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The apocalypse had been averted, both sides had been duped, and now it was just Crowley, Aziraphale, and the world. They were free to do whatever they pleased, and so they did. They spent more time together than ever before and it was perfect. Crowley would drape himself on the settee or curl up as a serpent in the shop window, which miraculously always had the sun shining through it.
Sometimes they’d stay at Crowley’s flat, but not nearly as often as the bookshop. The flat was nice and quiet, but it wasn’t as cosy as the shop, while Crowley found the shop a bit stuffy in long doses and preferred the openness of his flat. They were still working this new arrangement (not capital ‘A,’ arrangement.)
They had been out house-hunting when he felt the Tug.
It was like a cord tied to his very demonic essence was being jerked. Once, twice, each time it took the breath out of him. Aziraphale had begun to fret beside him, but whatever he was saying was lost in the rush of blood pounding in Crowley’s head. He gripped Aziraphale’s arm firmly, as if it would hold off the summoning, it wouldn’t. Nothing could for long.
Aziraphale didn’t appear to care. The house tour they were on was suddenly over and they reappeared in the book shop. The wards both helped and hurt. The jerky tugs turned into an incessant PULL, which left Crowley curled up on the floor, but now he could more easily fight back against the metaphysical chains.
Meanwhile, Aziraphale was bustling about, trying his best to put up a tether to keep Crowley in the shop. He dipped a quill made from his own shed feather into his own pool of Grace before writing wards in the air around Crowley, who had begun to groan and tremble. Now, with those written, he could see the spectral chains slowly wrapping around Crowley’s true form, although when he tried to reach out and break them, his hands went right through.
It wasn’t Hell calling, then. Hellish chains would’ve burned and blistered his skin, but Aziraphale still could’ve broken them. This was humans conjuring, and from a look of things, a fair number of them at that. It didn’t look good.
Crowley’s body was beginning to ripple with scales and feathers, nails narrowed and bent into long fearsome claws that were pressing into the flesh of his arms, fangs lengthened until they could no longer be contained in his mouth. Aziraphale knelt down beside his dear boy, thinking frantically for anything he could do to keep him from the summoners, but they were clearly running out of time.
He put a hand on Crowley’s head, mindful of the shattered halo making up the sharp crown of horns. A quick hand grasped Aziraphale’s wrist, and Crowley was looking at him, eyes blown full yellow, he flicked a forked tongue before hissing, “don’t follow me, Asssssiraphale. I’ll come find you.”
And with that utter rubbish having been said, Crowley disappeared in an explosion of fire and feathers. When Aziraphale could open his eyes once more, he was met with a burnt circle on his floor, and no sign of his demon.
The room went dark; candles blowing out with a chill sulphur tainted wind. A monotonous drone of chanting was cut off as the circle was suddenly lit with fire, a pillar reaching to the top of the room, and lightning up the mob of humans inside. Said humans were all wearing dark robes, which while terribly cliché, did an excellent job of hiding their faces and forms.
Once the pillar quieted the room was once more left in the dark. One of the humans fiddled under their robes before pulling out a mobile and turning its flashlight feature on. They nearly dropped it when they saw eyeshine coming from inside the circle. Turning it on the circle, there was a-a-a creature!
Whatever it was looked vaguely humanoid with a massive pair of black wings behind them, the creature was covered in black and red patches that shined in the light, like—no, not like scales, they were scales. It had massive fangs protruding out of its mouth and hideous black claws curled like talons. It was slightly hunched over and making a terrible hissing noise.
Some of the humans began mumbling and muttering amongst themselves, disbelief and fear being chief reactions. Somebody began lighting the candles back up, while others pulled out their own mobiles, trying to take pictures or add their own light to the dim room.
“Sssssso,” a hissing voice cut through the drone of activity, the monster could talk! “You’ve sssssummoned me here, why? What could you possssssibly want?”
Their leader, came to the front, charging boldly forward and stopping just before the edge of the circle, “Demon! We’ve summoned you to start Armageddon!” While the robes covered his face enough that one couldn’t see (unless perhaps you were a demon with night vision) it was clear that he was quite proud and sure of himself in this moment.
All that surety faltered when the demon started laughing. It threw its head back and gave big barking laughs, holding its claws to its gut as its body shook, causing its wings to tremble as well. “You’ve picked the wrong demon for that,” it smiled, if you could even call it a smile with those massive fangs in the way, it looked dark and sinister, “I don’t want Armageddon to happen, jussssst sssstopped it not long ago.”
