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Queen blasted from the tape deck in the Bentley just above the soothing purr of the engine. The car took a turn at a roaring speed, earning a squawk from his disgruntled passenger. Crowley grinned. He was having a grand old time racing about London. Grey clouds hung heavy in the sky as rain poured down. The bustling crowds of tourists and business people walking through Soho painted the bizarre humans that made up the tapestry of the city Crowley loved so much. Aziraphale sat next to him, pale and anxious at Crowley’s liberal interpretation of the rules of the road.
“Honestly, Crowley!” the angel protested as the Bentley swerved sharply, narrowly avoiding a clump of tourists who had stopped to gawk at a phone booth. “That was nearly death.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, angel. I’m an excellent driver. I’ve never hit anything.” Aziraphale swallowed.
“Except for poor Anathema Device,” the angel muttered under his breath. Crowley shot him a look of annoyance.
“She ran into me. It was her fault entirely.”
“You’re reckless, Crowley. I’ve told you before that you’re going to get us both killed! We’ve passed three wrecks this morning alone. I don’t want to be the next.” In Crowley’s opinion, people who wreck their cars when it begins to rain probably shouldn’t live in London.
“Actually, what you said was I’d get us ‘inconveniently discorporated,’ which I have never done, thank you very much.”
“After what we did, do you really think Heaven would take me back? If I get discorporated, I don’t think there’s any coming back. You know that Adam gave up his powers when he dismissed his Satanic father. He can’t give me my body back this time!”
Crowley frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. After six thousand years, he had just sort of taken Hell for granted, as strange as it sounded. If something up here went truly and horribly wrong, he could always count on the anti-motivational posters and dripping pipes of the underworld. The Fallen and demonic denizens would always greet him when he visited to give updates. He and Aziraphale had practically spat in the faces of their Head Offices with their trials by fire and holy water. He shuddered to imagine Beelzebub’s malice if he had the audacity to show his face in Hell’s desecrated halls.
“Right. You might have a point,” he conceded. The Bently’s breakneck pace slowed to a swift one. “Really though, the likelihood of us getting discorporated is slim to none.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply.
It happened so quickly.
Crowley saw a familiar red blur out of the corner of his eye. It was an image imprinted on every Londoner’s subconscious. It was barreling towards them fast. Too fast. Fear gripped his heart tight. In his panic, he could do nothing but watch. He felt the impact in his bones. The air filled with the horrific sounds of rending metal and screaming voices. Crowley was thrown out of his seat, shattering the windshield as he was launched into the street. The Bentley was built before seatbelts, and even if it had them, Crowley wouldn’t have used them. He hit the ground hard, skidding across the rain-slick pavement before finally coming to a halt. His head rang with the impact, his breath momentarily escaping him as the realization struck him.
Painfully, Crowley rolled onto his side, picking glass from his scalp and cheekbones. The mangled wire of his sunglasses clattered to the ground in a pitiful heap, the lenses entirely gone. He coughed, red speckling the back of his hand. One of his ribs was poking into his lung. Broken. The road had torn his jacket, red welling up from a dozen scrapes along his arms. He knew he looked a fright, but scrapes and tears were nothing to a demon.
Crowley’s brow furrowed in concentration and the torn skin knitted itself back together. His damaged clothes returned to their prior state and the quiet tinkling of glass hitting pavement could be heard. Crowley took a hesitant breath, but there was no pain. Good as new. He forced himself to his feet, seeing the horror before him for the first time.
The Bentley was twisted so severely Crowley could barely tell it had once been a car. Sheets of metal had been shorn by the bus’ impact and lay beside the Bentley’s husk. The windshield had a Crowley sized hole in it and hairline cracks spiderwebbed across what remained. Smoke was billowing from the impact sight, though it was unclear if it originated from the Bentley or the towering bus that had struck them.
A knot formed in the demon’s throat. Ninety years and one almost-Apocalypse hadn’t been able to seperate Crowley from his beloved Bentley, but one ordinary double-decker was able to crush it until it was fit only for the scrap yard. Aziraphale had been right. Adam Young wasn’t here to put everything right this time.
Crowley caught sight of his angel. Unlike Crowley, Aziraphale hadn’t been flung out of the car when the bus collided with them. He sat perfectly still in the wreckage, blood trickling from his temple. Crowley’s feet started moving before his mind. He grabbed the handle, realizing with dread that crimson blossoms were growing on Aziraphale’s beloved waistcoat. With inhuman strength Crowley tore the door open.
