Work Text:
Aziraphale's POV:
The Mayfair flat was empty. As the (still new) archangel walked through the halls, he felt cold. Everything looked ruined. Like an abandoned building. The chill truly went down his spine when he saw what remained of Crowley's plants. Wilted beyond saving, almost completely turned to dust.
He never would've let them get this bad...
Aziraphale hadn't been gone from Earth that long. Surely, that wasn't enough time for the flat to be in the state of disrepair it was currently in! So, why was it like this? He recalled hearing other angels talking Upstairs. Something about an incident which had caused many humans in and around Mayfair to spontaneously start rebuking. Most just chalked it up to a possession from a lesser demon and moved on.
What if it hadn't been? What if whatever demonic activity which caused the rebuking, was related to Crowley? What if Hell came back for him? What if they had hurt him?
Aziraphale looked out the window, to the street and gasped. The Bentley was still there! If he knew Crowley, and he did more than anyone else, there was no way he'd still be on Earth and not take his car with him!
It must be that, then. He must be in Hell...
The angel's heart ached and tears brimmed his eyes. He was terrified.
This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the plan!
His tears spilled and he sobbed. He backed himself into the nearest wall and slid down to the floor.
You were meant to be safe while I was gone...
He felt close to shattering. But he knew he had to steel himself. He took a deep breath to steady himself. With a shaky hand, he wiped his tears and summoned his strength. Along with his wings and his newly issued flaming sword.
I'm coming, dearest.
~~~~~
The elevator doors dinged open and dozens of demons hissed and growled before running away from the former principality as he stepped out. Hell, somehow, looked worse than it had his previous visit. Aziraphale brandished his sword and lit it with a thought. He marched further into the infernal headquarters, trying to sense Crowley's essence. No demon dared getting in his way. Finally, he reached the dark council's room.
Without hesitation, Aziraphale knocked down the door. The council members were caught off guard by this. They didn't have to speculate why he was here.
"I demand to know where you're keeping Crowley."
Suddenly, Shax and Dagon shared a look. It clearly meant something. What exactly? Aziraphale wasn't sure. Then the senior duke of Hell gestured to the door at the opposite end of the room. She grinned, her pointed teeth and scales glistening.
"You'll find him right through there." She said, before she and the rest of the dark council disappeared.
Whether it was a trap or not, he had to find out. Even if he had to fight his way in and out of the room. He just had to know. If he was alive, he had to try saving him. Even if it meant destruction.
Before he could burst through the second door, it opened for him, seemingly unprompted. And then Aziraphale felt something. A familiar presence. Almost begging him to come into the back room.
Crowley!
As soon as the angel ran into the room, the door slammed shut behind him. The impact startled Aziraphale, which only made him grip his sword tighter. The flames from his sword were the only source of light in the pitch black room. Or rather, they were, initially. Without warning, two bright, yellow eyes opened at the end of the room. Slit pupils. He'd know those eyes anywhere.
Aziraphale's heart nearly jumped into his throat. "Crowley!" He breathed, a smile about to form.
His happiness didn't last long, though. The room's lights flickered on and hummed, bathing everything in Hell's usual, eerie, green glow. Crowley wasn't chained to anything, like he had feared. The room had a stage at the end of it, only a few steps high. Atop it was Crowley, sitting on a throne. The very same one from his Mayfair flat. And he was surrounded by dozens of snakes! Then Aziraphale's eyes focused on the red sash across the demon's torso.
No... Oh no, no, no, no, no...
"Oh yesss, archangel." Hissed the demon.
This couldn't be happening. Crowley would never invade his thoughts like this. But this definitely was Crowley. He could feel it. Even if he looked a bit different. He had never seen Crowley embrace his demonic form this much. His skin was speckled with black snake scales along his whole body, his eyes had no white scleras and his gaze was more menacing than it'd ever been.
The blond's heart was hammering in his chest.
Who did this to you?
