TRAP AND RELEASE ➵ snake

[arcy]

-

Crowley isn't safe.
Crowley hasn't ever been safe. This is true, and it always has been, but now more than ever. He's been ignoring it again. Still paranoid, still ignoring it. Still doubting people. Still doubting himself. He's ignoring his problems, and that's fine. That's fine. Hell's still coming from him, and they aren't gonna stop just cause he escaped once or twice. He's ignoring his problems, and it's killed him before, but that's fine.
Crowley's experienced some ... highs and lows with his injuries. Sometimes his head hurts so bad he can barely see, sometimes he's dizzy and hurting and his insides are burning. Sometimes, it stings, and his head is pounding, or maybe he's a bit out of it. He goes outside during the highs, and, for the most part, that works out fine. For the most part, he hasn't missed out on anything just cause he's feeling bad.
Today's a bit of a low. He hurts, he can't breathe, and he can't stop thinking. Eyes half-lidded, he leans against a wall, and he thinks, and he thinks. He'd been trying not to. He doesn't want to think, and he wants to continue rolling with it, but one his eyes are gone, and he's burning from the inside out.
He's had to think about it since he'd seen Kaz, at the training session. He'd thought there for a second that it was -- them, with the knife. That wasn't entirely fair, their only similarity was being a cheetah, but it was still -- ... He'd been seeing traces. Seeing things, maybe. Maybe he was just being paranoid again. Maybe he was right.
It wasn't exactly paranoia if it was true. It wasn't exactly paranoia if they really were still after him. A traitor, a liar. One of hell's finest demons, who'd never really done anything at all. He lied and lied and claimed he'd done the worst when all he'd done was glue a coin to a sidewalk.
A glimmer of gold.
A glimmer of gold.
He wonders, where did that knife get left?

He finds it. He can't quite recall what happened to it, not immediately. Was it hidden, did it get taken? Did anyone even piece together what'd happened? Didn't matter. He found it eventually. Looking at it alone burns, and he squeezes his eyes tight. White-hot, burning. Cold-hot from the inside out.
Hold it for too long and he might cease to be. A red-spotted serval, no demon left to be found. A husk, no life -- it was made for him, tailored for him. Wasn't anyone without him. Decisions. He needs it. Discorporation alone means nothing to a demon, not one who can come back so easily.
Were Crowley to die, he'd plummet straight to hell. He'd be executed immediately for his crimes. Crowley wasn't strong, or smart, and he had the unfortunate habit of discorporating on a regular basis. Never had Hell been happy about that, but he'd been a good demon, hadn't he? Spanish Inquisition, wars, some of the worst crimes in history? He'd only actually done a quarter of those things he claimed to have, of course -- M25, little, daily inconveniences.
He wasn't a good demon.
Good, bad, demon had always been a defining trait. It hadn't ever occurred to him that it didn't have to be.
This is the dilemma Crowley faces, staring down at white-hot, glimmering, burning gold.
And, very carefully, Crowley reaches for the knife, cradling it in ill-suited paws. A simple slip has him brushing against uncovered gold, and Crowley hisses through his teeth, white-hot burning, cold-hot. Don't panic. He drops it. Checks the damages.
Nothing. Not one singed fur.
A sweep of the tail. Maybe he hadn't held it long enough? He'll burn out if he's not careful, overdoes it, holds it too long, but ... carefully, gently, he presses a paw against the blade. Grits his teeth against the light, the cold burning ache of it leeching into everything that makes him him. A demon can't wield that which is holy.
And yet, when he looks at it, at his paw, there's nothing. Nothing feels missing. It hurts. It hurts.
But that's it.
He's too woozy to question it. Crowley picks up the knife, gold, glittering, heaven-sent gold, and leaves. The brush of gold feels like bursts of electricity, numbing and painful all the same.

