middleofsomewhere | The Mountain Top: Grasshopper 25

The Mountain Top: Grasshopper 25

After the strangeness of their second day on the island for some, with memories and conversations in a cave, the third day goes calmly.

At least until mid afternoon. As the day winds on into evening all of those who have been sharing memories with others will feel a pull.

A pull to climb the mountain in the north. It is a good feeling, that mountain is where you need to be. A sense of belonging, friendship, camaraderie. You don't need to be alone, just climb the mountain.

For those that climb they will find worn wooden benches spaced around the lip of the caldera in concentric circles, the centre set up like an amphitheatre. The Jema syrup spills from crevices around the edges, running down from the peak in well-worn grooves and channels.

The sun sets slowly on Jema’grethy, slowly sinking into the ocean over a period of a couple of hours. During that time pairs of Voidtreckers will feel drawn towards the syrup, to touch the surface.

When they do they will receive a memory and find themselves back in that cave once more. For those watching it is as if they are in a trance, lasting a few moments.

People feel moved at different times and so there are always people aware, sat around the mountain top. It might be that there are other friends they wish to speak to about what they see. It might be that they wish to sit silently and avoid everything, if only their friends will allow it.

But it is a place to be together nonetheless.

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Crowley hesitates to answer again, but this time it's not that he wasn't paying attention, just still trying to settle himself. He clears his throat, nodding in response.

"Yeah. Third time's a charm." he sighs. "Are you alright?"

He stares as Aziraphale tries to wipe syrup off of his hand, his expression confused for a moment, then he snaps his fingers, ridding the angel of the mess via miracle.

Rid of that infernal syrup, he blinks, flexing his fingers. "Thank you." He mutters, before pausing to take a deep, settling breath through his nose.

"Yes." He responds plainly. "But perhaps we should get back to the train." He suggests after another moment, in place of asking any question, or of offering any explanations. There's more to this than what they've seen, and he does not enjoy these casual invasions of his psyche.

Far be it from wanting to spend his days trapped on another island, but Crowley had really not been looking forward to loading into a cramped train again. Still, the angel seemed extremely uncomfortable, and Crowley would never put him in a position where his safety was a concern.

"Right, let's head back down then." he stands, pulling his robe righter around himself as if trying to keep the chill off. "Come on, angel..." he murmurs, offering his hand.

The cramped train isn't ideal, but perhaps leaving this place will make these mutual leaks of memories stop. Although the first one occurred on-board. But... What other options do they have?

Still not quite steady, he takes Crowley's hand and stands, but stops to take another look around. More people had woken up, but others continue to stare off at nothing. He's fairly sure several of them hadn't arrived by the time they did-- how long had it been? Had any time passed at all?

"Should we... Do something?"

"They'll snap out of it." he replies dismissively, tugging at the angel's arm to head down the train. The sun is hanging low in the sky, and despite their current predicament, it's actually quite lovely to look at.

"You know..." he muses, "We could always find a spot near the train and watch a final sunset before resigning to the void."

Aziraphale follows with no resistance, sparing one last glance at the people still sat in various states of consciousness. It really did seem, he would gather, that most folks did not have a pleasant experience this time around.

He's quiet for a moment, ruminating on the things he saw, stuck somewhere between back then, not that long ago, and now, and realizing just how long a decade, even how long a single year has been so far. But he looks up when Crowley speaks, pulled back to the present.

"The..." He looks off somewhere where he can see the horizon, then back to the demon. "Now?"

"Why not?" he asks, waiting until they're on a stable trail to slip his arm around the angel's back. Having just been reminded of the time he'd nearly lost him, Crowley feels an overwhelming urge to keep him close.

"Would you really rather go back inside that stuffy train?"

The angel hesitates. Truth be told, a stop that didn't involve some sort of mission had been something he'd welcomed beyond his initial nerves. And nothing actually tells him that they'll be safe from whatever's happening inside the train, as it began to happen before they even landed. If they're bound to suffer through whatever invasions of privacy as they well, at least they can probably enjoy a few more hours of fresh open air.

He takes a deep breath through his nose. "Oh, alright." He answers softly. "Suppose we might as well."

Crowley replies with a weak smile, his hand rubbing at the angel’s back. He didn’t really know how to address what was on his mind, and because of it was fairly quiet as they made it down the mountain. It wasn’t until they'd almost made it back to sea level that he'd spoken up again.

