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[He grimaces a little, because that sounds horribly rainbows and sunshine for him. He raises an eyebrow above his shades, giving the tree a mistrustful look. ]

...After the last time otherwordly forces could pry about in our heads, you mean? Because that went so swimmingly.

[He's still not convinced that all of this isn't just Atroma, pissing them about again. They are, after all, so very good at that. ]

But I suppose if you feel you must do this.

[He'll exhale like this is the biggest struggle of his life, offering up a hand for Felix. ]

It was hardly the first time, and it won't be the last.

[And, he thinks, he can't argue with what came about as a result, so the warning doesn't seem like much of one from his own perspective.]

We came this far.

[He takes the offered hand with a comfortable light grip, in deference to the pressure of his rings (which despite Crowley's past advice, he is still wearing), his fingertips cradling the line of the demon's wrist.

The feelings are immediate, but unlike any other exchange he's had so far on this planet. The touch of strangers had only made his mind jump to less pleasant moments, recalling only fear and pain, and the realization that others could sense that only redoubled into panic before he inevitably made his escape.

But not this time. There is still fear, but the feeling is half anticipation, and this itself is masked only by warmth. It's the usual spark of desire - he is a base creature at heart after all - but also something deeper.]

True. There's always going to be weird memory bullshit. And at least it does it less than the castle.

[He can't really argue against the results of the last time, either. But this is different. This is willingly submitting to it, and Crowley's never been good at submitting to anything. As such, the feelings less flow immediately than they do sputter into existence.

But they do arrive, a tangled mess of fear, lust, love and perhaps a touch of sorrow. Emotions aren't really supposed to be a demon's forte, but much like everything Crowley does, it's uniquely him. He doesn't know how to handle them half the time, and the mess is so jumbled, it's almost impossible to separate each feeling as its own thing.

And, of course, Crowley can't keep quiet for long, so he provides colour commentary pretty quickly. Largely as a way to deal with this at all. A way to buffet it all. ]

This is weird.

Edited 2016-08-05 20:00 (UTC)

[One of the the more positive lessons he has learned is that submission and openness didn't necessarily have to be bad things. It was terrifying to be vulnerable in that way but it was also sometimes the only way to survive. It could afford one perspective. It was like bending with the wind rather than trying to stand against it and risk cracking in two.

Unlike the many other times someone has been in his head, this time is his choice, and that does quite a bit to ease most of his tension. The awkwardness he feels is probably more Crowley's than his own, but his laugh in response is obviously stilted.]

You'll have no disagreement from me there. Let's hope we're not doing this over mere superstition.

[He mostly doubts that, however. The magic palpable in the tree seems to be too much to be just coincidence. He's more worried Crowley will give up before they have any result.]

Ugh. It better not be, superstition is always right bloody-

[And then suddenly, everything changes. Everything is bright, almost too bright. Whatever this place is, there's a strange feeling of peace- or rather, there was a feeling of peace, of tranquillity. That has evidently shattered by turning this place into what looks to be a battlefield. Whatever is happening, this is a vantage point for observation- not for being part of the fight.

Glowing shapes- things that are almost people shaped but also not. Beings without solid form flit about the space on translucent wings. It's impossible to tell which side is which, they all look exactly the same- but they clash into one another with swords of fire. There are shouts, screams, battle cries, but they seem as disjointed as the incorporeal forms making them.

Suddenly, as if from a peripheral source, a horrible sense of realisation and fear drops into the scenario. Crowley's realised what's happening and for a moment there's a feeling of resistance, as he tries to pull away from the tree's influence. To get as far away from all of this as he possibly can. There's no escape from it, though, and the memory marches horribly onwards regardless.

Suddenly, the tide of battle turns. The bottom of this not-real-too-real space suddenly turns red. Brimstone fumes rise up in chocking clouds from the very recently created Hell. Some winged beings suddenly start to scream in agony, as the bright ethereal glow from them in ripped away from an unseen force, leaving them dull and empty. They drop like stones, firing up like a meteor shower as they descend downwards into that infernal pit. Into their new prison.

There's suddenly a feeling of white-hot pain. Like being cauterised. Something is torn away and there is nothing but a gaping void left behind. A hole that will never, ever be filled. A sliver of that something is left behind, but the pain overpowers the realisation of that. And then, amidst the whirlwind of pain and terror. Everything Falls.

