#crowley's constant changes to his appearance and even his name really are like a snake shedding it's skin every few months he needs to molt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

klunkcat · 5 years

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We can be stronger, now

After months of dating, Zira finally introduces Crowley to his family. Crowley is, understandably, less than thrilled about the whole thing.

(Takes place in my snake vet human AU featuring: an established relationship, a lot of soft tender feelings, and some not so great emotionally manipulative content from the Upstairs Gang, with bonus comfort and general tooth rotting fluff to make up for it!)

“It’s a dinner invite,” Zira announced, with a lot less than actual announcing and more feigned indifference and carefully hushed tones. Crowley’s imaginary hackles were already rising.

“Someone mailed you a dinner invite? As in, sent the whole thing over through the post. With a seal?”

Zira huffed with a genuine modicum of indignance, “some people do prefer the written word, you know.”

Crowley rolled his eyes good naturedly and flourished a hand Zira’s direction without bothering to stand from his strewn position on the old couch. “Well, lets have a look at this awe-inspiring penman ship then.”

Zira acquiesced and shuffled into the kitchenette to set the kettle, tittering quietly about dying arts and the old days and what not. Crowley smiled to himself, a little sickeningly sappy, bundled up with thoughts of slow mornings in dewy sunrises and warm mugs. It was fine that he let himself become absolutely overrun by his constant soppy gooey feelings, so long as no one was around to witness it.

Oh, we definitely have to go to whatever this event is, he’d decided, taking in the flowing script and very official looking parchment. They’ll have the little prawn cocktails and all the cheeses the mind could comprehend. Zira would love it. He’d developed himself a nice daydream of crashing fancy dinners with Zira, all flustered and giggly, just to show him off a little. Have everyone in a tizzy over the dashing man with the bleached white hair, absolutely spoil Zira with the little appetizers and drinks. So enveloped in the absolute sticky, syrupy sappiness of it all, he’d nearly missed the name attached at the very end. Not that it was particularly legible, all over done with loops and twists like that. Seriously, those rich types must have a different alphabet entirely. Bit like doctor’s handwriting, but he’d learned to decipher Anathema’s.

Signed, The Phael Estate

“That’s funny, isn’t it?” He called towards the kitchen. “Having a last name like that. Here I’d thought yours was strange.” Then again, he was the one who adamantly refused to be called anything other than his last name. Glass houses and rocks and what not.

“P-H-A-E-L. Huh. What are the odds of that. Switch two letters and you’d be practically family!” He snorted and glanced up towards Zira as he brought their tea over. Oddly, Zira didn’t look all that amused. He looked almost uncomfortable, in fact. Nervous, even.

“Something like it,” Zira agreed, smiling weakly.

Crowley sat up straighter.

“Angel,” he said, a bit blankly. “Is this a dinner invite. From your family?”

Zira winced. “Afraid so.”

“Your family. As in, Michael, the sister that called you on your 21st birthday to tell you that you were being financially cut off? The one that returned your Christmas gift in front of you? That sister?”

Zira sipped his tea, “Water under the bridge, really, dear.”

Zira didn’t talk about them much, or ever, really. They’d been properly dating for about four months, friends for a while longer, and the only snippets Crowley had managed to steal were all vague and distant sounding. Something about a family company, about moving out fairly young. A throw away comment here and there. Boring stuff, sounded like.

He’d always sort of assumed they were that uppity classical type of people, the ones with wire gates and a refusal to look beyond them. A miracle in itself that someone as passionate and curious as Zira had come out of it in one piece. So he thought.

“Alright,” he said, easy as you please.

Zira blinked up at him with a touch too much of surprise for Crowley’s liking. Meeting the parents was a right of passage of some sort, he figured. A step in a long list of eventualities he would dive head first into just to hold Zira’s hand a little while longer. He wanted to do everything with Zira, whatever he wanted to do.

