(no subject)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Date: January 24, 2001
Status: Private (Crowley, Gabriel, Belial, Adam)
Setting: Hospital
Summary: Crowley returns



Crowley was returned to Earth just outside of Tadfield Manor. Staggering, he collapsed to a bloody heap two steps away. The snow was a relief to his burning wounds, but the cold on his bare skin was a severe shock to his currently fragile system. He would die if he stayed here and the temptation was strong, but he eventually fought his way to his feet, drawing on his last reserves of energy to make it inside.

There was no one in the lobby when he made it and he would have cried in frustration if he could. But he couldn't and no one was going to help him. Ultimately, it was only his pride that allowed him to get upstairs. He didn't want just any random passer-by to find him like this. Half of them would take the opportunity to add to his wounds.

Unable to climb into a bed after he reached the safety of the hospital, Crowley fell where he stood, finally passing into blessed unconsciousness.

Comments

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

He'd heard nothing from his post in the back room, but the disturbance in his mind was sharp, urgent as it closed upon him in iron bands, and Gabriel was drawn to the hospital's reception area in an instant.

The first thing he noticed, upon entering the room, was the rank stench of Hell.

"Crowley?" he barely recognized the bloodied form, lying crumpled like some neglected rag doll on the floor. Bare from the waist up, the aching curve of Crowley's back oozed blood from deep lacerations that laced his wan skin in almost delicate, overlaying patterns. Gabriel knelt at the demon's side, concern etching sober lines into his face: there was no one around who could have brought him here, and from the amount of blood seeping into the demon's clothing and pooling on the floor, he would not have been able to make it himself without nearly exhausting even a supernatural reserve of strength. The angel reached out tentatively with a few tendrils of consciousness for a breath, a pulse; anything that would indicate that it wasn't too late.

There: Crowley was alive, his own battered aura heavily subdued by the rancid sensation of the infernal which still clung to him. The angel could not imagine what Hell's agent could have done to earn any such punishment; but more sickening still was the realization that Hell likely needed no reason.

And Hellish was the sight, as the angel took in the extent of the damage: Crowley's skin, spattered with his own drying blood, still showed a patchwork of bruises, a rainbow of morbid hues, black and purple and green. Gabriel sensed the broken ribs beneath.

But worst, perhaps, was the spectral sight of Crowley's lips sewn shut with thick, black stitching; coarse, careless loops in a face already pale with blood loss, they had the effect of making him look like nothing so much as some violated corpse.

Gabriel hardly dared touch the demon, instead quickly wheeling in one of the beds from the nearest room and rematerializing the broken form on to it as delicately as he could manage. Lying face down, one of Crowley's arms flopped raggedly over the bedside, and a haunting sound escaped the demon in the form of a moan, muffled against the pillow.

What mortal medicines could salve the injuries of Hell, what sedatives could erase this pain, the angel did not know. And so he leaned close, whispering softly in the celestial language - words which could pain the Damned, true, but in their purity could still soothe what remained of the angel who had Fallen: "Still, be still. You are safe now."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

And, as strange as it was, Crowley did feel safe now that he had some sense of being in the Messenger's care. Not that he was rational enough to think such coherent thoughts, but the angel's quiet voice did help to calm his broken spirit. Despite having come from 'home' into the care of his mortal enemy where there was no love lost, the demon trusted Gabriel - and Adam - enough to know that at the very least he would come to no additional harm. Unaware that he was doing so, Crowley shifted ever so slightly towards Gabriel, half desperate for a comforting touch and half terrified of it. He made a choking sound, almost like a stifled sob, and was still.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

Gabriel spoke a few more words of the lyrical language as he moved the bed back into the hospital room, calm, shushing; not comforting, perhaps, because being gentle with the Damned was not strong in his repertoire outside of his bond with Belial. But he was intent now on helping the demon to the best of his abilities, perhaps for Belial's sake, or Aziraphale's: but more likely, perhaps, just to show that he was not afraid to counter what vile acts Hell could perpetrate, even on their own.

With his powers - and likely Adam's - keeping the demon's life force from draining further, Gabriel could find no critical injuries to be treated first; just an overwhelming battery of wounds, so much so that the angel hardly knew where to start. They hadn't wanted to kill Crowley, he realized uneasily. They'd just tortured him and left him to his misery.

The stitches, then: a ghastly sight, and Gabriel was exceedingly glad that no one else - not Aziraphale, not even Constantine - was there to see them. Carefully, he dissolved the black cord into the ether, and gingerly closed up the gaping holes that afterward framed Crowley's mouth, telling himself that he kept his eyes closed only for the sake of concentration.

"Crowley," he said softly when he was through, reverting now to English, "You're going to be all right. I'm going to help you. But I - " I don't want to make things worse, he thought, afraid of the potential for his opposing powers to exacerbate things. "I'll need to be careful."

