neutral_omens | (no subject)

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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?

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?"

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.

"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 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.