It isn't what he says...
[ooc: Pre-played between flash_demon and dr_jwilsonmd and so IC interaction but popcorn is sitting in a bowl for you! Many thanks to C!Mun!!]
Late Monday night / Early Tuesday morning
It was a hell of a risk but Wilson was banking on the fact that Percuxanth was not yet aware that his minions had been decimated by Kadaj, Yazoo and Loz and as such was not setting new minions out on his tail.
So, Wilson slipped back to the Brownstone, washed...changed and packed himself a small duffle's worth of clothes, tucking the whole package into his medical kit. He'd stripped his wallet of all his cash and picked up a couple of small items he could pawn if he had to but left behind his wallet, taking only his ID.
He could be tracked by his credit cards.
"Thats not what they're going to be use though." Wilson spoke to himself, once again fingering the ring on his left hand.
Phale's ring. His lover's bond. The only warmth he had left from the angel and it had the potential to get him killed.
"Not potential...it will get me killed if I don..." Wilson's voice trailed off as he looked around the dark room.
Gently he stroked his thumb across the feathered etching on the gold and then he nodded.
"Should work...right. Okay." A plan, he had the start of a plan. Now, to get to the next step.
Forcing himself not to get maudlin as he moved through the silent and frighteningly cold Brownstone, Wilson headed back outside. It was time for the last stop to any of his friends and one he was reluctant to make, except, it was perhaps his only chance at survival.
He had to go to Crowley.
Luckily the Fallen one lived not too far from the Brownstone as Wilson realized he needed to leave the M3 behind.
"I hate public transportation." The young doctor muttered as he set his duffle on his shoulder and headed down the road.
Which is how he came to be standing outside Crowley's door, knocking lightly in the absolute dead of night.
Not one that often had guests, the demon was startled from his sleep by the sound. It couldn't be Phoebe, she'd knock with assurance and probably call his name. Jonathan would at least have the decency to be loud about it. Lee would have just come in.
This? This was just enough to get him up and barely enough to rouse him.
In the dead of night, he had little cares and opened the door in his black silk pajama bottoms, wings unfurled in their full, dark glory.
He stood in the threshold and blinked. He took note of the good doctor's dress and hair. Then he noticed the bag. He blinked again. Then with a great, catlike yawn, he stepped back.
"James, it's a Hell of a time to decide you like me better."
Wilson blinked. He'd never seen Crowley's wings, well...not in their full feathered glory before.
"Wow, you really do keep yours more neatly then he does," he exclaimed, as if everything were normal, as if everything was all right and he was not standing outside the fallen one's door in the dead of night after having nearly been killed by demons and necessarily forsaken by Aziraphale.
"I mean... I'm sorry, Crowley...to disturb you. I...I need your help."
Looking over his shoulder, Wilson took Crowley's step back as an invitation and ducked into the dwelling.
"You. Need my help." he said flatly as he watched the man pass into his flat.
Chrome and black and white and red modern furnishings screamed of the demon's preference for the modern and the flash. He turned slowly and followed after James, slowly shrugging off the drowsy feeling he so enjoyed.
"You. Need my help? James, are you possessed or insane or some such? What's wrong with asking Aziraphale?" he asked, clearly confused and not quite yet up to taking full advantage of the situation.
Coming to a stand still in what looked to be quite the flash living room, Wilson tugged anxiously on the strap over his shoulder.
How to answer Crowley, without answering Crowley...without giving it away because Aziraphale had been adamant that his old friend not be drawn into the deception, that Crowley not be endangered by being asked to keep a secret that would put him behind the eight ball of Hell's Mercy forever.
"I... Crowley, don't... I can't answer your questions."
Biting his lip, he reached up and brushed his hands through his tousled hair.
"All I need is one of your feathers. One of your living feathers. Then I'll be off and you can get back to...whatever it is you like to do at whatever time of night it is."
Wilson tried a shaky little smile but he couldn't look Crowley in the face. Aziraphale would not be happy that Wilson had come to the fallen one in the first place. He'd understand why he just wouldn't like it.
He choked back a laugh as he padded through the flat and flopped down in a chair, his wings spreading wide behind him.
