tio-trile:
On the bus ride home
The bus rumbled along the road, catching
some of the potholes and taking turns slower than what was probably necessary.
Aziraphale didn’t mind. The world could pass by as fast or as slowly as it
wanted now that the week was over and the apocalypse had fallen flat on its
face.
There would be repercussions, of course. He
knew it. Crowley knew it. The only thing that stood between them and punishment
was time.
It would come.
But, perhaps, it wouldn’t come that night.
He glanced over at Crowley who had managed
to slide half out of his seat, knees tucked high against grey plastic, arms
crossed over his chest. Dark sunglasses were drooping off his nose—still managing
to hide his serpentine eyes—and red hair flopped sleepily over his forehead. The
Demon was breathing slowly, head tilted forward, chin resting against his
chest.
There was a subtle blackness growing around
the edges of his hair. It could have been soot, but each bump sent glittering
light across the patterned texture.
“Crowley,”
Aziraphale murmured, knocking their knees together.
Lurching, Crowley straightened with a half
gasp, half groan. The bones along his neck and back popped when he rolled out
his shoulders.
Scales vanished; sucked back into auburn
hair like rice into a vacuum.
“Whatisit?” The sunglasses had dropped low
enough that Aziraphale could see the dim lights of the bus reflecting off yellow
snake eyes.
Still human enough to blink, at least. That
was a good sign.
The bus rumbled along the road, trees and
shadows passing past the windows. London was still a good ways away.
“Aziraphale?”
“I’m thinking.”
Crowley hummed in the back of his throat
and looked around at the other people on the bus. His body was slumping again,
curling, almost as if it wanted to coil in on itself.
(Perhaps it did, Aziraphale realized. They both
had been through a very long day but Crowley had spent most of it willing
reality to do his bidding. Keeping the Bentley together was enough to make even
an Angel falter and the Demon had managed to drive it from London all the way
to Tadfield.)
Aziraphale pushed the sunglasses back up
onto the bridge of Crowley’s nose—ignoring the grumbled ‘what’reyoudoin’?’—wrapped
his arm around thin shoulders, and pulled his friend down. Perhaps the Demon’s
cheek hit his shoulder a little more roughly than necessary but that was fine.
They’d survive.
They always did.
“Sleep, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, he dug
his fingers into black fabric and let the soft, light power of a miracle flow
over them both. It would help the snake stay human.
For a time.
“I’ll wake you when we get there.”
