Chapter Text
Azra landed hard in the main hall of Hell, stumbling to the side as his ancient leg wound, the one from the first War, acted up.
There was a soft chuckle from behind him, and Azra spun around. Satan was sprawled upon His throne, as always, and there was a broad grin stretched across his face.
Oh, I don’t have time for this, Azra thought , more than a little desperately, straightening up and fixing the jacket of the fairly tattered suit that he defaulted to in his non-corporeal form. It was messier than he liked, and pure black, unlike his usual softer greys, and he didn’t have any gloves, but... well, it wasn’t like he had a choice, like this.
“Welcome home, little rabbit,” Satan said, still sounding unendingly amused.
“Hastur and Ligur?” Azra asked, rolling his eyes. “Really. Was that entirely necessary?”
“I think it was,” Satan said. “You betrayed me, darling. Still surprising me, after six thousand years.”
“Ah,” Azra said. “Yes. About that.”
“Oh, poor pet,” Satan said, His voice a mocking parody of sympathy. “Come up here, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Azra just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “What’s bothering me? You can’t possibly be serious.”
“When am I not?” Satan asked. “Come here, darling, and we'll talk about this. Of course, I can't let you off scott free, you did betray me, but I'm sure we can come to some sort of arrangement–"
He reached out, and His hand, hellfire-hot and heavy as lead, landed on Azra's cheek.
Azra jerked himself away, stumbling back, just a few steps out of range, and wincing at the pain in his leg as he did so.
Satan raised what should have been an eyebrow, a small, amused sort of smirk playing across his lips.
And at this point, Azra was too hurt, too heartbroken, too absolutely furious to even try to take it back. "You're mad. You must be absolutely mad, to think that I would put up with another eternity of– of this sort of nonsense from you!"
Satan's brow arched higher. "You don't have a choice."
"Do I not?" Azra asked, looking around the main chamber of Hell. It was empty, at the moment, apart from Azra and Satan, and the various tunnels leading back up to Earth were all unguarded.
He glanced back up at Satan, who was still staring at him, that horrid amusement writ across His face.
I could explain it to him for the rest of time, Azra thought suddenly, and He'd never understand. He hasn't loved anything but Himself in millennia.
Slowly, almost cautiously, Azra approached one of the tunnels. He rarely used these, not if he could avoid it, so he wasn't entirely sure which one led back to England…
"Where are you going?" Satan asked, His voice taking on a slow, uncertain edge. It was an odd sound, coming from the Devil Himself. "Get back here."
"I don't think I shall," Azra said, almost to himself. He glanced over his shoulder once more. "I feel as though this one lets out near London…"
"If you leave me now, little rabbit, then no force in Heaven or Hell can hide you from the punishment I'll send your way–" Satan snarled, bracing Himself to rise from His throne.
And then, his leg throbbing and his chest aching and a wild, desperate amalgam of panic and hope flooding him, Azra took a deep breath, snapped, "Oh, fuck off," and then leapt into the tunnel, and everything went black.
###
Crowley swayed in his seat, gesturing for the bartender to bring him another bottle of… what was he drinking, now? He supposed it didn't matter, not really, not at this point.
He was still soaked through, his hair dripping into his face, but it did a good enough job hiding the tears on his cheeks (even if it couldn't hide the puffiness of his eyes or the way his hands shook in a manner that had nothing to do with how very drunk he was), so he didn't bother to miracle it away. He'd dripped in the Bentley, too, and if he'd been even a bit more in his right mind, he would've seen that for the cardinal sin it was, but…
But Azra was dead. Azra was gone, leaving behind nothing but a smear of ash on the floor of the bookshop, and the bookshop itself was ruined, and Azra might just have been discoporated, yeah, but there was so much water, and no way to tell how much of it was blessed–
Crowley's mind veered sharply away from that thought, unable to even glance at it in passing for the way it made his entire chest squeeze tight, and instead words spilled out of his lips as the poor bartender set another bottle of whatever-it-was down on the table.