Although Zira was trying very hard to appear completely neutral, Crowley had gotten quite good at picking up on the smaller details. The nervous twitch of his fingers, the overly casual short sentences paired with wide earnest eyes. Picking up on the context of these sorts of things sort of just came with the territory of staring adoringly at him whenever he got the chance, he supposed. Sappy. Eugh. He knew enough though to see that Zira absolutely wanted to go, or at least felt obligated to and didn’t know how to shuffle that particular responsibility off.

If there was anything Crowley excelled at, it was being irresponsible. Something for another day, for all the infinities of days he’d fight to spend with Zira. Stuffy and uncomfortable family dinners be damned. At the very least, they could go down swinging.

“So, which tie should I wear then?”

“Didn’t fancy dressing the part? I told you a good haircut would do wonders for those bags under your eyes, darling.”

“How’s your book store struggling on these days, hm? I thought for sure I’d heard about a ‘for sale’ postage, happy to hear you’re still keeping it afloat.”

“Really, you should ask about your cousin Urie, makes a pretty penny in the industry you know. Messing about with hobbies is all well and good until you need to think of settling down.”

Crowley regretted this evening beyond his capacity to regret anything else in his life. And he’d once had the great idea of picking an 8am class in college, before he’d dropped that whole thing.

Stuffy and uncomfortable clearly hadn’t met the Phael family, or they’d up their game.

The dining hall they’d found themselves shoved into unceremoniously could not possibly be dripping with more chandeliers and dazzling bits of metal and glass if it tried. Despite wearing his best suit, having Zira fret over his tie and spend hours debating which one best complimented Crowley’s hair (a debate that had neatly been side tracked by a whole lot of snogging), and despite Zira’s absolutely manic desire to press every seam and steam every wrinkle, he still felt wildly underdressed. The feeling had spawned when they’d rolled up through a private gate onto a tree lined roadway, escalated when Crowley had seen the massively sprawling plot of land, and only increased since.

None of which would be remotely bothersome, of course, if Zira hadn’t been growing increasingly quiet throughout their evening. Crowley could handle snobs, could handle the side glances and the frowns at his tattoos and piercings (Zira had half vaguely warned him they were on the conservative side when it came to body modifications. Conservative as in, preferred amount being none, actually), hell, he could handle the weird and invasive insinuations about dating Zira for his ‘connections’ (whatever that meant). It wasn’t like he hadn’t been through that inspiring jaunt a time or two with his own family.

The comments about Zira, on the other hand set his teeth utterly on edge. If they made it out of this evening, Crowley was going to buy them both the fanciest wine they could afford. Actually, he’d buy it either way. They’d probably need the respite, alive or otherwise.

“Brother, really. Have you lost all sense of self image? Phael’s do not slouch.” Michael frowned at him from across the table, and Zira’s ears turned red. He said nothing, but slowly and forcibly slid his shoulders down from his ears and sat up primly. “Although, I suppose you want nothing to do with the family, regardless. Buying a legal name change, and all.” She scoffed, loudly.

“Now, now.” Gabriel chuckled. “It’s not like he changed it entirely. Speaking of changing, I had wondered if you had reconsidered my offer?”

Zira visibly tensed, as though he’d almost instinctively pulled his shoulders back upwards. He cleared his throat after a long moment, a practiced smile firmly in place. “Oh, I… I certainly considered it! Unfortunately, that is. Er. Selling the shop is quite impossible, at this current venture.”

“Hemming and hawing is unbecoming, Zira,” Uriel said from farther down the table. Zira’s smile read more like gritted teeth. Crowley fantasized about throwing the entire table over, just to get more than a placid blink in reaction from Uriel.

“I am quite firm in my decision, that is to say… well. No. I have not reconsidered, Gabriel.”

Gabriel, who up until this point had seemed like the most disconnected nonplussed of the family, frowned. Then his features flattened entirely. “I commend your decisiveness, if nothing else. Well then, onto other news! Brother, we haven’t seen you in a few years. Gosh, not even sure how many.”

