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They had come to the states intending for a change of pace.
Crowley and Aziraphale adored their home, of course, but one can’t help to explore the world they’d helped save.
They flew over to the states intending for a culturally stimulating adventure. New York was on top of that list. There were parks, broadway plays, and of course, a litany of fancy restaurants to try together.
Of all the activities lined up, Crowley had not, in fact, planned on being knocked out, dragged, or interrogated.
He wakes from his untimely nap and takes inventory of his surroundings.
His captors had neither angelic or demonic auras, thank the bloody stars.
They had him cuffed to a chair (not cool), but still had his shades on (slightly better).
The group is loud, going back and forth about how ‘Loki’ he was. They bicker about Crowley’s clothes, his hair, his glasses, every minute detail of him. They even question his toothpaste stain; it was very invasive. It’s not until they question the ring on his finger that he clears his throat loudly.
“Who is Loki, and why am I here?”
The room turned collectively, like hive-minded meerkats. The beefy blond guy numero dos rocked back on his feet from where he was in beefy blond guy numero uno’s face, glasses nerd took his hand off his face, and the redhead gave Crowley a look like a serpent recognizing another.
Tony, recognizable from his name said in exasperation, holds a finger up as if to hush the demon.
“Zip it, Spaceman.”
Crowley, who is approximately forever old, has had his whole day held up and absolutely done with this, huffs like a moody teenager. Then, with a snap more for dramatics than anything, miracles himself free and stretches as the handcuffs clang behind him.
Blondie two rushes forward, trying to tackle him, but a step to the left allows him to weave past the other with ease.
He and the redhead lock eyes, both smile. This was going to be fun.
She makes the first move, grabbing his wrist and twisting hard, latching onto his back. He grins while trying to bat her of himself, delighted by this human's strength and brutal grace.
They were sparing at the moment, hand aching from the twist, shoulders and head lighting in pain as she brings sharp elbows down, but he'll be blessed if he didn't admire her craft and aesthetic.
He slams himself hard against the wall, successfully getting the red-head to detach. She's up the next moment, but he doesn't let her advance. He shoves her to the wall, hands keeping her arms firmly by her side. Crowley is about to utter his appreciation for her skills when he hears something approach his head.
Crowley reaches one of his hands behind his head, stopping the blunt object without looking.
“Aiming for my skull? Really? And when my back is turned no less! That’s just barbaric.”
The red-head freezes, no one in the room dares move.
He steps back, brings his arm forward, and stares puzzled. A hammer?
Glancing around, Crowley sees that all of them are staring at him like he sprouted two new heads.
"What? All I did was catch the thingy, why are you lot mystified?
He holds it by the leather strap at the end, swings it in a circle for a bit, and chucks it at Blondie one. Loud and barbaric aesthetic and all.
The brute fumbles for a moment before gripping it close to his chest. The glasses nerd seems to reboot his brain faster than the others.
"Can we all agree that this guy isn't Loki?"
There are hums and grunts of assent from most. The blonde who rushed him frowns and Tony stutters indignant.
Crowley lets himself fall into his usual pose and mutters something under his breath.
His temporary sparring partner stares into dark glasses and narrows her own gaze.
He hums, unaffected by the glare, and saunters toward the bar.
Tony frowns and strides over to the other, puffing his chest, trying to get under Crowley's skin. Trying every way to Sunday to set him off and illicit a reaction that would shatter the supposed act.
Crowley huffs irritated but resumes looking around.
“But how do we know? We’ve seen how he uses illusions to his advantage.”
The nerdish man sighs out the other’s name, ‘Steve,’ in something close to lidded frustration.
“I still think we have the wrong guy.”
“Nat! Come on! Do you really think he-”
“Yes.”
Crowley, not finding anything he really wants at the bar, wills a bottle of wine and a glass into existence. He sits on the counter and sips away, one leg crossing over the other.
From the corner of his eye, he sees the redhead's mouth twitch up, he slightly raises his glass in her direction, not taking his focus off the others.
Steve looks between Nat and the lounging man, waiting for an explanation.
“Loki fights for power. He toys around, gets in our heads, makes us doubt and tears us apart without so much as lifting his scepter. This guy...”
She nods her head at Crowley, who tips his glass right back at her.
“Was fighting for fun. No intent to kill. You saw him just now Cap, no chokehold, no quips or brutal truths unveiled. This guy isn't standard, but he's fine by me.”
The taller one grunts in agreement, thumbing the symbol on his hammer.
“My brother cannot lift, let alone catch Mjolnir.”
“But Thor-”
“My brother is many things.” He pauses to look at Crowley.