Crowley tilted his head. "Are you truly going to play dumb, Azzziraphale?"
Hearing Crowley say his name like that caused a shiver to go down his spine. And the sensation only got worse when Crowley stood and made his way down from his throne. The snakes parted like the Red Sea. Whichever didn't slither out of the way in time, were crushed by his boots.
"Thisss isss all your angelic work, after all." He said, the heels of his boots echoing loudly with every step forward.
Aziraphale blinked, his hand shaking. "My work-?" He made sure to extinguish the flames, to not hurt himself.
While focusing on the sword, he hadn't noticed Crowley was already in front of him. "You were the one who ran off to Heaven. You were the one who left me with a broken heart."
"Crowley, I-"
"How'd that go, by the way? Finally realizzzed the Metatron wasss playing you like a fiddle?" He asked, as he circled the angel. This was normal behavior for him. Aziraphale knew this. So, why was he so frighted now?
I always knew.
"What wasss that?" Asked the demon with cold breath, to the back of the angel's neck.
"I always knew he was, Crowley! I had a plan!" Shouted Aziraphale, frozen with fear.
"Oh, yeah? How'sss that plan goin'?" Whispered Crowley into the shell of his ear. The action made the former principality tear up.
This isn't you. I know you.
"No. Don't think you ever did, archangel."
It stung when he used that word. He said it with so much venom. Not at all comforting. Not like the way he used to call him 'angel'. It hurt. Not to mention the fact that Crowley had just invaded his mind in order to hear it.
He tried his damndest to shake off the unease he felt. "I did! I do!"
"If you did, you never would've tried turning me into an angel again. So hellbent on makin' me a cherub, and you ended up crowning me the new prince of Hell." Laughed the demon. His hissing had gone down, but he was still just as unsettling.
"I didn't-"
Crowley grinned, his fangs a bit larger than they usually were. "Oh, but you did! You left me with nothing to live for! And with you gone, I couldn't take out my frustrations on you. So, I came down here and tortured the eternally damned, to take the edge off. You really did a number on me. Hell hasn't seen that much fury since The Fall. Right impressed, they were. Practically begged me to take Beelzebub's place. And after the stunt you pulled, how could I refuse?"
Aziraphale was crying now. Dearest... I know you're still in there. You have to be. This isn't like you. Please!
He sighed at that. "You always did beg sweetly. Pathetic, really. Even more pathetic than me giving you whatever you wanted, and actually thinking you cared."
"I do care! Crowley... I- I love you!"
The demon stopped pacing and glared at him. The glare was enough to make him confess.
"I've loved you for millennia, but we were never safe! I needed to make sure we were safe before I could say it! And then you confessed and made my plan that much harder to start... You must've known I was coming back to you!" Yelled the angel, trying to break free of the hold Crowley's power held over him.
Crowley's scowl softened. "...You what?"
"I needed a man on the inside. Upstairs. To figure out Heaven's plan with time, so we could thwart it together! I knew you'd never agree to come back. To either side! So you'd be safe on Earth until I could break the ruse! I thought you had gotten my message..."
"Message? What message?" Asked the demon, confused.
The angel whimpered softly. "The Bentley. When you got into the Bentley after I went back Up with the Metatron. What song did the Bentley play?"
Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Bloody nightingales..."
"You had just mentioned them in the shop. I- I was sure you would've understood!"
"...And here I thought it was just The Almighty being cruel." Said Crowley softly, his eyes suddenly going back to normal. At the same time, he'd stopped using his powers on Aziraphale. The former principality sighed in relief.
The demon blinked and looked to Aziraphale. The same hurt expression from that day in the bookshop. "You mean it? You were actually going to come back...?"
"Of course I was..." Said Aziraphale, dropping his sword and placing his hand on Crowley's chest. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I should have told you sooner."
Crowley inched closer. "Say it again."
"I'm so-"
"Not that."
