(Untitled)

[un_fallen]

Morning sunlight creeps gently through a crack between the curtains, illuminating a table, a comfortable-looking chair, a soft rug on the floor. And somehow, it manages to seek out the one position in the room where it can sweetly illuminate a single, peacefully slumbering face

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[aj_crawley]

Somewhat embarrassingly, it'd been the rumbling of Crowley's stomach that had woken all three of them, sometime around midnight. He'd almost raised a groggy protest, when Aziraphael had slid out from the under the blankets and insisted on going to quickly fetch something to eat, but -

Well. He really is starving.

Conversationally, to Raguel:

"You know."

Pause.

Oh yeah.

"'F I wasn't still sssemi-delirious, this'd prob'ly be pretty awkward."

[un_fallen]

Raguel's looking at Crowley like he's some kind of dangerous animal poised to strike, and trying his best to appear that he's not doing any such thing.

"You know, after that thing with the wings, I'm kind of used to it," he says, with just a touch of despair.

[aj_crawley]

"Oh well," Crowley says, philosophically.

His eyes slip closed again, dozing for a moment or two. Then:

"Thankss, though."

[un_fallen]

Raguel pulls the blanket up higher on himself, folding his arms around it and looking contemplatively at the ceiling.

"Yeah. You're welcome."

[a_fell]

If it's perhaps a slightly awkward silence, it's not enough so that Aziraphael notices as he reappears, tray in hand, three soup mugs steaming faintly. He pulls the door shut behind him carefully - hasn't had a moment to do anything about the door handle, just yet - and carefully sits on the side of the bed.

"You know, midnight feasts always remind me of Adam, and those ridiculous Boys' Own Adventure books of his."

[aj_crawley]

The noise Crowley makes, as he opens his eyes and catches sight of the steaming mugs on the bedside table, is almost pornographic.

[un_fallen]

"Adam has Boys' Own Adventure books?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

He sits up and makes a semi-effective attempt to prop Crowley up from behind.

[aj_crawley]

They get there in the end, Crowley not being quite so weak as earlier, and he holds his hands out eagerly for the soup.

They do tremor, a little.

But already, it's better.

[a_fell]

Aziraphael hands out the mugs of soup, pulling off his shoes and swinging his legs back up onto the bed. He eases himself into a position where Crowley could lean on him. You know, should he want to. If he can help.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley does, hissing gently as he doesn't quite manage to hold the mug steady; he slops a little soup onto his hands before he manages to being the bottom to rest against his chest.

After a moment, he takes a sip, groaning gratefully as he swallows, the soup nearly hot enough to burn on its way down.

[un_fallen]

Raguel passes over a napkin from the tray to Aziraphael for the soup. He sips more carefully, eyeing them.

"Guess it's okay then," he comments, to no one in particular. "Despite my best efforts, obviously."

[a_fell]

"Oh, obviously."

Aziraphael certainly doesn't mention anything about marshmallows, under his breath, as he carefully mops up soup.

[aj_crawley]

Finally, when Crowley has begun to feel, for want of a better word, human again:

"What time is it?"

[un_fallen]

"Sometime after midnight, I'd guess. A day or... two since you've been out of it."

In a rare display of tact, Raguel avoids grilling him about where he's been. For the moment.

[aj_crawley]

" - Midnight on Sunday?"

Crowley's expression says, succinctly, Shit.

[a_fell]

"Yes, Sunday. Why?"

His tone of voice is more than a little suspicious.