Chapter Text
Having been doing his job for a very long time, Crowley had seen all kinds of people that the village and those nearby had to offer. Over the years he has learned that it is better for everyone if he makes a conscious effort, at least most of the time, not to get annoyed at his passengers. For some that effort was easier than others; the old women he sometimes ferried were actually very nice to talk and listen to. He could not say the same for everyone though, as there were just some villagers he couldn’t help but get annoyed by. They simply got under his skin, and often he would have to spend the entire trip biting his tongue to not make it any worse with an argument.
One such case that did not pop up as frequently as others was the pair of brothers that summoned him that morning as he was getting ready. The two are hunters named Cain and Abel, and because of their job they did not ride in the bentley very often. Crowley would only generally see the two when they wanted to hunt on the other side of the lake. They would often argue with each other as they traveled, shouting matches echoing over the water, but largely ignored the undine as that ferried them back and forth. Crowley almost thought the brothers didn’t know what to do with him, as they were extremely stilted and awkward whenever they did speak to him. He remarked to Anathema once that if they were like that the entire ride he would be saved many headaches, but would find himself to be eating those words.
Having received the summons just as he was about to leave to meet with Aziraphale, Crowley was already not looking forward to hearing the brothers’ bickering on his day off. But as he approached the dock with his hat tilted low on his head, a tense silence hung in the air that left him feeling uneasy as he secured the boat to the dock. As they boarded, the younger gave him a nod of acknowledgement as his brother only barked out their destination. Relieved when he realized that it was nearby to where he had already planned to head, he did not raise any objections about the treatment. They seemed to be making more of an effort than usual to not speak to him, and Crowley could already feel his fist beginning to tighten in annoyance in response to the exclusion.
The thing about the brothers that got under his skin was not any effort they made to include him in their conversations as they rode, but rather the pointed opposite. Whenever they would board his boat, whatever conversation they had been having freely before became filled with secrets and innuendo. It drove Crowley mad. If they were going to go through so much effort to exclude him from the conversation, why not just resume it at a later time? Talk about something else, or better yet, not talk at all. It would give him less of a headache, as their talking often escalated to shouting when the two disagreed.
He would not lie and say that the secrecy did not also bother him. Why were they so insistent on keeping things from him? No one else was so conscious about what Crowley heard of their words, because who was he going to tell? Some had even brought him their secrets knowingly, just so that they could get it off their chest without it getting into the wrong hands. What reason would the brothers have to think any differently? It made him worry that perhaps the subject of their conversation more often than not was him, and that was why they hid them.
What kind of secret could the mortals be keeping from him though, especially two that he saw maybe a few times a year? As much as Crowley wanted to ignore them and save himself the pain of paying attention to the brother’s arguments, that question had a grip on him. It made his curiosity peak every time he heard the coded language, and he found himself attempting the exact thing that they suspected him of doing already. His curiosity would likely get him into trouble sooner rather than later, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. It was hard for him to be resentful of the inclination for more than a moment when he remembered that, for all the grief it caused him, it was that same curiosity that had led him to befriending Aziraphale.
Weeks ago, the bull had shaken awake a dazed and slightly damp Crowley from their impromptu nap on the lake, the low light indicating that they had slept most of the day away. The two had sat up and made their way back to the docks, chuckling over their sloth and how loud the chirping of the frogs in the area was. But as he steered them back towards Taddesfield, memories of before he had fallen asleep slowly started returning to him. Crowley’s face burned as he realized how he had stared at the minotaur in his drunken state, even more so remembering how they had ended up napping together on the floor of the bentley. Though the silence was mostly comfortable, they had hardly spoken before parting ways for the night as the undine stewed in his embarrassment.
Their picnic plans was not the first time they had seen each other in the weeks since that day, but it was a near thing. They had seen each other in passing a few times as Crowley worked, but had only spent a decent amount of time alone together once at Aziraphale’s hut. The distance, while slightly annoying now that he had come to expect regular breaks from the monotony of his routine, was one that the undine appreciated. The scant time they had spent together since he had come to his realization about the nature of his feelings for Aziraphale had proven to be eye opening for him. It was as if now that Crowley had acknowledged his attraction to the minotaur, he could not escape noticing it.
It resulted in him leaving their brief encounters with a blush that he was glad the shade of his hat hid, despite how odd he must have seemed to act to his customers. During their time spent alone together the nymph had nearly choked on his own tongue multiple times as they ate together as usual. Crowley left that night more scared and confusedly aroused than he could remember being in his life. Despite his previous decision to not simply not tell Aziraphale about his feelings for him, he had found them on the tip of his tongue multiple times throughout the night. He could not risk that truth coming out, not when the end of the season was drawing near, and so too the time that all the minotaur will leave once again.
So while Crowley had not enjoyed the distance between these past weeks, he had not gone out of his way to fix it either. It was enough for the undine to see Aziraphale happy only in glimpses if it kept him safe from his curse. As strong as his resolve was, Crowley could not deny the bull a direct request. He found himself helpless to do anything but accept when Aziraphale stopped him on a drop off days before and asked if he would like to share a meal once again. While the nymph was nervous about what would happen on their picnic, he could admit the anticipation made the boat ride with the brothers more tolerable if only for the anticipation for what was coming after.
The boat rocked suddenly as the elder brother stood and pointed towards the shore, leaving no room to protest the movement as he firmly said, “Drop us off there.”
The almost-order had Crowley tightening his grip on his oar, but bit his lip instead of biting back at the mortal. It was not worth it, not when he would soon be rid of them and he did not have that long to travel before he reached the spot he had agreed to meet Aziraphale. From there he would lead him to a spot the minotaur had expressed once would be the perfect spot for a picnic, before Crowley had cut in with an unexpected offer for them to do just that. His thoughts on how soon he would be seeing his friend passified him enough that he did not complain as he pulled up closer to shore where Cain had pointed. His uncharacteristically passive acceptance of the harsh treatment caught the brother’s attention apparently, as before the two of them would leave the boat the mortal questioned him.
