Chapter Text
Crowley didn’t see it coming. He hadn’t thought about Christmas Chase even once since Armageddon. And why would he ? He wasn’t one of Hell’s employees any more. And the… festivities never appealed to him before. So no longing there, no regrets. Had he thought about it, he would only have felt relief at not having to participate and pretend to enjoy it.
It had been almost five months since the end of the world. A ridiculously short amount of time. Blink of an eye, to an immortal being.
And still…
And still everything had changed. So much. They were safe, they were free, they could finally stop looking over their shoulders and exist.
Admittedly, it was mostly Aziraphale who was learning to exist. Crowley had always existed on his own and enjoyed himself making mischief, pretending to work most of the time and taking credit for humans worst inventions. Not a lot of changes in his life, per se. The ‘not having to fear if his bosses were watching’ was a nice touch, but once again, the red haired demon never was one for worry. He always had been convinced he would come out on top eventually. Worrying was not his thing.
Probably one of the reasons Aziraphale was worrying so much for both of them.
Moving in to the Bookshop was definitely the greatest and best change in the demon’s life. He loved the backroom’s couch much more than his old bed, and was feeling like he had a Home for the first time in his life. Having someone who cared about him changed... everything. Falling asleep whenever he wanted, waking up under a tartan blanket and to the sound of pages turning from the armchair, having a mug of coffee handed to him before he could even ask for it… and all the demonic mischief he could work on when some human was stupid enough to enter the shop ! If it hadn't been anti demonic to feel happy, he would have confessed he was. Couldn’t be more, to be honest (but honesty wasn’t demonic either, so…).
He was content to take life as it was (which was, at the time, perfect) and to see Aziraphale slowly starting to realise he was out of Heaven’s clutches and could selfishly enjoy his life. Crowley's constant presence helped. The angel had a lot to work on, and trust was the most pressing issue. Not trust in Crowley, of course. He trusted Crowley with his life, that they both knew. But trust in his continued presence (Stupid century-long nap. Stupid Holy Water debacle. Stupid “When I’m up in the stars I won’t even think about you”. Stupid a lot of things.).
But it had been five months. And things had changed. Today, after that ridiculously little amount of time, it was like they’d always been on their own side. And Crowley pitied anyone trying to take that away from them. He was a sick bastard and fought dirty. And Aziraphale was stubborn to the point of being unstoppable when someone tried to take something he cared about from him.
So right now, on Christmas eve, the only trouble Crowley was facing was finding a gift. Something special, not the usual bottle of wine or chocolates. A book was too obvious and easy. And he was having a hard time. He knew there were a lot of ideas, but every time he tried to think of something, he came back to books, chocolates, wine, again and again. It was infuriating.
He’d spied the angel hiding a carefully wrapped box inside his desk (by pure chance, of course. Not like he had concealed his presence in his smallest snake form under a shelf for the last several hours just to see what Aziraphale had got him. Not at all) and the box looked nothing like wine. It was a Gift. Real one. He could not fuck this up.
He’d briefly considered asking Anathema, but really, if he couldn’t come up with something by himself, after six thousand fucking years, then he didn’t deserve the ‘best friend’ title any more. And he cared about that title a lot. Wouldn’t give it up to anyone else, not even a smart, funny, wicked and pregnant witch.
That’s how he found himself in the Christmas market. Aziraphale loved Christmas, couldn’t get enough of it. He loved the joy, the laughters, the happiness in the air, the colours and the music everywhere.
Crowley liked the season too. There was a lot of frustration and anger to stir… trucks full of the latest toy in fashion to delay, using a demonic miracle to have every Christmas tree on sale missing a strategic branch and look just slightly wanting… Christmas was FUN !
And this year, he would enjoy it, and not take part in that sham of a hunt…
He was working on a crafted spell that had the pavement freezing enough to make people fall (but without injuries. Aziraphale would never forgive him that) when he felt a familiar rush of demonic energy. He jumped to the side, ready to bolt, searching for…
“Hastur ?”
He slightly (very slightly) relaxed. Hastur had reasons to hate him, but he didn’t think the Duke of Hell would try to destroy him… that would make Aziraphale sad, and Hastur (the sick bastard) was head over heels for the angel.
“What do you want ?”
The Duke looked at him. He was… breathless. And he looked scared. That was a first.
“The Chase. It has begun. They just announced it.”
Crowley made a face. The bloody Chase. Every year, on Christmas eve, Hell had a big celebration. All the “deserving” demons were allowed to take part. A human soul was carefully selected (a hard, violent, cunning soul) and released on Earth. Then the Hellhounds were sent after it, and the Chase begun. If the soul could stand the night, it was free to go. Which was not a gift, since it meant it had to wander as a ghost, but hey, better than Hell.
No soul ever won, anyway.
Crowley had taken part in a lot of Chases. What with the commendations and all that shit. couldn’t really decline the honour. Most of the time, he tried his best to pretend to enjoy it, and found clues in a lot of pubs on his way, never getting to the target (in fact, getting as far from it as possible) The Hellhounds didn’t kill. That was for the first demon to get to the prey. But they maimed. A lot.
