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They were all up just after dawn, the last preparations underway. Crowley stood out of the way, scalding cup of coffee cradled in his hands as he watched Aziraphale and Tracy draw the circle. Tracy’s hand was careful and steady as they worked, but he could see how nervous Aziraphale was as he triple checked his notes against the circle.
Anathema stepped into the library with two cups in hand. “Are we ready?”
Aziraphale checked over his notes one last time. “If Agnes is.”
“I am,” she said from the doorway. “Into the circle please, Crowley.”
He took a deep breath, downed the rest of his coffee, and left his cup on the mantle as he stepped into the circle. He sat cross legged in the center, and felt that familiar tug of magic in his chest as Aziraphale closed the circle with a neat line and his name.
“Drink, both of you,” Anathema said, passing the cups she had brought in to Aziraphale and then to Crowley.
“Cheers,” Crowley said quietly before they both drained their cups. The drink was bitter, wine mixed with some sort of herbs, not the worst thing, but enough to cause them both to grimace.
“Hands please,” she requested, waiting for them to clasp hands over the lines of the circle before trying a length of silk around their hands and up their wrists. Anathema began speaking again, this time in another language, and Crowley found himself drifting, focused on the piece of fabric tying their hands together, sure he should recognize the pattern of vines and snakes and-
“I choose you, willingly, knowingly, as you were, as you are, and as you will be, from this day until the end of all things.”
We’re good and lost now
“Crowley?” Anathema prompted quietly.
But I need no map
He took a deep breath, met Aziraphale’s eyes and repeated the vow.
Only the stars above
It felt as though the silver threads in his chest had caught fire, a brightness searing through him.
And the compass you carved in my bones
He could nearly see the loops of gold wrapping around their wrists, replacing the thin silver threads which had lived within him for so long, the knots pulling tight at the ends, the bright gold threads settling within them.
For I know where home lies
As Anathema untied the length of silk from around their wrists he saw the faded black sigils for the silver threads had been replaced, instead there was a glittering gold swooping pattern there, which he knew with certainty was Aziraphale’s name.
And with you at my side
Around them the others were shifting into place, preparing for the next part of the ritual, to break the curses woven into him. He reached forward and grasped Aziraphale’s wrist, turning it so he could see the pattern of his own name written there on the soft skin.
I shall never again wander through the desert alone
Aziraphale ducked his head so he could catch Crowley’s eyes. “I love you, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
He nodded in response as the coven settled around the circle, joining hands.
“Alright,” Agnes began, “here comes the hard part.” Her eyes fell on Crowley. “Good luck.”
1899
“Anthony, are you ready?”
He raced toward the kitchen, straightening his sweater. It was time for his coven initiation, the reason he had waited so eagerly thirteenth birthday, the final step into his mother’s world of gentle magic. She was already there, tarot cards laid in a spread on the table, her red hair tied back, mostly hidden by the silk scarf she used for practicing, a deep red with vines and snakes woven across it.
“I’m ready,” he said.
They knelt in front of the fireplace and she placed a small cut on the pad of her thumb with a thin blade. “By the pricking of my thumbs,” she began, tone light.
“Something wicked this way comes,” he finished, she had taught him the verse when he was small, reciting it while she worked.
As the blood welled in the tiny cut, she asked him, “have you decided on your name?”
“Crowley,” he said confidently.
“You’re sure?”
“You said that the journey would be long and you wouldn’t be able to stay with me forever, so I wanted something to remember you by.”
She smiled, though for a moment he thought he saw a touch of sadness there, but then she leaned forward, smearing the blood across his forehead. “Now you are Crowley, last of our coven, and with a long and difficult path ahead of you.” She took his hand and sketched out a symbol on the inside of your wrist, “and here is your sigil.”
“A snake?” he asked, studying the swirling shape.
She tugged him into a hug, “of course, my little serpent,” she cast a worried glance towards her tarot cards even as she tugged him closer. “Of course.”
1902
He was going to be late, he was sure. He snatched up his bag and-
“Anthony.”
He stopped, turning to see his mother standing on the bottom step of the staircase, looking worried.
“I’ll be home tonight,” he said stepping closer, “I’ve just gotta get to school-”
She used the advantage of the stair to be able to cup his face and kiss the top of his head. He was close enough he could hear how hard she swallowed, and her voice was quiet when she spoke. “Please remember that I’ll always love you.”
“Mum?”
She tied her silk scarf around his neck, over his collar. “You must be brave now, my dear.”
“Always, but mum-”
She cut him off, “get to school,” she took a step back, up the stairs, letting him go, “you needn't be any more late than you already are.”
