Violent violet and bubblegum pink

Bernard returns from Sunny's room, sighing as he musses Crowley's hair on the way back to the couch.

"What'd I miss?"

From:

"Oh, nothing very much."

Aziraphael looks up at Bernard, and then over at Nymphadora.

It's with a mischievous smile that he stands, ushering Bernard into the seat he's just vacated.

"I don't think there's quite enough room for all four of us, my dear."

He crosses over to the armchair, perching on the arm and leaning in, slightly, resting against Crowley.

From:

aj_crawley

It's easier, Crowley finds, to hold oneself together in a small space; tight confines mean less room to fall apart - he learned that last night, between the end of the cell bunk, and the wall.

Just as little room in the armchair, and it's comfy, to boot.

And Aziraphael.

So maybe he relaxes enough to ask, quietly:

"You all okay?"

From:

Bernard's arm is around her, now, and she's leaning against him, her head on his shoulder.

"We're okay."

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"Been worse."

He sighs.

"Be glad you missed last weekend. We had it out."

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He frowns slightly.

"Had it out about what? I do hope all was resolved? Squabbles," he informs them earnestly, endeavouring to project not the faintest hint of irony, "are beneath you."

And then, far more gently than he considers is deserved, he swats Crowley on the back of the head.

"And what do you mean are we alright, twit?"

From:

aj_crawley

He swats Aziraphael's hand away, before tucking his own back between his ribcage and the chair.

"What, I can't ask?" he says, with sudden lightness. "It's a valid question."

From:

"I have a 'telling-people-stuff'... thing," Nymphadora explains matter-of-factly.

Because they might not have noticed, after all.

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"Really? I can't say I've noticed that at all."

He drops his hand down to rest against the back of Crowley's neck, his thumb gently stirring the short hair. His voice is serene, his expression entirely innocent.

"It is an unfortunate failing, and I'm not sure - with my lack of experience in the matter, you understand - that I'm entirely the best person to offer advice."

From:

And isn't it amazing how quickly those throw pillows can be... well, thrown?

This one, for example, is hitting Aziraphael upside the head in a matter of seconds.

From:

Bernard snickers at them, and then glances over to Crowley, sobering.

"So."

From:

aj_crawley

He shifts slightly in the chair, avoiding Bernard's gaze by means of straightening his shirt cuffs.

"So."

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Bernard rolls his eyes.

"Don't 'so' me. I'm the fucking dinh of 'so'."

The words are harsh, but the look and tone are just tired and worried.

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Nymphadora touches her husband lightly on the leg, but doesn't look away from Crowley. She looks rather more serious, too.

"We could've lost you. Again."

A pause, as she chews on her lip.

"Thought we were going to, for a little while there."

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Aziraphael's expression flickers slightly, but ends up somewhere around 'carefully neutral' as he waits for Crowley to respond.

He's stopped moving his thumb - stopped moving - but his hand is still a warm weight on the back of the demon's neck.

From:

aj_crawley

It helps.

"I don't think he'd've destroyed me," Crowley says finally, "if that's what you mean. Not for that. Whatever else I am, I've been getting a lot of work done these past few years."

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"Yeah, that's what I mean. And I know, and you're right about that, maybe, but..." She bites her thumbnail, trying to get the words right, without seeming to lecture or be angry. Because she's not.

Just scared.

"You've an awful lot to lose, Crowley."

From:

aj_crawley

"Never intended to lose any of it, 'Dora," he says, simply.

It's true. In the sense that Tonks means it, at least.

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"No. Not intended, no." His voice is gentle, but not best pleased. "Were you thinking about us at all?"

He might possibly be attempting to provoke a reaction. Any would do, really.

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aj_crawley

"No."

That's true, too.

"He wouldn't have destroyed me."

It seems a point that bears repeating.

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"Well. That's not information we were privy to when he started flaming."

He takes a breath.

"You could've leaned on us, you know. Instead of writing that you're 'fine' when you haven't been and you're clearly not now. That's what we're here for. Pressure valve."

From:

aj_crawley

" - No. No, Bernard. You don't - "

He's making eye-contact now, properly, the first in a while. It isn't pleasant. He leans back into Aziraphael's hand on his neck.

"Fine is. Raguel said something - weeks ago - and I thought. What am - what I am? The Fall, what I went through? Was for the Morningstar's personal grudge, and I nearly. I nearly... went."

Crowley's bracing himself, arms, legs, torso, against the tight confines of the chair. The explanation started out level, if disjointed, but by went, it's fluctuating, tremoring, cracking.

Went what isn't an explanation that's needed - it's more than visible in his brittle, slightly wild expression.

"I had to be fine, I had to make myself be fine, because otherwise I don't know

( where )

( why )

( who )

what I'd've been."

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Quiet, for a long moment.

"And I know that's-- that's huge, I mean, I can't understand, not really, but... this is you, Crowley. Regardless of how you came to be here. This is you."

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aj_crawley

He laughs, suddenly, and the hiss underlying it doesn't mesh so well as usual. Discordant.

"You must've missed the fun part. 'Cos it wasn't. About Lucifer's grudge, I mean. It was Free Will originally, right? That was why we were so... noble, so... we had a cause. We loved Him - "

- his face twists on it -

" - but we had a cause. And when we..." he makes an abortive gesture with one hand. "When we rose up, that was It, you know? Our moment, our Free Will embodied. And if we got chucked out? Well... so be it, you know? Only. It wasn't."

Another snort, another hiss. Discordia. The agitation seems almost gone, now, as quickly as it had bubbled to the surface. Now, he simply seems... tired.

"It was a set-up. We were manipulated into that like puppets on a string. By Him."

"Ineffable."

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