#on the other hand if crowley tears off his mask and immediately starts sounding like malleus that would be THE funniest way to do it

[bisexualcrowley]

Nightmares

Pairing: Lucifer x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: It’s hard to escape a nightmare when you know it’s really a memory

Content/ warnings: ANGST, ptsd, nightmares, mentions of vomit, hurt/comfort, kind of a sickfic?

Word count: 1, 311

A/N: Wrote this to try and cope with 15x18, it’s not working so far but it turns out feeling emotionally shattered really helps when writing angst

When Lucifer first showed up at your door after what felt to both of you like a lifetime apart, he was elated. He had escaped, he was safe from Crowley’s torture, you were together again and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Lucifer felt safe.

The days were full of distractions. The Winchesters snarking about your trust in him, the occasional hunt, most of all the way you were always there, a constantly encouraging and comforting presence that made it all bearable. The nights were a little different.

Lucifer didn’t know what was worse. The nightmares, or the fact that he would wake up every night knowing they were memories.

His first night back on earth, he dreamt of the cage. Thousands upon thousands of years alone, alone with the knowledge that he was despised by everyone, even his own father. He dreamt of how it felt to meet you, to finally be loved by someone they way he loved them only for it all to be ripped away. For him to fuck everything over. For him to let you down.

That first night, he awoke in a pool of sweat with bile rising in his throat, scrambling upright to retch over the side of the bed. He had barely registered the cool touch of your hand rubbing comforting circles against his back, the pounding of his heart masking the feeling of your cheek resting against his shoulder while you whispered sweet nothings into his ear.

His breathing was panicked, frantically gasping for air before another twist of his stomach had him gagging over the edge of the bed again.

When the mattress dipped down beside him, Lucifer cried out, choking on stomach acid and saliva with the feeling that his chest was being crushed, his legs thrashing out in a panicked attack until a cool washcloth was laid down against his forehead and it finally clicked in his mind that you must have gotten up, settled down again beside him.

“Deep breaths, c’mon sweetheart, I’ve got you, you’re safe”

Your voice seemed miles away, a distorted murmur behind the choked rattle in his lungs, the far-too-fast pounding of his heart in his ears, but it was yours, and Lucifer felt a slight sense of calm wash over him.

You spoke again, but this time Lucifer didn’t hear your words, just the sound of your voice, full of love and concern and drowning out the screaming in his mind. When your hand slipped up slightly so that your fingers would brush against his forehead overtop of the washcloth, Lucifer instinctively leaned into your touch, his choked coughs calming enough that he could take in a full breath of air.

He felt you shift closer, dropping the now warm cloth onto the floor, beside what Lucifer had calmed enough to feel a twinge of guilt towards the mess he had made, but the thought drifted from his mind when he felt your fingers comb through his hair, brushing back the pieces that has been plastered to his forehead with sweat.

Lost in the feeling, it took him a moment to realize you were talking again, but once more your words were lost behind the slowly quieting hammer of his heart. Lucifer figured you could tell he wasn’t fully processing what you had to say, but you continued on nonetheless, your voice a comforting lull inside his mind

It wasn’t until Lucifer felt something cold tap at his fingers that he realized his eyes were squeezed shut, and immediately he snapped them open, half expecting to find himself back in Hell with Crowley holding an archangel blade to his wrist but instead being met with your worried eyes reflecting the dim light glowing from the bathroom, and a glance downward showed your fingers curled around a glass of water.

Taking the hint when you bumped the glass against his hand again, Lucifer took it with trembling fingers and allowed your own to wrap around his and lead the glass to his mouth.

He was thirsty. That was an understatement, he was absolutely desperate for water, but could only manage a small sip of the cool liquid before a sob was ripped from his throat and the glass fell from his hand, luckily not dropped by you.

Lucifer was calm now. He was supposed to be calm, he wasn’t dreaming anymore, he wasn’t scared, the pain was gone and you weren’t leaving, so why the hell wasn’t he calm

Lucifer tried to hug his knees to his chest, tried to bury his face against them but found himself led into your arms instead, and if he thought he was crying before, that was nothing, because the moment he pressed the side of his face into your collarbone, he lost it.

The Archangel’s body shook as he was wracked with sobs, arms tight around your waist as each shuddering cry was torn from his lips.

He didn’t know how long the two of you stayed like that, with his head tucked beneath your chin and arms slung around each other while he cried. Didn’t know when his sobs turned to wails, then to silent tears.

He didn’t know when he had moved closer, curled himself up in your arms. Didn’t know when you had tucked a blanket around his trembling form.

When the world did start to come into focus, the first thing that Lucifer recognized was your voice. Soft murmurs against his skin between kisses you pressed to his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. Anywhere you could reach you would leave soft kisses, and the unfiltered, unabashed love exuding from everything you did gave Lucifer the strength to open his eyes.

Meeting your gaze, without a thought he drew his hand upward suddenly, sighing at the feeling of his fingers brushing against your jaw as his head swam with a newfound burst of emotion.

“I-” His voice was ragged, catching on the syllable he managed to spit out. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he wanted to tell you, he wanted to thank you for, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, you don’t have to talk about it. You don’t have to apologize. It’s ok, everything’s ok. You’re safe,” You whispered with a loving smile, gently adjusting yourself so you could cup Lucifer’s face in your hands, run your thumbs down his cheekbones.

He tried to smile. Tried to at least manage a twitch upward of his lips, but it was too much, and he felt hot tears welling in his eyes again.

“I love you, you know that, right? I’m not going anywhere, you don’t have to worry, it takes more than a nightmare to scare me off. I’m here for you, through everything. I promise. C’mon, let’s go get you cleaned up”

Lucifer fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, to shut himself away from the world, until he felt you press your lips to his forehead again. He wasn’t used to feeling so loved. He wasn’t used to being loved at all, actually. This was new, unnatural, but it felt so right, and he let that guide him, giving you a slow nod and leaning his face into your hands again.

He knew the nightmares would be back. Knew the next night would be just as terrible. But in this moment, with you, he didn’t understand why, but he believed your words. Everything was going to be ok

-

Tags, let me know if you want to be added :) // @frog-tiddies​ @cursedbobs​

[winchester-fantasies]

Hold Me Through the Night

Summary: You’re dealing with nightmares and memories that just won’t go away, but Dean is there to hold everything together. 

Word Count: 2832

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, some swearing

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

A/N: This was written for an anonymous request: Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader where she got kidnapped by Crowley demons and they hurt her and when she came home she start has having nightmares and panic attacks? And dean comes in to calm her down and help her through it, fluff angst and smut?? I love you so much you really help me through some bad days girly!💕💘💕 Thank you for your request and for being so patient! I’m so glad to hear that my writing has helped you through some rough times! Thank you for all the love!! ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“You really thought you could handle this yourself?” Crowley asked, his suave accent masking the rage just below the surface. “And I thought Squirrel and Moose were stupid.”

You grit your teeth, struggling against the rope at your wrists and ankles. You should’ve been scared. But right that moment you were pissed. Angry at Crowley and angry at yourself for letting yourself be kidnapped. If only you hadn’t let your cockiness get in the way. 

“They’re never going to come, you know?” Crowley said. “My demons took you before Sam or Dean could even see you. You’re a lost cause, my dear.”

You seethed as the King of Hell stepped closer, running a knuckle across your cheekbone. “Such a pretty face,” Crowley murmured. “Too bad they’ll never get to see it again.”

Rage surged through you, and you lunged forward as far as you could, the ropes digging into your skin and drawing blood. “Fuck you!” you shouted, spitting in his face.

Crowley stepped back, seeming completely unfazed as he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped your saliva from his cheek and lower jaw. He lifted his hand, motioning with two fingers. Not a second later and the door to Crowley’s dungeon opened, an old and hunched over demon walking in and pushing a large, silver cart in front of him. 

Your heartbeat picked up and you swallowed thickly as the first prick of real fear washed over you. The top of the cart was spread out with instruments and tools. Tools that looked menacing.

“Find out what she knows,” Crowley told the demon who tipped its head in acknowledgement. Crowley sauntered to the dungeon door, pausing to look back at you, his eyes steely. “And don’t hold back.”

Your stomach clenched with cold terror as you watched Crowley disappear out the door. You glanced to the demon beside you. He slipped on a heavy canvas apron before picking up a large knife, the blade glittering in the dim light of the room.

You flailed about wildly, one final and desperate attempt to free yourself as the grotesque demon descended upon you. Your wrists and ankles burned and your muscles ached. But it was no use. You were already too doomed.

A single tear slipped down your cheek as the demon sneered over you. The cold press of metal met your skin right before he slid it across your abdomen, a cry of pain tearing from your throat.

**********

You sat up straight in bed, a scream ripping through the silence. It was so loud and shrill it pierced your ears, your eardrums reverberating from the sound. 

Without warning your bedroom door burst open and Dean ran inside, eyes wild and searching. “(Y/N)!” he shouted, rushing over to you. You scrambled up from out of the covers, throwing yourself into his strong arms as he approached.

You couldn’t stop the tears as you sobbed into his chest. He held you close, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding the back of your head. “It’s okay. It’s over,” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and soothing. 

