Chapter Text
As the elevator left the Earth and Aziraphale ascended into Heaven, Crowley stood beside his beloved Bentley and watched the elevator disappear into the clouds, and the moment it did, he felt the atmosphere change. Things were about to change, for better or for worse? He was not sure. Aziraphale was determined to do good, but Crowley knew that Heaven was not all that it painted itself to be on the surface. He thought Aziraphale knew too… but he was horribly mistaken. What Crowley did know was that Aziraphale was gone, at least for now, and a new chapter in the Word Of God would be written- The Ascension of the ArchAngel Aziraphale.
Crowley drove the Bentley in the direction of his flat. He was fairly sure that Shax would no longer be there, and he figured that Hell’s understaffed bureaucracy would have plenty of other things to worry about with Beelzebub's abrupt departure. Shax was surely attempting to usurp power which would keep the Dark Council busy, which meant he would have some time to spend in somewhere familiar that was not the bookshop. He could not bear to step foot inside that place for a long, long while. Aziraphale’s comment about “being an angel again” reminded him that he was a demon- unforgivable, unlovable, fallen, and damned. Those foolish humans had gotten to him… he had been here too long. Maybe he had gone native for a time, but not anymore. He was going to go back to his roots, but first, he needed an extraordinary amounts of alcohol, and an extremely long nap.
The tires of the Bentley skidded into their familiar parking place in front of his flat and Crowley sat with his hands on the steering wheel staring blankly out of the windshield for quite some time. It was dusk when he arrived, and by the time he decided to finally take a breath, Demons did not need to breathe you see, but the human method of “taking a deep breath” to center himself had been useful for centuries. The sound of the air making its way through his sinus cavity was much like the sulfurous winds in Hell, or the displaced energy from a star’s burning fire, and it was indeed very calming.
As the night grew darker and the streets grew quiet, Crowley stepped out of the Bentley, waved his hand to lock the doors and turn off the headlights, and walked into his familiar building. He held a box of plants under each arm that he had been keeping in his car. He took the lift up to his apartment, on the mat by the door in the hall was a pile of mail, Shax was right, it did pile up. He snapped it away and reached for the doorknob. There was no need for a key, the knob simply turned when it remembered his touch. He stepped inside and sighed, rather glad to be there. It wasn’t “home” but it was a familiar place, his place. The flat was exactly how he left it, Shax probably had no idea what to do while she was there. His bed was made in the exact way that he had always left it, of course she never laid in it. Demons had no need for sleep, he simply enjoyed the way it made time go more quickly. Close your eyes one moment, and the next time you open them you have missed the entire God-and-Satan-Forsaken-14th-Century. It sounded like a good way to handle the rest of the 21st Century at this point too, and he seriously considered it.
There were a few things to take care of before he could lay down like a corpse for the next century. He opened his dresser drawer and pulled out a bottle of whisky. He really had no need for a dresser, there was no need to “change clothes”, he would simply decide what he wanted to wear and it would appear on his body. Shax either did not spend much time here, or she was afraid of what she would find if she snooped around. He did not bother finding a glass, he simply unscrewed the top and took a long hard draw off of the bottle. He picked up the boxes of plants one at a time and brought them back to their rightful place with the others. He had left most of them behind and had a demonic miracle that would “rain” and adjust the lighting in the room. It appeared it had worked fairly well. He inspected the plants that he had left behind as he replaced the ferns and less hardy plants that he had taken with him. Just a few leaf spots. He would let it slide… afterall, he had not been there to put the Fear of Crowley into them, plus, he was just happy to see them (although he would never let them know that… they would go soft).
As he polished off the bottle of whisky his sauntery steps became less metered and he began to stagger a bit. When the first bottle was empty he threw it against the wall, glass shattering across the room. He threw open the drawer and pulled out a bottle of gin, slammed the neck of the bottle on the top of the dresser. It broke in such a way that jagged glass lined the opening. He brought the bottle to his mouth and drank. Blood ran down the side of his face as the sides of his mouth and lips were pierced and sliced by the ragged glass. He hated his lips, the lips that had been so weak that they would have allowed those words to slip out of them to that fucking Angel. Those lips that pressed onto the lips of that fucking Angel. Fuck these lips . He thought to himself as he finished the bottle. They needed to be punished . He threw the empty bottle across the room. “Ahhh” he breathed loudly… although he was anything but “refreshed”. He grabbed another bottle and broke it open in the same way; at this point he had no idea what liquor he had taken, as his vision was thoroughly split into much more than double. A few large swallows and sting of the liquor on the jagged cuts that the broken bottle-neck left on his lips, he felt himself falling, not far, just to his floor. His chin slammed into the carpet, his eyes immediately closed and his brain turned off. Finally, darkness and quiet.
