Work Text:
------------------------------------------------------------------
It's gonna be forever
Or it's gonna go down in flames
------------------------------------------------------------------
After the War Aziraphale had left Europe entirely. There was no longer an upstairs so to speak. It remained but it had become inaccessible. Nobody knew if God was there, or if angels still dwelled in those whitewashed walls. Most had fought and died. The angels who hadn't had perhaps met much worse fates.
As Aziraphale now stood in the last remnants of his book shop he shivered. Quickly using his energies to discreetly piece the place back together. Nothing fancy, just structure. Something to block the inside from the outside. No one would sense him now, Aziraphale had learned how to avoid just about everything. To others, he might have been comically soft but Aziraphale had been and would always be deceptively clever.
The first few days were tentative, he was ready to go. But he wanted to stay, so much travel, forever on the run. It just wasn't him. Months had soon past and Aziraphale developed a careful confidence. The shop was no longer a battered shell but something akin to what it once was. Even a few of the books had managed to be conjured from the ashes. Of course it still all looked desolate and abandoned in the ruins of Soho and that was a wonderful trick indeed.
It was a cold night in the middle of November when Aziraphale came downstairs and startled. Crowley had come, not with an army or weapons. No, he had simply let himself in and was lounging on the couch in his usual fashion. As if everything that had happened, hadn't.
Aziraphale said nothing, frozen to the spot debating what exactly he should do. His eyes flickered hopefully to the door. Which really wasn't all that far...
"Don't do that, if you run I'll have to get up and catch you." Crowley sat up, swinging his legs to the floor with a smile. "We don't want that now. Do we angel?"
"Leave," Aziraphale whispered. Saying it like a prayer. "Please leave. I don't want any trouble."
"Hell has been looking for you, did you know that? They think that you could perhaps... cause a little trouble."
Compelled Aziraphale looked towards the door again. Wanting to flee through it but expecting to see others.
"It's just us," Crowley assured. His tone conspiratorial.
"So I am to believe that I am your little secret?"
"I've already called dibs. I've moved up the ranks quite a bit since Armageddon."
"I don't know what dibs means," Aziraphale ventured. But he had a vague idea. He shuddered as he recalled what had happened to the archangel Gabriel. What was still happening. "You keep angels?"
"Sometimes," Crowley shrugged. "Each to their own. To the victors go the spoils."
Glancing about Aziraphale took a step back as Crowley took one forward.
"We aren't spoils. We are celestial beings. It's-" Aziraphale jumped as his back hit the wall. He hadn't even register taking those final steps. He swallowed hard. "It's terribly cruel."
"Cruel?" Crowley smirked. The stigma of Hell a frightening sight. "And what do you think would have happened if Heaven had won? Would angels have shown us demons any mercy?"
Aziraphale shook all over, "I don't know. But I wouldn't be doing this to you..."
"Perhaps," Crowley crept closer, closing in. "You wouldn't but Heaven would have been just as bad at winning as Hell is. Don't kid yourself Aziraphale."
"But I know what happened to Micheal!" Aziraphale shrieked, stalling for time. "Torn apart by hordes, hell hounds, demons. Over and over again. Until there was nothing left. I hear things. And Gabriel oh," Aziraphale put his hand over his mouth. "He is a prisoner to Beelzebub's every whim, all of which are wicked."
"Your talking about sex?" Crowley clarified, just to see Aziraphale pale. "Angel he loves it down there. Doesn't complain at all."
Aziraphale cringed, he knew Gabriel. He didn't like his superior but he knew him through and through. "You're lying."
Crowley, for a moment, looked a little like his old self. "Adapt or die, it's as simple as that. Don't think about him, or the others. You've done so well Aziraphale but now it's time."
Aziraphale shook his head, bracing against the wall helplessly overwhelmed. "Time for what?"
"To give in, surrender. Send up the white flag. I can protect you."
Face crumbling into a dismayed expression Aziraphale tried to breathe. It sounded reasonable given the circumstances. But there was no denying the way the demon was looking at him. Even Aziraphale was not that naive.
"No."
"No?"
"I won't do it, Crowley."
The demon laughed, "you still think you have a choice?"
Aziraphale flinched. "Please."
"You are mine."
"I'm not," Aziraphale protested weakly. Flushing red. "Please just let me go.
I don't want to do this. Crowley, I can't!"