The memory vanishes and they're at the tree again. Crowley's grip has tightens on Felix, to the point where it likely hurts a little. The demon's own knuckles are white, and though his ever present sunglasses hide his eyes, he's staring at some point in the middle distance, lips in a taught, thin line.]

[It's hard to comprehend what he's seeing when his comprehension of Crowley's cosmos is so very tangential, but it's hard to mistake that it's something horrible. It seems impossible to connect this to the person in front of him, but the pain he can feel through their link is not.

He barely notices the bite of Crowley's fingers through his own confusion and guilt that his curiosity has led to something far more precious than he could have ever realized being dragged out into the light. He stands petrified for a few moments, staring at the demon's unreadable expression, and opens his mouth as if to say something. Felix can't find any words, and before he can even think to pull away, the view shifts again.

It looks like a cheap hotel room, going by the boring anonymity of it all. He's on the bed, and his brother Mildmay sits across from him.

"Look," he says, voice shaking slightly, "If I go back to the Lower City, I'm gonna end up dead. But if I...if I..."
"What"?" Felix asks, voice soft.
Mildmay locks eyes with his brother. Swallows. "If I got to leave you then I don't know why I should bother to stay alive."
There's a feeling of utter shock and disbelief and finally he whispers, "You don't mean that."
"I do. I swear to you, I mean it."
Felix gestures sharply. "You can't. You can't mean...do you know what the obligation d'âme does?"
"Yeah."
"Mildmay, I can't...I can't do that to you."
"You ain't. I'm asking."
He closes his eyes and shakes his head, unsure how to voice all the ways this is wrong, and Mildmay speaks again, uncertainly. "Don't you...I mean, if you don't want me to stay, I'll leave tonight. Head for St. Millefleur or something."
His hand shoots out, grabbing his brother by the wrist. "No! Don't go."
They stare at each other a moment before Mildmay says, "I don't want to go. But if I go to the Mirador with you..." He pauses, then continues, "If I do that, I'll end up hanging from the Livergate in a decad, tops."
"But no one knows."
"Nobody in the Mirador knows. There's plenty of people know. And they'll tell."
"But..."
"You got oaths you swore, right? To be loyal and shit?"
Felix nods and Mildmay says, "I know the stories. I know the binding-by-forms is the only thing that trump them oaths. And so that's the only way."
"But, Mildmay---" Felix starts, sounding more desperate.
"It's either that or I go to St. Millefleur. The Mirador'll kill me one way, or the Lower City'll kill me the other." Gently, he pulls his hand out of Felix's grasp. "I may not last the winter in St. Millefleur, but that ain't on your head."
Mildmay begins to stand and Felix breaths, "I'll go to St. Millefleur with you."
"The fuck you will," Mildmay says, dropping back down. "What the fuck are you gonna do in St. Millefleur?"
"I don't know. What are you going to do?"
"That don't matter. I ain't a hocus. Don't you get it? You got something to go back to. I don't."
"But you---"
"It's over," Mildmay rasps, slamming a fist down onto his right leg. "Can't be a cat burglar with a bad leg. I ain't gonna be a pusher or a pimp, can't be a fence. And I don't want to be just hired muscle."
"Those aren't your only options."
"I can't go straight. That gets me right back to the Dogs and the Kennel. And the spikes over Livergate. I need protection, Felix. And you're the only one can give it to me."
"What you're asking me to do is monstrous."
"So? Ain't we both monsters?"
A long, heavy pause as Felix turns away, taking in the truth of that, then pushed his hair back with a shaky laugh. "You've got to give me some time to think about it. I can't just..."
"Why not?"
"It's heresy."
"Will they burn you for it?" Mildmay asked, sounding worried.
Felix pauses again, thinking. He hates that he sees the loophole, but he'd been trained for this kind of politics. "Technically," he says, slowly, voice dreamy and gaze focused somewhere distant, "at the moment I am not a wizard of the Mirador."
"You ain't?"
"No. They stripped me of my rank and privileges," he answers, smiling sharply. "They cast me out themselves. They can't accuse me of heresy when they've already declared me anathema. An object lesson." He looks back at his brother, and continues with a hard tone. "Is this what you want? Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Mildmay answers, swallowing. "I mean, yes. I am."
"You understand what it entails?"
"I know the story of Silas Altamont."
"Then may we both be forgiven for this. Give me your hands."
Mildmay does as he is told as Felix strips the black gloves he'd been wearing from his hands, and slowly traces the lines of scars tracing his brother's skin before clamping his grip down on his hands.
"You're sure?" Felix repeats, but this time it's softer. It's his last chance to back out and he needs to be absolutely sure, for both of their sakes.
"Kethe, just get on with it!"
Bowing his head over their hands he starts to mumble the beginning of the spell - a spell that for all rights he shouldn't even know how to cast - then snaps his gaze back up to his brother's.
And kisses him. Hard.
He knows what he's doing, of course, but this isn't just for the thrill of it. The action complete the spell, and there's something more than lips connecting them. Mildmay is frozen as the magic hits them both and for one heart-stopping second he almost...almost responds, and then...
"What the fuck?" Mildmay slurs, pushing away from Felix but unable to tear his face away.
"Magic is symbolism," Felix says. "The obligation d'âme binds us closer than lovers."
"Symbolic kissing?"
"I thought you would prefer it," he says, and Mildmays blushes red clear up to his hair.
"You could have warned me."
"I could have," Felix answers darkly, perversely pleased at the reaction. "In any event, it's done, and I wish you much joy of it."
"Better'n being dead," his brother answered flatly.

