ALMOST HUMAN ➵ injuries - Printable Version

Retribution was always quick, once something crossed hell's radar. Mind, it could take a while for anyone to realize. Hell wasn't quick on the uptake, mind -- too much to do, too much to keep track of. No need to keep an eye on their field agent.
Crowley has been trying not to think about it. They may be quick, but the, frankly, brutal way that Aurum had taken Hastur and Ligur out had him thinking it might take just .. a touch longer. Regardless, he was on edge. Jumping at every noise, every sudden movement. He doesn't think he'd done it in public much yet, thankfully. Crowley's not sure he could take his paranoia just being .. public knowledge.
It'd only been a few days. He wonders what they'd been doing in all that time -- was he the main focus, or not? Crowley thinks it'd be rather delightful if he was, he'd rather like to go out with a bang. Yes, chances are it'd be an undignfied death, but he'd die content that he caused a minor uproar in hell.
This, of course, implies Crowley will die. Crowley isn't sure he is, because he'd thought he was going to last time, too.
In any case. While this is the point, it's not the point.
Crowley's been doing some wandering, lately. He doesn't go far, but he doesn't want to constantly be in the thick of it, either. It's just .. hard to deal with, somehow. The point is, Crowley is wandering. He still aches, just a little. His shoulder and wing are still stiff, but he's been .. trying to deal with it, the more .. human, in a manner of speech, way.
Somehow, when it finally happens, Crowley's paranoia doesn't fail him. It just could've done .. a little better. A snap of a twig. Crowley whirls, half-expecting nothing important, and finds -- a fucking cheetah.
"Interesting choice," Crowley says, edging back. The idea that it may not be a regular, random passerby doesn't even cross his mind, and for good reason. Seriously, how much more ominous can you get? Turn around, and there's this random, edgy cheetah, trying and failing to lurk. For that matter -- they have something strapped to their side.
It was almost like they were making up for their lack of experience by making themselves big, and scary. Crowley isn't impressed, but he's afraid nonetheless.
"I was so close," The cheetah, for their part, looks affronted as they lift a paw to investigate the snap. They promptly wobble, however, and have to put it off. Crowley's ears flatten back, and he shuffles just a little farther back. He can't place who it is directly, but he knows he knows them. They're probably a fucking asshole. Like, even in terms of demons.
"So close, yet so far. Try again another day," Crowley deadpans. He's experiencing a strange mix of emotions -- a weird sort of apathy overlayed over the fucking hurricane of emotions he always seems to have to deal with. It's different, now, but Crowley wouldn't be able to tell you precisely what changed.
Crowley, knowing full well it's inadvisable, turns tail and runs. If he's lucky, the fucker will just trip. Crowley knows at least some of the territory like the back of his hand ... paw .. He's fine. It's fine. Absolutely fucking fine. He can just ... find somewhere to lie low for a bit. Just has to .. vanish.
Unfortunately, this does not happen. There's a strange moment of hesitation, and then the fucker is running after him. They don't trip, but they do catch up, and rather promptly. This is, unfortunately, fairly easy to predict -- servals were fast, but cheetahs were .. what, some two dozen kilometers faster? The serval grunts as the cheetah practically trips over him, both of them tumbling to the ground -- it just so happens that Crowley's being fucking crushed.
"Fffuck," He snarls, wriggling, digging his claws in purposefully as he tries to push himself out from under the bastard.
God dammit. He's so fucking stupid. What the hell. There was a multitude of things he could've done to prevent this, but no, he just had to keep running off, and he just had to take the least sneaky option with a fucking cheetah. A cheetah that was very bad at being a cheetah, but a cheetah nonetheless. The demon doesn't seem phased by this, just reaches for something they'd dropped. It glints gold. Its handle is covered in .. something. Presumably whatever it'd been wrapped in when it'd been strapped to the cheetah's side. A nauseating sense of dread is starting to sink in.
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.
The demon turns. Paws very carefully and inefficiently grasped around the protected handle. Gold, goldgoldgold, wings carefully etched into the ceremonial knife. In closer view, Crowley can see the aged, rotting burn wounds covering their paws and face.
"A, Ah," Crowleys says, realizing, trying to sound like those action movie heroes he'd looked up to since they came out. He fails miserably, but he gives himself points for trying. "You're the smug one, aren't you? The one everyone hates," They'd made a hobby of stealing angelic weapons. Most of them were pretty shit, not everyone had a flaming sword, but they were certainly effective against demons in some way or another. The bastard was smug about it though -- barely shut up about it. Would make sense to employ them for what basically accounted for a fucking hit.
Fucking Greg.*
*crowley wouldn't be able to tell you if greg was ACTUALLY their name, because crowley didn't care, but that's certainly what he was called in some circles.
Shit. Fuck. This sucked -- quick and efficient, right? Less time for anybody to show up to help. Smart, but .. maybe not enough.
He needed the knife. He needed to get the knife. They'd probably hesitate to try again if he had a knife? Right?? Right???? Oh fuck.
"I'd say they're jealous, but yes," Ah, yes, bastard syndrome. Greg has mostly gotten off of him, absolutely not in position to stab him from where he is. They both know that Crowley can't run -- the serval's tail lashes, eyes flickering over the cheetah's face, reading.
Think about it. Think about it. He ran away, he was always evasive. He's always evasive. All except for his first attack on Hastur, or Ligur, who was it? Except for that, he was just responding. He thinks -- he can barely remember the whole thing. They wouldn't expect him to just go for it, would they? He's not sure.
Try anyways. What's the worst thing that could happen, he gets fucking stabbed? Crowley might've laughed at this, but it's, unfortunately, not particularly funny.
The cheetah has switched the knife to their mouth. Apparently, they'd realized that there's no strength in their paws. This is a problem, but he can work with it. Knock it out. Distract them. Break for it. Deep breaths -- he doesn't need them, but it makes it easier to focus when his mind is going at a hundred miles an hour.
