The City Inbox

[inlovewithmycar]

⛧A.J. CROWLEY⛧ "This is Crowley. I'm not in. You know what to do, so do it with style. Chow."

code by MANUAL

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[inlovewithmycar]

[Immediate answer; the only time he's ever let Aziraphale go to voicemail is if he's literally in the midst of something Downstairs (no longer a problem) or that one time on the eve of Armageddon.

Here? It's always first ring.]

Angel. How you doing?

[benedicus]

Well—

( a pause.

then that pause continues on for a little too long. aziraphale finds himself struggling to get the words out, to give voice to what he needs to say.

what he ends up saying instead is: )

Come home.

[inlovewithmycar]

[A familiar click of his fingers and suddenly there is muffled cursing coming from the phone and the narrow storage closet where they keep their cleaning supplies.

Crowley ends the call, manages to disentangle himself from the mop, and stagger out into their condo.]

Aziraphale? I'm here, what's wrong? Where are you?

[benedicus]

( the call remains connected long enough for aziraphale to overhear much of the demon's combat against the mop, broom, and all of its dedicated soldiers in the war against filth.

aziraphale glances at his phone, almost as if it to verify he's hearing things correctly, before setting it face down beside him. )

The bedroom.

( he answers, loud enough to be heard. the angel could be found sitting on the edge of his own bed, dressed down with a cream-coloured cardigan, dress-shirt, and slacks. he's already had to put away his usual, preferred set of clothing—unable to constantly spend the energy to keep the threads together—but his sense of fashion still remains the same.

old.

which is much like he feels at the moment. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[No sign of fire, no smell of smoke, but Aziraphale had sounded quite distressed and Crowley wasn't about to dismiss things out of hand just because nothing was actively on fire at the moment.

He steps into the bedroom and, upon seeing Aziraphale perched on the edge of his bed, weary but safe, and Crowley's hunted expression softens.]

Overdid it on the miracle quota, angel?

[His tone is light as he strides over, sinking onto the bed with his friend.]

...Feel a little nap coming on? Not to fret, I'll keep watch.

[benedicus]

It was on purpose.

( not because he wanted to go ahead and get the experience of sleeping over with (it is also this), but because he thought it to be prudent to start measuring how much energy he had in the proverbial tank. so to speak.

slowly, he picks up the notepad with a small list of miracles performed around the home that he'd left sitting behind him. then he offers it over to crowley.

creation → snake mug
creation → wing mug
creation → tea set
creation → box of tartan socks
creation → two sets of condo keys

edit → "fell" & "crowley" added underneath condo door (may reset, recheck tomorrow)
edit → adjusted tea set pattern
edit → changed living room rug colour
edit → darkened office desk colour

this appears to be his limit. as far as miracles go. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[Crowley pulls off his shades and sets them on the beside table before taking the proffered list.

Aziraphale is thorough as ever.

It's also not a lot. The city really has done a number on Aziraphale in ways it hasn't done to Crowley.]

Right. Yeah. We'll... go through this when you wake up, alright? Let's get you ready for bed.

[benedicus]

( . . . ? )

Pardon? Get me ready?

[inlovewithmycar]

[Crowley snaps his fingers and in a blink of an eye, Crowley's clothing shifts into a set of black silk pyjamas. And in the palm of his hand, neatly folded, another set of soft, fleece in Aziraphale's familiar tartan pattern.]

Want me to do the honours...?

[benedicus]

( oh. oh!

right, yes. that's what he means.

aziraphale takes a moment to consider the offer and then nods. he might as well. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[There is no snapping of fingers for this. Just a light touch to Aziraphale's lapel, and then his clothes become the pyjamas Crowley conjured, while his normal attire appears on the seat of the wingbacked chair by the window, all neatly folded, not so much as a stitch out of place.]

How's that? Much better than sleeping in your regular clothes, I guarantee. I think I've still got indents in unspeakable places from the last time I slept in my jeans.

[benedicus]

I'll trust in your expertise.

( his tone is tender, softened by the affection heavy in his voice. crowley doesn't need to do all this—it's not what had been asked of him, but he is still choosing to do it anyway. to help calm aziraphale's nerves about it.

gingerly, aziraphale presses the tips of his fingers against crowley's knuckles in wordless gratitude. )

Now what would you have us do?

[inlovewithmycar]

[Crowley has imagined a lot scenarios between himself and Aziraphale. A hazard, he supposes, of having an imagination to begin with. But he has not ever thought about having to walk the angel through sleeping of all things.

He's not sure what to think. ...He certainly knows not to think about Aziraphale accepting those soft pyjamas put on him with an even softer miracle, or how warm his plump and prettily manicured fingers feel against the cool, dry skin of his knuckles. Those are very much not thoughts for just right now.