He wasn't really expecting a response, nor an explanation; he doubted that demons made a habit of expounding upon the cruelties of their masters to the Enemy. But Gabriel felt the need for reassurances, for Crowley's sake as well as his own. He paused, eyes closed, to call forth more strength for the task at hand, and set about closing up the deep fissures of the seeping wounds set at harsh angles to Crowley's spine.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Though the stitches had been quite painful and even more humiliating, they had been serving one useful purpose. Namely, holding his broken mouth shut. With their removal, his jaw hung open too far in a grotesque parody of his reptilian nature. A thin trickle of blood soaked into the pillow as glazed yellow eyes stared blindly forward.

Then Crowley winced, his body spasming as the muscles and skin of his back began to knit back together. It wasn't the white hot agony of before, but the duller, prickling pain of violated nerves struggling to rebuild and continue to relay information. He keened softly, wordlessly, the tones reminiscent of prayer-like despair as if he were begging for salvation that he knew would never come.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

His concentration interrupted by the demon's soft moaning, Gabriel glanced up to see Crowley's jaw hanging at an unnatural angle, as though it had come unhinged. That was broken as well, he realized, and had to try not to visibly flinch at the sight. This could take hours, with injury layered upon injury until even something that severe was obscured; and it did no good to heal the demon if he were only torturing him in the process.

Gabriel moved until he was looking directly into glassy serpentine eyes; his expression sober, he said as evenly as he could manage, "Crowley, I'm going to help you sleep. Just for a while, just until I'm through. There's no need for you to... well, it will be over more quickly this way. But listen to me, you are going to wake up again, and when you do, this will be over. You'll be all right."

There was little change in the demon's pitiful noises, so Gabriel began, even before he'd finished speaking, to reach out to the Serpent's consciousness: to encourage the darkness, the oblivion of sleep deep enough to mask the pain.

There was a stillness in the very air when Crowley was once more unresponsive, holding in it an eerie sense of death which might have worried Gabriel if he had not, in his workings, been aware of some force of life in the demon. Crippled now, and distant, but still present in the angel's mind.

Healing had become a more refined technique for Gabriel with his time spent in the hospital wing: He could focus more easily, manipulate only that matter which had been damaged and reincorporate it into the whole. But he still had to be careful, whether dealing with the dense material of Crowley's broken ribs and jawbone or the most delicate capillaries that had burst to form the bruising, to only restore and not to change. The human body - even a supernatural imitation of it - was an exceedingly complex system, and Gabriel was not knowledgeable enough of such inner workings to risk altering another's corporation. The result was hours, perhaps - he was too involved to keep track - spent delicately reconstructing, sometimes down to the most basic particles; reweaving what had once flowed together cleanly. The strain wore heavily on him by the time he had finished with the broken bones and the most threatening lesions, and was carefully cleaning up the extensive bruising.

He ended with the most basic symptoms of shock, urging Crowley's heart to begin beating once more so he could be certain it could at least function properly for the amount of blood the demon had lost. Crowley's breathing was regular, if faint, and Gabriel noticed no more sign of injury inside or out. He could not change what had been done, but he had at least erased the outward pain of it.

He hauled a chair over to the demon's bedside, trying not to look as weary as he felt as he sat, and gently called forth the demon's awareness.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

The demon fought against the tide of coming consciousness. It was better to not know what was happening - better to feel the softer hurt later than the sharp pain now - but his efforts were fruitless. A being more powerful than himself wished for his presence and he was unable to refuse. Crowley blinked his eyes open, staring blankly ahead until the swirl of colours and shapes coalesced into a recognizable form. An enemy. A faint trickle of memories returned. Well, maybe not entirely.

"Ga-wiel?" he managed to croak in an attempt not to move his stiff, throbbing jaw. As far as he could tell at the moment, he seemed to be light-headed, slightly nauseous, achey, and parched, but nothing worse than that, wonder of wonders. "Wa-er..."

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

Gabriel acquiesced quickly, calling a glass of water to hand with a gesture. He held it out in offering, waiting until Crowley was in a better position to accept.

"I think you'll find it's not quite so painful now," the angel said as the demon stirred, blinked groggily. "Do let me know if I've missed anything." There was something of a concerned undertone to his words. Even if he had fixed every ill, he thought, the effects of having so much opposing power at work on the demon couldn't go entirely unnoticed; although, in all honesty, Gabriel hadn't enough experience with one side taking such pains to heal the other to know what the effects might be. "You probably shouldn't go trying to heal yourself, at least not until you've regained some of your strength."

