Chapter Text
Chapter One: Pyrrhic Victory
Crowley sat at his desk, eyes closed, head back. His feet were up on the surface and the sounds of Queen blasted through the empty space. Something large hit the building, making it shake a little, but the demon took no notice.
The second coming was rather underwhelming, which was hilarious in the most depressing way imaginable to Crowley. He knew that stupid plan was going to blow up in Heaven’s face. Heaven had forgotten what Jesus was like in life: someone who stood with the downtrodden, who was notorious for flipping tables and telling off the rich. Who could spot angelic hypocrisy from a mile away.
He had never been fond of the demons. But he hadn’t been fond of the angels either.
What Crowley wouldn’t have given to see the look on the Metatron’s face when Jesus flipped him the double bird (a gesture Crowley himself taught him when their paths crossed by happenstance) and then disappeared to Earth, to live among the humans.
Crowley kept tabs on his location, just in case. It seemed a rather wise thing to do. Other than that, he stayed out of the conflict. He was content to just sit back and let the two sides annihilate each other. He was done. He was done with all of it. Once Aziraphale had gone up in that elevator, Crowley had washed his hands of the entire mess.
Hell had come sniffing around, of course, the bastards. He’d told them to get fucked and slammed the door in their face.
A frantic knocking at his door made Crowley snarl.
“The answer’s still no,” he snapped. “Get lost.”
There was another frantic round of knocking.
“FUCK OFF!” Crowley yelled.
The knocking paused briefly, before continuing again, even more frantically. Crowley swung his legs off the desk and strode to the door of his apartment. He threw it open, teeth bared, fully expecting to find some sniveling demon.
He was stunned to see Muriel, looking haggard. They were swaying on their feet and tears were streaming down their face. At first, Crowley considered closing the door. He wanted no part of Heaven and Hell, or their conflict.
“Mr. Crowley,” Muriel sniffled, slumping forward. Crowley lunged and caught them, bringing them inside.
“What happened?” Crowley asked reluctantly as he helped them inside. A sob caught in their throat as they let Crowley lead them over to a couch.
“Mr. Crowley, haven’t you seen outside?” Muriel sobbed. “The sky is on fire. The legions are coming. They’re going to wipe out everyone!”
Crowley’s eyes widened and he looked over to the drawn blinds. He crossed the room to pull them open, staring in horror at the flames spreading across the sky.
“The Metatron has ordered judgment be visited upon mankind, starting in London,” Muriel reported. “It starts tomorrow.”
“Where’s Aziraphale?”
“He-he told me to get you. He said he will buy you as much time as he can, but you need to evacuate London,” Muriel reported.
“Dammit, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled. “Okay, look, there’s only one person who can stop this and that’s Jesus. He’s in Cardiff.”
Crowley ran to his safe, opened it and pulled out an address, which he handed to the recording angel. Once again, saving the world falls to an angel and a demon. We’re doomed.
“How…?”
“Figured things would go sideways eventually, seemed a good idea to keep tabs on him,” Crowley replied. “Look, he’s not the biggest fan of angels or demons, but you’ve got a good heart. He’ll listen to you, especially if it comes to saving the world.”
“What are you going to do?”
Crowley glanced back to the burning sky. “Gonna try to get as many humans out of harm’s way as possible.”
Muriel nodded. “Right. I can still catch a train there.”
“Muriel,” Crowley said, waiting until they looked back at him. “Be careful.”
“You too, Mr. Crowley.”
The demon watched as the recording angel dashed out. He grabbed his jacket and hurried out of the flat, wondering if he would ever see it again.
_*_
Everything had relied on perfect timing, which normally would have been absolutely disastrous. Yet somehow, this time, luck was on their side. Crowley managed to get most of the humans out of the path of danger. Muriel managed to get Jesus back to Heaven in time to neutralize the Metatron and recall the Legions. The forces of Heaven and Hell were sent back to their territories, never to return to Earth. The damage was minimal.
The mythical Book of Life was placed somewhere out of reach of anyone.
Things went back to normal. Humans were barely aware that anything had happened.
But a number of angels and demons were missing. Including Aziraphale.
“You checked each of the orders?” Crowley asked.
“I did.”
“The stacks?”
“That’s the first place I checked, Mr. Crowley.”
“How does the supreme Archangel of Heaven just vanish?” Crowley demanded as he paced around the bookshop, where he and Muriel had been staying since the end of the war. The recording angel shrugged, looking exhausted. Between taking care of the bookshop and reporting back to Heaven about the rebuilding efforts, they had their work cut out for them.
“I don’t know, Mr. Crowley,” Muriel said. “I spoke to Jesus and the angels combed through every inch of Heaven. He even searched for him himself. Aziraphale isn’t there. There’s no trace of him, no indication of where he could be.”
