neutral_omens | (no subject)

Michael was startled by Raphael's violent response. What was this? Definitely not the gentle, timid healer he knew and loved. Well, sure, he still loved Raphael more than anything, nothing could change that fact, but he really didn't know how he should react to this situation.

"Raphael?" he asked hesitantly, still too stunned to even start reassuring the healer that he most definitely wasn't useless and one demon's accusations could not make him that. "Is everything all right?"

Now, he knew he wasn't always the sharpest crayon in the box, especially when it came to Raphael. As much as he loved the smaller angel, somehow he always found himself wondering about everything that had something to do with Raphael. Most of all he wondered just how could such a wonderful creature love him, but sometimes the other's actions and words left him quite confused as well. And now he was more confused than ever. Raphael, his Raphael, was furious, and apparently ready to attack the demon. What should he make of it?

why should He keep you around?

The phrase kept repeating in Raphael's mind and every fear he'd ever had came rushing back. He shuddered and sobbed, his eyes red and glassy, his face a vicious red and his nose dripping.

"You think you know what He wants?" He screamed, his aura growing even brighter. "You have no idea! It's not fair, you keep blaming and blaming and blaming but it's not my fault so quit saying it is!" He gasped for air. "I'm not weak!" His volume escalated and his eyes glazed over. "I'm not, I'm not, I'M NOT! YOU'RE WRONG!" The plants began to grow out of control. "THIS IS MY POWER!!!!!" He bellowed, unhinged, at the top of his lungs, his body brilliant. "AND I DO THE BEST I AM ABLE, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO CRITICIZE, TO CALL ME UNWANTED!!!"

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME UNWANTED?! HOW DARE YOU???!!!" He shrieked, his voice a mangled and dischordant cacophony.

Then like a light his power extinguished, leaving him gasping on the ground, completely spent.

Crowley dropped the hose and collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. Raphael's aura was too bright, too harsh, and it felt like being stabbed with a thousand knives.

Laying there, he did not think of Aziraphale, although he would have liked to call the angel's soothing aura and gentle eyes to mind. He didn't think of John, or of Adam, or of whether he'd be able to return to the Manor after being discorporated, or how he was going to get a new body, or if Lucifer knew of his part in Belial's surgery, or any of the things he should be thinking about. Instead he was trying to remember if the Morningstar had ever acted as batshit crazy before the Fall.

"I didn't call you unwanted, motherfucker. That's your own damn paranoia," he finally managed to croak out.

Then Crowley smiled a cruel little smile that never reached his eyes. "But if I were you, I'd start wearing knee pads."

"You implied it," he gasped. "You know what you meant. You said it on purpose. You always do that on purpose, taunting me, acting like I'm going to Fall when you know it's my worst fear. I'm terrified but you just playing on that for no good reason."

He thought of all the insinuations of not being able to do anything, of Falling, everything he'd ever said. The archangel grimaced, stood shakily and staggered over to Crowley, picking up the hose.

"You infuriate me, you know that?" He said, his voice a flat, biting sound. "Worry about yourself for once. Worry about that Principality you could be Felling. Worry about your responsibility for... that incident. Quit acting like I'm useless when you can't even keep your angel safe."

He pointed the hose at the demon for a moment and considered squirting him for a long moment, then dropped it, fell to his knees and planted his hand on the demon's chest.

"You're an ignorant jerk," he muttered, forcing whatever energy he had left into healing and repairing the corporation he'd damaged in his anger. "And watch your language," he snapped before falling over backwards and passing out.

Worry about yourself for once.

Crowley felt almost like he'd been discorporated. He couldn't feel pain any longer. He couldn't feel anything. It was like flying through a cloud.

Worry about yourself for once.

Had he not been? He supposed he had been worrying more about other people lately. Aziraphale and Belial and John, oh my. When had the switch happened? He hadn't even noticed it at the time.

Worry about that Principality you could be Felling.

Aziraphale wasn't going to Fall. He wasn't manipulating anyone. Wasn't lying. Wasn't yelling at people. He wouldn't Fall, right? Were true angels an endangered species now?