You fisted your hands into his t-shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. The front of his shirt was stained with tears as your sobs finally tapered off to whimpers. He lowered you to the bed, his arms never leaving you. You were thankful for his strength. You didn’t think you’d be able to hold yourself up, not with the way your body was trembling uncontrollably. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean kept repeating, his words becoming a comforting mantra.

You curled into his chest, his warmth seeping into you. He stroked your head, his fingers weaving into your hair gently.

Your whimpers soon faded, and you felt yourself begin to relax and your eyes grow heavy. “Sleep,” Dean’s gruff voice whispered, his breath softly fanning across your face. “I’m here.”

You tucked yourself further into him, your face nuzzling into the side of his neck right before you drifted off to sleep.

**********

“You wanna talk about it?” Dean asked the next morning as you sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. 

You glanced up from your bowl of cereal, eyes tired, swollen, and sore. You’d had more nightmares the night before even with Dean there. They were a constant plague to your mind, but having Dean had helped to stave off some of the fear. 

You shook your head before looking down to your mushy corn flakes. You weren’t really all that hungry. Come to think of it, you hadn’t really been hungry since you got back to the bunker. 

“(Y/N),” Dean said softly, reaching across the table to place his hand over yours. You looked up, fighting off tears at the concerned expression on his face. “It might help.”

You swallowed hard before nodding and pushing the bowl away from you. You took your hand from his before leaning your elbows on the table and cradling your head in your hands. “I don’t know, Dean,” you said, your voice quivering. “I’ve been taken by monsters before. But this time…. Dean, it just won’t go away,” you finished, looking up at him, unable to hold back your tears any longer. 

You buried your face in your hands as your tears turned to sobs. It seemed that was all you were able to do lately - not in front of Sam and Dean though; always when you were alone. Last night had been the first time you’d let your guard down enough to be vulnerable. Because let’s face it: You were not okay.

You heard the scrape of his chair across the concrete floor as he pushed back from the table. A few moments later he slid into the chair beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You buried yourself into his chest, much like you had the night before.

He held you steadily as you let out all your fear. And even when you finally quieted, he didn’t let go. “I feel so weak,” you murmured, your voice raspy.

“Sweetheart,” Dean said, his chin resting on the top of your head. “You’re not being weak. You went through hell. No one expects you to just act like before, not after...everything.”

“But I’m a hunter, Dean!” you snapped. “I’m not supposed to be afraid. I’m supposed to be out there hunting down things like that so what happened to me doesn’t happen to someone else!”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean said patiently as if your sharp tone hadn’t fazed him. “But you can’t be a good hunter if you don’t take time to work through all of it.”

You knew he was right. You were off your game, and if you were to go out hunting right that very moment with the way you were feeling, you’d be no good to yourself or to anyone else. But it wasn’t just the memories that plagued your mind. It was the realization of what could have happened if Sam and Dean hadn’t saved you.

“If...if you hadn’t gotten there in time…. If you hadn’t found me...” you said softly, fisting his flannel.

“But I did,” Dean said. You raised your head to look at him, meeting his tender gaze as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled, your lower lip quivering as you nodded before melting back into him.

**********

That night you once again awoke with a piercing scream. And once again Dean ran into your room with that same alert expression. And once again he came to you, comforted, and held you through the night.

After that, he never left. You didn’t ask and he didn’t tell. It just...was. 

Weeks passed and your nightmares became less and less. You rejoiced. You felt you were finally starting to heal. 

But then it all came rushing back. Except this time you didn’t wake up when the demon started to drag the blade across your skin. No, this time you relived it all. Every last detail. Every cut he made, every instrument he used, even down to the sounds of blood dripping to the floor. 

Your eyes shot open, wide and wild. Your heart was beating erratically and your skin was drenched in sweat. You tried to scream, to let Dean know you needed him, but it felt as if you were underwater. You gasped as you fought to form some kind of sound - anything. But it was useless. You couldn’t breathe.

You managed to lift your arm, your hand trembling as you inched towards Dean who slept peacefully beside you. But the instant your fingers dug into his forearm he was awake. 

“(Y/N)?” he asked, concerned, his voice coated with sleep. When you didn’t answer he sat up. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

You grabbed aimlessly at him, your fingernails scraping across his skin. Sensing your panic he quickly turned on the bedside lamp, his eyes widening when he saw you lying stiff and straight on the bed. 

He immediately dragged you upwards, leaning you back against the headboard before climbing up in front of you, lightly straddling your legs and gripping your face in his hands. “(Y/N), look at me,” Dean commanded, your eyes finally settling on his. “Focus on my voice.”

You were able to nod slightly, a tear unwillingly slipping down your cheek. He caught it with his finger, his stoic eyes never leaving yours. “Sweetheart. None of what you saw was real. They’re just memories. They can’t hurt you anymore. What’s happening now? Baby, this...this is real.” 

He stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, studying your face for any signs of change. “And sweetheart, I need you to breathe. Please. Just breathe.”

As if his words were a battering ram, the wall broke and you sat up straight as you gasped sharply, your lungs filling with air. 

“That’s my girl,” Dean praised, a wide and relieved grin on his face. He helped you sit back, your body still trembling. “It’s gonna be okay,” Dean reassured, coming to sit next to you. He pulled you into his lap, your turn to straddle his thighs. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and buried your face into his neck while his arms came around you tightly, hands splayed across your back. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that before your body finally stopped shaking but even then you didn’t want to leave; you were too terrified of what might happen. So you both sat in silence, your chests rising and falling in sync. 

But you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat when you felt Dean’s lips make contact with your shoulder. It was soft yet tantalizing all at once. 

He continued to kiss your skin softly, working from your shoulder, up your neck, to the shell of your ear. “This okay?” he whispered, his voice deep and throaty.

“Mmm,” you acknowledged, nodding your head. 

You felt him smile against your ear before he shifted you in his lap, rising to his knees and lowering you to the mattress, his hips resting between your thighs. He leaned down, pressing kisses into your jaw and chin before trailing down to your chest and littering your skin with nips and kisses. 

His hands slid down your sides before slipping beneath your shirt and beginning to tug it up. “Dean,” you said, the fearful warning in your voice causing him to stop and look at you hesitantly. You wanted this more than you could even express. Hell, you needed it. But you weren’t exactly the thinnest girl in the world. And although at one time you had enjoyed and even celebrated being a little thicker, after what Crowley had done to you…. Well, your self-confidence and body image had virtually disappeared. Now your skin was riddled with scars, some thick and red, others small and barely there, yet all testaments and ugly reminders of what you’d endured. And you didn’t want Dean to see.

“(Y/N),” Dean breathed, his hands massaging your sides gently. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. But, sweetheart, I’ve wanted you for longer than I can remember and seeing you like this, it’s just made me want you even more. I want to show you just how precious you are to me; to show you that you’re not alone and that I’m here and I’ve got you.... I’ve got you, baby.”

Your heart swelled with emotion and before you could stop yourself, you gripped the back of his neck, dragging him down into a heated kiss as tears streaked down your face. Dean kissed you back with all the fervor you imparted, his tongue slipping past your lips and carefully finding your own. 

Your chests were heaving and lungs burning when Dean finally pulled away and this time you didn’t stop him when he reached for your shirt. You sat up and helped as he slid it over your head before you undid your bra, allowing it to slide off slowly before tossing it aside. His eyes roamed your body with more adoration than you could even comprehend before he laid you back down, stooping down to your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. You closed your eyes and wound your fingers into his hair, scraping your nails lightly against his scalp.

After what seemed an eternity of pure bliss Dean left your breasts and trailed down your torso, pausing to kiss each scar, his green eyes boring into yours. Arousal was pooled in your panties when he finally reached where you ached for him the most. He sent you a questioning glance, and you nodded before he slipped your sweats and panties down, kissing and nipping at your thighs.

He tossed both articles of clothing behind him before gently spreading your legs apart, his eyes darkening at the sight of your wet and glistening folds. “Fuck, you’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” Dean said, his eyes never leaving your core. 

Your breath hitched when he leaned down, his tongue sliding through your folds. You moaned and an involuntary shudder shook your body as the tip of his tongue touched your clit. He stooped back down for a second taste, but you stopped him. You couldn’t wait anymore. You needed him. 

“Dean...please,” you whimpered, rolling your hips against thin air.

He smirked as he realized what you were asking and righted before quickly throwing off his clothes and climbing back over you. His erection slid against your inner thigh, feeling his pre-cum on your skin before his tip nudged your entrance. 

He was slow to enter you, pausing every few minutes to allow you to adjust to him. You’d heard the stories from other female hunters, about how Dean Winchester was a sex god, liking it rough, fast paced, and little bit kinky. But this was a side of Dean reserved only for you. He was gentle and caring; he understood how fragile you were.

But god, when he started moving…. He was slow and steady, thrusting deep and hitting all the right spots. It was as if he knew your body, as if he had mapped it out a thousand times before. It was almost too much and you couldn’t help but grip his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something. Dean wrapped his arms around you, his face nuzzling into your hair. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, his heavy breath hot on your skin. 

You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his back before settling on his ass. You spread your legs further apart, and he sunk deeper within you, hitting that most sensitive part. His pelvic bone hit your clit, and you swore under your breath.

