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mekachu04Aziraphale is resting.
that in in of itself frightens Crowley more than he would like. He personally sleeps because he enjoys it. He even has dreams, when he feels like it. but he's never slept because he's *needed* to. as as far as he's aware, neither has Aziraphale.
up until very recently, Crowley wasn't even sure Aziraphale had even *slept* before.
even now - with them spending the nights together more often then not - Aziraphale prefer to cuddle with him thought he night, up reading right though dawn.
the closest he'd ever been to sleeping was the night right after armeggedon, and that was more just the two of them holding each other close once the booze had run dry, quietly contemplating the very tumultuous past few days, and getting in the right head space for the next day.
today. today they hadn't been prepared. hadn't been ready for Metatron to force open the circle in Aziraphale's shop for the first time, instead of using it as a celestial phone line, using it as a direct portal, entering Aziraphale's home in a way not even Gabriel had ever had the (balls) to do over the last few hundred years.
the angel still claimed to be speaking as the voice of God -a claim Crowley had several doubts about - and had torn Aziraphale down the way Gabriel and Micheal often attempted to do. Metatron was much better at cutting deep than the archangels though, and Crowley watched in horror as his angel was cut down, right in front of him.
He'd acted without thinking, hands clawed on instinct, raking them across the floorboards with a glow of hellfire, powers briefly fighting against each other until the hell fire took hold of the wood between the lines and burned them out from underneath.
Crowley was quick to push Aziraphale out of the way before beating the flames out before they spread, he more freaked out by the near fire than his angel.
he's not even sure Aziraphale noticed - still head bowed from Metatron's verbal dress down. he was trying to get himself under control before he meet Crowley's gaze, and the demon had knelt int he remains of the clawed open circle, terrified but waiting calmly. He knew from centuries of experience not to push.
that in in of itself frightens Crowley more than he would like. He personally sleeps because he enjoys it. He even has dreams, when he feels like it. but he's never slept because he's *needed* to. as as far as he's aware, neither has Aziraphale.
up until very recently, Crowley wasn't even sure Aziraphale had even *slept* before.
even now - with them spending the nights together more often then not - Aziraphale prefer to cuddle with him thought he night, up reading right though dawn.
the closest he'd ever been to sleeping was the night right after armeggedon, and that was more just the two of them holding each other close once the booze had run dry, quietly contemplating the very tumultuous past few days, and getting in the right head space for the next day.
today. today they hadn't been prepared. hadn't been ready for Metatron to force open the circle in Aziraphale's shop for the first time, instead of using it as a celestial phone line, using it as a direct portal, entering Aziraphale's home in a way not even Gabriel had ever had the (balls) to do over the last few hundred years.
the angel still claimed to be speaking as the voice of God -a claim Crowley had several doubts about - and had torn Aziraphale down the way Gabriel and Micheal often attempted to do. Metatron was much better at cutting deep than the archangels though, and Crowley watched in horror as his angel was cut down, right in front of him.
He'd acted without thinking, hands clawed on instinct, raking them across the floorboards with a glow of hellfire, powers briefly fighting against each other until the hell fire took hold of the wood between the lines and burned them out from underneath.
Crowley was quick to push Aziraphale out of the way before beating the flames out before they spread, he more freaked out by the near fire than his angel.
he's not even sure Aziraphale noticed - still head bowed from Metatron's verbal dress down. he was trying to get himself under control before he meet Crowley's gaze, and the demon had knelt int he remains of the clawed open circle, terrified but waiting calmly. He knew from centuries of experience not to push.