He awoke suddenly, painfully, with the feeling of violent impact and his ribs cracking. Another blow… someone was kicking him in the gut. He recoiled and folded into the fetal position. He opened his eyes to see a familiar smirking face inches from his own.
“Good morning sunshine… how issssssss my old friend?” A ghostly, poisonous, familiar voice cooed to him.
He felt his broken ribs grinding, searing pain in his torso as he was lifted up and sat on a chair in his room. Hastur was grinning, he never liked Crowley, not even before the fall. He was pleased as punch that he was given permission to kick-in the ribs of the Arch traitor.
“Leave ussss.” the voice hissed to Hastur, who’s grin disappeared.
“But, master?” Hastur managed to squeak out before bursting into flames, sent back to Hell abruptly for daring to question his master.
“Well hello there, Lou.” Crowley wheezed and coughed the words out, spitting blood.
Lucifer knelt down and studied Crowley’s face. “Hello old friend. You look like shit… let me help you with that.” Lucifer did not lift a finger, but Crowley suddenly felt all of his pain disappear… physical and emotional. It was such a relief to feel nothing… empty.
“Well I suppose I should say thank you… but that would probably just piss you off, old friend.” Crowley smiled, running his hand over his healed mouth and cracking his neck. “Would you like a drink?” He took off his broken sunglasses, smoothed his hair, and flashed his snake-eyes, that were now seeing properly.
Crowley gazed at the Morning Star, he was as beautiful as the day that he met him. He sat on Crowley’s bed in a well-tailored black suit with a crimson tie perfectly centered on his collar in a single windsor knot, his skin still angelic pale, his eyes bluer than the purest ocean, his hair white-blonde, silky tresses curling down the middle of his back. The only way anyone could tell that Lucifer had fallen at all, was that he lacked the angelic glow coming from a halo. God had torn it from his head and broken it into horns that she stabbed into his skull before hurling him out of heaven. Under his long, silky, curls were the horns, always visible, never able to be hidden, and forever bleeding. You could always tell where Satan had been by the trail of blood droplets that followed behind in his footsteps.
“I brought my own, dear Crawley, but thank you.” Lucifer smiled at Crowley, who dared not remind his master that he had started going by another name. He lifted a glass of red wine to his lips and took a sip. Crowley watched those lips, they were as soft and beautiful as Crowley remembered. It had been quite a long time since he had the pleasure of laying eyes on his master in this form.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to grab myself a bottle from my stash over there.” Crowley pointed at his dresser drawer.
“No need, my friend, my treat.” Lucifer smiled and raised his hand. Crowley’s legs locked in place, he could not take a step if he wanted to, and he suddenly had a glass of wine in his hand.
“Well, much obliged.” Crowley lifted the glass in a toast. “So what do I owe to this honorable visit by my dear friend and master?” He brought the glass to his nose, it was a perfect chateauneuf du pape. Crowley suddenly felt afraid. Does he know that the Angel and I drank this in his bookshop? He must… why else would he… He stopped his thoughts, remembering that Lucifer could read them. Lucifer was watching intently, grinning, waiting for Crowley to drink. As Crowley felt the wine hit his lips, the emptiness he had been enjoying was shifting, filling with adoration for his master, and more than that- certainly not love, but a lust and a thirst that he remembered all to well. He chugged the entire glass of wine greedily… at least he thought that he did… but it remained full in his hand.
Lucifer beckoned Crowley with one finger, and Crowley gladly obliged. His legs were now no longer frozen in place, and he walked over and sat down on the bed next to his master. “I am here because I have misssssed you my friend.” Lucifer purred at Crowley, who leaned over, resting his head in his master’s lap. He stroked Crowley’s fiery hair. “I also have a job for you, serpent.”
Crowley closed his eyes and took another sip of wine. A wave of remorse hit him like a lory, and he could not help but beg and plead at his master’s feet. He slipped off the bed to his knees, his head still in Lucifer’s lap. “Anything you wish, I am yours to command my sweet master. I have missed you so. I am so sorry… I tempted the angel, but he got the best of me… I have failed you…” Crowley was sobbing now. “Please… destroy me… I have failed you…” He set his glass down on the floor and went limp at his master’s feet.
