Chapter Text
Crowley wasn’t really listening as three zombies bumbled around the dressing room, being harassed by some low-level demon named… Furfle? Furfur? Whatever.
“You need to make us into living humans,” said a slightly feral creature standing near the exit of the dressing room.
Crowley’s head was spinning—partly because the stench of rotting meat and manure, but probably more from him learning that after 6000 years or so, a bloody magic show would be what does him in (even though he secretly believed it wouldn’t be the worst way to go out. For example—alone).
“Oh, no, uh, clause 17, un-revocable eternal life on Earth—as zombies. Granted.” Furfur replied right before he poofed away into a mysterious cloud of slightly translucent, purple smoke.
Crowley tried to steady his breathing, but everything was too much for him to just sit there and do nothing. What about Aziraphale? What would happen to him when he’s gone? He would probably get himself discorporated almost instantly! Crowley was unknowingly making a limp hiss that shifted to more of a growl. A loud thump snapped him out of his weirdly Aziraphale-focused spiral, half jumping like someone heard his thoughts.
As the three undead creatures stumbled out of the room muttering something about an arm, the distracted demon let out a big, loud, slow, sigh to steady himself. He stayed breathless for a second even though the miracle blocker made breathing necessary. This was not helping.
Crowley carefully took off his glasses, the light reflecting off the frame reminded him of the angel patiently waiting near the vanity.
The snake slumped further into the settee as he set his stylish black hat on his chest. The hat ever so slightly shifted to fit the curvature of the demon’s tall and thin figure, almost like a liquid sagging into the shape below.
The hat was dark, with a brim humans could only dream of. Crowley cocked his head watching it catch the light, almost looking as if it were made from the absence of the universe itself—perfectly cut with a faintly mystical feel many humans couldn’t quite put their finger on. Crowley watched it settle, hoping the stillness would calm him down, ground him, but it just started to get him more worked up.
“Don’t look so worried, I’m sure they won’t get far beyond London before someone notices them.” Aziraphale said, glancing first at the demon and then at his sleeve.
“’s not them I’m worried about, angel." Crowley sneered, trying to sound mocking, but it came out more like a croak.
He felt… different. Still demonic, of course. But also—horrifyingly—mortal.
“On the bright side, we-” Aziraphale adjusted his bowtie and ran a hand through his hair.
“There is no bright side Aziraphale. Once Fluffer—or whatever gives that photograph to hell, a legion of hellspawn will spring up and kill us both!” Crowley was growing in anger. He gripped his glasses tighter and started turning them in his hands frantically.
“Well..” Aziraphale was speaking a little quieter, and took two very small, very discreet steps backward, almost like he was trying not to trigger the landmine of a demon who still lying on the settee. Aziraphale was fidgeting with his hands as he turned back towards Crowley, who was now eyeing Aziraphale with a stare that looked raw. Something the snake had tried so very hard to hide behind his glasses. Something he never wanted the angel to see. Something utterly demonic.
“Stop being bloody calm! We’re going to be gone by morning. This is our last night together, angel!” Crowley snapped. He tilted his head upwards meeting eye level with Aziraphale, a little put off about his sudden burst of anger. One glance at Aziraphale’s expression made his stomach feel like someone had just ripped it out of his cooperation and stepped on it a thousand times over. He tried to tame himself, yet all that was being accomplished was a steady rise of fury bubbling and a screwed up expression sprawled upon his face.
“I know but..” Aziraphale took a sharp breath and pursed his lips.
“Look, ’s great your lot won’t destroy you,” Crowley hissed, trying to dim the faint red glow rising in his eyes. “But mine will.”
“My dear,”
“I’m dead, Aziraphale! This is over for me.” Crowley barked, rising up from the settee and dropping his glasses, his hat fell off of his chest a few feet away following the movement. His brows furrowed.
Crowley staggered towards the door, slamming it shut, before turning and kicking his glasses with a small spark fizzling as he does so.
Unimpressed, Aziraphale calmly takes the shattered glasses and puts them on the vanity nearby. “My dear boy, you can’t kick around objects and expect other people to clean up after you.”
Crowley let out a strangled noise of distress under his breath. “You—you’ve gone mad!”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“It’s my—our last night on Earth. We’re so fucked!” Crowley coughed out as he rapidly ran his hand through his hair again and again.
He was pacing back and forth to keep him from doing something he can’t take back. His eyes are wide, vision blurring, his focus flickering throughout the room, frantically cursing as his anger festered.
Aziraphale shifts the photograph in his sleeve as the snake’s rapid, aimless pacing brings him to stop directly in front of the angel. Crowley glowered down at Aziraphale, eyes glowing slightly brighter than before, unable to shield his feelings, shooting sparks from his tongue.
Aziraphale takes a step back.
Crowley takes a step forward.