He wriggles, subtly getting into position while the cheetah struggles to figure out how one stabs with their head. It kind of ruins the vibe of the whole murder, to be honest, but Crowley's not complaining. Deep breaths. Go.
He pushes off, immediately going for the shoulder -- sink his claws in, hang on. Loop his legs around the neck, hang on, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall. This is not a particularly ideal position for knife-stealing, but it's something. The cheetah, startled and infuriated, tightens their grip around the knife, trying to back up.
They can't just shake him off, or even shove him. They don't have the balance to do so. They'd wobbled just lifting a paw up. They're stumbling under the extra weight even now. Crowley might've considered grinning, but he can't.
Deep breaths. This might hurt if he slips up, it's going to hurt a lot. He can take it, it's fine, it's fine.
The metal is practically creaking under the tension of the cheetah's teeth. It's not, not really, but it would be.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
They're headed for a tree. No problem. Not at all. This is fine. Absolutely fine. Crowley, with all the grace of a plummeting dog, practically falls over the cheetah's face, claws scrabbling over what knife he could reach until -- there. He barely notices the hellish** burning until he hits the ground. Don't focus on it. Don't focus on it. Please don't.
It feels sort of like the color white does. There's probably a phrase for that that he can't remember.
**heavenly?
"Smarter than you look," The cheetah says, recovering faster than Crowley did. To be fair, they hadn't gotten burned. Or fallen to the ground. Hadn't gotten his eye scratched up from broken sunglasses, either. The handle-cover on the knife is loose, but still fastened.
"How dare you accuse me of being smart," Crowley says, dazed and struggling to pull himself together. It hadn't been that smart of a plan -- spectacularly stupid, in fact, so he has no fucking idea why the guy is saying that.
"I'm going to enjoy this," They're grinning. Crowley really doesn't appreciate this, but before he can get up, there's a paw crushing him to the ground. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where's Aurum when you need him, huh? Greg is still struggling to figure out how knives work without hands. "I haven't actually used this one yet, y'know?" They might've seemed genuine, maybe even friendly, if there weren't a certain glint in their eyes. And also the fact that they're pick up a knife.
Crowley braces himself. He's like, what, half of the guy's size? That's enough, isn't it? He just .. he just has to make a bit of a sacrifice, that's all. His breath shudders. Take it. Take it. His paws are burning, white hot. He subtly shifts his weight, subtly positions his paws.
Their face draws near. Carefully positioned at Crowley's .. eye. Was this torture, or was he going to slice through Crowley's head like fucking butter? Very, very carefully, the cheetah positions the knife. His fur is singeing, skin burning as the fur gives way. One, two, three. One, two, three.
Very carefully, Crowley does not close his eyes, meets the cheetah's eyes. One, two, three.
Crowley shoves his paws against the cheetah's upper leg. Greg gives an embarrassing squeak, concentration broken. They hadn't been focusing on their balance. They tumble sideways. Crowley doesn't even notice when their weight clips him -- it's agonizing. White-hot, in the way lava must feel. He can't see, he can't see, it's all black, but it feels white, and gold, and it's dizzying. He can't think. He can't think, it hurts.
He doesn't know if he cried out or not.
So don't think. Don't cry. Get out of there, get out of there -- he needed something. He needed something. He chokes on his own breath, stumbles to his paws. Something, something, something -- think. There's something sliding down from his cheek.
The knife. The knife -- it's hard to register, but Greg is hissing in pain, too. A flash of blood around their cheek, a spreading burn. They'd fallen on it. It's lying on the ground.
The knife. Get the knife. Don't think. He doesn't need to.
Crowley lunges for it. The demon's head whirls around, sees him moments too late. His breath comes in gasps, but he grabs it.
"Dont," He wheezes around the knife. It hurts. It hurts. He's been through it all, but it hasn't hurt like this. "Don't, don't, don't --" He's not sobbing. There's no tears, he's not sobbing. It hurts. Part of him wants to hurt Greg, or whatever the fuck their name is, too. He doesn't know what he's trying to say.
So he does. The cheetah's reflexes are slowed, half of their cheek taken out. Crowley only does it because they'll follow him. They can't. They won't. A threat. So he nicks them on the shoulder, following a line to their chest. Greg howls.
It wasn't even that deep. Crowley wheezes, and kicks them for effect. It's not strong in the least, but Greg wobbles anyways.
Crowley runs. He stumbles, for the first few steps, before righting himself -- he has to go somewhere. Where's he going? He's not safe, he's not safe, he's not safe. It hurts.
Aurum? Crowley doesn't know where Aurum is. There's a cold press of metal against his cheek, white-hot, slowly spreading. Crowley barely registers it. What happened to his eye? It got cut. It got cut, he knows, but it hurts.
To be entirely honest, the very concept of finding any of the medics barely occurs to him. Crowley had barely even met any of them in his goddamn life, and it doesn't know, when he's panicked and it hurts. Like a blight on his entirely fucking being. His immortal goddamn soul. Fuck. Fuck.
So he keeps running. He's not safe, and he might never be, but he -- needs to get home. Is it home? It's somewhere. He didn't go far. .. He's not leading the bastard there, is he? ... It's fine. It's fine. Distracted -- hurt. Could probably handle it anyways. Not Crowley specifically, but .. somebody.
He barely notices when he's almost arrived. Crowley stumbles to a halt as buildings come into sight -- and he goes no farther. How close are they? Hard to tell, but not far. He's lost momentum. He's tired. He's tired.
He drops the knife. His breath catches. It burns, he burns, he's fine. Absolutely fine. His right cheek is fucking soaking with whatever is dripping, too thick for proper blood, and it hurts. He's fine. Just needs to rest. He can just .. leave it here, right? He can walk there?
Crowley doesn't. He wheezes, half-falling into the mud as he sits down heavily. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. It's fine. He's fine. He's not fine, but he will be.

