anthony j. crowley (flashbastard) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2010-05-17 15:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !@event, !closed, #complete, *log, anthony j. crowley, castiel |
WHO: Anthony J. Crowley and Castiel
WHAT: The aftermath of Lucifer's arrival.
WHEN: Immediately following this.
WHERE: Aziraphale's bookshop → Harvelle's
RATING: PG-13 (language, primarily; mentions of a character's death)
STATUS: Complete; log
Never before, in all his years of existing, had Crowley felt as utterly lost as he felt the moment he discovered Aziraphale's body. The knowledge that the angel - his Angel - was gone was something he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around. He'd felt the loss the instant it had happened but had rushed to the bookshop in the vain hope that maybe he was somehow mistaken. Upon spotting the crumpled, lifeless form on the floor however, he had realized that it was too late. He had been too late.
The low moan of sorrow that passed his lips didn't even come close to touching how he actually felt. His very essence was shaken, screaming in anguish and denial, as he dropped to his knees beside Aziraphale's still body. Crowley's hands shook as he brushed some of the angel's hair back, away from his forehead, and his slitted pupils searched hopefully for any sign that this was some sort of trick. "Come on, Angel," he murmured. His voice broke and he drew in a ragged breath. "You can't do this to me, you bastard. You said it'd sort itself out. Don't go making yourself out to be a liar now, after all this time." Logically, he knew he was wasting both his time and his words. Aziraphale was gone and he wasn't coming back. However he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't even stand. All he could do was kneel there, his entire world crumbling down around him and with absolutely no end in sight.
Castiel knew. He knew the moment it had happened. He knew his brother was gone and he knew where he lay and, even though he could no longer feel him, he was sure he was still there, among his beloved books in his dusty little shop. He looked calm, placid, as if he was strolling down the shops to buy the paper. He landed a little away from the shop on purpose. He did not want to appear in that room. He needed a moment to compose himself even though his composure looked fine.
He passed through the familiar doorway with a sense of disassociation like he had never really been there at all. It didn't feel like it belonged to anyone. The one who loved it had left and all that were left were books. The weight in his chest threatened to twist his heart from his body and drop it to the floor before him but he walked on, his face still.
Crowley. Of course Crowley would be there, as was right. Castiel moved closer. He didn't want to look at the body but he made himself. He did not need confirmation but still he wanted to look at his brother's face once more time. He do nothing for Aziraphale now. That would hit him later but for now it wasn't Aziraphale who needed him. Castiel did not know how to give comfort, even when he wished to. He could not lie and say things would be okay when he knew they would not but he could not leave Crowley to his pain. Aziraphale would not want him to. He stepped closer, placed a hand lightly on Crowley's shoulder. He didn't know what to say. When angels experience grief they sang. They didn't offer platitudes. Castiel's vessel's throat was oddly constricted. He couldn't sing. He could barely speak. "I am sorry brother," he said softly to Crowley, to Aziraphale.
Although Crowley was aware the moment Castiel arrived, he didn't look up from Aziraphale. He simply continued to kneel there, hands clutched almost desperately at the cold, clammy hand of his now-dead Angel. His eyes were squeezed shut and his sunglasses lay on the ground by his knees. His body trembled with a mixture of sorrow and rage; the two emotions churning dangerously close to one another without any clue as to which would spill over first. Then Castiel touched his shoulder and spoke, and the rage managed to beat out the sorrow by little more than a smidge.
With a deadly-sounding hiss, the demon jerked away from the comfort being offered and glared balefully up at the angel standing there. Had it been anyone else, anyone at all save perhaps Adam, he likely would have struck out. However Aziraphale had always been rather fond of Castiel and, as much as Crowley was loathe to admit it, he felt a similar fondness if only by proxy - or so he liked to tell himself. So he didn't strike out, at least not physically, but instead simply snapped out a low and dark, "Don't." His body trembled again and he dropped his gaze back to Aziraphale's body. "Don't touch me, Castiel. Don't. And save your damn platitudes. They're no good to anyone."
Castiel withdrew his hand. Crowley's reaction stung but he did not let on. It was not the time to demand things for himself. "You are right," he said calmly. "I never understood them." He did not try and touch Crowley again. Instead he looked down at Aziraphale's face. His hair had been moved. Aziraphale would not have liked the disorder, the untidiness. As he watched his brother's face, Castiel's body seemed to twitch and shiver on its own. He couldn't stop it. He closed his eyes for a moment but it didn't go away.
