Chapter Text
Mephistopheles’ silhouette appeared silently, on the wayside. The abrupt contact with the iced, cutting air made her shiver, despite a long, sartorial coat and her leather boots, covering her goat feet. Even demons feel cold. The only one in the Creation who seemed careless about winter, freezy temperatures and the snowstorm approaching London, was Crowley. He was waiting for her in shirtsleeves, just out the cone of light of a streetlamp, on the opposite side of the road.
Mephistopheles wasn’t very surprised to find him there: – Was it you who called me? –. Crowley answered with a slow nod of the head.
– I think I know the reason. Can we discuss it later, after you calmed down a bit? –.
– You know nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it –.
– Why did you call me, then? –.
– Because – hissed Crowley, snapping his tongue, – I want to make a deal with you –.
Mephistopheles inspired deeply, hiding a shudder, and dismissed the proposal with the snort of a laugh: – It doesn’t work like that, I offer the deals –.
Crowley kept drawing nearer to her, between their faces there was by then less than a span.
– I don’t think you’re understanding: this time I make the offer, and you must accept it –.
Mephistopheles moved her glance on the street and the blockhouse, careful not to cross Crowley’s eyes, despite them being hidden underneath dark glasses.
– What do you want to offer? –.
– Anything. You can choose, and I won’t negotiate. I can become a nun, throw myself in holy water, I can bring to you the head of Gabriel the fucking archangel. I will do anything you order, without uttering a sound –.
Mephistopheles stopped to think, wrinkling her lips, finally returning the inquiring look Crowley was fixing on her. Then, she took out of her pocket a red leather-bounded notebook, sucked the point of a stylographic and wrote.
– What do you ask? –.
– First thing, for my request not to be negotiable, equally to my offer. You have but to gain from this, I don’t see why you should impose me some limit –.
– I don’t like where this is going –. She had stopped writing.
– I ask for my contract to undo the one you have with Aziraphale, and for its obligation to cease. I don’t know the terms, or how did it end, but leave him alone, his contract ends with mine –.
With an abrupt gesture, Mephistopheles closed her notebook and hit it on her leg: – Are you out of your mind? It’s an absolute no, it’s against business and logic’s rules. The angel has to respect his side of the contract within the extension I gave him, or he will face the consequences. It’s like that, case closed–.
Crowley chose to make a pause and keep it as long, as it took to gather the necessary coldness and play the most reckless move of the game: – I know you can’t tear the notebook’s pages. You have already written; you can’t step back now. Shall we close the deal, or do you want to owe me until the end of time, ink on paper? –.
Crowley didn’t really know what she had already written, nor what rules the contracts signed on the red notebook precisely had. He knew two things only: Mephistopheles was a greedy bastard and, if he engaged enough, every bluff could have become reality. Judging by Mephistopheles’ expression, it was working.
– Come on – insisted Crowley – do your interest, make your request –.
But, instead of pronouncing it out loud, Mephistopheles wrote it, breaking her own doubt, and Crowley’s security: he would have done everything to keep Aziraphale safe, but, this time, what was everything?
Mephistopheles handed him notebook and pen: – Sign –.
Crowley read the contract, read the price to pay. He felt the blood draining down his face and hands, while the fear of pain and the Great Fall’s desperation came back, more vividly than ever, like blinding fire shades. Then he read what he was buying: the safety of his one and only angel. The price could have been high, but Crowley would have been willing to pay an entire eternity.
He signed and handed back the notebook to Mephistopheles, who flipped through it backward, and drew an oblique black line ok a page: – That’s the angel’s contract. I annulled it–. Then, she gave Crowley a look and a sigh that almost seemed out of genuine remorse. If only Mephistopheles would be able to feel remorse.
– I waited a long time for a moment like this. I’m just sorry that it falls onto you, Crowley. Come on, let us proceed to the payment–.
Aziraphale had been knocking on the apartment’s door for at least fifteen minutes: – Crowley, I know you’re in there. Get out of bed and come to the door –. No noise could be heard from inside, no light could be seen, but outside the rain kept falling, and it was already mixing with snow, the temperatures were lowering, and Aziraphale refused to believe Crowley was out with such a weather. Nonetheless, the doubt was inching. Just another try and then, if no sign of life would have come from inside, he would have pulled up his hood and gone looking for him.
He went down two doorsteps and returned on the road, looking for a small rock to throw against one of the windows. But his aim was disrupted by trawled steps and a heavy wheezing, approaching from his right. He turned, his arm still up, and saw him: a black shadow soaked with rain, who huddled in his own shoulders, and trampled along the way, leaning against the wall: – Aziraphale… –.
– Crowley? –.
The demon came forward a few more steps, gloomily lit by a streetlamp’s light, that filtered through the storm. Aziraphale stopped for a moment, looking at him, until the feeling that something was wrong came upon him, quickly morphing into certainty, and shaking him from his astonishment.
– Go away, Angel, I’ve already told you I don’t want to see you –. Crowley’s voice was weak and broken, as if speaking, as if just breathing were causing him excruciating pain. He drew back, wanting to return into the shadows, with the wall support, but lost his balance. Aziraphale grabbed him on the fly, saving him from a disastrous backward fall. But, even if his touch was solid and gentle, Crowley left out a howl of pain, that he couldn’t hold back. The angel held him steadily, his arm passed around the other’s shoulders, that were clenching in a spasm. Unwillingly, he held him tighter and drew him nearer, letting him lean on his body to get back on his feet.
– Please, leave me, please… – begged him Crowley in a voice. He wasn’t being stubborn, Aziraphale noticed that his hold was hurting him, and loosened the hug immediately.
– What’s happening, dear? Are you not feeling well? –. But the demon had already reached the building door.
Aziraphale realised just then that he was soaking wet from the rain. But what he felt on the arm and hand with which he had held Crowley, was not water. He looked at his fingers: blood. Blood that went, in a thin trail washed by the rain, until the door, until Crowley.
– This damned door, why it never opens? –.
Aziraphale didn’t had the time to catch his breath, or to make a question: he acted, before the clamp of fear that was awakening in him could stop him. He reached Crowley and grabbed him by the waist, letting his friend lean against himself. He hadn’t finish his last step towards him that, in a moment, both found themselves in Aziraphale’s bookshop.