"Funny how the last time we were near a beach, we'd nearly died." he mutters, biting his lip.

"Er... there's a spot up here, with blankets." he points, not ready to let go if Aziraphale for anything.

Aziraphale barely paid attention to their path, hands fussing worriedly now that they're not holding onto anything, or submerged in strange naturally-occurring multicolored syrup.

He seems to only come to again when Crowley speaks, hesitating again to comment on the first part. Too many words and too many points try to break through first at once, and he doesn't manage to settle on any one of them before the demon's next suggestion, and he instead looks towards where he's pointing.

"That'll do." Looks secluded and private enough. It should do for a nice view.

Crowley leads Aziraphale forward once again, and as he sits down on a blanket in the sand, he motions for the angel to sit close to him so that he can wrap him in his arms again, maybe not let him go for the rest of their trip, when the train is ready to depart.

"Are you alright?" he asks, partly curious about what the angel might have been subjected to, but not wanting to pry. It's fairly clear that Crowley himself wants to talk, or at least wants the angel's comfort, but he doesn't want to be the first to jump into it.

Aziraphale follows, sits, and finds himself quite thankful for the grounding feeling of the demon's arms around him. He scoots close, leaning against his side, no hesitation or pause for consideration for once. Not so much as of later, and specially not right now.

"Yes." Eyes set on the horizon, and the endless waters. Such an odd color for the sky and the ocean. He can't tell if he finds it beautiful or dull. "Are you?"

Crowley takes it a step further, scooting behind Aziraphale a bit, his legs straddling either side. His arms wrap around the angel's waist, and Crowley supports his back, his chin resting on his shoulder so that he can nuzzle the angel's face. When he meant close, he meant close.

"Am now." he murmurs, giving him a loving little squeeze. For a moment he's silent, and then he sighs, giving into the tension, addressing it head-on.

"I was back in the bookshop. When it was burning..." he sighs, "I was so scared then, angel. When I couldn't find you, you know? I just felt so very alone."

As much as Crowley seems to still hold some serpentine habits from time to time, and as so much closer as they have become in the last few months, Aziraphale is still surprised when he has absolutely no qualms in simply wrapping himself around the angel, specially in a spot that, while fairly secluded, is not by any means fully private.

He can feel his face turn a bit red, but his look turns concerned when the demon begins explaining what he's seen. For just a second, the angel isn't even sure what he's talking about, but he connects the dots fairly easily.

He's unsure of how to respond at first, turning his head slightly toward the demon, one of his hands reaching over to rest on the arms wrapped around his middle.

"Is...that what you saw?"

Crowley isn't worried about other people looking. He's not exactly ashamed to be with Aziraphale, far from it, if anything he's proud to have such a handsome angel on his arm, but in normal cases he does prefer not to come off as too soft. This isn't one of those times. This is a demon needing his comfort angel, needing to make sure he's really there beside him, not going anywhere.

Crowley nods, "Yes, that and the other person's memory." he mutters, his face pressing into the angel's neck as if he could hide there. "Just reminded me, you know, of all the times I nearly lost you."

Of course, he's a tad bit curious about who happened to see such a moment in Crowley's life - a terrible, low moment, it very clearly seems - when Aziraphale himself wasn't there to see it. Not that he would like to his bookshop burn, and even less that he would want to see Crowley in the state he's hinting at having been. It would have been too much.

The angel is suddenly very concerned, a million more questions popping up in his head, and the urge to turn around and look at him, to do all the things a fussy concerned loved would is probably expected to do. But he feels Crowley hiding against him. He feels the tight grip of his arms, and the vulnerability and hurt emanating from him could well break the angel's heart.

So he sits still, and silent. Lets the moment settle, reaching his hand up to gently touch Crowley's hair, his other hand rubbing at his arms.

"Well." He attempts, quietly, leaning his head gently against the demon's. "You haven't lost me, my dear. I'm right here."

The demon takes a deep breath against him as he hears those words, as he feels Aziraphale's reassuring touch he melts just a little, but he still can't help but hold him tight and keep his face buried against him.

Right before he'd happened upon the fire he'd had a run in with Hastur, another demon with a nasty habit of setting fires, he had done so to the birthing hospital after all, it wasn't a huge jump for Crowley to assume he'd been to blame for Aziraphale's disappearance. But even worse was that the last they'd spoke, he and Aziraphale had a huge disagreement, and Crowley was worried those were the last words he would have ever had with the angel.

