that were suddenly chips of hazel ice, and grace that had suddenly woken up as if from a long nap. Aziraphale swallowed, just faintly. [*smiles darkly* The slow coiling of an archangel ready to defend himself ... I love that, love the darkness that floats up in Gabriel sometimes ...]
"So," the archangel said, voice toneless and cold. "When's the garrison arriving, then?" [...]
Aziraphale blinked at him. A lot. And then he slid his eyes sideways, taking in the demon sitting happy as a clam at his table (though not so happy now, with a potentially explosive archangel sitting beside him), and back again. [A little bit of affront, slipping in under the fear, I think. If he had sold Gabriel out, he would have done it much more carefully, thanks ...]
"It was ... considered," he said, very, very carefully. "An archangel is not something either Crowley or I could really handle by ourselves, should things turn ..." He stopped that thought, considering how close it looked to coming true, and went on: "But we felt that reporting the incident, when we know nothing of what happened to you or why you're here, might be ... unwise. Our respective superiors have proven ... rash, in the past, and perhaps unwilling to account for the situation ... on the ground, as it were." [*smiles* I actually love Aziraphale in 'I'm sure it's all for the greater good' mode, putting the right spin on what he knows needs doing - "This would be the Ineffable Plan, would it?"]
"To translate," Crowley cut in, watching the archangel nervously. "They don't know their arses from their elbows, and if there's anything going on here besides an archangel getting off his tits on pagan wine, then they're probably not the best people to deal with it. So, on the grounds that what they don't know won't hurt us ... we didn't tell them. You're clear for a while yet, stupid stunts notwithstanding. All clear, and in a non-smiting direction?" [And Crowley, the more pragmatic, cynical translation - "Hoo boy, where have you been?"]
Gabriel blinked at them some more, eyes skipping from face to face as if searching for the lie, and then he relaxed a little, slumping back down in his seat. "You know, I'd pay good money to see you say that to the likes of Zachariah," he grinned, watching them slightly more easily. [*grins* So would I. Yes, Zach, you don't know your arse from your elbow ... And Gabriel leaning casually against a wall, snickering to himself] "And it wasn't a stupid stunt," he muttered, childishly sullen that they kept giving out to him. "I just wanted ... It wasn't supposed to go that far, but I just wanted to touch ..." [*quiets*]
"To touch Heaven again," Crowley said, very quietly, watching the archangel with softer eyes. Gabriel looked up at him in shock, and the demon shrugged carefully, avoiding Aziraphale's eyes. "Dionysus takes you to a place where you're a purer, more primal being. For us ... I mean, for angels, and people that used to be angels ... it's like going home. Just for a moment. It's like being home." [*soft* They'd get each other, those two. I really think they would. And Dionysus ... looked at with that in mind, it sorta breaks my heart, wondering how desperate they'd been when they'd tried it, how often they'd let themselves go back ...]
"Crowley," Aziraphale said, very gently, reaching out to touch the demon's hand. Crowley shrugged him off, but carefully, flicking an almost-grateful look in his direction for a second. [Don't want pity. But ... thanksss, angel]
"Angel says you've been gone for a couple centuries," the demon went on softly, to the stunned archangel. "And for whatever reason, you don't want to go back. Or can't. But that doesn't stop ... Why do you think so many demons hang around the Procession? It's not for the free orgies, or the rumours of darker things. It's for ... it's for that. That brief touch of ... what you used to be." [I sort of love how these two are in such a position to be gentle with Gabriel. To get what he's gone through, and understand what this world is like when you have to stay in it]
"Which is why," Aziraphale added, still so gently, looking at them both. "Why it was a very risky thing you did, Gabriel. You left yourself vulnerable, and in a place where both angels and demons could find you, where they were likely to be. I don't wish to stress this too much, but whatever you may think of us, you really are lucky Crowley was the one to find you." [However, between them, they're also very pragmatic -_-;]
Gabriel blinked at him. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, but he was still looking at them more softly. "That ... home thing. Is that ... Is that the reason for ...?" He gestured between them, waving helplessly. [Gabriel ... why does the little kid in him show up, so much?]
"Our little Arrangement?" Aziraphale asked, oh, so innocently, and smiled. "It's simply a matter of practicality. As I'm sure you've seen by now, life down here is, unfortunately, not quite as simple as those Above and Below might like it to be. It ... became apparent that, in the interests of better furthering our respective goals, and the goals of our superiors, it might be necessary to pool our resources, and sacrifice some lesser actions in order to persue the greater." [*grins again* I did mention I love Aziraphale in pompous!angel mode, right?]
Gabriel stared at him for a minute, then slanted a disbelieving look at Crowley. "He can go on like that for a while, can't he?" [*grins* Yes. Yes he can. He can do this with scared out of his wits and at the end of days, when he has to]
The demon grinned. "He's an angel. He does justifications like nobody's business. Sort of necessary, the job he's in."
"And it's not for yours?" the archangel asked, amused. [For an outsider who had an idea of what they are, and what they're supposed to be, it must be something else to watch them]
Crowley grimaced. "Evil doesn't need justifications. Evil just needs an excuse. And the ability to grovel like there's no tomorrow, since if you get it wrong, there very well might not be." He smiled queasily. [*snuggles the demon*] "Things on my end tend to be more ... dramatically phrased ... than on his. It's still mostly just a matter of figuring out what parts of the orders are actually practical, and doing them so spectacularly that they don't notice the bits you left out so much."
"And for the bits that aren't practical that can't be glossed over so easily, a matter of having a decent enemy to blame the failure on," Aziraphale added with a smile, saluting Crowley with his cup. "A demon as wily as the Serpent is useful in that regard."
