entranceway | 9th Book || Nothing Like Being Lost in a Book

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9th Book || Nothing Like Being Lost in a Book

[The video feed cuts on to show Aziraphale in his room. He is seated in an old, tartan wing back chair with the cheerful morning sunlight streaming in from a window. He smiles cheerfully.]

So, I hear we have a book club. This seems like something I would very much like to get involved in as back home I own a book shop and here I manage the library as best I can. If someone has any information on this book club, I would greatly appreciate it.

Thank you.

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Y-Yes, well...didn't know you'd be over. [The kettle whistles almost plaintively. Crowley pours out two cups of English Breakfast, idly fixing Aziraphale's exactly as he likes it. Probably with like seven sugars.]

Anyway, you can just enjoy the sunlight like a housecat and I'll see if I can make those feathers actually stay put for once.

[Only two sugars, thank.

But Aziraphale was not born yesterday. He can tell that something is wrong even if he isn't certain of what it is.]

Crowley, what are you hiding from me?

[Crowley stands dumbly in the middle of the room, a mug in each hand, face blank.] Nothing.

[He gets up and closes the gap between them, taking a mug in hand.] I can tell something's wrong. What happened?

[He can't help but go rather defensively stiff, partially because he knows he can't lie to Aziraphale and partially because there's an angel up in his grill.]

Just drink your tea, angel.

[He takes the tea and sets it down on the nearest surface.]

Crowley, please... Please tell me what happened.

[He grumbles something and goes back to his plants, pretending to have missed something.] Nothing moreso than the usual around here, really. I'm fine, angel, don't worry.

[His wings are aching all the way to the material plane.]

[He hesitates before reaching forward to rub at Crowley's back right where he knew his wings would be. He knows he should stop, respect Crowley's clear desire for privacy, but this... If his hunch is correct...]

[He reacts instantly, flinching away violently enough that he knocks a philodendron off its table. He catches it before it can hit the ground and turns to hiss at Aziraphale.]

Angel!

[He catches himself a breath later and sets the plant back in its place, sunglasses hiding the rather hunted look in his eyes.]

Sorry, I-- Don't--startle me like that.

[He doesn't have sunglasses to hide the hurt in his eyes. But still, he doesn't move from where he is, hands dropped to his sides.]

Your wings are hurt.

[Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. Crowley pushes his sunglasses higher, hand shaking just slightly. He can't believe he just hissed at Aziraphale. At Aziraphale.]

I'm sorry, I didn't--don't know what came over--

[He shoves his hands in his pockets before they can shake worse.] It's nothing--was my own fault, really, shouldn't have had them out in the first place, knowing the kind of people around here--

[A fury seems to be boiling deep with Aziraphale. How dare anyone harm Crowley? How dare anyone harm his wings? He knows is own hands are not clean of this crime (though he really wasn't the one at the helm), but he cannot tolerate anyone else doing the same. His tone is flat and angry as he says just one word.] Who?

[This is exactly what Crowley was afraid of. Well, one of the things.] I'm not telling you anything until you can assure me you're not going to do anything bloody stupid.

Crowley, who hurt you? [He was not about to make a promise he had absolutely no intention of keeping.]

[Crowley grabs his shoulders, grip tight.] You bloody well promise me, Aziraphale, because if you go and get yourself killed over a few missing feathers I'm never letting you see them again, understand?

I won't get killed, Crowley.

You will.

I won't. Now tell me who hurt you.

You will! He'll rip you apart and I can't lose you again!

[His voice tears as he says it, like the words are hurting him. Which they are. He looks down as he realizes what he just said but doesn't let go of Aziraphale's shoulders.]

[He flinches at the sound of Crowley's voice before he realizes what he said. And like that, his anger subsides and all he can do is pull Crowley close and refuse to let him go.]

[Crowley has been desperately trying not to say it out loud since November. He actually thought he'd been doing pretty well, all things considered. But every time Aziraphale talks about Wonderland or Falling or Michael, or every time a particularly unpleasant event comes along, or every time Michael is picking on him and Crowley thinks well maybe I can get just one punch in, there's that little panicked voice again whispering "what if? what if he dies again, what if you can't save him, what if it's your fault like last time?"]

[And at this point it would be almost impossible for it to not be his fault. Even all those stupid ghosts from the future around Christmastime.]

[He goes stiff again as Aziraphale hugs him, squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn't have to see the look on Aziraphale's face. He hates how pathetic he must seem. Demons shouldn't be this vulnerable.]

[Stupid, Aziraphale. That was stupid, he thinks to himself as he pulls Crowley ever closer. How could he hurt his demon so?]

I'm so sorry, Crowley. I didn't think... [That is entirely the point, isn't it? He isn't thinking. He isn't considering how Crowley might feel. What kind of an angel is he to do this to this beautiful being in his arms?]

[Bitterly, quietly,] You're getting sodding good at the not thinking business.

I'm not a mind reader, dear. I can't know what you're thinking when you don't tell me. [He feels awful. But this isn't about him. Still...] And I promise you I won't go off and do something stupid if you tell me what happened.

[He's quiet for awhile, letting Aziraphale hold him. It's not like he can keep this a secret any longer. And no, he can't expect Aziraphale to read his mind and just know.]

Michael. He sort of crashed into me during the last event and...took offense.

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