Beyond all of that, since their departure from Earth the angel's life had been risked plenty of times. Crowley could only take so much more. He'd give his own life before watching Aziraphale succumb to another near-death experience again, that much he knew for sure.

Last they spoke, before the fire, the angel barely held it together enough to grant him some sort of forgiveness, not long after the moment he got to watch just a few...minutes? Hours?- ago. The kind of foolish and naive thought that he could change things. That he could change minds. He hoped, he had to believe he was doing the right thing. He had to believe that the things he was sacrificing would lead to something. He had to believe everything would turn out alright.

It did, but not quite by their hand. Not the bigger parts of it, at least, and they're lucky to even be around to tell the tale, even if their lives have been in disarray since then. He certainly does count himself lucky, even with all the near misses. Even with the struggles and the fear. You spend enough time never even thinking something is for you, and the shock and surprise of new open doors will certainly last for more than a breath.

He doesn't say anything for a minute. Keeps his eyes on the sky, watching it turn purple, letting the sounds of the waves blanket them comfortably.

"I saw..." He eventually breaks the silence, but barely. He hesitates. "Us. On that same day. Earlier."

Of course- Aziraphale had seen things to, and if the theme of the memories were tragic ones, Crowley was curious what he might have seen. His head tilts up to look at Aziraphale from his shoulder. He thinks he knows what the angel might be referring to, but doesn't want to assume.

"What do you mean?" he asks, voice cracking slightly, thinking about that day in particular, about how many times the angel had outright rejected him. Aziraphale had always said no the first time to things, that was normal, but that day he put his foot down, and Crowley really felt it. Like a shot to the heart, even. He had made a choice in that moment, and that choice wasn't Crowley. The demon didn't want to be reminded of it, but it was hard not to spiral down that train of thought.

He hears the way Crowley's voice cracks, and he almost loses his metaphorical legs from under him. Perhaps they could talk about what he saw some other day. They could just sit here and enjoy the view, and then retire to the train, grab a drink, maybe settle down to watch a film to get their mind off of things. Forget it for now.

But maybe that's just his own urge to avoid things.

He takes another deep breath and sighs. "It, hum." He doesn't want to talk about it, but he knows he should. "When we met at the park. On the bandstand."

Crowley finds himself nuzzling in again, wanting to comfort Aziraphale just as much as he had a need to be comforted.

"I'm sorry, angel." he mutters, though it's as equally a bad memory for him, it pains him that the angel had to experience it again. If Crowley had his way, Aziraphale would never suffer, not for a second.

He's silent for a moment, and then scoffs, a sad laugh falling from his lips. "Guess we've gone off together after all."

There's a faint huff that could have been a chuckle, but as it stands it holds a mix of fondness, amusement, and some level regret and sorrow. A very complex and versatile sound, it is, like many intricate methods of human communication.

"I suppose we have." He says with a faint smile, thumb brushing at Crowley's arm still.

Another pause, more silence. There might be several more before they're done, he thinks.

"Would you have really gone?" He asks, suddenly but softly. "If I said yes. Would we have left it all behind?"

The little brush of Aziraphale's thumb is such a simple touch, but it bring the demon a great deal of comfort. He takes a deep breath, and then very confidently answers.

"Without hesitation." he replies, "You're all I ever needed."

He knows, now, that they probably would have been fine. Part him knew then, too, in some way. But he does still miss Earth. It's hard not to miss the place that gave him so much. The beauty that he knows they both saw. He knows, now, that all he needs is Crowley with him. But would they have truly been happy, just off together in the stars?

"I shouldn't have said we weren't friends." The words come out, like most anticipated and dreaded things do, all at once, for a pause would make it impossible. He isn't smiling anymore. His thumb keeps brushing over Crowley's arm. "I should have..." As he searches for the words, he settles in a faint shake of the head and fainter shrug of his shoulders. " Listened. Maybe things would have turned out fine, no matter where we were."

"Aziraphale..." he breathes, his face still buried against his neck, breathing in his cologne and hugging him tight. The angel had never apologized for that day, but Crowley never felt that he'd really deserved one. It was easy for him to work past it, because that's what the demon was used to, and what he'd always had to do.

"We can't know what would have happened." he mutters, trying to think of a way to tell him, yes, he'd hurt him, but Crowley loved him through it, that he loves him today, and that's what really matters, but he feels afraid to admit those things, at least the first part.

The Mountain Top: Grasshopper 25

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