Sleep No More [closed]

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale's personal spaces are beginning to get a bit crowded. It isn't that he requires privacy wherever he goes. If that were so he wouldn't have put his shop right next to Sunshine's bakery. Spike is a wonderfully effective and low-maintenance employee, and Sunshine is a friend who brings treats when she visits. Crowley's occasional (increasingly occasional) stays in the back room are an assumption. And he certainly doesn't mind having Melanie in his flat - that's quite nice. Nicer than he thought it would be.

So really it's just Illyria. Suffering the God-King of the Primordium, squatting as they are, both in his shop and in another person's body, is really a bit much to ask, he thinks. All the rest would be fine. If it weren't for this one nuisance.

Well, at least she doesn't make too much trouble. And she seems content to mind her business and sit motionless for long periods of time.

Actually, that last part is a little creepy. And right now, as he's trying to read the lovely 1893 copy of the Sanskritized Hindi translation of Macbeth he had the good fortune to come across, it's distracting.

He lowers the small volume and looks at the God-King. "Illyria," he says, "do you ever sleep?"

Comments

[bibliophale]

The whimper makes him tense up, but still he resists breaking in on her.

"Melanie, please," he says softly. "It's all right. I'm all right. It was just a dream."

He feels a pang of anxiety at that admission - he had a dream, a personal dream, a nightmare. And she had to get dragged into it. He's not sure if it was a random coincidence or if the Rift has done this by design, but there's no time to wonder about it now.

"Tell me what's wrong," he begs her. "Let me help you."

[all_the_gifts]

Oh, no.

She hadn't forgotten the nightmare - how could she? - but she hadn't realized it was his. He saw her. He saw what she did. He saw what she is. She's explained it to him, but that's not the same as him really knowing what a hungry child is capable of. A couple weeks ago, she would have called it a good thing - better for him to know just what he's dealing with - but now, the knowledge that he's seen what she's like when she lets the hunger out makes her curl in on herself.

"I…" she's coming down, shuddering as she tries to suppress the part of her that wants to find something warm and living and tear it to pieces. It's hard to speak, to make her jaw do human things. "Not safe," she manages to gasp out. "Yet." Ever.

[bibliophale]

Oh. Oh.

"You're still hungry," he breathes in realization, how could he not have considered- "Do you want - do you want to eat? I can give you something, I can send it in there, with you... if you want."

He feels so terrible, not having realized that this would happen, and that she would react this way, and that it would be so hard for her. He wants to open the door and put his arms around her, wants that so much it's alarming. Such an utterly foreign feeling, and so painful going unfulfilled. He can't do it now because it won't help. She thinks she isn't safe.

[all_the_gifts]

Yes.

"No!" she yelps. She doesn't know if it will help or make things worse, and she doesn't want to give the hunger what it wants, not even a little. Better to force it back into its box, bit by bit.

And it's working, slowly. Her jaw still aches, but it's no longer snapping at nothing. She swallows down the thick saliva that had built up in her mouth - no choice there, she's not spitting a contaminant down the sink - and focuses on the shower curtain, tracing the striped pattern up and down, up and down. Her breathing slows, and her legs stop twitching. She shivers once, a full-body gesture, and it's like the click of a proverbial latch.

The box is shut. She's Melanie again.

She rubs her hands over her face, which is free of blood. Of course it is, it was only a dream. Don't think about it. She gets to her feet, then eyes the door reluctantly. She's so afraid to face him. What must he think of her? If she stays in here, she won't have to find out right away. She can imagine that everything is fine, and he won't look at her the way Parks did, like she's a--a frigging abortion.

She can't hide in here forever.

Melanie reaches for the doorknob, then slowly pulls the door open, peeking out apprehensively.

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale waits helplessly, lowering himself to his knees and resting his forehead against the door. He waits, listening to her breathe. He has no other choice.

Then he hears the doorknob turn, and he pulls back just slightly, looking up and meeting her eyes as she peeks out. He tries not to look too relieved. They're not out of the woods yet. He holds a hand out to her encouragingly, pleading with her to come out.

"Come here," he murmurs. "It's all right. I trust you."

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie glances from his face to his hand and back. He's not looking at her as if she's a monster. Remembering the other man in the dream, it occurs to her that the competition might be stiffer than she'd thought. He must be the one who gave Aziraphale those burns. The one he told her she'd never have to worry about. So much for that.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. She didn't land in his dream on purpose, but she knows she wasn't a welcome intrusion. After a moment's hesitation, she pulls the door open enough to edge out of the bathroom and into the faint, orange, ambient glow that is as close as the flat ever gets to 'dark.' "I didn't mean to." To see what she did, or to react the way she did. As she looks at the faded, near-vanished remains of those black burns across his face, she thinks with sudden fervor that she's not sorry at all, that she'd do it again if she had the chance. But that probably isn't what he'd like to hear.

