londoncallingrpg

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OTA

Coby wasn't home, and hadn't left a note for him, so Anael was walking through the streets of London to get to Alcuin's home, enjoying the chill in the air, the way his breath fogged on the way out, the ebb and flow of love in the hearts around him. Hands in his jacket pockets, he paid no mind to the odd looks he occasionally received for wearing nothing but a denim jacket over a t-shirt in this weather.

It began as an itch in his back, a barely there scratch where his wings would be. He did not think much of it, only shifting his shoulders the way he normally did when the urge to let them out came over him. But then the itch burrowed deeper, and increasingly hotter, until it was more of a burn than anything else, and his lungs were alive with it.

He'd hurried into a side street with little foot traffic and leaned against a wall there, his breathing short and heavy. He tried to cloak himself, but he couldn't keep a hold on the miracle through the pain he was so unused to, and he collapsed to his knees as he heard words in a rough language that scraped against every fiber of his being, a language of Hell. His wings wouldn't come out and he folded to his side on the wet ground, seeing shadows on the other side of the street. They were all saying the words, out loud and right into his mind, and one of them came forward, a pair of boots stopping right in front of him. They pulled his t-shirt collar down and drew a symbol between his collarbones, their fingers red with - blood? The symbol felt like it was searing into his flesh. Anael cried out, physically as much as spiritually, praying out to God with all of his being.

The words ceased suddenly, pain abating slightly, and the dark figures dispersed as someone ran over to him.

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"I am better, but it did not work fully," Anael replied and, after a moment's hesitation, tugged his t-shirt collar down for the demon to see the mark. "Do you know this glyph?"

Crowley's eyes were hidden behind his glasses but his brows rose, creeping higher toward his hairline.

"And what have you done to prompt that bit of graffiti?" the demon asked. He tried for dry, but his tone held a note if rightful fear when it came to dealing with things from the home office.

"I don't know that I did anything beside exist," Anael admitted, with a surge of irritation - not aimed at the demon, but there all the same. He sighed quietly, his voice more even as he went on. "When you found me, could you tell who was there? Your arrival made them run away."

"I'd like to say it could have been anyone, but there are so few who could even know this," he said, poking the glyph through Anael's shirt. "You've been bound, dear boy. Someone doesn't want you leaving this plane and they've made damned well sure you'll stay put."

Anael batted Crowley's hand away instinctively when it poked at the glyph. "I know. I can feel it anchoring me here. It's..." He shook his head with a sigh.

"It's a bother," he said flatly. "What I'm curious to know is who would want you bound and why. It's not as if just everyone knows there are angels walking the Earth."

"Anyone who knows that language knows that there are," Anael answered quietly. It began to rain, and he stepped away from the church and to the middle of the street, tilting his head back to feel the rain drops on his face.

The rain never actually touched Crowley, choosing instead to take the path of greater resistance to skirt around him.

"I can't deny the truth of that," he said as he sauntered over to the angel. "So who have you angered?"

God would not have done this to him, Anael had to believe, and he did not know that he done anything to anger Them recently. No, the most recent thing he had done that would warrant revenge was to kill that Dark Fae who had been coming after Fin. "Some Fae, I suppose, but they would not know to do this to me." He shook his head. "I have no idea who might be behind this, or why."

"I suggest you get to the bottom of it, lad. You'll wilt if you're left out too long. Cut off and all that," he cautioned.

"I know," Anael replied, his usual patience extremely thinner right now than it usually was. Wilting was one potential consequence. Another one was even worse to contemplate.

And there was the fact that Crowley had interrupted them. What if this hadn't been their end goal? Anael pushed a hand back through now wet hair.

"Don't be short. I'm only trying to help," Crowley said. He pu)ed out a fresh cigarette and lit up.

"You're in quite a pickle, angel."

This time, Anael took a deep, soothing breath before answering, more calmly, "Again, I know."

"You poor, unfortunate boy," Crowley said tenderly, and reached out to give Anael a reassuring pat on the shoulder. But then he let out a sinister little laugh, the cigarette smoke puffing out with each breath.

"Whatever will we do with you? Hmm...dear me. I'm fresh out of ideasss," he hissed.

Anger flashed through Anael's eyes, and in the blink of an eye he had his hand around Crowley's throat. "I might be bound in this flesh, but do not think that I am grown weak, demon." He forced himself to let go of Crowley, mostly by thinking of Aziraphale, and he stepped away, as angry with himself as he was with the demon.

When Anael's hand caught him he let out a most undignified squawk and his cigarette fell to the ground, hissing to death in the puddle at their feet. But just as fast as it had happened, the angel let go and the demon was left scowling and rubbing his throat.

"You're in a mood," he said sullenly. "Really, my dear, I understand this is traumatic and all but it's not as if you're going to die. I'll see that it comes off. Somehow. I don't like the thought of not being able to be rid of you."

"You won't do a thing," Anael told him, cloaking himself and spreading his wings as he turned back on the demon. The cloak was meant for human eyes, and he would still be visible to Crowley. "I do not trust you, Crowley. I will see this through without your help."

"Hello...I'm evil, he sing-songed, then huffed a sigh. The demon pulled out a fresh cigarette. "Trust or not, you're going to need help, especially if you're dealing with fae. Nasty buggers, them. No souls but too much imagination. Tsk, tsk, you shouldn't let your wrath shoo away the one ally you have who can actually be of some goo...help."

Anael did not actually think that the Fae had anything to do with what had happened to him. But if he was wrong, he had friends to turn to that would be better allies than Crowley. "Fortunately, I have people to turn to who are not, as you say, evil."

"Mmm, but can people do the things I can do?" he asked, rather temptingly. He lit his cigarette and moved in closer with no fear of any forthcoming wrath. Angels were wrathy and smitey all the time. It was only the Arrangement...and Aziraphale's nature, he reckoned...that had saved his skin for so long, so far.

"Who knows more about Hell than me? You can't even read that mark. You'll ask some human with a book and he'll tell you it's strength or purity when it really means soup, or stupid angel. You know, like those tattoos people get of Chinese characters."

He took a drag, a smile playing on his lips, amused as he was with himself.

"...I can promise you it doesn't say soup."

"I do not need you," Anael replied, his resolve firm. "I only need the culprits."

He would make them tell him what this was all about, and he would make them undo it. He would, of course, need allies with him to do this, but he did not need a demon.

"I wish that I could trust you," he admitted sadly, more quietly. Crowley was still his brethren, Fallen or not.

But he could not, and he would no more trust what the demon told him than he would a tattoo artist about a Chinese ideogram.

Crowley snorted.

"Good luck with that endeavour, my dear," he said. "You find them, have a nice chat. Or smite them. But that doesn't change now. I mean, look at you. You're wet," he said, if such a thing should be shameful.

Anael frowned at the comment, then shrugged. "I don't mind the rain." And he did not like to squander miracles. "Thank you for your help, Crowley," he added again (possibly in part in the hopes of annoying the demon, petty though it was - he also meant it), then took a step back and began to flap his wings to take off.

Crowley watched him go and shook his head.

Sooner or later, he was sure, he'd be needed.

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