“Three,” Zira said, into his dinner more than anything else.

“Yes, of course. Three long, very interesting years. Tell us what you’ve been up to, hm?”

“Well,” Zira started, and paused. Surreptitiously, Crowley slid his hand onto his boyfriend’s knee, squeezing gently in support.

“Um. Actually, I adopted a snake.”

Michael looked positively horrified. Gabriel’s expression crumpled inwards. If Crowley wasn’t so furious about the entire thing, and desperately attempting to keep the evening at a level pace to get them both out as fast as possible, he might have laughed.

“A snake?!”

“Yes,” Zira brightened, unfolding himself from his stiff posture. “He’s quite the handsome snake too, a lovely shade of deep brown and this dark blue. His name is Oscar, after Oscar Wilde of course. He’s a rosy boa, and. Oh, it’s an excellent story come to think of it, but Oscar’s the reason me and Cro-Anthony, got together! It was because he escaped one night and—”

“Zira,” Gabriel interrupted, looking for all the world like he was talking down to a small, particularly hyperactive child. “You’re telling me you keep that creature, in your home?”

“Well, yes. Where else would I keep him?” Zira asked with a strange half laugh.

“Can’t exactly let him keep on living in the vents,” Crowley added. “Dirty in there. Might come out as a dust bunny instead, then what would we do with all the mice?”

Zira snorted, loudly.

Oh, the look on Gabriel’s face was priceless.

“Well, good to see your severance package went to good use then,” Michael cut into her stake, pointedly. Crowley achingly wanted to go into detail about the amount of customers that just adored Zira’s work, about the donations from the nearby locals aiming to keep his store open as a ‘vital part of the local scenery’ when the income had been sparse one winter. Zira had made him promise not to, though. Something about them preferring things small and unobtrusive, although Crowley was starting to think they preferred to think of Zira that way, more than anything else.

“I do wish you had found. Better coping methods. Rebelliousness isn’t an inherited trait, after all.” She gave a long level stare Crowley’s way. Ah, subtlety thy name is certainly not Michael Phael.

“I suppose snakes aren’t for everyone,” Zira smiled, uncomfortably, shooting confused glances Crowley’s way. Easy enough for Crowley to reign in his self defensive habits, he hadn’t even flinched. He’d much rather she go on poking at him than making that awful shuttered look appear on Zira’s lively face, anyways.

Dinner seemed to carry on with similar fashion, little pointed passive aggressions here and there, barbed words snuck in behind compliments. It was an emotional wasteland if Crowley’d ever seen one, and he’d thought his family was snarky. At least with his adopted siblings there’d be a straight-faced insult one could snap back at, maybe a punch or two if they were particularly heated. Not that any of them meant it, of course. Growing up in ‘rough circumstances’ had just given them all a particular coded language of their own. Wildly unhealthy, sure, but there you go.

Verbal sparring matches were entertaining only so far as they didn’t sink in too deep. Crowley was beginning to see that these awful ice picks of words and insults had been hacking for years.

The distance and vague cold sentiments made perfect, horrible, sense.

They’d almost made it to the end of the evening without too many emotional scars, the bottle of wine in Crowley’s mind nearly tangible with reality. Finish line practically within arms reach, clock hand ticking down to the ‘Acceptable Time Spent With Awful InLaws’ territory, when the sucker punch came.

And what a wallop it was.

“Sandalphon, why don’t you tell them about your business? He’s made amazing headway with his business degree, graduated with honours.”

Sandalphon’s smile slid back, “We’re talking to investors in New York.”

“New York, he says!” Gabriel guffawed. “I can’t wrap my head around it. All that from a few years in school, hm? Speaking of, Anthony, what did you say you did?”

Crowley took a large sip of wine (awful stuff, no taste in reds at all, this lot). “I work at a vet clinic.”

“Is that a difficult path? Veterinarian school is quite the under taking from what I’ve read,” Michael swirled her salad around casually. ‘Casually’, air quotes added via Crowley’s internal bullshit detector.

