(no subject)

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Date: April 6, 2000 - early evening
Setting: Ireland
Status: John, Crowley, and Aziraphale
Summary: Rescue mission

Crowley checked his watch again. The hands were now pointing north-north-west and he turned, followed doggedly, wings aching. He'd been looking for John for something close to twenty-four hours, flying back and forth over the country because his watch seemed to be having trouble pinpointing the man's location. He wasn't going to stop until he found him, though. Preferably alive, because he did not fancy a trip to Hell, but he'd go if he had to. He could potentially make a legitimate third claim on his soul now, right? Though that would alert Lucifer as to his role in Belial's disappearance... As he scanned his recent memories, trying to think of some useful but not dangerous information he could use as a bargaining chip, his watch hands suddenly spun to face south-east and as he turned again, the hands moved due west. Knowing that he had to be close, he sank gratefully to the ground and tucked his wings away.

Finding himself in the middle of a sprawling metropolis - and really, shouldn't he have guessed that? John was not a country boy - Crowley tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then he felt it: a wave of hate, fear, anger, and pain. It was one of the scrabbling fiends of the pit and it was nearby. Following the tortured path of the thing, Crowley thought quickly. If it was indeed a fiend that had John instead of a full demon, he knew he could take it out himself. Even the lowest of the Fallen can handle a fiend. Then again, John could probably handle a fiend, too, unless something had gone horribly wrong. Fully entrenched in his own thoughts and unaware of where he was headed, he pulled up short, one step shy of walking into a churchyard. For one heart-pounding moment, he stood perfectly still wondering vaguely just who was looking out for him, anyway, but he welcomed the interruption. It brought him to his senses, which he was going to need right now.

Quickly pulling off his sunglasses, he saw a dark, huddled shape in the dim light of the setting sun. It looked intensely battered and there was a strong odor of bile. And was that...? Yes, there was the trench.

"Holy shit, John. JOHN!" he bellowed.

Comments

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

The part of Alec's awareness that was keeping tabs on Constantine's situation heard the man's name shouted, and drew his full consciousness back to the churchyard to see what was happening.

The human's condition had deteriorated steadily over the course of the day. Alec had done what he could to assist--Constantine's limbs were bound down by strong, flexible vines that would restrain him when he convulsed without snapping his limbs, and his skin was coated with a fine layer of microscopic plant life that helped to fight off infection in his self-inflicted gouges, as well as slowing his rate of dehydration.

But there was nothing he could do about the demon, which seemed to be attacking the man's mind and body by turns from within, no longer even trying to escape but simply inflicting pain in retribution for the rather underhanded trick Constantine had played on it.

At odd moments, Alec thought he wasn't sure which one he sympathized with more. Constantine had been a thorn in his side, no pun intended, for a very long time, and the fact that they had collaborated more than once did nothing to render the man less intensely irritating. His using a possible threat to Abby and Tefe as a spur to gain Alec's cooperation, when a simple "please" would have done the job, was utterly typical, proof enough to the elemental that he hadn't changed a bit.

On the other hand, Alec had some rather fond memories of the brief time he'd spent occupying that body with Constantine's full consent and cooperation, and to see it abused so savagely by such a base, filthy creature prompted an unexpected sense of proprietary anger. And while the demons of Hell weren't exactly the archenemies of the Green, there was no love lost there, either. Their unholy fires burned hot and long and were extremely difficult to put out.

So he had assented to the man's request, committed his message to memory, and kept a watch over him, ensuring the demon did not succeed in escaping. It was easy enough to do; he was adept by this time at spreading his awareness across the vastness of the Earth, dealing with many situations at once.

Now he identified the source of the shout as the black-clad stranger standing just outside the gates, radiating a distinctly unearthly power that clashed noticeably with the ambient energy of the churchyard, and sighed. Constantine hadn't had the wherewithal to explain why he was keeping company with one of the Fallen, and a mistreater of plants at that, or how they had parted ways; but knowing the magus, there was some ridiculously complex and improbable story behind it.

The man had heard the shout and reacted to it, tugging weakly at his bonds and muttering something disjointed in response (or possibly the other demon had; Alec couldn't be sure at this point.) But even if Alec unbound him, and he somehow succeeded in taking control of his body, he wouldn't be getting up to greet his friend. There wasn't strength enough left in him by this point.