Warmth began to pool in your lower belly, and you grasped him even harder. “Dean, I’m...I’m close,” you murmured. 

Dean’s pace picked up slightly and he grunted, his eyes shut tight. “It’s okay, baby,” he panted. “I am, too. Just...just let go.”

And you did. It was glorious as your walls clenched and everything went white, the warmth that had collected in your lower abdomen now igniting into a blaze. You cried out Dean’s name, your voice bouncing off the walls.

Dean grit his teeth and buried his face into your neck, his hips stuttering. He let out a throaty groan as he came, his hot seed filling you.

He kissed your neck as you both finally stilled, but he didn’t pull out. His lips trailed up and over your jaw before finally settling on your lips, the taste of sweat from his upper lip meeting your taste buds. He pulled back, his eyes holding an emotion you’d never witnessed. He slid his thumb over your jaw while his other hand brushed back your hair, a lazy smile on his face.

“I’ll always come for you, sweetheart…. And I will always find you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Everything:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore @titty-teetee @gallifreyansass @swiftrogerswinchesterthot

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thesuicidalflower

[ad1thi]

keeping a low profile | AU-gust Day 11: Farm/Ranch AU

AU-gust masterlist

disclaimer: i haven’t actually watched Hannah Montana The Movie

//

Tony mimes cleaning out his ears, dramatically and theatrically in a way that makes his father roll his eyes.

 "I must've misheard you," he says, sending his father a significant look, "so why don't we try that again? What is it you wanted to see me about, father mine?"

His father pinches the bridge of his nose, and Tony is equal parts ecstatic that he managed to garner such a reaction and worried that he's made things worse, "I said - I'm sending you to Crowley Corners Tennessee, to go live with your Aunt Peggy."

 "But I don't even know my aunt Peggy! Besides, I have a life here, a life that you can't just tear me away from. You can't send me, I refuse to go."

His father scoffs, "A life? What life would that be?" he grabs a magazine from the pile stacked next to him and flings it across the desk at Tony, "A life where you get into fights with Tyra Banks over shoes?"

 "Or is the life where you pass out drunk in the back-alley of nightclubs?"

 "Or," he takes a second to look at the magazine cover, and Tony fights the urge to sink into his seat, "and this is my personal favourite - is it the life where you make your bestfriend's birthday party all about you?"

 Tony would very much like it if the Earth could open up and swallow him whole, much like it did in that one story his Ma used to love telling him as a child.

 "That was," Tony splutters, fumbling for some sort of explanation, "that was a mistake. I didn't mean to make Rhodey's party all about me!! But Hammer was just following me everywhere, and I couldn't shake him off - and you know how paparazzi are just like bloodhounds and I just…"

 He trails off when Howard gives him a look. Mostly because he knows there's no excuse for this one. He's still working on getting Rhodey to forgive him for ruining his eighteenth birthday party, but it's slow going.

 "You're going to Crowley Corners Tony," his father says in a voice that Tony has learnt to mean no arguing or pleading or begging will change a thing, "the fresh air and countryside will do you some good. Turn you back into that child that your mother loved so much instead of this, media monstrosity you've become."

/

Ordinarily, if Tony was travelling anywhere, he prefers flying. He isn't enough admitting that he's got a taste for the finer things in life and he learnt long ago that unless he was completely comfortable with the company - land journeys were not his thing. He was a big believer in popping a pill before the flight took off, pulling a mask over his eyes, and being gently woken up by a pretty air hostess when the flight landed.

 Howard however, disagreed, which is why he was in a ratty bus that moved maybe 5 miles an hour and had seats so thin that Tony could feel it digging into his skin and making a home there. This is about getting back to your roots, Howard had said when he saddled Tony with two large suitcases and then left him off the side of the road to fend for himself.

 He's been trying to sleep for the better part of an hour, but funnily enough - leaning your head against the dusty window made it rattle like you were in a laundry machine and that wasn't very conducive to a good night's sleep. And since Tony was surrounded by strangers and he had some survival skills, he wasn't about to pop a pill and make it easier for the homeless guy two seats away from him to kidnap him.

 His only small comfort was in the fact that once Rhodey had found out where Howard was shipping him, he'd laughed so hard that he'd forgotten why he was mad at Tony, or, more likely, he decided that Tony's life was already hard enough without him also having this weighing over his head.

 His exact words were: You think I'm going to miss out on you slumming it with countryfolk? Nah we're good as long as you promise to update me every single day.

 Given that there was nothing to do in Crowley Corners Tennessee (he knows, he googled it), Tony didn't think that was a hard ask.

 The bus finally halts to a screeching stop, and Tony cups his hands over the glass and peers through the window to see the sign better. C-owley C--ners, it reads, in faded red paint, and Tony is fairly certain that this is his stop. He gently pushes back the large man who'd plopped into the seat next to him over an hour ago and makes his way off the bus; rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for the bus driver to unload his suitcases from the trunk.

 While he's waiting, he takes a cursory look around at the town that's supposed to be his home for the next summer. It's painfully obvious that they're no longer in the city, because Tony can't see another person for miles. Reaching into his back-pocket - he pulls out his phone and starts thumbing through his contacts, trying to look for the number that his father had sent him earlier.

 "Tony!" he looks up at the sound of his voice, and sees a tall woman walking up to him, with blonde hair that curls around her shoulders. Aunty Peggy, his mind supplies, thinking back to the photos he'd seen of her. There's a touch of familiarity as she gets closer, even though Tony knows it's been years since he's seen her.

 "Aunt Peggy," he replies weakly, and that's all he gets out before he's pulled in for a tight hug.

 "Oh it's so good to see you darling," she says, and Tony realises with a jolt that she has a british accent. She pulls back and cups his cheeks, not unlike how his Ajji does when he goes to visit her, "you look so much like your mother."

 Tony ignores the tug in his heart when he hears those words, mainly because nobody ever tells him that he looks like his mother, and says instead, "It's good to see you too."

 "You must be so exhausted from your journey, let's get you all settled in."

 /

Despite his preconceived notions, Aunty Peggy actually does have a nice house. She's got a jeep parked just off the side of the road from the bus-stand, because apparently Crowley Corners isn't big enough for more than a small bench at the edge of town; and Tony dutifully drags his suitcases all the way to the jeep and hauls them over to park them in the back.

 Riding in the jeep isn't too different from the bus, except that it's less stuffy and Tony can feel the wind on his face. He isn't sure if that's a good thing yet, but he silently marks it down as a point for Crowley that he doesn't immediately hate it. It's a short journey, no more than five minutes - and soon Aunt Peggy is turning the corner into what looks like a very nice house, with a man in crutches standing at the door.

 "That's my husband Daniel," she explains, as they step out and Tony goes to grab his bags, "He injured himself a couple years back and was forced to retire, and New York was no longer fun without him, so I joined him out here a couple months later."

 "What happened?" Tony asks, out of politeness more than anything.

 "He got shot at," Aunty Peggy replies, but before he can ask whether she's serious or not, they're at the front steps

off the house and Mr Sousa is making his way down the stairs. Aunty Peggy meets him half-way, tilting her head up ever so slightly to kiss him hello, because he's still a step above her - and then smoothly shifting under his arms and helping him back up the stairs.

 He thinks he can hear Aunt Peggy scolding him for trying to come down the stairs, but he isn't sure. They remind him a lot of his father and his Ma, before she died, and he turned into a tyrannical asshole. Before that though, he remembers them being happy.

 "Come on in Tony!" Aunt Peggy calls after him, and Tony moves to grab his bags, when movement from the side of the house catches his eyes. Huh, he thinks to himself, I didn't know anyone else lived here. He wants to ask Aunt Peggy who it is, but she's already gone inside, so he feels a bit foolish yelling after her.

 "Hello?" he calls out hesitantly, "Is anyone there?"

 There's a shuffle and then a boy who can't be much older than Tony steps out; with mud on the scuffs off his boots and wearing an honest to god cowboy hat.

 "Howdy!" he says brightly, while Tony tries to wrap his head around the cowboy hat, "You must be Mrs Sousa's nephew." He wipes the back of his hand against his cotton tshirt, which is so thin that it's practically see through, "Clark Kent. I help out with Mr and Mrs Sousa's ranch sometimes, on account of Mrs Sousa being away a lot and Mr Sousa's leg injury."

 "Tony," he says back, and up close, Tony notices that his thick framed glasses and wide brimmed hat are hiding blue eyes, "Tony Stark."

 "Nice to meet you Tony Stark," Clark says with a twinkle, "I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you 'round here."

 "Yeah," his tongue feels heavy, but Tony manages to unstick it just enough to say, "yeah I suppose you will."

 Both of them stare at each other for a couple of seconds longer, missing the way Peggy looks at the pair of them with a private smile playing on her lips.

 Fin

[toomuchofabastard]

Heaven’s Final Betrayal (3/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 2 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Denial, Drinking, Self-Blame

Word count: 3,228 (total 9,818)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get  revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

READ ON AO3

___

Crowley was stirred from the inky grasp of sleep by the rumble of the mattress and the sensation of shifting weight next to him. Reality slowly seeped its way back into his consciousness. Aziraphale. The angel was awake. His bed, his flat. Morning.

What happened yesterday.