Zira’s lips had thinned. Crowley was definitely missing a particular puzzle piece here, and he tread carefully.

“Can be. If you finish it,” he shrugged.

“Oh? And you didn’t?” Gabriel’s eyes were a little too wide, sparking with something devious like he’d sensed a spot in his armour. Crowley’d been through this song and dance a few times, however. One didn’t get through life without an unwarranted opinion or two with as many visible piercings as he did.

“Wasn’t for me. Went all the way to the final practicum, though. If you’ve got a sick pet anywhere I can probably suss out where things went wrong. Work as a receptionist with a brilliant vet, Anathema’s the best of the best. I’m the one who’s got all the discounts and tips, keep in mind.”

Gabriel tutted. “How long did you say you’ve known each other?” He gestured at Zira, almost as if he were taunting him. If Zira had heat vision, Gabriel would be melted on spot.

“I’m quite proud of him, actually. Besides, Anthony has nothing to do with my decisions, Gabriel.”

Gabriel leaned back, the picture of innocent confusion, complete with a pout. “You’re a Phael whether or not you want to be, Zira. We just want what’s best for you, and I’m concerned you may have fallen into the wrong influences in our time apart,” he held his hands up, palms out. How the bastard had managed to pronounce the spelling difference in his last name so pointedly was a real magician trick in itself, Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

This one was definitely the brown-nosing teacher’s pet type growing up, Crowley figured. The bastard that spread rumors just to watch other people fight it out. Jumping to claim martyrdom wasn’t in this season, Gabriel.

“Wrong influences?” Zira squeaked out.

That wicked glint appeared in his gaze, “Well, people of his… type don’t exactly give the best impressions.”

Well, that wasn’t particularly creative, was it. Type as in, what. Drop out? Pierced? ‘Alternative?’ Come on, at least have the bollocks to call me out on what you’re really thinking, you right prick.

Crowley was about to zing back a hilariously witty retort, when Zira slammed his cutlery down. “I will not have you speak of my boyfriend that way, Gabriel.”

“He’s only saying what we’re all worried about,” Michael added, in a tone like she was completely baffled by a teenagers irrational outburst. “I mean, he is wearing sunglasses to a dinner party.”

Crowley scoffed out loud, rolling his eyes loud enough to hear as well. He’d been wondering when that remark would crop up, if he were to be honest. Was usually the first thing on any tetchy relatives mind.

“I suppose you’d rather have me curled up with a migraine, then?” Crowley leaned backwards slowly on his chair, watching her eyes widen. “Poor service, that’d be. Not getting that five-star host rating.”

“I am entirely fed up with your judgements!” Zira stood up, abruptly, clanging the plate in front of him. The room fell silent. “It’s one thing for you to nitpick my every move, to-to call attention to any mild flaw, to insinuate time and time again how much I’ve failed the family name.” His voice trailed off slightly, a bit hoarse. Crowley was nearly steam rolled by a desire to Get Him Out Of There Immediately. Ice cream was likely in order. With all the toppings. Double the wine.

Zira’s expression steeled itself. “It’s quite another to belittle and insult a guest in your home! Crowley is the most cunning, brave, and selfless person I’ve ever met, and-and if you won’t take the time to appreciate that, then I don’t believe there’s any point of carrying this charade on any longer.”

He turned to Crowley, eyes blazing. Crowley never felt so achingly pained, inspired and awed, and wildly turned on in his life. He looked every bit like an avenging angel, with the chandelier light fanning behind him. His heart lurched and skipped in a confusing upset-and-absolutely-smitten sort of way.

“My dear, I do believe we’d best be leaving.” He held a hand out for Crowley to take, lifted him out of his seat, and kissed him gently. People talked of sparks and lightning but this, with the awe and hurt still roiling in the air, was purely embers and simmering brimstone. Crowley was maybe just a little beyond dazed.

