It sneaks up on him, a sense of concern that once drove him over the Channel to the Bastille, and at first he attributes it to the loss of the daemons, not quite able to untangle his own despair at losing Asteria from the nameless pull he has towards Aziraphale.
Until there's a scream that he feels more than he hears, at which point he operates on instinct more than thought. Meaning that he initially tries to will himself to Aziraphale's side, before remembering that isn't possible and he has to walk the scant distance down the hall, keeping his composure the entire time out of further instinct. He doesn't know what's wrong, but for all his fear of immediate danger, there's a deeper fear of someone knowing he's scared.
That's always more dangerous.
Nothing is amiss at the door, aside from the sign, which serves as a small relief when he can sense it was created by a miracle. There's further relief when the door still opens at his unspoken request.
The relief drains away immediately at the disarray in the room. Not the broken crockery or torn chair. There's a maelstrom of angelic pain that's utterly unfamiliar.]
Aziraphale?
[As gentle as he can be, and equally gentle in his movement as he closes the door and carefully approaches, unsure if it's wanted.]
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It sneaks up on him, a sense of concern that once drove him over the Channel to the Bastille, and at first he attributes it to the loss of the daemons, not quite able to untangle his own despair at losing Asteria from the nameless pull he has towards Aziraphale.
Until there's a scream that he feels more than he hears, at which point he operates on instinct more than thought. Meaning that he initially tries to will himself to Aziraphale's side, before remembering that isn't possible and he has to walk the scant distance down the hall, keeping his composure the entire time out of further instinct. He doesn't know what's wrong, but for all his fear of immediate danger, there's a deeper fear of someone knowing he's scared.
That's always more dangerous.
Nothing is amiss at the door, aside from the sign, which serves as a small relief when he can sense it was created by a miracle. There's further relief when the door still opens at his unspoken request.
The relief drains away immediately at the disarray in the room. Not the broken crockery or torn chair. There's a maelstrom of angelic pain that's utterly unfamiliar.]
Aziraphale?
[As gentle as he can be, and equally gentle in his movement as he closes the door and carefully approaches, unsure if it's wanted.]