“What has you so happy? Or should I be saying who?” Cain asked, looking down very pointedly at the large blanket that was folded on the floor of the boat underneath one of the seats.
Crowley was caught off guard by the harshness of the mortal’s tone, disapproval very obvious in the sneer of his words. It was as if the older man did not believe he should be meeting with anyone, and to do so was to put the village at danger. The attitude was confusing and a little insulting to the undine, when he had spent most of his life so far keeping the village safe. Did he know so little of Crowley that he believed the nymph would simply run off with the first stranger he met and leave the village at risk?
Frame stiffening in indignation, he whipped around to snap at Cain only to be beaten to the punch by his younger brother. Abel surprised him by scolding the other mortal, rather than agreeing with his opinion, "Don’t act as if he has the chance to meet just anyone, alone as he is on this lake. Whoever it is can’t be from anywhere other than the village or the city, stop jumping down his throat about it.”
Crowley kept quiet as the two brothers glared at each other, the tension between them from earlier rising just the slightest. As much as the blunt wording of his situation stung slightly with how plainly Abel had stated it, he had done so in an attempt to defend the undine. It was not like he could tell the mortal he was wrong either, as Crowley doubted that hearing he was actually going to meet a minotaur would help the situation at all. Something told him the man that he remembered Anathema mentioning wanted to isolate the village even more in fear of the nearby herd would not take too kindly to the revelation.
The heightened tension was thick between the brothers as he brought the bentley to a gentle stop as close as he could to the shore where Cain had pointed. He watched in silence as they gathered their equipment and stepped out into the shallow water to make the rest of the way up the bank. Upon reaching the edge of the woods, the elder strode in without any word of thanks to Crowely for transporting them. Abel was the only one to spare a glance back at him with the beginnings of a grateful smile before he followed his brother and disappeared into the forest. The nymph found himself watching the place they vanished as he shoved off to continue his way down the lake, an uneasy feeling nagging at him even as he tried to put the brothers out of his mind.
The spot where Crowley was meant to meet Aziraphale was not too far, a small beach where he would be able to pull the bentley onto shore as they were away. As this was a spot without a dock, that was the best way for him to ensure that it was not stolen, and he was able to drag the large wooden boat onto land fairly easily once the bull showed up to help him. Having recognized the other’s footsteps as he approached, Crowley had to remind himself not to seem too eager to see his friend. So he had not stopped his attempt to move the boat right away when greeting him, only doing so when Aziraphale then stepped in and offered to do the task for him.
Any lingering worry for the brothers drained away at the sight of the bull lovingly picking up the bentley and gently setting it on the grass next to a tree. He was left almost breathless by the ease with which Aziraphale did it, hardly straining as he lifted the solid wood over one large shoulder. It took effort for Crowley to drag his eyes and thoughts away from his friend’s form, but thoughts of his curse ensured that he did not indulge for too long. The mortal’s misaimed jab at his priorities had only served to remind him of it yet again.
Suppose he had grown up not knowing of his curse, but still trapped in his duties on the lake, and in his loneliness he very well might have done what Cain was suggesting. Fallen for the first person to flash him a smile and some pretty words; give away his heart to someone who would have forgotten it the next day and doomed him with their fleeting attention. If you were to look at it a certain way he had, it was only that Aziraphale was the first person Crowley had allowed close enough to give him that smile and pretty words. But the bull was not going to take advantage of him in that way, or he would have taken one of many opportunities he had to do so over the course of their friendship. The knowledge that he did not have to worry about unexpected advances from the minotaur warmed him just as much as it secretly frustrated him.
Distracted as he was by first moving the bentley and then Aziraphale himself, Crowley did not notice how troubled his friend was. It was not until he turned to give him a smile that did not quite mask the unease that was written all over how he moved. He could see how the bull was nervously fiddling with his hands and his tail swayed behind him restlessly, and Crowley found himself wondering when he came to be able to read the other so easily. He tensed as Aziraphale’s eyes briefly scanned the forest around them, and any lingering feelings were quickly shelved by the realization that whatever he was nervous about, it was probably nearby.
"Hello, Crowley.” The nymph frowned further at the tone of his voice, taking a step forwards towards him as he gave him an apologetic look, “I apologize, but it appears there may need to be a change of plans regarding our picnic for today. A member of the herd is in the area and I am uncertain for what purpose, so we may have to relocate back to my home.”
Having anticipated the change once he saw how uneasy the bull was, Crowley was only slightly disappointed. More so he was suddenly tense and alert at the news that another minotaur was somewhere in the forest, and they did not know why. This was far closer to the village than they normally went, could there have been something to Cain’s odd paranoia after all? Crowley did not want to stick around and risk finding out, quickly getting to work covering the bentley so they could begin making their way to the hut. He left his hat in the boat as they covered it with broken off tree limbs, the large brim not the best suited for travel through the thick of the forest.
Aziraphale led him into the uncertainty of the forest, the undine trusting him to know what way they needed to be going. All the trees still looked the same to Crowley, a sea of gnarled trunks and grasping branches that created a labyrinth he needed the bull’s help in order to navigate; the irony of the comparison not lost on him. Walking through the deceptively quiet forest, he paid close attention to both the bull and the world around them for any sign of immediate danger. Aziraphale kept his eyes trained in all directions as they made their way slowly in the direction of his home.