“I’ll be out at the car,” he said, before storming down the hallway.

Everyone stayed utterly still for one long, unending moment. Crowley let out a breath, leaned forward and finished his wine in a single gulp.

“Well, wish I could say it was lovely to meet you all, but. You lot really are the worst.” He wanted to say something along the lines of ‘if you won’t love that man out there, I’ll do it for you, and I’ll do it twice as well’. Maybe something like ‘he’s the best person I’ve ever met, and he loves me, I almost feel sorry for you. Missing out on something that extraordinary’. Instead he just looked Gabriel in the eyes, slid his glasses down his nose enough to make sure he caught every word.

“None of you deserve him.”

The wine really was all around terrible, couldn’t be helped if he accidentally knocked it all over their fancy tablecloth on his way out. Not like it was a waste.

The drive home had been quiet. Not so much tense as… processing. The rain splattering against the windows, and the wipers pushing back and forth was enough ambience, besides.

Crowley wasn’t so much worried, either, as he was.... unsure. Zira looked drawn and stoic against the dim grey light, and he’d kept his eyes firmly in front of him, on the road, the whole way to his shop. There wasn’t the usual stress induced furrow between his brows, or the nervous fidgeting of his hands. Zira was still, withdrawn.

Alright, so he was worried.

The man had just stared down his entire array of siblings and cousins and told them to stuff it. Wildly impressive, that was. Crowley didn’t exactly have an excellent frame of reference for the emotional fall out, mind you, but he imagined it was likely spectacular in and of itself. Zira truly and deeply needed a proper hug and a good cuppa, if he was amendable to either idea.

Crowley was slightly afraid Zira would tell him to go home, mind blowing kiss and heart warming words aside. After all, he’d just sat there and let it happen, like a thorough pillock. Some boyfriend that made him.

He waited until they’d parked, shuffled inside, and locked the doors behind them, before placing a hand gently on Zira’s shoulder.

“You, erm. Want to talk?” He winced even as the words left his mouth, weak and not nearly wide enough to envelop the enormity of everything.

Zira didn’t look at him, and walked stiffly to the cupboard.

Crowley felt a little lost by the doorway; he’d decided already he wouldn’t be leaving Zira alone tonight unless the man asked for it, but he didn’t exactly know where he was needed, either. Zira was always the energetic one of the two of them, loudly unimpressed or visibly pleased, he’d never seen him anything but. This was new territory, a new song and dance. Another task on his list of infinities he wanted nothing more than learn the steps to.

Zira was leaning on the counter heavily, shoulders high around his ears, back turned. He practically radiated unhappiness, and it ached.

“Angel?”

“I’m sorry you had to see all of that, my dear,” Zira said, in a strange soft voice. “I really should have torn up the infernal invitation. Probably should have not gone at all.”

Crowley frowned. “No sorry, I don’t need a sorry. Not looking for one.” He shook his head, exhaling slowly, attempting to work through what Zira needed to hear. “Not like they’re a lovely bundle of peaches or anything, but.” He shrugged, maybe a little self consciously. “Glad we went.”

Zira glanced towards him, eyes wide and just on the side of too glassy for Crowley’s liking, before returning to fumble through cabinets with trembling hands. “You are? But… but, oh, I made such a mess of things.”

That was enough, more than enough. That was too much, in fact. He snorted. “You?” He stepped forwards, dropping his coat on the armchair. “You were incredible. I think they had the mess side of things covered from the start. You just helped, you know, point it out.”

“Please, dear,” Zira’s voice was shaky, Crowley realized with an awful lurch.

He dropped his voice into something softer to match, gentling his expression. “Zira, what do you need?”

Zira closed a cupboard with a little too much force and whirled towards him. “I need you to. To... To be exactly- well, you!” His face screwed up, eyes closing. “What they implied of you was. Quite wrong, and you mustn’t believe a word of it, Crowley! You- they never have had a grasp on what things were worthwhile. You mustn’t listen to- to, well. What they said at the end was… it was bullshit. To be frank. And I’m sorry you had to hear it, along with the rest.”

