(no subject)

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Date: August 4th, sunset
Status: Private (for a given value of privacy) - Aziraphale, Crowley, Draco, Sister Mary, Pestilence.
Summary: Aziraphale, Draco, and Crowley arrive at the Manor, looking for help. Continued from here.

He was exhausted. They were exhausted. Crowley had his teeth gritted most of the way, and twitched occasionally. It was obvious to Aziraphale that Crowley was in a lot of uncomfortable pain, and he offered to take over driving - he only needed one leg to drive, the angel reasoned, even if his other leg wasn't much better than his injured one. The roof had good aim.

He felt helpless. Crowley was sufferi- oh. His hand brushed his bloody leg. Oh, right. Holy water. Right now it battled the charred brimstone that stayed stuck to the edges of his wound and in the deepest parts like iodine and bacteria.

He sighed, feeling light-headed himself. Stark white skin looked back at him from all the shiny mirrors in the Bentley, reminding him of his still oozing wound. He glanced at Crowley, then reached a hand behind his seat.

"Blanket, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, touching his blistered shoulder soothingly. "It's soft. Cool. Just. Here." Crowley's eyes flicked to his and then back at the road. The demon's damaged hands lay in his lap... Aziraphale didn't smile as he gave him the blanket, laying it carefully over Crowley's lap and behind the sore back presented to him. Crowley watched the road, the car slowing just a little as he relaxed. One of Aziraphale's hands was on the steering wheel while the other smoothed out the blankets.

"I'm... sorry about your flat," Aziraphale whispered, eyes back on the road. He wanted to lean over and rest his head on Crowley's shoulder as he steered them down dark roads that had few people on them. Crowley's pained frown told him it was not an option. Aziraphale felt miserable.

Neither of them were up to talking, really. Nor was the fey-like boy whom Crowley seemed to know quite well - he was too tired to be jealous - sitting in the back, shifting gears as per Crowley's direction. Aziraphale yawned, and his leg throbbed in counterpoint.

His wings were still out, leaving feathers floating behind the Bentley as it sped down the streets. The angel couldn't bring himself to care. Aziraphale yawned again and steered them carefully towards Lower Tadfield. Adam.

A large, stone building loomed in the distance. The angel breathed a small sigh of relief - he couldn't take much more of this, and he was nearly sure Crowley couldn't, either. He asked the silent demon, his own voice startlingly normal in the edgy, tense silence, "Can we stop here?"

Comments

[barking-draco.livejournal.com]

Draco was excited, disgusted, depressed, and bored at the same time. He badly wanted to ask if this sort of thing happened all the time, but he didn't dare. Crowley had already snapped at him twice for asking questions about the gear shift. He seemed far removed from the sympathetic demon that Draco had conversed with yesterday. Mind you, several of his extremities had been nearly burned off, so that probably accounted for some of his snappish temper. Urgh. Draco shuddered at the memory of Crowley's hands, not daring to glance at them. Still, Draco felt that he didn't deserve to deal with a crisis on the first day of his new life. He felt that very strongly.

Well, at least they had stopped somewhere (somewhere in the middle of nowhere, mind you), and were getting out of the car. Perhaps Draco would get another opportunity to show Crowley how useful he was. Draco rubbed his back, which was sore from leaning over to handle the gears from the back seat. He congratulated himself on having the wisdom to not mention it, since the news probably wouldn’t be well received. Come to think of it, the other fellow seemed to be severely injured too, in his left leg.

Suddenly, Draco jumped and nearly smacked himself. “Er, look, you don’t have to walk. I can actually levitate you guys, if you just tell me where to go. Probably should have remembered that before, but you know, stress of the moment, that sort of thing…” He quailed at the look on Crowley’s face. The demon looked like he was going to let loose with something absolutely scathing, but Aziraphale quickly cut in with directions to the Manor. Draco listened carefully, and then cast his gentlest Mobilicorpus on the two entities.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley kicked his legs frantically as he was lifted off the ground. Aziraphale just looked withdrawn and uncomfortable.

"Put me down you fucking brat!"

Draco ignored him and continued to walk towards the Manor.

"I mean it, kid. I know all about your father. If you don't put me down, so will the entire world."

Draco shuddered but kept walking.

"Drop me this second or I will banish you to the lake of fire in hell, where demons will tear off your balls, rip off your head, shit down your neck, AND LET VOLDEMORT FUCK YOUR DEAD CORPSE!"