Crowley shrugged.
“So what ? I don’t care, wasn’t invited this year, and wouldn’t have come anyway. Don’t you have some pour sod to hunt ?”
“It’s not a soul. This year, it’s not a soul, Crawly !”
That got his attention. This was unusual.
“What do you mean ?”
“They decided to change the rules. To lift up everyone’s spirits. They all wanted the war, they wanted to fight against angels… so Hell decided to… change the target this year. Position of Baron of Hell to the winner.”
Dread settled in Crowley’s black heart. He already knew the answer before asking, but asked nevertheless, praying (no, not praying, hoping) that he was wrong.
“Who ?”
Seconds later, he appeared in front of the Bookshop, and snapped his fingers to materialize the Bentley in her usual spot before rushing in, his mind full of dark and bloody scenes…
“Aziraphale !”
A very surprised angel looked at him. There were people with him. Customers. Oh, great. Bloody perfect.
“OUT !” yelled the demon in a not very human voice. The shop emptied in mere seconds. Before Aziraphale could utter a word (and if his face was a good indicator, he had a lot of words at the ready) Crowley grabbed his elbow and pulled.
“We have to run ! Now !”
Aziraphale took half a second to look at him. And ran.
“The Bentley !” barked the demon, running around the car to get to his seat. The angel quickly opened his door and got in, fastening his (miracled) seatbelt as Crowley hit the road as fast as he could.
For a moment, his terror was replaced by relief. Aziraphale was alive, he’d got there in time. Thank someone. Then it came back, stronger than ever. They had to get a fucking wiggle on. Hellhounds were bloody fast. Maybe even faster than the car.
Bentley roared and accelerated. Aziraphale, face livid, gripping the door handle for dear life, turned to his friend.
“What the Hell is going on ?”
“That’s the problem. Hell is going on ! They’re coming for you ! The Chase !”
Aziraphale knew about the Chase. He highly disapproved. He’d helped Crowley finding clues in pubs more than once. He looked back at the road, processing the news.
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
“That’s it ? That’s all ? Oh, I see ? Really ? All Hell’s demons are after your soul, and that’s all you have to say ?” yelled Crowley in a frenzy.
The angel shrugged.
“What is your plan, my dear ? I assume you have one ?”
“We’re going to Heaven’s entrance, and you get your arse Up There, pronto. They won’t follow you there. You wait for Christmas day, and you come back.”
“Oh” murmured Aziraphale again, in a very subdued tone. Crowley knew that tone. He knew it very well. It was not a good tone to hear at this particular moment.
“You’re going to do that, right ? Don’t argue now, it’s your only chance. I don’t want to hear a thing, I’m serious ! You get Up, you wait. Don’t worry about me, they’re not after me.”
Aziraphale looked away, out his window, face closed. Heaven and Hell’s entrance building was on view now. Crowley started to breathe again.
“What will happen if they can’t get to me ? Will they smell me in Heaven ?”
Crowley felt another kind of dread fill his stomach. Oh no. No no no no no no, shit ! He hadn’t thought of that !
“They won’t. Heaven is off limits. Hellhounds can’t reach there.”
“You told me they were unstoppable, that they would follow a scent and destroy their target, interested in nothing else as long as they were hunting. That they were ruthless, and bloodthirsty, and no one could escape them.”
Crowley closed his eyes in defeat. Fuck.
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So if my scent disappears from Earth, the Hellhounds will all be there, with no prey. What will they do until dawn ? They have to go back at dawn, right ?”
“Yes. Yes, they… they’ll be there.”
“With no target” That wasn’t a question.
Crowley stopped in front of the building, and looked at the angel. His eyes met a gaze of steel. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.
Please go in, just go in, don’t think about the humans, for once, yellow eyes were pleading.
Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me refuse again, I beg you, answered the blue ones.
Crowley opened his mouth, but couldn’t say a word. This was the bandstand all over again, and he knew the outcome. The Bentley roared and the building disappeared in the rear window.
For a minute, silenced reigned in the car.
“I didn’t think about it. Of what they would do if you escaped.”
Aziraphale smiled sadly. “I know, dear boy. I know you wouldn’t have offered it if you had.”
Crowley’s shoulders sagged. What now ? His brain was thinking as fast as he could, envisioning every possibility.
“What about Adam ? We could pop up to Tadfield, right ? He’s the Antichrist, he’s got the biggest Hellhound of all… can protect you.”
The angel nodded thoughtfully. “Are you certain they can’t hurt him ?”
Crowley’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel.
“Fairly certain. Almost. He’s their master on Earth… I guess...”
They exchanged a glance. How far had Adam reached when he’d affirmed Satan was not his father ? Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley let out a frustrated huff.
“So. Not Adam.”
“Not Adam.”
Well, thought the demon. They couldn’t teleport, the demons after Aziraphale would sense it and join them in seconds. They couldn’t escape to Heaven, and joining Adam could put the kid in danger.
And dozens of Hellhounds were after them and would soon find them.
Easy as pie.
They were so dead.