BREAKING NEWS: girl spends two years in undergrad pursuing a degree she isn’t 100% confident in, only to realize that she doesn’t wanna do that shit for the rest of her life
despite being clumsy and awkward and often uncomfortable wrt touch and affection i think if i lived in a less touchy feely cultural context i would genuinely kms
Crowley woke up late, from the moment his eyes opened the day felt wrong. He groans and reburies himself in the duvet. Eventually he emerges in the late afternoon, the sense of wrongness persists squirming under his skin and making him irritable. Aziraphale notices, of course, Crowley notes him peering around bookshop shelves, fiddling with his rings and offering tea slightly more often than necessary while Crowley engages in his usual, and favourite, activity of scaring away would be customers with a little more venom than normal.
“Are you alright dear?” Aziraphale appears somewhere behind his left shoulder, a gentle press on his lower back soothes the nagging feeling pulling at the back of his eyes. He raises a hand and rubs his temple.
“Just feel a bit off angel, nothing to worry yourself with”
“Maybe a walk would do you some good, bit of fresh air?”
He suspected it wouldn’t, but anything to abate the radiating worry from behind him.
The walk, as it happened, took him as far as Nina’s coffee shop. In the years since he and Aziraphale finally were able to settle in the bookshop they had developed some kind of ‘mutually grumpy half of the pairing’ friendship. He pushes open the door to find an enormous mug waiting for him, she had seen him coming and automatically prepared his usual. He miracled out far too much for a single coffee and passed it to her. The dull pain behind his eyes had sharpened in the street, but eased a little in the relative gloom of the coffee shop in the late afternoon haze. He took his normal seat in the back corner sipping his coffee and willing himself to calm down.
“Are you alright?”
Nina. She looked concerned.
“You’re just looking a little pinched, more than normal, I mean”
A small hum is all he manages, the feeling is intensifying the coffee shop suddenly feeling small and repressive, the air thick and sticky in his throat. He stands, abruptly, the chair skittering away behind him.
“Something bad…” he murmurs,
“I need some air”
Nina watches him leave, slightly unsteadily, and wonders if she should call Aziraphale, what do demons consider a bad thing anyway?
The air outside is cooler, the autumn evening revealing the best of itself in a crisp breeze. He sighs. The feeling is still there, clawing at the back of his throat, demanding to be felt. He glances up and down the street, nothing. No angel hoard, no lurking demons, nothing out of place.
The chime of the record shop bell catches his attention as Maggie comes out of her shop. She waves to him as she sets out to cross the road, on her way to walk Nina home, as always. Nina clinks the lock on the door to the coffee shop and steps out beside him, ready for the evening ritual.
The unease sharpens, pulls at his senses.
Moments pass, tiny, inconsequential, flickering past until he sees it, suddenly, horribly and with perfect clarity.
The car skids around the corner, careening wildly, directly towards Maggie.
And before he can raise his hand, it hits her. She disappears under it and the world stops. Crowley has seen a lot of things on his time on earth, death and destruction wreak havoc here constantly, but not here, not now, not in this corner of the world they had carved out for themselves. Not to his friends.
Nina’s screams pulls him back and he’s raising his hands before the first step is complete. He reaches out for the tenterhooks of time and grips them, feeling the power screech along the nerves of his corporation, wrapping around his wrists like burning white ropes.
He pulls, time screams at him it’s done, it’s done.
He pulls harder.
“No,” grits his teeth, refusing to back down, “you will obey me.” It begins to relent, winding back, slowly, too slowly for the affect its having on him. As the car runs back he feels something in his head pop, his corporation is shaking under the pressure of the metaphysical form pressing through. Nearly, nearly there. The car is pulled back, Maggie is upright. His body is screaming, but she is safe.
With one last push, he sends the car screeching up the road and lets go, the ropes slip away, searing away the skin in their path.
The world returns briefly, a fades away just as fast. He feels suddenly heavy, exhaustion pours over him as the damage to his corporation makes itself known. He’s loosely aware that he’s falling, legs unable to hold themselves up any longer.
He’s also aware that he’s caught, a gentle heat against the cold crawling over him. He’s going to discorporate he thought, he wonders how he’ll explain this one to Hell, how long it will take to get a new corporation, to get back home, he hears the scrape of metal across asphalt, the cold rush of death breezing closer.
Everything is fading, it’s happening, sounds blurring together until something rings through with crystal clarity.
“You will not be needed here today”
He recognises the voice, of course he does, the only constant of 6,000 years on earth, how could he not.
The numbing cold is replaced gently by warmth, things begin to knit themselves back together and he suddenly feels calm.
Aziraphale is here, and he is safe.
—————————————————-
Aziraphale feels time stop outside the bookshop, he drops the books he’s holding and rushes towards the door, trying to keep the icy fear from over taking him. The door pushes open with some effort, time is holding out here, sticking to him and making movement difficult. He emerges on the street in time to see Crowley, face taut with effort, extend his arm and throw a car sideways. He reaches out his own arm and forces the air out of the tyres, grinding it to a halt.
He turns as the world zips back into life, released from the hold it had been trapped in, turns to see Crowley crumple to the floor, barely caught by Nina.
A cold sweeps down the street as a figure emerges from a side road. Black cloak sweeping, Scythe scraping your torturously across the asphalt.
No no
He’s running again, desperate to get to Crowley before the figure. He drops to the floor, into an atmosphere clouded by pain, distress emanating from crowleys alarmingly still form, theres blood running from his ears painting the skin of his unnaturally pale face, dark black bruises forming under his closed eyes. He reaches out again, feeling for the damage.
He spares a look upwards, meets the gaze of empty sockets and spits out “you will not be needed here today.”
He refocuses all of his energy on pulling back together the parts of the broken body in front of him. Breathing becomes steadier, a heart rate less erratic.
Somewhere around him he dully hears the squawking of crows, another gust of icy wind and then, finally, the warmth of the autumn sun.
