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the-coffee-story · 3 years

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Rise of the Forest God

Chapter 17 - Professor Tally Winchester

Winchester Hall was a beautiful, dark Victorian mansion á lá Addams Family that rested proudly upon the tallest hill around. The windows, grey with age and dust were tall and skinny and a rusted iron gate, with weathered carvings now indistinguishable rested half swallowed by dirt and uncut blades of long dry grass. The whole thing blended rather well with the crawling forest behind it.

The team was waiting by the gate, curious and giddy with half-numbed nervousness.

"Well, now I'm definitely interested," Walther commented, peeking through the towering, rusted gate. "This looks like it's haunted by at least three ghosts who died a horrible death. They never found the heads."

October laughed.

"Seriously October, imagine the Addams Family's mansion, now scale it down a little."

He raised an eyebrow. "Can't wait for Morticia to pop out."

"Well, Morticia was definitely not on the phone," Violet noted.

Suddenly, the carved, dark-oak door that rested comfortably in the centre of the home's front opened, and a young man peeked out, adjusting his glasses as he took a moment to assess the situation. After a few moments passed, he noticed the team waiting by the gate, waved to wordlessly grab their attention, and quickly scuttled over.

Tally Winchester was a medium-heighted, slender and bald individual with large, wildly blue eyes behind thick glasses and a countless amount of scattered silver piercings dotted in and around his earlobe. Despite the fact that it was it had just dawned early spring, his skin was sunburnt and tanned, as if he spent most of his days somewhere lost outside. He walked with a noticable limp, and Walther didn't need to wait long for an explanation, when a prosthetic briefly appeared between his worn brown converse sneakers and faded jeans.

"Hi!" He flashed a toothy smiled at the group and opened the gate. "Great to see you, I'm Professor Tally Winchester!" He shook everyone's hands as they trickled past. The sleeves of his petrol flannel were rolled up, revealing a rather out-of-place, faded tattoo of a crawling lizard and a bunch of old scars. "You can call me Tally though."

Violet held out her hand. "Hi, I'm Violet, we talked on the phone."

"Great to meet you all!" He grinned. "Are you coming inside?"

***

"Before anyone asks, I inherited the house," Tally explained while leading them upstairs. "It's rotten and I hate it and the bills are a naked horror but I doubt I can find anything that has more capacities for a library." He opened a door. "Intrate, everyone."

"Remarkable," Doc commented.

Remarkable was indeed an understatemt. The room they'd entered was a library- with a beautiful brick fireplace and huge windows that let in the sparse afternoon sun, bookshelves brushed against the webbed ceiling and sunk into every wall. The floor was carpeted, through incredibly uncomfortable to walk on, and the furniture antique. One wall was plastered with photographs and notes.

"Nice," Walther mumbled, taking the second to once again soak in their surroundings.

Tally grinned, idly brushing aside pages and old notes compromised of incomprehensible scribbles and drawings. His teeth were somewhat crooked. "I didn't replace any of the furniture, but I did sell a chunk of the old books. There was just no space for mine." He closed the door behind them. "So anyway, you wanted to know about the cult?"

"There's been a bunch of murders in Forest Lane that were eerily similar to what it did, so yeah." Thasfield shrugged his broad shoulders. "We suspect the cult might be involved."

"Oh, I heard about that on the news!" Tally sorted the files on the table until he found what he was looking for. Then he looked up. His face was serious now. "At this point I'd like to admit I have a slightly selfish motivation in this."

"What is it?", Violet asked.

"You see..." Tally leaned against the table. "For context, I'm a history professor, but my focus is on cryptids and modern legends. Historical context, potential explanations, yada yada. A few years ago I stumbled across the legend of the Forest God."

Walther's face lit up. "Oh, I remember that story, my parents used to tell it to me when I was a kid! This one guy got lost in the woods, was found dead and after his funeral his reanimated corpse came home and his wife who loved him very, very much-" They side-eyed Violet and Coffee, who in turn glared back. "-couldn't accept that maybe it's not exactly normal that your husband's corpse is vibing around, then after a while he started killing people, then he killed her and then the neighbours buried him in an iron casket in the woods so he would stop randomly murdering people. Right?"