Crowley’s heart did a funny thing, he had the very stark feeling then that he was missing a page or so from his script. “Angel, you know I can handle it. Slid right off me, you know.”

Zira shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to!” His whole body was trembling slightly, Crowley took another cautious step forward. There was something almost defensive about Zira’s expression, as though he was bracing for something. Crowley tried very, very hard not to be hurt by the implications there. He wasn’t sure if he fully succeeded.

“You shouldn’t either, you know.”

Zira’s lower lip trembled, and he caught it between his teeth, looking down. “Oh, it’s so terribly selfish. To think of my own pride when you. When they’d been so awful to you. You must know how wonderful you truly are, and, oh…. In comparison, I know, truly how I must seem, it’s only that…I hope your view of me hasn’t changed.” He shrugged a little, a helpless rise and fall of unsteady shoulders.

Crowley couldn’t help but move in, crowd Zira against the cupboard. He pulled the wineglass Zira had managed to snag from his hand with a patient delicacy, pressing his palm along the curve of Zira’s chin.

“Zira, angel. Do you really think that little of me?”

Zira’s eyes were impossibly round. “I… no! Oh, my dear, never, I’ll tell you every day how much I… I’d—It’s only. The things they said, about my failings—”

Crowley pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Nothing anyone could say would change that I know you, angel. They’re wrong.”

I would never think less of you, he thought, I want to know all of you. Difficult to think less of the entire bloody galaxy anyways, with how gone on you I am.

“They’re not,” Zira said, miserably.

Crowley’s next kiss was a gentle rebuke. He moved his other hand up to cradle Zira’s face between his palms, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. Crowley frowned. “Mmmmn. Let’s check that, shall we? Let’s see...I love your curls, I love your books, I love your shop. That’s at least three things they got wrong right there.” He emphasized each statement with a press of his lips to Zira’s temple, his forehead, his nose.

Zira looked away, his ears went pink. Crowley pressed another kiss to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I love your stories, I love hearing about every thought that travels through your wonderful, fussy brain. I love when you’re bossy, when you’re particular, when you’re endlessly brave. I love that you chose your happiness over their stuffy money and rules. I love that you stood up to them, that you care. They don’t even know a good wine from a bad one, all that wealth and no sense anywhere in that whole sodding house. Zira Phale, they are wrong. Couldn’t be more wrong even if they told me Oscar was a bloody pigeon, in fact.”

Zira’s eyes were glowing, he looked awed and enraptured and something else that made him look almost ethereal. “Crowley,” he gasped.

Right, sappy. This was why he didn’t let his useless heart do the talking.

“It’s true.” Crowley grumbled, sweeping his hands down to Zira’s shoulders instead, just as Zira’s hands curled themselves against his lapels and dragged him back in for a searing kiss.

His brain went a bit soggy, for a moment his heart and head were in perfect unison.

“You forgot one.” Zira laughed, a tiny overwhelmed noise. “I love you, Anthony J. Crowley,” he added, a bit breathlessly, eyes twinkling.

“Oh,” Crowley said, dazed and feeling a bit like he could do with a good pinch but utterly refusing to wake up from whatever dream he’d stumbled into. Reality be damned. “That too. Me, uh. You. Also.”

Maybe he’d let his heart do the talking a bit more often, then.

Zira smiled, a full and beautiful thing. “So, which tie should I wear?”

Crowley wasn’t sure if his brain had entirely given out on him, or if this was the usual amount of Zira inspired confusion but all he could manage was a ‘ngh?’

“For meeting your family, I rather think we’re on a roll.Two birds one stone as they say, after all.

#good omens #good omens fic #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #uhhhh i have no excuse for this other than Zira deserves a hug and also is a Strong as Fuck individual #this is wildly self indulgent thanks for joining me #my fic

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