You can't even keep your angel safe.

But he had, hadn't he? He saved him from the bookshop and watched over him in hospital. Crowley had been the one dropped on his head, concussed, punched in the jaw, threatened at flaming swordpoint twice, and slapped. If it happened to him, it wouldn't happen to Aziraphale. He hadn't even told the angel about half the injuries he'd sustained at the Manor while investigating the bookshop fire. If he wasn't safe here, he wasn't safe anywhere.

And yet. For all his screaming, Raphael had healed the damage he did to Crowley's body. At least Crowley thought so. Did that mean he really didn't want to Fall? Well, who did? But he sure had been acting like it lately. Crowley had tried warning him, threatening him, tried logic, even physical restraint and the angel hadn't shown any signs of being just that anymore. And then this. For all his issues, he still could show moments of grace. Crowley could only hope it would be enough.

And watch your language.

He started to laugh weakly. It hurt, but he couldn't help it. It was as if a bubble had burst in his chest where Raphael touched him and the laughter was seeping out. He didn't care what Michael did, said, or thought. He was just going to lay here and laugh. Had the world always been so bizarre and had he just never noticed before? Watch your language indeed...

If Michael had previously been confused, now he was absolutely shocked. This was definitely unlike Raphael. Not many things could bring fear to him, the leader of the Hosts, but Raphael actually attacking a demon... It frightened him, for reasons he'd rather not dwell too much on.

For some time he just stood there in some kind of a daze. When Raphael finally passed out, however, he was instantly moving, still feeling numb but now knowing what to do. Take care of Raphael. Yes, this he knew, this he could do, this he knew exactly how to react to. This was something he could handle.

Kneeling down next to the collapsed healer, he gently picked Raphael into his arms. The fear inside him faded as he was completely concentrated on Raphael, his beloved Raphael, who was so very small and fragile, lying unconscious in his arms.

He glanced at Crowley, opening his mouth in an attempt to speak but failing to find words. Finally he just shut his mouth again, giving the demon one last glance, all his confusion and fear showing through his eyes, all those emotions he didn't even know the reasons for.

Then he turned around and fled. Take care of Raphael. Get Raphael safe. Let him get some rest.

That much he could do.

Huddled in a far corner of the greenhouse, a slender figure emerged slowly from the small space into which she'd curled herself when the name of Michael had reached her ears, allowing her own aura to normalize now that the danger had passed.

Ellie wasn't quite sure what it was that she had just heard. Though the demon on one side of the conversation hadn't been addressed by name, it wasn't too hard to pick out of context who he must be--but the accusations one of the archangels had leveled at him sounded wildly out of character for the Crowley of whom she'd heard Aziraphale and John speak so affectionately. That discrepancy paled, though, beside the frenzied shrieks and the wash of power that flooded the greenhouse, all courtesy of Raphael. Raphael, the Great Healer. What in Somebody's name had got into the little twerp?

The archangel's meltdown had caused Ellie no more than an uncomfortable stinging sensation all over her body--one fortunate side-effect of her neutral status was a decreased sensitivity to all things holy--but she had cringed sympathetically on Crowley's behalf, guessing the effect it would have at point-blank range on a relatively minor demon still wholly subject to Hell's influence.

Crawling out of her hiding place and brushing traces of potting soil from her skin-tight black jeans, she cautiously crept around a row of luxurious ferns that now resembled something out of a book on prehistoric Earth and studied the figure crumpled on the ground where the archangels had left him, apparently in the grip of mild hysteria.

Aziraphale was going to be so upset when he found out about this, and John would be absolutely livid. Come to think of it, Ellie was more than a little irked herself. Being something of an expert on emotional manipulation, she knew a con job when she heard one, and regardless of the truth or falsehood of his story, it was clear Raphael was leading Michael around by his blessed make-an-effort. The great oaf got off on playing with his sword more than enough without added encouragement.

Besides which, this angelic penchant for casually slapping around any demon they came across and then leaving their victim in the dirt was really beginning to piss her off.