"I would've Fallen for him, y'know," Crowley said, slumping to the side, his eyes not quite focusing on the human as they walked away. "If he'd asked me to. Never would've, of course, he never would've… but maybe tha's why, n'the end. Cuz he never… he never… I didn't even like it much, Up There. Boring as anything, an' the food's awful. Would've given it up n'a heartbeat, f'he'd… f'I thought he'd let me. Never did. Never… never got a chance…"
And then he felt something, a wisp of smoke, a demonic miracle, and then, in the bench opposite him…
"Azra?"
Azra's head jerked up, his eyes not focusing on Crowley– not really focusing on anything, really.
Crowley leaned in closer, completely unable to tell whether the demon in front of him was real or a figment of his drunken, grieving imagination. "Are you here?"
"Not certain," Azra said, "never done this before." He paused, then asked more loudly, "Can you hear me?"
"Course I can hear you," Crowley said, leaning back again.
"I'm afraid I've made rather a mess of things," Azra said with a small, apologetic smile, and fuck, as drunk and fucked up as he was, Crowley felt that like a stab in the chest. "Did you… did you end up leaving?"
"Nah," Crowley said, doing his very best to shrug nonchalantly. "Changed my mind. Stuff happened." His voice broke, and there were fresh tears in his eyes, but he pushed the words out anyways. "I lost my best friend."
"Oh," Azra said, his mouth falling open slightly, his eyes going wide, and, shit, Crowley wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and his wings and hold him until the end of time. "Oh, Crowley…"
"But you're here!" Crowley said, forcing his own, now-unfounded, grief back as forcefully as he could. "What happened, bunny? I got your call, and I went to the shop–"
"You did get my call?" Azra asked. "Oh, I wasn't sure– well, I– I've been discorporated."
"Hastur and Ligur," Crowley surmised.
"Quite," Azra said. "That's also, ah… are you still at the shop?"
"N-no," Crowley said, blinking. "I– it– Azra, the shop is–"
"I know," Azra said, and something flickered across his face, something faint and pained, and the desperate urge to hug the demon roared up again. "It– I was still there, when Ligur– but no matter. Ah. There– there should have been one book there that was safe, I tried to miracle it– the one the young lady with the bicycle left behind, The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of–"
"Agnes Nutter!" Crowley finished, an odd sort of euphoria overwhelming him, finally driving out the grief, as he pulled the still-dry book out of a pocket it shouldn't have technically been able to fit in and waved it in front of Azra's face. "Yes! I took it!"
"You did?" Azra asked, and there was tiny smile on his face, and, God, Crowley had thought he'd never get to see that smile again, if he wasn't careful he was going to fall apart again in front of Azra and he'd never let himself live that down.
"Look inside!" Azra was saying, and Crowley blinked, flicking the book open to see a sheaf of notes and maps, stuffed into the first page, as Azra kept talking. "I made notes. Adam's address, everything… I worked it all out."
"Look," Crowley said, "where are you? Wherever you are, I'll come to you."
"I– I'm not really anywhere, yet," Azra said, and this time, his smile was his more nervous one. "I haven't found a body."
Crowley blinked, and then, quite without any input from his brain, his mouth said, "You could use mine."
Azra blinked. "Pardon?"
Crowley hissed at himself internally, but he couldn't take it back now, could he? "You could… y'know, basically just get a ride on my body."
Azra frowned, his brow furrowing. "That… feels terribly dangerous. Wouldn't we– won't we explode, or something?"
"Don't think so," Crowley said, trying very hard not to think picture that. "I mean, we're basically made of the same stuff, right? It'll work like a possession, I figure."