[bibliophale]

She's apologizing? For what? He doesn't respond for a moment, just reaches out to her and pulls her gently but firmly forward, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he whispers. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I don't know what happened, I shouldn't have dreams like that, I..." He sighs heavily and lifts a hand to stroke her hair soothingly. "It's all right now. We're both all right."

He moves his hands back to her shoulders and inches back, looking her in the eye. "And it wasn't really him, it was just... my..." His... what? His imagination? He's pretty sure he isn't supposed to have that.

"He was just in my head," he finishes awkwardly. "He still doesn't... doesn't know about you. You're safe."

[all_the_gifts]

She's still half-expecting some sort of rejection, or at least a hesitation. He saw her sink her teeth into someone. Even if the man deserved it, even if it was just a dream, how can he reach for her and pull her close like she's a normal little girl? She can't even bring herself to return the gesture, too ashamed - and too clearly remembering how battered and broken he'd been in the nightmare. What if she hurts him?

No. She won't let herself.

When he pulls back a little, she meets his gaze, her expression drawn and solemn. If he's trying to comfort her, it's not working very well. "But he's real," she says. "He's the one who hurt you before." Lifting a hand, she brushes her fingertips over one of the fading burns (careful, controlled, not hurting, not hurting), a tight frown on her face. How safe can she be if her guardian is in danger? What is her safety even worth if something happens to Aziraphale?

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale's face falls at her visible concern. He hasn't comforted her at all. After a moment he lowers his head, looking down at the floor. He takes her hand in his, pulling it gently from his face, holding it and stroking his thumb over her skin.

"I..." How is he supposed to explain this to her? Even if she's not like any child he's ever met, she's still a child. He promised he'd protect her - how can he tell her the Devil is loose in this city and he can't stop it and still let her feel safe?

"I didn't want you to know about him," he admits, still avoiding eye contact. "He is very dangerous. If you were to truly meet him, you would not be able to hurt him or stop him. He would destroy you."

It's terrifying to even entertain the possibility. He doesn't want Lucifer to destroy anyone, but... but especially not Melanie.

He looks back up at her. "He has hurt me," he says, "but he... he won't do it again." He thinks. He's still not sure of the exact terms of the agreement Crowley made with him. Crowley, bless him (so to speak) is not the best negotiator even in the best of times.

And he really, really doesn't want to explain to Melanie that her other guardian, who he wants her to trust just as much as she trusts him (well, almost as much), is essentially the Devil's servant. He realizes he may have to, but for the moment he only offers her a weak smile.

"I should thank you for coming to my rescue," he says, and the moment he's said it regrets it. This is not the right moment for levity, and it's too horrible a thing to make light about anyway. He can just hear Crowley groaning at him: Well done, angel.

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie's frown twists into a grimace. She didn't rescue him from anything, and if he's telling her the truth, she couldn't rescue him even if that man (for lack of a better word) was actually here and hurting Aziraphale in reality. Which wouldn't stop her trying, and she feels an uncomfortable surge of resentment as the truth of the situation sinks in. There's someone here who has hurt Aziraphale, and might very well try to hurt him again (what's stopping him?), and there's nothing anyone can do. She's just supposed to accept it.

She's accepted worse. But this isn't fair. She made things work for Miss Justineau; why can't things be made to work for Aziraphale?

"How do you know he's not going to do it again?" she asks. "What's stopping him?"

[bibliophale]

There it is. He more or less walked into it.

He sighs, and as an afterthought turns on the lamp beside the bed, a warm little glow for them, more than just the ambient light coming through the windows.

"It's complicated," he says, which feels like a dodge, but it's also the truth. He rests back on his legs, kneeling a bit lower before her.

"That man is... well, he's not a man." Aziraphale draws a small, steadying breath. "He is the Devil. Not from my universe, but... that doesn't matter to him." He frowns tightly, remembering the horrific day Lucifer had arrived. There's no point in trying to hide details from her now, she's too smart and too inquisitive for that. "As soon as he knew of us, he... wanted to make Crowley his, and I couldn't let that happen, you see, I couldn't. I tried to fight him and it wasn't enough, and he... he made Crowley agree to go along with him. In exchange for my life."

He hates admitting this. He hasn't really talked about it extensively with anyone, and he suspects he needs to, but why does that person have to be Melanie?

