Aziraphale can hear the distress rising again in the angel’s voice, and it tightens his heart. He sounds so lost, so pale an echo of the soul who comforted him in some of his darkest hours and loved him through some of the brightest.
“Nonsense, darling.” It might be a minor miracle that his voice doesn’t wobble. “All the crawling things seem to have fled.(1) And Fernand’s got all sorts of interesting soaps up here. I don’t think I’d mentioned Fernand—pleasant fellow, lovely sense of humor, excellent barber. Now just... lie back a little for me?”
It’s not quite a plea aloud, though in Aziraphale’s soul it resonates like one. For so many centuries Crowley’s been the brave one, recklessly generous with his compassion; seeing him in such desperate need of the most basic comforts... it hurts, in some raw red corner of Aziraphale’s heart that has never quite recovered from the shock of being expelled from Heaven.
But he can’t sit by and do nothing. He won’t. He never has. Even if he has to start small, with the stroke of his hands and the soothing hush of his voice.
(1) For those of you wondering if head lice have their own separate Hell, yes they do, and yes it is worse than human Hell, in ways the human brain cannot fathom. Or at least this has been the case since a very specific point at the turn of the sixteenth century.
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timeasmymeasure
Yeah apparently Merlin is the one who advises him to get all those bastards started. Which... lol.
Date: 2020-05-01 11:21 pm (UTC)“Nonsense, darling.” It might be a minor miracle that his voice doesn’t wobble. “All the crawling things seem to have fled.(1) And Fernand’s got all sorts of interesting soaps up here. I don’t think I’d mentioned Fernand—pleasant fellow, lovely sense of humor, excellent barber. Now just... lie back a little for me?”
It’s not quite a plea aloud, though in Aziraphale’s soul it resonates like one. For so many centuries Crowley’s been the brave one, recklessly generous with his compassion; seeing him in such desperate need of the most basic comforts... it hurts, in some raw red corner of Aziraphale’s heart that has never quite recovered from the shock of being expelled from Heaven.
But he can’t sit by and do nothing. He won’t. He never has. Even if he has to start small, with the stroke of his hands and the soothing hush of his voice.
(1) For those of you wondering if head lice have their own separate Hell, yes they do, and yes it is worse than human Hell, in ways the human brain cannot fathom. Or at least this has been the case since a very specific point at the turn of the sixteenth century.