Shocked, Draco did drop them. Crowley's head hit a rock and everything went black.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale, luckily, landed on his bum, sending only a minor bolt through his injured leg. He sat there, shaking numbly. His vision swam from bloodloss.

He blinked. The blond boy stood there, looking at them both in shock. Aziraphale's gaze dropped down to follow his, and found Crowley, shockingly still. A discorporation. No.

The only sign it wasn't a discorporation was that Crowley was breathing. Shallowly, but there it was. Aziraphale reached for his head and shifted it carefully, moving it to rest on his lap as bent over the fallen demon. He was too far gone for tears. He wrapped his wings about the both of them, running his hands over Crowley's clammy skin.

"My. Dear. Boy," Aziraphale gritted out, aware of the shadow falling over him, and then lost the edge of anger, feeling misery and numbness claim him. His tone softened, but was still full of... oddness. The boy didn't need an angel's anger after Crowley's words. "Run to the Manor. Need help."

He looked up at the boy. Wizard. "Go!"

[barking-draco.livejournal.com]

Draco’s first instinct was to find a broom closet to crawl into and cry over lost opportunities, but he knew that he didn’t have time for such things. No matter that Crowley was very angry with him, he still had to act like a responsible intern (before he lost that job) and save the day.

Draco paused for a moment, to contemplate his own tragic nobility, and then set off in a sprint towards the Manor.

The legendary Quidditch muscles that the fan girls always rave about stood him in good stead, and Draco soon reached the building that Crowley’s friend had described earlier. He flung open the doors and charged into the room, where a woman and a ghost were sitting. “Help!” he gasped. “I need help, for Crowley. He’s been injured somehow. Burned or something, in a really weird way. His friend needs help too. I don’t know what happened, but they’re in the field outside!”

[nice-witch.livejournal.com]

"I tolde ye theye woulde come," said Agnes matter-of-factly to the stunned Sister Mary. "Annd that they woulde neede help."

Agnes turned to Draco.

"One hass winges annd the othere is insensible. Hee wille nott minde beinge flewn inn nowe thatt he cannott see itt. I will come withe ye to looke at theyr woundes, but I muste bee sure they wille come willinngly to thee Manore."

Agnes patted the shocked Sister Mary on the shoulder.

"Shee can stay annd readie beds for them. Firste, shee cann finde some ice," said Agnes, pointedly. Sister Mary rose.

"Leade on. Annd," she said, halting and looking piercingly into Draco's eyes, "No-one thiss nighte wille rip yourn balles off, so stopp fearinnge so loude I can heare it inn your minnde."

As Draco led Agnes out the door, she muttered, "Men. They ne'er change."

Sister Mary gets ice and calls for Pesti, Snape, and Raphael...

[sister-mary-laq.livejournal.com]

Sister Mary, who had only just gotten over her murderous impulse (thankfully that nice red-headed woman had left before Sister Mary had lost her temper) to make Agnes Nutter more dead, jumped up and headed back into the bar.

"Ice, ice, ice, ice..." she muttered, as if it was some sort of mantra.

What the bloody hell had that crazy ghost really meant? And why was that boy so frightened? These and other thoughts were swarming in her mind. Were there really wounded people on their way to the Hospital Wing right now?

Sister Mary filled up a large bucket with ice. She wondered where her bartender and her new massuese were. She had a feeling that whoever was hurt was going to need more than an old ghost's efforts.

"Severus Snape?" she called.

"Raphael?" There was no answer.

"Mr. P?" What was her new masseuse's name again?

As she lugged the heavy bucket of ice out of the bar, she hoped that one of her new employees might already be at the hospital wing. Then she ran off towards the wing herself, mumbling curse words the entire way.

[barking-draco.livejournal.com]

Draco attempted to pause again to ponder his heroicness, but was immediately scared into swifter action by the specter of Agnes Nutter swooping down on him. The ghosts at Hogwarts hadn’t prepared him for anything like this, not even the Bloody Baron. “Gette going, yow younge foole! NOW!” Draco yelped in terror and scuttled out the door to do her bidding, like the obedient little minion he was. Agnes drifted after him serenely as he ran toward the field.

Crowley and his winged friend were right where Draco had left them. Agnes made a show of pursing her pearly lips as she looked down at Crowley’s still unconscious form. “Wee need towe tayke him backe tow the Mannore,” she said decidedly. “Lifte them up, boye.” Draco hesitated. Visions of Voldemort were still plaguing his brain. Aziraphale weakly waved his hand in assent.