“He can cast spells. He can shift into animals and genders. Loki is many things, but he was never worthy of it. This man is strange, but he has my trust.”
“He can do what now?” Crowley leans forward, intrigued.
“Oh yes, one time he turned into a snake! And I love snakes, so I picked it up and then Loki appeared and stabbed me! It was terrible.”
“I can do that!”
Before anyone could raise a brow at him, Crowley shifted into his most basic state.
Many grew tense at the matching ability, and the fact there was now a giant black and red snake resting on the bar counter.
Thor looked at the giant serpent, a mix of wonder and hesitance swimming in his eyes. Crowley kept his continued stare on the blonde, slowly sticking his tongue out to do what he called a ‘blep.’
The lug beamed and held out his hand, still a bit wart. Crowley slithered onto his hand and up to the inner part of his elbow, resting his snoot there, muscles lax and nonthreatening.
The tension in the room eased up when Thor looked up from his arm to smile. No one had ever seen the big dork so happy.
Crowley slowly slithered off his arm and let out a pleased sigh when he returned to his normal shape, making a show of displaying his weaponless hands to all in the room.
The combined approval finally shuts the shorter blonde up, to which the still-unnamed man sighs ‘Thank god’ in relief.
He opens his mouth to say that God’s got nothing to do with it, but Tony gets in his face again. Running his mouth and trying to find the chink in Crowley’s ‘act.’
He rolls his eyes behind his dark shades and looks back to the nervous man (now wearing a face akin to “Nevermind, God is dead, and we killed him.”) Crowley would have laughed if Tony hadn’t changed tactics.
Tony brings up the ring because, of course, he does.
The man scrunches his face in disgust, smirking when he sees Crowley’s mouth twitched into a frown.
"Who the hell would be stupid enough bind themselves to you?”
Tony’s circling him now, an action very familiar to the Serpent of Eden.
“No, really, I want to know. Did you trick her? Force yourself on her with your power?
Crowley freezes, hands gently resting on the counter, taking in a deep breath and sighing heavily.
“You must have. I mean, look at you! You're just a bunch of sharp angles with Daddy Issues. Not even the dumbest blonde would fall for who you really are.”
The others watch the two, silent. There's a chill in the room now. Tony's face is the definition of smug.
"He."
There's a pregnant pause.
"He? Thor didn't mention you swing that wa-"
He’s met with a swarm of disapproving comments.
("Tony, Jesus Christ!")
(“Is this really necessary?”)
(“It does not matter what Loki’s preferences are, this man is not him.”)
Nat stares. She already knew the truth, but this would, without a doubt, prove his innocence.
If there was ever a time for Loki to strike at the heart of emotional turmoil, it was now.
Tony’s own pain and doubts bled into his taunts, whether he knew it or not is unknown.
Tony, the snarky, sharp man with Daddy issues to end all Daddy Issues.
Tony, who know that there’s an imbalance of power in his own relationship.
Tony, who worries when Pepper will eventually wake up and leave him every day.
He keeps poking, trying to goad him into unraveling his lies fueled by his self-deprecation and doubt.
Crowley unseats himself from the counter, back straightening, now towering over the other man.
"My Husband...” He pauses to reign in his anger.
“...has the lightest blonde hair in all of Earth and eyes that shimmer like the clearest, cleanest skies.”
He continues before Tony can come up with another insult.
“He has read and studied and philosophized more than you can possibly fathom. He has seen empires rise and fall. Libraries built and burnt. He's the bastard that would put up with me.”
Crowley grabs the other man by his collar, making him stand on his toes.
“That blessed blonde looked upon the disgrace that I am and decided that I was worth knowing. I was and still am a dirty, good for nothing, demon. I am tainted, bitter, and annoying, but he wanted to be with me with all my sharp angles and abandonment bullshit. He's been with me since the beginning only because he wanted to. He loves me all on his own. It was him who got on one knee. Everything he’s ever done in regards to me is because he willed it."
Crowley lowers his head, glasses moving just enough for Tony to see the golden eyes and narrowed slits.
"My husband is my sun, moon, and stars. Don’t you dare insinuate that I forced myself on him in any degree.”
Crowley shoves the now stunned man to the bookworm and hisses.
“Speak another word of that hideous lie, boy, I dare you.”
Above them, a light flickers and brightens before going out entirely, which is particularly concerning considering the fact that the tower runs on self-sustaining energy.
“Do it, and I’ll see to it that when you pass, you’ll have a very unpleasant stay in Hell."
Crowley scowls deep, pushing his shades back up, walking to the farthest corner of the room to curl up and shoot angry looks at the man.
