Chapter Text
...To Fix What I've Broken
(1)
And it was over, just like that. “We have no further use for you…” they said. Everything he had done, all the work, the years he had put in, was just shit the rest of the heavenly hosts divided up. He thought he could make a difference, but it was nothing more than a delusion of grandeur that had been all for naught. They didn’t think twice about casting him out again. They didn’t think twice about expending his use until he had been run dry, and then tossing him like rubbish. Because he hadn’t done what they wanted the way they had wanted it. And so without a second thought, they mutilated his wings, threw him from the heavens, and sent him plummeting back to earth.
And he used the last of his strength to break his fall when he landed.
And the last thing he felt when he landed in some crowded street in the middle of London was every bone in his wings, arms, and ribs, breaking like glass.
-xXx-
You could see the bright flash in the sky from miles away. And Crowley, who had been drinking heavily for the past several hours, felt it too, a great crash that trembled and shook the earth.
He was sobering up and jumping into the Bentley before he could think twice about it. The crash was in the middle of town, right down the street from the book shop he hadn’t stepped in since the angel had left. All traffic was stopped, and people had jumped from their cars and were gathered around a large heap in the middle of the street.
Crowley parked the Bentley and got out of the car, pushing his way through the mass of people gathered around the circle blocked off by caution tape.
There was a creature there, lying in the middle of the road. It was being restrained by ropes and chains. It first appeared to be a tattered mass of blood and feathers, with several sets of uncanny blue eyes all over the wings dripping blood and gold tears. The eyes were twisted and swirling in pain. Sticking out from beneath the mass of feathers, were four broken arms, also riddled with eyes. At least 6 massive, tattered wings lay at unnatural angles, encapsulating the fetal-positioned body beneath it. Th creature made no move to stir, it was groaning in pain and barely conscious.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?”
Two of the creature’s four limbs twitched. From underneath the great mass, it reached out feebly, and desperately tried to drag and claw its way across the ground. The crowd jolted back. Those who had been holding the chains keeping it captive gave them a sharp yank and shoved it back down onto the reddened asphalt. Police and military personnel kept their guns on it. Every time the creature moved or groaned or writhed in pain, the grip on the chains tightened, and the horrible sounds of a creature in distress trembled the earth.
Crowley continues to push and stagger his way through the crowd. As soon as he reaches the beast’s line of sight, all the eyes turned to stare at him, piercing right through his body.
As soon as the creature laid eyes on him, the tears pool harder and faster.
And then a hoarse, weak voice, rasps out to him, barely audible, pleading, pained, “Crow…Crowley…” The demon’s stomach drops and he stiffens in place.
The voice— or voices, coming out of it pleads in several reverberating octaves and pitches, all overlapping each other, in garbled timbres of feminine, masculine, both, neither, all at the same time, but they echo back to one dominant sound—of one all too familiar. The mass once again uses its four limbs to drag itself across the ground. The crowd screams. Several guns go off. Bullets shoot straight through the tattered feathers. The amalgamation whimpers and cries in a horrible, inhuman sound. It tries to lift its head from beneath the mass of broken wings. The chains dig further into its flesh and sharply jolt it back down. The creature, barely conscious, continues to call out to Crowley in desperation.
And it is then that Crowley realizes what—- or rather who it is.
They’re hurting him…
He tries to move again— they keep their guns on him— the constables brave enough start kicking and clubbing him. The mass only whimpers and tries to shield himself.
A growl rumbles deep within the depths of Crowley’s stomach.
They’re…hurting…him! Claws sprout out of his fingers. Horns pushed up through his forehead. Scales break out of sharp-cut cheekbones. His eyes narrow into blazing yellow slits. Snake like canines push their way into his mouth.
…And then the rage explodes from him in a snarling sea of black feathers. He leaps off the ground and barrels into the scene with a powerful swish of his great, dark wings.
He sticks the landing in front of the angel so violently that it shakes and cracks the earth. Though the other is quite a bit more massive than him, he uses his wings and body as a shield, protectiing the angel from the shower of bullets that follow. Some of the bullets tear clean through the wings. Crowley growls in pain as a blast of hellfire engulfs the black feathers, disintigrating the remaining bullets into nothing. He flaps is flaming wings. The gust of wind sends several of the front-liners flying backwards. Crowley crouches low, keeping his wingspan fully spread out, eliciting warning growls and claw slashes.
The crowd screams in terror. They keep shooting at him, and each time the bullets disintigrate into shadow and flame. His eyes seethe with hellfire.
“You will not touch him again!” He growls. The ends of the chains shatter in a shower of sparks and ash.
A cloud of salt grazes his face, melting into the skin with a sickening hiss.
Someone else splashes holy water on him. It soaks one side of his body, going straight through his clothes and singing his skin. He snarls again, and slashes his claw again in retaliation.
“STOP! Leave him alone!” He continues slashing and snarling.
“...Come any closer and I will NOT HESITATE to make you PAY for it!” his voice comes out as menacing thunder. “HE won’t hurt you…BUT I…I will!” He lets out an earsplitting hiss, jolts forward. The crowd and law enforcement stagger back. The flames engulfing his wings go out with a hiss. The feathers near the ends of his wings stiffen and harden. With another swish, he shoots them out as a cloud of daggers. They impale the vehicles, buildings, and weapons around them, strategically missing the crowd, but scaring them enough that some of them start to flee. Crowley’s growls and snarling do not cease. “FUCK OFF and no one gets hurt– keep fighting– you’ll leave me no choice but to defend!” He sharply swipes his wings, knocking over the frontliners like dominoes.
A trembling, clammy hand seizes Crowley by the wrist. He freezes in place and snaps his gaze around to meet the source. A single, large, doe-eyed pupil wet with tears peaks out from the mass of white and gold.
“Crow-Crowley…please…please don’t…” Aziraphale rasps.
He shakes his head, “I won’t…n-not really…” I’m trying to scare them off– and it’s working. He turns back to face the crowd again, “You have 90 seconds to evacuate before I—”
In a panic, the civilians begin to flee in a massive, frenzied row. Half the law enforcement and military personnel try to get them in order, while the other half remain.
Someone fires another gun. Once more, Crowley’s wings burst into flames and deflect and destroy the bullets with hellfire.
He turns and envelopes Aziraphale in an embrace, remaining in the defensive position as the angel starts to fade back into human form. The remaining eyes all over his flesh explode into dust, and the broken wings vanish into a cloud of white feathers, revealing the naked, defenseless body they had been protecting. Aziraphale is battered and bruised, ashy and sickly. The angelic glow has dwindled from his pale skin, and he’s lost more weight than he ever should have. His curly white-blonde hair is matted and disheveled. There are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and permanent tearstains scarring his cheeks.
Crowley takes one long look at his terrible state, and any negative emotions he had felt towards him when they’d parted ways vanish in a blink.
He pulls the angel in, extinguishes his wings, and folds them over the battered frame. Behind him, the units cease fire. Aziraphale melts into Crowley's chest. The redhead bites his lip, forcing back the stinging behind his eyes. “Oh Angel…” he says breathily, “What have they done to you?”
“Y-you were right…” Aziraphale replies, voice breaking, “They were…they were…toxic…” his voice fades to nothing, and he passes out cold.
With one last snarling hiss at the law enforcement, he gathers Aziraphale into his arms, bridal style, and leaps into the air, fleeing the scene with a blast of hot wind and black feathers.