Focusing his will on a flourishing weed growing near the gate of the churchyard, Alec poured his consciousness into it and accelerated its growth a thousandfold, weaving stem, leaf and root into the semblance of a human form, eight feet tall and broad as any two normal men.

Turning the bulbs that served him as eyes on the man-shaped being who stood so anxiously just outside the perimeter of the consecrated ground, he rumbled, "And you would be...Crowley, I presume. He cannot answer...all his strength has gone to...fighting the thing that has him."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Narrowing his eyes, and assessing the creature as a threat, Crowley looked up at the plant that was addressing him.

"Yeah, I'm Crowley," he replied guardedly, wondering how it knew, and hoping that his reputation didn't precede him. "And you are...?"

But memories of a comfortable drunken evening four or five years previous assaulted him: John barely able to stay on his stool for laughing, a half-full pint on the bar in front of him, hands waving frantically, trying to describe a shape in the air. "... the bog god, right? Alex something...? Good. You're going to help me. You're telling me he's still possessed? Fuck. Quick, tell me what you know."

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

Alec crossed his massive arms across his chest and eyed the imperious creature with distaste, suddenly quite a bit clearer on why he and Constantine were friends. Constantine might have said exactly the same thing in the reverse situation. "Alec. Holland," he corrected firmly. "From what I can gather...he was taken by surprise...and found his way in here...then summoned me to ensure...that his possessor could not escape."

"He also asked me...if he should die first...and I was unsure...that the thing had not escaped...to bring you a warning. He said it knows everything...and will try to take it to Lucifer." He blinked once, slowly, an unnecessary reflex left over from his human life. "And that he had been an idiot."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crowley's eyes misted, which he blamed entirely on some kind of allergic reaction to the weed he was speaking with, and he blinked back.

"No. I don't accept it from you. That bastard has to tell me himself," he said fiercely. After a moment, he added, almost inaudibly, "And hear it."

But this was not helping John. Struggling to disassociate himself from his feelings, he started thinking quickly.

John's possessed by a fiend, so it knows everything he knows. And from what Greenie says, it wants to take the information to Him. John must have come into the churchyard hoping to kill it, but it has hung on this long and I don't know how long John can last before he goes insane, if he isn't already. I can get Greenie to drag him out here and kill it, but if I do that, it'll just reform in Hell eventually with all its information. It has to die for good and the church isn't doing it. I need something more holy.

He processed this all in a matter of seconds and whipped out his cell phone. He dialed randomly, knowing that it would connect to the correct phone, which was whatever one was nearest Aziraphale. The line clicked open but before Aziraphale could speak, Crowley said tersely, "Angel. I need you in..." he looked around, "Belfast, right now. It's John." He snapped his phone closed and turned to the elemental.

"Can you get him out of the churchyard?"

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

"I can," Alec said evenly. "The thing inside...will no doubt try to flee...the moment it passes the gate. Stand ready, demon."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode back to the hapless human, instructing the vines to uncoil and release him. Constantine at once began struggling to get to his feet, whether of his own accord or his possessor's Alec neither knew nor cared. It was a pointless effort, and Alec scooped the man effortlessly off the ground, restraining him easily.

"It seems your luck...has not quite deserted you yet, Constantine," he observed, turning back toward the gate. He wasn't sure whether John heard or comprehended, but added anyway, because it seemed the right thing to do, "Your friend is here...and I imagine if anyone knows how...to deal with a demon...it would be another demon."

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

Crowley? John had heard the familiar voice calling his name, but had dismissed it as a hallucination or a random fragment of memory torn loose by Nephrithraxus in its depridations. But now Holland's remark gave it the weight of reality, and for the first time in many hours a spark of hope sprang up in the roiling, confused mess his thoughts had become. He had no idea how Crowley could have found him (although he might have guessed, had he been in full possession of his faculties) but it didn't matter. Didn't matter if the only reason Crowley had come was to end the threat to himself and Aziraphale, or if his presence meant something more but came too late. He was here.

It lasted only a second, though. Desperate, in terrible pain and faced with the sudden realization that its own hope of escape had just dropped to virtually nil--for it knew, as well as John did, that where there was Crowley, there was likely to be a Principality not far away--Nephrithraxus went berserk, lashing out blindly in a paroxysm of malicious destruction.