Choosing a circuitous path that would ensure Crowley could see her before she came within arm's reach, she sank into a crouch beside him, pushing her long hair behind her ears automatically as she scanned the other demon for signs of damage. He looked surprisingly intact, all things considered, but the metaphysical clobbering had obviously taken its toll.

"Hey," she said softly. "Crowley, right? I'm Ellie. I come in peace, okay?"

At this close range, her sharp eyes could penetrate the near-opacity of his sunglasses well enough to register bewilderment and, she thought, lingering pain. Being a tactile creature by nature, she couldn't repress the urge to touch, raising the temperature of her own skin slightly to counter the chill of shock as she stroked his disheveled hair carefully back from his face. "You really must've worked overtime to get Raphael so riled up," she murmured. "He leave you two brain cells to rub together, sweetheart?"

So you're Crowley, huh? Well, full points for guts, but that mouth's really going to get you into a jam one of these days, she thought, trying not to be too charmed. Repeatedly standing up to Michael even on neutral ground wasn't exactly an act of genius, but she couldn't help but admire the sheer chutzpah.

And in all the times his name had come up in conversation, neither John nor Aziraphale had ever mentioned he was so darn cute.

As the stunning woman glided towards him, Crowley could do nothing but stare. If he'd been human he'd have guessed she was his guardian angel, but he knew better than that. Angels never wear stylish trousers. Vaguely, he wondered if that thought meant he'd sustained another concussion.

Then she identified herself. Ellie? The Ellie? What was she doing here? He started laughing again and it hurt.

"Klaatu barada nikto, beautiful," he managed to say with only a slight wince and a cough. "While we're trading movie quotes, let's just say that Raphael couldn't handle the truth."

Remus Lupin, werewolf, wizard, escort worker, and ex-Order of the Pheonix member had been strolling around the gardens of the Manor, looking for a suitable . He was well aware of the ex-Potions Master's lack of ingredients, and purchasing by owl - particularly a known poison, like Wolfsbane - would be a hell of its own.

He'd been around the gardens once, and then again until he spotted a lovely greenhouse. There was a vague note of curiosity as to what a hotel, a hospital, or a corporate office would have use for in a greenhouse, but maybe it wasn't functional...

As he neared it, Remus's attention was drawn to the emotional-looking, somehow undeniably different Muggle with another, tinier one in his arms emerging. The tall blond man ignored the bright light of day and set off for the castle, cradling the redhaired one - clearly unconscious, you could see from this distance - to him.

Remus arrived summarily at the door of the greenhouse, stopping there and watching the pair depart. He rubbed at the sleeve of his threadbare jumper, a thoughtful expression on his face.

With a wish for sun lotion, the wizard turned his back on the beautiful grounds and entered the steamy glass room. He gazed around, looking for places that would be suitable to grow anything magical. He'd need tools, and seeds, and pots, and gloves. He started making a mental checklist, and then his hazel gaze fell on the two on the floor.

A strikingly beautiful girl caught his glance first, but she was crouched over a pained-looking slim young man with dark hair and quite nice cheekbones. He looked a bit like a younger Sirius, actually, if Sirius had ever cut his hair that neat or ever wore sunglasses.

Remus sighed. The man was probably straight, if his girlfriend was anything to judge by.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but are you all right? What happened?"

Ellie smiled slightly at Crowley's valiant attempt to flirt. "Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing. They do say the truth hurts," she observed, concentrating as she ran her hands delicately over certain critical regions of his head, neck and torso, checking vital signs and searching for injuries that would make it dangerous to move him. "Sadly, they rarely specify who."

Satisfied that he was still essentially in one piece, if a sadly battered and abused piece, she sat back on her heels. "All right, cowboy, I don't think you're going to unravel if we try to move you back to the Manor. Healing isn't really my specialty,(1) but I can kill the pain long enough to get you there, if you want." She wondered whether she should warn him about the side effects, but given how loopy he was acting already, she wasn't sure it would make much difference.