Castiel, who never knelt save at his Father's feet, got to his knees and reached out a hand to rest it on Aziraphale's arm, closed his fingers around his brother's wrist. His thumb slid over the soft fabric of Aziraphale's once pristine shirt. He knew his brother was gone but he still stared at his face as if looking for movement. For the gentle smile. The kind eyes with their creases. He looked at Crowley. That made his chest ache more sharply. Crowley's grief stung like a blade, making the air heavy and pressing down on both of them. He wondered if he should leave. Perhaps Crowley would send him away, would order him not to touch his brother too, but he would not leave him. He would not dishonour his brother by abandoning the one he loved. He sat and braced himself, pushing his own grief down to make way for what was needed. He didn't understand the love they shared. How could he understand its loss? He thought of what Dean may do, in this situation. "I believe it is a time to drink," he said, his voice still soft, respectful, a little cautious, his eyes on Aziraphale's face.
Crowley knew, distantly, that being rude to Castiel wasn't right. He also knew that Aziraphale wouldn't have appreciated it in the slightest, which really was a far better reason for Crowley not to be a right bastard to the other angel. If only to honour Aziraphale's memory, he stayed silent when Castiel dared to touch the body. He also kept his snarl of rage bottled up, deep inside, at the cautious offer to drink. It wasn't the idea that angered him but rather the wholly irrational idea that leaving this place, leaving Aziraphale, was going to make it all worse somehow. He knew it was ridiculous. He couldn't very well kneel here for the rest of eternity. However at that moment he wanted nothing more than to do just that. To end his own miserable existence because the thought of having to go through one more instant without his Angel by his side was something he simply couldn't bear.
He didn't voice any of that though. He didn't really dwell on it for long. Instead he absently smoothed down Aziraphale's hair and pressed a light, tender kiss to his temple. "I'm going to miss you, Angel," he murmured almost inaudibly. "And I hate you for that." Then he glanced to Castiel. "Right," he stated simply. "I'm off to get pissed. Tag along, if you must." And, slipping his sunglasses back on, he vanished from sight with a silent promise that he would return later to attend to the more grisly details of disposing of the body and closing up his beloved's bookshop for good.
For now, though, he arrived at the one location where he rather hoped that Castiel wouldn't bother to follow. Or, if he did, he wouldn't want to stay long. Those weren't the only reasons he chose the spot, though. He'd also picked there because he knew the doors were locked and therefore he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else. Which, really, was almost a kind move on his part, considering the mood he was in. A mood he doubted alcohol would fix but he was certainly willing to try, if only to dull the pain for a little while.
So as soon as Harvelle's solidified around him, he moved without pause to the bar and snatched up a bottle of whiskey. The lid came off with one quick gesture and he raised the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig and waiting to see if Castiel would dare to follow.
Castiel stayed a moment after Crowley left, his fingers a little tighter on his brother's wrist. He didn't make any other contact. There was no use in talking to the empty body, no use at all, but Castiel found himself leaning forward anyway. "He will not be alone," he promised his brother. He sat a moment longer, still bent at the waist. "I will... miss you too," he said just before releasing his hold, tipping back his head and frowning through the ceiling at the sky. A moment later he was gone.
Castiel still had the key to Harvelle's in his pocket but he didn't use it. He simply appeared behind the bar. He poured something into a glass and pushed it across the bar towards the demon. He looked at the bottle only afterwards to see it was vodka. He poured one for himself, then lined up some glasses. They would both need rather more than that. He started to fill them. Some with vodka, others with whiskey, a few with rum and cola. He moved quickly, he still knew where everything was.
Every second one he poured he drank, turning the glasses over on the counter. He didn't stop filling glasses. He didn't keep his hands still for a moment. He started to feel a burning from Jimmy's throat but he didn't slow. His main focus, though, was Crowley. "Here," he said, offering Crowley a large clear bottle with a blue label. On the label was a polar bear bleeding. The label bore the words 'Life Cry.' "Joanna said I was not to serve this to anyone who did not look like they could no longer lift their head even though they had drank nothing. I did not know what she meant but I think it is right to drink it now." It was clear, it looked like vodka and smelled like window cleaner. Castiel pushed the glass to Crowley.
