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Crowley was no stranger to torture, but he never expected Heaven to be so efficient in it.
Well, that was a lie. He’d known that Heaven knew how to handle a whip at the very least. After helping Aziraphale after his numerous ‘punishments’, it wasn’t hard to figure out. But this was on a whole other level.
He was strung up in Heaven, holy binding holding his hands above his head, shoulders burning and legs hanging uselessly under him. He lost the energy to stand awhile ago. He had no idea how long he’d been here.
One moment he was in a pub, drinking his emotions away, and then next he was being dragged out and up to Heaven. Apparently Aziraphale betrayed them, a fact that, despite how upset he still was with the angel, had Crowley laughing.
They didn’t tell him the full story, but there was a baby involved, which made absolutely no sense to him. They seemed to assume Crowley knew where it was, thought that Aziraphale went to him after defecting. And while he couldn’t blame them, he had no idea what they were talking about. He didn’t even know Aziraphale had left, let alone where he was.
Heaven didn’t believe him, or they just didn’t care. They kept asking. And when he gave the same answer, they pulled out all the stops when it came to torture. They did everything just shy of holy water and head wounds, the latter because they needed him coherent enough to talk. Not that the amount of pain he was in made him all that lucid.
The only silver lining was that, while Crowley didn’t know where Aziraphale was, Heaven didn’t know either. And that meant he was safe. He was still angry and hurt over Aziraphale leaving him, but he’d never wish this upon the angel. Never in a million years.
His throat was raw from screaming. His shirt had long since been stripped off, shredded to pieces after a particularly brutal whipping session. His pants weren’t in too much better condition, sliced in odd spots and stained a darker shade than normal from blood. His arms were covered in cuts and burns, legs broken and bruised, chest heaving and bloody. His eyes were aching from the endless light of Heaven, cracking his skull open with it, never allowing him a moments rest.
It hurt. God, Satan, Somebody, everything hurt.
The door to whatever room he was in opened and Crowley had to fight a flinch. Partly because he didn’t want them to see it, but also because he knew it’d jostle his injuries. “L’nch end early?” he croaked. “Only been ‘n hour this time.” At least he assumed it was an hour. He might’ve passed out again.
There was a gasp, then hurried footsteps. “Crowley. Oh my Lord, what have they done to you?”
If he were human, Crowley’s heart would have stopped. He squinted as the figure drew closer, a familiar head of light curls coming into focus.
“’Ziraphale?” The name sounded almost foreign on his tongue, but not in a bad way. In a “welcome home” sort of a way, but bittersweet.
Aziraphale’s eyes were purple now, the comforting shade of grayish-blue Crowley had grown to know no where to be found. But the face was the same, though the expression was one the demon hated seeing. Aziraphale looked horrified, tears welling in his eyes, mouth trembling. He looked Crowley up and down, hands hovering, unsure if he should touch.
“I’m here, dear, I’m… oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry. I-I thought if I stayed away then you’d be safer. If I had known they’d—” He clamped his mouth shut, wounded noise coming from deep within his chest. Aziraphale took a deep breath and his eyes hardened, determined. “I’m going to get you out of here. Just let me heal you a bit first.”
Crowley tried to shake his head. “’S not safe,” he said, wincing as Aziraphale slowly worked a healing miracle. It was gentle and soothing, careful as it traveled through him, but it was still holiness. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was helping. “You need to leave. They’re gonna come back.”
“No they won’t,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve stopped time for now.”
Crowley stared at him. “You what?”
A small smile, one that was ridden with guilt. “Being the Supreme Archangel has its perks, it seems. One of them being power. I just need to hold them off while I get you somewhere safe.”
Crowley felt a confusing mixture of emotions; bitter, grateful, worried, hopeful. He didn’t know what to do with it all. He opened his mouth to say something, but a cry broke out instead as the bindings holding him up vanished. His arms dropped, burning and aching and stinging. Aziraphale caught him and eased him onto the floor.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I know it hurts. But I can’t hold time much longer. We must hurry.” He scooped Crowley up, murmuring more apologies as he jostled the unhealed injuries.
Crowley clenched his jaw and buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, sighing in shaky relief as it blocked out the piercing light. Everything next passed in a haze. He heard the ding of the elevator, felt a swoop as it went down. There was a sudden pressure surrounding them for a moment, and then he was being lowered onto something soft. He could hear crickets from somewhere far away. Aziraphale must’ve miracled them somewhere else.
He tried to ask where they were, but all that came out was garbled nonsense. Fuck, he was exhausted.
Aziraphale shushed him, a gentle hand combing through tangled red hair as he continued to heal Crowley. “Easy, now. You’re safe. Just rest.”
Crowley hadn’t the energy to fight it. He still felt on edge, a steady humming in the back of his mind saying to be ready for an attack. But, even after everything that happened between him and Aziraphale, he trusted the angel. If Aziraphale said they were safe, then he believed him.
---
Aziraphale draped a blanket over Crowley and pulled up a chair next to the bed he’d put the demon on. He brought them to a small cottage he found years ago, one he always made sure was available for sale. He used to fantasized of buying it, of living in it, away from the city. Sometimes he envisioned himself living in it with Crowley, a luscious garden in the front for the demon to take care of.
And then everything went wrong.
Aziraphale ran a shaky hand over his face. There was so much bottled inside him right now, so much fear. Seeing Crowley strung up like that, covered in blood, beaten and broken, he almost screamed. He wanted to. He still wanted to, honestly. Crowley was healed now; he was safe and clean and no where near Heaven. The same went for the child. She was with Adam, hidden from anyone trying to find her. They were both safe.
But still, Aziraphale was shaking.
He clenched his fists, morphing his fear into anger, turning it into something he could use. They hurt Crowley, tortured him despite him not having the information they needed. He held tightly to the rage, letting it flow through him like magma.
He didn’t have enough power to wage war on all of Heaven, despite how much he wanted to, but he still had power. He wasn’t the Supreme Archangel of all Heaven, but he still held the essence of the title. They couldn’t take it from him without a trial.
If they came looking for him or Crowley, he’d be more than ready.
You will regret touching him, Aziraphale thought, glaring at the ceiling. I swear it.