Convulsing so violently he felt bones snap under the tension of his own overtaxed muscles, John couldn't find the breath to scream; only a sort of frenzied whimper forced its way out of his lungs, as Holland, caught unawares by the seizure, almost lost his hold. There was a moment's precarious struggle, and then small creepers shot out of the elemental's body, binding them securely together so there was no chance of falling.

Nephrithraxus was the one cowering now, burrowing as deep into the core of his being as it could get--using him as a shield, body and soul. It couldn't outrun one of the Fallen, couldn't beat Crowley in a fair fight, and it had nothing to bargain with except its hostage. So it started digging into him with tiny barbed thought-hooks, each attached to an idea, a memory, an emotion, a dream...ensuring that its forcible removal would do just as much damage to John as to itself.

John fervently hoped that whatever the fuck Crowley had in mind to do, it wouldn't take more than a few seconds. Any more, and there wouldn't be enough left of him to bother with.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Crouching, Crowley prepared himself for what he needed to do. He had never possessed a human being before; true demons didn't need to. In the eternal battle over human souls, only decisions reached through free will counted. Neither Heaven nor Hell accepted a forced vote, as it were, and since manipulating them was so easy, why would one bother? He felt he should have known that John would be the first.

The instant that Alec brought the man past the gate, Crowley leapt into John's mind. His first impressions were of confused panic and complete chaos and it took some moments before he found some sense in it all. Being awash in someone else's mind was disorienting to say the least. Flashes of memories passed by, hints of smells, snatches of sound, but all in a jumbled mess of light, colour, and noise. There were a lot of faces that he didn't recognize and a few that he did. He saw his own more than once and it gave him the vaguest feeling of being in a funhouse mirror.

Delving past the short term memories, deeper into John's mind, Crowley was suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. Intense pain fought with anger and determination. But as he stretched out, Crowley discovered that it wasn't the anger that drove John at all, like it did him. No, there was fear here; a terrible fear of rejection, old age, death, and Hell. He would have expected a measure of that from any rational person, but the sheer intensity of it took his metaphorical breath away. And he seemed to be tightly entwined with those fears. Crowley saw his face, twisted in a sneer; heard himself saying, "Unless you're getting weak, old man. Is that it? Afraid you can't keep up any more?" and it hurt. He heard the rejection he never intended through John's ears, as "I sssure as hell don't need your fucking help," reverberated in their ears.

But more than the fear, though it seemed impossible, was the guilt. The man seemed to feel responsible for the pain or death of everyone he'd ever met. Beat himself up for every ill-informed decision and completely human error. Blamed his pride, fear, and stupidity for the loss of his friends. And as Crowley hovered there, he could see how it was this that drove John, the need to protect his friends, the fierce loyalty, the desire to fix things, and fight for the underdog against any and all powers, all coiled and twined in on themselves in a horrible, twisting, black void of guilt. Puzzled, Crowley looked on in mute surprise. Guilt was not a feeling he was all that familiar with personally and learning of its ability to motivate someone to this extent was a revelation. He realized that his thousands of years of playing on people's guilt for adulterous love affairs or theft was child's play in comparison to this towering wave.

But Crowley had apparently played a role here, too. He saw the realization of his true identity and felt the regrets crashing down. John had felt incredibly guilty for associating with him; felt like he had betrayed not just all the people he'd ever known, but the entire human race by allowing himself to befriend a demon. For a selfish, heart wrenching instant, Crowley was tempted to act like the demon John thought he was, pull out and lick his wounds, leave the man to his fate, and tell Aziraphale that John was lost and he should destroy them both. When it came right down to it, though, he couldn’t do it. For some reason that he’d probably never understand, at that moment he decided that come Hell or high water, more likely Hell, he was going to save this stubborn bastard no matter what he thought of him. Because Crowley could live with an alive John who hated him but he wasn’t sure what he’d do with an eternally tormented one who didn’t.

