AN: Hi everyone! Next chapter is here!
Joy of joys, I passed my exams (with actually good grades, yay) and have put together this little beauty for you, because….
It's here folks. The chapter you've all been waiting for. The maker or breaker for Crowley and Athaya. And no, I'm not going to tell you, you'll just have to read for yourselves :P
Hope you all enjoy it!
P.S. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVELY REVIEWS! They are all so fantastic and make me smile like a bloody idiot, so thank you!
And to NoName: Don't worry about the Men of Letters, they're only in it for a very small reason, for the sake of the story line. They won't really feature at all, I just need their journal :P
Xxx
~Fen~
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
A few days earlier:
Silently a tear crept down Athaya's cheek. This was soon followed by another, then another. She felt them glide over the skin of her face, sliding past her mouth and down her neck, leaving salty trials in their wake, soon drying to leave the skin slightly stiff and tear-stained. She felt hot and uncomfortable, but made no effort to either wipe the tears away or remove her jumper.
She heard someone moving outside the bedroom, and then a muffled voice talking to themselves furiously. Athaya pulled out her old, beaten-up iPod and plugged in her headphones. She didn't want to hear anything. Not at the moment. It was only when she looked down at the chunky object's screen that she realised she didn't even know what music she wanted to play.
She always knew what music to play.
But now, which her headphones over her head, Athaya couldn't even think. What music could possibly make this better? In almost every situation, she could instantly think of a song that would make her feel better, or sympathise with her emotions. Today, there was nothing. She didn't want to feel better, and she didn't want anything or anyone sympathising with her emotions. Any sad song would just remind her of everything and make her cry more. Any happy one would make her scream at the unfairness of it all.
But underneath her sadness was an underlying anger that had been building up for a while now. It had been forged when Crowley first doubted her feelings, and now it was a definite flame. It might only have been a small flicker, but even a small flame could burn a forest, because flames soon grew, if given fuel.
And oh, how there was fuel.
Athaya desperately wanted to scream at him, berate him for being so cruel. But she couldn't. She wasn't willing to risk whatever they had left for the sake of emptying her lungs of whatever hate they possessed. Every time she saw Crowley, the words died on her lips, unable to be voiced properly, for fear of the consequences.
Not to mention it was Kenny's funeral in a few days.
Actually, yeah. She wanted to cry more, Athaya decided.
Bon Iver it is.
Athaya scrolled through her iPod until she came to a song, and once she'd found it, she put it on repeat.
Come on skinny love, just last the year…
Pour a little salt, we were never here…
Athaya didn't feel any tears start yet, but as she began to mouth the words slowly, she shut her eyes and felt her features morph in a non-physical pain. And then, just as she'd originally not wanted to feel any sadder, she couldn't stop the onslaught of hopelessness that coursed through her.
She was going to die.
She was going to die, and the man she loved didn't love her back.
Athaya felt more tears stream down her face, and still no sound came. It was like her pain was unable to be vocalised. Just like her screams of anger. She just couldn't understand why it was happening to her. It hurt. It hurt so much. What had she ever done to deserve this?
Stupid question. You made a deal with a demon.
Athaya hated herself sometimes. She had the horrible ability to reason with herself in bad situations, when all she really needed was to be unreasonable for a change. She needed to scream, and shout, and smash things, and cause pain. Athaya kicked her foot out in frustration at the door next to her, and it hit with a sharp thud. And it still did nothing to alleviate her pain.
Come on, do something to take your mind off it, she suggested to herself.
No! That's what I always do, she realised. I need to feel something. I need to let it overwhelm me, even for a short while.
And so finally the sobs escaped from Athaya's chest, small at first, but then growing, and she wrapped her arms around her head, lying it down on the desk top, unable to the see the world around her.
Unable to see cracks appear in the walls, and the music too loud to hear the windows fracture as her sadness permeated everything around her.
Present day:
Athaya woke up with a shriek.
She felt someone shaking her shoulder insistently and sat bolt upright, gasping for air. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the familiar face of Ian looking down at her, worry etched into his features.