She glanced over her shoulder at the approaching human's--(Human? Hmm. Not quite, it appeared)--greeting, then turned and raised her eyebrows inquiringly at Crowley, not sure whether a situation like this was covered by The Rules, or indeed, whether anyone actually bothered to follow The Rules around here anyway.

---

(1) Which was to say, she could do it, and Crowley would probably find the process quite enjoyable, but it would almost certainly land them both in hot water with a certain Principality who shall remain nameless.

Saying nothing while Ellie conducted her examination, because he was trying not to scream, Crowley watched the shabby man step up. He seemed oddly familiar, though the demon couldn't remember seeing him before.

"Hurts," he said in reply. "I'll explain. No, that'd take too long. I'll sum up. Made Raphael mad. Attacked me and collapsed. Michael took him away. This girl showed up. Then you."

Crowley turned pleading eyes, well, pleading sunglasses, to Ellie. "You can make it stop?"

"Okay," Remus said, and blinked. "Well. Can I get someone for you?" He thought about his wand, hidden in the sleeve on his shirt. "I could, maybe, try and help..." His long thin fingers reached for it, brushed the hard wood, as his mind tried to puzzle out the situation.

The names sunk in. The postures sunk in. The Muggles being odd tried to sink in and failed. "I mean. Raphael and Michael. Aren't they... Are you a Muggle?" he blurted.

"Muggle?" Ellie echoed, smiling at the werewolf with a subdued crimson gleam and just the barest hint of fang. "You go right ahead and think so if it helps you sleep at night, honey..."

As she spoke, she slid one hand carefully under Crowley's head, tilting his sunglasses up with the other, and bent to kiss him softly.

A great deal has been written over the centuries about the kiss of the succubus--most of it wildly innacurate speculation penned by frustrated human scholars who had never been within a hundred miles of an actual Hellmaid. Depending upon the intent, it could be a formidable weapon or a potent tool of seduction; but in a pinch, as now, it could also serve as effective pain relief.

Ellie tuned her power carefully to spare Crowley most of the more embarassing effects, triggering a massive endorphin rush that would have roughly the same effect as a sizeable dose of a very high-quality narcotic. Lucky for him, demons were much less prone to addiction than humans.

Upon finding himself being kissed by yet another inhabitant of the Manor, Crowley could only shrug internally and see what happened. He knew he was good looking, but this seemed excessive.

The effect of the (rather exceptional) kiss was to bring back that cloudy, floaty, fuzzy feeling from before and remove all his pain. He was high as a kite and not interested in coming down any time soon.

Crowley pouted at Remus, looking at him with now uncovered eyes. "Not a muggle. Not a wizard. Not an angel. Fallen, fallen angel. Broken crashing down. Need my angel. He'll fix it all better. Not like awful angels who hurt and hate. Stupid, stupid Raphael. Never listens. Stupid, stupid Michael. Never thinks. Tried and tried and tried. Tried too much. Draw attention away from my angel. From my friend. Friend. I have one. How odd. Hasn't helped him much. Helped me. Help me."

With that, his eyes closed and he dropped immediately into sleep.

Remus stared down at the demon, and decided to take the pair at their word. John had mentioned... Perhaps it was only Muggles playing pretend? Whatever they were, and whatever had happened didn't particularly matter; the man (demon?) was clearly hurt and needed help.

"Should I get someone, then?" he asked, a degree of shock in his voice. He took back his earlier assumption; the ma- demon's angel, whoever it was, was certainly not the lady here. The curiously restrained kiss proved that. "The, er, angel?" The werewolf paused. "Who is the angel? Where are they?"

He turned to the girl. "Or would you like to get him to the hospital wing first? I can help," he said, touching her shoulder.

Ellie made meaningless soothing noises through Crowley's disjointed stream-of-consciousness rambling, patting his hand and ignoring the sting in her own eyes as he spoke so wistfully of the Fall and of his angel. "He'll be all right," she said when he'd nodded off. "It's shock, mostly. He'd do better in his own bed..."