His large ears flicked towards each noise that came from the woods around them, be it birds chirping or a twig breaking underfoot of some small animal. Most of the noises were silent to Crowley’s ears, so he trusted the bull’s word when he raised one large hand to halt their slow progress. His eyes were narrowed at the area off to their left, scanning for signs of trouble even as he turned to face the nymph behind him. Keeping his eyes trained in that direction, he leaned closer and kept his voice fairly quiet, as if scared they were going to be overheard.
“We are not too far from the clearing where I had planned for us to eat, and my hut is just past that in the same direction.” The directions were given in a quiet, purposefully steady voice that made Crowley tense even as Aziraphale squeezed his arm in encouragement. “Now that we are closer I can recognize who it is, and I believe I can get him to leave. I will meet you at the clearing, it will be safer for us both if he does not see you with me.”
As much as he wanted to argue with the bull, Crowley knew that he would not be sending him into the forest alone unless he needed to. He also knew that the less he touched Aziraphale the less the bull would smell like him by the time he had found the other minotaur. So he nodded silently in response, and began walking in the direction that he had been pointed in. Before he could get too far away, Crowley’s steps hesitated, and he turned back to look at where he had not heard the other begin to move yet.
Aziraphale was watching him with a worried and yet incredibly fond expression, one he did not try to hide as it was discovered. Instead when Crowley looked back his smile seemed to become even warmer, and the undine could feel the warmth reflected in his face even as worry once again swirled suddenly in his gut. The minotaur gave him one more firm nod before seeming to gather himself up to stare determinedly into the forest. Aziraphale set off in a direction not quite parallel to Crowley's path, eyes once again scanning around him, and vanished into the growth.
Now completely alone in the forest, the undine began slowly in the direction of the clearing that he had been told about. Often when Crowley made his way from one destination to the next on the lake, he took shortcuts. His shortcuts were winding, wandering paths of his choosing, that seemed to take forever and yet you always arrived earlier than you thought you would. Crowley’s path now was not like those shortcuts at all, as he took one step at a time towards what he hoped would be the clearing Aziraphale had picked for their picnic. To distract himself as he walked, he tried to imagine what this picnic would look like, but was having trouble with the clearing itself.
He had not been listening very well as the bull had explained what it was about this place that made it the perfect spot for a picnic. Something about how soft the grass was, the amount of shade from the sun or coverage from the wind it had. Crowley had been far more interested in how a nervous flush had colored the tips of Aziraphale’s pale ears as he had rambled his way into working up the courage to ask. It had been so cute he had only mildly teased him for the ramble, but had also not retained any information from within it. So he tucked the incomplete picture away in his mind and continued in his steady pace forward, until faint noises from up ahead caused him to slow down and hesitate.
Crowley stopped completely as the noise of something making its way quickly towards him became obvious, twigs snapping and branches being pushed out of the way. The undine could almost believe it was an animal for a moment, until from the brush stumbled a frantic Cain who collided with the undine. He had barely enough time to realize with dread that he had left his hat back at the boat before the mortal was looking up at him with dazed, searching eyes. The first time the man had seen him bare faced, Cain did not recognize who he was at first. He scanned Crowley blindly, trying to figure out who had come to his rescue, before his gaze caught and held on his face.
Some sort of recognition sparked at the sight of the red hair plastered in front of the undine’s dark eyes, but it was not recognition for who the features belonged to. Cain’s grip tightened on his arms as his face twisted in a sudden awe and confusion, letting out a soft, questioning mumble of a name.
“Mom?”
Hearing it caused Crowley to freeze in his grasp, shock and confusion warring from the reveal of who Cain had mistaken him for. The moment of stillness causes the man to realize said mistake; his face filling briefly with the same sort of confusion and he wrenches himself suddenly away from the undine. He glares at Crowley with an odd furrow in his brow even as his eyes slowly take in the face he had not been allowed to see before. Cain seemed to want to say something, his mouth opening briefly before closing, until a loud bellow shook the forest around them. Hearing it caused the mortal to jerk his head behind him in the direction the noise had originated from, before he devolved back to the frantic state he had been with upon running into Crowley.
Wrapping one arm around himself and placing the other over his mouth, Cain bent over slightly and began to mutter to himself while still staring in the direction of the roar. He was trembling slightly, and as much as Crowley did not like to get too close to people he also did not like to leave someone panicking by themselves. Upon moving closer to the older man he became even more concerned when he heard what it was that the mortal was muttering.
“It’s all my fault… Abel’s probably dead… oh gods what have I done…”
“Your brother is being attacked by that thing?” Crowley interrupted sharply, causing Cain to look up at him with eyes wide and tearing with fear and regret.
“We were arguing, I was yelling and angry and I just shoved him,” the hand previously over his mouth went up to fist itself in his own hair in a show of distress. “Then suddenly the minotaur just showed up! Jumped up from out of the bushes! I didn’t even think about Abel, I just, just started running.”
Cain sank to his knees, the tears overwhelming him at the tail end of his explanation and leaving him to weep for his brother on the forest floor. Crowley was not as quick to give up however, now that he knew the minotaur was after Abel. The undine took off in the direction of the attack, too determined to get to the mortal and protect him like he was supposed to do. It was his job to protect the villagers from exactly this, and the younger of the brothers was the one of the two he actually liked.
As Crowley clawed his way through the forest, his thoughts were so caught on how his job was to protect the villagers, that he did not know what to do when presented with the fact he had already failed. Breaking the treeline on the clearing that could only have been the one Aziraphale had been so excited to show him, the nymph came face-to-face with the sight of a dying Abel. The mortal lay on his back on the grass, head having tilted to the side to face where Crowley broke the treeline as a minotaur much larger than Aziraphale stood crouched over him with dark stained clothes.