“Aziraphale!” The angel stirred, eyelashes fluttering as a groan of pain escaped his lips. Crowley reached in and dragged his angel out of the Bentley and onto the pavement. Dread washed over him, ice cold. It settled in his stomach where it twisted like a serpent coiling.
The rain was really coming down now, as if the heavens were weeping over their angel. Someone offered them an umbrella. It took one piercing glare from Crowley to send them scurrying away. Aziraphale’s pale curls were flattened by the water. His coat was sodden, weighing him down to the street.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale choked through tight teeth. “I don’t- Something is-”
“Shh, angel. Don’t try to speak.” Crowley cradled the angel’s head in his arms, looking in horror at the front of his shirt and waistcoat. What had once been Aziraphale’s signature beige was now a deep burgundy, his blood soaking through his clothes like a fine red wine. Aziraphale’s chest rose and fell in jerks as the angel struggled to breathe.
“I said you’d get me killed,” Aziraphale forced a smile. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his pale cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered. Tears rolled down his cheeks, burning against his skin. The chilling serpent writhed in his belly. “This is all my fault.”
“Not so,” Aziraphale replied with a wince. “You didn’t hit the bus. It hit you.” The echo of his own words hit Crowley like a punch to the gut. A sob forced its way out of his throat. He tightened his grip on his angel’s broken form.
“Doesn’t matter now. Come on, angel. Stay with me.”
Around them a crowd of horrified onlookers stared and one or two Good Samaritans were pulling passengers off of the smoldering bus. Someone screamed to call 999. A small fleet of mobiles had been whipped out, their owners filming the carnage with numb dread. Crowley saw none of them. The patter of the rainstorm distanced the crowd and their noises until it seemed like the only people in the world were Crowley and Aziraphale, the demon huddled over the angel’s bloodsoaked form.
The demon’s unblinking eyes were affixed to Aziraphale’s waxen face. His lips moved, uttering a constant litany of prayers and pleas.
“You need to heal, Azirapahle. You can do it. Use a miracle for God’s sake!” Aziraphale’s smile was sad.
“I can’t.”
“Yeah, you can. Of course you can! You’re an angel.” Aziraphale lifted a trembling hand. He barely had any strength to place the item on Crowley’s palm. It was a single black feather.
“I’m not an angel anymore.” Crowley stared, his disbelief and panic rearing up inside of him.
“When did this happen?” he asked in a hush.
“A week ago.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Crowley nearly screamed.
“I didn’t want to worry you.” He barked out a laugh, incredulous.
“Too late. I’m worried. So what, you can’t summon a demonic miracle? If you’ve Fallen like me, then surely you can.” Aziraphale shook his head slightly, shuddering with the effort.
“I’ve tried. I haven’t been to Hell since I Fell. I’m not an angel anymore, and I’m not a demon. I’m powerless.”
“Heal, angel. Please, just heal,” Crowley begged. Panic chilled him to his core. His mind reeled as he pulled together weak threads of thought. He felt powerless.
“It won’t work, Crowley. I can’t stop it.”
“But you’ve got to! Come on. It can’t end like this. Think of all of the things we’ve done, eh? Eden, Golgotha. Paris, you remember Paris? You’re the only one I have left. God, please don’t leave me. Please don’t die.”
In the distance, sirens sounded through the streets. They wouldn’t get there in time.
Crowley was choking on desperation. Aziraphale was dying in his arms. If he truly was neither of Heaven or Hell, then there was no guarantee that his immortal soul would live on. Crowley might never see his angel again.
In the chaos of the crowded street, something impossible happened. Between the burning wreckage of a red London bus, what had once been a mint vintage Bentley, and the throng of onlookers, a demon looked away from the dying angel in his arms and turned his face skyward. His slitted eyes searched the clouds for any trace of divine mercy. He prayed.
“God, if you’re listening, I need you. I’m just a demon, I know, but this is important. Aziraphale is dying. Yes, he Fell, but I don’t give a damn. Save him. You’re all about mercy, aren’t you? Protecting the special good people, that’s God’s deal. You have to save him. I don’t want to live without him. Please. I can’t lose him. He’s my best friend.” Crowley’s voice pitched up as his panic swelled. Aziraphale’s beautiful blue eyes kept fluttering closed and his pulse was fading under Crowley’s fingertips. He was losing him. “I don’t care what you do to me. Trade my life for his, destroy the earth. Just save Aziraphale. Please, God. Please. I love him.”
