#mmmmh wet pirate

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Dream a Little Dream - 5

Nearly finished! My next @bingokisses prompt was “Sleepy Good Night Kisses/Head on Shoulder.” In this chapter, Aziraphale begins to realize what’s been happening - next chapter will bring the thrilling conclusion!

You can catch up on the story so far on AO3!

Chapter 5: 1941 - Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Aziraphale held Crowley’s heel in his hand, gently wiping the ball of his foot with a dripping cloth. The other foot soaked in the tub of water, warm, gently steaming. His walk across the church floor had left blisters, and there was little Aziraphale could do to heal them. But he could tend to them, nonetheless.

He wanted, very much, to thank Crowley. But they didn’t say thank you, that wasn’t how they operated. This was all he had to offer.

On the sofa, Crowley murmured, a little sound of relief, of pleasure, of exhaustion. He was very nearly asleep, slumped onto the cushions, arms hanging loose beside him. So different from the energy he usually showed, the way he’d hopped into the church, all full of clever ideas and witty speech…

Crowley’s head nodded as he drifted off. Aziraphale’s hands kept moving of their own accord as he watched, the purse of Crowley’s lips, the lock of hair that broke free to fall across his forehead.

Perhaps he should fetch a blanket, tuck it around Crowley. Sit beside him on the sofa. Tug him down to rest his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. Kiss his sleep-soft lips as he drifted off.

He could imagine it perfectly; Aziraphale was very experienced in daydreaming by now. He could imagine how Crowley would stir, ever so slightly, one golden eye cracking open, then shutting just as quick. The way the little smile would struggle to remain hidden, even as he tipped his head back, offering his lips for another kiss.

Aziraphale would laugh, softly. “No, you’ve had one already. You need to sleep now, my dear.”

“Nhhh,” Crowley would complain, and pout until Aziraphale relented, bending down to give him a second, a third, a fourth.

“You were marvelous today,” Aziraphale would murmur, his lips hovering close above Crowley’s. “Of course, you’re always marvelous. My wonderful Crowley.”

One more kiss, perhaps, and then settle Crowley comfortably on his shoulder to sleep, arm around him. Aziraphale could imagine it, the warmth he felt in Crowley’s feet, only pressed all down the length of his side. “I’m…I’m so glad you came,” he would confess, not sure if the demon could still hear him. “I wasn’t sure if you would after…after the dreadful things I said.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley muttered, “I’ll always come for you.”

Aziraphale froze, half pulled back to reality by the words he was sure he’d heard – not imagined, heard.

“Ah…” He glanced up at where Crowley’s head was bent entirely over the back of the sofa. “Crowley? Are you…?”

No response except a snore, surprisingly gentle.

Tugging at the thread of his daydream – not quite snapped – Aziraphale slid back into it, imagining Crowley curling against him. In his mind, he asked, uncertainly, “Crowley? Can you hear me?”

“Mmmmh,” said Crowley – the real Crowley – the one sprawled on his own on the sofa. “Course I can. Not that far gone yet.”

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, in his mind and out loud.

“Something wrong?”

It wasn’t perfectly clear, of course. Crowley didn’t so much talk in his sleep as mumble. But the “Smmm’ng rn,” he managed in reality perfectly matched the tone and inflection of the words in Aziraphale’s mind.

“Could you…” In his mind he prodded Crowley’s shoulder urgently. “Could you…be a dear and…and just sit up for a moment? Wake yourself up?”

“Don’t wanna,” he complained, but sat up, opening his eyes.

Only in the daydream. The real Crowley continued to sleep, and to mumble.

“Oh, oh, this is quite troubling,” the angel said, getting up to pace nervously in the dream world, as his other self continued patting at Crowley’s foot with a wet cloth. “Oh, oh, this really shouldn’t be happening.”

As an angel, of course, he had the ability to enter dreams. The dreams of mortals, though, surely not of ethereal beings. And he had to will himself to do it, it was quite difficult, requiring a meditative state and some sort of connection, a physical or emotional bond.

“Is something wrong?” Crowley stood up and followed him, not limping, naturally, in this dream his feet wouldn’t hurt at all.

Of course, the foot washing. That must be the physical bond keeping them connected.

He dropped Crowley’s foot immediately, splashing water all across his knees and the carpet around him. The demon stirred, slightly, but that was all. The dream didn’t dissolve, and Crowley’s golden eyes still watched him with concern “Tell me, Angel, I can help.” His hand reached for Aziraphale’s arm.

“No!” Aziraphale stepped back, pulling away. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t right at all. His mind was now quite agitated, they were no longer touching, surely, surely that was enough. Normally when he entered a human’s dream, he had to fight to maintain the contact, like swimming against the current. But somehow he’d crossed into Crowley’s mind without even noticing.