He could not see the exact extent of the damage, but darkness was staining a growing area around Abel’s body as he tried not to pay too much attention to what the beast was doing at his abdomen. The clearing was not a very big one, and Crowley was close enough that his entrance was noticed by both predator and dying prey. As alarming as the sudden stillness of the minotaur was, it was Abel that held his attention as hazy eyes found him. What little life was left in him seemed to recognize the undine, as he attempted to give him a smile. Crowley tried to smile back, but he could not force his mouth to move before his attention was wrenched away by the minotaur above him.
It was staring at him from across the clearing, nostrils flaring as it tried to smell him, and the nymph was suddenly awash in a cold fear. He could see the moment it smelled him when it gave a shiver all over, the bull seeming to swell bigger as it breathed in deeply. It took one step towards him, and when Crowley took an instinctive step back in response he could see in the way it bristled immediately that that was the wrong thing to do. Bloodshot eyes never leaving him, the minotaur dug its heels into the dirt. His heart seemed to kickstart in his chest as he realized it meant to charge him like it had likely done to Abel, and he staggered backwards, hitting his shoulder against a tree he hadn’t realized was right behind him.
The bull dung into the ground once, twice, Crowley’s nerves jumping each time, before the third turned into a lunge across the field in his direction. Despite every muscle in his body being tensed and ready to run, he finds himself frozen as he stares down the minotaur charging him. Grass flinging as it ripped through the ground to get to him, getting as close as five meters to the nymph before a mess of pale fur slammed into it from the side. Crowley’s breath caught in a mix of surprise, relief and fear as he watched the two masses of fur and muscle roll to a stop, landing with twin grunts.
It was not a shock when Aziraphale was the one to land atop the other minotaur, taking his arms behind his back and pinning its legs down with his own. He leveraged its arms so that any struggling only served to dig small gashes in the ground, taking advantage of the small reprieve to glance around the field. He sees the bloody body of Abel first, and Crowley can see the brief moment of panic before his eyes find the undine and he almost sags in his relief. The minotaur under him jerks at the moment of distraction, and Aziraphale has to tighten his grip with a harsh grunt before he could properly address the undine where he still sat immobile with shock.
“Crowley!” His shout seemed to release something in the nymph, allowing him to move enough to jerk his head in acknowledgement that he was listening. “To my hut!”
Aziraphale jerked his head to the side to gesture behind him with his own horns, the direction that the other minotaur had likely come from based on the small dent left behind in the foliage. Crowley realized with not a small amount of dread that he would have to run past the incapacitated raging bull in order to get to the gap, but he trusted that Aziraphale could hold it. He seemed sure enough of it, by the determined nod he gave the undine as he tightened his grip on the hold. Rocking forward until his feet were forced to move to prevent him from falling, Crowley pushed himself into a run across the small clearing.
He got much closer to the grappling pair than he would have liked, feeling his heartbeat through his entire body as he felt eyes following him as he passed. A frustrated snarl followed by a startled yelp caused Crowley to nearly stumble as he made it through the treeline. Renewed sounds of a struggle started up behind him, but the nymph could not afford to waste time looking back to make sure his friend was okay.
Despite having made the trek to Aziraphale’s hut multiple times at this point, none of his surroundings looked familiar in the least as Crowley made his way frantically through the forest. He was normally not alone on the walk there, and much preferred paying attention to whatever his friend chose to ramble on about that day. Because of that he was practically running blind in the direction that Aziraphale had pointed him in, tripping over errant roots and wincing as his knees were hit by branches. Though it seemed to be fading as he got farther away, Crowley could still hear the commotion of the ongoing fight behind him, fueling his frantic push forwards.
The sounds of the two colliding were horrifying. The enraged roaring of the minotaurs seemed to shake the ground as much as it shook his body, until Crowley realized he was shaking from more than just terror. His lungs burned with each breath, and his feet and toes hurt from where he'd been digging them into the dirt as he ran. The undine’s own labored breathing soon became the only sound he could hear, and the uncertainty over the fight only made him run faster. He couldn’t tell if they were following him anymore, or if Aziraphale was still putting up a fight at all. Still he kept running, pushing through any ache he felt to make it to that safety, knowing he would not be safe until he had reached the bull’s home.
Crowley was not sure how long his run through the forest took, only that he nearly collapsed in relief when the small structure finally came into view. Wondering at the fact he had been much closer than he thought, the nymph was not quite out of the woods yet as pain flared in his legs. All the feeling in them that Crowley had been keeping out of his mind as he ran seemed to come back at once during that last stretch towards the door of the hut.
His knees trembled dangerously those last few steps and he slammed slightly against the door instead of trying to slow down, catching himself on the doorknob. Wrenching open the door with as much strength as he could muster, Crowley slipped inside as soon as there was enough space to do so. The undine hoped the door shut behind him as he wasted no time making his way to the back of the room towards the couches sat against the corner. He fell on his knees and into a crawl to hide himself under one of the small couches, wincing and holding back a curse when he landed much harder than he planned to.
Curled up and holding his breath, Crowley only just fit into the small space under the couch. With the door closed the noises from the outside were muffled, meaning he could not hear footsteps approaching until they were thundering right outside the door. Despite his lungs protesting the lack of a full breath and his ankle throbbing where it was tucked under him, Crowley held himself as still as possible as the door creaked open. It was impossible to think through the terror fogging his mind, and he cursed himself when he didn't recognize the muscular legs that were slowly revealed. Mud from the forest caked them, turning fur and clothing a matching brown and hiding any trace of the pale color he could use to identify friend from foe.
As the legs took one small step forward after another, Crowley tried to tuck himself further back into the corner under the couch. Keeping as quiet as he could while depriving himself of oxygen, the nymph’s dark eyes were wide as they watched the progress through the small home. He wanted to believe that it was Aziraphale that had entered, but the stillness that it moved with was one of a predator on the hunt. Cornered as he was in the back of the room, at that moment Crowley felt very much like prey. His rabbiting heart seemed to grow louder with every inch the legs crept closer to him, and he was surprised that it alone was not enough to give him away.