Crowley dragged his hands down his face. “You’re certain you looked everywhere. You yourself, not the damn angels.”
“Yes, Mr. Crowley, I promise you. I searched everywhere. Aziraphale isn’t in Heaven.”
Crowley tapped his lip, thinking. He couldn’t feel Aziraphale, but that didn’t necessarily mean the angel wasn’t on Earth. Where are you, angel?
Looking out the window, Crowley furrowed his brow, moving closer to the glass. He saw a demon looking around nervously before skittering off to do whatever. The Second Coming had been thwarted several months ago and it had been the first time Crowley had seen a demon since then. If they were already breaking the truce…
Crowley swiftly moved to Aziraphale’s desk and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down a number. “You’re going to call this number and speak to a man named Shadwell. Have his network comb all over London, searching for the southern dandy bookshop owner. While he’s doing that, you’re going to contact all our Earth contacts: Newt and Anathema, Adam Young, Maggie and Nina, everyone. The numbers are in the Rolodex on the desk. Tell them to keep an eye out for Aziraphale. And you, stay here in case he comes back.”
The demon put the pen down and strode over to the coat rack, grabbing his jacket.
“Where are you going?”
“My old place of employment.”
_*_
The elevator door opened to the squalor of Hell and Crowley stepped out, barely sparing the demons a second glance. The place stunk of rot and decay even more than he remembered. It was damp and unpleasant, but the demon didn’t care. He stormed down the hall, walking with purpose. He soon came to the throne room. There were noticeably less demons than there had been in the past.
“Not even a year and you’re already breaking the truce?” Crowley snapped. Shax, who had been looking over some paperwork with Furfur, turned to look at Crowley, surprised.
“Crowley? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Where is he, Shax?” he demanded. Shax frowned, squinting in confusion.
“Where is who?”
“Aziraphale. I’m not going to ask again.”
“He’s not here.”
Crowley crossed the space and got in her face. “Don’t lie to me, Prince of Hell. I heard the whispers during the Second Coming. You were talking about taking an Archangel as a hostage.”
“I would not have taken Aziraphale!” Shax protested, her lips clamping shut. Crowley stared at her, squinting.
“Why not Aziraphale?”
Shax looked away. Crowley started feeling a sense of dread. What the hell had the damn angel done? What kind of trouble had he gotten into?
“Shax, why not Aziraphale?”
Shax glanced at Furfur and shifted her weight. “For almost a year, before the Metatron declared war, Aziraphale negotiated a treaty with us, which he held to throughout the conflict. We didn’t harm or target any humans. In exchange, we were privy to sensitive information.”
“We were given the plans of what was going to happen to demons during the Second Coming, as well as how, and the secret way to escape a consecrated cell,” Furfur added quietly.
“It allowed us to escape the slaughter. The last I heard he was in Heaven,” Shax finished. She turned her attention to Furfur, who shrugged.
“I haven’t heard anything since after the escape,” he said. “I’ll ask around, but based on the daily reports, we have no one from the Angelic Orders down here. Definitely not an Archangel. Things are a bit of a mess, but we would know about that.”
“There were rumors.”
Both Shax and Crowley turned at a familiar demon’s voice. Eric hopped up on his one remaining leg, leaning heavily on his crutch, his ridiculous hair still done up like ears.
“Rumors?” Crowley repeated. Eric looked nervously between Shax and Crowley.
“Well don’t keep us in suspense,” Furfur grumbled.
“It was just chatter, nothing substantial, but word was that the Metatron started cleaning house when the demons kept escaping. Said he had a list,” Eric paused, swallowing. “Sounded like an execution list.”
Crowley whipped back to Shax. “Did he have access to Hellfire?”
“I-I don’t know. He might have,” Shax answered. “But surely being cast into Hell is a worse punishment for an Archangel.”
“You and I both know that’s wishful thinking,” Crowley muttered. He turned and started to make his way out.
“Crowley?”
The demon paused but didn’t turn around. He heard the click of Shax’s heels as she approached again. For a moment, they stood in silence.
“I will let you know if I hear anything further. Or if he turns up here,” Shax promised, speaking under her breath. “He will come to no harm from any demon. You have my word.”
Crowley could barely muster up the energy to nod in acknowledgment. He felt like he was going to be sick. It was sheer willpower that kept him on his feet. He made his way back to the elevator, not trusting his voice. Nobody attempted to stop him or hinder him.
It was only when the elevator doors closed that Crowley felt tears start to well in his eyes. Why, Aziraphale? Why did you do such a stupid thing?
_*_
Crowley spent the rest of the day driving all around London, all their favorite places and all their secret meeting spots. It was odd, seeing the healing landscape. There were places that had been horribly scorched and damaged. Other places had been completely untouched. At first, it seemed quite random.