Maybe, if Crowley were more like to run to people with his problems, he might've recruited someone to help him. Aurum, most likely, or maybe Snarl. Maybe this would have been better. Maybe the chances of this going sour would've fallen.
Crowley hasn't yet learned when to ask for help. He falls, and he falls, and he falls, and he pushes away the hands that help him. Was it fair, to ask something like that of Aurum? Hold a knife to rotted skin, ask him to protect him if they came back again.
Crowley doesn't want to be protected. He's tired of being weak, and he's tired of being scared. He's a liar, and stubborn, and .. and he'd abandoned Aziraphale. Aziraphale, who had so much faith in Heaven. Who made excuses again and again. Who liked food, and wine, and books. Who trusted easily, and got hurt because of it.
Crowley doesn't think he deserves to be protected, or liked, if he isn't doing anything in kind. If he isn't providing for someone, what does he deserve? Why does he deserve to be their friend? He's selfish, and tolerates things until he doesn't, and he doesn't talk about things, and he doesn't think about things.
It's just Crowley. Crowley and his knife, and his stupid paranoia. He knows they're there. It's just a matter of finding them before they found him.

Crowley's always been good at sleuthing. He'd rescued Aziraphale again and again and again, and it wasn't just because of miracles. Even stumbling over himself, if he wanted to find something, he'd find it eventually. Find the trail. Rotting, burned. Burning sulfur.
Hell-bound demons have a distinct smell, once you get down to it. It wasn't hard. It wasn't hard at all. Heart pounding, aching. He's scared. He's always scared. Behind the end of a knife, he feels no safer. An act, a barrier.
Despite what one may be lead to believe, Crowley wasn't made to hurt. He fell for questions, wrong place wrong time. He was a tempter, he lead them to doubt and he put a solution right in front of people. They didn't have to take it. He didn't want them to, but, well, if they did, was he at fault? For offering a choice?
Free will was a choice, but not one Crowley had ever had.

"Of course you still have it," He finds them. Of course he does. Curled lips, flattened ears. The stench of rotting in the air. They look at him, wild-eyed. Their corporation is falling apart on them, piece by piece. Strings of flesh from their shoulder, maggots feasting. They've been waiting. They've been looking. This whole time. It's not fair. It's not fair. He didn't ask for this, he never had a choice. Humans, these animals, they'd always had a choice. They chose who they wanted to be, they chose their path. Crowley had never had that. An accident. He tripped again and again and again and any mistake lead to his end.
It's not fair.
"Fuck was I ssh'posshed to do, leave it out on a platter for you?"" Crowley sneers past the handle. He can do this. He will do this. And he'll do it again and again and again if he has to. He's not a pawn. He'll take his destiny within his hands and line his own path with its ashes. The cheetah snorts, but a squeal is drawn from their mouth as Crowley advances, head tilted. Gleaming, burning gold. One wrong move, one wrong slice.
He wants to hurt them. He doesn't want to hurt anyone at all.
He wants to be left alone.
"If you think," Deep breaths, steady voice. Intimidating as anything. Crowley isn't as scary as he thinks he is, but he can play a part. Maybe he never wanted to scare anyone worth scaring to begin with. "I'll give in, get burned alive, dragged to hell," He's scared, he's scared, he's so afraid. He wants to be alone. He wants to be his own. He wants Aziraphale back, and he wants to see Aurum. He doesn't want to be here, and he's sick of pretending. "You're wrong," They're wrong, they're wrong, they're wrong. He'll prove them wrong. Grit his teeth over the knife, advance. Crowley has not ever met a demon who wasn't a coward.
Crowley isn't anyone. He's not anyone important, and he's not anyone that they'll ever remember, should they replace him without a thought. He'll make them listen. He'll make them leave. They'll forget, and Crowley will be just another somebody lost to time.
"Sssho listen here." Heart pounding, head spinning, he's barely here. He's acting on instinct, on impulse. He'll do what it takes. Whatever it takes. He's tired, he's so tired. He's so tired of being bossed around and controlled. He's so tired of being afraid, of making excuses for everything he does. For this single moment, he'll admit it -- he's him. "I'm not going back. You're not going to do anything. None of you," He'll make it happen. He'll make it happen. He will. The demon curls its lips, tries to snarl something derisive.
Crowley doesn't want to hear it. They yelp.
"You're going to forget about thiss." He demands, blunt. Inside, he's screaming, screaming, screaming. He so rarely sticks up for himself. He's so rarely fought back. Maybe he won't again. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But .. this once. "Or," Sharp grin, teeth. The gleam of a knife, hot-cold white. It's pressed against their neck, only just. Singing gold, the sent of burning fur.
Demons are cowards, in the end.
"Fine," He gasps, snarling. Pressing a paw to the sting as Crowley draws away, cold. They narrow their eyes at him. "It's not forever. It's not the end." Until they can find out a way to get to him, he means. They're cowards, they're scared. No miracles, new forms. Crowley doesn't respond. Keeps eye contact. It might be genuine, it might not be.
Crowley will be lost to history as a traitor and a liar.
And then, they're gone. Even still, Crowley can't breathe easy. He's not safe, and he never will be.
He'll take his destiny, and he'll, and he'll ...
Deep breaths. Head pounding, vision spinning. Four legs is worse than none. He doesn't want to be here. He's sick of being something else, and he's so afraid, and he's so open. Crowley stumbles, and he walks, and he trips. Farther away from here. Somewhere sunny, and warm, and secluded. Somewhere alone, or maybe not. He's not sure if he wants to be or not.
And, at last .. he trips. And, when he hits the ground, well -- needless to say, there's no serval there. A black and red snake, curled up on the grass. A knife clatters to the ground. Cold, white-hot light.
He's tired. He's so tired. But he did it, maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. A shaky breath, and the snake coils into itself, black gleaming scales and block goop dripping from his now-uncovered eye.
Later. Maybe everything will be alright later.