Crowley grimaced as the memories resurfaced. Fuck. Images flickered unbidden in his mind, snippets and sounds of events like a highlights reel designed specifically to torment him. He rubbed his gluey eyes with the heel of his palm, and forced them open. The visions vanished.

Aziraphale was sat on the edge of the bed, still and silent. Crowley couldn’t see his face.

“Mornin’, angel,” he mumbled.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale replied quietly, but still facing away. Crowley cocked his head, trying to guess at what was going through the angel’s mind. After a long pause, Aziraphale turned to him.

“So-,” he began, with what Crowley could tell instantly was painfully-forced cheerfulness. He patted his thighs and gave a half-hearted wiggle.

“Breakfast at the Ritz?”

His voice was thin and brittle-sounding, higher than normal. The smile on his face didn’t reach to his eyes. The sight rekindled the ache deep in Crowley’s chest.

Crowley sighed. “Angel, it’s- …You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied quickly. Then he exhaled shakily and his eyes scrunched closed.

Crowley sat up next to him and encircled his arms gently around the angel’s waist, hugging his belly and resting his cheek against his shoulder. When Aziraphale’s eyes opened again, they were filled with the same despair and devastation from the night before. His chin started to pucker and he blinked rapidly. He wouldn’t look at Crowley as he spoke, instead staring down at his hands rested loosely in his lap.  “I… I don’t want to think about it, Crowley. Please, just for today, can we please just pretend…” His voice wobbled and he trailed off with a gulp, turning away.

Crowley sighed unhappily and rubbed his hands over the angel’s stomach. Pretend what? Pretend like it had never happened? Like yesterday afternoon had just been a bad dream. Like they were still happy. Like he hadn’t been raped. Oh God, thought Crowley, as the weight of the word hit him fully. He’d been raped. They’d raped him.

He looked again at Aziraphale’s face. No matter how valiantly the angel was trying to bury it, he couldn’t just suppress all that hurt, all that trauma. He was visibly this close to breaking, barely holding himself together. Crowley was pretty sure one tiny thing would be enough to throw him over the edge. And stoically, stupidly trotting out that stiff upper lip and hiding behind denial would only make things worse, Crowley knew. Why did he do that to himself? He supposed Heaven had taught him to be that way. Some kind of self-defence mechanism against all their cruelty and control.

But he couldn’t ask Crowley to be party to it. Crowley couldn’t do that, it just hurt too much. Even if Aziraphale needed him to… ah, shit. He looked down, and ran his tongue despondently over the back of his teeth. Yeah. Aziraphale needed him. And wasn’t he always there when Aziraphale needed him. He knew this was never going to be sustainable in the long term. But, especially with how fragile Aziraphale seemed right now… maybe just for one day…

“Alright,” Crowley eventually conceded. He nuzzled sadly into the angel’s shoulder.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

“So-,” Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried again, the artificial mask of cheerfulness returning. “The Ritz, for breakfast? We haven’t been there for a while. And their smoked salmon is simply delectable, and they do that fancy juice that you like, or at least you said that you did last time. Or-or we could do the Wolseley, if you prefer?” He was rambling, still smiling too wide and too emptily.

“Whatever you want, angel,” Crowley replied quietly. Just because he’d agreed, didn’t mean he had to encourage him. He was already hating every second of this.

Aziraphale flashed the fake smile again, and swallowed. “The Ritz it is.”

◥|⧗|◤

They took the Bentley. Crowley drove with less reckless abandon than usual, not wanting to rattle his angel in his current state. Aziraphale spent most of the drive looking vacantly out of the window as the busy London streets zipped by. Crowley shot him furtive glances, wanting to keep watch over him but hoping to avoid the usual chiding “eyes on the road, please dear”. Aziraphale either didn’t see or was choosing to ignore him. His hands in his lap were clasped tight, Crowley noticed. The little signs were still there, betraying what the angel must really be feeling inside.

A table for two for the breakfast sitting was miraculously available, and they were seated immediately. Crowley dismissed the waiter with a flick of his hand when he tried to pull out the chair for him, whereas Aziraphale smiled graciously at the man and accepted his help. He couldn’t hide the wince as he sat though, and even as he tried to smother it, Crowley could see the despair flicker again, ever so briefly, behind his eyes. Then it was gone, and the smile was back, though even less convincing than before. Aziraphale sat up ramrod straight and busied himself with his napkin. Crowley smirked vaguely back at him, heart heavy. He’d put on a new pair of sunglasses, and was very thankful for the camouflage they provided. He didn’t want Aziraphale (or any of the humans, for that matter) reading his expression at the moment.

They ordered quickly, and ate quietly. Aziraphale maintained the frozen smile throughout the meal, and tried a number of times to engage Crowley in pleasant small talk, but Crowley didn’t feel any more like talking than he did like eating, and the resulting silence hung dead and flat in the air around them. Aziraphale, likewise, wasn’t eating with his usual relish, instead picking at his food and batting it around the plate with a far-away look in his eyes. Nonetheless, the angel forced down every morsel and afterwards made a great show of wiping his lips with the napkin and complimenting the waitstaff. Crowley watched him carefully all the while, ready for the moment when the mask would finally crack, already preparing himself to pick up shattered pieces of angel in the aftermath.

But it didn’t come, and once they’d paid for the meal*, they headed to St. James’ Park at Aziraphale’s suggestion. The ducks were rowdy as usual, tearing the pieces of bread they threw to shreds, like vultures at a carcass. Crowley begrudgingly left the angel alone at the pond-side while he fetched them ice-creams from the kiosk, as had become their habit. Aziraphale accepted his with another flash of that god-awful broken smile, and linked his soft hand with Crowley’s purposefully. Crowley gave it a squeeze.

*Crowley, by force of habit, left a handful of pennies on the table for the waiter, but discreetly doubled the service charge on the bill. 

They strolled around the edge of the water as they ate. Occasionally, Crowley felt a subtle tremor run through Aziraphale’s hand in his, but when he turned to check on him, the angel always looked away, suddenly remarking on the activity of the waterfowl or pointing out a worthy target for one of Crowley’s demonic wiles.

The deflection continued as they finished the ice-creams and headed back towards the bookshop, stopping at Piccadilly Market on the way. It was busy with people today, milling around between the red-and-white striped awnings, underneath which proprietors were hawking old books, antiques, and other sorts of tat that the angel loved. Aziraphale dragged Crowley from stall to stall, cheerily inspecting their wares. He seemed unable (or, Crowley guessed, unwilling) to pause for even a moment, presumably lest the façade he’d built up crumble without a constant distraction. But Crowley caught the mask slipping in a few moments when the angel thought his face was hidden. A shimmer of uncertainty in his eyes, a tiredness in the way he held himself. As the afternoon wore on, Crowley could swear Aziraphale began to limp when he walked, just imperceptibly.

Crowley was worried about him. It had been gnawing away at his stomach all day. But he couldn’t help but feel annoyed too. Aziraphale must realise how much it hurt whenever he turned that bloody fake cheerfulness act of his on him. Sure, hiding his feelings from Heaven or even from the humans was understandable, but they were supposed to be on the same side now. They were supposed to share these things. Did he think Crowley would judge him? That he wouldn’t see through it in an instant? They’d known each other too long for the latter, and Crowley prayed that Aziraphale didn’t believe the former. It just hurt, the way Aziraphale was shutting him out.

The sky was turning peach-coloured with the first omens of sunset when they eventually got back to the bookshop. Crowley held his breath as he opened the door. Aziraphale hung back behind him. Inside, everything was still, the air heavy with dust, and the books, papers and furniture exactly as where they’d left them the last time they’d been home. Before. Crowley sighed deeply. Nothing had changed. Even though it seemed everything else in their world had. A weight that he hadn’t realised was pressing down on him seemed to lift slightly from his shoulders.

He turned and motioned Aziraphale inside. The angel looked briefly hesitant, but then he swallowed, raised his chin, and entered. Crowley’s hand went automatically to brush his back as he passed. Finally, they were back where they belonged. He shut the door on the world behind them with a sense of conclusiveness. The hum of the streets melted away, and then it was just them, left in silence.

◥|⧗|◤

They were six bottles of wine down, and Aziraphale was clumsily opening a seventh, when the elephant in the room finally trumpeted its unwelcome presence. Crowley had only drunk one, maybe one-and-a-half, of the bottles. The edges of the room were just beginning to spin a little at the corner of his vision. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was so far beyond plastered that he was heading towards a decorative stucco with crown moulding.

“An-angel, I think you’vhad enough,” drawled Crowley, and then frowned at himself, surprised at how drunk he already sounded.

Aziraphale made a face like a petulant toddler. “Jus’ one more,” he muttered. He finished wrestling with the cork and tipped the bottle unsteadily, managing to get at least half of the liquid into the glass instead of onto the carpet. “Can’t… can’t do any harm.”

Crowley’s face creased in disagreement, but he said nothing.

Aziraphale grasped the glass and then necked the contents back in one gulp like a parched man in the desert. Crowley watched, slightly dumbfounded. Under the veil of inebriation, the worry bit again at his stomach.

“Hey, you r’member that thing at that wedding in Cana?” he asked abruptly. “Wine into water - no, wait-” He made a spinning motion with his hand. “-other way ‘round. You know what I mean.”

