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Crowley really was not a fan of these kind of temptations. Sure, he may have invented original sin— Adam, Eve, and the apple— but that was just a misunderstanding. After all, She wouldn’t have just left it out in the open like that if it was honestly such a big deal, right?
Apparently not.
Even so, gluing coins to the pavement, bringing down the phone lines, untying people’s shoelaces while they’re on their first date, that was much more Crowley’s pace. Yes, anything to make life a little more inconvenient and funny was definitely much better than this. Tempting a struggling soul into going back into bad habits that would suck them farther down?
No. Definitely not.
And really, if he had any choice in the matter he would have outright refused. But this was hell and he was a demon. Choice was just as real for him as unicorns these days. Maybe once upon a time they’d been an option (maybe, Crowley couldn’t quite remember anymore), but not in this day and age. So he pulled himself together, chugged down half a bottle of whatever he saw first, and went to work.
“Angel, I’m headed out.”
In the past few months, Crowley had been staying at the bookshop more often. Maybe it was more than a few months, or maybe it was less. The change was too gradual for either of them to really notice. Aziraphale looked up from the book he was currently mending at his workbench to where Crowley was slipping on his shoes and coat, “Oh? I thought we had gotten everything we needed for the week the other day?”
“Nah, not a supply run, unfortunately. Have some work to do. Just a temptation then I’ll be home. Over near that pub I use to frequent. Y’know, the one with the shitty pretzels?”
“Oh, yes! What was that? Rudy’s? Ruby’s?”
“Eh, something like that. Dunno how anyone manages to fuck up pretzels.”
“Will you be back in time for dinner?”
“Think so, shouldn’t take long this.”
“Alright, dear. Be safe!”
Crowley mumbled some more insults regarding the pretzels and turned for the door.
-
Crowley rounded the last corner, Queen lightly leaking through the rolled down windows of the Bentley. Should be somewhere around here. Hastur said the man he was meant to be tempting would be found near the alley outside the pub, smoking a cigarette about this time. As he pulled into a parking spot, he spotted him. The man had a rough coat on, hair in disarray, large bags protruding from under his eyes. He’d just lit the cigarette and looked like he’d needed one for a while. Crowley knew that look. He’d felt that look. A few too many days without drinking after a particularly bad assignment. He caught the man’s eye as he sauntered up.
“Mind if I bum one?”
Crowley wasn’t one to smoke often, sure he’d tried them out when humans had first invented them, but Aziraphale had very explicitly voiced his distaste in the practice (although Crowley was certain he’d caught the angel smoking from a pipe at least once before). Siting the trouble Crowley would be in with hell if his corporation got lung cancer. Either way, this was the best way he could think of to start conversation with the man he was meant to tempt.
Crowley took the cigarette and lit it, inhaling. Oh, Somebody, he had missed this.
“You looking to take a bit of the edge off?”
The man looked up at him, clearly intrigued at the offer, “What’d’ya have in mind?”
Crowley reached into his coat pocket and produced a bottle, shaking it so the pills rattled inside.
“What have ya got? What are they?”
To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t too sure, just had taken whatever Hastur had given him.
“Well, I could tell you, but who doesn’t like a good surprise?”
The man looked around and tilted his head to the side, indicating for Crowley to follow. They made their way into a small building next to the pub, clearly where the man had been staying. Gnats buzzed around discarded boxes and empty food containers. Bottles littered the floor, some tipped, looking as if they’d fallen before whoever had been drinking them could finish. Likely passed out. A few men and possibly some teenagers leaned against walls, one or two asleep under tattered blankets.
The man led them to a room towards the back, putting out his finished cigarette as Crowley did the same, and gestured for the bottle. “Have some with me, then.”
Oh. Crowley should have anticipated this. Of course he wouldn’t trust a strangers offer of mysterious pills, no matter how desperate he was for it.
“Of course,” Crowley said and immediately cursed himself for it, “Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”
Aziraphale was definitely going to be upset with him for this. Drinking was one thing, but if his angel didn’t like him smoking he certainly wouldn’t appreciate him partaking in unknown substances with some stranger.
Crowley poured some pills into his hand and passed the bottle over to the man.
“Oi, surely you’ll want more than that. Gotta take the edge off like you said, yeah?”
At this point, Crowley wasn’t sure which one of them was doing the tempting. He also wasn’t too sure how much would be the proper dose, drugs weren’t really his thing. Too much risk of accidentally disincorporating. Crowley tossed the pills back, washing them down with the scotch he’d brought with him. Thankfully the Bentley will be able to take him home safely without him being completely sober. He downed the pills the man had given back to him and watched as he took his own. Wordlessly they sat, waiting for them to take effect. Oh, Somebody, Aziraphale would be so mad at him for this. Just so long as he got home before dinner, he told himself, then surely he’d be able to feign sobriety long enough to go to sleep and let it get out of his system.
