Crowley thinks Valentine's Day is a crock of shit, but maybe that's just the sentimentality in him shriveling up even more. It's such a new holiday and while he can't begrudge the greeting card companies for wanting to get theirs, but that doesn't mean he has to enjoy it.
Leave it to Lilith to find fascination in something so horribly mundane, but then Crowley's hardly ever in a position to not indulge her.
He pretends to shrug off the idea of celebrating, saying that he has too much work to do, but that's only so that he can get to a pet store.
By the time Lilith comes back to the home they're currently borrowing, there's a small box making soft barking sounds on the floor near the fireplace and a young man in an apron that says Puppy Paradise.
"It seems the store was having a two-for-one deal." He smirks.
"Darling!" She can't decide which to go for first.
Crowley supposes that this is the meaning of Valentine's Day. Who doesn't like a little pug and a little blood?
They're at a dusty bar that's really no different than any other dusty bar they've seen. Since rejoining Kate and his brother, Richie hasn't been the most social creature. He's drinking like a fish and he's been trying to teach Kate to do the same, but she's got a long way to go to catch up to Seth and neither of them are likely to catch up to Richie.
She's on her second tequila and he's on his fifth and she's a little tipsier than he is. That's not to say that he isn't feeling good, because he had to be feeling good when he bet a man he could William Tell an apple off of Kate's head with his knife.
"Hold still, Katie-cakes." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he takes a ready stance and he can see that she's a little worried, but Richie's more concerned about her ability to stay still than his ability to throw.
She takes a deep breath and stills herself and he sees his opportunity.
The knife hits the apple dead center and they fall to the ground behind Katie as one.
"Next round is on this fellow!" With a grin, Richie picks up his knife and shakes off the apple in Kate's direction. Then he wraps an arm around the guy and drags him back towards the bar.
Crowley isn't entirely sure how they got to this point. Wonderland does funny things to all of them at the best of times. He can't explain exactly what turns a human soul into a demon, but what he does know is that a monster tore Sam apart in front of him and here they are a day later with one noticeable change.
It's not that Sam is dead, because he's very much alive, it's just that Sam doesn't seem to be human anymore.
Sam blinks and his eyes are black now. "Everything looks different."
"Yeah." Crowley nods. "Don't touch iron."
"...Okay."
Crowley has other advice, of course, but he turns and starts to walk away. If Sam wants his advice, he'll have to follow Crowley.
Not that Sam wouldn't make an alright demon. Crowley thinks about these things. Some people would just make more black-eyed canon fodder, but people like Sam are the people he surrounds himself with. Men who can maintain integrity and a sense of something other than violence. There's nothing Crowley hates more than senseless violence. It wastes energy and resources that can work towards a purpose.
"And avoid all of the hunters until we can figure this out. They're all going to think I did it."
Surface as it may be, Crowley's always appreciated the fact that Blake understands the value of being well-dressed. So many men these days can't seem to be bothered and Crowley can't help rolling his eyes at them. He and Blake may not have the same sense of style, but there's a sense there and that makes all the difference.
Even in times like this, with the Jabberwocky running loose, Blake still takes the time to wear a button-up and Crowley still ties his tie expertly. Maybe it's an illusion of the safe live they lived here for a short time. Either way, he's glad to have that comfort and they seem to be safe from the creature in their rooms. He's wondered more than once if they couldn't figure out how to use whatever magic that is to actually stop the attacks.
The closets have long-since stopped working, but they both kept a stockpile of clothing, not entirely on purpose, but it was still a lucky thing to do. Now, they just have a regular closet, half Blake's and half Crowley's, and they've split up Crowley's old bureau.
Even being safe, they have to leave their room to make runs for food or books or to meet with others so that they can plan their next strategy, but every time they step out, it's a risk.
It's the middle of the night when Crowley has an idea, but he doesn't want to wake up Blake, who gets so little sleep as it is, so he dresses quickly in the dark and rushes out to the library. It's not until he's quietly slipping between the stacks that he realizes there's something off about his shoes. No. Not his shoes. His socks. Peaking out of his shoes are what are unmistakably Blake's socks.
He smiles at them. Maybe it will give him luck.
It takes him nearly twenty minutes to find the books he needs and squirrels them into his tote bag, but on his way out, he taps a cart and the sound echos in the quiet library.
Eyes widening, he curses loudly and starts to move quickly towards the exit, but he hears the beast coming. He takes off in a sprint, not daring to turn around and see what he knows is there as his feet pound on the steps. He can make it back, but not if he hesitates, and he's always got the escape valve of smoking out. He's not that keen on life without his meatsuit, but it's better than the alternative.
When he hits the landing, he nearly loses his footing, Blake's sock slipping in his shoe.
"Crowley!"
He looks up to see Blake running towards him and he shakes his head as he rights himself. "Get back inside!"
Blake reaches him and grabs his elbow, catching the great beast flying up the stairs with its jaw open. He jerks Crowley hard and Crowley's shoe slips off, flying down the stairs and hitting the Jabberwocky in the nose.
The beast is momentarily surprised and it gives them the chance to race down the hall and back to the relative safety of their room.
Crowley's back presses against the closed door as he wheezes and Blake is doubled over, hands on his knees, and through his heavy breaths, Crowley huffs out a heavy, amused breath.
"I think your socks saved my life, Darling."
Blake gives him the most unamused look since the last time Crowley said something inappropriate (three days ago at breakfast). "You gotta be kiddin' me." Crowley shrugs and moves to put his books on the table, but Blake continues, unabated. "What were you doin' out there? What were you thinkin'? You could've died!"