Aziraphale looked morosely up at him, cradling the glass close. “Bloody awful evening.”

“You’re just sssaying that ‘cos you weren’t allowed any,” said Crowley. The angel pouted.

“Anyway…” continued Crowley, feeling increasingly talkative as the alcohol permeated its way into his system. “Point is, you’re not s’pposed to drink it like it’s still water.” He jutted out his chin. “So s-stop drinking like a… a…” What was the phrase? Some kind of animal. Something aquatic?

“…a dolphin,” he finished, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

Aziraphale spluttered with laughter, making Crowley blink in surprise. “ ‘s fish, dear,” the angel slurred, and then collapsed into another giggle. “You and your dolphins!” He suddenly fell about laughing, bending double on the sofa, and inadvertently sloshing wine everywhere.

Crowley smirked uneasily. His unease built as the angel’s laughter grew gradually louder and louder, until it was almost hysterical. It hadn’t been that funny, he thought to himself. The noise sounded wrong to his ears, discordant and unsettling, as though the bottom had fallen out of reality. It actually made him feel a bit sick.

Aziraphale raised his glass-free hand to cover his face. Beneath it, Crowley heard the hysterical laughter slowly transmute into hysterical sobbing.

Aaand there it is, thought Crowley with pained resignation. The angel had finally reached his breaking point. Immediately, he miracled the alcohol out of his body and back into one of the bottles. “Angel?” He stepped closer and knelt down in front of Aziraphale, trying to peer up through the angel’s fingers at his face. Aziraphale’s hunched shoulders jerked fitfully up and down, muffled sobs and hiccups escaping from underneath his hand. Crowley gently removed the wine glass from his other hand, and then took hold of his wrist and rubbed soothingly at his pulse-point.

“Talk to me, angel,” Crowley said softly. “Please.”

He waited while Aziraphale continued to gasp for breath, eventually managed to stop sobbing, and swallowed heavily. Slowly, the angel peeped out at Crowley like a frightened child from underneath the hood of his hand. Half of his face remained hidden, but what Crowley could make out was contorted with anguish.

“How do you make it stop, Crowley?” he asked wretchedly, sniffling. “It just-… I just want it to stop hurting. I don’t know what to do.” He stared into Crowley’s eyes, looking desperately lost.

“Help me,” he pleaded.

And there was that terrible, stabbing ache in Crowley’s chest again. “Oh…c’mere,” Crowley replied with a sympathetic sigh. He clambered onto the sofa beside Aziraphale and drew him close. Aziraphale lent into his touch, burying his face into Crowley’s shoulder as another distressed whine escaped him.

“I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out,” Crowley explained gently, rocking him from side to side. Aziraphale nodded mutely against him. “C’mon,” he rubbed the angel’s back. “Sober up and let’s talk. It’ll help. I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded again and, gradually, he pulled away from Crowley and straightened up. A quick squint of exertion crossed his face, and the empty bottles on the table were suddenly filled again (well, all but one, Crowley noted, but that was forgivable given the circumstances). The angel wiped messily at his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep, shuddering breath, and then turned to look uncertainly at Crowley.

“Just tell me what you’re feeling,” Crowley whispered. “Don’t keep bottling it all up.”

Resignation settled on Aziraphale’s tear-stained face and he sighed. He looked away at the floor, hugging at his own arms.

“I feel...” he began, his voice strained like it was a struggle to get the words out. “…humiliated.” He rocked back and forth on the sofa, digging his fingernails into the flesh of his upper arms. “…violated.” He shuddered. “A-And I know I shouldn’t but…” He glanced sideways at Crowley and then back down at the floor, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “…ashamed,” he finished, voice almost a whisper. He covered his face again as another pained whimper slipped from his throat.

Crowley rubbed at Aziraphale’s knee. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” he said. “What they did to you, it was barbaric, a-and senseless, and cruel” - the litany of bastards bastards bastards returned to his head, but he tried not to let the rage carry him away - “and it was not your fault.” He punctuated each word with a gentle pat of the angel’s leg. “Not one bit of it.”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I know, I know. It’s not that.” He sniffled again.

Then what? Crowley raised an expectant eyebrow, and waited as Aziraphale gathered himself together again and shuffled on the sofa until he was facing towards him.

“You know, I really thought-” the angel began, and actually chuckled bitterly through the tears. “I really thought that we were the good guys.” He shook his head. “How naïve of me. All those years of loyalty to Heaven, and this is what I get for it. It seems I’ve been well and truly ‘played for a sucker’.”

He looked up at Crowley. “You could always see it, of course.” He sighed ruefully. “I just can’t believe I was ever so foolish as to have-…to have trusted them. I’m just a soft old idiot.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley sighed with a hint of exasperation, squeezing the angel’s hand. “That’s not your fault either. You’re a good person.” He cracked a slight smile. “You are soft, and I love that about you. You see the best in people” - he lifted Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into the tops of his knuckles - “like you did in me. Shame on them for taking advantage of your trust.”

Aziraphale looked unconvinced.

“Can you say it with me? ‘None of this was my fault’?” Crowley pressed.

The angel gulped and stared into Crowley’s eyes, a look on his face like he truly wanted to believe him. “…None of this was my fault,” he repeated quietly.

“And you believe that, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded silently.

“Then…the shame will go away,” Crowley said. “You just gotta give it time.” It would always hurt, of course, but Crowley knew from his own experience that the pain did fade, eventually. He wasn’t about to remind Aziraphale right now that some of this would doubtlessly stay with him forever.

Aziraphale sighed again, deeply and wearily. He glanced over at the once-again-full bottles of wine on the table, but a hint of a frown from Crowley and he stopped reaching for one. “I just want to move on. Forget this ever happened,” he mumbled, waving a hand dismissively.

“…you can’t do that, angel,” Crowley responded, as patiently as he could manage. “It won’t work. We’ll just keep going round the same miserable circle.”

He shuffled closer to the angel again and pulled him into a hug. Aziraphale let him, and curled up close with his head resting heavily against Crowley’s chest. Crowley stroked a hand through his soft curls as he spoke.

“Look, I understand,” said Crowley. “You turn the pain inwards on yourself, because you don’t know how else to survive it. Trust me, I get it.” Aziraphale looked up at him in surprise. “But you have to stop trying to escape all this by suppressing it, angel,” Crowley continued. “If you don’t let yourself feel it, you’ll never be able to move past it.”

The angel looked down and sighed once more. “You’re quite right, of course,” he said quietly. Then his face twisted and another half-sniffle, half-sob left him.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, “for hurting you too. For shutting you out.” He pressed closer into Crowley’s embrace. “I’m a mess.”

“For Satan’s sake, angel, don’t worry about me,” Crowley scoffed softly. A pang of love and fondness joined the ache in his heart as he looked down at the angel. “In fact, don’t you worry about anything right now. I’m here, I’ll look after you.”

He brushed Aziraphale’s hair gently aside, and planted a tender kiss on his temple.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and he smiled - weakly, but, this time, genuinely.

[codicesandflora]

Intimation

Writing Prompt: Have you ever written something that made you cry while writing it? What triggered that response?

---------------

“Dearest, could you add some those chocolate croissants to the list I gave you? They would be the perfect dessert.”

The note was written in Aziraphale’s usual artistic script, composed with a quill he’d been using since he had opened the bookshop. Unfortunately, the last couple of words were blurred in a watery smudge.

‘Oh…that was me, wasn’t it?’                

He reached up to his cheek, startled at the tears he found there. How could a simple addendum to a shopping list make him cry?

Aziraphale let the quill drop from his fingers onto the desk. It was just a reminder for Crowley about a chore that needed to be done so they could go on their picnic tomorrow. Currently, Crowley was out on a drive, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he would be in the bookstore when he got back.

He had planned to visit Mrs. Knott today. She owned the candy store down the street, and Aziraphale had promised to discuss some old books her grandfather had sent her over a cup of tea. Knott had lost a beloved sister six months ago, and Aziraphale had been visiting her on occasion to offer some comfort. He hated to put any sort of rush on these visits, but he did want to make sure that Crowley would get this one last item.

This was just a note. The sort of thing people who were domestic with each other do. How could it make the tears flow even faster?

A sob worked up Aziraphale’s throat as he covered his face with his hands. There was a time when his notes could not be so plain. Centuries steeped in the words of humans had given Aziraphale insight into how words could both convey and conceal. An insight he had used in all of his writings.

There were lines of poetry woven within reflections in his private journals that revealed the meaning behind the thoughts on the page. The humans’ words were a code expressing his doubts, his questions, and the love that enveloped his musings about Crowley.

There were the messages he and Crowley sent back and forth: setting up meetings, sending warnings, reaffirming how little their thoughts strayed from each other. Aziraphale knew it was always possible that another angel or demon could discover one of these messages, but he was careful to put distance between his intent and the information found in those missives.

Every word Aziraphale wrote had to be meaningless to the eyes of Heaven and Hell. Words from his heart, words between him and Crowley could never be open. Every true expression in those words had to be buried beneath layers of deflection and connotation.

But this? This was just a note, a reminder, an open request. The words were laid bare on the page, not hiding.