"And an angel as capable as you," his demon grinned back, returning the gesture. "Thwarting demon wiles since Eden, with a reputation as smart as they come. Terribly handy to have around, that." [Again, I love the game. I love how good at it they've gotten. I love the sneaky little delight in the Arrangement, in having each other against the world. I love them]
Gabriel looked between them. "Quite the mutual appreciation society you've got going," he noted drily. "I don't suppose either of you have actually noticed that you're enemies? Or supposed to be, anyway." [I've a feeling there's more than a hint of jealousy in him, here. And more than a smidge of hope. But he has to hide that. Both of them]
Aziraphale frowned at him, a certain degree of ice still sitting in his gut, biting his lip consideringly. "If that question was asked in ... an official capacity, despite your apparent renegade status ...?" he mused, carefully. Gabriel turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face that wouldn't have looked out of place on Crowley, and Aziraphale had the sudden idea that whoever the god Gabriel happened to be wearing was, he was almost certainly a trickster. [And he does it so well. Gabriel can be quite petty himself, so he can ...]
"And if it was?" the archangel purred. Probably for vengeance. Probably just to unsettle them in turn. Probably. [*grins* You make me puke, I make you worry in return, kiddo. Let's not forget who you're dealing with, here]
"Then I would say that I am using Crowley, and have been using him for centuries," Aziraphale said softly. "I would say that I have bound him to me, and forced him unknowing into acts of kindness, turning a demon against his will and his wits to Heaven's cause, not in redemption, but simply to further our goals on Earth. I would say that he is my enemy, that he has always been my enemy, but that I have found a way to use him even against himself." [... There is danger, in them. There is danger in what they do, in who they are, in the games they play against each other and against the rest of the universe. I don't know how clearly it shows, sometimes, but it's there]
"And I would say," his demon answered, equally quiet. "That I have fooled the angel into thinking he has me cornered, pinned writhing beneath his sandal, and while he forces me, I am slowly poisoning him, tempting him, luring him into sin while his eyes are cast to Heaven, while he thinks me his tool. That the more confident he grows with me, the more I lead him astray, in the finest traditions of Hell. That he is my enemy, and I shall have him." [In the context of Good Omens, it's so easy to accept the Arrangement, because they've been at this for centuries, and it's so comfortable now, and they so disarming, but in the context of an SPN crossover, when you think about how it must have started, how long they must have been enemies, if affable ones, how risky it must have been to trust each other ... They each know what the other is. They each know what they other can do. They've seen it]
"Should any of our superiors ask," Aziraphale smiled, bright and hard and terrible. "I would say we are having a race, my enemy and I. To see who shall break the other first, and tumble them from their purpose and their place. Whether the Serpent, or I, shall prove the better at the other's game, the most true."
"And winner or loser," Crowley whispered. "Whether it is his cause that breaks me, or mine him, that I shall have tempted an angel regardless, and wounded his heel as I fell." [And to think about it, if they had been enemies, real enemies, if all the little things they prodded each other into over the years had darker aims in mind ... If they had been anyone but who they were ... They are amazing. They are truly amazing]
Gabriel stared between them, white-faced and aghast, and Aziraphale saw suddenly the archangel that had fled Heaven, the Messenger who had cast aside his Trumpet, and, as suddenly, as fully, he saw why. He saw the bitterness, the hatred for this spell of enmity, the horror in an archangel's eyes as he looked between an angel and a demon, and thought them enemies. [And Gabriel is the perfect person to realise it. The perfect person to understand, so viscerally, exactly how terrible they might have been, and how truly rare what they've created instead really is. How rare, and how heartbreaking]
"That is what I would say," he said quietly, waiting until Gabriel looked at him once more, waiting until the archangel saw what was within him. "It is not, necessarily, the truth." [And Aziraphale is gentle with him. Aziraphale does see that]
"Isn't it?" Gabriel rasped, harsh and sick. "Won't it be, in the end? When one side has to win or the other? Won't you be enemies then?" His mouth twisted, his grace roiling in old, desperate fear, desperate disgust. "What happens, when one of you has to win?" [*hugs him close, breathless* And he died, rather than win. He died. Oh, this archangel breaks my heart so damn much ...]
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, caught his demon's eye. Caught the bleakness in the golden darkness, and the determination. [And so do they. So do they]
"If Heaven wins," he said, so softly, and caught his demon's hand. "If Heaven wins, and there is no forgiveness to be had ... I will crush you beneath my sandal. Before any other can touch you. I will destroy you."
"And should Hell win," Crowley answered. "I will poison your heel, angel, and hold you as you fall." He smiled, lopsided and wry, and said the words like an oath. So serious, and things were never usually so serious between them, hadn't been in a long time, but some things ... some things deserved an oath, a promise due. Some things deserved to be held seriously.
[And I love ... More than anything else, I love that what from anyone else is an act of enmity, a promise of death, that what could have been done in hate, from any other of their kinds ... from them is done from love. That all the lies they tell Heaven and Hell, all the dark lies of what they do to each other, are just that. Lies. These two would never truly hurt each other. And I keep imagining the story, if Heaven won and the Lord said 'No forgiveness', and Aziraphale stood there with the sword in his hand and tears in his eyes, and there was nothing ever to forgive between them, even as the blade slipped home ... *clutches chest desperately* Oh, gods, I love those two ...]
"Heaven won't be like you," Gabriel whispered, broken and ruined. "They don't work ... they think things are simple. They think things are black and white. It's just enemies, to them. If they win ... If anyone wins ... Then everybody loses. Brothers, worlds. No matter who wins. Everyone loses." [And then to think of it, and think of Gabriel, with the blade sliding into his chest, not in love but in hatred and betrayal ... *crushes him close* Damn you anyway, Lucifer ...]
Aziraphale bit his lip, holding his demon's gaze, watching a renegade archangel, an archangel lost to Heaven for this, so simple, so terrible of reasons, out of the corner of his eye. He bit his lip, and thought, and when he was done, he reached out carefully, and took Gabriel's hand, as he had already taken Crowley's. [I want him to have them. I want Gabriel to have something like them. I want everyone to have something like them. Which is maybe why it's always Gabriel that crosses over, for me. So that someone can hold that poor boy close, for once ...]
"Then perhaps," he said quietly, "it is our purpose to see to it that no-one wins. Or, more properly ... that no-one should lose." [This is more AU than most, I think. Where it wasn't a crisis that pushed them to act, but something slower, more steady. Where the three of them pushed against the Apocalypse before it ever came, in some small, quiet little way]
Crowley grinned at him, sweet and sickly and whitely determined. "And how do we do that, then?" he asked, cheerful to the gallows, and Aziraphale had to smile at him. Had to hold him close. [He is so brave, this demon. *laughs at him, gently* When he's pushed into it. He's so brave]
"By the judicious interpretation of orders," he said, feeling oddly light. "By the complicity of enemies, and the proper understanding of how a world works, and the spectacular obeying of only those orders that best suit our higher purpose." [*smiles* And this angel so sneaky. This angel so strong. I have said that I love them both, yes? I have said I adore them?]