“We know Armageddon was averted!” Their leader yelled, furious now, “we want to put it back on track! So that the righteous will be saved in the rapture and the guilty will burn on Earth.”
“Ohhhhh, and you’re righteousss?” Now that most of the candles were relit, people had begun turning off their mobile flashlights, and they could see the sick yellow of the creature’s eyes; it had no discernible iris and a slit pupil. “Ssssummoning a demon makesss a righteousss man?” It laughed once more, a short and bitter thing. “You humanssss can be ssssso terribly clever… and yet ssssso terribly daft.”
“Silence Demon!” Their leader shouted, before motioning for one of the others to bring The Book over. Once it was in his hands, he opened it and flipped through it before finding what he was looking for. “You will tell us what needs to be done to start Armageddon, now Demon!”
“Oh, ssssure, I’ll tell you,” it moved towards the edge of the circle, still not touching, before raising up high over the humans. It was then that they noticed it didn’t have legs, rather instead had a serpent’s lower body. “You’ll need…” it whispered, so that only the bravest could hear what it said to the leader, “a bigger knob.”
It cackled then as their leader sputtered obscenities, “we have ways of making you talk Demon!” Their leader motioned for the others to surround the circle, and he began chanting. The creature screeched a horrid inhuman wail as its wings began to bend and feathers were crushed by some unseen force. Once the chant was over, the wings were pinned to the creature’s back, tightly bound and at a slight awkward angle. “Feel like talking now, Demon?”
The creature coiled up and launched itself at the leader, only to crash into the invisible wall of the circle. Seeing it so totally held bolstered the group of humans, as they realized they were safe from the creature, for the moment.
“We can bind you further until you have no choice but to do as we ask,” Leader was smug now. They stepped closer, nearly touching the edge now, “unless you’d like to cooperate?”
The creature curled up once more, looking somehow smaller now, before it hissed and spit. A strange yellowish substance hit the invisible wall and dripped harmlessly down. The leader didn’t flinch (unless you were a demon with night vision and saw the human’s eyes close tightly even in the dark of it’s hood).
“Don’t want to,” it snarled, “you don’t even know what you’re assssking for. There issss no rapture, no sssssaving you humanssss, it’s total annihilation. Armageddon is when the Heavenly Hossssst comesss down and the Hordessss of Hell finishhh what they sssstarted before you lot were ever put on Earth.”
“Tell the truth!” Leader began reciting yet another spell, and the monster began writhing in its confines. It scratched at its throat until it began dripping inky black droplets of ichor. “How do we start Armageddon?”
It clenched its teeth, but it couldn’t stop itself before it was spilling out the truth, “you need an Antichrissst to ssssstart thingssss off.”
“An Antichrist?” Someone else asked, before there were quite a lot of murmurs in the room. Some uneasy, but a disturbing amount of people were eager. If one were a demonic entity, they might be able to taste the Wrath and Lust in the air.
“How do we make an Antichrist? Could you make one of us one?” Leader was asking once more, pacing in the general ‘front’ part of the circle.
“CAN’T,” the creature screamed, writhing as the spell wrenched the truth from its throat. In a fit of desperation, it reaches its clawed hands into its mouth.
Before it can do something crazy like rip out its own tongue, their leader began chanting, causing some sort of spectral force to rip the hands away and bind them to the ground. It’s kneeling, for lack of a better term, in its circle prison now. The sight bolsters several of the humans.
“How do we make an Antichrist?!” The leader shouts, angry and exasperated. He motions for another person to get something on a nearby table. It’s a ceremonial dagger, a shining, impractical thing that had been blessed by a reluctant priest.
“I,” it pants, disgusting black blood dripping from its mouth, “I don’t know.”
“Tell us the truth!” They cut their palm with some considerable effort considering the blade wasn’t actually meant to be used as anything other than decoration. The creature’s head snapped to the blood dripping down their leader’s hand and then back up to his face.
“You’re going to regret your actionsss here today,” it said, struggling against the invisible forces that held its wrists to the ground. “I cannot tell you what I do not know.”
“Then, if Armageddon was averted, there must have been an Antichrist? Where is he?” Their leader splashed the demon’s face with his blood. The creature’s pupils widened ever so slightly, before a long serpent’s tongue flicked out and licked a dribble of blood.