"James dear, that is more than help. A living feather? Are you mad? What makes you think you can just walk into my home in the middle of the night and ask me for part of myself without explanation...without..." he sneered, "...manners."
Wilson closed his eyes, mentally berating himself as he reached up to rub his hand across his face.
"I'm sorry. May I please have a feather?"
A hopeful look but he knew it wasn't going to cut it and so he walked toward a window, staring down at the shadows nervously.
"A demon is hunting me, actually his minions are doing the hunting but regardless, they can pinpoint me through Aziraphale's feather." He held up his hand, the ring flashing in the moonlight.
"I'm hoping that carrying your feather will...help neutralize this or at least confuse the issue enough to let me stay one step ahead of them."
"There, there. Was that so very difficult?" he purred smoothly. "Get away from the window, you dolt. Come take the feather I freely give."
He pulled his wing around and examined it, trying to decide which one he could pluck without disturbing the symmetry of the feathers.
Wilson actually smiled at being termed dolt. It held a certain sort of comfort, of normalcy in a night of horror and for a brief moment the young doctor felt as if he might actually making it through this.
"Thank you, Crowley." He said softly, politely before he turned away from the window and walked over to where the fallen one lounged.
"Yes, yes...well, I promised him, what? Be kind to you or whatever. Set all sorts of terms, he did. I'd never hear the end of it if I told you no...or even made you beg."
He finally settled on one and plucked it with a snarl and offered it to James. "You look dreadful, man. You should rest a bit."
Wincing, not without sympathy, Wilson reached out to take the beautiful blue-black feather, touching the silky plumage gently before opening his leather jacket and sliding it carefully into the breast pocket.
"He'd thank you, if he could." Wilson said with conviction. "I'm sure I look quite lousy. I'll, settle when I can find a place that's safe for a few hours."
He knew that he wouldn't be safe for any extended period of time, already he was figuring that he'd have to move around, a lot but hopefully having Crowley's feather would buy him time, would allow him to at least catch a few hours of safe sleep before he moved again.
Without really thinking about it, perhaps because he was used to preening Phale or perhaps because Crowley was, at that moment, his only living tie back to his lover as he'd known him or even a bit of a two, Wilson reached out and very gently smoothed his fingers along the feathers around where the one had been plucked.
"Stay here if you li..." he began, but the warm Grace that he both owned and absorbed from the angel made him shiver and purr as James moved his fingers tenderly through the feathers. It took more than a moment for the demon to react in any other way, but when he did, he coughed and jerked back from the touch.
"...like," he finished.
Lowering his hand immediately in deference to Crowley's wishes, a look of sincere wistfulness entered the young doctor's eyes.
He wanted to stay. He actually wanted to stay close to Crowley, because he knew...that in his own way, Crowley was probably the only safety Wilson could find at this moment.
"You're probably the only being I'd be safe with, right now." Wilson verbalized the thought. He couldn't give Crowley much, not in light of the weight of the feather the fallen one had plucked for him, gifted him even but he could give what he was able, just as freely and by his own choice.
"But it wouldn't be safe for you. Not in the long run, Crowley and you're important, to him and to me."
"Now I know you're barking mad. Nothing can hurt me unless you're going to call down a deluge of Holy Water and Queen," he snorted.
"As you like, poppet. I'm going back to bed. Stay and watch some telly, or go and wave your magic feather. It makes..." he cleared his throat, lips twitching, "...no difference to me."
"Holy water...that would probably be good to have."
Leaning down, Wilson kissed Crowley's hair and then moved toward the door.
"You do have some of the best ideas Crowley." Wilson was being genuine. Crowley had just given him another idea toward an actual plan. "Now, hopefully HE'll forgive me for robbing a church of its baptismal bowl."
His eyes widened and his voice took on a sharp note of panic. "You're not bringing it back here. Full stop, end of the story. That's where I draw the line, dear boy."
Panic abated quickly, and he smirked, realizing the baptismal bowl wasn't meant for him. "Do what you need, pet. You're not alone in the world...call me if you need."
Wilson smiled at Crowley then gave the fallen one an understanding nod before he slipped on out the door.