“She had better be right about my balls,” Draco muttered, and lifted his wand.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

And so Aziraphale was lifted up into the air, one hand still feebly clutching at Crowley.

"My dear," he croaked, a furrow between his sandy brows. His blue-grey eyes stayed fixed on the puppet-like form of the unconscious demon in front of him.

His wings were awkward. Aziraphale felt rather as if he was being helped to float by puppet strings - puppet strings that were doing almost nothing to help his leg, which still bled a small, steady trickle. Oh. Well. He wanted to put his wings away, but he didn't have the energy.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "Agnes?" he said, weakly, his voice still eerily calm. "Is that you, there? Why..." You're looking less corporated than when last I'd seen you, was what Aziraphale meant to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn't say idle things just now.

They floated - or at least Agnes, Crowley, and he did; Draco trudged back - back to the manor.

[sister-mary-laq.livejournal.com]

The Hospital Wing was on the far side of Tadfield Manor. By the time she got there, Sister Mary's hands were growing numb from the seeping coldness of the bucket of ice.

She didn't know what to expect. The boy had been terrified. And the ghost had seem resigned to something dreadful. At least she had taken charge.

Sister Mary didn't mind following orders. She rather appreciated them.

She hadn't yet found any of her other employees. And that was making her feel nervous. In fact, she was beginning to feel panicky.

Was the Hospital Wing even in good enough working order to treat injured persons? Should she call a real ambulance? Tadfield Manor was so far out, though. Perhaps she'd just better check on the situation before she did anything.... Maybe Agnes would know what to do...

Something Agnes had said finally filtered into her head, then. "Get them beds," she repeated to herself. "Get them beds."

She latched onto this thought. This was something she knew how to do. She may not be able to heal, or massage, or make a decent margarita -- but damn it! she knew how to assign beds and rooms to her guests.

She almost smiled as she hurried her pace towards the hospital. She hadn't had anyone staying out in these guest rooms - they'd been too far away for room service. So she knew that the rooms would be free. Quickly, she did some calculations in her head. Yes, she knew exactly what was available on this side of the Manor- and exactly how much it would cost per night. She felt as prepared as she ever could be.

Finally, she reached the great wooden doors of the old hospital.

"Hello?" she called.

She followed the noises she heard -- and some of her anxiety began to return as she neared raised voices and moans. But she tried her best to remember the room descriptions, this weekend's entertainment programs, and the prices. Surely, her new guests would appreciate that....

The smell of something was lingering heavy in the air -- was that... blood? She gagged a little, and the heavy bucket almost slipped from her hands.

No, she said to herself, be strong. Now, I must remember to tell them that our new Chef will be preparing a lovely goat dish tomorrow for lunch, she thought doggedly.

Taking a final deep breath, she marched into the room, dropping the bucket of ice with a heavy bang. The images were coming at her too quickly. There was so much blood and burned flesh.

"I brought...the ice, Agnes," she mumbled, her words no louder than a breath.

She stepped backwards, her back against the wall. What had happened to these two...? and there were ...wings?

[microbes-r-us.livejournal.com]

Hearing a great deal of commotion coming from the direction of the hospital wing, 'Dr. Alabaster' headed in that direction. Something told him that someone wasn't making that much noise because they desperately wanted a Swedish massage.

He hastened over and pulled the door open, popping his head in. "Hello? Is something going on?" He blinked and repressed a smile. Open wounds! How convenient can you get?

[barking-draco.livejournal.com]

There was a tall pale man gesturing at the room he had just exited. Not knowing where else to go, Draco went in. On behalf of his weak stomach, he was still carefully not looking at the two entities being carried by his wand. It was really only fortune that prevented Crowley from floated into a wall.

Draco set Crowley and his friend down on the beds, but was strangely reluctant to leave. The authoritative man was looking all together too predatory. "Agnes," he whispered to the ghost still hovering nearby. "Can you keep an eye on them?"

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale blinked at his view of the ceiling. He felt softness under him (his wings were getting crushed under his weight) and - Crowley. Where was Crowley?

He turned his head, panic in his eyes, and breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the unconscious demon lying next to him peacefully.

Aziraphale spent a few moments looking at him dizzily, wondering if it was a dream - his leg was giving him too much agony for it to be anything other than reality, he decided - and looked up, noticing a being, really, like a Horseman but missing his crown and aura of a throne, in the doorway and the boy wizard that had brought him here.