"In other words," his demon smiled. "Exactly what we've been doing so far."
"Well, dear," he said, smiling gently, looking to Gabriel who didn't know yet what it meant. "Perhaps it was part of the Plan all along. You know, ineff-"
"Ineffa-bloody-ble," Crowley laughed, and squeezed his hand, patted the bewildered archangel on the shoulder. "And another round of Dionysian wine for the lot of us, before I'll see fit to ever say the word again."
"Yes, dear," Aziraphale smiled, and poured Gabriel another cup. "As you say. Ineffable." [*grins at them, snuggles the lot of them* I like this verse. I like the way they are with each other. *smiles* I really may have to come back ...]
[End]
[For some reason, it keeps being Gabriel who's showing up in the one-shot crossovers I keep doing. Maybe I just have it in my head that Gabe fits in everywhere? But this fic ... this fic was about Zira and Crowley, really, and an angel who'd actually sit still long enough to listen to them]
Aziraphale came downstairs to find a demon knocking frantically on his door. The past couple of centuries, it was getting to be a reasonably common occurrence, although Crowley was usually more civilised about it. Really, what kind of hour did the demon call this? [I love how normal they are with each other, how casual. *grins*]
The perfect hour to show up on his doorstep with an unconscious archangel, apparently. [Which is not exactly a common occurence, even for them -_-;]
"Ah, dear ...?" he managed faintly, staring at the short, very badly rumpled figure tossed over Crowley's shoulder. "That's ..." [Sort of an awesome picture, but anyway ...]
"An archangel, yes," Crowley chirped back, with the manic cheer of the badly rattled. [*grins at him* I love that phrase, but Crowley does get like that, all ... stretched and grinning and holding-burning-cars-together ...] "Mind if we come in, angel?" He bobbed in place, and gestured around the street with an agitated flutter of his hand. "As opposed to discussing this outside under an open sky with one of Heaven's heavy-hitters unconscious over my shoulder ...?" [Maybe that's the Cold War thing coming back out, but ... serious Paranoia Fuel, no? Being opposed to the forces of the All-knowing ...]
Aziraphale blinked, maybe more than a little rattled himself. "Ah, yes. Of course." [Ever the gentleman, this angel. *grins*]
He opened the door properly and stepped back, letting the demon come in out of the Amsterdam night (the city had been very good to the both of them, recently, but Crowley probably enjoyed it more, having fun setting up the first ever example of what he called a 'stock exchange', which Aziraphale could only see going in a very devilish direction ... naturally enough). [*frowns* I'm still not sure why 17thC Amsterdam suggested itself as a setting. I didn't even know about the stock exchange until after I looked it up. But still ... *smiles wickedly* Something very them about it, no?] He watched in something close to amazement as Crowley manoeuvred his way in, managing to clonk the archangel's head on the doorjamb in passing, blessing under his breath.
To be honest, he stared. And couldn't stop staring. The archangel, once Crowley had him propped up against the wall, looked ... debauched. [Again, interesting image, Gabe in a heap on the floor, looking like that ...] Speaking as someone who'd seen Crowley after really letting rip, he recognised the look. Also ... distinctly pagan. In fact ...
"Is that ... is he ... wearing a god?" Aziraphale stared in horrified fascination, [I keep changing my approach on how GO angels react to the whole vessel thing, but it does seem like a freaky concept when Aziraphale has a body all his own] crouching down to get a better look while Crowley collapsed on the bottom step of the stairs and got his breath back. Regardless of the fact that he didn't technically need to breathe, which usually meant he was attempting to avoid something. [*smiles* One thing I've always loved, how their little human gestures both cover up and reveal what they really are] Aziraphale glared up at him until the demon shrugged carefully.
"Don't look at me," Crowley muttered. "I swear, angel, I only just found the bugger. Not every day you stumble across an unconscious archangel in the wake of ..." He grimaced, and looked up. "Dionysus is passing through France at the minute. Full Procession. The works." [Spent a while looking Dionysus up, by the by. The god, and his rituals, are fascinating]
"Ah." Yes, well. That would explain ... well, not much of anything, really, but at least the unconsciousness made sense now. Also the distinctly rumpled state. And the smell of ... ahem. Well, the smell, too. [*smiles* I love that slightly prissy side of Zira, the fussy, flustered little mask he wears]
"No idea why he's wearing a god," Crowley went on, waving a shaking hand absently. "No idea why he's knocking around Earth, playing pagan and finding his inner truth in the bottom of Dionysus' cups, either. In fact, no idea why anything, aside from the obvious effects of the all-night party. [Random, but I love that section there. I love Crowley. I really do] Gabriel, right? Bit hard to tell, with the god, and the fact I haven't seen any of the buggers up close and personal in ... well, there was the Flood, but I'd rather not remember that one ... Anyway. Gabriel, yes?"
Aziraphale frowned, squinting down, but he already knew. It hadn't exactly been stated outright, or anything, but when Heaven's agent on Earth was asked to maybe keep his eye scanned for a certain archangel, who was ... incognito ... with the requests getting increasingly edgy and vague as time went by ... well, there a number of relatively easy conclusions that could be drawn. [One gets the impression that Heaven keeps thinking Aziraphale is stupid, or something. That they haven't maybe accounted for the possibility that 6000 years in the field has taught the angel a few things that aren't in the rulebook ...]
"He's been missing for centuries," he said softly, looking up to meet the demon's narrow, shaky stare. "Not that they've advertised the fact, or anything, but one does get good at inferences in this game, after a while ..." They shared a long, eloquent look. "Why did you pick him up, by the way? I wouldn't have thought ..." [This is the ... the spy thing, the Cold War thing ... I love that dynamic they have, the beleaguered agents trying to make grand orders work in the real world, and understanding each other better than their superiors ever could because of it. *grins* Plus. Aziraphale would be awesome as James Bond ...]