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

That firmly in mind, Crowley moved in again. There were darker memories here - no smiles, but pained grimaces, death, despair, people leaving, him running. The demon thought he got a glimpse of Ellie and an angel that had to be Tali but it went by so quickly he couldn’t be sure. There was cruelty here, murder, suicide, torture, the mental hospital, all the things John had seen and done that he hated. Glimpses of Hell – odd to think that John had been there more recently than he had – and yes, there, Lucifer, Belial, and Beelzebub. Crowley stopped to look then. Watched with horror as Satan Himself ripped open John’s rib cage as slowly and painfully as possible to burn away and regrow his lungs as the princes stood by and watched, one with a mild expression of disgust and the other a sneer of amusement. In an bizarre overlay he also saw himself tearing into Belial’s chest during those panicked moments at the end of the surgery. The images flicked back and forth, merging and colliding, and he thought it explained a lot about John’s reaction that day that he’d never understood before.

But a flash of light caught his eye and he turned. There was something else here. Delving into the deepest recesses of John’s mind, he found what he was looking for. A small kernel of bright white light surrounded by the darkness of the fiend. These were the feelings, hopes, and memories that John was fighting so hard to protect, that the fiend was attacking with hundreds of tiny hooked claws. Darting past the creature, Crowley tried to enter, but was forcefully rebuffed. Radiating comfort as best he could and projecting his identity outwards, he tried again and after some resistance, the man let him through, right into what was truly his heart, regardless of the organ in his chest.

At least here he knew what he would find. As he expected, John’s sisters were here, Chas, Brendon, a bit of Alec even, but everywhere Kit. Her scent, her smile, the feel of her body under his fingertips were most of what John was trying so hard to protect. But in a carefully hidden, obscure corner, entrance neatly concealed by thoughts of Kit, Crowley found… himself. A view of his face in an unguarded moment, glasses off, a genuine smile on his lips; a feeling of fond exasperation as John carried him somewhere; a confused sense of hope and amazed wonder as John took hold of the soul gem while he looked on; and feelings of warmth, comfort, and, yes, love, as they fell asleep together after Belial’s surgery, John deliberately putting his arm across Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley was stunned. All the shit he’d put him though, the secrets, the fights, the lies and the man still loved him deeply.

Before he had any time to react, to figure out what that meant to him or how or what he should be thinking or feeling in response, Crowley saw a hook coming out of nowhere to grab right in the middle of that hidden space. Furious beyond reason, he screamed, “Oh, no you don’t, motherfucker!” and grabbed the intruding barb, cruelly snapping it off. The time had come for action. Crowley flooded out of the protected space, as fierce and relentless as a force of nature and the fiend was powerless to stop him as he broke off all the tiny hooks, seizing each extremity with a stronger one of his own. Ten attachments broken, two dozen, a hundred, the demon lost count as the followed each and every one, destroying them in his wake, protecting John from the pain as best he could. Red hot from anger, Crowley burned his way through, cauterizing each connection until he finally had the creature completely surrounded. Sealing the beast’s last chance of escape, Crowley grabbed onto it with everything he had and exited John’s mind.

What this translated to outside was the fiend on the ground, with Crowley lying atop it, pinning it with hands, legs, and other indefinable methods, preventing it from changing or escaping. Crowley smiled. A cold, hard, evil smile. Because he knew he’d won. “I’ve got you now, you son of a bitch. And you are never going to be able to do that again.”

[dangeroushabits.livejournal.com]

John hadn't intended to fight Crowley, once he (more or less) understood what was happening. But his rational mind was on the brink of collapse, and defensive instinct kicked in hard at yet another unnatural intrusion into his consciousness, however well-intentioned.

He forced it down only with difficulty, taking some small comfort in the fact that the stray thoughts he was picking up from Crowley seemed more or less sympathetic and distinctly lacking in revulsion or accusation. Nevertheless, once the door was open, he crawled into the furthest corner of his own mind, huddling into himself and hiding his head (metaphorically speaking) so he wouldn't have to witness the last vestiges of his privacy and dignity being stripped away.

If there was one thing worse than having his deepest, innermost thoughts exposed to the scrutiny and abuse of a depraved and sadistic voyeur, it was seeing them laid bare to his closest friend. He couldn't have cared less what the fiend thought of him, but there were things in here he would never have told Crowley about in a thousand years--many of them things he couldn't possibly have articulated or explained if he'd tried, and some he sincerely wished Nephrithraxus had shredded so he wouldn't have to live with them anymore, let alone share them with anyone.

