tampered | log, incomplete

Current Mood: bitchy

log, incomplete

When; Friday, August 10th, late evening
Rating; pg-13 for blood and stuff?
Characters; Gil

wingedly
Summary; Crowley's been pissy, and when he stumbles across a certain brand of monster bait, things don't go so well. Fortunately, there's an angel to step in...
Log;

Crowley was beginning to wonder how long he was going to have to wander around before he just got sick of it and went back to the apartment. Really, he was loathe to make Lyra upset, but this wouldn't turn out like Jowy and Kamui. The demon remembered that whole fiasco, and the last thing he wanted to do was remind the girl of that. He was planning on trying to find Aziraphale tomorrow and talk this out...but he had needed to cool down first so he didn't end up saying something he'd regret.

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Gil stared at Crowley, up through the leaves. He was glaring, yellow eyed, a monster- Not like what he was used to, usually things that attacked him looked remotely more human.

“Uhhh. Hhh-” Gil had always imagined saying cooler things, when faced with danger, but now? All he could manage was heavy breathing and trying not to scream.

He kicked, frantically, backwards, landing himself no better than before, abet with more leaves in his hair.

“J-Jess-” Pathetically, all Gil could think to do was to call his brother, to save him. Thank God Jess wasn’t here, that fact was too damn embarrassing for him to ever be able to verify.

"Beg pardon?" Crowley asked, casually. Normally, he did look more human, but right now, with yellow eyes and scales slowly forming and the forked tongue and elongated teeth, well...notsomuch. "No, my name isssssn't Jesssssss. But it happenssssss to be Crowley, if you're asssssking."

And he reached out, lightning fast, grabbing the boy by the front of the shirt and hoisting him out of the leaves.

"Now, now. Won't do you any good to run away, you ssssssee? You're human. Can't outrun a demon that easssssily~"

Crowley. Gil was getting killed by a dude named Crowley. Could he have no cool points, even in death?

Gil kicked frantically, his legs seeming to be the only part of his body responding to the adrenaline being pumped through him. He shook, and his eyes felt as if they couldn’t get any wider.

“C-can’t stop me from--” He was stuttering? Fuck all. “Ttrying.”

But Gil couldn’t get free, and so he couldn’t try.

Hey, watch it, kid. Anthony J. Crowley is a cool name. Though if you want cool points, check out the snake demon currently digging five of those kick ass claws into your shoulder. Those claws are pretty frickin' sweet, man.

"Oh, by all meanssssss, try away." Crowley invited, smirking, yanking his claws out of the boy's shoulder, leaving five bloody holes in his wake as he dropped Gil to the ground. "Makesssss thingsssss much more exxxxciting, you undersssssstand~?" He leaned down so he was eye-to-eye with the boy. "Well?"

Alright, it was an okay name-

And, fuck, that hurt. Claws puncturing Gil’s shoulders, he tried to stop himself from crying out, and thus successfully produced a whining ‘iiiirp’ noise from the left side of his mouth.

He continued to kick, viciously, and his hands flailed about, but...

Eh. Why make it interesting for the bastard. It’s not like Gil’s got any chance of surviving this shit, as is, there’re no FOG or big brothers to save him.

Gil is, yet again, fucked.

“A-asshole,” He hisses at the demon, teeth clenched and full of the kind of rage only a near-death nineteen-year-old can give.

And at that, Crowley laughed, a full out, demonic, fun, laugh, like he was having the time of his life. "Oh really?!" he asked, leaning down to grin at the boy. "Isssss that sssssssso? Hassssss it really taken you that long to figure thissssss out? Might have to convinccccce you more, ssssssee what elsssse you can come up with."

He drew his claws back, slashing downward, a hit meant to leave five long slices from Gil's neck to upper stomach--

My, if Hastur could only see him now. Probably would chide him for playing with his food like he was.

Gil screamed.

It was very... not-masculine.

Thank God Jess wasn’t here...

Gil started to writhe, not too unlike a serpentine creature, nearly spitting his hatered. He tried to think of insults that would insult haints, back home, but they rarely got time to converse, the two of them, so Gil wasn’t sure. Nnamdi had once told him the highest insult in haint-speak was, “Nnahrungt,” but Gil felt as if that barb would fall upon deaf ears, currently.

“Ffuck-” Gil sobbed, losing blood and energy, “Aaahh-”

At that, Crowley raised an eyebrow. "I'm trying to determine whether that wassssss a grunt of pain, or you were trying to sssssay ssssomething to me. Either way, I didn't quite underssssstand it; ssssssorry."

And now he was being apologized to. No cool points.

Gil wordlessly struggled as the blood weaved around him, like sickeningly warm hands. He was coughing, now, and staring straight at Crowley’s yellow eyes.

Now would be the time to say something very cunning and witty, in a movie.

Fuck.

This wasn’t a movie.

Aziraphale felt it instantly as he meandered through the streets of the city, hands carrying quite a bit of things he’d need for the next few nights and what they would have in store for him, if everything went according to plan. Though at the demon’s spark of a familiar, rather dangerous aura, the angel couldn’t help but heave a heavy sigh and quickly make his way toward the park, for he would be damned if his counterpart exerted his frustration on something else other than where it should be directed.

"Crowley, what do you think you’re—" Oh, well. He certainly hadn’t expected to see the demon in the midst of murdering an innocent bystander. What?

"That’s enough," Aziraphale all but barked, his voice shifting to a low, guttural tone as he gently set his things down onto the grass, dark blue eyes trained to Crowley, wings unfurling and a shine of a halo appearing. "Let him go. Immediately. I have no patience for this."