Had he done this before?

How would he know?

Aziraphale cleared his throat, tried to smile, even as he circled around his armchair. “Crowley. My dear. Er. Do you ever…ah, remember your dreams?”

“Almost always, yeah.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of the chair. “Why?”

“Nothing. No. Um. Do you…do you ever dream about me?” He held his breath.

Crowley grinned, white teeth flashing. “Oh, yes. All the time.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in the squeak of distress. That doesn’t mean anything, surely? “What…what sort of…dreams?”

“Nnnnh.” A lopsided smile. “I don’t like to tell. Kind of embarrassing.” But he leaned closer anyway. “There was one where I was a princess in a tower, and you came to rescue me, but I turned into a dragon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face grew quite warm.

“Used to have that one a lot actually.” Crowley rubbed his chin. “Ehhh, let’s see, this fantastic one involving a masked ball in Florence, another one where you rescued me from pirates – I remember because the very next night I had the exact same dream, only it was me rescuing you. Hmmm. At least five different ones where we’re both humans, ah, usually with flowers or coffee involved somewhere. And lots of kissing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Other stuff, too. Not sure you’d approve.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his mouth. Oh, he would very much approve – he remembered coming up with each of those scenarios, remembered how real they’d felt as they played out in his mind, how vivid.

And how rapidly they’d spun out of his control once Crowley started speaking, always to a better place than he could have predicted…

It was rather the opposite of how a dream visitation went. Which could only mean, Aziraphale wasn’t in Crowley’s dream. Crowley was in his.

How much control did he have? Could he force Crowley to play along with a fantasy? He should test it, but the very idea was abhorrent. Not to mention the only thing he actually desired right now was for Crowley to wake up and that wasn’t happening!

“Did you ever…” He thought as quickly as he could. “Did you ever dream about us – us…dancing?”

“Nnnnno…”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Of course not, Crowley would never agree to—

“I mean, I did dream that we were in this room with…piano music, and you were teaching me how to hop around, but I certainly wouldn’t call that dancing.”

“The gavotte is certainly a dance and – oh, good lord.”

“That was it! How’d you know?” Crowley stepped out from behind the chair. “Something like this,” he tried a couple quick coupés, very inexpertly done. “Only went along because I liked how you smiled.”

Did that mean Crowley could have stopped if he wanted to? No, Aziraphale had played out that fantasy dozens of times, and the demon had almost never complained. “Did you…” his voice was very faint. “Did you dream that often?” Oh, no, Aziraphale had been thinking about it just the other day…

“Nh. Only once, ages ago.”

The angel sighed. Good.

“Now, on the other hand,” and that wicked grin came back, “there was this really interesting dream about the Bastille, and that one would not stop coming. You want to know the details of that?”

Aziraphale stumbled back, crying out in horror. No, he didn’t need to be told about that one. It had occupied him for many weeks. Replaying the rescue…the dinner…imagining what might have come after…

He’d choreographed it out in quite explicit detail.

How long? How long had he been forcing his twisted fantasies onto Crowley?

“Hey, Angel.” He looked up to find Crowley approaching slowly, head ducked, hands out, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s alright. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t tease. It’s a lot to take in.” Arms around him, gentle, pulling him in, pressing his head down to Crowley’s shoulder. “Look, yeah, some of them were…intense…but usually I just dream of us being…us. Just talking, like this. It’s nice.”

Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s jacket. It felt so real under his fingers. He remembered that from too many fantasies, the tactile details, too subtle for a dream. The roughness of that coat sliding off to the cell floor, the smooth linen of the shirt underneath, the way the cravat slipped through his fingers as he unknotted it…

“But some of them were…” He pulled closer, and was horrified to realize how familiar Crowley’s body felt against his, how gentle the fingers on his back. He pushed away. Aziraphale had to be the one in control here. “Crowley, you dreamt about us—”

“Aaaaah,” Crowley ducked his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, I always woke up before…they weren’t really those kinds of dreams.”

“Are you just lying to make me – to spare my—”

“You know I’d never lie to you.”

That hit almost as hard as anything else. His heart was ready to burst.

Aziraphale pressed shaking fingers to his eyes, focusing for a few seconds on the real floor, where he knelt back in reality, dampness of water spilled from the footbath creeping into his knees. Trying to ground himself. As if that were possible.

“How…” He gulped for breath, but his lungs didn’t seem to be working. “How long…” Calm yourself! “Do you recall when you started having these dreams?”

“The Ark, I think.” Crowley rubbed his neck, eyes lost in memory. “Yeah. I remember, I, uh, I really wished you’d talk to me, and then…”

And I wished I had someone to talk to. Somehow, their proximity, or their state of mind, or their shared nature had created a bond…and that bond had dragged Crowley into his mind, again and again, for thousands of years.

