Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm

Author:Nnm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: some discussion of suicide, Web original, Webfiction, FanFiction, Good Omens, Good Omens (TV), Of course the DSM was the product of demonic influence, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Completed, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, eldritch angelic horror, Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale gets carried away, love is a four letter word, Sunglasses, Crowley goes to therapy, outsider pov, Seriously if you identify with Crowley after the fire therapy would be a good idea, the author has strong opinions about airports, Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley works through his problems, gardening advice, Gen, Everyone deserves a good therapist, Crowley has Trauma, Post-Canon, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens)
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Published: 2019-08-09T00:00:00+00:00

11. Dyadic Coping Strategies

Summary for the Chapter: Aubrey Thyme has an unexpected visitor, and it means she has to re-arrange her schedule.

The kindest man she had ever laid eyes on was currently sitting in her waiting area. He was sitting in her waiting area, and he was wearing Crowley’s sunglasses.

It was a jolt to her system to see him there. She hadn’t expected to see him. He hadn’t called ahead of time. He hadn’t set up an appointment. He was simply there, and she had to wonder how long he had been waiting.

He looked up and towards her as she stood in the doorway to her office. He smiled. She could feel that smile in her stomach, in her throat, but it wasn’t like before. It was a small, little smile, not like before. It was nothing more than a greeting.

That smile, it felt like the edge of a knife wrapped up in layers of gauze.

“Miss Thyme,” he said, and he stood. He looked like he was about to walk towards her, and he even took a short step in that direction, but then he stopped. “We have met before, if you recall.”

Yes, yes she did recall.

From her perspective, standing in her doorway, Aziraphale’s presence despite Crowley’s absence was both a good sign and a bad sign. It was a bad sign because it meant that, however Crowley was doing, it was dire enough that Aziraphale had sought her out. And he had sought her out, she could only assume, without Crowley’s knowledge. It was a good sign, on the other hand, because it meant, however dire Crowley’s situation may be, it wasn’t so dire that Aziraphale was completely bereft, completely undone. It meant, at the very least, that Crowley must still be alive.

She had done her due diligence, as much as she could. She had called. She had left voicemails. It was all that she could do, for a client whose circumstances were as unusual as Crowley’s. For the two weeks since Crowley had left, his name had kept showing up on her schedule during his regular slot. She didn’t know how. She hadn’t scheduled those appointments, and it wasn’t an automated system. She had assumed it was some sort of jab aimed at her, and it made her feel something other than pissed off. For both of those two weeks, she had waited the customary fifteen minutes for him to arrive, and then she had left a voicemail saying he had missed his appointment. That was all there was for her to do, for a client whose circumstances were as unusual as Crowley’s.

Aubrey Thyme took the imaginary card on which she had written, I’m a fucking hack, and she made sure it was safely filed away in her card catalog. It was cross-listed: it was filed under ‘S’ for Self, under ‘H’ for Hack, and under ‘Crowley.’ It was filed away, and there were three separate locks she could turn to make sure it stayed filed away.

“May I have a moment of your time?” Aziraphale asked.

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