Chapter Text
Even though they’d been expecting trouble, thanks to the words of a dead witch, Crowley still felt unprepared for the ambush. It wasn’t the pain of two angels in overalls dragging him along by his arms (or Aziraphale’s arms, to be precise), it was the pain of being separated from his friend. Hadn’t they suffered enough? He’d already thought he’d lost him, when he walked through the burning bookshop, finding out Aziraphale was less dead than he’d assumed had felt like a gift from God. But now, there was a gag on Crowley’s mouth and he was being dragged away, and Aziraphale was being knocked out by Hastur.
Crowley was taken to Heaven by the angels, and he felt redundantly indignant at the way they manhandled him, not because it bothered him, but because they thought they were doing it to Aziraphale. How dare they. He was the only angel Crowley had encountered post-Fall who was truly Good. They should look to him as a leader, not that he’d ever accept the role. That was one of the things that drew Crowley to Aziraphale, they shared a desire to have a quiet life, pursuing their interests.
The two angels who had nabbed him handed him off to the other two, once they'd arrived in Heaven. These two, the dark-skinned female angel and the balding one with golden teeth were called Uriel and Sandalphon. Crowley knew this because as they passed angels on the way, they were greeted. Hearing their easy banter as they escorted Crowley to his death, he couldn’t understand why Aziraphale had defended Heaven for so long, had desired to be part of them.
They were frog-marching him somewhere at the end of the hall, when the Archangel Gabriel stepped out of a room, effectively blocking their path. This was unexpected, and not just to Crowley because Uriel and Sandalphon’s hands tightened on his arms in surprise.
“Uriel, Sandalphon, excellent work. Now, I just need a minute with Aziraphale, then I will return him to you.”
“We have orders to bring him straight to-” Uriel began.
“Uriel. Come on, a minute won’t kill you!” Gabriel smiled winningly.
“It’s not me who needs to worry about being killed,” Uriel whispered in Crowley’s ear, but she pushed him forward. He stumbled but Gabriel caught him before he fell, and shepherded him down the hall.
Gabriel didn’t take him to a conference room or an office, instead, he glanced around and threw open a door to a tiny room, a walk-in cupboard, really, and dragged Crowley in. This room wasn’t half as glamorous as the others, the walls were opaque, not glass, although they were a clean white. The floor was white. There were some boxes piled up in the corner. There was not much else to look at but Gabriel himself, so reluctantly, Crowley dragged his gaze up. Ugh, he hated that he was shorter than him in this body.
He was expecting many things, maybe a smug word, that horribly plastic-fantastic face leering at him, maybe a few punches while nobody was looking. Anything but this.
Gabriel grabbed Crowley and pulled him into a crushing embrace, resting his forehead against Crowley’s. “Why, Aziraphale? Why did you have to let it get to this stage?”
Every instinct in him told him to back away, not that there was room to back away into, but he realised that letting his disgust show on his face could possibly out him as an imposter. So he let Gabriel press Crowley’s face into the side of his neck, a large, warm hand patting Aziraphale’s tufty blond curls. They stayed like that for about half a minute, then Gabriel released him. That shark-like face, glittering purple eyes and perfect features were composed in an expression of concern. Could Gabriel actually care for Aziraphale? The thought seemed unlikely, but here Gabriel was, cupping Aziraphale’s chin and gazing into Crowley’s eyes with a quiet sadness.
“It didn’t have to be like this, Aziraphale. I only wanted what was best for you. You know that, right?”
Wordlessly, Crowley nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak and besides, his mouth was still bound. Were Aziraphale and Gabriel friends? Aziraphale had every right to befriend whomever he liked, but the thought still made a hot curl of jealousy tighten Crowley’s stomach.
Gabriel’s eyes darkened. “If you’d accepted my protection, we wouldn’t be here! You’d be safe, happy. I would have given you a new corporation, a new name. What’s so great about that demon, anyway?” He ripped the gag off. Better answer him then.
Aziraphale had never mentioned this. Had Gabriel really offered him a new identity? Crowley tried to imagine Aziraphale in a different corporation or with a different name. He couldn’t quite picture it. He shrugged, saying in Aziraphale’s voice “I don’t know, he...made an impression on me, what can I say?”
Gabriel gripped Crowley’s biceps, his fingers digging in, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to stop Gabriel’s hands from shaking. Perhaps Gabriel thought he hadn’t noticed. But he had.
“I get it, you think demons are exciting. But this fascination of yours has consequences. Aziraphale. I wonder. Did he ever…” His violet eyes travelled down the length of Crowley’s body, well, Aziraphale’s, down the fussy cream waistcoat and to his trousers. Crowley looked down, suddenly horribly aware of the effort that filled his underwear. It had surprised him when he switched bodies with him, he’d never thought Aziraphale would bother having anything there. Now wearing Aziraphale’s face (and other things), he’d tried to avoid thinking about it, and had assumed Aziraphale only had it to fill the line of his trousers or something. But now, with Gabriel’s hungry gaze on him, he wondered if there was another reason.