Just as they were. Hearts no longer silent, no longer needing to carefully whisper.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale started and raised his head to see Crowley swimming in his vision.

“Oh. Oh, I….” He swiped at his face with the edge of his hand. “I was just…I didn’t think you’d be back this early.”

Crowley nodded, lowering himself to sit on a corner of the desk. “Ran into a traffic jam on a side street I was on. So I had a little fun with some well placed temptations and decided to head back.”

“Really dear?” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “And I thought you were supposed to be retired.”

“So are you. And yet, that doesn’t stop you from stopping by the hospital wards.”

“It’s a charity program. Enriching patients’ day with readings from classic literature.”

“Uh-huh. Readings with a side order of angelic miracles help them heal faster.”

Aziraphale waved off that comment with a flutter of his hand. A fresh tear slid down his face when he glanced down at the desk.

“I, I’d written a note for you,” he said. There was a soft, wet laugh before he could continue. “I’d forgotten the croissants. Silly of me, really. How can you have a picnic without dessert?”

Crowley nodded again. The casual posture he had could not mask the caution the demon was using while navigating this conversation. He leaned down and looked at the note, wiping a thumb over an inky tear.

“I can go to the store now, if you’d like. Today’s your day to visit Knott, isn’t it? I could drop you there before and then take you to dinner afterward.”

Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes again. Why couldn’t he stop crying? “Yes, thank you, dear. Did you still want to try that new Indian place tonight?”

Crowley shrugged. “Sure. And I’ll bring over that bottle of Beaux Freres I got yesterday for when we get back.”

“Oh, oh yes, that…sounds…wonderful….”

Aziraphale hiccupped as Crowley slid off the desk and crouched in front of him. He enveloped Aziraphale’s hands into his own, kneeling as he kissed the angel’s fingers. Then he raised his head to study Aziraphale’s face for a moment before getting back to his feet.

“Better grab that,” he said, reaching over to snatch the paper from Aziraphale’s desk and fold it into his pocket. “So I won’t forget.”

“You wouldn’t have forgotten you silly serpent.” Aziraphale finally was able to smile. “You never do. You just want to hide that note away because you think it’s upsetting me.”

Crowley shrugged as he stood back up. “Maybe I just like collecting the stuff you write.”

“Oh come now, you don’t really keep every word I write to you.”

Crowley coughed, a rosier shade appearing on his cheeks. Aziraphale’s mouth fell open as the implication sunk in.

“You…” Aziraphale cleared his throat and decided to aim for levity. “I thought you didn’t read.”

The redness on Crowley’s face intensified. “Who says I read ‘em? Reading them won’t tell me what’s actually there.”

Aziraphale rose to his feet, his heart fluttering in his chest. “My dear….”

Crowley coughed again while the angel giggled, wrapping his arms around him for an embrace that was immediately returned.

[hekate1308]

In The Bleak Midwinter, A Destiel Christmas Calendar - December 9

Masterpost

The problem is, Castiel reminds himself early on, that seducing your very nice and attractive neighbour was never part of his schedule. It would be so much easier if it had been, but the art of seduction wasn't exactly a priority during his time in the military... or later. He's always known that he isn't exactly a people person, and he assumed that if a relationship would one day fall into his lap, it would be through divine intervention. Providence.

And in a way, that did happen, didn't it? After all, what were the chances of someone like Dean being interested in someone like Castiel?

If he is interested. But, he reminds himself, all signs point to yes.

"Castiel? You took your eyes off our client! I've never seen you like this!"

He turns to Anna. "Sorry." In truth, he'd still have acted if something had happened; his instincts are nothing if not finely tuned; but she’s right, of course.

To his surprise, she grins. "Don't worry about it. I'm here, and you in love is something I never thought I'd see."

"I'm not in..."

"Tell that to someone who doesn't know you as well as I do, Romeo." She pauses. "Alright, which means tell it to someone other than me."

He hums as he focuses back on Senator Croyden. The man has hired them for good reason. His politics make more than a few people's skin crawl (Castiel's, if he's being honest with himself, among them; he has never understood why others should care so much about his sexual orientation) and this being a bipartisan event means that any minute someone can snap and try to carve someone's kidney out with a salad fork.

Oh. His inner voice is starting to sound like Dean when he's being mischievous.

It would be a lie if he said he didn't like it, just a little.

"Oh."

Anna's gentle intake of breath immediately draws his attention, since his colleague is not someone who enjoys creating drama just for the sake of it; but a first survey of the room shows nothing but -

Dean Winchester on the arm of Senator Fergus Crowley, laughing at something the older man just said.

Castiel's blood runs cold.

Can he have read their situation so wrong? Dean never mentioned a boyfriend, or a partner. But then, why should he volunteer that information, especially if said partner is well-know, deeply connected, powerful and, if the press is anything to go by, rich?

He swallows, allowing his face to settle into the professional mask he spent years wearing - until Dean.

"Did you know..." Anna begins quietly.

"I didn't know they were acquainted, and it doesn't matter."

"Castiel...”

"I said it doesn't matter Anna" he says firmly, hoping to get her to drop the subject.

Only to see that Dean is searching the shadows until he notices him, grins brightly and nudges Crowley.

Oh God.

They make their way over to them, Crowley apparently as eager as Dean.

"Hey, Cas."

"Dean" he says, then turns to the other man. "Senator Crowley". He hopes he sounds polite enough.

"Crowley will be quite enough" he says, surprising him when he reaches out to shake his hand. There is a challenge in his eyes that Castiel meets against his better knowledge. His handgrip is firm, just at the short end of painful, and they apparently glare at each other long enough for Dean to announce "Cut it out, you two." He slaps Crowley’s shoulder. "You especially, mister."

And the man who Castiel has seen reduce at least two of his opponents to tears on television takes it in stride. "You know I don't mean it, Squirrel."

"On the contrary, I know you do, your Highness."

"Squirrel?" he manages to ask, throwing Anna a glance; but thankfully she's busy doing the work he should be doing as well, if the most handsome man in the world were not standing in front of him.

"Long story short, have you ever seen his brother? He's definitely the Moose."

Castiel is rather sure that even if his people skills weren't rusty, he wouldn't be able to keep up with this conversation.

On the other hand, he's always suspected that Crowley is slightly insane.

Dean snorts. "Yeah because that doesn't sound super weird. Come on, gotta mingle. Do you want to win re-election or not?"

"Yes, dear" Crowley emphasizes and Dean rolls his eyes.

"Whatever. Hey Cas, dinner at my place tomorrow?"

"I'd love to" he replies, taken aback when Crowley doesn't seem the least bit concerned or jealous. Their relationship must be very solid.

And they sweep away while Castiel does his best not to notice Anna's pitiful looks.

What did he just agree to?

And furthermore, how did his life become so complicated in just a few short weeks?

[buckyscrystalqueen]

The Ring and The Cure: Part 5

Pairings: Crowley x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff

Word Count: 2,467

A/N: Repost to spread it out the way it should be.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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“Daddy! Daddy!” Crowley had just enough time to spin on the spot before the little girl leapt off the stairs in the throne room and into his arms. “It's park day!” She squealed as her father grunted at the impact of his four year old slamming into his ribcage. 

“Yes, my little Candi Cane, we are going to the park today.” He huffed as he caught his breath and settled Candice on his hip. She giggled at the sound of her nickname and waved bye to the couple demons that had been in the throne room as her and her father headed back toward your bedroom. 

Crowley absolutely adored his daughter, giving her everything she could ever want or need in spades and he never once mentioned her true lineage nor did he let on to the few and far between moments that he saw when he would look at her and see a hint of your past mistake for a couple seconds. You had both been grateful that Candice was nearly your spitting image and that the only major thing that wasn’t yours was her eyes. If you were to judge by her eye color alone; however, you would think she was Sam’s daughter.

“Mommy it's park day!” Candice called out as your daughter and husband walked into the room; chatting up a storm about slides and swings. You looked up at her from the day bag you had been packing with a laugh.

“Yea baby, we are going to the park.” She squealed in joy and threw her little arms in the air in celebration for a full day out of your home in hell.

“What are you feeding her? She nearly knocked me on my bloody arse.” He chuckled as he set his daughter down on your bed, holding her hand in his knowing full well that she was going to jump on the bed like she always did no matter how many times you both told her not to.

“Oh, you know… c-a-k-e and i-c-e c-r-e-a-m.” You spelled out, not wanting to start a 4 year old hissy fit over not getting her favorite desserts at that exact moment. Crowley chuckled as he turned his body slightly to make sure his little girl didn’t accidentally jump off the edge of the bed and you pointed at him and picked up the bag. “You spoil her rotten.”

“I do nothing of the sort. I treat her as a princess should be treated.”

“Yeah, yeah. You tell me the same thing and you still won’t let me eat chocolate in bed.” He glared at you as he picked up Candice in his arms to take you all to the park.

“That is because for the sake of everything unholy, you cannot eat chocolates in bed without feeling the need to wipe your smudgy little fingers all over my pillow case because you find it amusing.” He smirked and walked over to you and you looked at the ceiling with a shit eating grin on your face. “Yes, that would be you, my Queen. Do not attempt to deny it.”