//TL;DR part 3! crowley threatened a demon and may POTENTIALLY be left alone by hell, depending on if i come up w future plots (pensive emoji). he was so worn and exhausted by the experience though that now theres just sorta,,, a snake,,, chillin. with a knife nearby. hes not Immediately placable as crowley if youre not Looking so your char is free to freak out (pensive emoji)
this is TECHNICALLY the final part. again though there is some post-arc stuff.

-

[ABATHUR .]

Rarely did the spider step into a scene that gave him pause.

Metaphorically, of course - caution in movement was important, since there could be traps anywhere, or poisonous creatures hiding in overgrowth, or any number of things that you had to stop and identify so you didn't get yourself into too much trouble. This, however, gave him pause mentally, making him stop in his tracks and wait, as if listening for someone to whisper him the answer. The pause didn't last long; he was quick on the uptake, after all, and he could figure things out given a modicum of time and/or evidence.

There was a black snake with a knife nearby. That was the scene - it seemed a little silly, to be temporarily stumped by something like that, but... well, its subtle weirdness threw him off his groove, truly. He had been in the clan for naught but a few days now, and he had seen some weird things, and this was relatively mundane. But still, it threw him off. He felt like he was messing up some painting, or some ritual, like he was stepping into a scene that he didn't know the lines to.

Slowly, the spider walked a full lap around the snake, watching it, trying to figure out if it was sapient or not - or hell, if it was alive at all or not. He was not privy to the grand drama that had led to the snake's presence, nor the snake's identity, so all he had to work with was the simple fact that the snake was there. Quietly, he decided to disregard the knife, and moved to the side of the coiled serpent that its head was at.

"Greetings," he said, feeling rather silly. He sure hoped this was a person, and not just an odd feral snake that he crossed paths with by pure happenstance. After speaking his mind, he waited and listened for the snake to respond, only slightly tempted to reach out a pedipalp and poke it.