Aziraphale felt brave for a moment and grabbed Crowley by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him in for a kiss. Their lips crashed together and their eyes shut, much like the first time. Unlike the bookshop kiss, though, Aziraphale wasn't resisting. He wasn't holding anything back this time. And for a few seconds, Aziraphale felt happy. At peace, even.
Said peace, along with Aziraphale's heart, quickly shattered when he heard his sword come to life. When Aziraphale opened his eyes, he was greeted by Crowley's unnerving stare. Before he was able to pull away, he felt the demon's lips form a grin against his now stiff mouth. A spine chilling hiss erupted from behind the angel and he turned to see the dozens of snakes in the room had transformed into a giant serpent. On instinct, the archangel's wings popped out. A fight or flight response, as some people called it. Seemingly, this was exactly what the new Grand Duke Of Hell was hoping for. Aziraphale now realized the giant snake had only been a distraction.
The thing about holy fire was: it was still fire. Sure, The Almighty had used it for many purposes, but right now, it wasn't in the hands of God. It was in the hands of a very angry and vengeful demon. A very angry and vengeful demon who had loved him once, but clearly, didn't anymore. After all, how could someone cut off your wings, in cold blood, with a flaming sword and still claim to love you? And all while they're smiling, no less.
Frankly, Aziraphale was grateful the pain had been so much that he blacked out.
~~~~~
That, however, didn't mean shit for his mental state once he finally woke. He was drenched in his own blood, chained to a wall and aching. Every breath he took made him feel like he was being stabbed. Considering the sword had been aflame when it cut him, the bleeding must've started again after the cauterized wounds caught themselves on a rough surface. Tears ran down his face as he saw glowing eyes at the end of the room.
This was the start of a horrible cycle of violence and pain for the former principality. Every morning, he would wake and be met with a face which used to fill him with joy. Very quickly, though, that same face now filled him with dread. And fear. Oh, so much fear.
First, Crowley would tease Aziraphale, mocking the fact that he wouldn't be able to get away, no matter what he tried. That no one cared enough about him to come save him. One thing he did, which no other demon would have thought of doing, was keeping him fully clothed. To others, this would seem counterproductive. But not to Crowley, who knew Aziraphale better than anyone. He knew how much his clothes meant to the former principality. How he cared for them. Naturally, ruining them was an extra form of torture.
He would tighten the chains until the angel's wrists cracked. Usually, Crowley would follow this up by getting a small blade and cutting him. The extremity he'd focus on would easily receive over 1,000 cuts that day. And then be healed just enough, so he wouldn't bleed out and discorporate. But the healing would only happen after said cuts had been doused in demonic snake venom.
Some days, the venom would come from dozens of bites from all of the snakes which adorned Crowley's throne room floor. Other days, it would come straight from Crowley's own fangs. Aziraphale hated it when Crowley himself bit him. Well, he hated that he was being tortured by him in general, but especially when he made said torture feel more personal. It broke his heart even more. And yet, in the back of his mind, he'd be begging for forgiveness. Whether he was asking for God's forgiveness or Crowley's, he wasn't quite sure himself.
Upon hearing these thoughts, Crowley would always laugh sadistically, before moving on with whatever else he had planned. Sometimes, he'd use his bare hands, sometimes he'd use weapons to bludgeon the angel. No matter what, he'd leave him weak enough that loosening the chains wasn't a threat of any kind to Crowley. He'd watch the blond, bruised, bloodied and broken, slump forward and hope that it was over. Sometimes it was. Aziraphale quickly learned Crowley's telltale sign for when his torture session was about to finish.
The demon would forcefully grip Aziraphale's chin and kiss him. A goodbye, of sorts. It hurt. Whether it hurt more physically or emotionally, Aziraphale wasn't sure. And though there was always relief afterwards, his heart still ached. It was clear why Crowley had chosen this as his signature departure.
One would hope that, after so many months of this daily abuse, one might get somewhat used to the torture. Aziraphale wasn't so lucky. Every day, he'd cry because of the pain and every night, because he blamed himself. While he was alone, he'd pray. He'd pray for Crowley's heart. Even if he never forgave or freed Aziraphale, the angel would be content with Crowley regaining part of his former self. He just wanted him to be happy.