"How long can you keep this up? Hell will find you eventually, everybody knows you now. You are the last one. Be mine, no one else will so much as touch you. Do you know what will happen if you're caught and I'm not around? I may have staked my claim but demons do tend to get carried away. Especially during an angel hunt."
Aziraphale shuddered, trying desperately not to think about it.
Crowley rolled his eyes. The air permeated with absolute fear. He stalked the remaining distance, surprised as a flaming sword burst into being. Separating him from his prize. "So you found your sword. Is that what you were doing whilst on the run?"
Holding his sword strong and true Aziraphale nodded. "Amongst other things."
Crowley threw his head back and laughed. It only made him want Aziraphale more. "I didn't have to look for you, I knew that you would come back here. Sooner or later angel. All I had to do was wait. And here you are. Predictable."
"Don't come any closer," Aziraphale warned. Steeling himself despite his shaking hands. "I am still an angel. You a demon. If you have any lingering affection, goodness or respect you'll leave. Leave and never come back."
Crowley couldn't help but think about all the things he could do to Aziraphale, the list was long. There was little the angel would fail to endure. But none of those things involved letting Aziraphale go.
Making to move around the sword Crowley cut a hiss as the sword swiped him swiftly. Aziraphale adjusted his position and waited. So determined.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be. Do you want me to get rough? To be forced to punish you?"
Aziraphale felt dizzy, deeply terrified. "Please don't do this."
"Last chance angel, drop the sword."
Aziraphale tightened his grip, the grey coming out in his blue eyes. They waited in heavy silence. Aziraphale half expected demons to ascend up from his floorboards. Ready and raring to drag him downwards at Crowley's command.
Instead Crowly abruptly threw himself forward, shoving the sword up to avoid being skewered. Instead, his skin burned hot and fast. Giving him just enough time to rip the sword brutality away and chuck it.
Aziraphale tried to run, getting no more than four paces before Crowley's hand had healed enough to grab and grip. Aziraphale cried out as Crowley caught him, forcing him clumsily into the nearest bookshelf. He turned to fight, infuriating his counterpart even more. Crowley's hands were upon him, Aziraphale found himself thrown clear across the room.
Crowley gave chase, dragging Aziraphale up off the floor he then slammed the angel against the wall, once twice, a dozen times. When Aziraphale went limp Crowley stopped. He pulled the angel up by his lapels, a once impeccable coat ruined with dirt, blood and business. He waited a few seconds for Aziraphale to focus before pinning him roughly against the wall.
"Love me Aziraphale, it's your only chance."
Coughing past the blood in his mouth Aziraphale sighed. Utterly exhausted. His hands clasped around Crowley's. "I always have. But not like this, don't you see? The demon I loved wouldn't do such things." Aziraphale cupped Crowley's face lovingly. Sincerely. He looked into yellow eyes, trying to find the being he had known for six thousand years. "This isn't love, it's possession. It's not you Crowley. Can't you come back to me?"
Crowley leant into the touch, such a tender thing. So hopeful. It took a phenomenal amount of restraint not to simply take Aziraphale then and there.
"I wanted you to run before because you weren't ready. Now I see that you never will be. You need to be broken before you can be free."
"Dearest please-" Crowley snatched Aziraphale's white hair. With his other hand, he began to press two burning fingers to feverish skin. The angel struggled but as Crowley's fingertips pressed firmly against the middle of his forehead Aziraphale lost consciousness instantly. Crying out one last time with an expression that poets would have written about. Had there been any left.
Crowley caught Aziraphale as he slipped down, scooping the angel up into his arms. Aziraphale's plump form hanging hauntingly limp, arms and legs just dangling. His head had fallen into Crowley, he looked peaceful. An expression that wouldn't last.
"He'll learn," Crowley said into the empty space about them. As if the shop and books held the injustice against him. For a few moments, Crowley just enjoyed the touch of the Aziraphale. He had waited so long. Soon enough his angel would wake, would panic and start protesting once more. Imploring with wide eyes and babbling prayers. As if anyone was willing to listen to the last angel standing. It would take time. But just like the plants Aziraphale would grow, he'd either learn to hate or learn to love. In the end, it didn't matter to Crowley.
It had taken him well over six thousand years, an apocalypse and a war. But he finally had his reward.
He had Aziraphale.