"I didn't." Crowley slips out of his remaining shoe and then starts to take off Blake's socks.
"Could've." Blake fires back, but he knows that Crowley wouldn't go out if he didn't feel confident that he'd be coming back. He figures Crowley just likes to give him heart attacks. He settles heavily on the bed next to Crowley, voice lower now. "Those my socks?"
Crowley grins and kisses Blake on the cheek. Then he taps Blake in the face with his own sock.
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keepcruising2015-02-14 03:10 pm
For Rachel
Leave it to Lilith to find fascination in something so horribly mundane, but then Crowley's hardly ever in a position to not indulge her.
He pretends to shrug off the idea of celebrating, saying that he has too much work to do, but that's only so that he can get to a pet store.
By the time Lilith comes back to the home they're currently borrowing, there's a small box making soft barking sounds on the floor near the fireplace and a young man in an apron that says Puppy Paradise.
"It seems the store was having a two-for-one deal." He smirks.
"Darling!" She can't decide which to go for first.
Crowley supposes that this is the meaning of Valentine's Day. Who doesn't like a little pug and a little blood?
no subject
She's on her second tequila and he's on his fifth and she's a little tipsier than he is. That's not to say that he isn't feeling good, because he had to be feeling good when he bet a man he could William Tell an apple off of Kate's head with his knife.
"Hold still, Katie-cakes." There's a hint of amusement in his voice as he takes a ready stance and he can see that she's a little worried, but Richie's more concerned about her ability to stay still than his ability to throw.
She takes a deep breath and stills herself and he sees his opportunity.
The knife hits the apple dead center and they fall to the ground behind Katie as one.
"Next round is on this fellow!" With a grin, Richie picks up his knife and shakes off the apple in Kate's direction. Then he wraps an arm around the guy and drags him back towards the bar.
no subject
It's not that Sam is dead, because he's very much alive, it's just that Sam doesn't seem to be human anymore.
Sam blinks and his eyes are black now. "Everything looks different."
"Yeah." Crowley nods. "Don't touch iron."
"...Okay."
Crowley has other advice, of course, but he turns and starts to walk away. If Sam wants his advice, he'll have to follow Crowley.
Not that Sam wouldn't make an alright demon. Crowley thinks about these things. Some people would just make more black-eyed canon fodder, but people like Sam are the people he surrounds himself with. Men who can maintain integrity and a sense of something other than violence. There's nothing Crowley hates more than senseless violence. It wastes energy and resources that can work towards a purpose.
"And avoid all of the hunters until we can figure this out. They're all going to think I did it."
no subject
Even in times like this, with the Jabberwocky running loose, Blake still takes the time to wear a button-up and Crowley still ties his tie expertly. Maybe it's an illusion of the safe live they lived here for a short time. Either way, he's glad to have that comfort and they seem to be safe from the creature in their rooms. He's wondered more than once if they couldn't figure out how to use whatever magic that is to actually stop the attacks.
The closets have long-since stopped working, but they both kept a stockpile of clothing, not entirely on purpose, but it was still a lucky thing to do. Now, they just have a regular closet, half Blake's and half Crowley's, and they've split up Crowley's old bureau.
Even being safe, they have to leave their room to make runs for food or books or to meet with others so that they can plan their next strategy, but every time they step out, it's a risk.
It's the middle of the night when Crowley has an idea, but he doesn't want to wake up Blake, who gets so little sleep as it is, so he dresses quickly in the dark and rushes out to the library. It's not until he's quietly slipping between the stacks that he realizes there's something off about his shoes. No. Not his shoes. His socks. Peaking out of his shoes are what are unmistakably Blake's socks.
He smiles at them. Maybe it will give him luck.
It takes him nearly twenty minutes to find the books he needs and squirrels them into his tote bag, but on his way out, he taps a cart and the sound echos in the quiet library.
Eyes widening, he curses loudly and starts to move quickly towards the exit, but he hears the beast coming. He takes off in a sprint, not daring to turn around and see what he knows is there as his feet pound on the steps. He can make it back, but not if he hesitates, and he's always got the escape valve of smoking out. He's not that keen on life without his meatsuit, but it's better than the alternative.
When he hits the landing, he nearly loses his footing, Blake's sock slipping in his shoe.
"Crowley!"
He looks up to see Blake running towards him and he shakes his head as he rights himself. "Get back inside!"
Blake reaches him and grabs his elbow, catching the great beast flying up the stairs with its jaw open. He jerks Crowley hard and Crowley's shoe slips off, flying down the stairs and hitting the Jabberwocky in the nose.
The beast is momentarily surprised and it gives them the chance to race down the hall and back to the relative safety of their room.
Crowley's back presses against the closed door as he wheezes and Blake is doubled over, hands on his knees, and through his heavy breaths, Crowley huffs out a heavy, amused breath.
"I think your socks saved my life, Darling."
Blake gives him the most unamused look since the last time Crowley said something inappropriate (three days ago at breakfast). "You gotta be kiddin' me." Crowley shrugs and moves to put his books on the table, but Blake continues, unabated. "What were you doin' out there? What were you thinkin'? You could've died!"
"I didn't." Crowley slips out of his remaining shoe and then starts to take off Blake's socks.
"Could've." Blake fires back, but he knows that Crowley wouldn't go out if he didn't feel confident that he'd be coming back. He figures Crowley just likes to give him heart attacks. He settles heavily on the bed next to Crowley, voice lower now. "Those my socks?"
Crowley grins and kisses Blake on the cheek. Then he taps Blake in the face with his own sock.
"Not anymore."