Chapter Text
Crowley stood in a place outside of time. A place that was outside of everything. A place (if it could even be referred to as such) of nonexistence, built from concepts and imagination, a place Crowley remained only through the sheer force of his own will.
The place where She resided.
And nothing, nothing was going to stand in his way, least of all Her.
She watched him with unfathomable eyes as he approached. She didn’t flinch when he slammed his hands down on a table that materialized before Her. “Bring him back.” It was a snarl, a demand, his voice still choking on phantom smoke. His clothes were still charred, still reeking of fire, ash, and death.
There was no emotion, no reaction on Her face as She began to speak in a slow measured tone. “Angels do not have souls.” The words were both an apology and a condemnation, like She was speaking to a misbehaving child. “What is there to return?”
Crowley wanted to howl at Her. To rave. To spit curses until what was left of the universe ended. But he refused to waste his one chance. “Death accepted my challenge.”
Her eyes slowly widened, surprised and Crowley felt a flash of triumph. Let Her see what it was like to have the universe play against Her.
Then Her gaze shifted behind him. Crowley wasn’t foolish enough to turn. He wouldn’t let Her slip away that easily, not until he had what he came for. Her tone was curious as She asked, “Is this true, Death?”
Crowley felt Death approach, their presence like a black hole, trying to suck everything in. Death came to a stop just shy of Crowley’s shoulder, standing in the place Aziraphale should have been. “IT IS, WE WILL PLAY FOR THE BEING KNOWN AS THE PRINCIPALITY AZIRAPHALE, GUARDIAN OF THE EASTERN GATE OF EDEN, AND PROTECTOR OF THE RENEWED WORLD.”
Crowley blinked, caught off guard. That last title was new.
She was silent, thoughtful, observing them both. “It’s not like you, Death, to play for something that does not exist solely in your domain.”
Death inclined their head. “NOR, IN MY DOMAIN, CAN THE RIGHT OF CHALLENGE BE REFUSED.”
She nodded, as though they both weren’t just spouting nonsense. Aziraphale was not a thing. A hiss built in Crowley’s throat.
“Very well.” Her words caught him off guard, and for the first time since Death had come for Aziraphale, hope bloomed in Crowley’s chest. However, when She turned to him, he faltered, feeling like an insect caught under the dangerous gaze of a being far more powerful than himself. “And what will you stake Crowley, Serpent of the Garden, Creator of the Original Sin, and–”
“You already know the answer.” His voice was steady, unafraid. Spreading his wings, he reached out, and plucked the first feather he touched. Ignoring the twinge of pain, he slammed the black feather down on the table in front of Her. “So, stop wasting time.” He had nothing left to lose.
Under his strike, the table warped into a hexagon shaped poker table, while beneath his hand, the feather splintered into plastic chips.
He blinked. What in the–?
She stared at the poker chips for a long moment. “Are you certain?”
He didn’t move his hand, feeling the way the chips pulsed with his power, his being, almost like a heartbeat. Perhaps, the closest thing he had to a soul. He stared Her down. “As if you would accept anything less.” He was a demon. He knew how deals worked, even when they were wrapped up in pretty terms like games.
She inclined Her head. “Then the game will be all or nothing. Death, will you join us?” She waved to an empty spot at the table, producing a simplistic chair. Death settled there, while Crowley called forth a replica of the gaudy throne from his now razed flat. He sprawled on it carelessly, like he was holding court at the table.
Neither his opponents so much as blinked, not that Crowley expected much of a reaction.
“NOW THEN.” Death held out a deck of playing cards that Crowley was disturbed to realize was bigger than the standard fifty-two set. “THE USUAL GAME?”
Her smile was too wide, and too smug. “Of course.” She accepted the cards, shuffling them with a frightening level of precision. Oh bless, She was a card shark.
Then he caught up with the fact She was dealing. “Oi!” he exclaimed, “The challenger– me, in case you forgot– I’m supposed to choose the game!”
She didn’t pause, the cards dancing in Her hands. “There is only one game that can be played to win back an angel.”
Dread began to creep up over Crowley. “And what game is that?”
She only paused for a moment, looking him straight in the eye. “An ineffable one.”
Yeah, he should have seen that one coming.
Three cards were dealt to him, five to Death, and She kept ten for Herself. Crowley eyed the setup with unease. He watched as She set the rest of the deck down at the edge of the table. Then with a careful hand, She brushed the cards out and spread them in a long line from one corner of the table to the other.
She drew back. “Since you are the challenger, you shall choose where we start.”
Crowley’s hackles rose. “Well obviously at the beginning with the rules.”
“SO, IT HAS BEEN CHOSEN,” said Death, picking up their hand.
“Oh no no no. That wasn’t a choice. That was a question.” Crowley spit a curse. Why did questions always betray him? To his dismay, his opponents simply began to organize their hands. “You’re not going to tell me how this game works, are you.”