It bared it’s fangs in a sick, twisted smile, before biting down as hard as it could, severing its own tongue.
The appendage flopped and curled up on the ground before finally stilling.
Crowley had had about enough of these sick, twisted idiots. Really? What kind of idiot wanted to start the end of the world? And now he’d been forced to bite his own tongue off to prevent him from telling these idiot humans about Adam. The leader of the bunch, Richard Saunders over there, or Dick as Crowley’s been calling him in his head, was the sickest of the bunch.
A real depraved sort, masquerading as a holy man. He was too much of an asshole to keep his job, arrested multiple times for harassment and assault, his ex-wife divorced him for another, better man and took the kids with her. Crowley had seen it all before, this man was destined for Hell long before he summoned The Serpent of Eden.
What was really curious is where he got that book. Crowley had been sure that Aziraphale had wiped out all traces of demonic summoning rituals after the last time this happened. It hadn’t been pretty then either, but at least this time Crowley knew Aziraphale was safe at the shop.
So long as he didn’t discorporate, he could outlast any human. He had all the time in the world after all.
The foundation shook and the ceiling above creaked as if under a massive pressure.
At once everyone stopped. Crowley, still trapped in the centre was trembling, but no longer was it from the torment inflicted on him, now he was trembling from a maniacal sort of laughter. The sound was strange and gurgled, as black ichor splattered out from his mouth.
“Quiet!” Dick yelled at the demon, before kicking him harshly in the face. The spell restricting him to Dick’s will worked as his laughter was cut off with a harsh clack of his jaw.
It was too late, however, as Aziraphale was here. And he was furious. The crash of thunder sounded dangerously close above, deafening in its proximity. The sounds of cracking wood and fire could barely be heard.
“Shit!” Someone yelled.
“Fire!” Another person called out.
Soon the humans were panicking, making a mad dash for the cellar door, to no avail. It was locked. In a fit of desperation, they ran to the door leading back into the house above, only to be met with blinding light. Aziraphale.
Crowley couldn’t look, as his face was stuck facing the ground, per one of Dick’s commands. But he didn’t need to see to know. Even with his powers contained in the circle, he could still sense Aziraphale, always could. It was the one thing he could count on, his North Star.
Aziraphale was livid. How dare these humans summon his demon. How dare they trap him in this circle. And, how DARE they hurt him.
He found the decrepit old house they were basing themselves in with an annoying amount of difficulty. He rather had hoped he could have just popped over and picked up Crowley and left. Instead he had to search and enlist the aid of Anathema and one of her human tracking spells to find where they’d taken Crowley. All the while knowing that Crowley was trapped all alone and they were doing who knows what to him.
As Aziraphale got closer and closer, it became easier to pinpoint where Crowley was by the sheer waves of pain. So, knowing the kind of people he was likely to find holding his precious demon, he called for his sword. Now, the sword may have been gifted to humans, who used it to create war, but it was and will always be his, and so to him it came.
It was a bit disappointing when he arrived at the house and they didn’t come to greet him. The humans likely would have had a better chance in that instance. At least, a better chance of escaping. Still, this made it easy to trap them all in one place.
So, he struck down the building, lightning heeding his anger and igniting the old rotten wood. The fire politely moved out of his way as he walked to the stairs leading down into the cellar. He took a deep breath, opened the door, and let Divine Wrath consume him.
The cultists, cause what else could they really be, tried to threaten and fight him, but they were no match. Aziraphale was made as a warrior. He fought in The War before time. He led battalions in Heaven against rebellious usurpers. He struck angels down and watched them Fall. He guarded the Eastern Gate of Eden from demons, none had gotten past until Crowley. And no human would get past him now, as no human could possibly be a match.
Aziraphale raised his sword and ordered the humans to stand down. The sound of his Voice shook the walls around them and worked to make several humans cower in fear. The braver, or denser, of the bunch tried throwing things at him. It was hardly a thought to strike the objects from the air to be burnt up with the holy flame of his sword.
One human hid behind the swarm of his companions and tried to cast some sort of spell at Aziraphale. Shame they only worked on demons.
Aziraphale cut his way through the humans, swinging his sword with a subconscious grace of one who never quite forgot how to fight. When it looked like the humans wouldn’t cease their pathetic attempts, he revealed his wings. Large arching white wings spread out, with a brilliant glow, before his many eyes began opening, peeking into their very souls.