Then Crowley noticed a pattern: all the places where he and Aziraphale regularly met were for the most part completely untouched. He pulled over and ran to the bandstand, only to find it empty.
“Aziraphale!” he called desperately. “Aziraphale, where are you!?”
Silence.
Crowley dropped his head briefly and made his way back to the Bentley, suddenly feeling very tired. It was already dark, the lamps had flickered on long ago.
Driving back to the shop, Crowley kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the angel. Alas, he didn’t see him. He’ll come back. He always comes back. He loves that shop, those books.
Unless he didn’t survive…
Crowley shook his head, banishing the thought. He refused to even consider that possibility. He would know. If anything had happened to Aziraphale, Crowley would know. He would know.
Pulling into his normal parking spot, Crowley parked and rose from the Bentley, striding to the bookshop. Warm light was spilling from the windows, even though the closed sign was up. The demon opened the door with a snap of his fingers.
Stepping inside, he inhaled the familiar scent, closing his eyes as he pulled off his sunglasses. It felt nice to be back in this place. Striding over to the chair, he slumped into it and rubbed his eyes, looking toward the window.
The soft sound of a cup being set down drew Crowley’s attention to the small table beside the chair.
“I made you a cuppa,” Muriel said softly. “Um, I didn’t know what you would like, so I just went with Earl Gray.”
“Thank you, Muriel,” Crowley murmured.
“You will stay here, won’t you, Mr. Crowley? I mean, Aziraphale will come back here, won’t he?” they asked. Crowley nodded.
“Yeah, yeah, of course he will,” he told them. “I’ll hang around, got nowhere else to be. I’ll help you with the upkeep of the place. He’s very particular about it, how it’s organized.”
“Oh, good,” Muriel said, grinning. “Um, there are rooms upstairs. I assume you want to stay in Aziraphale’s old room?”
Crowley nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
With a sigh, the demon rose to his feet again. He picked up the cup of tea and gulped down the hot liquid, placing the empty cup back on the saucer.
“I’m sorry, Muriel, but it has been a very long day and I’m rather tired,” Crowley said. “I think I’m going to go up and get some shut eye.”
“Of course, Mr. Crowley. I’m just going to read a bit longer,” Muriel replied. Crowley gave them an affectionate shoulder pat and then made his way to the stairway.
It felt like the stairway had grown and going upstairs took longer than usual. Crowley moved down the shadowy hallway to the closed door. Swallowing, he knocked on it.
“Aziraphale?” he called out softly, waiting for a response. There was a flicker of hope in his heart. Maybe, just maybe.
Silence.
Crowley turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.
The room was immaculate. The bed was perfectly made, and everything was tidy. Aziraphale did love to keep things orderly. Crowley sighed and took off his boots, putting them on the shoe rack next to the wardrobe. He strode over to the bed and pulled back the blankets, crawling into the bed and curling up. The mattress was quite nice, just firm enough. Crowley pulled the blankets up on him, shuffling around until he was comfortable.
“Miss you, angel,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.
_*_
1523. England.
Crowley wandered the English countryside, enjoying the fresh spring air. He did love this time of year. Seeing all the flowers and greenery. Aziraphale would almost certainly delight in this place. The angel did love blossoms.
The demon was pulled out of his thoughts when a well-dressed, dark haired young woman ran behind him, ducking and hiding behind a large tree, giggling. Crowley frowned until he saw a few guards on horseback come down the path, pulling up in front of the demon.
“You there,” one guard barked. “We’re looking for our charge. Did you happen to see which way she went?”
“Dark-haired, red dress, about this tall?” Crowley asked, gesturing with his hand.
“That’s her,” the other guard replied. “Where did she go?”
Crowley gestured over his shoulder, further down the path. “That way.”
The guards nodded and urged their horses into a gallop. Crowley watched until they were out of sight.
“You can come out now, my lady,” he called over his shoulder. There was some rustling, and the young woman stepped out of the greenery.
“To whom do I owe my thanks, my lord?” she asked.
“Crowley,” the demon replied politely. “And might I have the name of the one whom I rescued?”
“Anne Boleyn,” she replied with a curtsey. Crowley grinned, taking her hand and kissing it.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Anne. Your reputation precedes you.”
“And what pray tell are you doing lurking about my family’s lands? I don’t believe I’ve ever made your acquaintance before.”
“I was actually hoping to run into a friend of mine. I sent him a letter to meet me here,” Crowley replied as they started walking back down the path heading back towards the Boleyn estate. “I was hoping we might travel to France for a month or so. There is supposed to be a feast being held. My friend has had a rough few months and deserves to partake in some festivities.”
“A friend?” Anne asked pointedly.
“Oh no. No, it’s not like that. It’s definitely not like that,” Crowley quickly objected. “He’s just a good friend I’ve known for many years.”
