(no subject)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Date: March 27, 2001
Status: Private - Crowley and Gabriel
Setting: London
Summary: The first leg of the journey, continued from here

Following the angel to the airport was a relatively simple matter. Crowley was well aware of the difficulties inherent in flying in the city but moreso knew that there was only one possible destination no matter how his quarry traveled. Thus he didn't worry when he lost Gabriel's trace on occasion. He'd pick it up again at Heathrow. Using short cuts and certain driving techniques, the demon made it to the airport not five minutes before Gabriel's plane left.

Parking in the loading zone, confident that his car wouldn't be bothered, Crowley hurried inside. The angel's aura was stronger here and he wondered what miracle he'd needed to perform in order to make his flight. As it was strongest at the British Airlines desk, the demon followed. In moments, he'd learned that Mr. Gabriel Engel - how original - was bound for Copenhagen on a flight that had just left. With a vehement curse and a lot of yelling, the cowed lady behind the desk who could coolly deal with even the most drunken and belligerent fliers but not a angry demon, found a seat on a rival Air France flight that was due to leave in half an hour. Crowley produced his passport and strode toward the gate.

***

Over the next several hours, he trailed Gabriel through the streets of Copenhagen, then back to the airport. It had apparently been only a stop to throw off anyone who might be following him. Which wasn't a bad idea in theory, but Crowley wondered just how dumb the angel thought he was. They went next to Munich for a day, and then to Oslo, before ending in Amsterdam, where Crowley's normally thin patience wore out.

Comments

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

"Don't be ridiculous," Gabriel said with a frown. "I've spent far too much time patching you together to just attack you without reason."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"You have a reason, idiot," Crowley sneered, wondering how long it would take to goad the archangel into it. "If you ever want to fuck Belial's glittery arse again, we have to save it first."

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

"Do you really think you're going to fool me by being crass?" Gabriel asked. Though he wasn't ready to respond to the demon's taunts, his expression had grown cold. "Just leave, and I'll create a scene once you've gone." He didn't need the other around to use enough energy that any being nearby should notice, and it would still corroborate their story.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Actually, no. He didn't think he'd fool Gabriel by being crass. But the demon did think he could get him in a bad mood and that part seemed to work fine. What Gabriel didn't seem to understand was that if he walked away easily from an encounter with an archangel, not a single denizen of Hell would believe his story, no matter if the entire city were otherwise destroyed. They had to fight and he had to have real injuries, even if the Messenger didn't want to get his hands dirty. It was faintly pleasant that he actually gave a damn, but this wasn't the time.

Without thinking about who would be available to put him back together again this time, Crowley just lashed out unexpectedly, catching the angel across the face with his claws. There was one shining moment of frozen time and then four parallel gashes across Gabriel's cheek began to bleed.

He had to react to a direct attack, right?

Crowley followed the blow with a low kick, trying to get Gabriel's feet out from under him.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

The Serpent struck so quickly that Gabriel was not able to completely escape the brunt of the attack; although, as blood welled on his cheek, it was not the wounds but the surge of infernal power that stung him.

He had just enough warning to duck the kick, keeping his balance, and responded with enough of his own powers to knock Crowley backwards without any physical blow: the Messenger was by nature not a warrior, and what experience he had was now ages old, from a time when those who were his enemies had been more clearly distinguishable. He had not the inclination, though if Crowley were to force him...

He glared at Crowley, holding the other temporarily at bay by sheer force of will. "You don't want to do this, demon."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

From his suddenly prone position on the ground, Crowley glared murderously up at Gabriel, barely feeling the effects of the weak attack through the adrenalin rush. "Don't fucking patronize me, angel," he spat. "I am sick and tired of righteous arseholes telling me what I want to do or ought to do. I'm not a child to be ordered about for my own good. I'm a demon. I'm as old as you are, I have vastly more experience of the three planes than you do, and I know what the fuck I'm doing."

He scrambled to his feet. "I've made my choices, Messenger, and I know what side I'm on. If you don't trust me, fine, but if you get in my way I will run you down."

Fighting the impulse to extend his battered wings - they'd be of no help now - Crowley darted to one side and raked at Gabriel's side, aiming a knee into his solar plexus at the same time.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

Gabriel shoved Crowley away, scrambling back himself. Maybe the demon was right, and maybe he was just burning off excess frustrations brought to a boil over the past few days, but Crowley clearly wasn't going to settle for less than a fight.