What he wanted to do was ask what had happened, what the demon had done to deserve such treatment - and who his transgression may have involved. But there was little chance of it being any of his business, and anyway, Gabriel couldn't imagine that Crowley would want to tell him, even if he hadn't just awoken from the trauma.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Struggling to push himself up, Crowley took the cup gratefully and did his best to drink without spilling. He felt pretty much like he had after he'd been hit with Raphael's aura a year previously but without the anesthetic effects of Ellie's kiss. Gingerly, he touched his back, not quite as flexible as usual but enough to tell that the gaping wounds were gone at least. There wasn't even a mark left on his chest, thankfully, so Gabriel probably did the same on his back, even if the cuts had been wider. Carefully, the demon opened and closed his mouth a few times. It was sore, but workable. Gabriel had done a good job putting him back together. There was something the angel had missed, but Crowley had no intention of telling him that. He could deal with that himself, the Messenger's warnings notwithstanding.

He also had no intention of telling Gabriel what had happened in Hell; would never tell anyone. Except... the memories started to return.

"Belial," he said stiffly, urgently. "Need to talk to Belial now."

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

"What... ?" But there was some sobriety in Crowley's eyes which halted the question, and Gabriel nodded stiffly before exiting the room.

There was no message the angel could think of which, coming fresh from Hell, could bear any good news for Belial.

He found his love not in his chambers, but behind the bar, polishing up a few pint glasses in lieu of any heavy business that evening. Gabriel leaned close over the bar, caring little for appearances; in hushed, clipped tones, lest the few patrons that were in the restaurant overhear, he told Belial of the state in which he'd found Crowley, and that Hell's agent wished to speak with him. Gabriel could not keep the worry from his face as he spoke, and closed his eyes at the warm, reassuring pressure of Belial's hand closing over his own.

He tried to remember the other messages he'd delivered as such, so unwilling to imagine what consequences would follow. In that moment, none of the others seemed to compare.

He had settled himself with a stony expression by the time the two of them reached the hospital wing together. With a gesture, he indicated where Crowley waited, and let Belial precede him into the room; Gabriel hung back, just inside the door, realizing that Crowley may not even care to relate the whole story in his presence, but unwilling to leave just the same.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley waved Gabriel closer. "Affects you, too," he said.

The last few minutes of quiet solitude had been helpful. The demon had carefully rearranged himself in bed, sitting up, drawing the sheets to his waist, and looking as composed and healthy as was possible under the circumstances, though he was probably still disheveled and pale. Still, no hint of lingering pain escaped except in the weakness of his abused voice.

Under other circumstances, he might have been nervous about meeting Belial bare-chested and sunglasses gone. The Crown had a way of burrowing through his defenses even when they were solid. But considering the news he had to pass on and Gabriel's presence, he would simply have to ignore the slight discomfort.

He looked into Belial's smoky eyes, his decision made. Lack of loyalty aside, it never seemed to get easier to perform treason. It was too easy to remember the pain.

"Not gonna waste words. You know where I've been. He wants you back, Bel. By any means necessary. My new assignment," Crowley sneered, but his anger wasn't directed at his audience. "You've gotta flee. Don't let me know where," he nodded at Gabriel, "don't let him know where. Don't tell a single soul or you're lost forever. If you're kind, you'll leave me false clues along the way. I'll do my best to keep Him off your trail. If it's ever safe again, I'll find some way to let you know. So, go. Now."

[lordofthesouth.livejournal.com]

Belial's eyes hardened at Crowley's words. He should have expected it eventually, he knew, but that made it no easier a choice to make. He turned to Gabriel and took in the angel's apprehensive appearance. This was unfair, that they should find one another so clumsily, so imperfectly, stumble together, and then be ripped apart.

Gabriel's opinion should factor into this, though, and he said so. "But, if me being here compromises the safety of everyone, especially you, I'd rather leave than see you hurt to get at me," he said gently cupping Gabriel's hands gently in his and bringing them to his lips. "You mean so much to me, and I swear on my eternal soul that this wouldn't be 'so long' forever. If I can find a way to keep him away from all of you, I will."

Belial cast a weary look at Crowley, and the room was quiet and tense but for the sound of their gentle breathing, and he knew what risk Crowley was taking telling him these things. "He'll send his worst after me, you know. I think the only ones who pose any threat to me are the other Crowns, and they'd be hard-pressed to drag me back down, even if all of them worked together. Nothing less will just be a nuisance. He's playing a game with me, playing a game with us. He wants to hurt us."

He gazed at Gabriel with sad eyes, waiting to see his reaction.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

"If it is a game Lucifer is playing, then it is a dangerous one," Gabriel said, his voice terse; the words felt thick and raw, as though they were being dragged from his throat by some other will than his own. He could look at neither demon as he spoke, and kept his gaze downcast. "I know you think you can handle the others, but if he is determined..." And he could say no more on that, because that was one eventuality the angel would not - could not - consider. Belial would be safe. If that meant they had to be apart, then so be it. Given the danger inherent in their situation, it was not as though the thought that they would be separated had never occurred to Gabriel. The reality proved more painful than he had ever expected, his harbored fears spilling out into the light with searing suddenness; but Gabriel knew he could never ask Belial to endanger himself for his sake.