“You protest, but I do recognize that smile, my lord,” Anne teased with a knowing grin. “I believe your friend has your heart. Perhaps you have his as well.”
Crowley smiled at her. “You are very young, my lady.”
Anne still had that knowing, crafty smile on her face. Crowley scoffed and shook his head.
“You probably aren’t doing your reputation any favors walking out here with a strange man on your own,” Crowley pointed out. Anne reached up and plucked a leaf off a branch.
“I’m not too concerned. There are not so many politics all the way out here. I doubt anyone will even notice.”
“You strike me as rather confident. Perhaps there’s a title in your future,” Crowley mentioned, a subtle temptation in his tone. He needed to plant a seed, give her a tiny little push.
Anne’s face fell a little and she looked down, which made Crowley feel guilty.
“I apologize, my lady. I meant no offense.”
She looked up and smiled, though it was a little forced. “You caused none, my lord. I was recently betrothed to an Earl’s son, but the union was not approved by the Earl. Hence my being here and not at court.”
“Eh, his loss. You’re much better than a plain old Earl,” Crowley replied. Anne laughed and Crowley couldn’t help but smile. She had a very pretty laugh.
“Between you and I, my lord, court life wearies me. I do not have the lofty ambitions my father wishes for me. If I had the choice, I would rather marry an ordinary noble with some lands and settle down somewhere in the country,” Anne confessed.
“Why don’t you?”
“I have a duty to my family, to elevate our name,” she replied, sounding resigned. “I must marry well and assure our place at court.”
Crowley felt a deep sympathy in his heart for the intelligent young woman, who was born ahead of her time.
“I think your children will have a very bright future, Lady Anne,” he said cryptically. “Might even make history.”
“One can hope,” Anne said, straightening up a bit. “It would be a funny twist of fate, my name being recorded in history books.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Crowley replied, with a kind smile.
“Perhaps I will have many daughters, all as headstrong as I,” Anne smiled with a little tilt of her head. “And history will say that Anne Boleyn she cursed the world with her lineage of willful women who vexed many men.”
“Mayhap that’s what the world needs,” Crowley said, nodding up ahead. “It would appear we are coming up to your estate.”
“Such a shame. I have enjoyed our conversation,” Anne told him. “May I offer you some parting words of advice, Lord Crowley?”
“Of course.”
“Spend as much time with your friend as you can get. You smile in a particular way when your thoughts turn to him,” Anne said with a friendly smile. “One of the great experiences in life is learning what makes us happy and pursuing it.”
Crowley smiled and dipped his chin to his chest. “Thank you for the conversation, Lady Anne. I have enjoyed it immensely.”
She turned to make her way to the estate, but paused, turning back. “And feel free to take a rose for your friend. They are quite lovely this time of year.”
Crowley smiled as he watched her make her way back to the estate before continuing on his way. He made sure to pluck a rose on his way to meet Aziraphale. The angel did love flowers.
**
May 19th, 1536. London.
Crowley watched as they took Anne’s remains and gently placed them in a box. He grimaced when they picked up her severed head, placing it with the rest of her. In that moment, the demon hated Henry with an intense fiery rage. He was an egotistical bastard on par with any of the lunatic Roman emperors. Tiny men with too much power. The demon cursed them all.
“Crowley?”
He arched an eyebrow and turned to his left, somewhat surprised to see Aziraphale standing nearby, dressed as a man of the cloth. The angel moved over to stand beside him, watching as the crowd dissipated.
“Aziraphale,” he greeted. “It’s good to see you. I was unaware that Heaven had official business in the Tudor court. Well, except for the upcoming nuptials.”
“Oh, another angel will be there for that,” Aziraphale said with a sad smile. “When I heard of the Queen’s sentencing, I decided to make an unofficial trip out and perform a blessing.”
A sudden lump formed in Crowley’s throat. “Oh?”
“You spoke so highly of her when we went to that festival some years ago. I wanted to meet her and offer some comfort in her last hours,” Aziraphale explained. “I was just leaving, and I happened to spot you. It looked like you might need a friend.”
Crowley attempted to laugh but couldn’t quite manage it.
“I only met her the once, angel. I’m fine.”
Aziraphale smiled sympathetically. Crowley glanced over at him.
“How was she?”
“She was most concerned about her daughter. Anne spent her last hours buying new clothes for young Elizabeth,” Aziraphale replied. “She wasn’t scared, Crowley. She was ready.”
“I don’t think that woman ever knew a moment of fear in her life,” Crowley murmured. “Can’t help but admire that about her.”
Crowley looked back to where they were taking the coffin away, glaring at the supposed holy men who stood off to the side. Bastards, the lot of them.
“She was a good woman. I have no doubt her daughter will follow in her footsteps.”
“Thanks, angel,” Crowley murmured with a sad smile.
Aziraphale reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. Then they turned and made their way out of the courtyard, away from the castle.