"You summed it up." Tally nodded.

"But who believes in that?!" Violet frowned. "I mean... it's just a legend, right? Somebody finally snapped, had a rough week or something, and people straight up believe his bullshit?"

"He came back from the dead and started murdering people, Violet," Doc commented.

She shrugged dismissively. "We've all been there."

"I don't want to meet you after a bad week," Tally remarked with mild discomfort, absentmindedly flipping through pages of notes and nonsense. "The existence of the man who allegedly became the Forest God is proven. His name was Eustace Wyndham and if you ask me he had rabies and some things were added for drama. But that's not even relevant, because the cult came almost a hundred years later." He slid around the table and opened another scattered file. "1969 they started to worship the Forest God. At first it was nothing special, you know, just the average college student nonsense." He held up an old photograph, subtle wonder in his eyes as he stared into it, before handing it to Walther. "Here, you can take a look at this! That's the entire cult. The guy in purple with the long hair is one of the founders. The other founder left in 1970 after getting a bad feeling about the whole thing. I caught him for an interview five years ago. Lovely guy, sadly died of cancer shortly after. It's a shame. You can pass the photo around! Notice how they're all wearing cow parsley wreaths. That was the flower associated with the Forest God and the flower scattered all over their murder victim's body, or rather what was left of it."

"All the victims had cow parsley in their mouth," Doc realized, dragging a hand up to rest in his soft ginger curls, staring blankly into the distance, thinking.

Tally nodded hastily. "Exactly! And now please look at what I found on my windowsill this morning!"

He limped over to the tallboy, half relying on the nearby furniture for support. Leaning down and throwing open a drawer, after a short while of sifting through papers and photographs, he took out something else. Then he held it up.

It was a wreath of cow parsley.

"That's....not good," Walther murmured after a long moment of stunned silence.

Tally nodded, twirling the flowers between his thumb and forefinger. "You get it. You know..." He leaned heavily against a dusty, worn table and heaved a small sigh. "When Wilhelm called me at first I was very sceptical of it all. I'm not a group project person, if you know what I mean. But this is just the tip of the ice berg and I have a feeling that I might be next, so I decided to work with you." He shrugged his shoulders.

While he'd been talking, Coffee had been furiously typing. He handed Tally his phone and Tally read it out loud.

" 'How about we use you as a bait?' Um... Can you...can you please explain what exactly you mean? That doesn't sound particularly safe-!"

He handed Coffee's phone back to him, paranoid he might accidentally drop it, and the detective started typing an answer, this time with significantly more determination.

Hear me out. So my idea was basically that tonight we let the killer come, but were going to be prepared. In other words, we gather a big group that's going to protect you, and we're going to arrest the murderer once he's here. What do you think?

Tally hesitated for a short moment and chewed his lip, opening his mouth to reply, then closing it again.. "I mean... I guess you have a point, sooner or later he's going to get me either way."

"I mean, let's be real, you can't run forever," Thasfield said, leaning forwards. "Even if you move, it's still going to take a while, and judging by what we know you're being pretty actively stalked, so it's quite possible he'll just follow you and then you'll be killed by a Forest God in a hotel room in Central Graytown. Which probably makes for an interesting plotline in a noir film, but we're talking real life here and I highly doubt you're so keen on landing in the morgue anytime soon. Although the Doctor is an expert at autopsies."

Doc smirked.

".........yeah," Tally admitted. He sat down on the table and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, that sounds...icky but realistic." He closed his eyes took a deep breath. "Alright. Who's gonna be on this team?"

Doc's phone's rang loudly to shake up their newfound confidence, and he excused himself, stepping back into the dusty hallway to take the call.

"I mean, most of us for starters," Violet said. "But I was also thinking of grabbing Gary Fox and Wilhelm. Strength in number, you know?"

Doc eventually came back to the group. His weathered face was stricken with subtle anxiety. "Bad news."