Mind racing to try to identify the minotaur, he realized with not a small amount of frustration that trying to identify the clothes underneath the mud would be useless. He had not paid any attention to how Aziraphale had been dressed before they had set off on their little adventure, especially not at the eye-level he was currently at. Crowley knew that despite no longer being a part of the herd, the bull continued to dress rather similarly to them if only in a much lighter shade. In the undine’s frazzled state he did not trust himself to be able to make the distinction.
One night as they sat tipsily together on the same couch he was hiding underneath, Aziraphale had quietly explained to him why his clothes were so much lighter than those of the herd. Wearing light colors signified you as non-violent to the other herds and tribes, worn most often by nomadic tribes that did not tend to interfere. Since the bull had left the herd, there had been a noticeable shift in hue as clothes of the other minotaur were slowly stained darker. He explained why the peaceful herds wore white by also explaining the process they used to stain their clothes. The darker the cloth the more blood on their hands.
Crowley held his breath for as long as he could bear it, but the lack of oxygen and frantic heartbeat quickly caused him to feel dangerously lightheaded. His resulting, desperate gulp of air was unfortunately audible, to the point it caused the legs tracking muddy steps through the hut to pause. He had alerted the intruder to exactly where he was hiding, and he felt a numbing fear as it slowly crouched down. Eyes practically dripping with bloodlust locked onto his curled form under the couch, and its nostrils flared as its mouth pulled into a savage grin.
Hysterically, Crowley found his eyes settling on the gap between the minotaur's teeth as it grinned at him, frozen in the face of this worst case scenario. Its body tensed, readying itself to lunge forward at him and secure the kill, before there was an enraged roar from outside. Aziraphale appeared in the doorway not long after, pale clothes and fur streaked in mud. Following the other inside, he was huffing angrily as he followed the outsider into his territory. Now it was personal, as evident by how he proceeded to grip his former herdmate by the back of his tunic and one short horn in order to better haul him outside.
With a yell of effort Aziraphale threw the larger minotaur out the door of the hut, Crowley watching breathlessly where he was forgotten in the back corner of the room. The undine stayed right where he was as they took the fight back outside, knowing there was nothing he could do to help even if he wanted. The sounds began to pick back up, and Crowley found himself curling further under the couch as it went on; wincing with each shout and thud. He worried about the state of his friend and hated the fact that he couldn’t see anything, but was too scared to actually go out and see the reality of what was happening. Stuck in that frame of mind, the fight seemed to go on for an eternity to the undine.
Crowley did not understand most of the taunting, snarled words that were being thrown around as the two fought, or even really who they had come from. The insults were in the minotaurs’ native language, guttural snarls framing the foreign words as they clashed back and forth like the ones using it. If he listened very close he might have been able to pick out which noises belonged to Aziraphale, but an enraged roar nearly identical to the one he heard earlier had him ducking and covering his ears. Crowley flinched when the noise was cut off sharply by the meaty thud of an impact, and a damning sudden silence.
It was quiet for a long time.
He strained after a moment to hear something, anything, and through the open door he could just barely make out the soft scraping of something heavy being dragged across the ground. There was a soft grunt and the sound disappeared, replaced by heavy footsteps retreating. The silence dragged itself out agonizingly, Crowley left to wonder which of the minotaur it had been that won the battle. The lack of a reappearance by either bull had left him to assume the worse, causing the nymph to flinch and back further under the couch when the footsteps reappeared approaching the doorway.
He expected the same bloodthirsty beast from before to make an appearance, for it to waste no time in charging in to drag him away kicking and screaming. But it was obvious from the moment he stepped through the doorway without hesitation, pausing just past the threshold instead. Tucked away as he was he could not see the minotaur’s expression, but Crowley could imagine that confused look on Aziraphale’s face as he looked around for the undine. He must not have seen where he was earlier when he saved him from where the other had cornered him.
Cautiously, he began to crawl out from his hiding spot, looking up at the bull with wide eyes when he glanced over and spotted him. A lot of emotions flashed over Aziraphale’s face as he walked closer to where he was on the floor and kneeled down a few feet in front of him, but the primary one among them was relief. The moment seemed to pause as their eyes met and they finally saw one another again after separating in the forest. Crowley was as relieved as he was skeptical to see that Aziraphale did not seem to have many wounds. The most he could see were small scrapes and bruises on his hands and knees from the fight itself, and a small wound on his ear that infrequently dripped blood.
Aziraphale had come out of their ordeal roughed up but otherwise alright, and the relief was enough to finally give Crowley some strength of movement again. The bull held one large arm out to him, and there was hardly a thought before he was scrambling forward to bury his face in his friend’s chest. It was as much to lean into the embrace as it was to hide how his eyes had begun to burn with the telling sting of oncoming tears. His body recognized the fact that they were finally safe, and the periodic rushes of emotions and physicality were beginning to catch up to him. Crowley started trembling as it all began to sink in, both from a sudden bone-deep exhaustion and from the tears that were suddenly threatening to overtake him.
A sob built in his throat as he thought about the fact that he had failed in his job, and that one of the villagers was now dead because of it. A part of Crowley knew logically that there was nothing he could have really done to protect Abel from the minotaur, but that did not make him blame himself any less for what happened. It was something that would likely torture him and Cain for the rest of their lives going forward, and the thought caused him to shudder harder in his friend’s embrace. Aziraphale tightened the strength of his grip as Crowley’s vision blurred and wet tears began to trail down his face, landing silently on the floor between them.
𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝
Aziraphale waited only until Crowley’s tears had slowed enough that he could see again before he began to gently feel for any obvious signs of injury. Head aching all over from how hard he had been crying at first, the undine passively allowed himself to be doted on by his friend.
The care with which he was being handled flustered him, Aziraphale’s tenderness almost too much for him to handle in the state he was in. The feeling of his hands on him made Crowley’s heart flutter a bit in his chest, but that feeling sunk into his stomach as he felt something very small land on his leg. It sunk further when he looked down to see a drop of something on his clothes that was much too dark to have been sweat. The nymph’s heartbeat spiked in alarm as images began to flash in his mind of all sorts of possible injuries Aziraphale could have that the blood could have come from. Crowley began to wipe at his eyes and squirm in the other’s grip, fighting against his own examination to try and do the same to the bull.
"Ack- Aziraphale, I'm telling you I am fine, would you please just focus on your own-”
Large hands firmly gripping both of his arms above the elbow stopped his squirming, Crowley suddenly freezing from the unexpectedly forceful grip. Startled, he looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes and found himself suddenly completely out of breath. The look in his eyes was captivating, an emotion he could almost recognize swirling in their depths hidden behind the kind of fragility you feel after almost losing someone. More than their intensity however, what knocked the breath from Crowely’s lungs was the color of the bull’s eyes, one he had thought he knew well.
Instead of the enchanting and ever-changing blue he had considered them to be, staring up at him were eyes that were remarkably silver. The shifting color had instead simply been a reflection of the sky and water they regularly surrounded themselves with, their true color all the more arresting. They made the conversation all the more intimate and all the more intense with how close they were sitting, curled on the floor in front of the bull’s couch.
"Do not pretend that you were not in far more danger just now than I was," He flinched as if Aziraphale was shouting at him, for all his words were softly but firmly whispered between them, "I would ask that you please do not fight me on this."
"Oh wasss I, misster least deadly in the herd?" The snarl of Crowley’s response was all for show as he stopped fighting the manipulation of his limbs as the minotaur looked at him. Aziraphale huffed at him in what could have been annoyance or amusement as he was pulled passively into various poses to be examined.
"If you recall that title, you also should remember I said it was given to me because of their prejudices rather than any of my own skill."
He could only briefly recall the conversation at that moment, mostly just the warm feeling that had sat in his chest as Aziraphale spoke. As Crowley had leaned against his side tipsily on the couch, he recounted his birth and early life in the herd. Though it was a memory he thought of often the nymph could not recall the specific details and still stay in the moment he had found himself in. He remembered even less as Aziraphale finished examining his arms, finally satisfied, and crouched to repeat the process with his legs. Crowley squawked as he was lifted onto the couch behind them so the bull could have easier access for his scrutiny. Despite remaining kneeling as he gently reached for first one foot and then the other, Aziraphale’s height meant his horns were still up to his chest as he worked.
"It has been a long time since someone like Sandalphon was a threat to me…” His voice trailed off as the minotaur spotted the source of the small bit of blood he could still smell in the air: a small cut located just under Crowley's left knee.
The split in his skin was so small he had not even noticed getting it, nerves only letting him know it was there as Aziraphale gently applied pressure to the area. A thin trail of blood had already dried halfway down his shin, its path swerving to the side from how Crowley had likely been running when he was hurt. The wound was probably from a thicket he had stumbled through while running through the forest, the smallest flakes of blood left on various plants he passed while making his escape. However trace the amount was, there was no doubt in Crowley’s mind that that was how the other minotaur had tracked him down so fast despite his head start.
Before the undine could begin to be angry at himself for making such a small but easy mistake, his train of thought was thrown off entirely by a large hand gently cupping his leg. Aziraphale lifted the limb further into the light so he could get a better look at the cut, sighing in a quiet relief at what he saw. Keeping the leg held in his grasp, the bull flustered Crowley by leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to the tender skin under his knee. While the soft pressure caused the slightest ache, it was not pain that caused him to let out a strangled sort of sound at the soft contact of his lips.
"The same resilience cannot be said of you."
The whisper was a hot exhale along the skin of his knee that made him jolt slightly with the realization of just how close Aziraphale was to him. His large form was curled over the nymph’s lower half completely as if he could lay there and protect Crowley from any more bodily harm forever. The bull opened his eyes and the shock of silver stood out even more in them, just barely catching the pale light still shining in from outside the broken door. Even more of a jolt to see was the immense relief that was being reflected with that light, leaving the undine breathless.
It was as if now that he had confirmed Crowley was completely safe, a great worry had been lifted off his shoulders and he could finally relax. The nymph had not relaxed yet, be it the adrenaline or something else that had left his heart racing so fast he was nearly lightheaded. It was likely the combined effect of that relieved look, and the gentle way he was being manhandled. Even compared to how comfortable the two had been recently, it was a step more intimate than anything Aziraphale had done already. When the bull pressed another kiss to his knee, Crowley found himself having to scramble to retain the topic of conversation before his brain melted.
"Ngk, Ssandalphon? That’s the name of who attacked us?” Aziraphale had to pull away in order to nod in response, giving him enough space to form real thoughts again. "Why was someone from your old herd sneaking around near here?"
At the mention of the other minotaur, all the tension he had managed to let go of quickly built up again, his face hardening with a lingering anger. Though the sudden change did draw his attention, it did not serve to distract Crowley much from how close they still remained to each other. If anything he was almost dizzy at the protectiveness that seemed to fuel his rage, and the darkly satisfied look he got when speaking of his victory.
"I don't know the reason why he was here, but the opportunity for us to find out has passed."