There was no question as to whose aura was racing towards him, and Crowley's head jerked up just as Aziraphale landed, yellow eyes narrowing, something in his brain twitching slightly in reaction. What was--

"But angel, there'ssss just ssssomething about him--" Crowley hissed, turning his gaze back on the boy, fangs lengthening, as if he were about to strike--

Gil saw the angel, and immediately started struggleing ten times more than usual; landing with a FOG, his world’s version of an ‘angel’, was a fate worse than death.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck!” His arms, with a speed almost suggesting them having a mind of their own, grappeled to Crowleys, trying to peel his hands away from Gil’s body, “Lemmie go, you bastard!”

All the while, Gil continued to stare, horrified, at his ‘savior’. He’d never been very good at thanking people.

He wasn't watching Crowley at all.

"Have you gone completely ma—" The angel blinked, startled out of his rather fierce inquiry by the sudden violence that the stranger displayed, and he instantly quelled a bit, frowning deeply, guilty. "Ah, my dear...I mean you no harm, truly. Crowley, I said stop."

With that, Aziraphale grasped firmly onto the demon’s collar and yanked him backward, moving to step between him and the young man, bending over to press a cool palm against his neck. "Please don’t move, hmm? You require medical attention immediately."

Voice quite a bit calmer now, the angel focused all his attention on healing the cuts to the other’s neck and chest, wings spread wide from behind him that faced the demon.

Crowley stumbled backwards, releasing the kid as Aziraphale yanked him backwards, the angel's aura recting to his own, giving him something akin to an electric shock. He tumbled back, falling onto his rear on the ground, blinking bleerily.

"What the---" He blinked, several times, yellow eyes dialating and turning semi-human, green with gold around the edges. The demon lifted a hand to his forehead with a groan. "Fuck." he stated emphatically, a large headache blossoming at his temples. "I feel like I've been hit by a flaming sword or something. Son of a---" He eyed the boy Aziraphale was trying to heal bleerily. "What the fuck are you, kid?"

Gil was on the ground, screaming and wailing and yelling.

He shrunk and kicked from Aziraphale’s touch, writhing and spitting, “Ahh- don’t- Getawayfromme!”

He completely ignored Crowley, his accusations hitting the center of the brain Gil was most ashamed of, the part where he realized and acknowledged his problem. Thus, automatically, he turned it off.

He was more concerned with the angel.

“Ohgod- No!” He threw his hands up, in front of him, as if expecting great peril at Aziraphale’s next touch.

There had never been a time, at least in his world, where an angel’s presence invoked a reaction such as this. But that didn’t mean that Aziraphale would inflict any further pain upon the boy due to his wounds, so he drew back immediately and stood, worry creasing his expression. "I apologize for my rude behavior, dear," he murmured, shifting so that he stood by Crowley’s side to make sure he was all right as well as he clipped his wings back behind him, possibly out of sight.

"If you would wish it, I could fetch you a doctor, perhaps? You look as if you’re in an awful lot of pain..." This wouldn’t do, he couldn’t simply leave the stranger there to bleed to death now could he?

Crowley raised an eyebrow at the boy's violent reaction. "Hey. What's wrong with you? He's just trying to heal you." he stated, one dark eyebrow raising as he shakily pushed to his feet, one hand still rubbing against his temples.

Gil wouldn’t bleed out. Well. Maybe he would. It was possible. But Gil didn’t think he would, which was what mattered to him.

Gil held no animosity towards the things that tried to kill him, they didn’t have a say in the matter. A demon or a haint could attack, and he wouldn’t hate them. It was the angels, the FOG, that he had problems with; the hunted him of their own free will, as much as Gil could disconcern. So, fear clouded his face at the angel.

He didn’t answer him, and sat, full of fear and silence, panting, staring straight at Azirahpale, as if expecting him to make some slight-of-hand move.

In response to Crowley, he looked to him quickly, eyes darting back towards the demon, giving him a look of anger and understanding, as if to suggest him leaving before things really got bad.

It was clear that the young man felt mortally uncomfortable with his presence, and if there was anything that the angel excelled in, it was reading the emotions of others. But with that thought came a sickening guilt for what he had done to poor Crowley, and how there was no way he could possibly explain himself or set things to rights, this time. "Crowley, are you—" As Aziraphale turned his worried gaze upon his companion, he hadn’t realized he’d instantly extended a helping hand out toward him, of which he slowly retracted with an apologetic frown.

"...will you be all right?" Without me hung heavily in the air, unspoken, and the angel had half a mind to try and heal the demon without permission, but he had broken his trust and that was not something easily amended. Millennia after millennia spent among humans and their emotions had taught him that well enough.

Gathering his things together from the market, Aziraphale looked upon them both, blue gaze resting upon Crowley’s expression with as much courage he could manage before turning to leave again.

Crowley looked from the angel to the boy and back again, yellow-green eyes turning toward Aziraphale as he moved away, meeting his eyes directly on as he turned to look back at him, before the angel turned away. Now, don't get him wrong, he was still angry. But despite that, there was one thing he wanted to make clear.

"Aziraphale." He called out, to get the angel's attention.

Now, something fishy was going on here. It didn’t involve Gil, by the looks of it, so he just crouched low, waiting for it to be over, watching. The adrenaline from seeing an Angel was still fresh in his veins, keeping him from properly feeling any of his wounds, so he just bid his time, until things turned back to him, as they always irrevocably did.

He made himself still as possible. Maybe they would forget him.

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log, incomplete

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