'Athaya! Wake up, Miss Woolfe,' he said urgently, and Athaya mumbled something unintelligible. She felt Ian help her sit up and press a cool palm to her forehead. 'Are you alright?' he asked worriedly. 'What happened?'
Athaya groaned and collapsed back onto the bed, pressing her face into the quilt. 'I was having a nightmare,' she mumbled into the thick duvet. 'I think. I can't remember it very well…I'm fine now, though, Ian. Don't worry about me.'
'I heard your voice as I was walking past and came in, I hope you don't mind,' Ian said politely, the worry still plain on his face. 'First you were talking, and then you screamed, so I thought it best to wake you up,' he said, as if unsure that his actions had been the right ones.
'No, that's…alright, Ian…I'm fine. It's just a nightmare,' Athaya managed to summon a smile, and rolled over to display it to Ian. 'See? Fine.'
Other than a sceptically risen eyebrow, Ian did not object to her claim of normality. However, after a few seconds, he nodded and took a step away from the bed. 'I'll just go and get your breakfast then?' he offered, and Athaya shook her head. She didn't really feel like eating. Not after her nightmare, which she still couldn't remember. It was like with a dream, where the more you try to remember it, the fuzzier and fuzzier the details get. All Athaya was left with was a queasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, and the feeling that it hadn't been a particularly nice nightmare.
'I'd love a cup of tea, though,' she said after a second of reconsideration and Ian nodded, taking his leave quietly. Athaya took the opportunity to get changed, and found a grey, colour-flecked woollen jumper in the bottom of a drawer, and a pair of black jeans and black ankle boots. It seemed especially chilly this morning, so she slipped on a pair of dark, fingerless gloves as well, before wrapping a large knitted scarf around her neck.
Once she was satisfied that she was warm and comfortable, Athaya sat on the small alcove seat of her bedroom, enjoying the sensation of being able to look outside, overhanging the edge of the courtyard that contained the tree Crowley and she had…discussed things under yesterday.
Athaya sat by the window in her room, watching the world go about its business. The tree had begun losing leaves in the wind, and she sat in silence, just watching for a few minutes, waiting for Ian to bring the tea. The yellow, red and orange leaves fluttered through the air like feathers, gently spinning towards the earth as they let go of their mother boughs, coating the ground in a sea of colour that stood out beautifully against the green grass. It was very picturesque. Every now and then, the wind would change, and a small group of leaves would gracefully launch themselves from the tree, whirling about until they came to a standstill on the green of the earth below.
Athaya couldn't help but feel a connection to the leaves. She felt like one herself, blown away from everything she'd ever know to drift aimlessly, making decisions here and there, twisting and turning, trying to resist the urge to fall, but knowing that eventually, unavoidably, she would one day come to a standstill, unable to run from her fate any longer. She'd have to let herself go, and leave the world above behind, in favour of the one below that she knew awaited her. And then who knew what would happen to her? Athaya had her suspicions, but she'd always known in her heart that Hell was not going to be an experience that she enjoyed.
After yesterday, Athaya wasn't sure what she could call her relationship with Crowley any more. Since the night before, she'd occasionally wondered if she should go and knock on his study door, try to talk to him, but always found herself unable to imagine what the conversation would go like. Probably horribly. Was he back to hating her? Or would he be courteous? Athaya wasn't sure she wanted to know, although the feeling of not-knowing was starting to wear thin, and she was surprised that she was unable to feel what he truly felt.
Maybe it's because you don't know how you feel, she reasoned with herself.
But that's not true. I love him. Don't I?
He's put you through hell these last few days, the proud side of her brain argued.
But he's helped me so much every other time. Nearly ten years now. A week of confusion shouldn't be enough to destroy that.
But is it? Maybe he resents you for relying on him for so long. Perhaps that's why he's been so conflicted. You're like a drug he can't give up. He tries to hate you, but ends up falling for you anyway, and so he hates himself, but takes it out on you.
But…
Athaya's thoughts were interrupted as Ian re-entered the room, carrying a tray with a china pot of tea and two teacups.