He didn't, of course, but he did want to, to see how it would react. For science, you know?

tags - "speech"

[wormwood.]

i was born, on the highway, in a train wreck

with a heart, that was beating, out of my chest

Crowley had a tendency to run from his problems. It was a simple fact about the demon that Aurum had picked up over the last several weeks he had spent close to the male, and it was a fact that the lion couldn't help but find extremely frustrating. Not because he particularly wanted Crowley to have a mental breakdown or freak out from stress over what could happen to him, but... because it reminded him far too much of himself. He remembered, back when he had been living in the pride, how he had ignored every single problem he ever encountered. He ignored the way that rage festered within him, he ignored the way that he was abused by his parents, he ignored the way that he began to feel hatred for his brother getting a grip on his soul. Hell, he had ignored the way that he had felt an odd disconnect from what he was and what he was supposed to be, which was the whole reason why it had taken so long for him to eventually rediscover his position as an angel. It had been a long and arduous journey to where he was now, and there were many points where ignoring his problems had finally come to a head, and had caused something horrible to happen. Trying to kill Poet, Judith trying to kill him, running away from home, having mental breakdown after mental breakdown... he still wasn't even an expert on not running away from your problems, considering just recently he had tried to run away from and ignore his grief over Leroy. Still, he knew that he was getting better at all of it, and he was definitely doing better than Crowley was, at the very least. And that was why it was so frustrating to him when the demon decided to just ignore something, letting it act as a silent threat following him around like a storm cloud even as he acted like everything was okay.

It seemed as though, blissfully, finally, Crowley was actually taking some part of his life into his own hands, and Aurum wasn't even there to witness it. Granted, that was probably a good idea, since the angel was fairly sure if he ever saw the bastards that had hurt and hunted Crowley again, he would've torn them limb from limb before they could even scream in terror at the sight of him, but still, it was a little bit disappointing. Even so, Aurum would be proud of the other, since he was actually doing something for his own happiness, and confronting a problem head on. Despite what Crowley may have thought about himself and how much he deserved friendship, Aurum couldn't help the fact that he valued the other, and probably always was. Whether that was because of Aurum's horrible taste in men, or Crowley legitimately being a good person...? Well, the fact was that remained to be seen, but that didn't mean that Aurum was about to abandon the demon that had become like a best friend to him over the last couple of months – and possibly something more, if either of them would stop dodging around confronting the tension that burned nearly as hot as that angelic knife. Paranoia or not, self doubt or not, Crowley meant a shitload to the lion, and he would've gone through hell – worse, heaven – or back for the feline, and still come out the other side snarling bloody murder at anyone threatening a single fur on the other one eyed male's body. Even if it want fair to him, Aurum would've done anything Crowley wanted him to, and would've protected him to his dying breath, just as he would Roy or Moth. And was that dangerous? Oh, incredibly so, but Aurum knew better than to try and fight against it. All it would end up accomplishing was him breaking away and hurting himself again in an effort to protect himself, and he would rather just trust Crowley and risk the pain, even if he had been burned so harshly before for being such an idiot about friends, love, companionship.

He can still remember the tinge of fear and tension that lingered in the air when Crowley had lost his eye, along with the way that his injured and sore legs had launched him forward, towards the suffering demon against his better judgement. He remembered the way he had practically wrapped himself around the other, giving Crowley affection and comfort while also making an effort to make sure he could be treated. He could remember the flash of gold and faint silvery light that had hurt his eye when he had seen the bloody blade laying on the ground, and the sheer anger that had run through his veins at the sight of it. Worst of all, he could still remember the frantic and emotional words that had poured forth from his mouth as he held Crowley close, begging to a god above that he didn't even trust that Crowley would be okay, just because the other meant so much to him. He had laid his heart bare, and honestly he was sort of glad that Crowley didn't seem to remember, since Aurum didn't know how the other would react, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to have his heart shattered once again by some I'll conceived romantic venture. Despite what Leroy might have thought about his love life, Aurum didn't exactly have some fun filled romantic trail blazed behind him, and instead just one that was full of tears, betrayal, murder, and unconfessed feelings that had bubbled beneath the surface, felt, but never said aloud. Part of him so much wanted to tell Crowley how he felt when the other was conscious, uninjured, and could truly listen, but another, larger part of him was just so petrified of what the demon's response would be, and whether he would be losing a best friend or not. Hell, he had lost Red, and he hadn't even had a chance to ruin things all on his own. He had spent many nights laying awake thinking about what to do, sometimes even carefully maneuvering himself past the sleeping forms of Roy and Crowley just so he could have some time to think on his own, but he found that he was no closer to an answer than before. All he could hope for was that he would never have to experience such sheer terror as he had when Crowley had lost his eye, and leave it at that.