Instead, he goes through his own routine for getting ready for a nice snooze. He plumps the pillows, and if a mug of hot chocolate with a pump of peppermint syrup appears on the bedside table, he's sure it's just coincidence.]

S'all about making yourself comfortable. Lots of pillows and blanketsss and then you sit up for a little bit, or you just lay down and close your eyes. Depends how tired you're feeling.

[benedicus]

( that's a good question.

aziraphale will get back to him once he better learns how to gauge his tiredness level, which may or may not involve note-taking. at the moment, he feels pretty tired. enough so that he didn't want to go through the act of physically changing clothes.

after moving to stand, he carefully peels back the comforter and sheets to allow himself to properly climb into bed. like humans do. he can feel some of his nervousness starting to set back in, deeply uncertain of what might happen next. )

Comfortable.

( said out loud more so for himself. )

You don't imagine I'll sleep too long, will I?

[inlovewithmycar]

Nah.

[Crowley drags out the word with an exaggerated shrug. He can see the way the apprehension sets back in. But he's familiar with the different kinds of tired, and Aziraphale isn't even close to the bone deep exhaustion that has led Crowley to switch himself off for decades at a time. If that were the case, Aziraphale wouldn't be drowsy but otherwise lucid enough to ask probing questions, he'd be face down on the mattress, still in his day clothes and Crowley would be having a bit of a panic.]

Probably a couple hours, maybe through the night if you like it. And --

[He grins, stretching out on his side atop the comforter, propped up on his elbow with his cheek in his palm.]

-- afterwards, we'll go get a nice breakfast. So, nothing to worry about, and plenty to look forward to, yeah?

[benedicus]

Hm.

( he makes a quiet little noise, unsure. this demon has been nothing but cavalier about the entire affair, but his own fears feel a little louder. louder, louder, louder.

but he trusts crowley more than he trusts his fear.

aziraphale leans back, letting his head fall against the freshly-fluffed pillow. then he turns to look over at crowley. )

Will you be alright until. . .?

( until he wakes. )

[inlovewithmycar]

I'll be fine. Gonna stay right here and keep an eye on things.

[He reaches over, brushing a curl from Aziraphale's brow. Ah - his hair really is just that soft, isn't it...?]

You get some rest...

[He grins, and there is the faint sound of a little demonic miracle.]

...and dream of all the things you like best.

[benedicus]

( that's you, crowley.

when the demonic miracle pushes him towards slumber, the last thought on his mind is about crowley. his eyes flutter closed, nearly resisting before ultimately drifting off into a slumber. that's how he sleeps, face turned towards crowley like a sunflower searching for the sun, one hand slightly outstretched in front of him.

in his dreams, they are back at his shop. crowley is kicking off his shoes, complaining loudly about what a terrible night they'd had—they hadn't—pouring the both of them a glass of one of aziraphale's finer vintages. aziraphale puts on one of his records and pushes back against crowley's complaints, regaling him with the historic facts of the play they'd just seen.

it's a perfect evening. just of two of them in the shop. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[When Aziraphale awakes, it will be to darkness - or rather a canopy of inky black feathers shielding him from the fierce and deadly elements of their bedroom, while the warm glow of the lamplight peeks through the spaces between Crowley's primaries. It gives just the slightest tint of red to the shiny blackness of it all.

Aziraphale's hand is linked with another; smooth, cool, and dry long fingers tangled with his own.

The only sound is the ticking of a clock and the scratch of a pen on paper. Crowley's lower half is visible, but the wing sheltering Aziraphale from any potential indoor rainstorms or meteor showers blocks his upper half from view.

There is a distinct smell of cocoa still on the bedside table, still as fresh as when Crowley miracled it there.]

[benedicus]

( it almost feels like aziraphale is still dreaming. still awash in desires and wants just slightly out of reach. how could it not? how could it not feel like a saccharine dream when he's surrounded by dark feathers like the all-encompassing night sky? when his body feels warm and comfortably, tucked snugly into the fluffy duvet?

a sweet smell compliments the room.

then there is the hand in his, the one that fits so perfectly that it might as well have been designed to slot together with his. his fingers curl against crowley's before groggily tugging their joined hands together.

aziraphale presses the back of crowley's hand against his face, letting it rest against his lips and part of his cheek as he admires the coolness of his skin.

it's still a very nice dream. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[There's the faint pop as the book vanishes. Aziraphale was not like Crowley when he slept; where the demon might start off on the bed, would shift about in his sleep, sometimes to the point he'd wind up on the walls or the ceiling. Even at his most peaceful, he'd roll over a couple times.

Aziraphale hadn't budged an so much as an inch.