'I thought I'd join you, Athaya, if you don't mind. I have some notes and translations from the journal for you, if you'd like to discuss it?' he inquired, and Athaya smiled.
'Of course. Thank you, Ian. You didn't have to do it, but thank you.' She made room for him on the seat, but Ian placed the tray down on the desk next to the alcove and pulled the desk chair over, opting to sit on that instead as he pulled the black leather journal out from under his arm and another smaller one too.
'Nonsense,' he protested. 'Of course I had to do it. I'm here to look after you,' he said.
Even though that's Crowley's job, the harsher side of her mind called out, the side that had recently reared its ugly head, making Athaya question their relationship even more.
Shut up, Athaya told herself and to her relief, the ugly, nagging voice in her head stopped.
He opened the smaller journal first and Athaya saw pages upon pages of elegant script spanning the sheets of the journal. Ian flipped through it until he came to what appeared to be recent pages, whereupon he pulled several loose ones out to hand them to Athaya.
'First, I translated the first chapter of the journal, and then I jotted down whatever notes I could remember about it. I apologise for the seemingly unrelated side-notes, but they're just the fragments I could remember. My memory's not what it used to be, I'm afraid to say,' Ian chuckled, and Athaya smiled.
'I'm just grateful for anything you have to tell me about it. So thank you.' She looked down at the pages he'd handed her and counted ten pages at least. 'This is amazing. Thank you,' she said again.
'You're quite welcome, Miss Woolfe. Although…' Ian looked thoughtful. 'I do have to wonder why you want the book translated.'
Athaya's smile fell, but she quickly replaced it with a false-feeling one. 'I'm just doing some background research into demons. Since I'm kind of living with one at the moment, I figured I might be a bit more helpful with some useful knowledge up in here,' she tapped her head. It wasn't a lie. It was the truth, in fact. Just not the whole truth.
While Ian said nothing, there was a knowing glint in his eyes that told Athaya that he didn't completely buy her story. But whatever he thought, he remained silent, except for offering some small words of advice: 'If you really wish to discuss information detailing to demons, I suggest talking to Master Crowley. He is…a demon after all,' Ian pointed out, and Athaya felt her cheeks burn.
It wasn't that the thought hadn't occurred to her. It's just that she couldn't really ask him. He'd want to know why she wanted to understand demons more, and she'd either have to lie (which would just worsen their relationship) or tell him that she…that she wanted to help. That she wanted to stop being to indebted all the time. She wasn't sure which was worse.
Also, she imagined the conversation would be incredibly awkward: "Hey Crowley, tell me all about demons. And Hell. Specifically Hell. Since I'm going there and all that jazz. I want to know what's in store for me, you know? How many different ways can they torture a person, exactly?"
So, no. No, Athaya had not asked Crowley, nor did she have any intention of doing so. But she wasn't about to tell Ian that.
'Yeah. Maybe I should. Actually…I need to talk to him anyway.' The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Ian smiled.
'I'll let him know you'll be stopping by his office at some point today.' Ian paused for a moment. 'Or…I could request that he meet you somewhere else? Here, perhaps?' Athaya visibly blanched at his words. If Crowley met her in her room…that would not end well. For either of them. Especially Athaya, who seemed to have no problem kissing him the previous day. So, definitely not the bedroom.
'Uh, no. No thanks, Ian. His study is just fine,' she said quickly, and Ian nodded in agreement. There was no point in letting him know about the complications of their relationship, ignoring the fact that it was entirely possible that he knew the details already…
'Alright. I'll bring lunch to the library for you, then? I assume that's where you'll be?' Ian asked, and Athaya nodded. Yup. In the library. It had become her sanctuary of sorts. Crowley hadn't been there yet, and she was hoping that it would remain that way for a bit longer. She already thought about him when she walked past every spot they'd talked. In the library she was able to focus on the books in front of her, escape, and centre her thoughts afterwards.