//part 2! just one more to go! (though act 3 is a bit redundant at this point shfkjsdf)
UH. BASICALLY. crowley got Actually hurt this time. hes just sorta, chillin somewhere outside the town with a goddamn Knife. his left paw is burnt, along w a bunch of his left check, and his right eye is like,, fuckdt. basically turned to Goo. the area around it is also burnt pretty badly. worth noting, no you Cant stop the eye bleeding its like this Forever now.

Angels and demons. Heaven and hell. Good and evil. When Aurum had been just a cub, it had all seemed so clear cut to him. The world worked one way and anything the other way was wrong, and he was one of those wrong things. He had never particularly known why Aethelred and Judith had hated him so much, but he had always just assumed that he was the evil to Poet's good. The hell to Poet's heaven. The demon to Poet's angel. When he had finally found out that this wasn't the case, he had been... shocked. Still, for some reason, being an angel had just felt... right. However, from that point onward, Aurum hadn't seen the world in such black and white terms anymore. Sure, he was an angel, but he had still done bad things in the past, and heaven certainly wasn't all it was fucking cracked up to be either, at least if you were him. So, when the lion had met Crowley and felt a strange connection to the other, he hadn't been sure how to feel about it. When Crowley had admitted that he was a demon, however, Aurum hadn't felt any sort of hostility towards the smaller feline. He didn't see all demons as bad, and he wasn't going to judge them based on what they had done to fall – after all, Crowley hadn't exactly fallen because he was some sort of right bastard, he had just been curious, and apparently that was worthy of being ejected from the heavens above, his soul roasting as he collapsed down to hell. Although Crowley hadn't told Aurum every detail about his fall, Aurum had been able to pick up on some things, and he had been able to hide it, but he couldn't help but feel fury over what had happened to the other. He'd only gotten angrier in the moments afterwards, when Crowley had shrugged off the worries of his past, and the fact that hell could be possible. Perhaps, when Aurum had absolutely demolished Ligur and Hastur, he had somewhat been taking out his rage on behalf of the other male – not that Crowley needed Aurum to protect him, at least as far as the angel assumed.