She had the gall to smile at him.
He sneered back in answer, picking up his three cards and studied them. An ace of hearts, a three of diamonds, and… a naked woman surrounded by a yellow coloured wreath? What in the hell? There was no suit indication on the last card, nothing to say what it was.
“SHALL WE CONTINUE THE SETUP?” Death said, and Crowley just knew that statement was meant for his sake. Neither his opponents looked like the chatty kind of card player, which was just fine by him. He wasn’t here to make friends.
“Of course,” She said, still focused on Her hand. She touched the table and a pile of sky coloured chips appeared beside Her. She placed one of the chips in the centre just short of the line of cards that divided Her half of the table from Death and Crowley. Then with quick movements, She played a succession of four cards: a king of diamonds overlaid with the two of hearts, and then a card with no suit markings that depicted very fluffy white clouds surrounded by rays of golden light. Over that, She placed the final card, a four of diamonds.
Death made an interested sound, producing a stack of their own dark coloured chips. Three of those chips were played along with a single card. The card was stylized like an ace, but where the marker for the suit should have been, instead there was an image of a single sword. Vines covered in apple blossoms twisted around the card’s border and above the sword's pommel floated a golden crown.
Crowley frowned at the card. What in the name of hell was that suit supposed to be?
Both of his opponents were staring at him: waiting, expectant. Right. He was supposed to play something now. What was even the high card in his hand? Likely not the three of diamonds, but what was the ace of hearts card? High? Or the low card in this game? He hesitated, more useless questions dancing through his mind. Was it better to cast off at the start? Or should he play the big guns now? He didn’t know and that only frustrated him more.
“Do you pass?” She asked.
He hissed. “As if you get to dictate how I play!” He shoved two chips into the centre of the table and slapped down the ace. “You and your stupid–”
Blinding holy light. The table was gone. Oh god, She was going to smite him. He panicked. Desperate, he tried to backpedal, but his concept, his form, wasn’t working. It oozed and flowed like a liquid inside a balloon where flailing arms and legs should have been.
A din of sound blared in his ears, deafening him. The smell of ozone choked the air around him, growing stronger by the minute. The light grew brighter too: all of it reaching, stretching toward him, ready to strike him down and shred him to pieces. Terrified, and unable to move, Crowley cringed. He’d pushed too far. Too fast. Too many questions. Too much of everything. All because he wanted to save Aziraphale.
Anguish bled from him like blood, like molten fire. The clash of sound became a disjointed clamour as the blinding brightness recoiled back from him like he was made of hellfire.
It recoiled, he realized, from the emotions that hung around him like smoldering burning smoke.
Crowley seized the advantage. Using his emotions like fire on the end of a long stick, he swung out wildly, striking out at the din of noise. Let Her burn too if She was so inclined to strike him down. Let Her choke on tears as She felt how much it hurt to lose the one good thing that had existed in all the universe.
Aziraphale had deserved better than this!
The din began to wail, matched only by his own nonexistent voice. Then there was a flash of light, streaking out like a shooting star, speeding toward him. Shit! The thing only went faster as he tried to swing his burning stick toward it. He couldn’t move fast–
It crashed into him with a sharp bang.
He couldn’t see anything for a moment, and then everything went silent.
Crowley found himself lying flat out on his stomach, staring down into the surface of a smooth polished white floor. His chest was heaving, hands braced, and fingers splayed against the cool surface.
He drew another shuddering breath, mind reeling. What…?
“Is that better?” The kind tone was tentative, nervous and achingly familiar. Crowley’s ears popped. “You were taking too much in.”
Slowly, painfully, Crowley looked up. Long red curls tumbled out of his vision, settling against his shoulders. He could barely find his voice to speak. “Aziraphale…”
White wings and a white robe adorned in golden trim clad around a familiar form now hale and whole. “Oh. Hello.”
Aziraphale was alive.
His sweet devious angel was alive and smiling at him.
Aziraphale shifted closer, concerned. “How are you feeling… er…?” A prompt for a name.
Crowley faltered. “You…?”
“Me?” There was no recognition in Aziraphale’s eyes.
A pit opened up somewhere in the vicinity of where Crowley thought a stomach should have been. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. His fingers tensed, nails scratching at the polished floor. Solid, his mind registered, real and unyielding. This wasn’t a dream, and if he opened his mouth, he was going to start screaming.
It must have shown on his face, because Aziraphale stepped closer. “Still not feeling well? It can all get a bit much sometimes.” His smile was understanding.
Crowley’s last defense crumbled. Tears burned in his eyes.
“Oh, oh dear.” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered out, almost touching, before he pulled them away. He gripped the edge of his robe instead, fiddling with the hem.
It was a nervous gesture Crowley had seen a million times before. And it hurt. There was no stopping the sob that escaped in his throat.
Aziraphale knelt. “You’re alright now. Just take your time, um–” He fumbled again at the lack of name.