He needed to go now or he was going to give in to the very mortal urge to stay where it was safe and dare he say, comfortable.
Late Monday night / Early Tuesday morning
It was a hell of a risk but Wilson was banking on the fact that Percuxanth was not yet aware that his minions had been decimated by Kadaj, Yazoo and Loz and as such was not setting new minions out on his tail.
So, Wilson slipped back to the Brownstone, washed...changed and packed himself a small duffle's worth of clothes, tucking the whole package into his medical kit. He'd stripped his wallet of all his cash and picked up a couple of small items he could pawn if he had to but left behind his wallet, taking only his ID.
He could be tracked by his credit cards.
"Thats not what they're going to be use though." Wilson spoke to himself, once again fingering the ring on his left hand.
Phale's ring. His lover's bond. The only warmth he had left from the angel and it had the potential to get him killed.
"Not potential...it will get me killed if I don..." Wilson's voice trailed off as he looked around the dark room.
Gently he stroked his thumb across the feathered etching on the gold and then he nodded.
"Should work...right. Okay." A plan, he had the start of a plan. Now, to get to the next step.
Forcing himself not to get maudlin as he moved through the silent and frighteningly cold Brownstone, Wilson headed back outside. It was time for the last stop to any of his friends and one he was reluctant to make, except, it was perhaps his only chance at survival.
He had to go to Crowley.
Luckily the Fallen one lived not too far from the Brownstone as Wilson realized he needed to leave the M3 behind.
"I hate public transportation." The young doctor muttered as he set his duffle on his shoulder and headed down the road.
Which is how he came to be standing outside Crowley's door, knocking lightly in the absolute dead of night.
Not one that often had guests, the demon was startled from his sleep by the sound. It couldn't be Phoebe, she'd knock with assurance and probably call his name. Jonathan would at least have the decency to be loud about it. Lee would have just come in.
This? This was just enough to get him up and barely enough to rouse him.
In the dead of night, he had little cares and opened the door in his black silk pajama bottoms, wings unfurled in their full, dark glory.
He stood in the threshold and blinked. He took note of the good doctor's dress and hair. Then he noticed the bag. He blinked again. Then with a great, catlike yawn, he stepped back.
"James, it's a Hell of a time to decide you like me better."
Wilson blinked. He'd never seen Crowley's wings, well...not in their full feathered glory before.
"Wow, you really do keep yours more neatly then he does," he exclaimed, as if everything were normal, as if everything was all right and he was not standing outside the fallen one's door in the dead of night after having nearly been killed by demons and necessarily forsaken by Aziraphale.
"I mean... I'm sorry, Crowley...to disturb you. I...I need your help."
Looking over his shoulder, Wilson took Crowley's step back as an invitation and ducked into the dwelling.
"You. Need my help." he said flatly as he watched the man pass into his flat.
Chrome and black and white and red modern furnishings screamed of the demon's preference for the modern and the flash. He turned slowly and followed after James, slowly shrugging off the drowsy feeling he so enjoyed.
"You. Need my help? James, are you possessed or insane or some such? What's wrong with asking Aziraphale?" he asked, clearly confused and not quite yet up to taking full advantage of the situation.
Coming to a stand still in what looked to be quite the flash living room, Wilson tugged anxiously on the strap over his shoulder.
How to answer Crowley, without answering Crowley...without giving it away because Aziraphale had been adamant that his old friend not be drawn into the deception, that Crowley not be endangered by being asked to keep a secret that would put him behind the eight ball of Hell's Mercy forever.
"I... Crowley, don't... I can't answer your questions."
Biting his lip, he reached up and brushed his hands through his tousled hair.
"All I need is one of your feathers. One of your living feathers. Then I'll be off and you can get back to...whatever it is you like to do at whatever time of night it is."
Wilson tried a shaky little smile but he couldn't look Crowley in the face. Aziraphale would not be happy that Wilson had come to the fallen one in the first place. He'd understand why he just wouldn't like it.
He choked back a laugh as he padded through the flat and flopped down in a chair, his wings spreading wide behind him.
"James dear, that is more than help. A living feather? Are you mad? What makes you think you can just walk into my home in the middle of the night and ask me for part of myself without explanation...without..." he sneered, "...manners."