There's a strange scent of rotting in the air when Aurum departed from camp to go hunting, and it immediately caused him to recoil slightly, his eyes narrowing thw faintest bit. He half expected to stumble upon another piece of undead prey laying around, before he shook his head firmly, taking a deep breath. That wouldn't happen, after all, the source of all the undead nonsense was dead now, killed by another one of Aurum's long lost friends. So, steeling himself against what he might find at the end of the unpleasant scent, Aurum began to make his way through the trees, his pawsteps as quite as he could make them as he moved from log to log, now avoiding both swampland muck and what remained of melting snow before the next fall. As he grew closer and closer to where Crowley and the other demons were, the stench grew stronger and more unpleasant, and Aurum considered turning back, and perhaps putting together some sort of patrol to deal with whatever the hell was on the other side of the wall of trees. However, when he opened his mouth and found the strange scent was getting stale and beginning to fade, a frown came to his face and he quickly raced forward, his hopping from log to log growing to longer and longer strides. Unfortunately for him, he missed the scene with Crowley and his former oppressors, arriving just a few minutes too late to see the feline telling off his former boss and now hunter. He would've been disappointed, had he known, at not getting the chance to see the look on their stupid face when Crowley told them to fuck off back to hell, and had finally stood up for himself. Still, it probably meant more, the fact that Crowley had been able to do it all on his own, without Aurum hovering protectively at his side, fangs and claws at the ready to rip into the other creatures of hell. If he had known that he was one of the reasons that Crowley had finally been able to stand up for himself...? Well, he probably would've been incredibly touched, and actually a tad overwhelmed, shocked by the clear emotions that were present in that fact.

Arriving on the scene shortly after Abathur had, Aurum round himself taking everything in very slowly, the stench of death still clinging to his nose and roof of his mouth as he came up beside the large spider, his eyes moving from the knife – which made his fur stand on edge and an unpleasant lump form in his chest, blocking his airways – to the snake that was laying nearby, looking oddly exhausted and drained for a snake. It took only a couple of minutes for the angel to make the connection between the dark and red fur of Crowley and the mixture of markings that were currently laid seemingly randomly over this snake's scales. That, along with the all too familiar knife that was sitting nearby, made it pretty clear exactly who this was, and Aurum already felt worry gripping him as he noticed how exhausted Crowley seemed. Ears pinning down to his head, the lion moved a large paw to nudge the knife away from both himself and Crowley, as well as Abathur. He felt a faint tingle run through his paw as he knocked it a couple of feet away, but no sheer burning like he was sure it made Crowley feel, from what he could remember of his poor friend's eye. After he had accomplished his first task, the captain moved to the side of Crowley opposite Abathur, moving to settle down in to a laying position beside the snake, his thick fur pressed against the snake's cool scales as he took up his usual comforting position for the male. He rumbled as he placed his head down on the ground near Crowley, his voice soft and questioning as he spoke, "Crowley...? You look tired. More so than usual, I mean. What happened?" He simply regarded Abathur with a firm nod of his head, grateful for the spider's presence as another possible source of help, but also knowing there were no real words to be exchanged between them. What was he supposed to say? "Hey, this is my very close friend who I wish was my boyfriend, he's a demon and I have no idea why he's sulking as a snake, please go away?" Not only would that be very confusing, it would also probably be a fair bit rude of him.