"Thank you," he whispered to the boy, who stood looking worried and uncertain near the ghostly Agnes. "Thank you, dear wizard," he said, a little louder.

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley and stretched out an arm, feeling exhaustion sweep over him. He couldn't reach, but the beds moved slightly closer and his hand came to rest next to Crowley's fingertips. "Help him first," Aziraphale said, weakly, remembering the fall and head-wound, and closed his eyes.

[nice-witch.livejournal.com]

"Welle of course I'd hellpe him first," muttered Agnes in her ghostly fashion. "He is muche more badlie wounded than thee, angel. Like I always saye, stopp livinnge by mottoes."

Agnes ignored the incredulous, horrified, and baffled looks of the others and set to work.

"Welle? Help mee gather thee sheets frome the other Beddes. Wee wille need larger bindinngs than what are in youre Firste Aide kitts."

Agnes supervised as the more corporeal inhabitants of the hospital ward gathered the crisp white sheets Sister Mary had ordered for the hospital wing. When they were all in a pile at her feet, she gave her next instructions.

"Someone helpe me binnde the daemon upp. I am sicke of lookinnge at his Thinnge."

Agnes was met by more baffled glances.

"You knowe, his Thinnge. Tackle. Tally-wacker - "

Silence.

"Looke, hee is nakede and bleedinge profuselie, annd wee need to at leaste clothe him and binde him until we knowe what caused itt annd how to stopp itt. I made a little jest. Wytches can do that too, ye knowe."

Sister Mary nudged Draco until he stumbled forward and picked up a bedsheet, mutely (but somehow still conveying remarkable disgust, disappointment, depression and boredom) offered to follow whatever instructions Agnes may give. As she showed Draco how to safely lift first Crowley's limbs and then his body to apply the bandages, she muttered to herself:

"Realie, hee was askinnge for itt. He has obviouslie made a large effort for itt, after alle."

Crowley stirred fitfully. Bystanders may report that he murmured, in the midst of his faint, "Stuff it, witch," but the casual reader should not believe them.

"Mary, if you have minnt or aloe in your gardenn, fetche itt here. But firste, give mee that ice."

Agnes folded the ice in extra sheets and applied the ice packs to Crowley's bound torso as she waited for her herbs to arrive.

[sister-mary-laq.livejournal.com]

Sister Mary was desperate to get out of the stifling hospital room. Even as she ran towards the herb garden, the wind ripping through her clothes, she could still feel the heavily clinging scents of burned flesh, torn tissue, and blood.

Bartholomew, the Manor's gardener, was there, on his knees, weeding.

Sister Mary felt a wave of regret wash through her at the site of his stooped shoulders. She'd really given him a piece of her mind (a nasty piece!) earlier, right after she'd hired that lovely red-head, Ruby. Now she wasn't so sure she could even remember why she'd been angry at her old friend.

"Bartholomew, I need aloe. A lot of aloe. And mint," she said desperately. She wanted to say more things to the old man, not the least of which would be a nice long apology. But Agnes had barked at her to get the aloe - and that one... Being... the one with the familiar yellowish eyes - well, he wasn't looking so well when she'd left.

The old man handed her a bunch of mint and a good armful of long green thick stalks of what she assumed were aloe plants.

Sister Mary couldn't meet his eyes.

Roughened fingers just under her chin tilted her face upwards where she found a lovely old grin waiting for her. She smiled back.

"I'll talk to you later," she whispered.

Then she turned and ran back to hospital wing, careful not to drop any of the precious herbs.


The scene was much the same as she'd left it. Agnes was still (thankfully) in charge. That young blond man looked nauseous but seemed to be following her orders. And Dr. Alabaster... well, Sister Mary wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. But at least he seemed to be focused on the two patients....

And those two.

Well, the one with the yellowish eyes was now somewhat covered. She supposed that was some sort of improvement.

Quietly, she dropped the plants and herbs next to the sink. She quickly rinsed everything off and then brought them before Agnes. She was anxious not to think again. She just wanted to do what was needed...

"Oh!" she blurted. "I have rooms for you two."

She thought the blond one might have given her a somewhat startled look before passing out again. She didn't let that deter her.

"I have a wonderful set of rooms not too far from here - really, just down the hall from Dr. Alabaster here," she said, her words coming at a rush.

"I can give you a good rate, too, since it seems you'll both be with us for a while," she said, gagging towards the end, when it seemed clear to her that Agnes wanted her to rub some aloe concoction into the yellow-eyed one's burnt flesh.