The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 90: How Wards Fail, Or Don't

Chapter 90: How Wards Fail, Or Don't

"You know," Crowley muttered against the cold window, his whole upper body practically stuck to its icy surface," there are times I can feel Time sliding past me, like a current, and I'm just bobbing in its wake."

                Anathema frowned at his theater, trying to inspect the items he had brought out onto the kitchen table. "I have no patience for your performances, demon."

                She still sounded furious, but since being furious wasn't practical, instead she was simmering.                               

                And watching Crowley expound on his contrition was just nonsense and an utter waste of time. "Come over here and explain these."

                He acted not to hear her. "And now I'm making him do it. He's just sliding back and forth like a puck in a hockey game."

                "Crowley."

                "Which team is going to clobber him, I wonder, when he finally drifts to the net?"

                She really didn't want to be drawn in." What does that even mean?"

                "Maybe he'll just glide into the center, and stay there."

                "Crowley, get over here."

                "Maybe that's whot happened to Jinny. Maybe that's where I'll eventually lose him."

                "Crowley!!"

                At the sound of his name, he shook himself and held his head in his hand, then put said hand on his lithe hip and looked at her. She shivered at that stare, but didn't let him see it, even if he might smell her discomfort instead.  "Cut the bullshit, and get over here."

                "Yes, mum."

                "Snarky sonofabitch, do you think this is my idea of holiday cheer? Having to fix your fuckups?"

                He sat down and just looked at her vacantly, folding his hands in front of himself.

                "Don't do that," she said, her voice softer. "It's not really a fuck up."

                "I fail him at every turn."

                "I said don't do that."

                His nose wrinkled and he did a bodily shrug. "How may wards do we have to have now? Five, six? A thousand.? And I can't protect him from his own changing powers? Can't protect him from a few dreams? Might even be causing all our troubles," he tapped the table, indicating the items," with these trinkets."

                "I'm not your therapist, Crowley," the witch said, not unkindly.

                He idly touched a shard of glass. "You so sure?"

                "Not today, not right now." She leaned back and folded her arms under her breasts. "I've grown accustomed to your emotional turns and I can tell the difference between you cycling into depression or just trying to feed a mood. I'm sorry you can't verbally flog yourself right now, and I don't have time to console or reprimand you."

                He tilted his head, impressed. "You're really a hard ass bitch sometimes, B.G."

                "When it's called for. You can run off to Tracy, or pub crawl with Shadwell, when we're done. But I'm can't deal with you in the capacity of your councilor right now."