Chapter Text
Take one: Raven's about halfway down the aisle when Azazel disappears. As the smoke clears, she says, "Oh, he better not have just left me at the altar. Motherfucker."
"Raven, language," Charles counsels from the front of the church. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't be surprised that she punches his shoulder hard enough that he's definitely going to bruise.
*
Ten minutes later, Azazel is still gone, and Charles attempts to comfort Raven (who's not so much crying as going into loving detail about all the ways she's going to mutilate Azazel when she catches up with him) by recounting a story that he'd usually pretend he never heard.
"Hey, remember what you told me about the first time you guys did it? About how Azazel got so nervous before the main event that he kept doing a The Time Traveler's Wife on you? This is probably like that. I mean, he's got to be nervous, you know?"
"...Whatever," Raven says, and dents the pulpit with her fist.
*
Five minutes later, Azazel reappears. "Sorry," he says. "I really didn't mean to do that. Can we try it again?"
"Of course we can, baby," Raven says, and if Charles didn't know better he would never guess that she was threatening to castrate him thirty seconds ago. She's definitely changed her mind on that one, at least judging by the make-out session she initiates in front of the entire church before returning to the back for take two.
*
Take two: Azazel disappears again.
*
Take three: same.
Reverend Platt is surprisingly cool with the whole 'my church smells like hellfire and brimstone now' thing. When Charles brings it up, he says, "Maybe my congregation will actually stay awake during my sermon this Sunday. That's always a plus in my good book."
*
Take four: Charles says, "Raven, have you considered giving him an inhibitor when he gets back?"
Raven looks at him like he's just suggested drowning a puppy. "First of all, I am not getting married to a drugged person, Charles. And secondly, what the fuck, you know those things take forever to work! With his luck he'd end up getting stranded in Siberia or wherever when it kicked in."
*
Take five: Erik fidgets beside Charles and whispers, "Charles, do me a favor and point out all the non-hetero guys here."
"Absolutely not," Charles says, knowing it always starts off simple like that, but that next Erik will want to know each of their measurements in inches, then how easy each of them is after how many drinks, and then he'll get his charts out. Really, it's easier to Just Say No.
"So you want to keep me all to yourself, huh?" Erik says, flirty, leaning in closer.
Charles rolls his eyes as he edges away. "What do you think?"
Erik huffs and returns to scrutinizing the seated guests.
*
Take six: "I could shoot him in the kneecap for you," Moira offers.
Raven stares at her. "How would that help?"
*
Take seven: Okay, that's enough.
"Raven, as your brother and Azazel's best man, I have decided on a change in plans," Charles says.
*
Take eight: they've dispensed with the whole walking down the aisle bit. Instead, Raven stays up at the front of the church, and this time when Azazel reappears, she takes him by the hand without letting go.
As they look into each other's eyes, Charles knows that there's nothing and no one else that could ground Azazel so thoroughly - just as much as there's nothing and no one else that could gentle Raven.
Take eight is the charm, and Charles can't help crying as soon as they start saying their vows (at one point they stop and wait for him to finish, which - really, he's not being that loud, is that necessary?).
*
Raven and Azazel's first kiss as man and wife remains in the realm of chaste for approximately .083 seconds, after which it swiftly becomes as pornographic as a kiss can while both participants are still technically clothed.
When Azazel disappears for the eighth time, Raven goes with him. They return twelve minutes later, grinning and disheveled.
Charles gets ever so very drunk at the reception in the attempt to wash the images out of his retinas.