"I've never possessed anyone," Azra said, though he was reaching his hand out slowly. "Crowley, I can't see you, you have to…"
"Right," Crowley said, "receptive. Just…"
He closed his eyes and opened, as best he could. It was a weird feeling, and he didn't particularly like it, but then–
Then, he felt it, in a way he hadn't before, drunk as he was and faint as Azra had been. He felt that warmth, that comfortable shadow, that endless, boundless, unyielding love, felt all of the things that made Azra who he was, and then he was slipping closer, and on the other plane, Crowley opened up all of his wings, curling them around Azra, pulling him close, pulling him in–
Crowley's eyes flew open, and he gasped sharply, his hands clutching at the table in front of him, entirely without his input.
Crowley, Azra's voice said in Crowley's head, and he– he sounded shocked, utterly blown away, and he felt shocked, too, stunned, bowled over. Crowley could almost see it in his head, if he focused, all four of the demon's true faces staring at him in wide-eyed wonder.
"What?" he said, out loud.
I've never… Azra thought faintly. I, I knew, I've known, ever since Alexandria, I've– but I never… I've never been able to feel– Crowley, your love–
Oh, Crowley thought back, more than a little relieved that there wasn't some sort of problem. Yeah. It… it's you. It's always been you, bunny.
There was a smile spreading across his face, broad and sappy and entirely ridiculous, and there were tears in his eyes again, and Crowley couldn't tell if it was his fault or Azra's or a combination of both, and, frankly? He didn't care.
Then Azra shook Crowley's head briefly, collecting all of his notes into the book once more and snapping it shut again. You need to sober up, my dear, if we're going to drive. We have to get a bit of a wiggle on to get to Tadfield in time.
Crowley blinked. What was that?
Sober up to go to Tadfield, Azra repeated, miracling up more than enough money to cover Crowley's tab and placing it on the table.
No, I got that, Crowley said, it was the "wiggle on"–
Oh, hush, you, Azra said, the words accompanied, as they always were, by a flood of that warm, gentle, endless love, and Crowley couldn't help but bask in it.
Azra was okay. Azra was okay, and here with him, closer than he'd literally ever been, and they were going to go save the world, and Azra was okay. And, in the end, that was all that mattered, really.
###
The drive to Tadfield was long and tedious and agonisingly slow and, largely, completely uneventful, uninterrupted by anything but the brief sight of a tornado, of all things, in the distance. Azra let Crowley drive, both literally and figuratively, and just sat, enfolded in the angel's wings, soaking in his love.
It was– it was stunning, absolutely brilliant, like– like Crowley's own personal star, Azra thought, just as bright, just as vast, just as weighty, just as easy to lose himself in if he wasn't careful, and so he let the light of it wash over and through him, brilliant and unending and warm, and in the other plane, he curled himself in closer to what would have been Crowley's chest, and felt Crowley's wings pull in tighter, hold him closer, in turn.
By the time they got to the airfield, the guard out front was asleep, as was– Azra reached out his senses, carefully, not wanting to overextend himself and risk slipping out of Crowley's embrace– as was every human in the immediate vicinity, save five, and then...
He's here, Azra said softly, and when Crowley's hands clutched at the steering wheel, he couldn't tell whether it was his fault or Crowley's. Adam, he's here, and– and so are the horsepeople, Crowley–
It's alright, Crowley said, revving the engine and completely miracling the wire gates to the airfield away. We can still do this, bunny. It's not too late. We haven't lost just yet.
Azra nodded Crowley's head, trying desperately to summon some of the angel's determination for himself.
They drove into the middle of Armageddon, only to find a very human boy and his very human friends, working very hard to stop it all from happening.
When Crowley-and-Azra climbed out of the Bentley, Adam glanced over at them, then frowned and looked again. "You're two people. Why are you two people?"
"Ah," Azra said, utterly taken aback by the completely normal-looking boy before them, the one around whom he could see all of reality bending. "Um. Long story. You see, I was in my bookshop–"
"You should go back to being two separate people," Adam said, and just like that, it happened.
Azra gasped as he stumbled to the side, reincorporated once more, and back in his old suit, too, the old, worn fabric in its shades of dark grey, with his old leather gloves, the very same ones that Crowley had conjured for him so long ago now, on his hands once more.