After that little encounter, Aurum had attempted to keep an eye on Crowley, even if it was just a watchful eye from a distance. He occasionally noticed the flinching or the nervous over the shoulder glances, but he figured it was justified, considering what the other had been through before Aurum had come along to fight the other demons off, holy righteousness and all. The larger angel hadn't wanted to seem overbearing or anything though, so despite his role as a guardsman, the male had just occasionally kept Crowley company, usually showering him in affection and not bringing up what had happened. He figured Crowley preferred it that way, since the other never really seemed to like confronting any of his feelings, even the positive ones. Aurum wasn't able to do his whole "watching from afar" routine constantly, however. Crowley had been wandering off more and more often lately, and Aurum couldn't exactly make it just seem like he was hanging out if he followed the demon all the way out of camp. This had just happened to be one of those times when Aurum wasn't around, the lion out for a hunt while Crowley was being assaulted by another asshole demon. His eye and ears had been pricked, his entire body tense and searching as he looked for prey. What he found instead, however, was the sounds of a struggle. The guardsman rose his head up in confusion, his one eye darting around as he searched for the source of the noises. However, as fast as the noises had come, they were suddenly gone, and Aurum found his ears pinned down against his head, anxiety rushing through his veins. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed like something was wrong – very, very wrong.

As he began to pad around, searching desperately for the way that he could help, the scent of Crowley eventually reached his nose. Immediately his panic and anxiety skyrocketed up to eleven, and before he knew it is his legs and wings were pushing himself along, bolting towards the source of the smell. Rather than finding the male himself, Aurum ended up finding the original scene of the fight, the ground dirtied with the blood of those involved. The lion's heart sank, and he followed the trail of unsettlingly still warm blood, and the scent of Crowley mixed with someone else. Before long, his throat was burning as he roared, his head snapping urgently from side to side as he looked for the demon, "Crowley! Crowley! Shit... shit!" The frustration only drove him to run faster, the marshal's many plants snapping and crumbling underneath his paws as he both ran and soared through the heavily clustered trees. When he eventually reached the town, he spotted Crowley, the demon collapsed against the ground with his eye leaking fucking everywhere, smearing the already dark muddy ground with black blood. The angel's eye widened considerably as he saw his friend, leaping over with a couple flaps of his wings, landing beside the other and mumbling urgently, "Crowley, Crowley, fucking hell... what happened? Who did this to you...?" His voice was a mix of sheer terror and genuine rage, directed towards whoever had done this to the demon that he had come to like so much. His eyes landed on the knife that Crowley had been clinging to like a lifeline for a moment before shaking his head, deciding that it wasn't important right now. He could answer questions later, when Crowley wasn't collapsed on the ground in front of him in a huge amount of pain. Aurum laid down on the ground for a moment beside Crowley, gently pressing his nose against the other's side to offer a form of comfort, one of his large golden and red wings resting almost lovingly over the other's hindquarters.

Settled beside the other, Aurum rose his head and roared loudly, his voice so loud it could seem like the ground was nearly shaking from the sheer force of the emotion contained within his call, "SELBY! MOTH!" His call for the medics was frantic and almost as pained as if he was the one who had ended up hurt, but he couldn't help it. Although he and Crowley technically weren't connected by say, a mental bond, Crowley being in pain inflicted him with pain as well, his one good eye faintly burning with tears. As the angel waited for the sawbones to arrive, Aurum pressed his forehead to Crowley's side, rumbling softly to try and comfort the suffering demon, a faint tremble moving through his feathers, "Crowley... you're gonna be okay, Crowley. I promise. Selby and Moth are gonna patch you right up, and you're gonna be alright... you have to be alright, okay? You're a demon... you can't go. If I can't go, you can't go. Please..." His voice was weak and gradually panic began to slip more and more into his tone, tensing his entire body up. Sure, angels and demons were traditionally immortal, right? So Crowley couldn't go... at least, that's what Aurum desperately hoped was true, even though he wasn't sure what exactly had caused the demon's current injuries. After all, there was a chance that the other had been hit by something that could hurt even him... the thought made terror run cold through his veins, and all around he and Crowley, his earth elementals began to mangle the plants around them, the plants sticking up from the mud wilting over and crumbling into the darkened mud, signifying Aurum's unstable and terrified mood. At the very least it wasn't his fire elementals activating because of his emotions, or the entire jungle would be set ablaze by the angel's sheer tornado of emotions going on inside.