The wicked were no match for his blade. When he finally cut his way to the leader, a Mr. Richard Saunders he stopped. The man fell to his knees in supplication. “Please, O Heavenly Angel of the Lord, I am a righteous man! I was merely trying to fix things!”
“You don’t even believe your lies,” Aziraphale spat, turning the ethereal glow down. “I am no Heavenly angel, and you’ll find no mercy from me this day Richard Saunders. Where did you find this book?” he pointed to the offending piece of demonology, laying crumpled by the man’s feet.
“It-it was given to me,” Richard was sobbing now, holding his hands above his head in a mockery of prayer. “I was told to do it; I am chosen by God!”
“No, no you’re not. You were chosen as a pawn for some petty revenge, nothing more,” Aziraphale said as he looked into his memories, the force of his power would have been enough to destroy the man’s mind, not that he’d be living for much longer. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed as he struck the man down.
With a powerful flap of his wings, the humans were turned to ash and the area was scrubbed clean of sigils and circles. The Book was likewise burnt to ash. Once all of that was gone, Crowley collapsed into a pile of serpent coils and long gangly limbs, his large wings draped loosely over the ground now that they were no longer held by chains.
“Oh, my poor darling,” Aziraphale scooped the demon up and began cleaning off the blood and ichor from his face with a miraculously soft washcloth. “What did they do to you?” Once Crowley’s face was clean Aziraphale began inspecting his wounds, the bruising on his cheeks and to his horror, the distinct lack of a tongue.
He had to fight the wave of rage that overcame him so he could be calm and heal his exhausted demon. Feeling a touch possessive, he healed Crowley’s tongue back up with a kiss. Crowley quickly, but gently, pressed a clawed hand to Aziraphale’s face.
“Thanksss, Angel.” He smiled soppily, pressing his head against the angel’s shoulder. “Thought I told you not to come after me.”
“As if I would leave you at the hands of these scoundrels,” Aziraphale huffed indignantly. “Really now,” with what appeared to be little to no effort, Aziraphale lifted Crowley up, wings, serpent tail, and all. “Let’s get you home my dear.”
Back at Crowley’s flat, as the demon had a larger bathroom, said demon was sprawled out in a massive tub, tail idly flicking and splashing. His wings were draped over the side edges, one of which was more or less in Aziraphale’s lap. The angel was studiously rearranging the mussed feathers and healing any damage he found.
“Angel, why’d you come find me? You know I would’ve gotten out eventually,” Crowley asked, idly. Fighting against the summoning, and subsequently being chained up and forced to comply to that creep’s whims had taken a lot out of him, but he managed to get his form a bit… less demonic. The talons were gone, and his eye-teeth had returned to a more normal, yet still quite long size.
“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled, though it lacked anything resembling joy. “I’m sure you had them right on the ropes, despite all evidence to the contrary.” Crowley sputtered at this and sat up a bit straighter, nearly knocking Aziraphale in the face with his flailing wing. “Hey! Stop fussing!”
“I—” Crowley continued to sputter obnoxiously, making several aborted starts to what might have been sentences. “Oh, yea, no, I had them, they’re just humans, I would’ve lived longer than any of them, mightta taken some time, but I would’ve gotten out.”
“Oh, right, about that,” Aziraphale focused all his attention on preening Crowley’s poor wing. He didn’t seem to want to bring it up. Once he could no longer distract himself smoothing feathers, he sighed, “that human, the one in charge of them—”
“Dick,” Crowley said smugly.
“Richard,” Aziraphale stressed. “He got that book from someone else, an angel.” He moved, bringing his chair with him as he sat on the other side of the tub to being preening the other wing. “Not to worry, I’ll handle it.”
“What?!” Crowley flopped over, splashing water everywhere, except miraculously enough, Aziraphale. “What the Heaven do you think you’re going to do? Just waltz upstairs and tell them off?”
“Well, not waltz, per say, but I do plan on giving them a good telling off,” his angel confirmed, not seeming one bit concerned by his suicidal plan.
“Angel! No, no, no you can’t. Don’t be stupid, if they didn’t listen before, they’re not going to listen now,” Crowley begged, pleading for his brilliant, clever, stupid angel to see sense.