Of course it was too good to be true, because two hours later, when Athaya was seated in the library, skimming over Ian's notes on the Men of Letters' journal, she almost spilled the tea she was sipping when she glanced up to find Crowley standing right in front of her. Appearance-wise, he looked the same. Black suit, black tie, black pants. But there was something about his expression…something that bothered Athaya. He looked…apologetic. As if he were sorry to be bothering her.
'I swear to God, if you say: "Sorry to interrupt"…Honestly, I will throw a book at you. You've never been sorry for butting into my life before, so don't start now,' she said, looking straight at him, blankly. Her words came out far harsher than she'd expected, but Athaya guessed that's what happened when someone was kissed and then left to wonder what the hell was going on.
Crowley winced at her words, and she regretted them immediately, but he seemed to accept them. 'You have every right to be angry, I know…' he began.
Great. Now he's being understanding. He couldn't have been understanding a few days ago when I told him I loved him? These thoughts clouded Athaya's judgement before she could stop to process his words for what they were: an apology, and so she continued along her self-destructive path.
'Yes, I do,' she said sharply. 'But you being understanding now is just insulting.'
Ouch. Jeez, ease off, Athaya, she scolded herself.
Crowley held his hands up. 'Fair enough. Fine. If you don't want me to be understanding, that's alright with me. Let's skip the pleasantries then, shall we?' His eyes had hardened and Athaya realised she may have shut a door that she needed open.
'Great. Why are you here?' Athaya asked brusquely, sliding the notes that Ian had given her between the pages of a large novel sitting next to her. Crowley didn't seem to notice, thankfully. She didn't want him to know what she was up to. Not yet, anyway.
'I'm here because Ian said that you wanted to talk to me,' Crowley said after a calculated second.
Oh. Right. Of course. 'Oh. Yeah. Uh…' Athaya wracked her brain for a suitable excuse for wanting to see him. They'd already broached the real reason she'd wanted to see him, if she thought about it, and look at how that had gone. Barbed words and flimsy apologies. 'I…wanted…to talk to you about a phone,' Athaya said, and secretly cheered. She really did need a phone. She had to call Chelsea.
Crowley looked extremely unamused for some reason. '…A phone?' he inquired sceptically, and Athaya nodded eagerly. 'And why you weren't able to go to Ian with this request is…?' he looked at her helplessly, and Athaya saw the hole in her plan.
'Er…I…' When she fumbled for a reason, Crowley sighed, and sat down on the chair opposite her.
'Listen. Whatever you want to ask me, please just get on with it. I know you didn't want to ask me for a phone,' he said, looking at her over clasped hands.
Alright then. Let's see how this goes.
'What on earth were you thinking?' Athaya snapped, standing up, swiftly sliding the journal onto the desk.
Crowley gave her a look. 'When? I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific,' he said with as much venom as Athaya's tone possessed.
'You…How can you even…?' Athaya was outraged. Of course he bloody knew what she was talking about. 'Oh, I dunno, maybe all these five-second romances we seem to be having before you shun me for days? Like yesterday, for example?'
'Yesterday…was a lapse in judgement,' Crowley said.
'Oh no you don't,' Athaya growled. 'You don't go all John Hannah – Sliding Doors on me, Crowley. I deserve a better explanation than that. At least, I hope you think so,' she said quietly.
Crowley smiled for a brief second. 'Yes. You're right. You do deserve more than that. More than this,' he gestured to himself and the space between them. 'Because when I look at you, sometimes I get glimpses of the little girl who never should have known about all this. I'm not talking about when you were sixteen, I'm talking about the girl you might have been. The woman you might have been, if Azazel had never chosen you for his test-subject. You don't deserve any of this,' he said sadly, and the look that Athaya had taken for apologetic surfaced again, except now she realised it was sadness.
She realised that she didn't really know Crowley. She didn't know how he thought, she couldn't read him, and she didn't know how to get through to him. She fought the horrible hollow ache in her chest that emerged at this realisation. She didn't understand the man she loved.
Athaya smiled tightly and shrugged. 'Well, that may be true, but there's no use complaining about it, is there?' she leant against the side of the fireplace and closed her eyes momentarily. Eyes still closed, she continued. 'I'm a big girl, Crowley. I can handle all of this. I just need to kno – ' Athaya was cut off as she felt a hand grab her arm and she yelped as her feet sunk into ten inches of snow.