"What is it?", Walther asked.

"Alice found her mailman by the stables."

Walther frowned. "Okay, and what's so special about that?"

"His left arm was by the stables. The rest of him was scattered across the field."

"Dear God, is he okay?"

"He's okay, but he's dead." Doc turned to Tally, lowering his voice just enough. "Can we settle on tonight?"

Tally nodded. His sunburnt face had notably paled, turning his skin a somewhat pasty yellow. "Sure. What time are y'all coming?"

"Is five o'clock alright with you?"

Tally shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

#reviews are welcome ;)#remember to listen to the song #the coffee story #rise of the forest god

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z-iridest · 4 years

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(A/N: Hey guys! Sooo, this is my first one shot here on Tumblr, featuring Todoroki due to a rush of creativity coming to me. The inspiration is a matchup I requested from none other than @lxvely-mha ^.^, so this little one shot is my way of saying a huge thank you! Hope you guys enjoy this piece featuring my oc [literally me XD]. Little heads up, this will be in her point of view... Feel free to request from me if you liked it ^.^)

There's three things I know for sure. One: I'm not the most confident person... Thanks to bullying I had endure most of my life, my self confidence isn't that high, especially when it comes to my body. I'm only 5 foot 4 inches tall... Mind you, I'm only an inch below average height, but my weight... not so average. I had stopped checking on it some time ago because I was scared that a much bigger triple digit number was going to pop up the next time I stood on a scale.

Two: If I ever do feel confident, it's usually when I'm either listening to music, writing or singing. I'm not exactly creative enough to write lyrics and compose the music... But, for the composing part, I don't really have an excuse due to having a music genius for a best friend. There are times I feel like Kyoka Jirou should have been my sister.... That girl knows me better than anyone else at U.A....

Three: I'm deeply and irrevocably in love with my boyfriend. It's actually pretty funny how we ended up together. We didn't actually start talking until after the Sports Festival, and Midoriya was the one who introduced me to him. Shoto Todoroki... I wasn't too open with Shoto when we first met if I'm being honest, but I found out pretty quick how interested he was in me. Everytime we had to pair up for projects and we got to choose, he always ended up making his way toward me. I swear, as soon as our friends started seeing us together more and more, it was teasing left and right from the girls. It honestly wasn't too long before I started noticing our friends starting to get us into situations where we were alone together... Hell, everyone in our class started shipping us. It all built up to when we first moved into the dorms...

Shoto and I had been in the kitchen at the same time, Kaminari and Kirishima talking amongst each other while Shoto and I were talking. I have no idea which one did it, but a sudden force knocked me forward toward Shoto. I had braced myself to hit the wall, but I felt something warmer than that under my hands. When I looked up, I realized I was in Shoto's arms, with my hands on his chest, and much to my own embarrassment, I started blushing redder than the left side of his hair. As embarrassing as the situation was, I couldn't look away from his eyes... Those beautiful, enchanting heterochromatic eyes, and those eyes... Were right... On... Me. There was this look I had never seen in his eyes before, but it wasn't bad at all... The look in his eyes almost seemed... Longing, but there was so much love behind them, I couldn't look away even if I wanted to. We had confessed at the same time, and shared a good laugh over it.

That was a couple months ago...

In the span of a couple months, we had opened up to each other a little bit more. Shoto had seen how competitive I could be first hand, thanks to the Sports Festival, he already knew how stubborn and closed off I was since it had taken me months just to open up to him a little while we were just friends. Only two days into our relationship, embarrassingly enough, he found out about my tendency to ramble... I had been talking about a day out with the girls and how much they had bombarded me with questions before training had started. When I had looked up at him, he was staring at me with the softest look on his face, his chin in his palm and his head tilted. I'm not gonna lie, I almost squealed because he looked like an attentive puppy. It was so cute!