“Don’t worry, my dear, now, you really should Rest,” Aziraphale commanded, causing Crowley to slump forward over the side of the tub. He gently lifted his dear sweet boy up, the water dripping off until Crowley was completely dried, and took him to lay in his massive bed. Once tucked in, and given a kiss on the forehead to make sure he dreamt only of his most favourite things, Aziraphale was off.
He could have used the main entrance, but it felt a little lacklustre. So instead, he opened his wings wide and with a powerful flap, ascended.
There to greet him was the bane of his existence, smug, smarmy Gabriel. “What’re you doing here Aziraphale? You’re to be left alone on Earth last I heard,” he paused, “don’t tell me you’ve come to get your job back?”
“No, not at all, I’m actually here to see Sandalphon,” Aziraphale smiled politely, although he still wasn’t feeling polite. Normally the creep was plastered to Gabriel’s side, following him everywhere like a particularly wretched dog. “Where is he?”
“Here,” Sandalphon’s smug tone sounded from behind Aziraphale. He was smiling, gold teeth gleaming in the light of Heaven. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” He sounded quite smug, proud of his actions down on Earth, no doubt.
“Ah, well, it’s actually about what you’ve been up to lately Sandalphon,” Aziraphale walked forward, his wings were still out, and they began to raise up menacingly. He raised his hand to the side and squeezed around the air, until his hand grasped the hilt of his sword.
“You’ve made a grave error in judgement, I’m afraid. You see,” Aziraphale looked at his sword, as if he were bored already, before the blade was alight in Heavenly fire, “the Earth is under my protection now, being its sole angel. And that includes every creature on the Earth, such as one demon Crowley.”
“So, what, you’ve come to smite me?” Sandalphon had the gall to laugh, “You? A mere Principality?”
“Yes, quite, glad we’re on the same page,” this time, Aziraphale’s smile was bright. He lunged forward, stabbing at Sandalphon with a thrust. The oaf managed to dodge out of the way just in time, but he was clumsy and slow, and could only back away as Aziraphale effortlessly swung and jabbed at him.
Sandalphon may have been an Enforcer, but he was no Fighter. All those he smote had been either humans, or helpless. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was literally made to fight. Had Gabriel joined in, Sandalphon might have stood a better chance, but the Archangel was content to stay back and watch as soft, little Aziraphale cut Sandalphon down.
He didn’t kill Sandalphon, though he wanted to, merely… injured him. Without the buffer of a corporation, and since Raphael had long ago Fallen, not that most of the other angels knew that, his wounds were likely to remain debilitating, being tied to his Grace and all. And as a former human, Sandalphon did not have much Grace. He bled golden light from his leg as he sluggishly crawled away from Aziraphale.
“Now, I hope this was sufficient enough of a warning,” Aziraphale wiped his blade clean on Sandalphon’s hideous jacket. “Next time, I won’t be so merciful.” He walked right past Gabriel, who had likely been struck dumb by the sight, and out the window he had flown in from.
Sometime later, Crowley woke from his pleasant dreams. The pleasurable sleep haze quickly left in the face of his panic at remembering what, or rather who, had put him to sleep. “AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley yelled, scrambling out from under the military-tuck of the covers.
“Yes, my dear? Is everything alright?” Aziraphale said, walking into the bedroom just to see Crowley, a tangled pile of limbs, half trapped by the blanket. “Good Lord, here, let me help.” He set his cocoa on the bedside table and made to untangle the poor serpent. “Now whatever is the matter?”
“What’s the matter?!” Crowley hissed, “Angel, I thought I lost you again!” He scrabbled and grasped and curled tight around his angel. “Did you go to Heaven? Did they hurt you?” Once again panic overtook the fretful demon, and he began checking for injuries.
“No, no, not at all my dear. I told you, I just wanted to give them a stern talking to, and I do think they got the message,” He curled up into Crowley’s side and brought the mug of cocoa to his lips for a dainty sip.
“So, you’re…” Crowley nuzzled into his chest, “you’re okay?”
“Of course, my dear, I wouldn’t have gone up if I didn’t think I’d be absolutely fine,” Aziraphale smiled and began softly petting Crowley’s head, soothing any lingering worries. “No need to fret.”
Crowley pouted his lips and mumbled a petulant, “good,” before being soothed into a restful sleep once more. Aziraphale kept the petting motions up until he heard the soft, hissing snores of his beloved. Then he gently kissed his crown and began reading his book while Crowley slept, once again completely forgetting about his cocoa until it grew too cold.