Crowley grimaced expressively. "No idea," he muttered, head dipping. "There was still a bit of a haze in the air, the remnants of the Procession, and ... well, didn't seem ... right, did it, leaving an archangel wiped out on the floor, where bloody anyone could happen on him ..." He very pointedly looked away from the soft smile Aziraphale could feel creeping over his features. "I swear angel, you say one word about true selves ..." [*grins* It's a bit like the dove thing, I think. He just ... picks them up and fixes them, and then has to go 'er ...']
"Wouldn't dream of it, dear." He was not smirking. No. Never that. Though he might, just possibly, be smiling at his friend's bowed head. Might, just possibly, be beaming. [I love the ... they've corrupted each other. Not one more than the other. For every dark thing Crowley's lured Zira into, Aziraphale's prodded him into something good in turn, and by the time we get up to this period, neither of them are quite what they ought to be anymore]
"Anyway," the demon scowled. "Aside from anything else, it'd seriously screw things up for both of us, someone from my side took a chunk out of a dead-to-the-world archangel. I just ... wanted to avoid the mess, that's all." [*grins* I love that about Crowley, too. For every decent reason he has for what he does, he has an equally compelling pragmatic one, and it's up to you to decide which is more influential ...]
"Of course," Aziraphale said, still smiling, but he did understand. Keeping both sides as reasonably happy as possible was a full time job, these days. "Perfectly right, though. They may not be all that happy with him right now, if the tone of the requests is anything to go by, but if anyone else were to ..." [Heaven does have the whole swift-and-terrible-vengeance thing down pat, after all ...]
"Yeah." Crowley made a face. The demon really did have the most expressive features, this corporation around. "And no-one sane wants to be in range of that expression of displeasure." [Self-serving. This must never be forgotten. *grins*] He paused, looked the crumpled figure over contempatively. "So, what are we going to do with him, then? I suppose you could report him, let Upstairs handle it, but ..."
"Yes," Aziraphale finished softly. "It doesn't seem ... quite right, does it?" [This is why angels aren't supposed to do the whole 'independant thought' thing, as far as the bureaucracy are concerned. As Crowley says, once you start thinking sensibly about things ...]
"Seems cheap, siccing the bureaucracy on someone like that," the demon muttered, hunching in on himself and rubbing one shoulder uneasily. Aziraphale had noticed he tended to do that sometimes, when the subject came up. [Not sure quite what this was. Some old reaction floating up. I don't know where it came from] "Besides. He's wearing a sodding god. I'm gonna go out on a limb, here, and guess he maybe didn't want to be found." He paused, and asked hesitantly: "Heaven must be having a hell of a century, for an archangel to up and leave ...?" [Careful, cautious. How bad are things getting, really?]
"A number of centuries, now," Aziraphale said quietly, reaching out instinctively to push the archangel's hair out of his mouth, tucking it gently behind his ear. "The orders have been getting increasingly ... well. They've required a bit more ... creative interpretation, recently." [Bad. Short answer, bad. This story was a closer marrying of the two canons, I think, and slightly AU from both, perhaps] He smiled, faintly. "Oh, and if anyone should ask, dear? You've spent the last few decades increasing aetheric disruption around my communication channels, alright?" [*grins at him* I love sneaky!Zira, yes? It probably shows ...]
Crowley blinked languidly at him. "I have? Good for me. How have I been doing that, then?" [*laughs* I love the idea that this is their game. That this is the game they've been playing with their respective superiors for a long time, and they are so good at it by now, so unflappable within the rules of it ...]
Aziraphale grinned a little. "I've been mostly going with the old 'demonic summoning ritual in the immediate vicinity' idea. Though I doubt it'll hold up much longer. They've gotten some wunderkind named Castiel to up the warding on the channels. I've had a look, and it could probably keep a clear line if someone pulled the full Rite of AshkEnte two feet away." He pulled a face of his own. "They ever let that kid down here properly, I've a suspicion he's going to be dangerous." [*grins* Slipping a Cas reference in there somewhere. I always loved that whole soldier-scholar thing he had going in S4, and it seemed a nice place to slot it in ...]
"Good to know," Crowley said dryly. "Nice of you to tell me about this after it's too late for me to profit by it, by the way. I could have done a lot with a report on direct interference with angelic affairs." [*smiles* Don't blame me without at least letting me get something out of it, angel!]
"Sorry, dear," he said, genuinely. "I've been a bit distracted lately." He looked down, took in again the worrying sight of an archangel propped unconscious in his hall. "So ... getting back to our friend here?" [You'd think an unconscious pagan archangel wouldn't be something you'd forget about, even for a moment, but there you go ...]
Crowley shrugged. "Gonna take him awhile to wake up after playing with Dionysus, archangelic constitution or no. Don't know how the god he's wearing will play into that, but either way. He's gonna be out until at least tomorrow morning. [I have a very strong suspicion that Crowley spent the first few minutes after finding Gabriel cautiously poking him, just to be sure of this] I guess we could ... I mean, he'll be safe here, more or less, right? What I figured, when I brought him?"
Aziraphale blinked. "You want to wait for him to wake up?" [You want to stick around for an archangel to potentially smite you? Who are you, and what have you done with Crowley?]
"Er. Well, no. Not ... exactly." The demon offered him a queasy smile. "I was more thinking maybe you could wait until he woke up. Since he's nominally on your side, and all?" [*grins* That's better. You had me worried ...]
Aziraphale rather felt the look he gave the demon then more than adequately expressed his opinion of that suggestion. "You found him, dear," he reminded, smiling grimly. "I'm sure he'd quite like to know how he got here, and I wouldn't be much use there, would I ...?" [...which still doesn't mean you get to weasel out of this, mind]
"But ... angel, on the lam or no, he's an archangel, and I'm ... look, the last time I was within a continent of one of these guys, there were smitings being tossed around like confetti ... and I should just shut up, shouldn't I?"
"If you'd be so kind." A little tart, maybe, but rather justified, he felt. "I'll make the chocolate. Be a dear, lie him in on the guest bed before you come get yours?" [*grins at them* Have I mentioned I love the to-and-fro between them?]