After a long moment, Aurum closed his one good eye and pressed further into Crowley's side fur, his voice firm but so, so soft that practically no one except for Crowley would be able to hear it, "If you... if you die, I swear to that fucking asshole god, I'll go after you myself, and I'll bring you back, alright? I just got to meet you, and you're the first person who's ever really understood what I've been through..." A lump formed in the angel's throat as he continued, his ears perked up to search for the sound of either the footsteps of Moth or Selby, "...I... I never realized it would happen when you first showed up, but... but I really really like you Crowley. I like you so much, and you can't leave me now, damn it. I could... I could even end up loving you, y'know? But I can't do that if you end up dying on me, so hold on, goddamnit. You can be so stubborn sometimes... be stubborn about this, please..." Tears were rolling slowly down the lion's face, dampening his mane and sticking his fur down against his skin as he laid beside Crowley, slightly backed up so that the medics could easily get to the demon's face even with the guardsman there. He had absolutely no fucking idea what Crowley would remember from this encounter, but Aurum found that he didn't care that much if Crowley remembered all of it. If Crowley ended up surviving this, Aurum didn't care if things were awkward between the two of them for a little while. He just wanted Crowley to be okay.

[member=8845]moth[/member]
[member=2072]selby roux ![/member]

To be entirely honest, Crowley hadn't even actively registered Aurum's hovering and worrying. He might've been too busy being comfortable -- it was hard to feel unsafe in the presence of somebody who fucking destroyed two of Hell's Dukes and called it lenient. He probably wouldn't have even minded staying close to Aurum, but it seemed -- clingy and weak. These weren't exactly words Crowley felt like associating with himself*, so he just kind of ... didn't. Regardless of what Crowley may say, or could have done, though, it wouldn't have ensured that this outcome would not come.
*Though, if asked, Crowley would probably very reluctantly call himself so.
Didn't mean the parts of Crowley that weren't too busy being agonized weren't cursing himself out, though.
Crowley's response to Aurum's calls are slowed, delayed. It takes him a few moments to register that somebody is talking at all, though his ears slowly prick up. Aurum? He struggles to return to himself, to fully understand what the hell is going on. He does, however, slowly relax into Aurum's touch as the other drapes a wing over him -- it's hard to worry about appearances and physical affection when you're too distracted by .. everything else.
The realization that Aurum is panicking comes slowly, particularly since it'd been .. fine, at first. Actually registering the words comes slower. The lion's flow of words had previously been a balm for the haze of pain and panic -- things couldn't be so bad when Aurum was there -- but then, upon registering that something was still very wrong, Crowley desperately tried to figure out how to rectify this with so little space left for higher brain function. Fortunately, Crowley isn't so out of it he can't. He's not fucking .. bleeding out, or getting so lost to the miniscule amount of heavenly power that he can't. It just hurts.
"Mm not ffucking .." Crowley wheezes, gasping. Crowley, quite frankly, has no idea what the hell to do with anything Aurum is saying. He is, however, working on limited time to respond based on how long he feels up to being conscious, and also a limited amount of time before Aurum, presumably, works himself up even further. So, he focuses on the important thing. This is probably for the better. Chances are that, Crowley, unprepared and as overwhelmed as he already was, would probably just end up crying. Regardless of the current scenario, Crowley would probably be embarrassed by that for the rest of his immortal life. Whether or not the serval ended up remembering, however, was largely irrelevant -- Crowley had long since honed his skills in the art of pretending things hadn't happened, for all involved parties' comforts. "Not dying. Jusst .. hurtsss" He whines, and, very gently, and entirely regardless of Aurum's intentions of allowing access to Crowley's face, tries to shove his head against Aurum. This is not the smartest plan in the world. His breath hitches as Aurum's fur brushes against whatever the hell injuries are on that side of his face**, but he doesn't pull away, just .. re-angles his head.
**Crowley honestly can't tell at this point. He thought he did, but then the talking thing ..