Best part about being with Shoto? Cuddles. Oh my god, you have not lived until you cuddle with Shoto. I don't think Shoto lets even one day pass without wrapping his arms around me at least once, but hey, I'm not complaining. Whether it's cuddling in one of our rooms, hugging for a quick moment because our schedules only allow a second of us time, or Shoto wrapping his arms around me from behind while we talk with our friends, Shoto's hugs are just the right temperature for comfort, thanks to his quirk. I'm not gonna lie, I think I've messed up my sleep schedule way too many times because of how much I fall asleep in Shoto's arms. A majority of when we cuddle is usually when I'm writing. I'll be sitting on the couch, typing out a drabble or a one shot one of my readers requested (or a drabble about Shoto), and he'll just slip in behind me, put his legs on either side of me, and wrap his arms around me. He'll usually press a kiss to my temple as a way to tell me to lie back on him, which I gladly do everytime so my head ends up on his chest. He'll press kisses to my cheeks everytime he gets a chance, usually while we're cuddling. Hell, he'll pepper my face with kisses until I start giggling, and he only stops because he's too busy chuckling with me. Occasionally, I'll give him one of my earbuds and we'll listen to music together on Spotify while I write. If I'm not sleepy, that's my favorite way to cuddle...

And did I mention the cute little kisses Shoto gives me? I swear, Shoto makes it a point to kiss me at least once while we're cuddling together. But, my favorite times are when he gives me three: One on my forehead, one on the tip of my nose, and one on my lips.

But one thing's certain: I absolutely cannot be insecure around him. Oh boy, let me tell you, Shoto absolutely hates it if I even look insecure. If he catches me even looking like I'm thinking about doubting myself, he launches into the biggest lecture about how beautiful and perfect I am in his eyes. He lists everything he loves about me until I'm blushing a darker red than Kirishima's hair, and he always finishes with, "Don't ever doubt yourself, my love, because nothing can take you away from me. I will forever be your hero, your knight in shining armor. You are my princess, my greatest love, and as such, I will always come for you." As if his words weren't enough, he goes full on prince mode and kneels on one knee, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. It makes me blush so dark everytime.

Now, if I'm ever next to him, he'll literally pull me onto his lap, and pepper my cheeks in kisses until I start giggling. As soon as I do, he gives me a tight hug and starts stroking my hair. He usually does it with his left hand, letting off just enough of his fire side to give me a comfortable warmth without burning me. He'd start humming or softly singing to me in my ear, and let me tell you.... My man can sing. He'll usually stroke my sides, my back or my hair as he sings, my head on his shoulder. Actually... That's usually how I fall asleep, being held close to my boyfriend, his soothing voice singing to me. But, even after the months of knowing him, Shoto has no idea that I can sing. I'm not as good as Jirou, who's the only one who knows about my ability to sing...

Well, one of the rare afternoons after class, Shoto had to do extra training with Midoriya and Iida, so I was left to do what I wished until Shoto got back. Since I was sweaty from hand to hand training against Ochaco, I decided on taking a shower. Once I got out, I dressed in sweatpants and a black tank top before sitting on my bed as I dried my auburn hair. I softly started humming before closing my eyes as I started to sing.

When tomorrow comes

I'll be on my own

Feeling frightened of

The things that I don't know

When tomorrow comes

Tomorrow comes

And though the road is long

I look up to the sky

And in the dark I found,

I lost hope that I won't fly

And I sing along, I sing along

And I sing along

The chorus is when I really lost myself to the lyrics, thinking about Shoto. The song truly conveyed, in words I could never describe, how I felt about him all these months of knowing him.

I got all I need when I got you and I

I look around me, and see a sweet life

I'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight

You're getting me, getting me through the night

Kick start my heart when you shine it in my eyes

Can't lie, it's a sweet life

I'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight

You're getting me, getting me through the night

'Cause you're my flashlight (flashlight)

You're my flashlight (flashlight)

You're my flashlight

"My love, you never told me you could sing like that." I jumped at the smooth and calm voice of my boyfriend, my eyes snapping open to see him standing in the doorway of my room. My eyes widened as all the heat rushed to my face. I'm pretty sure I broke the world record for darkest blush at that point... He was leaning against the doorframe, the most adoring look on his face as he looked at me with his head tilted in that adorable as hell way. Damn it, I could never think straight when he looked at me like that...