It was the most profound level of intimacy imaginable, everything right there for Crowley to examine and judge, from the day he'd lost his virginity to the precise thoughts that had run through his head when they'd fought (albeit tattered, incomplete and in hopeless disarray,) and he had absolutely no idea how to cope with it. He could sense the subliminal hum of Crowley's consciousness, too, near enough he could have pried into it in turn if he'd wanted to; but he had enough of a mess to sort out already without adding six millennia of servitude to Hell and a very long Fall to the mix.

Thankfully, the whole thing only lasted a few heartbeats, though it felt much longer. There was a flash of intense, searing pain as Crowley's anger erupted throughout his mind, though he knew he was being shielded from the brunt of it as it burned out Nephrithraxis' infestation; and then everything inside went still and wonderfully, blessedly silent, leaving him to the solitude of his shattered thoughts for the first time in what felt like a small eternity.

"Oh, thank God," he whispered with no sense of irony whatsoever, and slumped against the elemental, letting the world gray out around the edges. It would have to look out for itself for a while. He was bloody well knackered.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

"CROWLEY!"

Aziraphale soared down to where the commotion was, in an abandoned churchyard still as a part of Belfast, seeing Crowley's unmistakeable form bent over on the ground, something under him. He landed stumbling, panic and fear building in his chest, and the angel's quick gaze took in the situation very quickly.

He saw that Crowley was pinning a very unfriendly demon down, an intent Aziraphale hadn't seen in millenia in his eyes. He could see it better as he got closer, but the waves of infernal, hellish emotion rolling off it made Aziraphale flinch. It was filthy, indescribably disgusting with its fanged half-head snapping (Did it even have a jaw?). Insectoid, many limbs (all different) thrashed. It looked for all the world the stereotypical demon, except worse. The angel would have thought it already discorporated if it hadn't been fighting back, twisting and writhing.

Aziraphale landed close to him, impeded by the tall gates and his own large white wings.

"Crowley," he shouted, "what's happened? Where's-"

And then he caught sight of John.

Crumpled as he was, held in the arm-shaped limbs of a more-or-less human tree (he'd ask questions later), the barely-recognizable (that damned trenchcoat) John appeared less like a human and more like a bloody, exhausted and painful pile of things that made up humans - all in various inhuman configurations. Broken bones, the angel realized, and fear rose, stabbed at him, and Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, worry making his voice sound much higher.

"Crowley, what can I do?"

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

"Kill the fucking fiend, angel," Crowley snarled. "For good. It almost destroyed John. And it knows everything," he added, almost as an afterthought. "This thing gets back to Hell and I'm toast."

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

"Right," Aziraphale said shakily, mind racing already. How was he to...

He remembered, not so very long ago, the way they used to kill vampires in those old movies. It was weirdly irrelevant, except...

He could miracle the stakes. He could use them to hold the demon to the ground, just like one of those newfangled tents, long enough so Crowley and John could get away safely. He could simply distract it, but there was no guarantee that it would go for him over a prize like John... and John could never survive a second possession. His mouth went very dry.

He miracled, quickly, five stakes, and blessed them with a short but powerful prayer. The angel gave them all a kiss, a second blessing, and then knelt next to Crowley.

"Crowley," he croaked, "hold him..." and the angel raised his arm, stretching a twitching limb out, and slammed the stake down, shoving it through the exoskeleton and flesh cleanly. The demon howled under them both, and Aziraphale felt him thrash.

"Hang on," he told Crowley, and did it again, and again, and again. The blessed stakes sizzled the flesh, and blood soaked the earth. He put one through the head, and then pulled Crowley away, holding the still-writhing demon still with his own friends.

"Crowley, get John, get out of here and take him somewhere safe," he insisted, gaze focussed still on the demon. They needed him alive, so Aziraphale could smite him and vanish him from Earth, Heaven, and Hell entirely. "I need to finish this."

[anthony-crowley.livejournal.com]

Fuck, something else to plan. Crowley hadn't had to think on his feet so much in ages. He looked over at John's condition. The occultist was in bad shape. Driving was out of the question even if the Bentley were here. Flying, both kinds of flying, would take too long as well. He supposed he didn't have to take John back to the Manor but he'd rather that than leave him in some random Irish hospital. He wasn't letting the man out of his sight now. Too bad he couldn't bring him through the phone lines with him. That'd be... no, he couldn't, but he could do something else instead. He hoped to someone that John truly thought of the Manor as home.