"... Right." Muttering under his breath, including a number of things that even Bacchanalian revelers might have have balked at, Crowley heaved himself back to his feet. Pulling the archangel awkwardly back over his shoulder, he shot Aziraphale an eloquent glare, and staggered up the stairs. Knocking the archangel's head on just about every doorjamb on the way, too. Rather pointedly, Aziraphale thought. [Crowley is most himself when being petty and vindictive, I think. *grins* So does Aziraphale]
He smiled, just a little, and went to put on the chocolate.
---
The night passed well enough. The chocolate was the best from the Spanish court, which Aziraphale had managed to get his hands on by decidedly nefarious means, but considered it a small enough indulgence not to count. Crowley, once he'd started spiking it liberally, had relaxed enough not to keep looking over his shoulder at the ceiling, which improved conversation considerably. All in all, not bad for an evening that started with a demon and an unconscious archangel arriving at his door. [Again ... with these two ... how casual they are. Enemies who call each other up and invite each other of meals to discuss the end of the world ...]
Unfortunately, around (and possibly because of) sunrise, the archangel declined to stay unconscious, and it was back to square one.
The first they heard of it was a terrible thump from the upstairs bedroom, the kind of thump you get when a limp and badly hungover body rolls out of the bed and hits the floor, followed by a moan of anguish straight from the depths of Hell, or at least the aftermath of one of Dionysus' parties. They both winced in unwilling sympathy. Oh, yes. A hangover of truly godly proportions. They remembered all too well. [*grins* They must be about the only angels going with a true appreciation of the horrors of hangovers - which, by the way, I haven't. Don't know how badly it might have showed, here, but I've never drank, so I've never had one -_-; I was just going on what I've read]
"On the upside, he's not likely to be an immediate threat, not in that condition," Crowley muttered, standing up and moving to put on a fresh pot of chocolate, and fishing around the cupboards for a tankard to put the water in. [Self-serving pragmatism, and just that flash of long-suffering decency. Crowley is gorgeous] Aziraphale smiled at him, and ambled over to the medicine cabinet, and the hangover cure a lovely witch had given him back in the eighth century [Again, random thing floating up. I almost want to write that story - Hungover Aziraphale and the Witch]. Not that it'd do much, but it would make the world just slightly less oppressive, and the taste should serve as a fine distraction from misery, which he suspected was most of the point.
By the time the archangel had pulled enough wits about him to make it to his feet, and shamble clumsily down the stairs, they had a place all ready for him, with a pot of chocolate, a pint of water, and a very old cup containing a queasily brown-looking concoction. Crowley had kept sneaking worried looks at it, and treating the cup as if it contained something on the order of holy water, or Ogden's finest [Which ... now that I look at it, is a Harry Potter reference. What's with all the random crap floating up in my brain, this fic?]. Aziraphale had had to keep hiding his smile. [He does dote on his demon a bit. *smiles at him*]
"Mpfff. Wha? Who?" Gabriel leaned desperately on the doorjamb, and Aziraphale had to hurriedly stiffle a giggle. Oh, he did look unwell. Also, mildly concussed, and angel or no, Aziraphale was not going to mention how that one came about. [*grins* Rumpled, hungover Gabriel with a sore head from demon's lugging him around. *snuggles him tightly*]
"Sit down, dear," he said, once he'd managed to straighten his face. "Just here. There's water, you'll want that, and chocolate, but first ..." He proffered the bubbling cup, and watched Gabriel's face go green, and Crowley's vacillate between fellow-feeling and gleeful amusement. "You'll want to drink this, first." [And the angel's not at all gleeful himself about this. No. Not at all. *grins*]
"Nuh-uh!" Gabriel shook his head vehemently, and immediately regretted it, one hand flying to cradle his temple. "Uggghhhh!" [It couldn't be angsty to start. I mean, it gets angsty later, everything Gabriel gets angsty later, but for these three, the first few moments had to be ridiculously silly. *grins at them* They just ... flow that way]
"Trust us, we know," Crowley commented, mouth twitching terribly. "And it is as bad as it looks. Believe me, it's as bad as it looks. But ..." [I wonder how many times Aziraphale has shoved it down his neck ... and how long it took him to forgive him for it]
"But everything good for you has its price," Aziraphale finished primly, and did his absolute best not to laugh at the expression on the archangel's face. If looks could kill ... actually, if Gabriel was properly himself, that might actually be a concern, but as it stood ... [*grins at him* I love Aziraphale when he's playful. When he's hiding how sneaky and Crowley-influenced he is beneath the stern, stuffy facade ...]
"'m not drinkin' that!" [I wouldn't either]
Aziraphale let an eyebrow twitch, and a hint of ice enter his tone. "Well, if you want to continue to have the hangover from hell, I'm sure you can be my guest, dear. I'm only trying to help, after all, but if you'd rather suffer, I'm sure I can't stop you." [How many times have people played that card, to guilt you into taking your medicine? *smiles* Or possibly I was just a stubborn kid ...]
He'd never mention it, certainly since Crowley was already clapping his hands over his mouth, but that was more or less exactly what the witch had said to him. He'd even done his best to emulate her tone, since the woman had had a gift for guilt-inducing like none he'd ever seen, and it worked wonders ... Such as an archangel, green and glaring fit to kill, grabbing the cup clumsily from his hand, breathing deep and horrified, and downing the entire thing in one desperate gulp. [I've a feeling Gabriel is easy to goad into things ...]
His face slowly went from green to white to near-translucent, his eyes going wide and glassy. And then he ran for the scullery, made it just in time, and proceeded to rather spectacularly throw up, which Aziraphale suspected was the rest of the point. [... and then really regrets them afterwards. *pats him*]
"There, dear," he said quietly, coming up to rub the archangel's back sympathetically, and hand him the tankard of water. Gabriel looked up at him in mute suffering, and a certain degree of battered hatred, and Aziraphale smiled gently down at him. "Normally we'd just heal you, or get you to sober yourself up before it hit, but Dionysus' brew takes a little more effort, I'm afraid." [I'm not sure where the impression comes from, but I can't help but feel Aziraphale has this slight tendancy to gloat ...]