Wilson closed his eyes, mentally berating himself as he reached up to rub his hand across his face.
"I'm sorry. May I please have a feather?"
A hopeful look but he knew it wasn't going to cut it and so he walked toward a window, staring down at the shadows nervously.
"A demon is hunting me, actually his minions are doing the hunting but regardless, they can pinpoint me through Aziraphale's feather." He held up his hand, the ring flashing in the moonlight.
"I'm hoping that carrying your feather will...help neutralize this or at least confuse the issue enough to let me stay one step ahead of them."
"There, there. Was that so very difficult?" he purred smoothly. "Get away from the window, you dolt. Come take the feather I freely give."
He pulled his wing around and examined it, trying to decide which one he could pluck without disturbing the symmetry of the feathers.
Wilson actually smiled at being termed dolt. It held a certain sort of comfort, of normalcy in a night of horror and for a brief moment the young doctor felt as if he might actually making it through this.
"Thank you, Crowley." He said softly, politely before he turned away from the window and walked over to where the fallen one lounged.
"Yes, yes...well, I promised him, what? Be kind to you or whatever. Set all sorts of terms, he did. I'd never hear the end of it if I told you no...or even made you beg."
He finally settled on one and plucked it with a snarl and offered it to James. "You look dreadful, man. You should rest a bit."
Wincing, not without sympathy, Wilson reached out to take the beautiful blue-black feather, touching the silky plumage gently before opening his leather jacket and sliding it carefully into the breast pocket.
"He'd thank you, if he could." Wilson said with conviction. "I'm sure I look quite lousy. I'll, settle when I can find a place that's safe for a few hours."
He knew that he wouldn't be safe for any extended period of time, already he was figuring that he'd have to move around, a lot but hopefully having Crowley's feather would buy him time, would allow him to at least catch a few hours of safe sleep before he moved again.
Without really thinking about it, perhaps because he was used to preening Phale or perhaps because Crowley was, at that moment, his only living tie back to his lover as he'd known him or even a bit of a two, Wilson reached out and very gently smoothed his fingers along the feathers around where the one had been plucked.
"Stay here if you li..." he began, but the warm Grace that he both owned and absorbed from the angel made him shiver and purr as James moved his fingers tenderly through the feathers. It took more than a moment for the demon to react in any other way, but when he did, he coughed and jerked back from the touch.
"...like," he finished.
Lowering his hand immediately in deference to Crowley's wishes, a look of sincere wistfulness entered the young doctor's eyes.
He wanted to stay. He actually wanted to stay close to Crowley, because he knew...that in his own way, Crowley was probably the only safety Wilson could find at this moment.
"You're probably the only being I'd be safe with, right now." Wilson verbalized the thought. He couldn't give Crowley much, not in light of the weight of the feather the fallen one had plucked for him, gifted him even but he could give what he was able, just as freely and by his own choice.
"But it wouldn't be safe for you. Not in the long run, Crowley and you're important, to him and to me."
"Now I know you're barking mad. Nothing can hurt me unless you're going to call down a deluge of Holy Water and Queen," he snorted.
"As you like, poppet. I'm going back to bed. Stay and watch some telly, or go and wave your magic feather. It makes..." he cleared his throat, lips twitching, "...no difference to me."
"Holy water...that would probably be good to have."
Leaning down, Wilson kissed Crowley's hair and then moved toward the door.
"You do have some of the best ideas Crowley." Wilson was being genuine. Crowley had just given him another idea toward an actual plan. "Now, hopefully HE'll forgive me for robbing a church of its baptismal bowl."
His eyes widened and his voice took on a sharp note of panic. "You're not bringing it back here. Full stop, end of the story. That's where I draw the line, dear boy."
Panic abated quickly, and he smirked, realizing the baptismal bowl wasn't meant for him. "Do what you need, pet. You're not alone in the world...call me if you need."
Wilson smiled at Crowley then gave the fallen one an understanding nod before he slipped on out the door.
He needed to go now or he was going to give in to the very mortal urge to stay where it was safe and dare he say, comfortable.