“Crowley,” he said, voice too small for whatever large space they were in.
Aziraphale nodded, frowning for a moment, before the expression passed like a rain cloud. “Yes, Crowley, why don’t we– that is– if– if you’re amenable–”
“Sit with me.” His voice was wobbly, pathetic, shattered just like the rest of him. “Please?”
Aziraphale didn’t hesitate, nodding as he shifted over, and settled facing Crowley. “Is this alright?”
Crowley nodded and then, selfishly, shifted so he could lean in, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Just… give me a moment.” Then he shut his eyes and mourned.
How long they stayed like that he couldn’t say. Time felt no more concrete here than it had at the poker table, or perhaps even before that. Perhaps his whole world had ended the moment Aziraphale’s being had stopped existing.
But Aziraphale was here now, unharmed, undone or remade, and Crowley…
This was too much for him.
He squeezed his eyes shut against tears, and just willed himself to breathe. There was a brush of soft feathers against his back, and without looking, Crowley knew Aziraphale had curled his wing protectively over him. A reassuring presence, a comfort, but the soft feathers only made his heart ache more.
All he could think about was another time, another meeting, when the first rain clouds had begun to roll in.
He wasn’t ready for this. His voice felt locked in his throat.
And, for whatever reason, this Aziraphale, even without knowing who Crowley was, seemed content to sit with him in silence, and let the world pass them by.
Their quiet moment came to an end, however, when the air shifted, and a high-pitched whine marked the intrusion of another ethereal being. Aziraphale tensed, before he abruptly surged to his feet, leaving Crowley scrambling to recover his balance.
Flustered, Aziraphale spoke, “Archangel Gab–”
Crowley snarled and lunged.
His hands were out, ready to claw Gabriel’s smug face off, before Aziraphale caught hold of him and yanked him back into the fold of his wing. Enveloped in soft white feathers, Crowley found his arms pinned to his sides, unable to do more than hiss and spit unpleasant sounds at the stupid archangel.
Gabriel stared at them with wide-eyed alarm.
Crowley tried to wriggle free, while Aziraphale simply ignored the byplay. “Archangel Gabriel,” he said primly, hands clasped neatly in front of him, and expression open and sincere, like he hadn’t just stopped Crowley from mauling the archangel. “My deepest apologies, but I don’t believe now is the best time.”
Gabriel looked back and forth between them, before his gaze settled on Crowley. “What, in the name of all that is holy, has gotten into you?” He gestured at Aziraphale’s wing, eliciting another hiss out of Crowley. Gabriel became even more disconcerted. “Do you realize what you’ve done? All that– that anguish you leaked all over the place. I now have crying seraphim who are refusing to sing! Do you realize how much cleanup I have to do!”
Crowley snarled. As if he cared about how much work Gabriel had because of some half-wit crybaby feather brains who–
Aziraphale’s wing folded around Crowley’s head, blocking his view of Gabriel. “Well, yes,” Aziraphale said, “we are– very, very sorry to hear that, but, as I was saying, now is not the best–”
“I don’t care!” Gabriel thundered. “And stop hiding behind that Principality’s wing! You’re supposed to be setting an example for the others! Do you realize how ridiculous you look right now? If you keep these antics up, Raphael, fellow archangel or not, I will have you banished to the stars!”
Crowley’s mind derailed. Shock left him utterly frozen. Raphael. His name… his name from before…
Aziraphale gave him a worried sidelong glance. Crowley couldn’t– How–
Aziraphale turned back to Gabriel. “Message received. Though I– I believe a moment of– of quiet reflection is required. Some time to further repent and, um, understand the consequences and– and– gather ourselves, yes?” Aziraphale gave his most nervous and charming smile. The one he used when he was doing something he shouldn’t and was worried about getting caught.
“Good.” Gabriel huffed, oblivious to the fact Crowley had not, in any shape or form, shown a flicker of remorse or interest in repenting. “This is your last warning, Raphael.” There was a flash of light, and then silence as Gabriel left.
Aziraphale sighed, shoulders relaxing, his wing dropping enough that Crowley could see again. They were alone, standing in a plane white space– Heaven– oh bless, he was in Heaven!– How had he not noticed that before? Bloody– bloody– someone was going to smite him! Panic ratcheted up in his chest.
Abruptly Aziraphale’s wing withdrew from around him, and the sudden lack of contact left Crowley stumbling. He looked at Aziraphale as the angel stepped back from him. A lump came into Crowley’s throat. What…? Then he saw the expression on Aziraphale’s face.
They stood there, awkward, and silent as Aziraphale regarded him with an expression that stated they weren’t equals. That Aziraphale, because of a stupid angelic rank, saw himself as lower.
“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale’s gaze was focused somewhere down around Crowley’s feet, “I overstepped– restraining you like that– and you being an archangel and– and–”
“No,” his voice was choked and terrible sounding. “I’m not.”
