Aziraphale had rushed, disappeared through the phone-line in the way that he could, and reappeared in the lobby downstairs. It was, thankfully, Tadfield Manor*, unmistakeable pink chair and all, but there was no commotion apparent there, no sign that a sorely injured man had just arrived.
The angel decided it must mean they were somewhere else... The hospital wing, most likely. He certainly hoped it was so.
Worried already, he turned a corner to hear hoarse, panicked shouting - oh, heavens, John - as he neared the wing, and picked up the pace for the last few steps, slowing only when he heard Crowley's low voice comfort.
Quietly, he entered the room, seeing Crowley pinning a bandaged John down, the set of his arms and the tone of his voice revealing how careful the demon was being about it.
He listened to Crowley's murmurings, resting. He could see the dent in the chair where Crowley had been sitting, at one point, and his view from the doorway gave him a good look at all the accoutrements that had been set up for John's use. Crowley looked a sight, and John worse, and Aziraphale knew he looked no better with gore from staking Nephrithaxus to the ground coating his hands and jacket, which he was still half-sure he was wearing.
His eyes glanced tiredly about the bed. Someone else had been here... Raphael, likely, who else had that much expertise in the medical sciences? And Aziraphale thought he'd heard Crowley ring Adam - surely the Antichrist would've visited too.
His attention was brought back to the tableau in the bed. "...home now," Crowley was saying, with a slight sag as if the demon had just realized it himself.
"It's dead," Aziraphale confirmed tiredly, leaning against the door.
*Aziraphale wasn't quite good enough at this thing to find Adam's room precisely, but he knew the lobby location well enough. He worked there, after all, and the smell of a small bottle of pink tint nailpolish he kept there now for emergency manicure fixes smelled strongly enough to be smelled for miles anyway.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-05-01 09:13 am (UTC)The angel decided it must mean they were somewhere else... The hospital wing, most likely. He certainly hoped it was so.
Worried already, he turned a corner to hear hoarse, panicked shouting - oh, heavens, John - as he neared the wing, and picked up the pace for the last few steps, slowing only when he heard Crowley's low voice comfort.
Quietly, he entered the room, seeing Crowley pinning a bandaged John down, the set of his arms and the tone of his voice revealing how careful the demon was being about it.
He listened to Crowley's murmurings, resting. He could see the dent in the chair where Crowley had been sitting, at one point, and his view from the doorway gave him a good look at all the accoutrements that had been set up for John's use. Crowley looked a sight, and John worse, and Aziraphale knew he looked no better with gore from staking Nephrithaxus to the ground coating his hands and jacket, which he was still half-sure he was wearing.
His eyes glanced tiredly about the bed. Someone else had been here... Raphael, likely, who else had that much expertise in the medical sciences? And Aziraphale thought he'd heard Crowley ring Adam - surely the Antichrist would've visited too.
His attention was brought back to the tableau in the bed. "...home now," Crowley was saying, with a slight sag as if the demon had just realized it himself.
"It's dead," Aziraphale confirmed tiredly, leaning against the door.
*Aziraphale wasn't quite good enough at this thing to find Adam's room precisely, but he knew the lobby location well enough. He worked there, after all, and the smell of a small bottle of pink tint nailpolish he kept there now for emergency manicure fixes smelled strongly enough to be smelled for miles anyway.