[align=center]— T͏O̴G͠ETH͏ER̕ ÁT̴ ̸T̕H̶E ST͏ART̶ O͏F̀ ̵TI̡M͏E —

Panic lumped in her throat every time someone's voice rang out that loud. Stars. Not someone else. No, no, no. "Fiachra!" The petite vixen barely waited to chase the sound of Aurum's voice, only slightly listening for the sound of flapping wings. The raven carried her small medkit; the portable supplies.

She glitched once, materializing an extra fox-length forward without intent. The effort made her dizzy but she scrambled over her paws, nearly skidding as she finally found herself on scene. Aurum. Crowley. Oh stars. The taste of charred flesh in the air sent her snatching her kit from Fiachra far sharper than she intended to, ignoring a surprised caw.

Thank the stars for aloe vera. She bit the inside of her cheek as she pulled a small container out, followed by some wrapped marigold poultice. "C-Crowley, need you t-to move your head a bit," she instructed gently. "Y-you're not dying," Kiira agreed firmly, mitch-matched hues fierce with determination, "b-but you've been burnt."

The comfort Aurum brought certainly would help, but not if he kept nuzzling into the lion. The burns on his face concerned her far more than his paw. He shouldn't agitate them so much. "It's gon-gonna feel cold, but it'll help, okay?" In the case he followed her commands and moved his head, the fox would peer carefully at the wounds, narrowing her eyes. Gently, she'd apply the aloe vera paste she brought, cautiously avoiding direct contact with his eye.

Stars.

✯ — suvi kiira ní faoláin. female. medic of tanglewood. beta of the typhoon. arctic fox. ref. bio.

In any other scenario, Aurum probably would've been delighted and warmed by the fact that Crowley was comforted by his presence, even if the majority of the reasoning behind it was because the guardsman had absolutely wrecked Ligur and Hastur the last time they had come around. Still, he wasn't able to truly enjoy the moment, due to the fact that he felt nothing but anxiety over the state Crowley was currently in. When the large lion felt Crowley relax under the gentle touch of his feathers, he let out a slightly relieved breath, glad that Crowley was at least reacting to something, even if it wasn't the tornado of words leaving his mouth. Later, the angel would probably be extremely grateful to learn that Crowley hadn't really been listening to him, since his rambling would probably seem embarrassing as all hell once the moment had passed, not to mention the unplanned confession of love. Back in the moment, Aurum's panic abated slightly as Crowley began to speak, his words clearly groggy and slow due to the fact that he was still processing the pain. Aurum opened his mouth to speak, but knew that it would just end with him babbling more furiously anxious nonsense, and he didn't want to stress Crowley out any further, instead just keeping the demon close. When he felt Crowley tilt his head into his fur, burying his face within the large amount of fluff that made up the guardsman's mane, Aurum flinched, rumbling softly, "Crowley... Crowley, you're gonna irritate your face..." He didn't want to deprive Crowley of any sort of comfort he needed during the waves of pain rolling over him, but he also didn't want Crowley causing more of that pain by trying to face plant in the lion's fur.

Thankfully for the both of them, along came Kiira, like a merciful angel – hah – sent from above. Aurum let out a very grateful noise as soon as he saw her, glad to see the medic around to help. He would've called out her name as well, but he had been so caught up in the moment of panic that Selby and Moth's names had been the only ones he had been able to grab out of the static. Thankfully, Kiira had known to respond to his frantic voice. Taking a deep breath, the lion gently nudged his nose against the uninjured side of Crowley's face, attempting to get the much smaller feline to face towards the medic so she could do her work. As he did so, he spoke comfortingly to the other, "I promise we can cuddle and relax and everything after Kiira helps you, alright? This will make it so that it doesn't hurt so much." He touched his nose gently to the back of Crowley's neck as he spoke, trying to calm the hurting demon without interfering with Kiira's work at all. He meant his promise, as well. The moment that Crowley was all patched up, there was absolutely no way that Aurum was going to leave his side. He didn't care if he was being overprotective or anything. He would watch over Crowley like the best damn guardian angel in the world, while also providing him with cuddles. For now, however, all he could do was offer comfort and watch silently, infinitely glad that Crowley wasn't facing bleeding out or dying, even if this was far from ideal.