Paris, 1906
The gramophone was crackling in the corner as they spun in circles, laughing at each other as they stepped and misstepped. Aziraphale’s hair glowed in the light of the gas lamps, creating a hazy sort of halo. Distracted, Crowley fell half a count behind and laughed as Aziraphale barely avoided stepping on his foot again.
“Crowley, pay attention-"
Paris, 1911
He was playing the piano in the parlor, a loud ragtime tune, and insisting the piano was out of tune. Diligently focused on his work at the writing desk in the corner, Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
“It’s not out of tune dear, don’t be ridiculous.”
Crowley stopped as he hit a sour note, instead tapping on the key repeatedly. “It’s out of tune, angel, listen to this.”
“I simply do not know what you mean-”
Paris, 1925
He lounged back against the balcony railing, feeling the cold air seep through his evening jacket. Aziraphale took a drag off the cigarette and then passed it to Crowley, stepping forward to lean his elbows on the railing and glance down into the streets, observing the sparkle of New Years parties all around them, as music drifted out to them from inside.
“We’re missing the party, angel.”
“Maybe I wanted a moment with you to myself,” he reached up to cup Crowley’s cheek, brushing his thumb gently over the sigil at his temple as Crowley leaned into the touch. “How do you feel?”
“Perfectly fine. Stable, though I think I’m beginning to freeze out here.” He took another drag from the cigarette before offering it back to Aziraphale. “Ready to go back in?”
What lies at the end?
He was surrounded by blackness, nothing and no one in sight, just a pure black void.
Is this the end?
“That’s the void, Crowley. The only end waiting for us.”
He whipped around, seeking out the voice, to find the World Ender sitting next to a crackling campfire, as he had been the last time they’d seen each other.
“Avery?” he asked.
“Heaven is a lie. There’s nothing waiting for people like us.”
“What- how did you get here, how did I get here?”
“Who says we’re really here?” Avery’s voice stayed even.
“I don’t understand.”
“Go home Crowley, it’s where you’re meant to be.”
He turned to look back out into the void. “I’m not sure I can.”
Avery rose from where he was sitting, drawing a switchblade from a pocket. He slit across his palm, before taking Crowley’s hand and doing the same, pressing their palms together as Crowley gasped through the stinging pain.
“Debt paid in full, binding nullified. You’re a free man, take this chance and run. It can be very nearly impossible to break a curse. Get back before the sun sets.” The knife was gone as he pressed his hand against Crowley’s chest and pushed him back into the darkness.
He was-
-screaming as he felt his body pulled apart, changed, remade, as he sank into the grass-
-gasping desperately for air as he felt the scales fall away for the first time in years-
-choking as he woke on the bathroom floor-
-begging for a different outcome as Agnes laid a tarot spread-
-choking on his own blood as the world went dark around him in a snowy alley-
-thrashing as he came to in the canyon-
-vomiting as he found himself free of the grave-
-screaming as he fell back into the void.
Distantly he realized he was screaming and thrashing, but he felt thoroughly disconnected from his body so he was unable to stop. Instead, he watched as Aziraphale cut his own palm, smearing his bleeding hand across the circle and sigils, breaking the boundary. He felt his body relax, regaining a sense of control over himself as Aziraphale moved forward to draw him into his lap.
“Angel,” he whispered. “Angel it’s you,” he reached up to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, dimly aware that his own hand was bleeding.
Aziraphale smiled at him, “of course it’s me, darling. Who else?”
Get back before the sun sets.
He turned away, looking towards the window to see the streaks of color still lighting the sky as the sun set. Then he turned his focus inward, tracing the new gold threads to the core of himself, searching for the tangled knots of the curses and finding-
Nothing. He was free, truly free, as Avery had said.
“Aziraphale,” he gasped. “It worked. It worked, I remember. My mother, and the curse, and Paris, meeting Agnes, and the out of tune piano, and the gas lamps.” He searched out Agnes, still sitting outside the circle. “I remember when you had electricity put in the house, and I remember all the New Years parties.” He looked back up at Aziraphale, “the first time we flew in an airplane, and coming back here after your mother died. I remember drowning, and where you hide your favorite cocoa, and that you promised to marry me nearly thirty years ago."
Agnes nodded from her place in the circle. "All will be well."
Aziraphale grinned, tears in his eyes, but he was clearly not upset. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. “It worked,” he whispered, “I can’t believe it worked.”
“You’re stuck with me now,” Crowley whispered back.
He pressed a kiss against Crowley’s forehead, “I wouldn’t have it any other way, my dear.”