entrancelogs | I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend [Closed]

The use of his given name (middle, as it may be) tugs almost as much as the sentiment he feels behind those words. He thinks back to when they'd argued over its use to the point where he'd just become Blake for so long. Now he can't imagine ever scolding Crowley for its use when it sounds so carefully formed and gently applied.

Craning, he noses his way into the demon's neck and stays there, breath warm, kissing gently in response to the request. "There's no other choice." He knows Wonderland would take either of them away in the blink of an eye without hesitation, but damn if he wouldn't fight against that given half a chance.

His arms go impossibly tighter around Blake, like he's afraid to let go. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "I might've fallen off the wagon a little."

He doesn't want to pile onto Blake's troubles right now, but he also remembers how angry Blake had been last year. Even without the blood, what he has with Blake isn't worth throwing away on secrets and lies. Blake is more important to him than his pride. He's not sure when exactly he was able to start saying that with certainty, but he is. Crowley is happier here with Blake than he's ever been anywhere else. He has everything he needs.

As tired as he is, it takes a few seconds for the implication of Crowley's words to really sink in. He doesn't move, doesn't hardly breathe even, despite the fact that Crowley's admission has his heart racing like a thoroughbred in his chest.

Blood.

John doesn't know how he didn't see it before. It should have been obvious right away, between the red-rimmed eyes and the unkempt appearance. And maybe, in some ways, these are the first obvious signs of that selfishness he's learned getting in the way because he had assumed the demon had been missing Natasha that much. Projection, really, and a blind spot he knows he shouldn't have.

"Why?" Somewhat gently applied. Start there and in the meantime enjoy how Blake's probably become as comfortable to cuddle as board for as stiff as he is.

"I wanted to feel something different." Because he's gone soft. His mother sees it and Dean sees it and the thing is that Crowley has two options here. He can embrace it or he can try to get his edge back, but he knows he'll never have his edge with Blake here, so really the choice had been obvious.

He does feel, even without the blood, but it's so much more intense like this. It overwhelms in a way that most mentally healthy humans will never really understand. Even Crowley doesn't entirely understand it, but he craves it.

"I couldn't stop thinking about my mother." Stiff as Blake is, Crowley shows no signs of letting go of him any time soon. "About the things she said to me and the things Dean said to me. He thinks the blood and what they did to me changed me permanently. I think he might be right."

There's not a chance Blake will deny that Crowley's right because he's seen the changes firsthand. Even as things had returned to normal after the last time, there were still perceptible differences between the demon Blake first met versus the man he'd known twenty-four hours ago versus the man he's seeing in front of him now.

"You tryin' to prove him right?" Blake asks carefully, not accusing so much as reaching for what might be the most logical conclusion in this scenario. It doesn't occur to him that logic might not even be involved, but that's another shortcoming he's been working on.

He almost regrets getting this close because now that he has the urge to pace, he knows how much more detrimental it would be if he forced himself out of his embrace to relieve himself of some of the energy he didn't even possess a moment ago. For now he'll tolerate the proximity, but only because he's not cruel.

Crowley takes a breath, but hesitates before he speaks, weighing his words and trying to figure out what he even wants to express. "I don't know if I'm trying to prove anything, sweetheart."

He shifts until he can press his nose into Blake's hair. Blake's nervous energy is palpable, as always, but Crowley's used to it, enough to not take the stiffness as a personal offense, but he wishes Blake would relax and he pets his hands along Blake's back and arms, encouraging.

"Except maybe that I'm not keeping secrets from you anymore. You're too important." And he's known that for a while now, with or without the blood.

As nice as it would be to be soothed by the demon in this moment, there's no massaging away the tension. When this had last been an issue, it was the deceit that had bothered John the most, but that wasn't all of it, not really. Back then he'd worried that much of what Crowley was feeling for him was a product of the blood, but now he's not so sure. In fact, he's fairly positive the two aren't connected, but that doesn't mean the idea is popular with him, that he's not afraid he'll be proven wrong.

"It's important to feel? Or-or do you wanna be human?" he asks, and not as if those are the only options. Blake doesn't want to be insensitive, and he's needs to understand, so he starts with the questions most presently on his mind.

Edited 2015-06-03 03:31 (UTC)

It's so hard to explain any of this when he doesn't entirely understand all of his own motivations and it leaves for a lot of awkward pauses.

"It's not that I want to be human, but I'd like... a more human range of emotions." Of course he knows that what he feels from the blood is intense--more like mania than anything else.

"I want--I can't begin to explain what it feels like to-to feel like that when you haven't for so long." Or maybe Blake knows exactly what he means. He knows Blake's played around with his fair share of drugs.

"Mother always said I would die alone in the gutter. I don't want to prove her right again."

Blake tries his best not to scowl. He doesn't particularly understand the issues Crowley has with his mother — Blake always fixated more on his father instead — but he knows they run deep, like deep wounds that look clean on the surface, but everything's torn up inside.

"What's the correlation?" John presses, uncertain if it's some unseen connection or just something that hasn't yet occurred to him. "Are you—? Are we bouncin' 'round here? Listen, your mother's— She was prob'ly never right in the first place, Crowley." Whatever ideas she'd burdened Crowley with were probably unnecessary and misleading.

"You're definitely not alone. There isn't even a gutter within miles of this place."

"She was right, though. I died alone. When my ten years were up and the contract on my soul was due, I was alone. There wasn't a soul who would have mourned me, not even her."

He probably is bouncing around. His thoughts are disjointed, flitting through his mind just as erratically as his emotions.

"I feel more human now than I ever did when I was one." He wonders if it's the blood or his mother or Wonderland or Blake, who's cared for him more than anyone else in his life ever has, save for Lilith in her own way. Thinking about it has him starting to tear up a little all over again.