Aziraphale went still. His eyes jumped up again, taking in whatever wretched expression Crowley knew was on his face. There was a long moment of silence. Aziraphale continued to study him, and then after a pause, Aziraphale gave a single nod of his head. “My mistake. Are you feeling better now… Crowley?”
Startled, Crowley regarded the angel, even as his chest slowly filled once more with soft fondness. Aziraphale’s smile only grew more genuine, and before Crowley realized it, he found himself returning the smile with one of his own. He coughed, eyes darting away. “Much better, thanks… Aziraphale.”
“You’re quite welcome, Crowley.”
And that was all there was to it, really.
Crowley came back to himself at the poker table, sucking in a breath. There was no air to taste, but the motion helped. He took another breath, staring at the chips resting beside him on the table.
Across from him, She moved, shifting the cards around in Her hand.
Crowley tensed, hissing before he snapped his mouth shut around the sound. He glared at Her. “What was that?”
His demand was met with silence. She didn’t even look up.
A spark of anger bloomed in Crowley’s chest. “You–” he snarled, only to bite back the sound, “Why are you always like this?”
But all She did was tilt her head ever so slightly. “Oh?”
Crowley let out a sound of frustration. “Enough of your stupid games!”
“You wish to forfeit then?” Her gaze was piercing, making the hair stand up on the back of Crowley’s neck. She reached across the table, greedy fingers extending towards Death’s card: the ace with the sword–
And for a moment, all Crowley could see was Aziraphale. The gentle smile the angel had just given him.
Panic rushed through him as he slammed his hand down, blocking Her passage across the table. “Don’t you dare touch him!” He blinked, startled by his own phrasing. Touch him? But Aziraphale–
His eyes darted to the card sitting innocently before Death. An ace with a very familiar sword depicted on it, surrounded by apple blossoms.
A cold feeling of dread came over him.
That card… it couldn’t be.
“Aziraphale…” he whispered.
Crowley’s gaze swept over the table, taking all of it in with new eyes.
If he was right and the card sitting before Death really was Aziraphale then–
The King of Diamonds lying before Her depicted a King with a holier-than-thou expression on his face– that could only be Gabriel. Crowley’s eyes jumped to the other card in front of Her, the picture of white fluffy clouds surrounded by etherial golden light– yeah, that had to be Heaven. Crowley gave the card a disgusted look. He still wasn’t sure what the four of diamonds lying sideways across the Heaven card meant though.
His eyes dropped to the one card lying before him.
Crowley squinted at it, before a sneer curled his lips.
The Ace of Hearts. The lowest or highest card depending on the game. His own representation. How apt.
Frustration bubbled up within him, and he verbally lashed out. “You!” He spat the word at Her. “You can’t just play around with our lives like this! We are not toys.”
Her fathomless eyes regarded him. “Of course not. Where would the fun be in that?”
“Fun!” He slammed his hands down on the table. “How is this fun!? You’re supposed to care– to love– not–!” He ground his teeth. “We’re living beings. We’re not subjects to your whims!”
“Because you have free will?”
Crowley hissed. Humans had been given free will. Angels had not. His nails dug into the table, leaving marks. “Then why am I here? If I have no free will then why are we here arguing? You might as well call it arguing with yourself.”
“Because you challenged us.” Her expression shifted, almost seeming curious, like She didn’t know what to make of him. Another being who considered him an oddity. “Because, for whatever reason, you wish to bring back an angel, one of the sworn enemies of your kind.”
Crowley tensed, before he reflexively pressed the lenses of his sunglasses up over his demonic eyes. “And all you do is spit in the face of anyone who gives a damn!”
“I never taught you that.”
His answering grin was fierce. “Just like you never taught me to ask questions?” He gave a sad little shake of his head. “Here’s a question to ponder then. If we’re really nothing more than toys or playing cards, what does it really matter why I want to save Aziraphale? What difference does it make to you in the end?” She was starting to frown at him. “Can you answer that?”
She was silent for a long time. “You think I’m the villain.”
A sharp bark of laughter escaped him. “That’s because you are!” He drew several harsh breathes. “Do you even realize how–” His hands shook. “Your concepts of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ are a load of trash.” He tried to act confident as he said it. To pretend he wasn’t terrified out of his mind.
She regarded him for a long moment. “But is that not the point of this whole game? To win back your enemy? You challenged Death because you refused the reality that lay before you.”
Crowley’s shoulders stiffened. “Don’t put this back on me!” His voice was shaking. “Don’t you dare.”
She continued on, unwavering. “Are you not the one playing with everyone’s lives now? You chose to play this game from the very beginning. Along with all that entails.”
Crowley’s hand tightened on his cards. “I’ve had enough of you and your no-win choices!”
“Then you wish to forfeit?”
“Never,” he hissed. “I’ll never give up on Aziraphale! No matter what you do to me.”
