Well, I have the 2/3 written up and now just need to figure out the Serious Conversation. Things got uhhhhh sort of increasingly traumatic with every draft, so that was fun.
Anyway, find below the extended version of this scene, as it will more likely appear in the final version on AO3. Warning: almost insufferable softness to follow.
Tuesday evening, after the Apocalypse
They had been talking for almost 48 hours straight.
Talking. Laughing. Listening to music. Drinking wine. Occasionally kissing.
Crowley had never felt so… “happy” didn’t even begin to describe it. He felt as though some terrible weight he’d carried for thousands of years was just… gone. A knot inside him undone, turned to smoke and dissipating on the wind.
He was free. Not from Heaven or Hell or some Great Plan.
The part of him that always held him back was gone. Crowley was free from himself.
He lounged across the sofa tucked in the east corner, watching his angel move about the shop. It was growing dark, but the last few beams of light caught his platinum curls, dying them ever so slightly golden. Picked out a flush of pink in his cheeks that had been all but absent for the last decade.
He was so goddamn beautiful.