"Like a month curled up under a rock at least a decade away from civilisation," Crowley commiserated, handing over a cup of chocolate in his turn. "For the taste," he said, and grimaced in sympathy. [And Crowley this unwilling tendancy to empathise ...]
Gabriel stared at the pair of them. Slowly, his brain actually waking up some, enough to realise what they were, if not necessarily who, and Aziraphale saw Crowley's hands curl silently into fists, the demon balanced warily to run if he had to. Oh, yes. This was the dangerous part.
"You're a demon," the archangel said, accusingly, as if Crowley had been the one to hand him dreadful concoctions that made him throw up. Aziraphale could feel his eyes narrow dangerously. [*grins fiercely* I love the faint protective edge, here. I have this soft spot for Aziraphale defending Crowley. Even if only with a little petty viciousness]
"Yes, he is," he said softly. "And he's also the one who picked your unconscious body off the ground where anyone could have found it, and brought you to where he thought you'd be safe." Raising his voice enough to be painful to the still-fragile archangel, pointedly vicious. "So the very least you could do in return, Gabriel, is keep a civil tongue in your oh-so-aching head!" [*shakes head at self* I know, I know. I have this thing with Zira's slightly darker edge, the 'just enough of a bastard' thing, but I love ... how they balance out, him and Crowley. How they're both tilted slightly off true, and into something that little bit more real ...]
"Uhhhhh," the archangel whimpered, pressing a hand to said head, and Crowley looked over at Aziraphale in frank admiration.
"You can be a real bastard sometimes, can't you, angel?" the demon observed, golden eyes hot and appreciative, and Aziraphale dipped his head around his tiny smile. [And I think they love it in each other, too. Much though they may deny it. *grins* Unless they're about to die, and they might as well admit it, of course]
"If I have occasion," he demurred, still glaring at the archangel. "But really, I simply have no interest in starting a fight today, and would be very grateful if other people did the same."
Gabriel looked at him crosseyed, still clutching his head. "If I agree, will you stop yelling at me? At least until the person trying to pry my head open goes away again?" [Poor dear. Caught between those two in his state ...]
Aziraphale smiled at him. "Go sit down and drink your water," he said, kindly. "It should fade soon enough. That brew is awful, but it does work."
"Chocolate's in the pot," Crowley nodded. "You'll eventually get rid of the taste, too." He grinned, snakelike. "In about a year or so, you might even be able to feel your tongue again."
The archangel looked between them, sick and sore and squinty-eyed with suspicion, and then he said, with the air of one pronouncing a great revelation: "You two are psychotic, you know that? Angel, demon, whatever. You're psychotic!"
Aziraphale patted him on the shoulder. "Yes, dear. But you do get used to it." He beamed, still deliberately and savagely cheerful, and Gabriel sank his head with a groan into the tankard.
"Psychotic," he mumbled, almost entirely to himself. "Definitely psychotic." [*grins darkly to herself* Is it wrong to love how they play off each other, even at poor Gabriel's expense? *smiles* Poor dear doesn't deserve it, not with that head, but I can't help enjoy watching them ...]
---
The archangel did perk up a bit after a while. Specifically, after roughly half a gallon of water, two pots of chocolate, six sweet rolls, and an orange. The orange had been mostly Crowley handing the nearest object to hand over, just to see if he'd eat it. Gabriel was probably rather lucky it had been nearer than the pat of butter, as Aziraphale didn't think that would have sat well on a hungover stomach. [*tilts head* That just snuck in too. Just ... something it felt like Crowley would have done, and it seemed to set the mood, just this air of wary and fascinated watching between the three of them ...]
"So," Gabriel said at last, watching them watching him with a wary, almost stunned expression, like a fish thrown suddenly onto land. "Guessing you know who I am, then?" [Seriously. Aziraphale and Crowley are not the kind of thing you want to have to deal with all unprepared, after a night out partying with Dionysus. Can't blame the poor guy]
"Archangels not being something I usually fall over after a long night?" Crowley asked drily. "You were drinking Dionysus' stuff, archangel. As in, the Dionysian Mysteries? Reaching your true self, releasing all earthly constraints? You're bloody lucky you didn't set the damn sky on fire! If you were going for incognito, you missed it by a small bloody continent!" [That did fascinate me about the god. The Mysteries, the associations attached to what Dionysus does. And, in turn, what that would mean for angels ...]
"Stop yelling," Gabriel hissed, as slit-eyed as the demon, touching his temple gingerly. "I don't need some demon telling me what I should and shouldn't have done, thanks all the same!" [He's so tetchy when he's hungover ... and when he's not ... *grins at him*]
"Nevertheless," Aziraphale interrupted, heavily. "Crowley does have a point, dear. Heaven has been looking for you, you know. Or at least, letting it be known, in certain circles, that they might like you to be found. I don't know why you left, but if you wanted to stay gone, that may not have been ..." [Kindly meant, walking right into it. I've a feeling Zira does that a lot, probably to Crowley's despair ...]
He trailed off, voice dying slightly as Gabriel turned to look at him with eyes that were suddenly chips of hazel ice, and grace that had suddenly woken up as if from a long nap. Aziraphale swallowed, just faintly. [*smiles darkly* The slow coiling of an archangel ready to defend himself ... I love that, love the darkness that floats up in Gabriel sometimes ...]
"So," the archangel said, voice toneless and cold. "When's the garrison arriving, then?" [...]
Aziraphale blinked at him. A lot. And then he slid his eyes sideways, taking in the demon sitting happy as a clam at his table (though not so happy now, with a potentially explosive archangel sitting beside him), and back again. [A little bit of affront, slipping in under the fear, I think. If he had sold Gabriel out, he would have done it much more carefully, thanks ...]
"It was ... considered," he said, very, very carefully. "An archangel is not something either Crowley or I could really handle by ourselves, should things turn ..." He stopped that thought, considering how close it looked to coming true, and went on: "But we felt that reporting the incident, when we know nothing of what happened to you or why you're here, might be ... unwise. Our respective superiors have proven ... rash, in the past, and perhaps unwilling to account for the situation ... on the ground, as it were." [*smiles* I actually love Aziraphale in 'I'm sure it's all for the greater good' mode, putting the right spin on what he knows needs doing - "This would be the Ineffable Plan, would it?"]