A heavy silence followed. She drew away from the table, eyes going to a single card in the left side of Her hand. “The Fall.” She almost looked small.
Crowley froze. His eyes darted to the card She was staring at. Oh blessed. She had it. Right there in Her hand.
His mouth went dry. A single card that encompassed one of his worst memories.
His hands began to shake.
She was staring at him again.
He tried to pretend he wasn’t terrified out of his mind.
He already knew how powerful She was.
Her gaze became more intense. “Is the existence of one single angel really worth going through all that?”
He was on his feet now, leaning across the table. “You’re the one who decided to draw lines in the sand! Not me. Not Aziraphale. You. So, take your concepts of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ and throw them in the trash! Because Aziraphale is the only good thing you’ve ever made!”
There was a pause, and then a look of dawning realization on Her face. “You love him.”
Crowley choked.
“You love him so much you’d choose him over the world if it came to it.” She reached for a single card, this time from the right side of her hand, pausing. “Tell me,” Her head tilted, tone lilting with genuine curiosity, “is that kind of love worth it?”
Crowley froze. His mind was screaming. He couldn’t– He forced himself to move, to put up a wall of bravado to hide behind. A grin that showed off demonic teeth. “I don’t know.”
She frowned, displeased with his answer.
Crowley continued to hold Her gaze, a challenge, a dare.
“Then,” She said, “we shall have to see.” Plucking a card from Her hand She placed it beside Gabriel’s smugly grinning representation.
Crowley had a moment of terror, before he realized the new card was only the King of Spades. He eyed it with suspicion. Which angel did that one represent? He wasn’t sure, and that made him more uneasy.
“Your move.”
Crowley jerked, shaking his head. “Oh no, Death’s next. I know how turn order works.”
“THEN I PASS,” said Death.
Crowley should not have felt as much dismay as he did at that statement. He stared at his own meagre hand. Two rounds of this and he would be out of cards. He didn’t like the idea of that. Especially now that he knew the cards did things. That they represented individuals.
His eyes strayed to the Ace of Swords. Aziraphale.
Death slowly turned to regard him.
Crowley swallowed hard. How was he going to get Aziraphale back?
Somehow, he didn’t think this game worked like Go Fish and that he could just fish Aziraphale’s card out from in front of Death without repercussions. He couldn’t risk it, not when it came to his angel.
“I draw a card,” he declared. That had to be a safe enough move. Right?
She nodded. “And what will you pay to do so?”
Unease rolled through him. His eyes darted about, landing on the pile of feather chips sitting on the table in front of him. So, he thought grimly, that was the catch. He had bet his own being for Aziraphale. Now he had to pay for it.
Drawing a breath for courage, he reached out for one of his chips and flicked it into the middle. It bounced, rolling across the line of cards spread across the table, and then vanished.
The effect was instantaneous. Crowley gasped. His form wavered, fragments drifting off him like dust. His thoughts felt like they were being diluted in water, dissolving, until there was barely one thought strung to the next. Panic set in.
His will shrieked at his pieces to move, to claw themselves back together, and to hold a single shape. He gasped the soundless air as he snapped back into a solid form, clinging to the table’s edge.
His heart pounded in his nonexistent chest. “Bloody…”
She was watching him from across the poker table, expression unmoved. “Draw your card.”
He snarled. “You sadist. You’re enjoying this!” The very idea made him feel sick.
“You agreed to the terms. You knew what you were getting into.”
And that just made it worse.
One or both of them could be wiped out if he wasn’t careful.
His existence or Aziraphale’s, and She didn’t care.
He gritted his teeth. “Is that all you have to say?”
She tilted Her head, studying him. “What else is there to say?”
He hissed at Her. “How about some bloody compassion?”
“Would you accept such a thing from me?”
The answer jumped to the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it back. No. He wouldn’t.
He stared at Her and She simply nodded. “Then we shall continue.”
He was done with this conversation.
He eyed the line of cards spread across the table. Picking one at random, Crowley snatched it up. Who cared if he was following the rules. He was a bloody demon. Even if reality didn’t bloody recognize him as such.
And yet that new reality was the one place where Aziraphale resided. The only place.
And Crowley was an angel there.
Something like bile rose up in his imaginary throat. The card he’d picked up slipped between his trembling fingers. He swore, trying to make a grab for it, only to miss. The card landed face up on the table for all to see.
Death made a thoughtful sound. “AN INTERESTING MOVE.”
“Shut it!” Crowley could feel his face heating up.
The card he’d dropped was another nonsuit card. It depicted a blindfolded figure dressed in robes. In each of the figure’s hands were two holy swords held aloft as crossed blades, each looking just like Aziraphale’s flaming sword.
Across from him, She made a thoughtful sound. She pushed forward the King of Spades. “I look forward to seeing how this plays out.”
Crowley didn’t get a chance to open his mouth, before everything dissolved. Between one blink and next, he found himself standing in the pale emptiness that was Heaven.