The forest comes back into focus a moment later, and Crowley's grip isn't the only one threatening a bruise.]

[At first, Crowley was too lost in the memory the tree had given him. Real, horrible fear had dropped into his chest, and for a short while, he was in a kind of daze.

It takes him a while to focus on what's going on around them. On what he's seeing. Even when he does find focus, he doesn't understand it all. He doesn't know all the words, all the names. But he knows of Midmay enough to know his important to Felix.

He does his best to focus, trying to push the mental image of the Fall from his mind. Trying to forget the feeling of his Grace being torn away from him. Trying, instead, to focus on this. This is...important. Better to deal with this than...that. Felix should come first in this one.

The kiss is...interesting, but Crowley's never really one to judge. They all have pasts, both of them were well aware of that before they even started any of...whatever it is that they have. None of them came to one another squeaky clean. It was just the way it was.

As the memory fades, and he feels the tightness of Felix's grip, he turns to look at him. There's something haunted about Crowley's expression that he's trying to cover up. To push aside his own memory. Concern is coming through, a layer above- but not completely eclipsing his own fears. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. ]

[He's just as frozen by the vision as Crowley is, tangled not only in the feelings jolting between them, but the ones from a memory he'd long tried to forget. The worst part isn't even the fact that he'd let Mildmay talk him into casting the binding-by-forms - spell that had all intents and purposes made his brother a slave and which he'd abused horrifically. It was the fact that the reason he'd withheld the details of the casting hadn't merely just been petty anger, it was because of real desire. It didn't eat at him not like it had then, or over the years while they were thus bound, but it would probably never be completely gone.

Even if the telepathic bond weren't there, Felix knew that as a spirit of temptation, there was no hiding it from Crowley now. Back in the castle he'd rarely been in the demon's company at the same time he had his brother as his shadow, and he'd hoped to lock that away along with the truth of exactly why he'd kept his half-sibling so close.

It's impossible, even though his own shame, to let go the feeling of Crowley's anguish. The memory, because that's what it must me, seems so removed from what the demon is now and yet it was undeniably real.

In the long pause that follows, there's a soft sound drifting out from the forest. He's almost sure it sounds like one of the ballads his mother would sing to herself at night, melancholy and sweet. There's another sensation - a slight weight his pocket - that finally makes him able to tug himself from the mire of old memories.

Blinking, he stares down at their hands, then releases and flinches back with a final dash of guilt.]

Crowley...I...

What was that?

[Crowley stares at his now freed hand numbly for a second, almost as if he's ashamed of it for the contact- for letting that memory slip out. He folds his arms around himself in a quick, sharp gesture, turning his back and hunching up a little.

What was that

He's avoided talking about this since he met Felix, which he knows in mortal terms is a really fucking long time ago by now. Years. It can't be far off a decade. And in all that time, he's avoided this subject. It's the same with everyone he's met, truly. Only Allen knows about his Fall to any real extent.

He would much rather not talk about it still. Just focus on Felix's thing. It would be easier. He's always been more aware of Felix's weaknesses, his faults- it was part of his job. He didn't know this, but he knows he can deal with it. Talk about it, let Felix at least try to alleviate himself of some of the guilt that plagues his life. He should do that. He wants to do that.