Aziraphale’s voice rumbled with a grave sort of finality that caused alarm bells to begin ringing in Crowley’s head. He had assumed, based on what he’d heard of the battle from inside the hut, that he had landed a blow solid enough on the other minotaur to cause him to pass out. From how he was speaking now, the nymph couldn’t help but worry that their victory may have been a lot more permanent than he'd first thought, and Crowley swallowed nervously.
"Ngh- what do you mean you took care of it?" He searched the minotaur’s passive face for answers, "You didn't kill him, did you?"
His brow furrowing in confusion and one ear flicking in irritation, Aziraphale rested back on his heels as he responded to the accusation in his tone, "Did you expect me to not? He was attacking us! He very nearly killed you Crowley!”
Crowley could not hear him over the sound of his own thoughts beginning to race around in his head. When Aziraphale had first expressed it to the undine, he had known the bull long enough that it was not hard to believe him when he explained how much he hated the violence his kind was known for. There was a softness to him in ways that showed itself in more than just the light color of his fur and the comfortable weight he wore, the softness of stone worn smooth by a river. It was what had endeared him to so many in the village, including eventually Crowley himself, and what made him assume that the other bull was still alive. That the beast had been left lying somewhere, unconscious but breathing.
Thinking back now to the sound of the impact that had ended the fight, the shock swirled into a slight nausea in his stomach. Aziraphale had been forced to use the violence he hated, to kill another minotaur, in order to protect Crowley. Even having witnessed the act himself in a way, it seemed wrong; if he had heard it from anyone else he would have accused them of lying. The only thing that stopped him from doing so now was the grave finality that colored the minotaur’s tone, and instead he felt a strange confused panic rising inside of him. Aziraphale looked strangely calm, as if the fact that he had just killed a member of his former herd did not bother him at all, and Crowley did not understand.
“W-what do you mean you killed him?! Don’t you have to leave?!”
The question was out of his mouth before the undine had even finished processing it, and the bull reacted by flinching back from him as if struck by the words. He had obviously taken his words the wrong way, not that it was possible to interpret them any other way. Crowley reached one hand out at him desperately before he could get too far, however, nearly swallowing his tongue in his attempt to explain the outburst.
“Ngk— not that I want you to leave! B-but, the end of the season is approaching…” He seemed to lose his voice the longer he tried to explain, unable to look Aziraphale in the eyes as he weakly added, “And I know that the herd migrates-”
“Merely by necessity, not by nature,” The minotaur cut in gently, and Crowley looked up at him with dark eyes pulled wide in surprise. “There are tribes that have lived in the same place for centuries and will likely continue for centuries more, it would be of no harm for me to stay for more than one season. I was rather hoping to remain here, even before I had the good fortune of befriending you.”
A shine covered his eyes like polished stone, the tears Crowley had just managed to get a handle on welled up again as he realized what it was the bull was trying to tell him. He knew that the herd Aziraphake had come from was a migrating one, had even been envious of where the habit had taken him, but had never considered it was not something they had to do. As far as the nymph was aware, the nomadic lifestyle his friend lived was part of his nature, an instinct he followed not unlike the migration patterns of birds. It was the entire driving factor of his job, Crowley protected the villagers for the few months that their path brought them to settle beside the lake, until they left and continued on their way until the next year.
So despite knowing that the bull was no longer a part of the herd, he believed that come time for them to depart that Aziraphale would be among them. More than the background threat that his curse presented, only dangerous under specific circumstances, the end of their time together was a reality that was fast approaching for Crowley, and a much larger reason why he had begun to pull away in their friendship. He did not want Aziraphale to leave, but he was not going to ask him to say, not for his sake. Not when doing so would have been to go against his nature, and almost certainly suffering for the bull in return, or that was what the nymph had believed.
To learn that Crowley was wrong was more than he could have ever wished. That not only would Aziraphale be completely fine should he choose to stay, but he had already planned to do so long before meeting the undine. It was so relieving to him that his knees would have given out had they not already been on the floor, instead falling forward to rest his forehead against the bull’s sternum gently.
“Here? Really?” Crowley was amazed that of all the places Aziraphale had traveled, he would choose what was undoubtedly the smallest to settle in.
The minotaur took the question worse than how he meant it, based on how he turned away from where he had been looking up at him. Crowley peeked down at him to see that the movement had allowed him a better view of the flush that barely peeked through the bull’s pale fur. He was embarrassed, that much was obvious, and it confused Crowley as much as it endeared him. What did Azirphale have to be embarrassed about, he couldn't help but wonder.
"W-well, you of all people know that the herd and I have never really been very well suited for each other. Even before I was gifted the house, this place always felt much more like home than anywhere else we’d been. I don’t believe it should really come as that much of a surprise, the only reason I have not told you already is-" Aziraphale cut himself off with a slightly rough shake of his head, and he looked down to his folded knees between them.
Crowley bit his lip, scared to say the wrong thing, but also wanting to know why the bull had not said anything before. He was afraid that his question would have a negative reaction, but as much as the thought worried him, so did the idea of having never heard Aziraphale’s answer. His curiosity would never let it rest, now that he had gotten that small tease of information. Crowley gave a small cough to cause the other’s attention to shift up to where he was struggling with his question.
“What was it? Ngk, t-the reason?” His voice shook as he forced the words out, but when he looked down at Aziraphale he found the other seemed similarly reluctant to meet his eyes.
He was silent for a while, one large ear flicking nervously, before eventually letting out a sigh and allowing his eyes to rise and meet Crowley’s, “I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, to make you feel… uncomfortable.”
At his confused reaction to the confession, the minotaur elaborated hesitantly, “I’ve noticed you growing rather distant over the past few weeks; you would come by less, take your leave earlier. You weren’t as delightfully expressive and never drank half as much as you did before. I worried that you were growing… weary of my company.”