He panicked. Did She just eject him from the game?
No, no that wasn’t right. He just–
“Calm down, calm down,” he muttered to himself. He wouldn’t be here in Heaven, of all places, if the game was forfeited. That meant…
He hesitated.
If he stretched his mind out just so, he could almost feel the crinkle of cards in his hand. The feel of the solid edge of the poker table. The shape of the chair he had conjured for himself. It wasn’t over yet. Part of him was still there, on that other plane of existence. With Her.
He grimaced, turning around, and almost jumped out of his skin when he found Aziraphale standing directly behind him.
Aziraphale startled just as badly. “Terribly sorry, Crowley!” He stepped back, hands nervously fidgeting. “I didn’t mean–”
“It’s alright, ang–” his voice caught on the word, on what it meant, “dove.” The word tumbled out of his lips, surprising them both.
Aziraphale blinked at him. Crowley could feel heat rising in his cheeks, turning them a merry pink. Oh bless, why’d he–
And then Aziraphale smiled at him.
That… that was… Oh, Crowley was going to have to sit down for a while.
He swallowed hard, eyes darting away, only to land on two nearby angels openly staring at them. Crowley snarled, and was satisfied when the two angels jumped, before scrambling over each other to bolt away. He was still smirking when he turned back to Aziraphale, only to find Aziraphale’s expression had gone stony and cold.
Crowley’s cheer wavered. “Aziraphale?”
Aziraphale huffed, gaze snapping back to Crowley. “Gawking like that, the nerve.”
Oh. He was angry at the angels. Crowley let out a relieved breath and shrugged. “Never mind them. Feather brains, really, acting like groupies over the sight of an archangel of all things.”
“Groupies–?” Aziraphale bit his tongue. “No, never mind. That’s not why I… why I’m here, anyway…” He trailed off.
“Dove?”
“I was sent to deliver a message.” Except Aziraphale was fidgeting, and his expression was far too nervous.
Unease bubbled up within Crowley. “From whom?”
“From Lucifer.”
Crowley froze. “Oh.”
“Lucifer wishes to meet with you.”
That was how it had all started the first time. Crowley’s fists clenched. Lucifer had taken an interest in him. Invited him over for a chat. Had listened to all the questions Crowley had about the universe. Proposed even a few of his own. And things had only gone on from there really. That first step that had eventually led to a great Fall.
Crowley shuddered.
Aziraphale was still watching him. “What shall I tell him?”
“Tell him…” Crowley swallowed hard, and then made his voice louder. “Tell him, I’m busy. Things to oversee. Construction. I don’t have time to meet. Nope. Can’t see him.”
Aziraphale nodded, looking relieved. “Of course.”
Crowley just wished he could feel the same level of relief.
Crowley would be lying if he didn’t admit, at least to himself, that he was disturbed by Satan’s sudden interest in him. Last time, that hadn’t happened until after he’d been banished to the stars. The solitude coupled with Lucifer’s random visits had only pushed him more firmly into the fallen angel’s camp.
Not that it mattered. At least, it wouldn’t have if not for a simple fact. He had yet to be whisked back to the poker table.
Much to his frustration, he was still trapped firmly in reality. This wasn’t how it worked last time! Cards had been moved about on the table and then played out here, in reality. The encounter had ended. Why wasn’t he back there? He could still feel that other plane of existence, but when he tried to focus, it alluded his grasp.
The whole situation was infuriating, made worse as time in reality dragged on.
Enough time, that Crowley had settled into a routine of all things.
He avoided the other angels, glared at them if they tried to come near. Strangely, the more he did that, the more Aziraphale popped up, coming to see how he was doing, or as became more of the case, to deliver messages from the other archangels. Most of the missives were simply Gabriel complaining about something or other that Crowley hadn’t intuitively thought to do all of five milliseconds ago.
Crowley’s expression darkened.
The bloody coward wasn’t even bothering to whine at him in person. Though, a darker part of Crowley thought, if Gabriel was ever foolish enough to come near him again–
Crowley’s hands clenched, and an ominous pop made him realize the star he’d been building had just been crushed into a blackhole under his fingers.
Cursing, he swept away the failed attempt. He was going to have to start again from scratch. Slowly he raised his hands, tugging together materials to begin the star’s inner workings. This… this was probably the one thing he did miss from all his time in Heaven.
But what did that matter? He was here to save Aziraphale, not to play at being an archangel again.
But even that thought didn’t stop him from carefully finishing the star he was building. He cradled it in his hands, feeling its warmth, before settling it spinning next to its glowing counterpart. Alpha Centauri. The only formation he’d bothered to recreate in exact detail from his original past.
He floated there, watching it.
He had no interest in recreating his stars exactly the same. Preserving the timeline was the last thing on his mind. Besides, what was She going to do about it anyway? Banish him again?
He snorted, grinning as he created a string of planets and moons with a sweep of his hand.