And then, there was a hand in his, and Azra jumped slightly, looking up to see that Crowley was staring at him with an utterly inscrutable expression on his face, his golden eyes wide and almost desperate and his hair still limp and messy from the shop's sprinklers. He looked a mess, utterly exhausted, and like he'd just seen the sun for the very first time.
He'd never looked lovelier.
Azra gripped Crowley's hand back, feeling the warmth of it through the glove, and turned back to watch as four young children and their love for one another saved the world, using the very sword that Azra had Fallen for giving away so very long ago.
###
Death opened his wings, vast and incomprehensible as they were, and vanished, and Azra blinked away the afterimages, looking over at Crowley. The angel was still clutching his hand like he’d never let go, frowning at the space where the horsepeople had been.
“Did we do it?” one of the children asked, the messy one, looking over at Azra and Crowley as though they might have an answer.
“This part of it,” Azra said.
Crowley squeezed his hand again. “Heaven and Hell will still want their war.”
“You’ve done a marvellous job, my dears,” Azra said, smiling as gently as he could manage at the four children. The three of them who weren’t Adam looked, quite frankly, terrified. “It just… well, in the end, it might not make all that much difference, I’m afraid.”
“You!” a voice shouted suddenly, and Azra looked around, squeezing Crowley’s hand convulsively, to see– it was young Miss Device, hurrying towards them and pointing to Azra and Crowley accusingly. She was trailed by a young and very confused-looking man. “You’re the man in the car, you stole my book!”
“Oh! Book girl!” Crowley said, grinning and tossing The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter her way. “Catch!”
Anathema did, and then something– something fluttered out, a small scrap of paper, perhaps one of Azra’s notes, or perhaps a remnant of one of the many worn-through and half-torn pages in the book. Azra caught it, looking down at it.
It was one of the prophecies.
Well, Azra thought, secreting the prophecy away in a pocket, I am a demon. It’s almost expected that I keep some souvenir of the book, isn’t it?
“What is going on out here?” Miss Device demanded.
“Long story, no time,” Crowley said, shaking his head.
“Well, try me,” Miss Device said, cradling the book close to her chest and glaring.
“Ah,” Azra said. “Well. Okay. In– in the Beginning, in the Garden, Crowley was– was sent to clean up, and I had technically been on apple tree duty–”
“Azra,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head, and Azra fell silent, biting his lip. Right. No time. Heaven and Hell would surely be here any minute, now, wouldn’t they? Azra could feel it, now that he was focusing on it. The discontented grumblings Down Below. The slow, steady building of His anger. It wouldn’t be long now before both of their Head Offices arrived, and when they did…
Miss Device turned to the children, said something else, and dear young Adam responded, and then–
And then thunder boomed, and Azra yelped, tugging his hand free from Crowley’s and whirling around to see the Archangel Gabriel, appearing in a flash of lightning, and Lord Beelzebub zirself, emerging from the ground. The two glanced at one another, rolled their eyes in eerie synchronicity, and then strode towards the small group of humans, past Azra and Crowley.
“Gabriel!” Crowley said, flashing the Archangel a broad grin. “Hi.”
“Traitor,” Gabriel said, his voice almost friendly.
If Azra hadn’t known Crowley quite so well, he likely would’ve missed his flinch. “That’s not a nice word.”
“Well, get used to it,” Gabriel said.
“Where’zz the boy?” Beelzebub demanded, glaring at Azra.
Azra bit on the inside of his cheek, not quite willing to give zir the satisfaction.
Not that it mattered, in the end. Gabriel pointed directly to Adam, said his name, gave him a wide grin, and then he and Beelzebub started in on him, trying to force him to restart Armageddon.
Azra glanced around, his heart hammering in his chest. The brave young boy wasn’t budging, but the children around him looked petrified, and Miss Device’s young man was clutching at her hand, and Crowley had this look on his face, a look that made the low roil of panic in Azra’s chest threaten to boil over.