She looked up and smiled at Remus's offer. "That would be very kind of you. I'm sorry, I've been rude...my name's Ellie, and this is Crowley, and if you happen to have a wand on you I'd be grateful for some help moving him." She summoned a soft fleece throw out of nothing and wrapped Crowley up snugly in it. "Aziraphale is around the Manor somewhere, and he will have to be told, but I'd prefer it be afterward. There's no point to bringing him out here and upsetting him."

Unfortunately, another angelic presence was liable to aggravate matters more than help right now. Better to give Crowley a few minutes to recover first, get him safely to his room and not looking quite so pulverized, then find the angel. Though how she was going to tell Aziraphale that Raphael had done this, Ellie didn't know.

Startled again, he looked at her the moment she mentioned "wand".

"Right, I've got one here actually," he said, and tugged it out of his sleeve smoothly. He glanced at her before pointing his wand at the man- demo- Crowley's face and,

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The body rose into the air swiftly, and it was a credit to Remus' capabilities that the blanket wasn't disturbed in the slightest. He concentrated on the sleeping Crowley, and then began to maneouvre him out the door of the suddenly clammy greenhouse.

"Where to?" he asked Ellie, who was following behind. "My name's Roman, by the way. Roman Lupin. I'll take him to where you'd like, Ellie, and then I'll go and fetch the ange- Aziraphale, if that's all right. I'd only like to help."

"Nice to meet you, Roman," Ellie said politely, resting a gentle hand on Crowley's forehead as he whimpered fretfully in his sleep. The wizard's spell hadn't jostled him at all, but many of the Legion had deep-seated phobias involving air travel not under their own power. A really long uncontrolled Fall would do that to you.

"We'll have to stop by the front desk and find out his room number and Aziraphale's," she said softly. "I think most of the guest suites are on the second floor."

She looked up at the werewolf curiously. "It's good of you to help. Do you work here at the Manor?" Under the subtle but distinct signs of lycanthropy, his scent and his aura offered up some interesting possibilities, but it was best not to assume.

"All right," Remus nodded. He fingered his wand as the unlikely trio trudged up and around to the front of the Manor.

"Yes, I work at the Manor. Odd jobs, really whatever a customer needs." He was silent for a moment, and then he twisted around to glance at her. He studied her, for a moment, and then shook his head. "Mr. Wednesday of the front counter runs an escort service, and I am it. Well. In the evenings, mostly. If you ever feel the need for company, for a party maybe - although I don't doubt you have quite the lineup of lovers all waiting to take you anywhere - don't hesitate to call." He offered her a smile. "I'll give you a good discount, too."

Her suspicion confirmed, Ellie just couldn't resist in the face of such an ironic proposition. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," she said drily. "You don't by any chance offer a professional rate for colleagues?"

"Colleagues?" Remus was experienced enough to stop his surprise from affecting his wandwork, but the shock was astounding. If he had been drinking anything, he would have sprayed it across the room.

He was so shocked, that Remus stopped walking, blinking at her. "Are you a Muggle too? Or a demon, Ellie? Or something else?"

He shook his head, and started walking again. "Not that it matters. There is a professional rate, but if it's more recreational, I prefer men. One man, anyway, but he..." A shadow passed over Remus' face and he was quiet.

"Well, don't take it personally. I'm very flattered you'd be willing to be professional with me."

Ellie sighed. "Well, let me introduce myself properly. I am Chantinelle, once an Authority of the Third Sphere, former Handmaiden of the Wyrm Queen Triskelle, Succubus of the Second Circle. Or ex-Succubus. Technically, I suppose I'm unemployed at the moment." She smiled. "But I prefer to think I've gone freelance.

"And don't worry, I don't take it personally. I can hardly blame you, being that I prefer men myself." She laughed quietly. "I suspect you're having more luck around here than I have been, though. It's a shame, I never really took to the role of Incubus."

Crowley woke up at that moment and shook his head.

"'m not a Incubus. Jus' reg'lar demon. Not a Incubus at all. Tempt and tempt but never get. Az'phale?"

The he seemed to realize that he wasn't touching the ground and started to flail wildly.

"Down, down, down!" he yelled, panicking and kicking his legs. "Don't wanna fall!"