Crowley returns to his flat, physically and mentally exhausted. It's been a tough night, and it's not about to get any easier. Maurice comes to greet him at the door; he bends down painfully and picks the kitten up, holding him close. "Hey, cat," he whispers. Maurice bats a paw at Crowley's face, then wriggles out of his grasp and darts off to lay down on the couch.

Crowley follows, slumping face-down. Carefully, he releases his wings, tensing as a wave of pain hits him. His wings are bent and twisted, the feathers sticking out at odd angles. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, and then keys a message into his PINpoint:

Need help. Wings broken.

He sends it to everyone in his contact list, and then passes out as the pain becomes unbearable. A few feathers fall to the floor, and Maurice busies himself with batting them around the living room.

- I _____ Crowley.
- Crowley is _____.
- Crowley likes to ______.
- I want to _____ Crowley.
- Crowley can ______.
- Someday Crowley will ______.
- Crowley reminds me of ______.
- Without Crowley, it will be _____.
- Right now, I bet Crowley is thinking about _____.
- Crowley makes me want to _______.
- If I could spend the day with Crowley, I'd _____.
- Crowley is made of _______.
- If I could be Crowley for a day, I'd ______.
- Crowley's alter-ego is __________.
- I want to give Crowley ______.
- If I could set Crowley up with someone it'd be ________.

Blast. Blast, blast, blast. Blast, blast, blast, blast, blast, blast, blast. Why do these things always happen to him?

He returns to Azi's bookshop, desperately trying to keep from bursting into song in the middle of the street, although truth be told, since this is Soho, he's pretty likely to go unnoticed. Daleks. See if he ever goes back to the Nexus. Ever. He should have known that Daleks would be a bad idea. Hell, he did know that Daleks were a bad idea. But Daleks singing His praises? It was too good to resist.

Damn it. He can't stop himself alternately whistling and humming as he tries to sneak in to get back to dusting. It's only a matter of time before Aziraphale comes to ask him where he was and what he was doing and why he's whistling. Blast it all.

Guess who's back from vacation! Crowley PINpoints to his flat, suitcase in hand, and throws open the door. "Honey, I'm home," he calls, although he doesn't really expect anyone to be there. It's late, so Aziraphale's probably already taken care of the plants and the cat. Oh well. He's got some gift-giving to do.

For Victor, there's an Aztec solar calender.

For Ali, there's a pair of hand-made earrings and some Valentine's chocolates, and a newspaper with an article claiming a sighting of El Chupacabra with a photo that looks suspiciously like Hastur.

For Aziraphale, the promised bottle of tequila. Then there's the honey he promised he'd get. And, because Crowley couldn't resist, a sculpture of Quetzalcoatltl.

He sends a message via PINpoint to Victor and Ali and then calls Aziraphale's shop.

Mexico. Warmth. Sun and sand and sea. A good place to be in the middle of winter. I'm trying not to get too drunk - promised Aziraphale I'd behave. Somehow I wound up in the Nexus after a few bottles of tequila and made a complete fool of myself.

Getting drunk is also good for stirring up troublesome thoughts.

Crowley's not sure what to do about this LOL. He's an angel, dammit, not a demon. In fact, he's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't stop to think about what might happen if he goes to see if Aziraphale would have any idea how to get him out of this mess. If he'd actually stopped to think about it, he might not have rushed over to the bookshop in the Bentley like a bat out of hell. He might not have parked rather messily on the curb. And he might not have burst into the bookshop shouting for the angel at the top of his lungs.

But he does. "AZIRAPHALE!"

It's been a while since Crowley's had anyone over to the flat. And it's been a while since he's seen Aziraphale.

So he's invited the angel over... no, can't think of him as the angel anymore. He pauses as he sets out the tray of scones, remembering what the other Crowley had said. Balance. He doesn't really think that Aziraphale's going to fall, just because he went back...

Definitely not. Not really. He hopes.

Nothing much has changed since his ascension; he's been mostly going around doing a good deed here and there, sending a blessing or two to those who needed them. Not too much different from what he did before. And it's nice. He doesn't have to worry about looking over his shoulder for Hell's agents - and the holy water doesn't have to kept in a safe in the wall.