Aziraphale felt sick, and no amount of breathing exercises could help.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley held his hand out, but this time it was a simple offering. Not reaching for the angel, simply inviting him to reach back. “I don’t know why you’re…upset…”

“I’m so sorry…” It was all he could manage.

“S’fine,” Crowley tilted his head in confusion. “Nothing to be sorry about. I like the dreams.” He stepped forward. “I like it when you…you talk to me. Trust me. Confide in me.” Crowley stopped just inches away, close enough for Aziraphale to feel the heat of him, the soft brush of breath through his hair. “No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

It was finally enough of a shock to break the connection.

Aziraphale stumbled away from the sofa with a strangled gasp, like a man awakened from a nightmare. Crowley still lay, feet in the tub of water, just where Aziraphale had left him, but now he seemed to be moving with intent, waking.

No. No, no, no, no…

This night had brought too many surprises, too many turns, Aziraphale couldn’t take another, couldn’t confront the questions, could not do this.

--

“No matter what happens, in my dreams you love me. As much as I love you.”

But it didn’t make Aziraphale any less agitated. Crowley couldn’t think what could be upsetting him this badly. He’d been calm enough, back on the sofa when they’d kissed…

They’d kissed…

“Oh,” he murmured, looking over his shoulder at the sofa, soft as a bed, covered in blankets. “This is a dream. Obviously.”

First thing he noticed was his feet, wet, the water still warm but cooling. Next was the awkward angle of his neck, stiff and sore. Third was the trail of drool.

Crowley swatted at his mouth, wiping it clear, then sat up, tilting his neck and rubbing at his eyes, knocking his glasses askew.

What a weird dream.

He’d said too much in his dream, always had. As if the mental blocks that helped him keep calm evaporated as soon as he fell asleep. But he’d never seen Aziraphale as anything other than patient and accepting, so why would he...

Wait. Shit. Aziraphale.

He looked around the shop, trying to fix his hair, his glasses, and his shirt at the same time. He did not want the angel seeing him like that. It was bad enough his rescue had gone so badly off-script, this would be a disaster—

The shop was empty, no sign of movement anywhere. How long had he been asleep?

Then, a clink of ceramic-on-ceramic from the shadowy little kitchen.

Crowley stood carefully, testing his feet to see if they were still sore. No, the blisters seemed to have been soothed by the bath. Bloody miracle. He’d have to find some way to repay Aziraphale, without being too obvious.

Assuming they were talking again.

He padded across the carpet, trying not to track water, though it seemed the rug was already wet, and paused just outside the door of the back room. “Angel? You alright?”

“Fine. Perfectly – why wouldn’t I be?” He stood before the sink, scrubbing dutifully at a plate.

“Well. You’re standing here in the dark.”

“Am I?” He didn’t even turn. “No matter. I can see in the dark, you know.”

“Right.” Crowley glanced back at the rest of the shop, lit up bright as anything, despite the bombing and the city-wide black out. “Anyway, I, uh, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. How long was I out?”

“No! I mean, were you asleep? I hardly noticed.” The sudsy water sloshed as he worked on some imperceptible stain. “I mean, I noticed, but, well, not long. Yes.”

“Ngk.” Something was wrong. Aziraphale had been all awkward smiles and warm, gentle insistence when they’d come in, and now…He’d have thought his dream was some sort of omen, except Crowley didn’t believe in such things. He did believe in his own ability to mess things up, though, and he had ample evidence for the existence of that. “M’feet feel better,” he attempted. “So. That’s good.”

“Good. Good. Excellent. You should be able to get yourself home, then.”

“Yeah, I…”

What? What the Heaven was he even supposed to say?

Look, Aziraphale, I blew up a bunch of Nazis for you, is it too much to ask for you to just make eye contact with me? What more do you want from me?

He’d thought this would do it. This would make Aziraphale realize that Crowley – that they shouldn’t be fighting, they should talk again, but what would even be the point of that, since any time he tried he just tripped over his own blessed tongue and made things worse?

But of course not, even in his dream he’d managed to ruin the night, why should reality be any different?

He took a breath and turned away.

“Nh. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Maybe in a few more decades Aziraphale would be ready to talk. Just had to give him space, right?

“I…I suppose you will.”

He manifested shoes back onto his feet – next time he walked on hallowed ground, he should bring real shoes, that might give him some shielding – and strode across the shop, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Crowley.” He turned back, one hand on the door. Aziraphale stood in the shadow of the kitchen, almost hiding behind the doorframe. “Ah. Don’t…don’t be a stranger.”

He concentrated on the doorknob, tapping his fingers, swallowed hard, forcing his heart back down from his throat. “Yeah. I – I won’t.”

--

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@angel-and-serpent