There was no way he was allowing any future which included Aziraphale’s demise to remain.
Crowley stilled once more. So, the question became what was his next move?
He withdrew his hands and after a long moment, left his beloved stars behind.
Crowley landed with a thud back in the pale confines of Heaven. As much as he disliked it, the backdrop was far less distracting for what he was about to try.
He reached out a hand, frowning. He hooked his fingers in the air, trying to get a feel for the playing cards he knew he was holding on that plane outside of reality. He shut his eyes, and after a moment, he could feel that other space around him. He tugged at the feeling, pulling the winding thread leading all the way to that far off place, chasing the string that would lead him back–
And then, abruptly, he was there.
Crowley opened his eyes, only to find two images overlaid over each other. One image was of Heaven, the empty white hall he’d landed in. The other, the poker table that existed outside everything, built of imagination.
He’d done it. He’d forced his way back.
Across the table, She regarded him with interest. “Well done.”
Crowley bristled, mouth snapping open, only to have his words spill out on the plane Heaven resided on. His concentration snapped in that direction, and the poker table began to disappear from his vision.
He panicked, mentally clawing his way back once more. This time, his hold was tenuous at best. Dammit. He was an accomplished demon that existed on far more planes of reality than Earth. Why was this so hard?
“It’s still your turn,” She told him helpfully.
Crowley grit his teeth. He didn’t dare try to speak. He was barely clinging on, and it was taking every piece of his stubborn will to remain there.
Dammit. She was doing this on purpose. Messing with him. Trying to get him to screw up.
Well, if that was the way She wanted to play. Fine.
He grabbed the three of diamonds from his hand. If cards did things, then he was going to be the instigator this time. He slapped the card down sideways across his own card, the Ace of Hearts. If the two of hearts that sat sideways across Gabriel’s card, the King of Diamonds, did something then he was going to take full advantage of that for himself.
Crowley drew back, expression defiant, waiting to see what would happen.
She stared at the three of diamonds. “Oh,” Her voice was soft, breathless with sorrow. “So, you’ve committed to remaining the same. Regardless of ruin.” She looked at him with sympathy. “I see.”
“What–” But the sound of his voice jarred him, and Crowley’s grasp slipped. Abruptly, he was once more standing back in Heaven. “Stop being so cryptic!” Frustrated, he threw his hands up, twisting on the spot– and froze upon seeing the being standing behind him, watching. “Lucifer.”
The charming smile Lucifer gave him was all the more horrifying by its utter lack of demonic malice. Lucifer dipped his head in greeting. “Raphael.”
Crowley suppressed a shudder. This was the angel that had once shone the brightest of them all and then had burned the cruelest when everything was said and done. There was absolutely no way he could afford to let himself react.
Lucifer glanced about at their empty surroundings with a level of interest that only set Crowley further on edge. “Fascinating. You’ve outdone yourself this time, Raphael.”
The name prickled like needles against Crowley’s skin. He kept his mouth shut. He’d dealt with the Devil enough times to know how to swing this conversation, even with a baby version of Satan.
Lucifer turned once more to him, eyes bright. “The others are fools for ignoring such a fascinating discovery just because of a bit of discomfort.”
What in the name of the nine circles was he talking about? Crowley kept his posture nonchalant. His tone dry. “Oh?”
“You must tell me, Raphael, when did Mother tell you about Her newest design?”
Unsettled, Crowley shifted on his feet. “You know perfectly well She doesn’t talk to me.”
“Oh?” Lucifer echoed back. He held up his hand, and one by one, flexed each of his individual fingers. “Then how did you find out about these forms?”
“Wha–” Fingers. Human fingers. A form the All Mighty hadn’t invented yet. Because the Earth was still just an idea rattling around in Her head. And Crowley realized with a horrifying jolt, he’d jumped the gun.
The way the other angels had reacted to him. He’d thought they were staring and avoiding him because he was an archangel, not because he was–
He was warping the space around him, back to what he was used to: solid objects and walls. Solid fleshy human containers. Without even realizing, he’d been bending everything within his powerful radius into following his rules of the universe, including other angels who came near him. Angels that, at this point in time, who were still manifesting themselves as rings of chained fire or eye-filled monstrosities made of light and wings.
He hadn’t realized. When he’d first landed, he’d been overwhelmed by that vast version of Heaven. Scared and attacking blindly.
And Aziraphale had saved him from it.
Crowley swallowed hard. And now his own strong imagination of the rules of the universe had caught Lucifer’s attention earlier than he had in the last timeline. He was flaunting knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to have. He’d revealed what humans would look like.
And now the angel who would grow up to be the devil was waiting for an answer about how he knew.
Ever so carefully, Crowley shrugged like he didn’t have a care in the universe, like he wasn’t internally screaming in terror. “Got bored and decided to experiment, you know, change things up.” He leaned in as though divulging a great secret. “Also reduces the amount of whining I have to put up with from Gabriel.”