“I plead the 5th on that one your Majesty.” He laughed whole-heartedly as he pulled you into his chest; his hand coming to rest on your back side and he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Plead the 5th all you wish. You know if I really wanted to I could fuck the answer out of you right here and now.” He stood up immediately and forced a cough to cover up the moan that escaped your lips. “Ready my little monkey?” He asked. Candice crinkled her nose the same way you did for a moment and gave him the only thing she inherited from her biological father; the signature Winchester pout. 

“I not em monkey, daddy!” She told him as her bottom lip poked out. Crowley didn’t draw any attention to the face no matter how much it stung and he thumbed her bottom lip to make her smile instead.

“Do this.” He said as he puffed out his cheeks with air. Not knowing what she was getting herself into, Candice mimicked her father. Crowley let his cheeks fall flat and smiled at her. “See you're a monkey.”

“No daddy. You’re em monkey.” Crowley scrunched up his nose at her, making Candice giggle adorably as he put his arm around your shoulder. He gently blew in his daughters face to get her to close her eyes so she wouldn’t be sick. She squealed in laughter at the slightly weightless feeling she got as Crowley brought the three of you to a random park by a lake. When he stopped blowing, Candice looked around, screeched like a monkey as she always did twice a month on park days and began to wiggle out of her father’s arms. He had just enough time to drop her “special park necklace” (a pink hex bag) around her neck before she dashed off to the playground to enjoy the beautiful day.

“You’re an idiot.” You told him as the two of you walked over to a bench to enjoy a day without phones or distractions with each other.

“She set herself up for it.” He chuckled and you laughed and looked at him.

“Baby, she’s four! Of course, she set herself up for it.” Crowley simply shrugged and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“She will learn one day.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“What do you want for dinner, princess?” Your husband asked as he held the children’s coloring menu up and you smiled at him lovingly as he pointed out the various food choices. This was your favorite part about park days; sitting down at a local diner as a regular family. It was your way of keeping a sense of normality in your daughter’s otherwise extravagant life and to keep her humble. She pointed at her choice politely and held her hand out for her crayons, taking only a moment to remember to say ‘pwease’ when her daddy held the crayons just out of her reach.

“What are you havin’ baby?” You inquired as you stretched your legs under the table and rested them on the booth in front of you between your husband’s thighs. He pursed his lips as he looked over the menu and his free hand fell into his lap to lazily rub your ankles.

“Darling you know I am not a fan of diner food.” He said as he read over the menu with a smirk. He looked up at you through his lashes. “I must watch my girlish figure after all.” You laughed and tapped your foot gently on his thigh. You sighed in contentment and leaned back against the booth as the love of your life gently massaged the back of your leg while you waited for the waitress to come over to take your orders.

“Part of me wishes we could do this every night but the other part of me could never give up real Italian pasta or fresh Turkish baklava… You spoil me, baby.” He smiled at you and opened his mouth to respond when the happiness fell from his face and was replaced by pure rage.

“Well it’s always interesting to see you outside of business hours, Crowley and in a shitty diner, no less.” Dean mocked as he leaned against the back of your booth. You sat up straight, dropped your feet to the floor and looked up at him; unsure of how you felt about his sudden appearance. His mouth dropped open when his eyes fell on Candice and you watched the color drain from his face. You didn’t even get the chance to blink before Crowley jumped up and grabbed Dean’s arm to drag him from the restaurant; his eyes bright red in anger.

“Daddy, where you goin’?!” Candice squeaked with terror in her voice. She was a daddy’s girl through and through and hated being left behind. Crowley forced himself to put a calm mask on to not scare his child and turned back to look at her with calming brown eyes.

“Daddy has to go talk to his friend, sweetheart. I’m coming back; don’t you worry, little one.” She nodded, satisfied with his answer and went back to her coloring. His eyes flooded red once more and he turned back to Dean. “Walk. Moose; stay with them.” As Crowley dragged a terrified, angry and mortified Dean out of the diner, Sam stepped around them and came over to you.

“Well that ought to be a fun talk.” He said, relieving a smidge of the tension that lingered at your table. You stood up, gave him a hug and shrugged your shoulder.

“I take it he doesn’t talk about her when he’s around y’all, does he?” Sam shook his head as he looked at your daughter with a small smile on his face.

“She looks a lot like you.” You nodded and sighed softly.

“She has your hazel eyes.” Sam looked down at you and you smiled. “I know. I was surprised too.” He hummed and looked back at the little girl trying to commit her to memory. “Don’t tell Dean or Crowley that I told you because it would only hurt one or both of them but you have the right to know. Her name is Candice MacLeod. Her birthday is Christmas day so she will be turning 5 this year.”

“Has it really been that long?” He asked and you nodded slowly. The both of you stood in silence for a moment before Sam cleared his throat. “Thank you.” You nodded with pursed lips and glanced up at him.

“You don't have to thank me, Sam. Shit, we had only met twice and we made the agreement together because of that. Dean was too drunk to remember not doing it and with the Mark and their budding bromance it was the smarter move to make. We both knew I would go back eventually, both knew that you and Crowley weren't on good terms and we both agreed that if this was the outcome of your one night stand with the future Queen of Hell, it would have gone over a lot smoother with Dean as the culprit over you."

“Are you ever going to tell him she’s mine?” He whispered and you shook your head.

“No, it’s too late for that. But just so you know, he does right by her. He's treated her like she was his from day one. I know that doesn't make this situation any easier for you but I figured you would feel a little better knowing your daughter was healthy, happy and loved.” Sam nodded and brushed a stray tear off his cheek.

"Honestly, (Y/N) for what it's worth... with everything Dean and I have gone through in the past 5 years, it is actually comforting to know that she is safer with you and Crowley. That's all I ever wanted; to know that my child was safe from the evils of this world and didn't have to be raised in this lifestyle like I was. I could never give her that." You gave him a weak smile before both of you turned back to Candice. You had an idea pop into your head and you took his hand, stepped toward the table and crouched down, pulling Sam down with you.

"Hey Candi Cane..." You said gently and she looked at you and smiled. You heard Sam breathe deeply at getting to see his daughter's face and his eyes completely for the first time and you squeezed his hand in support. "This is mommy's friend from a long time ago. His name is Sam. Can you do mommy a favor?" You asked your daughter, knowing that this move would be risky but worth it. She nodded and you squeezed Sam's hand in an attempt to prepare him. "Can you look him in the eye and tell him that you love him for me. He doesn't believe mommy when I told him you loved everyone in the whole world." Sam squeezed your hand tightly as a giant smile lit up his little girl's face and her eyes changed slightly from a total hazel brown to a slightly more bluish color the same way Sam's did as she looked at him.

"You gots ta listen to my mommy, Sam. I luv all the peoples in the whole wide world; specly you cuz your mommy and daddy's fwiend!" He smiled broadly at her; lost for words and visibly fighting back tears. With a smile, you told her to go back to coloring her picture for daddy as you and Sam stood up.

"Fuck... that… thank you." Was all he managed to get out before you stepped in and gave him a hug.

"I hope that didn't make this harder." You said as you pulled away and he shook his head as a few tears fell from his beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.

"Seeing her so happy with both of you proves to me that we were right in what we did. I would love to be in her life, but I know this way she's happy and safe and that's all that matters to me in the end.” 

“Sammy, let’s go!” Dean shouted as he ripped open the diner door, a look of terror and anger on his face as a very smug Crowley strolled past him. You and Sam exchanged a quick smile that said everything it needed to and he took a second to wipe away a couple stray tears before he looked at his daughter one last time. With an appreciative pat on your shoulder, he turned around and left the diner and you forced yourself to tuck your thoughts about that night to the recesses of your mind once more.

“Have a nice chat?” You asked, with a smile on your face as you and Crowley sat back down in the booth. He nodded and kissed the top of Candice’s head who was thankfully lost in her coloring once more.

“Just had to remind him of his choices is all.” You huffed a laugh and glanced out the window as the Impala pulled out of the parking lot. You caught Sam’s eye immediately and with an appreciative nod from him, the two of you said your silent goodbyes. You looked back at your husband and put your feet back up between his knees on the booth, feeling a little freer despite the lie that was told all those years ago.

“So what is Mr. Girlish figure having?” You teased as you picked up your menu again; already forgetting about the real one night stand you had in Costa Rica.

Part 6

[shadowfaximpala]

Halo on Fire

MASTERLIST

Summary: The boys had kept you safe for long enough, but anything with an essence for the unusual eventually breaks loose, but this time the break is permanent. A blood spell gone awry awakens dormant powers, as you struggle to come to terms with the flood gates bursting you find yourself attached to a certain demon who oozes charisma and sass...

Tags: Reader Insert, Female Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Multi-Chapter fic, 

Pairing: Reader x Crowley

Warnings: Language

Readers Notes: Well I started writing this a while back, I didn’t want to post until I had a handful of chapters which will be slowly introduced. I had the idea in the back of my mind for ages and started writing whilst on vacation. 

Chapter one:

Obey, obey, come won't you stay. Sincere, sincere. All ends in tears.

