(Untitled)
The sound of Crowley thudding into the brick wall on the opposite side of the alleyway is almost exactly in time with that of the door to Milliways slamming shut behind him.
Which is a good thing, really, because he bounces.
"..." he says finally, from somewhere between Raguel's elbow, his own wing, and the ground.
Which is a good thing, really, because he bounces.
"..." he says finally, from somewhere between Raguel's elbow, his own wing, and the ground.
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Seconds pass. Nothing happens.
He looks down at last, getting a faceful of white feathers for his efforts.
"...Crowley?" he asks hesitantly.
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Crowley takes a few moments to disentangle himself from Raguel, which task would be complicated enough with only two sets of limbs, never mind three. He does manage to sit up, though, hands splayed on the rough ground of the alley, and gives a long, wary look of his own at the door.
Only then, finally, is there a long, shaky exhale, that starts in his chest and follows a creeping tide of black along the length of his wings. His eyes - a shockingly vivid blue, up close - fade a little faster. Blue, a sickly green, to gold, pupils elongating to slits once more.
There is beaded sweat at his temple; he wipes it away with the heel of his hand.
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"You okay?" he asks in a low voice, not turning back.
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