"You mustn't think poorly of Crowley," he begs insists. "It was the only choice he could make. He was trapped into it. We'll... we're going to find a way out of it, but..."

His shoulders slump a little, feeling miserable and useless. What good is he, if he can't protect those he cares about?

"He may be the Devil but he keeps his word," he murmurs. "He won't come after me. It was only a bad dream."

[all_the_gifts]

Melanie furrows her brow as he slumps down before her. It's almost as if he's the one praying, but she's not sure how to answer him.

She's already accepted angels and demons; the Devil isn't such a big leap from there. Even the thought of the rift letting in someone so dangerous isn't difficult to believe. She's here, after all. She might not know much about the devil, but she guesses she could turn this island into a nightmare-scape about as quickly as he could.

The thought of Crowley being the Devil's servant is a bit harder to accept. Even if the Devil does keep his word (and would he, really?), their deal only covers Aziraphale's safety. What about everyone else on the island? And what about Crowley? If the Devil tells him to do something terrible, is he just going to do it?

From the looks of Aziraphale, he has the same questions she does, and no easy, comforting answers - for her or for himself. Maybe it's presumptuous of her to think she could comfort him, especially in the face of something as bad as this. But she leans forward and wraps her arms around him, anyway, because he's still hurting, and she can't just watch that and do nothing.

"It's going to be okay," she says firmly. "Maybe I can help. I'm good at remembering things, and you have so many books already. There must be a lot of information on the Devil that I could read."

[bibliophale]

He's grateful for the embrace, and her puts his arms back around her to hold on, but at her words of attempted comfort he only feels a stab of guilt. This is not her responsibility even in any small way, she should not know of it. There is nothing she can do, he knows, nothing she could read that would make any difference. He is silent for a moment, then he parts from her again, resting his hand against her cheek.

"The best thing you can do is stay safe," he says, though it feels bittersweet and unconvincing. This was a close call - what if Lucifer does meet Melanie in the dreaming?

He swallows and murmurs, "I wish there was something more you could do, but, my dear, I'm afraid that's all."

[all_the_gifts]

'Stay safe' isn't the most useful instruction, Melanie thinks. Knowing what the Devil looks like - and knowing to avoid him in dreams - is good information to have, but her safety in the waking world is entirely dependent on Aziraphale. If something happens to him, or to the magic keeping her in the flat, then what?

But it's worse than that, because her safety is dependent on Crowley, too. He could get in here as easily as Aziraphale could; she's already seen him do it. And he's scared enough of the Devil to let himself be commanded by him (something that Melanie finds difficult to imagine despite what she's already seen). Scared people do stupid things.

She knows Aziraphale won't like hearing it, but she has to ask. "What if Crowley tells the Devil about me? Or what if the Devil finds out about me some other way, and asks Crowley to fetch me?"

[bibliophale]

Aziraphale opens his mouth and closes it again. This, this is what he was afraid of, what he's always been afraid of when it comes to children, even really wonderfully intelligent and courteous ones, even the ones (the singular one, if we're being quite honest) that he's come to love. They ask questions. Really difficult unanswerable questions. It's like all humans, but worse, because children still expect answers. Most adults know better.

The question is awful because he doesn't know how to answer it, any answer might be a lie, and because it forces him to wonder as well, about that great hulking elephant in the corner that he's been so desperately trying to ignore. Crowley would never, he says to himself, he saw the way Crowley was with her the other day, when he'd been invisible, he knows Crowley cares about her even if he won't admit it to his silly demon self.

But Crowley's already been made to do things he would never have done under different circumstances. If it came down to it, if Lucifer learned about Melanie and forced Crowley to make some kind of grotesque choice - Melanie or Aziraphale - would he choose right?

Aziraphale swallows with difficulty. He must say something. The first question is easier, at least.

"Crowley would never tell Lucifer about you," he says. "He's much cleverer than that. He's very clever, really. He and I will find some way to get him out of this, this contract, you'll see."

He hasn't answered the second question, and he's smart enough to notice that.

"If..." He looks down for a moment, his hand still resting heavy on her shoulder. "I don't know what he would do," he admits finally, defeated. "I can only hope that he would resist. That this is where he'd draw the line."

He doesn't want to think about that. There's no way that would not end with Crowley dead, and he can't bear the thought of that.