But the memories he does so well at pushing down as far as possible have been brought to the surface, and they claw and gnaw at him. He hates this. He hates this feeling. That this stupid fucking tree has brought it all back to him.

He casts the tree in question a glare. Before walking a couple of feet away from it staring off into some middle distance. Perhaps at something that doesn't even exist any more. When he speaks, the usual laconic tone is gone. No longer does he sound like some bored, snarky, posh Londoner. He sounds old. And tired. ]

Angels Falling from Heaven.

[He doesn't need the bond of telepathy to tell him that he's uncovered something ancient and festering. Even from where he stands, still rooted in place, he can almost feel it. The shift in the way this was still the Crowley he knew and yet it very much wasn't. The gulf between mask and reality is spiraling into the distance and there's not much he can do to stop it.

He moves toward the demon a few steps and then halts, uncertain. It didn't often come naturally to him to offer comfort in the way most people could, and it was therefore the ultimate irony that the one time he felt the desire...he couldn't. Not without forcing upon them both the connection that had gotten them here in the first place.]

Angels. [He repeats the word. Not because he didn't understand it, but because he needed to let it sink it. The concept of angels, as well as demons, were not entirely foreign to him. Even his own world had such basic ideas. But those were philosophy. Stories. Even knowing Crowley as a demon had been something he'd mostly only processed intellectually. Seeing it through Crowley's eyes, however...]

I felt it happen to you too.

[He felt it happen.

Crowley felt a terrible weight settle on him. This is his worst memory, the worst pain he's ever been in. No human should have to know what that feels like. To have everything that made them who and what they are torn from them. To have absolute certainty in the world replaced by a vast plain of emptiness. He never wanted anyone to feel that pain, let alone someone he actually gave a shit about. ]

That must have sucked.

[It's an attempt at humour, to deviate from all of this. To somehow UNDO it, make it all go back to normal. His tone falls flat, though. He can't quite make it work. ]

...It happened a long time ago. That's where demons in my world come from.

[He can't laugh at it either, even though he knows Crowley wants him to. They've always walked the same path of choosing not to look too closely at the things that bothered them, but that was impossible now.

The part that eats at him more is that he has always, on some level, wanted this. It always felt a bit unfair that he'd so often been transparent to Crowley, but his insight into the demon was more feeling and guesswork than true knowledge. That balance had been acceptable, back when even their casual affair had been conducted at an arm's length. But now...now that they'd said the words...

Felix wonders if this desire is what had dictated what the tree had decided to bring forth. His shoulders tense more, guilty, but guilt had not always stopped him from acting.]

I...understand why you've never brought it up. You have never wanted to be what you are. You had no choice. But you cannot change it, either...

[The things that made them were awful and unfair, but irrevocable. Easy to hide, with practice, but perpetually present in the background.]

[Crowley remains silent for a little while, before his shoulders sag and he lets out a long, uneeded breath. ]

That;s the funny thing. I don't think I really wanted to be an angel either. I mean- if I did I wouldn't have sat on the fence about the whole war on the Father thing.

[He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a small, tired laugh. ]

You know, while He was in Paradisa...the Big Guy, I asked Him why He let me fall, but kept a tiny sliver of Grace in me. Why He made it so I couldn't actually function properly as an angel or a demon. Why He wired me that way. And you know what He said? It was all part of the Divine Plan.

[A derisive snort, a roll of his shoulders.]

He did it because He knew I'd stay on Earth amongst humans for six millennia. That because I'm literally stuck between Heaven and Hell, I'd not pick either side again. That I'd pick humanity. I thought I'd got myself some free will, but it turned out all I was was a pawn in His fucking game, as I always was.

[What hurts is that it's like watching the shell of something very old crack and fall away in front of his eyes, but he can't decide if he wants to scramble to put back the pieces or keep peeling it away.]

Aren't we all? It's always something. Someone. Your God, my Master, Paradisa, and now Atroma...

[He finds himself walking forward, unable to stand the distance any longer. Touch is still too dangerous, especially when their emotions were already so high. Desperate to keep Crowley from feeling like he's bearing this alone, however, he grips the back of the demon's jacket]

I don't know how your world works. I don't know why you say you have no free will. But it seems to me that in choosing not to make a choice you still chose.

