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    Summary

    Crowley used to be a god. A minor deity maybe, but a god nonetheless. He doesn't have much memory of that time, but if there's one thing he can tell with certitude, it's that it doesn't matter whether he's a mystic being, a cursed snake, or a mortal...he will never be free. He can't even begin to dream of mercy.

    “...‘Eliminate my kind’ huh? Why the rescue, then?” That part Crowley just simply cannot make sense of. “I guess it’s not for my pretty eyes, is it?”

    Aziraphale purses his lips lightly but the way his gaze falls to the floor gives away he feels remorse.

    “Your kind doesn’t usually look so...human.”

    Language:
    English
    Words:
    26,364
    Chapters:
    5/17
    Comments:
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    Kudos:
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