"H-How long have you..."

"I didn't mean to intrude, my love." Shoto told me as he walked toward me as he talked. "It's just that I had heard an angel's voice singing, only to find that the sweet angel I was hearing was no one but my princess." Shoto sat down next to me and I let out a squeak of embarrassment, making him chuckle before he pulled me into a hug, putting me on his lap like he always did. I hid my face in his shoulder out of embarrassment, but he merely rubbed my back. "My love, your voice is nothing to be ashamed of... Your voice is as beautiful as you." He pressed a kiss to my temple and it wasn't long before he made me sit up and sit in front of him. He picked up my hairbrush and started gently brushing out the knots as he picked up where I left off, my voice harmonizing with his. We smiled at each other as we kept singing, Shoto pulling me back to him as he laid back with me on his chest, his arms around me. I smiled as we sang together, our eyes never leaving the other, our fingers interlaced and our voices harmonizing together. He smiled up at me when we finished singing and pressed a sweet but passionate kiss against my lips.

Maybe I had only been with Shoto for a couple months, but I finally felt complete...

With him... I was finally home.

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lywinis · 5 years

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Ineffable Husbands: I'm just lookin' for a dear, dear friend of mine / I'm waiting for my man / Here he comes, he's all dressed in black / Beat up shoes and a big straw hat / He's never early, he's always late / First thing you learn is you always gotta wait I'm waiting for my man

AO3

[1941, three months after the incident in the cathedral.]

Crowley was almost never on time. That was something Aziraphale had become used to in his acquaintanceship with the demon. It was as though he eschewed all rules, not just his own, arriving precisely when he meant to – and usually precisely when it would annoy Aziraphale the most.

He tried not to think on it too hard, instead breathing in the cool night air. It was tinged with the smell of smoke and burnt brick, scorched timbers rising over the skyline like skeletal fingers, but it was cool. That would have to do.

It was half past eight, the thick fingers of night creeping over the city as mandatory darkness swept through London. The sound of planes was on the edge of one’s subconscious, even for the angel, and he frowned, looking up at the starry sky. Would the Luftwaffe blot out the small pinpricks of light again tonight?

The bombings had become unpredictable, Hitler’s forces wearing themselves down against the staunch British cheerfulness that propelled them through the war. Even Aziraphale was weary, the smoke and death wearing his mortal form thin. He was sick to death of war.

That was partially what this was about. His botched attempt to lead the Fuhrer astray from his horrible plans meant that Heaven was losing this conflict. He’d not heard from the others stationed throughout France and Germany, or even Switzerland, but he was quite sure there was a reason for such radio silence.

Even as inured to violence as angels were, surely they couldn’t be immune to such horrific sights day by day, month by month. If he was as heartsick as he was, surely even a being like Gabriel might take pity, though he rarely walked the earth anymore.

It was another reason to contact the demon; he had a feeling that this wasn’t Hell’s doing. Sure, some demon might take credit for the conflict – and that demon might even be Crowley – but it was rare that demons pulled this off on a global scale. Influence was a tricky thing; one had to believe that the choice was theirs, because it was.

Aziraphale wanted to meet with Crowley to see about teaming up to end the war. Or at least, slow it down.

The first hour had him looking at his pocket watch and sighing.

The second hour had him peering through the dark with a frown.

The third hour had him marching back into the city proper to drag Crowley out of whatever hole he was hiding in. They rarely met, both being busy with the war effort on either side (not to mention botched spy activities, he thought with the tiniest wrinkle of his brow at himself). He could go months or years without seeing Crowley.

If he were honest, that was another thing. This time he’d been worried and had pushed up the next meeting.

He didn’t think Crowley had realized he was limping. Likely the hot foot had hurt more than he’d anticipated. It was compassion that caused Aziraphale to reach out.

Truly, it was.