Blake's not sure how Crowley can consider his mother right when he's still here and surprisingly vital, demon or otherwise. Death is when a person ceases to be, not when they cease to live, as far as he's concerned. Especially if they can still drink and cry and cuddle on the couch.

He lets himself relax, his head resting back down. "What's this doin' to you over time?" What he's asking after is long-term effects, because he can't honestly scold Crowley for his drug of choice, not when he's guilty of experimenting, but he sure as hell can make him weigh the benefits versus the consequences.

"I couldn't say for sure. As far as I know, no one's ever really done what I'm doing, but I hadn't known that you could cure a demon until Sam nearly did it to me, either." And Dean in Wonderland, but the truth of the matter is that Sam had started it all.

"It could build up enough to make me human, I suppose, or even just keep making me a little more pathetic." He chuckles, but it's hollow. "Would that--would it bother you if I was?"

This is why he hadn't understood it last time. The secrets, he understands, are a problem, but the blood shouldn't be. It makes him objectively better, doesn't it? It makes him care more about doing the right thing and correcting his misdeeds of the past. Isn't that what Blake wants?

It's hard to know what Blake wants, really. He never expected anything like this. In all his years he hasn't had anything approaching the steadiness of his relationship with Crowley and he knows the reverse to be true, too. This is new ground, unbroached an uncertain, and they're traversing it together with all the certainty of newborn fawns.

"You're you," he says. "That's all the matters to me." It's resolute, even if he's thinking in the back of his mind that Crowley's abilities as a demon are useful. No matter, because John's every bit human and entirely useful in nearly every situation.

"Would it bother you?" The more important question.

"I don't know. It might."

But Crowley's already relaxing under Blake, trying to tug him even closer and press into him, open and affectionate because Blake's so important to him and the blood is making him terribly sappy.

"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it, but I think... it would bother me more if it would bother you."

He kisses Blake's temple, grappling for a topic change. He feels raw and exposed and he doesn't theoretically mind Blake seeing him like that, but it's so uncomfortable for him all the same. "I'm sorry about Natasha."

Blake's initial urge is to tell Crowley that everything's all right, but honestly, it doesn't feel all right. Not losing Natasha, not Crowley reverting back to blood, not Blake living this half-housewife life that's turning him comparably soft. And yet he can't stop himself from melting into Crowley's exposed places, filling up the areas that need a little extra support.

"She's—" He can't even finish his thought, not really. Natasha has meant so much to him for song long now, and having Wonderland build years and years of memories of their long-lasting kinship makes the loss feel every bit as personal as the loss of his father. "She's got a lotta work to do," John says, finally settling on something the feels safe to share. Crowley will see right through it, of course, but the odds are in Blake's favor that the demon will understand the meaning and not press on for further sentiment.

Crowley hums in quiet agreement and his hand moves up and down Blake's back. Wonderland's taken so many people from both of them and he knows that one day, it will try to take them from each other, too. It's something Crowley can't accept and he won't. Slowly, it's becoming something of a constant worry in the back of his mind, occupying the space that the Jabberwocky once took up.

It strikes him as funny that he knows in his heart he would do a lot of stupid things right now if he thought it would take away Blake's pain.

"What can I do?" He brushes his nose over Blake's forehead. "There's very little you can't ask of me, John."

The hesitation has less to do with Blake not knowing what he wants and more to do with wondering whether he has the right to ask. Sighing lowly, he leans into the contact and then waits until he can catch Crowley's stubbly chin with his lips.

"Stay with me," he says, knowing perfectly well it's a rather tall order and it's not even one either of them have the ability to grant or control.

Purposefully, John slides his hand under the demon's shirt so he can press a warm hand to the other man's skin. "Keep me grounded. Don't let me drift away." A pause. "I'll do the same for you."

"I have no intention of doing anything less than my level best to stay with you." Crowley thinks of all the people he's lost and he realizes that he hasn't had that many people to lose in the first place. The loss of his mother had started him on a very lonely path. The only other loss that he'd really let hit hard had been Lilith, but it's been long enough that by the time she'd shown up in Wonderland, he'd been past mourning her.

He's quiet for a moment, not sure what should be said and what should stay unspoken, but ultimately the emotional nature of the blood wins out and he speaks.

"If there's a way for me to follow you home, I'm going to find it."

"Don't think I wanna go back there," he admits, perhaps a little too quickly. Blake appreciates the sentiment — it's sweet of Crowley to think that way — but he ultimately prefers to stay. Or, at the very least, to follow Crowley back to his world. With the way these universes are, there's no guarantee Blake would even be missed back in Gotham.

"Let's not talk about it." It's something of a request as John slowly begins to extract himself from this intimate position. "I'm exhausted, you're high, pretty sure it's time for bed."

Crowley doesn't bother to hide his surprise, but he doesn't comment. It doesn't really matter where they go as long as Crowley can remember this place and as long as Blake is with him. That's what matters the most in all of this.

"Bed sounds nice." He pushes himself up once Blake is standing and reaches for his hand to stop him for a moment.

"Hey." He tugs at Blake's hand gently, searching out eye contact. "It's not the blood talking, alright?"

All circumstances aside, it's been quite a long time since Blake had any reason to disbelieve. His fingers tighten around Crowley's and he stares back with tired, but sharp eyes, looking long into past that brought them here.

"I know." He smiles thinly, but there's no loss of affection. There's an internal struggle still battling inside of him, but as far as Blake's concerned, he's the only one with the issue here and until he knows why, there's really no point in getting tied into an even tighter knot than he's already worked himself into.

Tugging back, he urges the demon along, hardly interested in anything more than sliding into the cool sheets for several hours.

I wish you would step back from that ledge my friend [Closed]

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