He puts the kettle on, digs around in the cupboard until he finds the tin of biscuits he's been meaning to open, and sets them out next to the scones. Everything's more or less ready.

Crowley spent the last few days in the Nexus, going from shop to shop to shop, buying as much chocolate as he could possibly hold, and also a rather expansive collection of little glittery stones. It had emptied one of his bigger bank accounts, but, he figured, he didn't have any other use for it.

Now all he had to do was put everything together in one big package, or maybe several smaller packages, and then deliver it all to Ali. It's going to take more room than the Bentley has. Finally, after much agonizing, he decides to take a fraction of the stuff and leave the rest for when he really needs it.

The PINpoint takes him to her front door, where he stands a little awkwardly, wondering what exactly he's going to say. Then he shrugs and knocks, ready to face Hell itself if need be.

What do you do when you make a big mistake?

Okay, not fallingly big, but big nonetheless. I thought I couldn't actually, you know, do anything bad anymore.

Or am I really not redeemable? I'm just gearing up for another Fall, I know it.

....bugger.

Alcohol is good for a lot of things. In Crowley's case? It's good for keeping his mind off troublesome, inconvenient details, like the fact that sooner or later, he's going to have to face Heaven.

He's invited Aziraphale back to his flat, figuring that's the best place to make sure no one interrupts his drinking. He's sure that Aziraphale will try to keep him from drinking too much, but he's already planning to get in as much as he possibly can.

"So," he says to the angel, after pouring them both a glass, "What's the plan?"

Bugger the Nexus. And bugger getting drunk with strange creatures from other worlds.

I've got to catalogue books for Aziraphale all this week, and that means I'm stuck at the bookshop.

Just bugger it. You know what this means? I'll be spending New Year's Eve - when I could be partying - with the angel.

Crowley needs help. Serious help. He knows that he shouldn't have taken those LOLed rings. But he didn't know they were LOLed. What was he supposed to do, let the chance to grab free stuff just slip right by? Not a chance in Hell. Or Heaven.

And now, here he is, desperately trying to figure out how to PINpoint straight to Aziraphale's bookshop, to ask the angel for help. Because the rings are stuck on his fingers, and now matter how hard he tries, he can't get them off. To be honest, the LOL could have been much worse. It could have changed his gender. It could have shrunk him down to about two inches tall.

But no, the LOL was neither of those things. He's got two extra pairs of wings. That's all. Granted, one pair is on his head, and the other pair on his ankles... and he does look rather like one of the Seraphim.

Finally he gets the PINpoint working, and he drops right in the middle of Aziraphale's back room.

I knew I shouldn't have slipped that Red Bull into his tea... Er, ahem. Yes. Well. ...don't hurt me, Crowley!!!! *ducks*

( It Got Long...So I Cut It To Save Your Friends Page. )

Happy Hogswatch, everyone.

Next week and the week after that, my internet hotspot is going to be closed for the holidays.

However, I will be at Alex's family's house for Christmas and they've got some internets, so I'll probably be on a little over the holiday.

After that, though, it depends on whether or not I can find a place to connect, so I may or may not be on for a while. And poor Crowley deserves a holiday vacation, whether he celebrates Christmas or not.

So Happy Holidays to everyone, and if you see Crowley burning the mistletoe I put up, just threaten him with the Pistol of Holy Water.

Heyla. Crowley's mun here. Just wanted to share a little Christmas fic I wrote a couple of days ago.

( Follow the Butterflies! )

I'm slightly better at writing Aziraphale than Crowley :P And I have no Azi icons, so grinning Crowley will have to do for now.

Crowley's hands are beginning to get cold. They're getting pretty close to teh North Pole, after all. And look, down there! It's a couple of polar bears.

So now he's back in London, with a human in the passenger's seat, whose from a world entirely different from this one. It's certainly different, but it's something to kill time until he finds Aziraphale.

"So... cafe? Pub? What do you want?" Crowley asks.

Bugger. Bugger it all.