Crowley was already about halfway through the bottle he'd snagged for himself before Castiel had arrived. He kept on drinking, his gaze turned sideways toward the angel as he began filling shot glasses. His eyebrows rose up a bit in a vague sense of appreciation only to drop as the hollowness within him once more began threatening to consume his very essence. Picking up the offered glass, he didn't comment on what Castiel had said. He simply gave a faint shrug and tossed back the drink. It burned a path down his throat and made him go still for a moment. Then the burn was gone and he set the glass down before finally speaking.
"Another." The word was quiet and intensely spoken, and already he was lifting up the remains of his original bottle of whiskey for another drink. After he'd swallowed, he sighed heavily and finally sat down at one of the bar stools.
"It's your fault, you know," he said darkly, eying Castiel. "Not yours, of course, but your lot. All these angels gathered in one place and not a single sodding one of you was able to do a damn thing. The boy warned us what was coming and you all went on about how it would sort itself out. It would be fine." He sighed again, scowling at a spot on the bar in front of him and angrily snatching up the bottle once more. "Lucifer may've been the one to do the work but I blame all of you for not bothering to take that warning seriously enough to form some sort of plan ahead of time. Couldn't even agree on what to tell the humans, in fact."
"I did not believe it would be fine. I believed the fight would be difficult and dangerous. I believed we would be victorious, yes, but this... even if he is defeated it will not feel like victory." Castiel pushed another glass of Life Cry at Crowley and had one himself for good measure. "There is a plan, there... I am sure there must be. I do not know the details. They don't tell me much, it is better that way. I am the weakest, the easiest for Lucifer to manipulate. My role is only to protect Sam Winchester, with the help of my brothers whom I was to alert if Lucifer came close, and to prevent Dean Winchester from doing anything rash. Lucifer came quickly, acted fast. I was with Sam when... this happened. I was playing my part. It is... no comfort." Another drink. "He must have surprised even Aziraphale." This thought made Castiel tense. If he could do that then was anyone safe? He could not be trapped alone with Lucifer and Sam. He wondered why he had even been given such an important task. Perhaps only because he would give his all for Sam and Dean Winchester, even if his all would only buy them a minute. Perhaps because all he really needed to do was call for help, if he got the chance. There had to be a plan, even though his last orders had come from his Father. There had to be.
His words were not to exonerate himself. They were to assure Crowley that all was not chaos. That Lucifer did not move unopposed. He did not want the demon troubled over something that was not true, or what was believed was not true. There was a plan, Castiel was sure there was. He had his role. His brothers had theirs. He felt obliged to protect his brothers' reputation but he also, in a way, did not. Although Aziraphale was not identified as a target he was also left alone and taken so fast there wasn't even time to call for help. So this wasn't accounted for in the plan. Castiel looked into Crowley's face. "We must learn from this. The plan, if it exists, failed us here. We owe it to Aziraphale and to all who Lucifer may touch to take this and learn what we did wrong, what we could have done to... I cannot expect they will tell me more than they already have, I do not need to know more, but they may speak to you more freely." Another drink for Crowley, one for him. "Talk to them. I do not doubt they will need to hear your words."
Crowley scowled as he slammed back another drink. He was listening but he didn't like what he was hearing. Not even close. He finally turned so he was facing Castiel directly, yanking his sunglasses away from his face in one angry movement. "Now you listen to me," he stated in a flat, dangerous tone. "There wasn't a plan. There's never been a plan. Lucifer is here. Michael is here. Those two are going to settle the score, once and for all, and if any of us are unfortunate enough to be stuck in between..." He snorted and grabbed the bottle of Life Cry. Pouring himself another drink, he drained it before shrugging.
"Well, that's just it, then isn't it?" He seemed to all but deflate as the beginnings of the liquor began catching up with him. His gaze dropped to his now empty glass. "The end of times is upon us." And honestly, he couldn't say that he minded all that much now. The urge simply wasn't there to keep going, to keep enjoying a world without Aziraphale around, to annoy him and help keep him from slipping too far. He was completely apathetic to the whole thing now. Let it burn. Let either side win. He didn't particularly care either way. With a sharp motion he poured another glass before handing the bottle back to Castiel as he looked back to him.
"Cheers," he offered dryly and slammed back the drink, swallowing it in one large gulp.
Castiel had seen that look before. On the faces of prophets and ordinary men. On the face of the Mother and on her Son. All he had ever been able to do was watch, just be there in case he was called upon. That would not be enough this time. "Crowley, Lucifer has made a mistake. He has simply drawn us into anger. He has only hastened his demise. Yes, he and Michael are destined to fight and I do not intend to get between them. This is different to the apocalypse I left. This place is to be protected, not destroyed. We cannot guarantee all will be saved but our aim will be to spare all we can." Castiel had slowed his drinking. Crowley needed him to have a clear head to answer his questions.