[The slight weight on his back anchors him, brings him back from the spiralling whirlpool of ancient memories and even older pain. He takes in a deep, rattling breath. ]

...Yeah. Allen says the same thing, funny enough.

[The only other person Crowley had ever trusted to talk about this stuff with. ]

Either way, I am what I am...whatever the fuck that is, and I wouldn't want it any different. I don't regret where my existence ended up. It just has some...rather colossal speedbumps along the way.

[He turns his head to look at Felix proper. He looks a little less like he's teetering on the edge of something terrible. He just looks tired now.]

And now you know.

[Crowley certainly has cause to be tired, considering how long he's lived, and how many of those speedbumps he could have hit in that time]

I'm glad. That I know. I'm not glad of how, but...

[He trails off, uncertain of what else to offer beyond that once truth. He keeps the slight physical distance, shifting uncertainly. But his eyes stay forward, watching Crowley, and waiting anxiously for signs for the anger that would only be justified for dragging the demon out here in the first place.]

I was past time you knew anyway.

[Crowley just never wanted to talk about it. It's the oldest and most painful of wounds, but Felix has earned the right to know it.

He exhales slowly, leaning back a little onto Felix's hand. Just an acknowledgement that he's glad Felix is there. There's no anger. Not at him.]

You want to talk about your thing?

[His tone isn't forceful, or even all that curious. It's a genuine question. DOES he want to talk about it?. He's giving Felix and out, if he so desires it. ]

[He doesn't, really, but Crowley has a right to knowing anything he wants just as the reverse may be true. He laughs, but the sound is distant and empty]

Which part of it? You know more about me and than most, and yet I still have my share of lies. The abomination of a spell I cast on him? The fact that I desired him? The reason for his loyalty? If you want to know I'll tell you. All of it...

[He rolls his shoulders, however, not entirely content with this slight evasion. It felt like a cheat to dance around it when the Circle had heard more truths from his own lips than even the demon had. When he finds himself still speaking, he decides that maybe he does]

There was a reason my brother was always close by in the castle. That spell made it necessary. It made us each other's protectors but only by way of slavery. And I have always regretted it. I regretted at the moment I cast it, at the same moment I turned it against him and not for the first time. But never as much as I should have.

He was right, I think. With the obligation d'âme he could not have come with me, and I believe both of us would have ended up dead before long.

All of the above? None of the above?

[He doesn't want to push Felix into anything he's unhappy about. He won't be that person. Still, Felix speaks, and Crowley listens. He likes to think he's come to know Felix pretty well, despite how well the man keeps his cards close to his chest. ]

You had to pick the lesser of two evils.

[Because if there was one turn of phrase that defined large chunks of Felix's existence, it would be that one. He'd known, without being told, that Felix regretted what happened- but he also knew that Felix would have still done it if it meant ultimately saving someone he cared about.

Felix wasn't exactly selfless, but he always did what had to be done, even if that thing wasn't palatable to most. ]

It wasn't the most comfortable or kindest solution, but it's the one that kept you both alive.

And yet few people wasted time in berating me for the action. It was always a situation I took advantage of, or there was another path I could have chosen. Everyone...except Mildmay...and you...have cast even the smallest bit of blame.

[He might have cast less on himself had he never used the bond beyond it's use as a legal loophole to save his brother from death, but it had not turned out that way, and there was never really any hope of that being the end of it.]

I don't know who, if anyone, is right...[His voice cracks a little]...but I still would not change it. I suppose...the same way I would not change this.

[Bringing them here had brought both of them pain, but these truths feel worth the price.]

Yeah, well. It's easy to judge when you don't have to make that choice yourself. That wagging finger of blame is much less sharp when they have to step into your shoes.

[The truth was important. A step forward. Cementing something that probably should have been a while ago. His smile softens a touch.]

Me either, in all honesty.

[Felix let out a breath and simply nodded, relaxing by a few degrees. Something had been ripped free for both of them, but it felt to him that everything that could be said had been.

He glanced back towards the way they had come, brushing his pocket again unconsciously. The feel and outline of a book was hard to mistake, but finding out which one was something he decided to leave until he returned to the fleet.]

It will be getting dark soon...

[Crowley turned his gaze skyward, letting out a steady breath. Okay. Time to put the peices back together. Back to normal.]

And I have a bottle of Red in my bar with my name on it. Best get back.

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