![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blue_bells» Title: Back to Back
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Anna/Crowley
» Summary: Sticking together makes tactical sense when you lack the means on your own.
» A/N: Written here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kijikun in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic. These two haven't even met in canon, why is it so much fun? This community makes you write the strangest, loveliest things.
He doesn’t like her for what she is.
He adores her for what she is and her contrary ways. Because Anna can be a little bit vicious, hands quick to strike, curl and tear, her lips twisted in a righteous, delicious sneer and Crowley understands that this comes to angels a bit too easily.
He understands how angels tip and fall.
Anna wants to stop the apocalypse and she’ll brazenly tap Crowley’s tactics to do it.
Crowley can’t walk away because she’s a glorified firearm that stays warm at night and her kills last much longer. They share an unspoken but mutual understanding of the satisfaction, as long as he distracts her from the aftermath.
It’s months they’ve been stuck in this pendulum swing: he’ll find their next target in Lucifer’s circle, she’ll throw them into the fray and he’ll pull her back before the blood lust grows too thick or the horror too apparent and if Crowley’s lucky, Anna doesn’t let go until the sunrise.
He enjoys her best when she’s coming down from the battle high, eyes clearing of the haze as she trembles, breath heavy. Crowley always sees the moment that she realises her surroundings, body tensed, eyes growing wide and just before she apprehends what terrible, wonderful carnage she’s wreaked, he’ll step in and take those shaking, bloody hands to his chest, hide their smears in his dark shirt.
He’ll make her laugh with some aside about a dresser they saw in the window or perhaps the song that played in the car after breakfast; a smile and a quirk of the eyebrow and he almost always succeeds. Her fingers will slide wet in his shirt, tangle with his and soon she'll smile again, however small, still wild but relieved.
She's worth more than any demon, so he'll never let her fall. Tactically, it makes sense. Selfishly, the gratitude he finds in her eyes is enough to let her drag him forward over and over again.
He doesn’t know if they’re making a difference or even a dent in Lucifer’s plans, but neither of them has the means to take him out themselves.
So, back to back, they turn in every other direction and take aim.
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Anna/Crowley
» Summary: Sticking together makes tactical sense when you lack the means on your own.
» A/N: Written here for
kijikun in comment_fic. These two haven't even met in canon, why is it so much fun? This community makes you write the strangest, loveliest things.He doesn’t like her for what she is.
He adores her for what she is and her contrary ways. Because Anna can be a little bit vicious, hands quick to strike, curl and tear, her lips twisted in a righteous, delicious sneer and Crowley understands that this comes to angels a bit too easily.
He understands how angels tip and fall.
Anna wants to stop the apocalypse and she’ll brazenly tap Crowley’s tactics to do it.
Crowley can’t walk away because she’s a glorified firearm that stays warm at night and her kills last much longer. They share an unspoken but mutual understanding of the satisfaction, as long as he distracts her from the aftermath.
It’s months they’ve been stuck in this pendulum swing: he’ll find their next target in Lucifer’s circle, she’ll throw them into the fray and he’ll pull her back before the blood lust grows too thick or the horror too apparent and if Crowley’s lucky, Anna doesn’t let go until the sunrise.
He enjoys her best when she’s coming down from the battle high, eyes clearing of the haze as she trembles, breath heavy. Crowley always sees the moment that she realises her surroundings, body tensed, eyes growing wide and just before she apprehends what terrible, wonderful carnage she’s wreaked, he’ll step in and take those shaking, bloody hands to his chest, hide their smears in his dark shirt.
He’ll make her laugh with some aside about a dresser they saw in the window or perhaps the song that played in the car after breakfast; a smile and a quirk of the eyebrow and he almost always succeeds. Her fingers will slide wet in his shirt, tangle with his and soon she'll smile again, however small, still wild but relieved.
She's worth more than any demon, so he'll never let her fall. Tactically, it makes sense. Selfishly, the gratitude he finds in her eyes is enough to let her drag him forward over and over again.
He doesn’t know if they’re making a difference or even a dent in Lucifer’s plans, but neither of them has the means to take him out themselves.
So, back to back, they turn in every other direction and take aim.