The clock ticked away aimlessly into the night, the lights of the bunker dim and daunting. Dean sat snoring opposite you, his face crumpled over into a book, barely even a chapter in... He had given into his worn down demeanour hours ago. Sam's eyes were growing heavier with each page, you could see his head nod every few minutes as he struggled to keep himself awake... You were on top form, eyes scanning the pages with relentless speed, highlighters thrust onto the page with sharp precision when you needed to mark out a key word, the boys didn't like you marking the pages but your argument of 'Who gives a shit', was a valid one; if the world was inevitably going to end for the hundredth time in recent years then one day these tattered old documents wouldn't mean a single thing. Taurine and caffeine mixed with sugar thrummed relentlessly through your veins keeping you energised beyond abnormal functioning part celestial being. A flap of wings alerted you that you were not alone with the Winchesters anymore. "Castiel." You greeted without looking up from your book. "Y/N," he greeted back with a bow of his head. Cas, just like the Winchesters had come to accept what you were quickly and with open arms. For the last six years you had lived among them, fought with them, even once died for them, being cast into Purgatory with Dean and Cas. There wasn't much that any of you wouldn't do for one another, an unspoken bond coursing through your blood. Family. Cas often mended the warding on your body, which was decorated in intricate tattoos to keep heaven away. Being half Nephilim had its perks, but of course it had its pitfalls. Before heaven became a mess it had tried to exterminate you after it succeeded in finally locating your father, who was a nephilim, a holy abomination... The product of an angel and a human. Yo had both been on the run your entire lives, living out of motels or your father's many stolen vehicles over the years. After an angel destroyed your father you carried on the life, living on the road but fully warded against divine intervention... of course until two brothers and an Angel came crashing into your life. "Have we made progress on the whereabouts of Rowena?" Castiel's deep, rich voice inquired. "No, I've looked through various locator spells but she's clever. I can't match her magic. Why can't we just ask Crowley? He always knows where she is." You shot the boys a look, both of whom were now wide awake. "Absolutely not," Dean rubbed his sleep clouded eyes, his voice sounding even rougher around the edges from exhaustion. "We're not always above asking him for help." You stated flatly, which earned you another glare. "We're not getting chummy with the King of Hell anymore, it's bad enough that we are trying to find Rowena for this hunt." Dean's jaw clenched momentarily. You were about to answer back but Sam's hand found your shoulder, squeezing slightly. Dean rose to his feet, he lazily slouched his way into the kitchen to grab a snack and probably a bottle of beer. "Look, I've searched through all these damn magic books, I can't find her with our limited level of location magic she's warded. Heavily. Just let us ask-" "Y/N!" Dean barked over the other side of the room. "Enough. We're not asking any demon for help this time. If he wanted to drop his mom off at our doorstep then that would be freakin' peachy, but I'm not asking a favour from the demon who let her slip away in the first place!' His green eyes burned a hole into your E/C ones. "Then maybe I can match her magic and we can gank this alpha witch the old fashioned way. I'm going to use my powers weather you want me to or not. I'm not letting you sacrifice time to keep heaven off my back." Your jaw clenched too in response. You lifted your chin in defiance like an angry teenager; you and Dean would often bicker as if you were indeed flesh and blood, you had grown so accustomed to their demeanour you had slowly morphed into a Winchester. "Y/N you know we wouldn't expect you to put yourself in harms way to just take out a Witch..." Sam tried to diffuse the situation by erasing some of the tension between you and Dean. "She's not just any Witch, she's a black and blood magic user who has manipulated control of a Demon somehow. She could be a deadly threat, I'm with Y/N on this one, I can mend the wards when the task is complete." Cas had your back, it was two against two, the first one to succumb to the idea was, of course, Sammy. "It could be worth a shot..." The younger brother offered. "No means no!" Dean grumbled in his rough voice. "Have you all lost your minds? We have a plan and we're sticking to it, find Rowena and get her to go witch on witch." The pleading in his green eyes was evident, Dean didn't want you in harms way, he'd already lost so many family members to the fight of good vs evil, the never endless hunt. The mood cascaded quickly into a sombre shadow, looming over everyone. Dean and Sam continued their research, but your mind was too anxious and loose, you couldn't focus on scanning those pages any longer. You excused yourself quietly and retreated to the sanctuary of your room within the bunker, your bare feet padded softly along the corridor, you closed your door swiftly. You descended on your Chester drawers immediately, retrieving a very old and battered looking cell phone. You punched in the number, it wasn't the exactly a difficult one to forget... The outgoing number flashed up on the screen, 666. You expected a gruff English accent to snark at you over the other end of the phone, instead within a flash he stood at the foot of your bed, his black knee length coat looking extra sharp, his features turned up into a smirk. "You called?" His expression seemed to shift to triumphant, before he could throw out one of his usual suggestive quips you interrupted. "Looks like we need your help, but the boys are too stubborn to ask." Crowley let out a derivative snort, rolling his eyes slightly but his grin didn't fade at all. "Straight to business... And you thought you'd go behind their back and ask me personally? Flattered, truly, I'd rather you beg me than Moose," his whole body dripped with charm, his voice low and commanding. "Who said anything about begging?" Your eyebrow rose in response. "You don't even know what I'm about to ask." You tried to cloud your smirk. The two of you had worked together numerous times, there had always been a level of flirtatious banter that radiated from both of you, but that was all it was and all it could ever be. "I have a few ideas, but they do all end in you begging..." He flashed you a wicked smile, you were sure in any other universe you'd go weak at the knees. "I need you to help me locate a witch." Your reply came out much harsher than you intended it to be. Crowley shifted on his feet, unsure of what to make of such a request at first. "You needed me for that? Isn't this what you four goonies do everyday? Why in hell would you need my help?" Despite his frustration at such a simple ask you could tell his intrigue was genuine under the mask of disbelief. "The boys are trying to locate your mother to ask for her help, I was going to ask you to give us her whereabouts but I thought you might want to handle this personally. This witch is an alpha matriarch, she's using blood magic, black magic, she's even manipulating demonic powers somehow. All we need to do is locate her, kill her and everyone can just go about their miserable lives. It's not a huge favour really" you threw some flattery in there to bring the king of hell around to helping you. He scratched his beard for a few moments, pacing your small room before stopping to turn on his heel. "What's in it for me?" He asked with a flat monotone. "Peace of mind, A promise not to kill you, A get out of jail free card? Take your pick" replying confidently to lighten to mood. "How about a favour I can have at any time? No questions asked." He countered. You eyed him wearily for a few minutes, before stepping closer to him. "Deal" you chided confidently. "Usually when I make a deal..." he closed the gap between you both, his body dangerously close to yours. You knew exactly what he was about to do, you stuck your hand out instead, offering to shake his. "Not going to happen Crowley," you grinned at him. He stared blankly at your hand for a moment before ignoring its existence entirely. That wasn't the outcome he had pictured, if you didn't know any better you could almost swear his face twisted into a frown his eyes dusted with hurt at your rejection. 'Ingredients." He offered coldly. You blinked up at his a few times before it finally settled in your mind that he was referring to spell ingredients. "What do I need?" You inquired. A snap of his fingers and a list appeared in his hand, he passed it to you in a swift motion. You eyed the contents of the list. Most of it you had in your room in the Chester drawers, but three ingredients were missing, you knew they existed within the bunker somewhere. As if reading your cognitive struggle Crowley clicked his fingers again in that typical arrogant yet sophisticated way and the ingredients appeared before you. "One more thing," you began. "I need to be able to match her power temporarily so I can kill her," you perched yourself at your altar, throwing each ingredient into a wooden bowl, the black candles already aflame and carved with intricate symbols of alchemy. "It's always take with you lot," he stood beside you watching and calculating everything that you did with eyes like a trained vulture. "Finish the spell and we can talk about your warding." With his command you threw a healthy heap of black sage into the mix, slicing your palm for the final step. As soon as the blood his the bowl the ingredients burst into blue flame. The candles on the altar flickered from red to white. You felt a searing pain in your palm, like alcohol and salt being rubbed into it and then held over a naked flame. You grunted in agony, Crowley moved like lightning he grabbed your hand and threw a piece of cloth over the wound. Even more pain sparked from the area, spiralling upwards, coursing through your blood until your mind went black. A lonely hue of darkness. Moments seemed like hours trapped inside a blackened prison, finally a red glow began to resonate within this newfound hell. The emotions hit you like a brick wall falling down on a bug, like a tidal wave crashing against a lonely shore. Anger, hatred, burning red hot disgust for almost everything, selfish desires and jealousy. Human emotions on a whole new scale, mixing them all into a concoction of despicable evil, but somewhere amongst that tsunami of desperately raw and negative feelings there was a little spark of hope, a small latch left open, something still quite pure inside but it all became too much. Suddenly your vision came crashing back, you stumbled backwards into the wall, unable to speak, unable to stand and function. You literally felt like you had been hit by a train, everything felt heavy and light at the same time, your head swam. You hand't known when you had let out a dull scream but three sets of heavy feet belonging to men above average height barrelled down the hallway shouting your name. Crowley looked at you almost worriedly, he must have felt something too, like his soul being invaded without his permission. He held a hand out, ready to tuck it under your elbow and help you up but you withdrew from him instantly. "You should go," you managed, with that he let out a deep sigh and vanished right as the door swung open with such ferocity that it probably left a mark in the concrete walls.