The sharp smile of amusement was exactly the same even on Lucifer’s angelic face. “Of course. Gabriel is far too rigid in his way of thinking. He lacks imagination, and appreciation for art, unlike us.”
This was the part where Crowley was supposed to feel flattered. To preen at the praise and jump at the chance to denounce Gabriel’s many lacking qualities. It was what the Crowley from before the Fall would have done. But this Crowley wasn’t the same. He knew more and had far more tricks.
Crowley leaned back. “Imaginative or not, I still have a meeting with him.” Probably. Aziraphale would know. Or could make something up. Aziraphale was good at making up duties to get him out of meetings. “Can’t be late and–”
“Don’t bother. It’s cancelled.”
Something like ice settled within his form. “Oh?”
“Let’s just say, Gabriel was called away.” Lucifer didn’t even look interested in what he was saying. “Disciplinary action for some misbehaving Principality–”
Aziraphale.
Crowley didn’t remember calling his wings. Just the sudden startled jerk Lucifer gave when the rush of black feathers manifested. Crowley took off, wings beating in a rush of air and space.
Heaven sped by in a blur as Crowley barreled toward the singular point of light that was Aziraphale’s presence. If anything happened to him–
Crowley landed with a bang. “Azira–”
There were tears glittering in Aziraphale’s eyes as he turned toward him. His hands were clutched together in front of him, the last shaking defences of his crumbling composure. And leaning into his personal space with a sneering expression and no care for what he’d done, was Gabriel.
Crowley lunged.
“Crowley no!” Aziraphale caught him just as he raked the air in front of Gabriel’s stupid face.
“You!” Crowley spat at Gabriel, struggling even as Aziraphale strained to hold him back. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Gabriel stepped back, startled. “Control yourself, Raphael!” He eyed Crowley, adjusting his impeccable heavenly robes, and gave their human forms a look of distaste. “Believe me, when I say this, but I take no pleasure in preforming disciplinary action.” Crowley did not miss the way Aziraphale shuddered beside him. “But Order must be maintained among the ranks. Even you know that, Raphael.”
Know? He knew all about keeping order. He knew every time Gabriel enforced order on the ranks, Aziraphale had come back a little paler, a little quieter. Afraid. Gabriel’s idea of keeping order had finally culminated into a single moment where Gabriel had set Aziraphale’s bookshop alight and simply watched it burn. A blaze that had destroyed everything, their home, their world, and… the last precious piece, cradled in his arms, had choked and gasped out his last breath.
Crowley would never forgive Gabriel.
Not when he knew Gabriel’s behaviour preceded even the divide between Heaven and Hell.
No more. Crowley’s hands clenched. His white-hot fury compressed into something far more dangerous. He would have no more. This time he would protect Aziraphale with everything he had.
“Punishment must be given, Raphael,” Gabriel was saying, gaze fixed solely on Crowley.
“Then I’ll do it.” He felt Aziraphale’s arms around him freeze.
Gabriel’s expression became incredulous. “You?”
“He keeps delivering messages for me,” Crowley said. “The way I see it, given how much time that takes, he’s part of my flock now. And that means my Choir. My rules.” He gave Gabriel a hard look. “You have wanted me to take my duties more seriously. Or do you not agree?”
Gabriel thought about it for a moment. “Very well then.” He gestured toward Aziraphale. “The Principality is yours.” He gave Aziraphale a smug look.
Aziraphale’s arms loosened from around Crowley, eyes wide as he slowly stepped away. Crowley turned to him, swallowing hard. He prayed– hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t be afraid of him. “Aziraphale?”
“Yes?” Aziraphale’s voice was tentative, uncertain.
“I forgive you.”
Aziraphale blinked, looking dazed. “I– yes, thank you.”
Crowley nodded. “Good.” He turned. “We’re done here.”
Gabriel spluttered. “You can’t–”
“Have you forgotten what the All Mighty has said about forgiveness, Gabriel?”
Gabriel went red. “Raphael, you’re out of line! That principality–”
“Does that mean you’re willfully ignoring the All Mighty’s words?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Unless we’re making choices about what rules we can follow now?”
Gabriel turned redder. “Enough of your foolishness!”
“Oh? Did I hit a nerve?”
Gabriel grit his teeth, trying to keep his fake smile firmly in place. “Stop asking questions, Raphael. It is unbecoming of an angel of your rank.”
Crowley turned fully toward him. “My rank? That’s what you’re concerned about?”
“You would be too if you knew what was good for you.”
“Or what?”
“Or, Mother help me, Raphael, you’ll be banished to the far reaches of space!”
Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath.
Crowley stared at Gabriel, biting back a scoff. “Oh, well in that case.”
Gabriel grew smug, his expression taking on a pompous air of superiority.
Gleefully, Crowley drew a breath, and in the next instant invented swearing.
The punishment, being banished to his beloved stars, was well worth it.