"To translate," Crowley cut in, watching the archangel nervously. "They don't know their arses from their elbows, and if there's anything going on here besides an archangel getting off his tits on pagan wine, then they're probably not the best people to deal with it. So, on the grounds that what they don't know won't hurt us ... we didn't tell them. You're clear for a while yet, stupid stunts notwithstanding. All clear, and in a non-smiting direction?" [And Crowley, the more pragmatic, cynical translation - "Hoo boy, where have you been?"]
Gabriel blinked at them some more, eyes skipping from face to face as if searching for the lie, and then he relaxed a little, slumping back down in his seat. "You know, I'd pay good money to see you say that to the likes of Zachariah," he grinned, watching them slightly more easily. [*grins* So would I. Yes, Zach, you don't know your arse from your elbow ... And Gabriel leaning casually against a wall, snickering to himself] "And it wasn't a stupid stunt," he muttered, childishly sullen that they kept giving out to him. "I just wanted ... It wasn't supposed to go that far, but I just wanted to touch ..." [*quiets*]
"To touch Heaven again," Crowley said, very quietly, watching the archangel with softer eyes. Gabriel looked up at him in shock, and the demon shrugged carefully, avoiding Aziraphale's eyes. "Dionysus takes you to a place where you're a purer, more primal being. For us ... I mean, for angels, and people that used to be angels ... it's like going home. Just for a moment. It's like being home." [*soft* They'd get each other, those two. I really think they would. And Dionysus ... looked at with that in mind, it sorta breaks my heart, wondering how desperate they'd been when they'd tried it, how often they'd let themselves go back ...]
"Crowley," Aziraphale said, very gently, reaching out to touch the demon's hand. Crowley shrugged him off, but carefully, flicking an almost-grateful look in his direction for a second. [Don't want pity. But ... thanksss, angel]
"Angel says you've been gone for a couple centuries," the demon went on softly, to the stunned archangel. "And for whatever reason, you don't want to go back. Or can't. But that doesn't stop ... Why do you think so many demons hang around the Procession? It's not for the free orgies, or the rumours of darker things. It's for ... it's for that. That brief touch of ... what you used to be." [I sort of love how these two are in such a position to be gentle with Gabriel. To get what he's gone through, and understand what this world is like when you have to stay in it]
"Which is why," Aziraphale added, still so gently, looking at them both. "Why it was a very risky thing you did, Gabriel. You left yourself vulnerable, and in a place where both angels and demons could find you, where they were likely to be. I don't wish to stress this too much, but whatever you may think of us, you really are lucky Crowley was the one to find you." [However, between them, they're also very pragmatic -_-;]
Gabriel blinked at him. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, but he was still looking at them more softly. "That ... home thing. Is that ... Is that the reason for ...?" He gestured between them, waving helplessly. [Gabriel ... why does the little kid in him show up, so much?]
"Our little Arrangement?" Aziraphale asked, oh, so innocently, and smiled. "It's simply a matter of practicality. As I'm sure you've seen by now, life down here is, unfortunately, not quite as simple as those Above and Below might like it to be. It ... became apparent that, in the interests of better furthering our respective goals, and the goals of our superiors, it might be necessary to pool our resources, and sacrifice some lesser actions in order to persue the greater." [*grins again* I did mention I love Aziraphale in pompous!angel mode, right?]
Gabriel stared at him for a minute, then slanted a disbelieving look at Crowley. "He can go on like that for a while, can't he?" [*grins* Yes. Yes he can. He can do this with scared out of his wits and at the end of days, when he has to]
The demon grinned. "He's an angel. He does justifications like nobody's business. Sort of necessary, the job he's in."
"And it's not for yours?" the archangel asked, amused. [For an outsider who had an idea of what they are, and what they're supposed to be, it must be something else to watch them]
Crowley grimaced. "Evil doesn't need justifications. Evil just needs an excuse. And the ability to grovel like there's no tomorrow, since if you get it wrong, there very well might not be." He smiled queasily. [*snuggles the demon*] "Things on my end tend to be more ... dramatically phrased ... than on his. It's still mostly just a matter of figuring out what parts of the orders are actually practical, and doing them so spectacularly that they don't notice the bits you left out so much."
"And for the bits that aren't practical that can't be glossed over so easily, a matter of having a decent enemy to blame the failure on," Aziraphale added with a smile, saluting Crowley with his cup. "A demon as wily as the Serpent is useful in that regard."
"And an angel as capable as you," his demon grinned back, returning the gesture. "Thwarting demon wiles since Eden, with a reputation as smart as they come. Terribly handy to have around, that." [Again, I love the game. I love how good at it they've gotten. I love the sneaky little delight in the Arrangement, in having each other against the world. I love them]
Gabriel looked between them. "Quite the mutual appreciation society you've got going," he noted drily. "I don't suppose either of you have actually noticed that you're enemies? Or supposed to be, anyway." [I've a feeling there's more than a hint of jealousy in him, here. And more than a smidge of hope. But he has to hide that. Both of them]
Aziraphale frowned at him, a certain degree of ice still sitting in his gut, biting his lip consideringly. "If that question was asked in ... an official capacity, despite your apparent renegade status ...?" he mused, carefully. Gabriel turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face that wouldn't have looked out of place on Crowley, and Aziraphale had the sudden idea that whoever the god Gabriel happened to be wearing was, he was almost certainly a trickster. [And he does it so well. Gabriel can be quite petty himself, so he can ...]