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[arcy]

-

Crowley crumpled under the slightest pressure. The slightest stress, the slightest worry. Structurally unsound, one may say, except in that Crowley was an actual living creature. Somehow, it'd always been easier to ignore it and let it pile and pile up. Sometimes it went away -- in fact, most of the time it did. Crowley was immortal, and nothing had ever tethered him. He hadn't had any friends, or any real, pressing problems.
Things went away on their own, someday. Except when they didn't. Except when they couldn't. Except when Crowley had tethered himself and involved himself and oh, he had to actually care about things now, didn't he?
Somehow, Crowley doesn't respond to Abathur's circling. Maybe he doesn't notice, maybe he's too tired to care. Under the slightest touch, Crowley crumples -- and so he has. Literally and figuratively. He doesn't lift his head to Abathur's voice, merely lifts a tail in something akin to greeting, or acknowledgement at the least.
It was strange, not to have his wings anymore, and strange, to be regarded as something unfamiliar and strange again. He can't bring himself to care. .. Mostly.
Crowley seems to make a lot of exceptions for Aurum.
He might've been resting his eyes, if it weren't for the fact that snakes didn't have eyelids. He does, however, subtly turn his head to look at Aurum as the lion settles against him. As best as he can, anyways. It's hard to lay side to side with something the height of a pool noodle. Easier, since Crowley wasn't laying flat by this point. That was simply ... uncomfortable.
Crowley, despite himself, finds himself slightly jarred by how easily Aurum takes in the whole .. snake thing. Maybe it's a mix of .. the powers thing, the thing where it's normal, not even questioned, and the part where Crowley's used to negative responses like this. Or maybe the part where he's apparently so easy to place. Glad to know he's been maintaining the theme.
It probably doesn't help that he's like .. actually venemous, to an extent. Not ... not bad, though.
"Oh, y'know," Says Crowley, distinctly uncomfortable. There's a beginning of sarcasm to his voice, something that he's too far off to dig into. "Work drama," A little more concrete in the joke, this time. It .. wasn't one, of course, but it was something Aurum, at least, might actually get. To an extent. Crowley wasn't exactly king of providing context even when he was inclined to.
.. Admittedly, though, it was more quitting work drama.

-

[wormwood.]

i was born, on the highway, in a train wreck

with a heart, that was beating, out of my chest

Aurum feels a strange feeling of warmth in his chest when Crowley responds to him, and not to Abathur. Not because he disliked Abathur or anything. Despite their odd and slightly uncomfortable first meeting, Aurum actually found Abathur to be quite intelligent and helpful at times. Still, the Captain liked that he could get through to Crowley in a way that almost no one else could, especially when the other was in a state such as this. Truthfully, the lion wasn't... entirely sure why it felt so nice to be so close to Crowley, to the point where the demon actually lifted his head and interacted even when he wss feeling so drained. Well, he sort of did know, but he had been keeping that shoved down for weeks now, and he intended to keep it shoved down for longer, unless something unexpected happened. For someone who was so fired up over the fact that Crowley tended to hide from his problems, Aurum sure was a hypocrite, taking his feelings and sealing them away deep inside just in an effort to not get hurt. He rationalized it by saying that he had been hurt by being too open – too loving – in the past, but really... he knew Crowley wouldn't hurt him that way. At least not intentionally, that is.

As for why Aurum was able to see easily adjust to Crowley being a snake, well, it really was as a result of the powers that this world had. After all, Aurum could go from a lion to a hellhound to a mutated tiny canine in just a few seconds and all the way back again. So, the sight of Crowley all curled up and pouting as a snake isnt that shocking, even if it is a bit odd to see the male not as his usual smirking serval self. Still, even with the shift in shape, Aurum could feel his usual instincts for Crowley kicking in, one large golden wing moving to rest over the snake, being sure to pull back enough so that he didn't cover the demon entirely. Aurum couldn't imagine how cold the other was in this form, without the nice insulating fur of his serval body. Once he felt Crowlry was comfortable – physically, at least. Aurum got the distinct impression Crowley wouldn't be comfortable emotionally for a while – the Captain flicked an ear and set his head down, rumbling to his close friend, "Ah, I see... I've heard they're a bunch of assholes... you aren't hurt, right?" His eye flicked over nervously to the blade that was nearby, although he felt himself relax a little at the fact that there was no fresh blood on it at the moment. That hopefully meant that Crowley was safe, at least for now. Aurum really didn't wanna go yelling bloody murder for one of the medics at the moment.

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