So when he feels the angel's hold on his hand tighten, when his knuckles are pressed to the soft give of Aziraphale's cheeks and the brush of his lips, he wonders if his friend has woken up.

Or at least he wonders that after his thoughts cycle through a panicked flurry of disjointed, incoherent nonsense that generally involve the words 'lips' and 'hand' and 'kiss???'. It's all very demonic, rest assured.

Eventually he brushes it all off as Aziraphale either still in the throes of some pleasant dream or in that barely-there state between sleeping and waking and not something he would ever do while conscious.]

...Good morning, angel.

[He tries for cheery and lands roughly in that vicinity, but there's something choked in his voice because Crowley is presently in the process of swallowing down that massive surge of want that rose suddenly from the very pits of his lightly charred soul.

He draws his wing aside, just enough to peek at Aziraphale's waking face.]

Sleep well...?

[benedicus]

Mm.

( a soft, groggy hum. slowly, slowly, the angel can feel himself start to wake up. the dreamy haze has started to recede and fade away; almost like someone peeling back an all-encompassing film. it's a strange feeling, one that would normally bother aziraphale, but his thoughts don't linger on it.

he is still thinking of his dream. like a memory that never happened. )

I dreamt of Italy.

( he offers, speaking the words against crowley's hand. then he shifts the position of their joined hands, leaving crowley's pressed against his cheek. )

We drank wine under a bright moon. You told me about the stars again. . .

( his voice is still thick with sleep, but it is also heavily laced with warmth and affection.

what a nice thing to dream about. )

[inlovewithmycar]

[Crowley misses Italy. Bright, clear skies, good wine, beautiful vistas... He'd quite liked it (Pompeii not withstanding) up until the Vatican moved in and gradually turned the place into minefield of consecrated ground. One minute a demonic serpent would be walking along, minding his own wiles, and the next - bam - like walking on coals, except without his natural fire-proofing!

It sure built up a tolerance though. The callouses on the soles of his feet were something else.

His reminiscing is halted abruptly as he realizes what all the things Aziraphale had dreamed about - all the things he liked best - and now his insides are doing strange wiggly somersaults.

In retrospect, it shouldn't completely surprise him - he and Aziraphale had been doing things exactly like that for centuries. If Aziraphale were really opposed to their rendezvous, he'd have cut them off before they ever began. But it's still a jolt to Crowley's tangled emotions that someone might not just tolerate him, but actually enjoy his company. The way Aziraphale speaks the words into his palm, like a precious secret just for him to hold...

He has to wait for the tight feeling in his throat to recede, because the thought of sharing the stars with Aziraphale stirs one of those empty holes in his memory where something should be but isn't.]

I should take you up sometime --

[He cuts himself off quickly so he doesn't choke on whatever's crawled up from his chest into his throat, before he can, eventually, speak again.]

-- pack some goodies, bring a good vintage with us. I could show you properly.

[His smile is fond as he chances a glance down at Aziraphale, still muzzy with sleep. Bad idea -- the urge to slither under the blankets and curl up against the angel and never leave this bed again is already too much. Seeing him now, he's the very embodiment of temptation.]

Then we could head home and vacation in Tuscany. Visit all the new little restaurants that must've popped up since we were last there.

[benedicus]

( what a lovely idea.

it is even more lovely to have it spoken aloud by crowley, said with such intention that it might as well have been a promise. a promise to take him among the stars, the very same that he had himself had been able to help create, and then another to appreciate some of the many delights of the earth. )

By the sound of it, I must still be dreaming.

( and what a sweet dream it is. )

Plenty of new shops must have opened as well.

( more than enough for the two of them to spend the day on the street, peering into the shops for anything that might catch their eye. crowley would find no shortage of things to complain about or poke fun at, but aziraphale would love every moment together under the bright sun. )

We've yet to see that golden tree. . .

[inlovewithmycar]

Not dreaming.

[It's a quick, reflexive assurance. Crowley's mouth is sort of left on automatic a the moment because his brain is still trying to process how soft and warm Aziraphale's face is under his palm.]

Told you, you'd have plenty to look forward to when waking up.

[Watching the slow process of Aziraphale go from sleeping peacefully to waking into the warmth of their bed, nestled amidst pillows and blankets and reaching for him, wanting to take his hand and hold it, and it fills Crowley with questions he doesn't know how to ask because he never thought it would be allowed. To ask would be to name this thing between them, to give it shape that even the declaration of Our Side could not encompass. No, for now, better it remain nebulous as always, until they can both come at it, bright-eyed and alert.

They're getting there. Step by step in their dance.

Crowley can ask the questions he does know how to put into words for now.]

...What golden tree is that, anyway?