"And if it was?" the archangel purred. Probably for vengeance. Probably just to unsettle them in turn. Probably. [*grins* You make me puke, I make you worry in return, kiddo. Let's not forget who you're dealing with, here]
"Then I would say that I am using Crowley, and have been using him for centuries," Aziraphale said softly. "I would say that I have bound him to me, and forced him unknowing into acts of kindness, turning a demon against his will and his wits to Heaven's cause, not in redemption, but simply to further our goals on Earth. I would say that he is my enemy, that he has always been my enemy, but that I have found a way to use him even against himself." [... There is danger, in them. There is danger in what they do, in who they are, in the games they play against each other and against the rest of the universe. I don't know how clearly it shows, sometimes, but it's there]
"And I would say," his demon answered, equally quiet. "That I have fooled the angel into thinking he has me cornered, pinned writhing beneath his sandal, and while he forces me, I am slowly poisoning him, tempting him, luring him into sin while his eyes are cast to Heaven, while he thinks me his tool. That the more confident he grows with me, the more I lead him astray, in the finest traditions of Hell. That he is my enemy, and I shall have him." [In the context of Good Omens, it's so easy to accept the Arrangement, because they've been at this for centuries, and it's so comfortable now, and they so disarming, but in the context of an SPN crossover, when you think about how it must have started, how long they must have been enemies, if affable ones, how risky it must have been to trust each other ... They each know what the other is. They each know what they other can do. They've seen it]
"Should any of our superiors ask," Aziraphale smiled, bright and hard and terrible. "I would say we are having a race, my enemy and I. To see who shall break the other first, and tumble them from their purpose and their place. Whether the Serpent, or I, shall prove the better at the other's game, the most true."
"And winner or loser," Crowley whispered. "Whether it is his cause that breaks me, or mine him, that I shall have tempted an angel regardless, and wounded his heel as I fell." [And to think about it, if they had been enemies, real enemies, if all the little things they prodded each other into over the years had darker aims in mind ... If they had been anyone but who they were ... They are amazing. They are truly amazing]
Gabriel stared between them, white-faced and aghast, and Aziraphale saw suddenly the archangel that had fled Heaven, the Messenger who had cast aside his Trumpet, and, as suddenly, as fully, he saw why. He saw the bitterness, the hatred for this spell of enmity, the horror in an archangel's eyes as he looked between an angel and a demon, and thought them enemies. [And Gabriel is the perfect person to realise it. The perfect person to understand, so viscerally, exactly how terrible they might have been, and how truly rare what they've created instead really is. How rare, and how heartbreaking]
"That is what I would say," he said quietly, waiting until Gabriel looked at him once more, waiting until the archangel saw what was within him. "It is not, necessarily, the truth." [And Aziraphale is gentle with him. Aziraphale does see that]
"Isn't it?" Gabriel rasped, harsh and sick. "Won't it be, in the end? When one side has to win or the other? Won't you be enemies then?" His mouth twisted, his grace roiling in old, desperate fear, desperate disgust. "What happens, when one of you has to win?" [*hugs him close, breathless* And he died, rather than win. He died. Oh, this archangel breaks my heart so damn much ...]
Aziraphale looked at Crowley, caught his demon's eye. Caught the bleakness in the golden darkness, and the determination. [And so do they. So do they]
"If Heaven wins," he said, so softly, and caught his demon's hand. "If Heaven wins, and there is no forgiveness to be had ... I will crush you beneath my sandal. Before any other can touch you. I will destroy you."
"And should Hell win," Crowley answered. "I will poison your heel, angel, and hold you as you fall." He smiled, lopsided and wry, and said the words like an oath. So serious, and things were never usually so serious between them, hadn't been in a long time, but some things ... some things deserved an oath, a promise due. Some things deserved to be held seriously.
[And I love ... More than anything else, I love that what from anyone else is an act of enmity, a promise of death, that what could have been done in hate, from any other of their kinds ... from them is done from love. That all the lies they tell Heaven and Hell, all the dark lies of what they do to each other, are just that. Lies. These two would never truly hurt each other. And I keep imagining the story, if Heaven won and the Lord said 'No forgiveness', and Aziraphale stood there with the sword in his hand and tears in his eyes, and there was nothing ever to forgive between them, even as the blade slipped home ... *clutches chest desperately* Oh, gods, I love those two ...]
"Heaven won't be like you," Gabriel whispered, broken and ruined. "They don't work ... they think things are simple. They think things are black and white. It's just enemies, to them. If they win ... If anyone wins ... Then everybody loses. Brothers, worlds. No matter who wins. Everyone loses." [And then to think of it, and think of Gabriel, with the blade sliding into his chest, not in love but in hatred and betrayal ... *crushes him close* Damn you anyway, Lucifer ...]
Aziraphale bit his lip, holding his demon's gaze, watching a renegade archangel, an archangel lost to Heaven for this, so simple, so terrible of reasons, out of the corner of his eye. He bit his lip, and thought, and when he was done, he reached out carefully, and took Gabriel's hand, as he had already taken Crowley's. [I want him to have them. I want Gabriel to have something like them. I want everyone to have something like them. Which is maybe why it's always Gabriel that crosses over, for me. So that someone can hold that poor boy close, for once ...]
"Then perhaps," he said quietly, "it is our purpose to see to it that no-one wins. Or, more properly ... that no-one should lose." [This is more AU than most, I think. Where it wasn't a crisis that pushed them to act, but something slower, more steady. Where the three of them pushed against the Apocalypse before it ever came, in some small, quiet little way]
Crowley grinned at him, sweet and sickly and whitely determined. "And how do we do that, then?" he asked, cheerful to the gallows, and Aziraphale had to smile at him. Had to hold him close. [He is so brave, this demon. *laughs at him, gently* When he's pushed into it. He's so brave]
"By the judicious interpretation of orders," he said, feeling oddly light. "By the complicity of enemies, and the proper understanding of how a world works, and the spectacular obeying of only those orders that best suit our higher purpose." [*smiles* And this angel so sneaky. This angel so strong. I have said that I love them both, yes? I have said I adore them?]
"In other words," his demon smiled. "Exactly what we've been doing so far."
"Well, dear," he said, smiling gently, looking to Gabriel who didn't know yet what it meant. "Perhaps it was part of the Plan all along. You know, ineff-"
"Ineffa-bloody-ble," Crowley laughed, and squeezed his hand, patted the bewildered archangel on the shoulder. "And another round of Dionysian wine for the lot of us, before I'll see fit to ever say the word again."
"Yes, dear," Aziraphale smiled, and poured Gabriel another cup. "As you say. Ineffable." [*grins at them, snuggles the lot of them* I like this verse. I like the way they are with each other. *smiles* I really may have to come back ...]
[End]