She gasped and spun around, taking in her new surroundings.
'What the hell? Where the – Jesus Christ, it's fucking freezing here!' Athaya cursed and wrapped her hands around her arms. She glared at Crowley. 'Crowley…' she said threateningly.
He smirked. 'Sorry Princess, but you can't be threatening and frozen at the same time. I needed you to stop talking for a moment.'
'Alright, I'll bite. Why?' she growled, rubbing her arms for warmth.
'Because I can't hear you talking like that. You shouldn't have to be the one to tell me that you can handle it. I already know you can, but I just can't accept it,' he said seriously and Athaya froze.
'What?' she asked, astounded. 'Be careful what you say, Crowley,' she said dangerously. 'Because that would imply that you actually care for me on some degree or – '
'Of course I care for you!' he shouted, and Athaya blinked in shock. 'How dense are you, for you not to see?' He ran a hand through his short hair in exasperation.
Athaya couldn't believe it. 'I don't know. How dense must you be to not believe my words? To not believe me?' she retorted incredulously. 'I told you that I loved you. And you just…I don't know, couldn't accept that? I've been trying to justify your actions, and the only conclusion I can come to is that I don't know you. I just don't. Apparently, you know me – you've been looking after me for eight years – but I've never once caught a glimpse of you. So, I'm sorry if I ruined everything by expressing my honest feelings, but I just…I didn't even mean to tell you. You're the one who stuck around to eavesdrop and found out.'
Crowley looked as if he were about to say something, but then stopped.
Athaya grabbed his hands and held onto them tightly. 'Whatever you want to say…please say it. Whatever it is. Just blurt it out. I want to understand you, Crowley. Let me understand you, please?'
'I…I'm not very good with this whole "feelings" thing,' he began, and Athaya bit her lip to stop her from agreeing too eagerly. Instead, she just nodded encouragingly.
'Well…how about you start with why you didn't believe me. Or don't believe me. I'm not sure what tense I should be using,' Athaya admitted.
Crowley looked at her intently, and she could see a war being waged behind his eyes. 'I was worried…' He stopped, and Athaya nudged him gently.
'Worried about what? That I liked Dean? That I was playing you?' she spurred, 'That I was playing you both? Him to let me go, and you to gain protection?' Athaya seemed to weigh him for a moment as his silence provided her with an answer. 'I can see how you'd think that,' she said finally, and saw an incredulous look pass over his face.
'Pardon?' he inquired.
'Crowley,' she said quietly, and moved her hands up to his forearms. 'I know you think I forget that you're a demon, and sometimes…I do, but do you honestly think I would condemn you for being suspicious of love? I'm not an expert on the subject, but I'm guessing that demons don't come across love very often. And that more often than not, it's not really love. Am I right?' Athaya asked, and Crowley looked at her strangely. Athaya smiled uncertainly, unsure if she had reason to get excited.
Did he actually care for her after all?
Crowley looked at her in awe. He could hear the hints of her Australian roots showing slightly once more, and it made him smile. It seemed to happen when she was incredibly focussed on the topic of conversation.
He blinked in surprise. Somehow, she had given words to his concerns. He himself hadn't known where the worries stemmed from. Well he had. But he hadn't been able to pin it exactly. His immediate thought had been to jump to lies, deceit, manipulation, because that was all he knew. For centuries, that had been all he knew. If Crowley was being honestly, he fancied that he actually understood why he'd acted the way he did. But he didn't want to understand himself. He wanted to apologise.
'Athaya…I am so sorry.' He was briefly irritated that the English language only had a few ways you could apologise. Sure, there were thousands of words for describing things, but when it came to apologising – if it were truly heartfelt – there were only a limited number of ways you could approach the subject.
Her wide, grey eyes stared at his dark ones and in hers he saw many emotions swirling beneath their depths. He fancied he could pick out each individual one. Confusion, anger, sadness, but most surprisingly: understanding and hope. She'd been right. He did know her well.