"I have promised to protect you, and he... even if he doesn't show it, exactly, he does care about you, and... about me, what I want." There's an uncomfortable twist in his gut; saying this feels abhorrent, dissonant, unfair conjecture. Crowley doesn't care about things. That's not what demons do. There isn't really a word for what Crowley feels about Aziarphale, and Aziraphale doesn't want to think about it anyway, because then he'd have to think about what he feels for Crowley and it's all a big horrible mess. He tells himself, this is how he's phrasing it for Melanie. So she can understand.

"I have trusted him for many years," he says, which is... mostly true. "I have to keep trusting him, even now."

[all_the_gifts]

She knew he wouldn't like it, she knew it would upset him, and she wishes she could just go back to bed and pretend everything is all right. It should be all right, because she trusts Aziraphale and she knows he'll do everything he can to keep her safe.

But that's not enough. There is a gap in the armor, and she can't pretend it isn't there or that nothing should be done about it... or that Aziraphale throwing himself between her and the combined forces of the Devil and Crowley (even a reluctant Crowley) is an acceptable solution. If that even could solve the problem, they wouldn't be in such a mess in the first place.

She can't bear the thought of hurting Aziraphale with her questions and doubts. But she can't bear the thought of the whole city - the whole world - falling to the cordyceps because it was easier to just trust that everything would be okay than it was to have a hard conversation about how to make sure that it would be.

For a few moments, all she can do is stand there and look tormented, torn between the desire to spare her angel's feelings and her need to be realistic because this is bigger than just him. Twisting her hands together, she finally forces herself to admit, "I'm not sure that's enough," her tone soft but strained.

[bibliophale]

He stares at her for a moment, shocked. Not just that she's questioning his judgment - though that is startling, he'd grown accustomed to how much weight he carried with her just by being what he was, as has always seemed proper - but that she's right. His trust is enough for him, but not for Melanie, the danger she presents.

He doesn't know how to confront that. He doesn't want to.

"What would you have me do?" he says a bit desperately. "Keep him out? Turn my back on him? He's a prisoner, not a - whatever Lucifer thinks he is. He..."

He cuts himself off abruptly. This isn't helping. This mess isn't her fault, and she's right to want what he promised, absolute protection, against all threats, hypothetical or otherwise. As long as Crowley belongs to Lucifer, he's a danger to Melanie. Even in the abstract. No matter how much he does not want to accept it.

Miserably, he takes his hands from her, staring at the floor. He lifts one hand and makes a limp, half-hearted gesture. A pulse of energy moves through the walls, the floor, the ceiling, pools around the windows and the door. She won't be able to feel it, but he'll know it's there. And Crowley will know, if he tries to come here again.

"I've reinforced the wards," he says dully, "so they'll keep out Crowley in addition to Lucifer. I'll know if he tries to break through. You'll be safe here."

He can't look at her. He should. He knows she must feel terrible about this, that she doesn't want this so much as she needs it. But it feels too awful. He's never had to take a measure like this, not once in six thousand years.

"Will that do?" he asks softly.

[all_the_gifts]

When he lets go of her, she steps back until the corner of the doorway presses into her shoulder blade. He looks like he did in the nightmare, broken and defeated. She did this to him, her doubts and fears as efficient as the nightmare-Devil's evil intentions and horrible weapons. And now he won't even look at her, because she's a monster and not the little girl she appears to be, and now he knows it. Because hurting an angel is something only a monster could do.

She's crying again, but this time she swipes the tears away before they can get very far. She won't make him comfort her, not after what he's already done for her.

"Yes," she says quietly. What else can she say? She presses her lips together, then makes herself turn away and climb back into bed. The impulse to hide beneath the covers is strong, but she resists, because that would be a little girl thing to do and she can't hide from this, anyway. "I'm sorry," she says, hating the way her voice cracks and staring fixedly down at her own lap. "You don't have to stay." She's certain he doesn't want to.

[bibliophale]

"Melanie..." He looks back up and watches her as she gets back into bed. She's refusing to meet his eyes now. After a moment he gets up and approaches her, not sure if he should sit down beside her or give her space.

"It's not your fault," he says. "You're right, this is... it's what we have to do."

He's not sure what else he can say. He does want to get out of there, horribly, but it's not because of her, it's because of what he's done, been forced to do by the circumstances, not by Melanie.

He sighs and shifts his weight awkwardly. "It's all right," he murmurs. He pats his pockets until he finds his phone, hesitating before sending a frustrated series of texts to the only person he can talk to about this. Wretchedly enough. He waits until he gets a response before he looks back at Melanie.

"I will be back," he says firmly. He wavers for a moment, then leans down and gives her a little kiss on the top of her head. "Sleep well, my dear."

He turns and leaves through the door, then stands in the hallway for a long, dismal moment before vanishing.