Warning: this entire two-part chapter deals with the death of a direct family member. If that's not something you should be reading right now, feel free to skip over both chapter 16 and 17 of this fic. No hard feelings. I can't guarantee I won't reference this again later on, but it definitely won't be intense as these two chapters and I'll make sure to put a warning in the notes.

It must have been four in the morning when Crowley woke to the tinny staccato of a Nokia brick phone ringtone. A kiss was pressed to his temple. A soft 'I'll get it. You just dream about whatever you like best,' was whispered in his ear. A great warmth left his bed, and as soft footsteps padded to his nightstand and to the door of his bedroom, the intrusion faded until it suddenly ceased. And Crowley, well, Crowley did as he was told.

It had been eleven by the time Crowley tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, only barely bothering to pick up his tacky, synthetic, black and red, floral print robe from the floor, not bothering to close it. He was about to turn on his coffeemaker when he noticed there was a warm pot of coffee sitting on the counter already. Not waking up alone seemed to have its perks already.

World's Best Uncle mug full of black coffee, he made his way to the kitchen table where, if it were up to him, he'd scroll through some social media feeds, check for messages*, drink some coffee, rinse and repeat.

(*there were never any.)

Except, on his kitchen table, Crowley found an open notebook and an uncapped fountain pen. One that he gave Ezra years ago, because it was small enough to fit inside his coat's inner pocket.

Now, Erzra Fell could be accused of many things, but messy as his bookshop may seem to the untrained eye, he never left anything out of place. Crowley could no longer contain his curiosity.

'Dear mother,' the page in Ezra's notebook began and Crowley immediately knew he shouldn't read any further without the man's express permission.

Even glancing at the contents of Ezra's notebook felt like a betrayal of his trust. But the letter was long and the ink was smudged, both from a left hand dragging over still drying ink, and wet stains on the pages.

Crowley didn't need to be a detective to deduce that the sobs and whimpers coming from the living room weren't Adam.

Slowly, Crowley advanced to his living room. His phone and coffee were abandoned on the kitchen table. "Ezra?" he called. "Angel?"

An ugly sob sounded across the room, followed in close succession by a much younger cooing. So, Adam was awake too.

"Shit," Crowley swore he heard Ezra hiss.

As he poked his head around the door opening, Crowley found Ezra faced away from him, pacing around the living room, carrying Adam on one arm and desperately rubbing his sleeve across his face with the other.

"Ezra…" Crowley heard himself breathe. His legs moved of their own accord, his arms opened and soon enveloped the other man. His own vision grew blurry when he felt a sob rack through the other man's body. "I won't ask if you're okay, because I can see that you're not. I'll only ask what happened when and if you're ready to talk. But I'm here for you, alright?" Crowley said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Ezra's hair. His voice had sounded shakier than he'd hoped, but it needed to be said, dammit.

Ezra hugged Adam closer to his chest. The boy seemed to be enjoying himself just fine.

"I knew this was coming ever since I got word she was ill," Ezra mumbled. Crowley heard the lump in his throat and his heart ached on Ezra's behalf. "We hadn't spoken for a decade, and yet…"

"It hurts."

"It shouldn't."

"And yet it does. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Anthony," Ezra sighed, finally relaxing in Crowley's embrace, leaning back against his chest. He sniffled again, dried his tears on his sleeve and turned to face Crowley. His complexion had paled and his eyes were red and puffy. "I hope you don't mind I've already fed Adam."

Crowley shook his head and leaned in to kiss Ezra's forehead, only for the man to recoil. Right. Too fast. It wasn't so surprising for the walls that had finally started to come down, went back up immediately. "I don't mind at all. How about breakfast? I've got eggs and bacon, I'll make us some toast-"

"I already ate," Ezra insisted. Crowley knew for a fact this was a lie; for one, there was no evidence in his kitchen that anything more than coffee and perhaps the aforementioned jar of baby food had been prepared and two, it was his own lie, the one he used when Ezra fussed over his minuscule appetite used right back in his face.

It didn't happen often that Crowley got a taste of his own medicine and he didn't particularly enjoy it. Especially where his angel was concerned. But what was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Sure, they were out in the open, but they weren't yet out of the woods. He loved Ezra too much to risk a misstep and lose him again.

"Right. Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Ezra nervously shifted Adam in his hold. Crowley instinctively reached out to take Adam from him, but Ezra didn't budge. The boy shot a confused look between the two of them.

"There's one thing," Ezra mumbled. "But I can't possibly ask this from you, I've made you a promise."

Crowley, careful to not make any sudden movements, slowly reached up to stroke Ezra's cheek, but settled for laying his hand on the man's shoulder when he recoiled from that as well. "Try me," Crowley said. He wasn't the model of patience, but he sure could try to look like it. "Going back on a promise isn't the same as breaking it."

Ezra nodded slowly and took a deep, steadying breath. "There's a wake on Monday," he mumbled. "I won't ask you to talk to anyone. I won't even ask you to go in with me. All I'm asking is for you to be there when it's over."

A fond smile crept to Crowley's face. "Angel, I would do all of those things and more. All you have to do is ask. I'll be with you, Ezra. Every step of the way."

"In that case, there's one more thing I'd like to ask of you." Ezra glanced up at him shyly. "Julianne and Sandy, they asked me to…" Ezra gestured vaguely with his free hand, he blinked his tears away and his adam's apple bobbed. "Write the eulogy, essentially. And read it in front of a church full of people."

"I thought they didn't approve of your writing?"

"Unless it suits them, apparently," he sighed.