He hurried down the avenue, avoiding the stones with preternatural grace, his sensible shoes scuffling along the crumbling pavement. He missed his oxfords, but the buttery leather had no place in war-torn London, and he’d opted for being sensible rather than fashionable, at least until this dreadful business was over.

Crowley was quite a chore to find on the best of days. While Aziraphale had his shop – at least, while the war hadn’t been on, now it was disguised in the rubble of the street and tucked away where it couldn’t be gotten at – out in the open, Crowley holed up and disappeared.

Needs’ must, of course. The righteous must be a beacon of all that’s good and upright, and that meant out in plain sight. Evil tended to hide its head from the light of day.

Thankfully, Aziraphale considered himself a bit of an expert on finding this singular specimen, and he got himself toward the tube as fast as he could, avoiding the eyes of the patrol with a little bit of prestidigitation. Thankfully, he knew better than to bother with the crowded shelters, heading for the collapsed Balham station. Still unrepaired from the bomb that had struck the street above, the station was closed, the lights out like the rest of the city.

Aziraphale had a hunch. He stepped lightly down the stairs, passing through the locked gates, picking his way through the rubble. They’d managed to clear goodly swathes of the crumbled infrastructure, but he was looking for…ah.

An access door, almost hidden off the tracks, up and out of reach of the flooding. That was what he was looking for.

He sniffed.

While he didn’t have as good a nose as the demon he was looking for, he knew exactly what he happened to be seeking, which was a large help. Under the wet, musty smell of the tube itself, the scent wafting out of the access door was familiar.

New leather, good earthy greenhouses, the hint of a campfire. There was also the scent of engine oil, very faint. Crowley had bought a car, a strikingly terrifying automobile – he’d been proud of it, showing it off to Aziraphale when he’d taken him back to his corner of London.

Crowley loved that car (as much as any demon can love anything), and drove far too fast for the war torn streets. Neither car nor owner seemed to care.

Aziraphale touched the lock, felt the tumblers turn beneath his angelic caress, and pushed the door open.

Crowley looked up from his rather plush looking chair as Aziraphale stepped into his well-appointed apartment. Fine leather seating, wood floors, carved stone walls, all of it screamed high rise apartment, all of it was buried in the walls of the Tube.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded, brows drawing low over his sunglasses.

“You missed the meeting.” Aziraphale shrugged. It seemed rude to take his coat off so readily in the abode of his erstwhile enemy.

“Yes, well, I had things to do.” Crowley sniffed. “Totter on then, Angel, there’ll be bombs tonight.”

“Well, then I ought to stay here, oughtn’t I?” Aziraphale said. “You’ve carved out this cosy nook for yourself, and it’s safer deep underground.”

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Crowley hurled himself to his feet, only to hiss an expletive as his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the waxed wood floor, the dull thud of his body echoing in the cavernous apartment.

Aziraphale saw then that the demon’s feet were bare, wrapped in gauze that was now weeping red against the elegant arches of Crowley’s feet.

“You’re hurt.” Aziraphale said, starting forward.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. The angel stopped, dithering half a dozen paces away. “Just…just go.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Let me help.”

“Are you deaf from the raids?” Crowley said, mustering enough willpower to pull himself back into his overstuffed chair. “Must be. I told you to get out.”

“Cr–”

“No!” His pale fists clenched on the good leather of the chair. Aziraphale could just see the long fingers spasm, delicate knuckles moving beneath the porcelain of his hands. “Stop it. Go home.”

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height. His wings belled from behind him, his primaries brushing the walls as he glared at Crowley, a righteous tizzy pressing Crowley back into his seat.

A tense moment of staring became a tense moment of silence, then a tense moment of contemplation.

“Let me do this. I owe you for the books.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Angel.”

“Oh, do hush, Crowley.” Aziraphale tucked his wings away, smoothing his feathers as he did so. He shuffled forward, manifesting a small copper basin, which he set near the fireplace. It was burning without smoke, without wood, so it was all right, he reasoned.

“It’s not hellfire,” Crowley said, at his hesitation. His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful.

“I know,” Aziraphale said. How he knew, he couldn’t say.