Castiel tilted his head a little. Perhaps... "Crowley, this is important to you above others. How do you think it should best be done? If things are not how you would wish this may be able to be changed. This is not as it was. It is not all to be left to Michael. We can all contribute, we all should. All of those who can assist must be called upon. This is your chance, Crowley, to make sure there are not others lost. To make Lucifer pay for taking Aziraphale." Revenge. A left over from the anger that woke up when Castiel did, those days after his death. He had slowly let that desire go but this loss had brought it back sharply. He knew it was unhealthy and he tried to push it aside. It would not do to be drived blindly by such an emotion, however... sometimes a spur in the side was needed. Castiel looked at Crowley, his eyes meeting the demons, clear and with no sign of inebriation. "What do you want to happen?" he asked, listening carefully, leaning on the bar that he no longer felt any connection to.
Crowley snorted softly and shook his head. "Doesn't much matter what I think, now does it? Your lot is going t'do whatever it is they're going t'do," he pointed out simply. With a sigh, he dropped his gaze to his now-empty glass, tipping it side to side and watching the lights from above reflect within it. After a moment, his slitted pupils darted back up to Castiel. He straightened a bit and frowned ever so slightly. "If I did have a say-so, though, I'd say you need to get Loki on your side. There's a reason he's meant to stay neutral, after all. Could probably take most of you out without missing a moment of his shows on the telly. He may not look it, but he's the one who could smack Lucifer down all right and proper, and without having to lay the city to ruin to get it done."
Reaching for the bottle of liquor, he poured himself another shot but didn't immediately drink it. Instead he raised it up partway then paused. His attention was focused on the glass rather than the angel. His forked tongue darted out, licking absentmindedly at his lower lip before he spoke again. "Mostly, I just want him gone. Not trapped. Not sent back. Dead and gone. Don't much care, beyond that. End of days, end of Hell, end of demons in general." He shrugged and took a sip of his drink, his attention going back to Castiel. "Can't say I'd mind the end of eternity, now," he admitted.
Castiel nodded. Loki was a logical choice to assist though Castiel believed it was still Michael's place. "Loki does not take sides. He follows Father's orders. I do not know what his orders are in regards to Lucifer but Father values this place. I do not believe he has no orders when he is one of the few who can end Lucifer's run. It is not likely for me to know but I suspect." Castiel leaned heavily on the bar, his balance was suddenly less that brilliant. "You could talk to him, you know. Loki. You can tell him what you told me. You are Azirapahle's. He owes you at least his ear. If not you can tell him to stop being a jerk." Castiel shook his head, looked surprised at what he just said. "I mean, if not perhaps you could talk to Michael." Castiel blinked.
Castiel moved a little closer to Crowley. He knew the demon's pain was more than he could touch. He could not undo it in a night or in a millennium. All he could do was fill the empty space before him for a moment. "He will be gone. The fight will not end until he is. I will try, if all else fails and it falls to me I will tear him to pieces." Castiel's voice was rough from the harsh alcohol, his weakened Grace unable to protect him. His body was elastic, his inhibitions too. He tilted his head. "Aziraphale loved you. I will never understand how much. There is one demon he would want protected in the end of days."
The demon shook his head, the anger that he barely had under control once more surging to the surface. "Stop it, Castiel. Don't say his name. Don't even think it. He's gone, no thanks to you and yours. Brothers indeed. Where were you when he needed you? Off protecting the human responsible for all of this to begin with?" He shook his head. "Aziraphale won't be back and what he wants doesn't bloody well matter." His voice held a dark undertone of warning and the glass in his hand shattered from the force he used to grip it. Blankly he stared down at the shards as they scattered across the bar. "He's dead," he muttered again. With a great shiver that ran straight through to his wings, Crowley was once again sober. He looked back to Castiel.
"And I'm a demon. I'm not part of your merry band. I'm not... nice. I tolerated you bunch for his benefit and without him, I don't see much point in bothering. Lucifer roams free. You figure out how to stop him. Leave me out of it." And with that, he vanished from sight. An instant later the sunglasses also disappeared, leaving behind a slightly swaying barstool and a shattered glass of liquor as the only sign he'd ever been there.