“Only took you six thousand years.” Crowley looked to see that Aziraphale’s eyes were open. Tears had welled up.
“Of course I love you, you daft angel,” Crowley croaked with a crooked grin. “I’ve loved you since the bloody Garden.”
“I’ve loved you since the church. You risked consecrated ground just to protect me. You even saved my books.” Crowley’s eyes widened. He gaped until he had processed what his angel had just confessed, his mouth belatedly catching up to his thoughts.
“I-since-you-church-you what?” he spluttered. Aziraphale’s bloodstained hand came up to gently cup Crowley’s cheek. The angel’s tearful smile twisted in the demon’s stomach like a knife.
“I love you, Crowley. I’m-” he grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to end like this.”
“No, don’t say that. It’s not the end,” Crowley begged. “I’ve already lost you once. I’m not gonna lose you again. Come on!” he screamed, tearful eyes upturned to the raining skies. For the first time in six thousand years, the rain actually hit his skin. His red hair was plastered to his forehead. Droplets of rain mixed with his tears, dripping down his face in rivulets.
Crowley’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The Almighty wasn’t listening. She never was. The demon did the only thing that was left. He turned his gaze away from God for the second time.
“Listen to me,” he hissed. “Satan, I know you can hear me. Aziraphale is Fallen. Accept him into our ranks. Let him be a demon. Come on! He’s a Principality, won’t that be an impressive angel to have join you? I might not be in your favour, but please, I’m begging you! Just accept him. Save him.” Crowley waited, expectantly.
Nothing. The earth didn’t rumble and break open below them. There was no sulfuric pool that swallowed Aziraphale, no chorus of the damned. Aziraphale coughed weakly. More blood trickled from the corner of his lips in a steady stream.
“Crowley. Enough. No one is coming.”
No one is coming. The words echoed in the demon’s head. Heaven and Hell had abandoned them. Aziraphale was dying, and there was no one to save him. Perhaps though— Crowley closed his eyes, summoning a demonic miracle. A red haze lit the rain that misted off of them for a moment. Crowley opened his eyes and scanned his angel’s face. Aziraphale’s teeth were still clenched against the pain. His pulse was dangerously low. The effort it took to stay conscious was evident on his face. Of course Hell would cut Crowley off from his power. Why did it have to be now?
“No, I’ll find something. I’ll save you.” Aziraphale’s fingers twitched against Crowley’s cheek. The demon covered the hand with his own, entangling his long fingers with Aziraphale’s bloody ones.
“Crowley, it’s over.”
“No, no it can’t be,” he protested.
“Please my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. “You have to let me go.”
“I won’t. I can’t lose you!”
“At least, I’ll die knowing that you return my love. Be kind to them. It wasn’t their fault. Please, Crowley. Protect the humans for me. You’re all they have now.”
“Stop talking like that!” Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered. They didn’t open again.
The angel’s body stilled. Crowley sobbed, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. He rocked his body, holding him tight as the demon wept. The crowd stood and watched, their heads bowed in solemnity to honor the angel’s death. The ambulances pulled up, but it was too late. One of the responders approached Crowley cautiously.
“I’m so sorry. But he’s gone,” she told him. Crowley’s bereavement was unshakable. Lightning split the sky over London.
“I’m not leaving him.” The woman shook her head with pity.
“I’m sorry, but you have to. We need to get his body on the gurney.” Crowley lifted his head and the woman screamed and stepped back.
Crowley’s snake-like eyes were entirely yellow, the slits of his pupils narrowed in grief and rage. He hissed at her, the forked tip of his tongue escaping his lips.
“You will not sssteal him from me, human. Get away from him.” The woman held up her hands and backpedaled. Crowley gingerly lifted Aziraphale’s body in his arms and turned to face the crowd. He stared at each of them in turn, every human observer fixed in place by his stare. Crowley’s fingers clutched the edge of Aziraphale’s coat until his knuckles turned white. There was a whoosh as his black wings unfolded behind him. The rain splattered against his beautiful feathers as he addressed the gathered crowd in a voice shaking with grief.
“Thiss was the angel Aziraphale,” Crowley boomed. “He has been on Earth since the beginning to watch over humanity. He helped stop the Apocalypse. He saved you all. Heaven has abandoned him.” Crowley looked up at the rain-filled sky. “Heaven has abandoned us all.”