"Crowley's right," he continued softly. "He knows where you are. There is already one Crown here, and if he should send the others... fending off three of Lucifer's most powerful would leave even Adam weary. You cannot stay here. You have to run, and you," he said, glancing cautiously up at Crowley, "can tell him Belial's gone. Tell him I kept you from following, if it will help, that I delayed you here, and you lost the trail. Play his game, and he won't have to know what you've done."

He was struck by the stark, sickening image of the sight of Crowley, bloody and beaten, slumped over on the hospital floor. He couldn't fathom what they would do to either demon if they were caught in this.

He turned back to Belial, chancing a glance up into the other's eyes; they were beautiful, dark and shining, and in their beauty seemed to burn. "I would go with you if I could," he said, his voice so weak now that it was barely above a whisper. His hands gripped Belial's tightly, clinging to what little time they would have left. "I care nothing for the danger to myself if I should, but they could find me all too easily. I would draw them right to you..." He drew Belial closer, kissing him softly, endowing each touch with all that he could not find the words to say; and despite their present company, he gazed into Belial's eyes as though he could see nothing else.

"Just be safe," he whispered, "wherever you are."

[lordofthesouth.livejournal.com]

In these last precious moments before he knew he had overstayed his luck, Belial drew Gabriel close, saving in his mind a picture of the angel's wonderful warmth. "I'll come back to you. I love you," he reaffirmed, voice shaking with the strength of his emotion.

He took a deep breath, pained, and stepped away from Gabriel, freeing himself of the temptation to stay and let the bastard come for him. He would fight and fight, but there was more than his own well being at stake if his battleground would be the Manor, and with all his centuries of existing beneath Lucifer's foul reign, he knew that bravery rarely got you anywhere.

Speaking quickly, his voice was like ice, jagged and sharp, "Listen, Crowley. This is what will happen: you'll follow me, and if you find me, I'll fight you. I won't kill you--he wouldn't have sent you on this whipping boy errand if he knew I'd kill you--but I'll make my presence known. He wants this to hurt both of us. All of us. That's his game. But I suggest you find me before he discovers that you're dragging your heels behind me, because what I'll have to do is far, far kinder than what he will do."

He stepped back into the shadows and was gone, running through darkness, away from everything he'd ever loved, and his tears burned.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Irritable, exhausted, hurt, frustrated at being the bearer of bad news, and not pleased to be the reason that one of his best allies was walking out the door indefinitely, Crowley snapped, "I know what I'm doing, damn it. Don't you dare condescend to me."

He'd been about to say more when Adam, displaying his unique brand of perfect timing, stepped inside.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

"That's all you have to say, is it?" Gabriel hissed, and his voice was ragged with a degree of disgust and animosity which he had had little cause to address the Serpent with before; had little cause now, in fact, and the angel knew that. He knew, rationally, that it wasn't Crowley's fault his world had just been so startlingly rendered. But his every limb ached, his eyes stinging with tears, as though he had just been plunged painfully into depths far too deep for his form to survive. And with no recourse against the Morningstar for all that had just come to pass, Hell's field agent seemed a convenient enough target. "All this, demon, all that's just happened, and you're worried about your precious pride being tarnished?"

He turned his back on the demon abruptly, forcing himself to stop. It was an unfair assessment, and furthermore, he was taking out his frustration on a demon who had quite possibly just risked his own existence to save Belial's. But it was too much to swallow in the space of too few breaths, and Gabriel couldn't decipher the mess of emotions that made the words sting in his throat.

But though he knew he should, he was saved from having to recant the words by the Antichrist's auspicious entrance.

Adam already knew everything that had happened, Gabriel was sure; in fact, Adam might know more about it than any one of them. But Gabriel couldn't bear to see the knowledge, the sympathy in the boy's eyes. He didn't want it. He felt far too vulnerable under the Antichrist's gaze as it was, and he wouldn't stand to have Adam see right through him to the pain that gnawed at his heart, not in this moment. So he nodded as Adam entered, with only the briefest of gazes in his direction, and, knowing Crowley would be looked after now better than the angel could currently manage, he left without another word to either of them.

[average-adam.livejournal.com]

Adam's face was as impassive as he could keep it, his eyes neutral, but his heart ached for everyone involved in this little drama: Gabriel, Belial, Crowley, John, even Lucifer, lost as he was on his sea of madness and searching for the one being that presumably brought him joy. But compassion was never in the Antichrist's job description, thank Someone. Adam had always believed Jesus had had the harder task in that capacity. All Adam had to do was do, not feel, so he did.

After watching the archangel go, he approached Crowley's bed. "You wanted to see me?"

Crowley nodded and they bent their heads together in urgent conversation.