As if reading his mind, Gabriel reached down and squeezed his crotch, his hand a burning heat through Crowley’s trousers. It repulsed him, mentally, but Aziraphale’s body reacted to it, his cock twitching with interest. Crowley exhaled, tried to clear his mind, but Gabriel grinned, a thin smile that seemed to take more pleasure in being right than any other reason for smiling.
“You can’t deny yourself anything, can you? How about we-”
“We’re angels, we shouldn’t...the, the Almighty wouldn’t want us to, uh, hobnob in a cupboard-” Yes, hobnob. That was a suitably twee word for Aziraphale’s mouth.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I think our creator has better things to do than investigate the contents of a closet. Besides, we were created to love! The official position is that angels can freely love one another. You know that.”
Angels can love one another. But not demons, eh? That wasn’t a surprise although everything else Gabriel had said was.
The one thing, the one wrong, rotten little consolation, a participation trophy that Crowley had clutched to his chest was that Aziraphale rejecting him wasn’t a conventional rejection. Aziraphale wasn’t rebuffing Crowley’s advances on the grounds that Crowley was unattractive in some way, too skinny, too awkward, too...demonic. It wasn’t Crowley’s fault, it wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault, it was just One Of Those Things. But this...so Aziraphale did feel desire. Just...just not for Crowley.
There was something he had to know. Something Aziraphale might not even know himself. “And ...do you love me?”
“I am very fond of you. Aziraphale, let me help you -” He dipped his head, as if to kiss him, and Crowley backed away.
“I - I don’t need...help -”
“But you used to beg for this. Pull me out of meetings. I’d take your hand and I’d put it here,” he seized Crowley’s hand and placed it on his crotch. His Effort felt...large. Overly so.“I’d let you choose the size. You always wanted bigger, better. My Aziraphale would get anything he wanted.”
No. Aziraphale, how could you?
“And when we were finished, I’d wrap us up in my wings. You said you never felt so safe. ”
Crowley dry heaved, to Gabriel’s alarm. The room was stifling, his collar suddenly felt very tight, he had to get out. He pushed on Gabriel’s barrel-like chest to get him to give him room. “I have to-” he started.
“Wait-” Gabriel started, but Crowley had pushed past him and was already out the door. He didn’t make it more than a few metres before the two angels appeared from what appeared to be a boardroom.
Uriel smiled nastily. “Trying to escape? It won’t do you any good.” She grabbed one of Crowley’s arms and Sandalphon caught Crowley’s other arm. He didn’t fight them, there was no use, so he allowed them to pull him into a vast white room, where they tied him to a chair.
He tried to sit politely, legs together, the way Aziraphale would. It seemed impolite not to, in this body, besides, this would be the performance of his life. Just thinking of Aziraphale’s name made something inside him ache, let alone the awful awareness that he was wearing his body.
The angels left him alone for a few minutes, then returned. Gabriel was there too, although he stood to the back, looking rather sombre and didn’t speak, letting Uriel do the talking instead. Gabriel avoided his eyes, which Crowley was grateful for.
One of Hell’s low-level grunts turned up and conjured up some hellfire, which Crowley was sure was supposed to send him into fits of fear. Gazing at the doorway of pure fire, now unrestrained and standing, Crowley felt a surge of anger that this was supposed to be Aziraphale’s send-off. These angels were monsters. Something had gone very wrong since Crowley had left Heaven, but it wasn’t his problem. All he had to do was ensure his and Aziraphale’s survival. Act now, think later. He took a deep breath and walked forward.
He played his part beautifully, if he may say so himself. Laughing and spitting hellfire at the angels, convincing them that whatever Aziraphale was, he was no longer theirs. They let him walk right out of there, unwilling to speak to him or touch it. He felt Gabriel’s eyes on him as he left.
Leaving Heaven and travelling back to the predetermined rendezvous was kind of anticlimactic. Part of him was exhilarated that he’d bested them all, he wanted to swing from a lamppost and shout, he felt like he could take on God themself at this moment. He was sure Aziraphale had succeeded too. He felt like he’d know if he hadn’t. But then, to cut through any joy he might have felt about their little plan, all he had to picture was Gabriel’s pained expression and the filth he’d whispered in Crowley’s ear. Alright, what Gabriel had said would be considered very tame; Crowley had heard much worse things at eleven o'clock on a Tuesday morning in Hell. but it still hurt.
It was at times like this that his active imagination was a curse. His mind’s eye went into overdrive until he was plagued with images of Aziraphale. Aziraphale and Gabriel, Gabriel and Aziraphale. Aziraphale with his hand between Gabriel’s legs, smiling that butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth smile as he greedily chose an Effort. Gabriel wrapping Aziraphale up in his wings like he was something to be treasured. And even things Gabriel hadn’t spoken of, were in Crowley’s mind. Aziraphale on his knees, looking up at Gabriel with a knowing smile. Aziraphale standing on tiptoes with his arms around Gabriel’s neck, puckering up for a kiss.
Gabriel hadn’t properly answered his question, Crowley realised. He hadn’t said he loved Aziraphale, but he hadn’t said he didn’t. Although, that was an answer, really, wasn’t it? What would Crowley say if Aziraphale asked him that question? He knew what he felt, but saying it aloud would be a different matter.