Well…not as well as he'd hoped, apparently.
Not well enough to know when she was telling the truth.
After a very worrying, quiet second, Athaya rolled her eyes. 'I know you are,' she said with a smile, and Crowley could have laughed. Was she really that willing to accept his love?
'I think you know me better than you think, Princess,' he smiled. 'Although, I must point out, I do not "blurt". Such illiteracies are beneath me,' he said, referring to Athaya's earlier suggestion to "just blurt it out".
'Hah!' she scoffed. 'Yes: "Er…I'm not very good with, um, ah, ooh, feelings."' Athaya mocked, putting on a British accent momentarily, and Crowley scowled at her. 'Completely literate,' she said with a serious look. 'Not blurting at all,' she pushed, cracking as a wide grin spread over her face. Her cheeks were blushing red from the snow or happiness, Crowley didn't know.
'Hush now, Princess, you're ruining the moment,' he grumbled, and she laughed. That happy laughter. It was the second time he'd heard it in as many days, and it made him glad.
'If I'm ruining the moment, it's only because we're in Greenland again. That's where we are, isn't it?' she asked, eyes twinkling mischievously.
'It is, you are correct. But…I don't like that glint in your eyes, Princess,' Crowley admitted, and she let go of his arms swiftly, dancing a few metres away from him.
'Why? Is my dragon worried?' she asked with a slow smile, and disappeared behind a large chunk of ice for a second before reappearing on the other side, her hands clasped behind her back.
'I don't know…' Crowley said slowly. 'Should I be?'
Her good mood was more than apparent, and he found it infectious. For about three seconds.
Because three seconds later a snowball came flying at his face.
He ducked just in time managed to keep his balance. 'Oi! Watch it,' he said, righting himself. 'It's only because of my cat-like reflexes that I'm still standi – '
A snowball hit him on the chin.
'Bloody hell! That's freezing!' he growled at Athaya, who had taken refuge behind the ice. He wiped some of the ice away from his neck and brushed it off the shoulders of his jacket.
'Oh really? I hadn't noticed,' she joked quietly, and Crowley rolled his eyes. He refused to stoop so low as to retaliate in kind.
Two more snowballs came flying over the ice barrier, both missing by about three metres.
'You missed,' Crowley called out, trying to remain unamused. He was not going to throw a snowball at her. He refused.
A snowball exploded on the front of his jacket.
'Dammit Athaya, this is a new jacket!' he shouted, and heard her laughter once more.
'It's always a new jacket,' she teased, and Crowley couldn't resist.
You are above this. You truly are, he scolded.
But not above this, he mused.
Crowley transported himself away briefly and gathered an armful of snow in his arms before reappearing on top of the ice chunk Athaya was hiding behind. She didn't even see him until he said: 'Boo,' quietly and dumped the heap of snow right on top of her head.
She screamed and fell over, her arms scrabbling to get rid of the snow from her head and torso. 'No, oh no. Ah, that's so cold, help,' she gasped in between bouts of laughter. Crowley reappeared next to her and helped her to her feet, grabbing her hand.
She suddenly gasped in pain and wrenched her hand out of his, taking a step backwards.
What? What's wrong? Did I hurt her?
Crowley worriedly took a step forward as Athaya pulled her fingerless gloves off, hissing when she pulled the one off her left hand. She looked down at them, knuckles red, fingertips white with the cold, and Crowley's eyes followed her gaze, travelling to her left hand, which was covered in purple and yellow bruises.
Athaya looked up at him with wide eyes, and her mouth formed a perfect "O" before she whispered quietly: 'Oh no.'
Athaya remembered.
She remembered her nightmare. Her nightmares. There had been more than one.
So many of them, all with Azazel.
As she looked down at her injured hand, she felt a chill run down her spine, which had nothing to do with the ice that was trickling down her back. Crowley looked at her in concern, his jacket damp from her snowballs, and his eyes full of worry.
'What is it?' he asked urgently, and Athaya shook her head.