That's how this whole mess started... I'm so sorry, dearest.
"You should be." Said the demon, slithering closer to him as another session came to an end. Aziraphale braced himself, as usual.
This time, the kiss was different. It was softer and lasted longer than all the previous ones. And for a moment, it felt like Crowley lingered before pulling away. Before Aziraphale could address the implications, a horrible realization took over. His mouth was hot. Burning.
Hellfire...!
Suddenly, the restraints which had him chained to the wall and floor disappeared. Aziraphale fell forward and the fire grew stronger with every breath he took. Tears ran down his eyes as he held and scratched at his throat. He couldn't even scream. Then, he looked up at Crowley. He looked pleased with himself.
I'm sorry. I love you...
Crowley knelt down to watch as the hellfire slowly ate away at the former love of his life from the inside. Once there was trace of Aziraphale's soul left, the demon grabbed the extinguished sword from a corner it had been discarded in for several weeks now. He saw his eyes shine in the blade's reflection. He mounted the sword on the wall above his throne. He let out a sigh and sat down.
"Too late. Always too late, angel..." He said to the pile of ashes, before snapping his fingers to miracle them away.
~~~~~
Crowley's POV:
The demon woke with a start, drenched in a cold sweat and disoriented. He scrambled for his phone, in hopes to ground himself. The date told him he had been asleep for two years. Two years since he'd had his heart broken. Two years since he had lost his best friend.
His nightmare came back into focus and it horrified him.
No, no, no, no... I killed him?
Crowley's heart ached. He felt sick. If it weren't for the fact that he hadn't eaten in years, he was sure he would've thrown up by now. Instead, he retched as he hugged his knees and sobbed into them. His sobs quickly turned into a wail. A horrible, guttural noise which would have caused the neighbors to call the police, had they noticed. Even with the wailing muffled by his knees and bedsheets, his withering plants, or perhaps what was left of their essences, were genuinely concerned for him.
The demon couldn't believe that something so vile came from his mind. Especially of his best friend. His angel! Even with all the anger and heartache he had felt when Aziraphale had left, he would never actually be capable of hurting him... Right?
The self-doubt was eating him alive and making him more nauseous.
"Aziraphale, I'm so sorry... I'm so fucking sorry..."
In truth, he didn't have to apologize for anything. It had just been a nightmare. He hadn't actually tortured and killed his angel. And yet, here he was, practically praying to Someone, anyone, that it wouldn't happen in real life. But praying was pointless. It's not like God was listening anyway. He had learned that long ago.
~~~~~
Aziraphale's POV:
But there was a certain archangel listening.
Aziraphale hadn't meant to linger, he truly hadn't. But the few times humans had learned he was an angel and prayed to him for some sort of guidance or comfort, he'd listen. Even if he couldn't do anything for them. His heart ached, seeing Crowley like this. It was worse than the last time he had seen the redhead. Back then, the demon had tried to hide his pain. Naturally, Crowley didn't feel the same need now, being alone in his home.
He had apologized to the air, mostly. Then he went down a rabbit hole of worry, wondering if he'd actually be capable of doing such a thing. His first thought was always 'Of course not!", followed by a tsunami of doubts and 'what if's'. Aziraphale watched him overthink for hours. Finally, he decided to intervene. Though, he knew he shouldn't.
One of the advantages of being Supreme Archangel Of Heaven was that he had all the passwords and commands for all of Heaven's systems. This included the Dreams Department. Aziraphale wasted no time in sending multiple good dreams Crowley's way, to ease his conscience. It didn't work. But Aziraphale kept watching over him, hoping that one day Crowley would let himself fall asleep again and find comfort.
Lord knows he wanted to be there with him. To hold him. To apologize. To earn his trust again. But he couldn't be. Not yet.