"Run me down? I've survived much worse than you, Serpent," he spat, and it surprised him the force and vehemence with which the old patterns of speaking returned to him. But then, it had been a short time in which he had considered Crowley anything but the Enemy...

He snatched up the chair he'd so recently been sitting in and swung it at the demon before Crowley could formulate another attack; the action sent a shock of pain through the new wounds oozing at his side, but made a sickening thud upon contact, letting him know he'd hit his target. Let him have his bruises if he must.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Forcing himself to stay still and let the chair knock him down, Crowley directed a humourless smile into the ground for the success of his plan. Rolling to his feet, he tried to ignore the sharp ache coming from his ribs. He'd instigated this for the injuries, so he'd just better deal with them.

"Like what? The only thing you've done with demons recently is screw them," he sneered, shoving the angel hard against the rough stone wall of the cafe and pinning him there by the shoulders. He kept his body just an inch from Gabriel's, hoping to prevent the archangel from having the leverage to deliver a knee to the groin and maybe just to disconcert him a little.

It was a far cry from the shaky truce they'd managed in the previous half hour, but Crowley hoped that one day Gabriel would understand why this was all necessary. It was always so much easier when the damn angels just shut up and cooperated.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

With the sound of shredding fabric, Gabriel's wings sprung forth, forcing the pair of them away from the wall; Crowley stumbled back, giving Gabriel just enough of the upper hand be able to shove them both off-balance. He landed on top of the demon with uncomfortable force.

Pinned to the ground, his white and gold wings arched over them like a misplaced shield. It was a risk, perhaps, to expose the vulnerable limbs. But then, Gabriel knew very well that Crowley could not do the same, as he had patched up the demon's broken wings himself; and perhaps that is what drove him.

"I think you've dug yourself deep enough already, demon," he hissed near Crowley's ear. "Or do you insist on making every situation worse with your vile tongue?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Lying prone on the ground underneath an angel, shoulders burning, sternum crushed, glasses gone, Crowley was experiencing too many recollections and conflicting emotions to be able to handle any of them effectively. So, as he usually did in these situations, he pushed it all away - all the inconvenient feelings and memories - and let his instincts take over. The goal was to infuriate the archangel, right?

Feeling reckless and possibly suicidal, he smiled insouciantly, reptilian eyes locked to ethereal blue. "I do try. Sweet of you to notice, really." And that vile tongue darted out to lick the weeping gashes marring Gabriel's perfect face.

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

The angel shuddered, retracted, as though the action had had some real effect. His expression was grave, twisted slightly with revulsion, and his eyes were hard on Crowley's. His lips parted as though to speak, but instead he pulled away completely, getting to his feet. Giving up his advantage in this haphazard fight.

He stood, half in shadow with only the dingy light of street lamps pooled around them, and barely dared look at Crowley. In that dull, weary moment, it was hard to remember why they were here; why he'd just attacked one of the few demons he'd ever known any sort of sympathy for. But there was just enough of the oppressive weight still tight in his chest to remind him that it was easier not to think about it at all.

"You have your injuries to show," he said tersely. "I think that should be sufficient."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Had Gabriel yelled or fought or cried or done something, anything, Crowley could have kept going; supernatural energy reserves, a bottomless well of deep-seated anger, and all-too-human adrenalin would have made it possible even after their long travels. But the angel just stood there looking all defeated though he'd won, and it tore at something deeper than Crowley's physical aches; something painful that couldn't be miracled away.

Yes, Gabriel was the Enemy. They'd been on opposite sides from time immemorial without the flexibility that the Arrangement provided. He'd been a cold, officious prick for as long as Crowley could recall, smug and demanding and compassionate... Wait, what? Not to John, certainly, and that made the demon flush furious, but to Aziraphale in what seemed like a lifetime ago, and to himself more than once, though there'd been no reason why he should.

The Messenger stood there under the sickly yellow light, a paragon of angels looking like nothing so much as a lost little boy, and the Serpent of Eden felt something twisting in his gut. Some slight measure of guilt or empathy, if that was possible, lonely in unlikely territory. Gabriel had recently lost his lover and the rocks upon which he'd built his world kept being overturned one by one. It was familiar, perhaps. Yet he'd never so much as thought to question the ineffable. He kept to his path. It was a faith Crowley had never, obviously, been able to sustain and it wearied him beyond endurance. He closed his eyes.

"Go then, angel."

[dontcallmegabby.livejournal.com]

This time, Gabriel did not argue; did not spare another glance for the injured demon before, wings unfurled, he disappeared into the darkness.