One of Aziraphale’s hands flexed nervously where it was still holding him gently around the ankle, as Crowley seemed to freeze and stare at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. The dizziness that was still present in his head from the chaos of earlier was not helped by his thoughts beginning to suddenly swirl. Aziraphale had thought he pulled away because he was getting tired of him, an unfortunately logical enough conclusion to jump to, given the evidence he had. From his perspective Crowley had just gone as far as to take a nap beside him, before pulling away completely and beginning to avoid him. Why wouldn’t he assume that the undine was bored with him, or worse, that he had done something wrong? It was so wrong, so opposite of the real reason he had done so, that it was almost funny; he couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
A small, almost hysterical giggle slipped from his lips, much to Aziraphale’s obvious confusion. Crowley wished he could explain it, but he couldn’t really, because what would he say?
Was he supposed to just explain how the more time they had spent together, the less walls he felt necessary to put up? That he had had no defenses when Crowley tripped and stumbled into love with the strange, interesting minotaur that was so different from the others? That he had no dam to stop his feelings as they began to spill over, so instead he had intended to suffer and starve himself of Aziraphale until his walls were rebuilt? Apologize for both avoiding him and being in love with him? It was as absurd a defense as it was a weak one. While Crowley had now long come to terms with what it was he felt for Aziraphale, that in no way meant he felt ready to admit to that.
He had already made the decision to not make his feelings known, believing that it was not worth the risk of them not being returned or his curse having the potential to be triggered. Not that he believed Aziraphale would ever willingly become an adulterer, but he didn’t know enough about the bounds of his curse to risk it. It was that fear of the unknown that had him clinging so hard to his curse as an excuse to not pursue his friend. What would happen if he risked it, and then Aziraphale left and something happened to him? Crowley might have been all alone in the world without any idea of what kept his love from him. His curse could break from it, or worse it could somehow act as the trigger for it instead.
As much as he may have wished for more, it had been safer for both of them to leave things the way they were. He clung to the idea that there was no point in confessing when Aziraphale would soon be leaving anyway. He would come back, of course, but then he’d leave again, and always for much longer than he was there. It was not exactly attractive to Crowley to pine away in waiting for so long with so little reward, he would rather be full of friendship than starved for love. So rather than take the risk of a heartache that could lead to worse, he resolved to distance himself slightly until he could rebuild what little defenses he had against Aziraphale’s odd charm.
As he slowly came to the realization that that risk was gone, Crowley almost did not know what to do with himself. With the minotaur no longer leaving, there was no more risk of him accidentally triggering the curse while away. No more future of long months of waiting for a return that had a chance of not happening at all. The idea made his heart begin to race, even as Aziraphale still looked up at him searchingly.
His continued silence in the wake of the bull’s emotional honesty had caused him to grow nervous, and it was beginning to escape in small fidgeting movements where he sat below him. Aziraphale had just all but shouted at the nymph that he greatly valued his opinion, and his very real worries that the nymph no longer wished to see him. He was awaiting Crowley’s judgment, obviously expecting the worst from how tense he grew with each passing second. As much as he wanted to assuage Azriaphale’s worries, the undine was having a hard time believing what he had heard at all. It was everything he wanted, and almost made Crowley believe the entire day to have been a vision from Morpheus. That he would be waking up in his boat with a crick in his neck at any moment, and everything he had seen was just a wild dream.
Not that it did not feel like a dream, the excitement from earlier mixing with the lingering disorientation. Crowley did not notice how he had begun to slowly tilt forward, the nymph practically swooning from how Aziraphale had treated him all day. If it was all in his head, his curse would not be able to get him there; it never followed him into his dreams. It would not have been the first time the nymph had given into temptation in his dreams either regarding the bull, as he had been the star of many a dream as of late. Having just learned Aziraphale was far less of a risk than he believed, Crowley almost didn’t see why he shouldn’t go for it even if it wasn’t a dream.
The moment was almost broken when he leaned too far without realizing and found himself suddenly slipping off the couch. Aziraphale managed to catch him before he hit the floor, leaning forward to direct his fall into his own lap instead of on the floor, where Crowley landed with a soft grunt. A bit of maneuvering after the awkward landing, and he looked up at him once mostly settled on his lap. Their eyes meeting, silver stars and inky black void, he made a soft noise as the minotaur's grip tightened around his waist.
Crowely’s own hands tightened where they had settled on his broad shoulders, the two much closer in height with him on the minotaur’s lap as he was. They both seem affected by the new proximity, unable to meet each other’s eyes while unable to look away from the view of each other so close. He was able to observe up close as that adorable flush flared to life over the minotaur’s face, even as he knew a matching one was probably blooming across his own. It was more than enough encouragement for Crowley, but still a part of him argued that it could just be embarrassment, his hands flexing in indecision.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice startled him into finally taking in the other’s expression, his friend giving him a look that held not a small amount of worry, “Are you certain you’re alright?”
Abruptly Crowley realized that, for his friend, the last few minutes had consisted of a concerning giggle in the midst of a long period of blank staring. If it were anyone else they would likely think he was an absolute nut by now, but Aziraphale was only worried. Crowley let out another soft chuckle at the thought, giving him a fond grin as a sort of reassurance and thanks. It wasn’t really an answer, but the bull took it as one, the furrow in his large brow softening as he returned the smile with a soft one of his own.
The look made Crowley’s hands itch, and they migrated from his shoulders and cupped his face almost on their own. Aziraphale questioned his movements with his eyes, but did not fight the manipulation of his face. His large eyes stared up at him curiously, and the passive, trusting way that he looked at him, after having just killed someone in order to protect him, turned out to be the straw that broke Crowley’s control. Tightening his grip to keep Aziraphale in place, he leaned down to press his lips softly against the bull’s.