Crowley whipped out his cell phone again and dialled the nearest phone to Adam. It rang twice.

"Hallo and thanks for callin' Tadfield Manor."

"Adam, it's Crowley."

"Oh, hi, Crowley. What's up?"

"John's been hurt. Badly. I'm sending him back to the Manor but I don't know where he's going to end up. His room, hopefully, but I'm not sure. I need you to find him when he shows up, get him to the hospital and go find Raphael, all right?"

"I understand," said Adam soberly. "I'll see you when you get back and take care of him in the meantime."

And the line clicked shut. Crowley snapped his phone closed in approval. At least the kid was brief. He knelt at John's side, placing a hand on his forehead, and looked up at Alec's towering bulk.

"I'm taking him back to the Manor. The archangel Raphael will make sure he's healed. Th...thanksforyourhelp," he muttered, eyes firmly on John's face. An instant later, the man had been banished and Crowley was running down the street to a public pay phone. Once the phone was off the hook, he chanced a look back at Aziraphale kneeling over the fiend, and then he was gone.

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley right before he disappeared, worry for John in his own eyes, and then took a breath.

He had a duty to perform.

The demon arched again, a limb twitching, and snarled. Aziraphale glanced down at it, expression grim as he beheld its atrophied self, and leaned closer. He was short for materials for this. He needed... He wanted something. It would be easier.

The angel licked his thumb, eyes settled solidly on the writhing mass, and touched his thumb to Nephrithraxus' forehead. "In nomine Patris..."

He touched it to the vague area of where a heart would be. "Et Filii..."

The thumb brushed the demon's upper left, and the demon's right. "Et Spiritus Sancti."

Aziraphale felt the fear of this being, the unholy but somehow pure fear of what the angel was about to do. Images of John, John broken, John supported by Alec, took over his mind and told him, quite calmly, what an idiot the angel would be if he actually took pity on this creature.

He knows everything.

Aziraphale began to pray, hands clasped together and head bent, and the demon howled. The quiet, steady murmurings of the heartfelt prayer of an angel were drowned out by the growing shrieks, until, with an unheard Amen, it disappeared, gone forever. Never to Hell, never to Heaven, not to Earth.

Mouth set, the angel stood, brushing dirt-stains and loose grass off his knees. He looked up at the tree, which appeared awkward without his burden.

"Thank you, my dear."

[no-npc-here.livejournal.com]

Having turned Constantine over to the demon's care with only a brief moment's misgivings--if both the magus and an angel trusted Crowley, he supposed he could do no less--Alec had observed the exorcism silently, relieved to see the unnatural creature disposed of now that he had actually had a look at it. Its existence was an affront to all things clean and wholesome.

He nodded to Aziraphale, suppressing a smile at the unlikely combination of rumpled tweed waistcoat, shimmering white wings and the lingering steely gleam in the angel's blue eyes. He hoped one day he'd get to hear the entire story behind this incident. Clearly his old acquaintance's life had grown no less colorfully bizarre over the years.

"You are welcome," he rumbled. "That was well done...such an abomination...has no place in this world. Before I go...I will search the area...for anyone else the beast may have harmed...before it got to Constantine.

"Please tell him," he added, "that he may repay the favor...by never calling me a cabbage again."

[ineffable-angel.livejournal.com]

Aziraphale smiled, a dawn breaking on his features.

"I will pass it on," the angel agreed, thoughtful, "but I can't promise you he'll listen. He's rather fond of 'cabbage', you know."

Aziraphale glanced again at where Crowley had disappeared. The ache of worry in his belly hadn't quite disappeared, as John had only just been taken back and what if there was more trouble? He then looked up at the towering tree-bulk of a man. Or man-bulk of a tree. "If you don't mind... I must leave and go to help the two of them, but I should perhaps come and visit to thank you another time? I could bring a nice fertilizer, perhaps. Cheers."

He tentatively patted a nearby branch in farewell, and then turned away, striding to the self-same phone stall with a tweed-covered back facing Alec.