"Well, that's hardly fair."

"I'm inclined to agree with you. So, I've decided to write something they won't expect. The truth. My truth. They won't like it, I'm sure, but at least they would finally know."

Crowley's mind ground to a halt. Rarely had he seen his angel this fierce, especially on the subject of standing up for himself, but this might actually have consequences for him. He bit his lower lip and thought for a moment as his mind wandered back to the open notebook on his kitchen table.

"Angel, listen."

Ezra's gaze snapped up at him, still as fierce as before. Crowley had a feeling the man wasn't going to like what he was about to day, and he also felt like Ezra was acutely aware of that fact as well.

"I'm all for dramatics and for dropping truth bombs. Hell, any other context, I'd be cheering you on from the sidelines. And while I'm not saying you shouldn't burn all remaining bridges with your family if you feel like it, I am saying that I'm concerned about your safety."

The man looked at him as though he was watching water burn.

"Ezra, that church will be full of grieving people, most of whom will have liked your mother in some capacity and even more of whom will share her medieval views on people like us. Especially your siblings. Write your feelings down, sure. Write them in the guestbook, go to a poetry slam night and recite them there for all I care. But please, for my wrinkles and grey hairs, don't read them in front of that audience."

A deep sigh left Ezra and he firmly rubbed his creased forehead. "I suppose you're right. I just… I'm not sure what to do if not that."

"Well, you helped me write my letter of resignation. It's only fair if I help you with this."

Their entire morning was spent inside Crowley's flat. All of the curtains were drawn, as nobody felt particularly motivated to be faced with the happy, sunny world outside. Crowley and Ezra were sat at the kitchen table, with Adam in his high chair between them, snacking on a breadstick. Ezra, dressed in his button-up and slacks from the day before and hunched over the table, dictated to Crowley what he needed on paper; a mix of his own true feelings and what he knew everyone in that church wanted to hear about his mother. Dressed in nothing but a Sheer Heart Attack t-shirt, boxers and his floral robe, Crowley typed as fast as his slender fingers and the word processor on his laptop allowed him to.

To say it was a struggle for Crowley to write a loving eulogy for a woman whose love for her son was so conditional that they hadn't spoken in a decade and hadn't exactly been on speaking terms before. Meanwhile, Crowley himself had been in the position with his mother where he could be comfortable sharing anything and everything that plagued his mind without fear of retaliation or abandonment.

Crowley briefly wondered if Ezra resented him for this sense of freedom he never really got to experience, but he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. How could he be this self centered? How could he make this all about himself? Ezra was the one suffering here.

He gazed towards the man next to him from the corner of his eye. Ezra looked tired and pale. There were dark circles under his eyes and even his usually curly hair seemed to have lost a great deal of its bounce.

"Angel," Crowley whispered. "I'm, uh, if you don't mind… I'm going to take Adam for a walk in a bit. Get him some fresh air. You don't have to, but I'd like for you to come with us. We could stop by a bakery, get those chocolate croissants you like so much."

Ezra, still hunched over, looking like an empty shell of himself, exhaled a long sigh. "I'm okay, dear."

Crowley pouted. "That's not what I asked," he mumbled. "And it's okay not to be okay. You know that, right?"

"Of course I know that!" Ezra snapped. "Why wouldn't I know that! Anthony, I'm fine!"

A sigh left Crowley. "Right. I'm going to put on some pants, shoes, and" he sniffed at himself, "and some deodorant. Tag along if you want to. Or don't, if you don't feel like it. I don't want to push any of your boundaries," he mumbled, pretending Ezra's outburst didn't happen. It was easier, after all. Ezra was always the calm and collected one of the two. Crowley largely preferred when he didn't have to be the dependable one. When he tried it, he usually turned out cold and a little hostile. Like now. At the love of his life, of all people.

He huffed, pushed up from his seat and slinked back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Adam stared after Anthony as he left the small kitchen. How blissful must it be, to not have any idea of what was going on between the grownups that surrounded him right now? Or, well, grownup, rather, Ezra mused as he stroked the golden curls on Adam's head, causing the boy to focus his undivided attention on Ezra.

Ezra had fucked up, behaving like a petulant child. He didn't know what had come over him.

Well.

He did know.

He hadn't slept or eaten since he'd gotten up at four in the morning. Then there was the gnawing guilt of feeling a slight sense of relief, now that his mother had passed away.

Adam continued to stare up at Ezra in a way he imagined little crickets in top hats would.

Anthony didn't deserve Ezra behaving at him like this. He'd been nothing but supportive and helpful. He didn't push him, didn't confront him with more than he was ready for, he was concerned over his well being…

Ezra sighed. "I'd better go and apologize to Anthony," he mumbled as he got up from his seat and walked the longest ten steps of his life to Anthony's bedroom door. He raised his hand and knocked.

"I'll tag along with you, Anthony, if you'll have me. I think the fresh air and some chocolate croissants may do me some good. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. You didn't deserve it."

"You're damn right, I didn't," Anthony said from the other side of the door before it opened, revealing a fully dressed Anthony, be it in yesterday's clothes, with a waft of fresh deodorant coming off him. Ezra couldn't help but notice that the corners of his eyes were a little more wet than they were before he'd walked off.

A feeling of fondness tugged at Ezra's heart and a small smile tugged at his lips just before he pulled Anthony in for a hug. "Thank you for always respecting my boundaries, even if I might not always respect yours. I'll try to be better about it."

"'S okay, angel. I love you."

"I love you too, my dear.