And then, that look on his face shifting suddenly into a determination Azra had only seen a handful of times before, he– he stepped forwards, crossing to stand behind Adam, saying loudly, “So, hang on a mo’, I just– I have a quick question.”
“Crowley!” Azra hissed, but it was too late, and Gabriel was glaring daggers at him, and, oh, he was going to get himself hurt–
“How do you know?” Crowley asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and staring right back, utterly unintimidated. "Like, how do you know that that– all the world-ending stuff– really is his destiny?"
“The Great Plan!” Beelzebub snapped. “It izz written. There shall be a world, and it shall last for six thousand years, and it shall end in fire and flame.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Crowley said, waving a hand as though to bat Beelzebub's words away. “I got that bit. It’s just… how do you know that that’s still the Plan? The real Plan, I mean. Just ‘cause, y’know, I was there, right, when it was all getting settled, and She changed Her mind all the bloody time, yeah? And it’s not like She’s said a word to any of us since Eden. So… how do you know?”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed, and he glanced over at Beelzebub.
“Well, of course it’s what She wants!” Gabriel said, gesturing vaguely. "How could it not be?"
“You don't–” Azra gasped, and then he hurried forwards, as well, coming up to stand on Adam’s other side, just beside Crowley, where he belonged. “It does make sense, doesn’t it, that She would change Her mind? God’s plans have always been rather ineffable, in the end.”
“It’d be a pity, wouldn’t it, if you thought you were doing what the Great Plan said, but you were actually going directly against what God really wanted,” Crowley pointed out.
“But it izzz… written,” Beelzebub said slowly, zir face scrunching up in confusion.
Gabriel pointed between Azra and Crowley aggressively. “God does not play games with the universe.”
Azra snorted. “My dear fellow, where have you been?”
Gabriel glared at him, then tapped Beelzebub on the shoulder, pulling zir away. "Can I just…?"
Azra glanced over at Crowley, and the panic hadn't lessened any, not really, but then Crowley shot him a look, a small, reassuring sort of smile, and Azra smiled back, hoping against all hope that this worked, that it would be enough, that Crowley's questions could be enough to protect the world.
“Well at least we know whose fault it is,” Gabriel said eventually, as he and Beelzebub both looked back over at Azra and Crowley.
Azra waved, giving a small little smile and fighting the urge to reach for Crowley’s hand once more.
Gabriel stalked forward again, this time aiming straight for Adam. “Young man… you were put on this earth for one reason and one reason only, to end it. You’re a disobedient little brat, and I hope someone tells your father!”
“Oh, they will,” Beelzebub said. “And your father will not be pleazzed.”
And then they were gone, and the panic that Azra had been forcing back erupted in full force.
“Crowley–” he said.
And then he felt it, a wave of massive, agonising, unending fury, His fury, powerful enough to tear through Azra’s body, knocking him to the ground with a shout of pain.
“No,” he gasped, “no, no, no…”
“Azra!” It was Crowley, Crowley’s voice, Crowley’s hand on his shoulder, just barely enough to cut through the haze of rage that didn’t belong to Azra. “What’s going on? Are you okay? I can feel something, what’s happening?”
“They told Him,” Azra said, pushing himself upright. “They told his father. And He–” There was another wave of it, of pain and fury and pure Satanic power, and Azra braced himself on his hands to keep from crumpling again– “oh, He’s not happy…”
"Shit," Crowley hissed, clutching at Azra's shoulder tight enough that it almost hurt.
“My dad?” Adam asked, and Azra tried his best to focus on the boy as he spoke. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Not your Earthly father,” Crowley snapped. “Satan.”
“The boy doesn’t know any better,” Azra said, catching Crowley’s arm as the world began to tremble beneath them. The humans all stumbled, crying out, talking to each other, and Azra clutched desperately at Crowley, trying to steady the angle, to pull himself out of the haze that Satan's anger threatened to put him in.
"We're fucked," Crowley said. "Aren't we?"