Slowly, the room started to spin. Back and forth, back in forth. The outlines of various items in his line of vision started to blur. Here goes.
“Ah, good shit, these.” The man said.
“Only the best.” Crowley could hear the slur in his words start to form. Perhaps feigning sobriety wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought.
The familiar light headedness started to ease in. Crowley felt his bones get lighter, maybe if he took enough of them he’d start to float. He laughed internally at that thought. He could float without drugs, he had wings after all.
Enjoying the feeling, he took a few more before he had a chance to really think about it. Maybe not such a good idea, he realized after. Nausea started to build. Not too much, just as it had done when he’d had a drink too many. He could feel himself start swaying side to side even though he was solidly braced against the grimy walls. His corporations heartbeat must be playing the part of a rocking chair now. Back and forth back and forth. Details of his surroundings started the drift away and Crowley thought back to a Pink Floyd song he’d heard when it first came out.
‘There is no pain you are receding
A distant ship, smoke on the horizon
You are only coming through in waves
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying’
Where was he again? Oh, yes. Somewhere nasty. The usual place for temptations.
A while passed as Crowley stared into the distance. Crowley watched as the man started to close his eyes. How many had he taken? How many had Crowley taken? He wasn’t sure. Probably too many if he was honest with himself. But now was hardly the time to start being honest with himself.
A strange feeling started in his chest and stomach. Oh, not good that. Pain spread through to his left side. Sharp stabbing erupted in his abdomen and he suppressed a groan. The nausea started building again and he leaned to the side. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about messing anything up if he puked. Not with the state of this place. He wasn’t able to suppress the groan when the pain spread to his head.
Shit. Shitshitshit. This was not going well. Should’ve just handed him the pills and fucked off.
He opened his eyes and saw the man unconscious. Fuck. Crowley braced his arms on the wall beside him and tried to push himself to his feet. The whole room tilted. Walls are definitely not supposed to be at that angle. Who the heaven made this building anyway? He took a few steps forward and stumbled, catching himself on a torn up couch.
Gotta get home. Just gotta get back to the bookshop then I can sleep this off. It’ll all be well in the morning. Just one foot in front of the other.
Crowley pushed himself back up from the couch. Somebody knows what kind of filth is soaked into those cushions. For a moment he contemplated just letting himself fall back down. Good a place as any to sleep it off, yeah? Oh no. Absolutely not, he had to get back to the bookshop, back to Aziraphale.
He found his way to the door, unsure how he’d gotten there. What time was it? How long had it been since he’d gotten here? Time was starting to slip away from him. Shit. That hadn’t happened for a long time. Crowley always knew what time it was. Could stop it at will. Hadn’t lost track of it like this since his bender after the Spanish Inquisition.
A few more stumbling steps and he was out in the alley. Alright. Almost there, just had to make it to the Bentley. Just had to make it to the Bentley. Where had he parked it again? Looking around he stumbled forward, just to slip on a broken bottle. Crashing into the dumpster in front, his arms came up involuntarily and right down again onto more broken glass. “Fuck!” This definitely was not going well. Blood dripped down his palm as he inspected it and the ache in his skull grew. He clutched at his head, pain throbbing with every heart beat. Before he could tell what was happening he lurched to the side and retched. Liquid smelling of scotch dripped to the concrete below him. His nails dug into the side of his scalp as he retched again, again, again.
He pulled back, breathing heavy. Was he trying to go somewhere? Where even was he now? His palms pushed into sharp pebbles as he tried to get his feet under him. Halfway up, Crowley realized it was a futile effort as he sank back down to his knees to throw up again. Nothing but stomach acid now. Coughing he glanced around. Where was he? An alley? What was he doing here? Leaning forward he continued his retching, his throat starting to scrape. He couldn’t stop puking. He started to doubt if he ever would. Even as he ran out of stomach contents to be rid of, the horrible feeling in his abdomen persisted. Muscles cramping and tightening around his stomach. He stuck his fingers to the back of his throat, pressing. It’ll feel better if he can just get it out. He just had to get out whatever it was that was making him so sick. Those pills were an awful idea. Not that the idea to take them had been his, though.
The puddle below started to grow as he kept vomiting. Falling to his side, he grabbed at his head. Shit! Felt like someone was pushing a dagger through one temple and out the other. The rocks below him blurred together and he let himself drift towards them.
-
Aziraphale glanced back up to the clock for the fifth time in half as many minutes. Surely Crowley ought to be home by now? It had been over four hours since he’d gone out. Aziraphale would’ve recognized the lateness sooner if he hadn’t gotten so caught up in his new series. Crowley had gotten the books for him, dropping them by his arm chair with a casual comment about how he saw them and “thought of you, Angel.”
Where was it Crowley said he’d be headed to for the temptation? That pub a few blocks away? Yes, the one with the particularly bad pretzels. Aziraphale considered going to check up on him. Crowley wouldn’t like that, of course, but it had been a rather long time and Aziraphale had wanted to have dinner for some time now. What if he’d gotten into trouble? Ran into some angels? Aziraphale pushed that thought from his mind. He couldn’t be thinking like that. Crowley would be home soon, he’d said so.