'Shit,' she swore. The pain from when Crowley had grabbed her hand had sparked the memories that Azazel must have hidden from her. She felt tears well up in her eyes, but she wasn't sure if they were because of her hand, or the conversations she'd had. Or because…
Instantly, they were back in the library, and a very startled David looked up from where he stood by the door. Crowley turned to him, 'Go get some ice, and a medical kit,' he snapped quickly, and the demon bodyguard disappeared.
Athaya sank down onto the sofa, and looked down at her hand blankly. Seeing her shock, Crowley put a hand to her forehead and cheeks. His hands felt cool and hot at the same time.
'You've got a temperature, but you're freezing,' he said quickly. 'I'm such an idiot. I should never have – '
Athaya silenced him by putting her good hand to his lips. She smiled. 'It's fine. I'm more worried about Azazel.'
Crowley froze, his hands on her cheeks. 'Azazel?' he asked hesitantly.
Athaya nodded. 'He…he's been visiting me in m-my d-d-dreams,' she chattered, and Crowley moved to unwrap the drenched scarf from her neck and remove the jumper from her torso. She must have looked very pale, because he picked her up swiftly, putting her on the carpet in front of the fireplace, which was flickering merrily, oblivious to the dark mood that had overtaken the library.
At that moment, Ian entered the room, and Crowley looked up. 'Good. Athaya needs some dry clothes. Warm clothes. She's got a temperature…and a broken hand, I suspect.'
A fleeting look of shock passed over Ian's face before he nodded. 'Of course. I shall return momentarily.'
Seconds later, David appeared with a bag of ice and a suspiciously new-looking medical kit. When he gave it to Crowley, Athaya smiled up at him. 'Is that a new medical kit?' she asked David. He smiled and nodded, before Athaya turned to Crowley. 'Do you not have one in the castle?' she joked, and he shook his head.
'No. Surprisingly, I haven't needed one, being a demon and all that. There's one for the staff somewhere, but David wouldn't know where that is.' He smiled, 'No…you're the first person I've ever needed one for…'
Athaya smiled, leant against the side of a chair and brought her hand up to inspect it. If she remembered correctly, she thought Azazel had broken one of the bones in the centre of her hand. At least it wasn't her wrist. Or was it the other way around? She couldn't remember.
There was a foggy haze that wasn't entirely unpleasant settling over her vision, over her sense, over her everything, and she looked down at her arm to see that Crowley had injected something in her arm.
'Hey…' she complained, and he chuckled.
'It's just some anaesthetic. I have to set it and then I can heal it for you,' he explained and Athaya grinned.
'You're so nice. Well. Sometimes. You've been a bit of a jerk for the past few days…' she said, and felt her brain get even foggier.
Crowley laughed. 'And apparently it's a truth serum as well,' he announced, and sent David away with a wave of his hand.
'Wait,' Athaya said, grabbing onto Crowley's jacket sleeve with her free hand, although she'd begun to lose feeling in it. 'Don't let me go to sleep. I don't…I don't want to sleep. He'll b-b-be there,' she said, fear tingeing her tone. She didn't seem to have any filter at all. 'I d-don't want to go to sleep…please…' Her gaze travelled to the library door, where she saw Ian re-enter the room, a pile of clothes in his hands, and a large thermos of something.
Crowley brought his hand to her cheek and kissed her gently on the forehead. 'Don't worry. He won't visit you,' he said confidently. 'I'll be there instead.'
While the thought of Crowley being in her head would normally have made Athaya very nervous, she didn't really mind in that moment. She thought it could be quite interesting actually.
Just how much anaesthetic had he given her?
AN: Well there you go! Happy?
I am :)
So: cute fluff (was that okay?) character/relationship development and serious business. Was that a good chapter? I've been working hard to make sure the chapters are a bit longer these days, hope you all appreciate it!
Also: I'm excited. Athaya gets to have a dream with Crowley for a change. That'll be loads of fun to write! Crathaya all the way.
As usual, please review – you guys are all awesome, and your feedback is brilliant, thank you!
Until next time :)
Xxx
~Fen~