"We can't give up," Azra said, shaking his head. The sword, his sword, had clattered closer with all the tremors, and it wasn't as though it would make any difference, not really, but Azra grabbed it anyways, as though a single flaming sword and a demon who could barely stand could make a hint of difference against the literal Devil Himself. "Crowley, we can't give up now."
"Bunny, this is Satan Himslef, what're we meant to do against that?" Crowley asked.
Azra almost laughed. "That's meant to be my line, dear."
"Bunny–"
"Crowley, please," Azra begged, pleaded, clutching at Crowley as though the world would end if he let go, and now… well, it very well might. "You have– you have to come up with something! Or… or…"
And then his eyes met Crowley's, and he saw everything there, six thousand years of conversations and dinners and favours and time and love, everything that he stood to lose, and hit him, all at once, cutting like a knife through the haze of pain and anger and the terrible rumbling of the Earth.
"Or I'll never talk to you again," Azra breathed, and it wasn't a threat, not really. It was a warning, to the both of them.
Crowley stared at him for a moment longer, his lips parted, his golden eyes wide, and then he reached up to the sky, snarled, and pulled, and the world dissolved into white.
###
After everything, after it all ended, after making sure that Adam and his friends and Miss Device and her young man (as it turned out, his name was Newton Pulsifer, and he worked for Sgt. Shadwell, of all people) made it home safely, Crowley and Azra sat on a bench, pressed up against one another, watching as a human drove off with the implements to start Armageddon stowed in the back of a simple mail truck. Neither angel nor demon was quite ready to make the drive back to London yet. Crowley was taking a swig from the bottle of wine he'd summoned, and Azra was fiddling with the small scrap of prophecy that he'd borrowed from Agnes's book.
"D'you… bunny, d'you really think She meant for it to work out like this?" Crowley asked eventually, holding the bottle out for Azra to take.
Azra frowned. "I… I'm afraid I can't possibly say. I... wouldn't put it past Her."
Crowley huffed out a soft laugh, his head falling down to rest on Azra's shoulder.
Azra froze, glancing around out of habit more than anything else, then forced himself to relax, letting Crowley lean on him. "Are you all right, my dear? Are you quite sure you can drive?"
"You're not driving the Bentley, and we're not leaving her here," Crowley said. "I'm fine, bunny. Promise."
Azra hummed disbelievingly, but let it slide.
They sat there in silence for another, long moment, just soaking in one another's presence, before Azra sighed and said, "I… I suppose I can't go back to the bookshop, can I?"
Crowley winced, sitting upright once more, looking over Azra's face. "Bunny…"
"No, it's all right," Azra said softly. "I, well, I suppose I can still ask you to drop me off there, I can see if there's anything at all worth salvaging–"
"No," Crowley said, shaking his head. "Bunny… don't torture yourself like that, yeah? It's– you won't–"
"What would you suggest I do, then?" Azra asked, and a part of him had meant for it to be sharp, but he was just– he was so tired, so utterly exhausted.
"You can stay at my place," Crowley said. "If you like."
Azra blinked, looking over at him. He– of course, he'd felt it, earlier, how– how much– but–
"Crowley…" he said, his hand reaching out, fumbling blindly for Crowley's, and Crowley caught it, held it close, warm and gentle and– and loving as he always was.
"We're on our own side, now," Crowley murmured, squeezing Azra's hand. "Let me take care of you, yeah? Please. We just– for however long we have left. Stay with me."
And Azra– even if he'd wanted to, and he didn't, he never had, Azra couldn't say no to that.
"I will," he breathed, his hand tightening on Crowley's almost convulsively. "Crowley… I'll stay, as long as you like."
And oh, the look that Crowley gave him, the warm, gentle, endless relief in it, Azra could have stared at that expression for the rest of eternity and never tired of it.
But then Crowley pulled his hand back and stood up, and followed suit, and they climbed as one into the Bentley, and when Crowley sought out his hand again, Azra squeezed back near-desperately.
They didn't let go of one another once, not on the whole way back to London.