Everyone stares for a bit, dissecting this information. Nat crosses her arms and hums, it’s tone somehow yelling ‘I was right, told you.’
There had been anger in that tirade, yes, but he had bared his heart. There was complete truth and vulnerability and love in that hissing rant.
There were no threats of death or violence. No guarantees of a slow and painful demise or promises of loved ones getting hurt.
Only the assurance that, if Tony kept that shit up, Crowley would escort him to hell when he did die.
The fact that the strange man was not Loki finally sinking in.
The nervous man gives Tony a decidedly neutral, but disappointed look before picking up the wine and glass from the counter. He walks slowly, holding the drink up as a peace offering.
Crowley uncurls himself and takes them, the lines on his forehead relaxing a tad.
“What’s your husband’s name?”
The demon visibly perks at the opportunity to talk about his beloved but hesitates. He mumbles incoherently, still pissed off.
“What’s he like?” He’s trying, Crowley gives him that.
“He’s an angel.” It’s said with an untensing of shoulders and a natural smile.
“You mentioned you were a demon, so, is he a literal angel, or do you just love him that much?”
Crowley grins and sips at his wine happily.
“Yes.”
They all feel the tension melt away slowly.
“We didn’t catch your name,” says Steve, calm yet demanding.
Crowley casts a shit-eating grin. “That’s cause I never threw it.”
There are groans and some huffs of poorly disguised laughter.
The demon hums and shakes his head, stating that he should know their names first, what with kidnapping him and making such vile accusations.
He points to each of them, starting with Nat.
(“Natasha, but you’ve earned the right to my nickname”)
He points to each of them, reciting the names he picked up through conversation, stopping to look at the man sitting by him.
“And you?”
He sees the other man fidget, awkward and stressed, and he can’t help but be reminded of Aziraphale.
“You seem… nice enough.” He forces the word out, inspecting the back of his hand and letting his ring catch the light.
“You remind me of him. He’s smart, real smart, simply adores books. Do you like books?”
He smiles when he sees a bit of tension slip, a quiet nod.
“He knows so many things and loves all of what the world has to offer.”
Crowley pauses softly, checking the man’s aura. It's dual-colored and soaked in a light that’s heavy and sticks like glue. The hatred and disgust directed at the other half is palpable.
“Sometimes, when the things he loves are in danger, or if he sees something particularly wretched, he becomes something else.”
Bruce’s body language is a mix of nervous and intrigued, but not closing up, that's good.
If Crowley were paying attention, he’d have seen everyone in the room doing the same, but that wasn’t his priority. All he wanted to do was wrap the little book worm in a blanket and keep him safe. It’s so sweet it’s sickening, but he stopped caring about that a long time ago.
“He turns into this whole other being. His face shifts and his body transforms. He becomes enveloped in so much light and power.” He smiles at the memory lovingly.
“He’s radiant like that. Terrifyingly beautiful. All aspects of his existence are what I love about him. I adore him for it, not in spite of it.”
Crowley sighs happily, bragging about how great Aziraphale really puts him in a good mood.
“I feel like you, and he are very much the same. There's another part of you, I can see it in your aura. He comes out and does things you don’t normally do. He uses offense and power, whereas you prefer strategy and tact. You hate him for it.”
The man gives a small nod, everyone in the room silent.
“I can’t change who you are, nor can I change how your other half acts, but I hope you’ll meet someone who loves you both- Not in the romantic or sexual sense, though that isn’t bad either- You deserve to be around those who appreciate the whole of you.”
Crowley lowers his shades and spares a gentle glance at the strange human.
“I hope that you’ll be one of those people one day.”
He focuses on the man’s aura and smiles. The disgust and hatred seemed to have receded a bit.
The poor man has unshed tears in his eyes, it makes something in the demon ache.
Those two really must be one and the same. Bless book wormish man-shaped beings and their ability to make the demon feel Emotions.
He sets a hand on the other’s shoulder, the man shifts under his gaze, smiling soft and thankful.
“Bruce.”
Something inside Crowley’s heart does a little happy dance at that look. Goodness, he was getting soft.
“Now that introductions are out of the way!”
Crowley stands with an eccentric little bounce.
“Name’s Crowley. Demon, Serpent of Eden, Founder of Reason and Humanity’s Original Sin.”
He bows, because he was a flash bastard at heart, and grins when a sudden storm fills the sky of New York.
“And that is Aziraphale! Angel, Principality, and Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden. My loving husband!”
He runs to the windows, takes off his glasses, face brimming with love and delight.
“Whoever this Loki is should come up soon enough. Seems like the boy made my angel angry.”