Aziraphale tried to go back to his reading, he really did, but with every glance to the clock his worry grew. He definitely should’ve been back by now. Hours ago. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to swing by the pub just to check on him. If everything was fine they could just stick around and have a few drinks together. Yes. Yes, that could work. He’d just say he felt like going out for some drinks with him.
So, feeling as though he had properly justified his choice, Aziraphale stood, tied up his shoes, slipped on his coat and headed out.
-
Stepping into the pub, Azirphale’s anxiety continued to mount. Sidestepping too drunk customers he searched for his demon. This was the pub, right? He couldn’t spot him anywhere.
Maybe he was somewhere outside. He knew his husband enjoyed the occasional smoke while he drank, no matter how he tried to hide it from him.
Aziraphale let the door close behind him and stepped into the alley. A few smokers loitered, idly chatting. He walked further, glancing around. On the ground behind a dumpster hid a mound of someone.
Oh, Crowley! Aziraphale rushed to his side, falling to his knees.
“Crowley! Crowley, my dear, are you alright?”
A groan rose.
“Oh, what happened? Have you been attacked? Crowley?”
Crowley’s eyes fluttered open. Where had his sunglasses gone? Golden eyes, dazed, unfocused, started to meet his.
“Angel?” His voice was shaky, unsure.
“Yes, yes, Crowley, it’s me. What happened? Are you alright?”
“Don’ feel so good, Angel.”
Azirphale’s eyes took in the scene around them, previously ignored. Something that looked like vomit practically surrounded his demon. Broken glass and trash covered the ground around them, and- was that? “Crowley, you’re bleeding!”
“Hm? Ngk, yeah. S’pose I am.”
“Oh, Crowley. Let’s get you home. I think I saw the Bentley out front.”
Crowley opened his mouth to agree, but before he could get any words out, he spun away from Aziraphale and coughed, vomiting.
“Oh, oh, Crowley. How much did you drink?”
“Gah, di’n’t drink. Well. Not much anyway.”
“I thought you came here for a temptation? You could have drank at home.”
“Nnnh, yeah. Did do the temptation. Didn’t go as planned.”
Crowley reached a bloody hand into his coat. A pill bottle?
“Crowley, what is that?”
“Had to—“ Crowley cut off as he vomited more, clutching his head, “Had to tempt… take drugs. Made me take ‘em with him.”
Oh. Oh no.
“Crowley! How many did you take? What are they?” Aziraphale lifted the bottle, shaking it. Only a few pilled rattled inside. No label on it.
“Mm. Dunno.”
Aziraphale put his arms around his demon’s back, pulling him up. Crowley made a pained noise as his head fell back, as if he was unable to support such a great weight on his own.
“Crowley, oh my. It’s alright, it’s alright now. Let’s get you home.”
Crowley only groaned louder, wincing and clutching at his head. Slowly they made their way to the Bentley.
-
Aziraphale lifted Crowley out of the car, just as he’d done before, supporting near all of his weight.
“It’s alright, we’re home.”
The demon only moaned in response. The effort of keeping his feet under him too much to be able to talk at the same time.
Aziraphale pushed the door open with one foot after unlocking it.
“Almost there, let’s just get you to the sofa now.” Aziraphale slowly lowered both Crowley and himself to the cushions. Taking his hand, Aziraphale gently healed the cut and miracled away the blood.
“I’m sorry, dear. I don’t particularly know what else to do for you. Will you be alright? We can’t exactly take you to the hospital, doubt they would know how to treat anyone such as us.”
With a labored breath, Crowley responded, “‘M okay. I- I’ll be fine. Just need to… sleep. Yeah, sleep is good.”
“Are you sure? We don’t know how many you took. You were clutching your chest earlier, what if you have a heart attack? Discorporate?”
Aziraphale felt his anxiety mount, what would happen if he discorporated? No. No, mustn’t think like that. If Crowley truly thinks he’ll be alright, he will. Aziraphale knew that Crowley had the advantage over him in knowledge of such things.
“I’ll be okay, Angel. No where near discorporating. Gah- it hurts, but I know I didn’t take enough for that.”
Aziraphale smoothed back Crowley’s hair, damp with sweat, and miracled some cloths and water. He pressed a cool cloth to his forehead and Crowley visibly relaxed, letting out a soft sigh.
“Is that good? Does it help?”
“Y-yeah. Helps. Thanks.”
“Of course, my dear.”
Aziraphale turned to move some blankets and stray books to the side when Crowley grasped his arm. Eyes wide and breathing hard.
“Aziraphale?”
“Yes, Crowley? What is it?”
“Don’t go, please. Can- can you just… stay?”
“Of course, my dear boy. I wouldn’t think of leaving you for a moment.”