He decided not to dwell on it.

He summoned some water, set it to heating, and went about summoning the rest of what he’d need. The foot bath was hardly a new invention, but it was something that would ease the pain in the demon’s feet.

It had been the floor of the cathedral. He’d been hopping about as though he was on hot sand, but Aziraphale had seen Crowley walk across hot sand with barely a whisper. (He may or may not have watched Crowley leave before the floods, and Eden before that.)

Carefully, he stripped the bloodied bandages from Crowley’s feet. They were nice feet, he thought, his toes elegant, long and well-formed, like his fingers. His arches were delicate, sculpted. There were no blisters or callouses on his feet, his skin just as pale here as the rest of him. Delicate veins like skeins of color in marble, and Aziraphale traced them with his gaze.

Very well made, for an angel. Fallen. He corrected himself, turning Crowley’s foot this way and that. Fallen angel. Demon.

And here he was about to clean his feet.

He decided not to dwell on that, either, and got to work.

Marring Crowley’s soles were large patches of bloodied skin. Holy ground, it would have seared him to the bone, and wouldn’t be miracled away.

And yet he’d willingly gone into the church for him. To help. Aziraphale swallowed and poured the steaming water into a wooden trough he’d summoned for him to work with.

He scraped the acacia nuts, grinding them into a fine powder, his fingers going dark as he added them to the water.

“This might sting,” he said softly.

Crowley was silent, though he could feel the demon watching him, his face inscrutable with the glasses on. Aziraphale carefully set one foot into the cooling water, carefully letting the tannins soak into Crowley’s feet. An old remedy, as old as time, and it was one of the only ways to treat these burns. They would fester otherwise.

Crowley remained silent, even as he allowed Aziraphale to manipulate his legs as he willed. The angel carefully wiped away the blood, watching Crowley’s toes curl when he hit a particularly painful spot.

It must be torturous, yet Crowley seemed more intent on watching Aziraphale than making noises of discomfort. It made the hair on the back of his nape stand straight up, as though he were back on the wall, watching the rain and lightning lash the desert, striking the sand and turning it glassy with the Almighty’s anguish after Adam and Eve fled.

Lotion of wine and myrrh, summoned from Israel. It was Important, and he snapped his fingers to bring them to him, without question of the power it would cost him this month, or the questions it would raise Upstairs.

It was Important.

Carefully, he pulled one foot at a time from the bath and dried them; he anointed them in honey, myrrh, and wine, wrapping each one in clean gauze.

Carefully, he manifested a fluffy carpet square beneath Crowley’s feet, setting them down and leaning back on his heels.

Carefully, he avoided the demon’s gaze.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said.

His name, his True Name, startled him, and he looked up. Crowley’s glasses were gone, his lambent yellow eyes fixed on Aziraphale’s face, pupils blown wide.

It was said so softly, with such tenderness. It made him ache. It made him…

It filled him with such sadness, he thought it would fill him up and tear a chasm in him. Angels loved, indiscriminately, in that way the Almighty did. Crowley was…

He was…

Aziraphale didn’t know. Knowing would mean that he himself was Known, laid bare beneath the gaze that burned like twin stars in the firelight. Something in his eyes called to the wildness of Aziraphale’s core, and it…

It frightened him. He shouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

It wouldn’t have been right. At the same time, he knew it would have felt like coming home. How he knew, he couldn’t say.

He rose to his feet, the movement jerky, as though he were a marionette desperately trying to continue to move with half its strings cut. He snapped his fingers to clean up his mess.

“I’ll leave you be now, Crowley,” he said. He smoothed down his waistcoat, biting his lip and looking anywhere but at Crowley’s naked gaze. “Buck up, you’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

“I–” Crowley started. Aziraphale didn’t let him finish, didn’t let him fill the silence with tempting, pretty words that he was so desperate to hear.

He took his leave, hurrying from the tunnel and all but running for his bookshop.

There were no bombs that night. The silence weighed on Aziraphale like a yoke about his neck. It would be his penance.

#kamidoodles #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #lywinis writes

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