Lucifer laughed. “Now, now… Crawley… you have not failed me.” Lucifer placed one finger on Crowley’s chin and without more than the slightest of touch, Crowley was risen to his feet, standing face to face with The Devil, whose voice was now deep and reverberating off of the walls of the flat as he spoke. “Serpent of Eden, You tempted an angel… that angel that is now the Supreme ArchAngel… you have done more than even I could have imagined. You are to be rewarded my dear friend.” He turned his head softly and bent down, grabbed Crowley by the lapel of his jacket and gently placed his lips on his. Crowley gasped slightly as Lucifer’s tongue parted his lips and they kissed deeply. He missed this. Or did he? He and Lucifer had been more than close before the fall, they were lovers once, back when the two of them could still love. Crowley did not just “hang out with the wrong people”, he was the wrong people. He was terrible at recounting his own history, possibly because of guilt, but also possibly because the space in his mind where his memories should be was… blank. What he did know was that in Hell he was not merely a Serpent, he was Lucifer’s pet. He could do pretty much anything he wanted because he was going to bed with their master every chance they got. That is why the other demons, particularly Hastur, hated him so much.
Lucifer walked Crowley backwards to the bed, never letting their lips part. As they fell onto the bed their clothing suddenly was gone and their bodies were perfectly matched. Lucifer, slightly taller than Crowley, and much more muscular, but fit together perfectly, like they were created for one another. They slipped under Crowley’s satin sheets, and for the first time in a very long time Crowley felt like he was at home. Or did he? He quieted his mind and allowed himself to fall deeper under Lucifer’s spell.
Lucifer’s primary sin was his selfishness. It was the underlying foundation for his fall, along with his vanity. This gave him the charisma that drew others to him like a magnet. He could make almost anyone do exactly as he pleased. This was true as the Leader of the Rebellion, as the King of the Damned, and also in bed. Lust was his favorite specialty.
Lucifer stopped kissing Crowley and looked into his eyes. His eyes were black holes to some terrible void.
“I have missed you Crawley. You have spent too much time on Earth away from me. I heard you have even snuck into Heaven… I am so proud of you.” Lucifer smiled as he ran his fingers through Crowley’s red hair, his fingertips moving down his cheek and across his lips. The ease of their conversation was changing, and the atmosphere in the room was growing thick. “You have tempted the new Supreme ArchAngel through the centuries, and now you have made him believe that you love him… you are something. I have a job for you.”
It no longer mattered if Crowley had truly fallen in love with Aziraphale, he had now been reclaimed by his master.
“Anything you wish, my Morning Star… I would do anything for you. Please… please…” Crowley whined and trembled, swooning under his master’s touch.
He kissed Crowley’s mouth and bit his lip hard before running a forked tongue up his face, nipping at the serpent tattoo that marked him as his own property. He whispered in Crowley’s ear, biting at his earlobe between words. “Upstairs has a plan, Crowley. The Second Coming is upon us. You remember Jesus well, don’t you Crawley?” Lucifer hissed. “You took him to see all of the kingdoms of the world. I know what you did to that Son Of God on your travels, dear Crawley. Did you crawl and slither all over that carpenter? I know you did, Crawley- you are the master of temptations of the flesh. How did it feel to nail him, and then watch him get nailed?” Lucifer snickered. He was famous not only for his cruelty, but also for his dark sense of humor. “Not to mention… you and your angel, such voyeurs, watched him get nailed together? You are the very worst, my dear pet.”
Crowley cringed, that wasn't what happened at all, but contradicting his master was simply not a possibility. He laughed nervously, "You know me too well my lord. It is music to hear your humor again. Fuck, I have missed you.” Crowley reached up and grabbed Lucifer’s golden locks at the base of his neck. Lucifer softened, leaned in and kissed Crowley’s lips gently, his eyes softened as though looking at the love of his life, his touch soft and gentle. Crowley melted into his embrace. A moment passed, and Lucifer leaned in and whispered into Crowley’s ear.
“I need you to tempt the Second Coming into sin and damnation, then, I want you to kill Aziraphale. I want you to kill the Supreme ArchAngel of Heaven.” The room darkened and lightning and thunder rattled the walls. Satan’s voice was no longer a whisper, it was booming through the room. “Ensure the damnation of the Child of my enemy, kill that fucking angel, and open a portal to Heaven flor me to come home and take my rightful place on the throne! I know you can do it for me, Crawley… you are my slithery snake, aren’t you… Crawley?” Lucifer’s black eyes had begun to glow red, and his voice was guttural and deep. His soft hands had turned into claws and he ran them down Crowley’s side, leaving deep cuts from his neck, down his torso to his thigh.
“Yessss, yesss I am, my master. I am your pet. I am yours… please, please… I will do whatever you ask…” Crowley cried out as he writhed in pleasure and agony. Lucifer’s hands were fiery hot, he smelled of sweet brimstone, and he was strong… so strong… his power was impossible to fight, even if Crowley had wanted to, it would be impossible. The whole world seemed to shake as his voice thundered through the air in the room and the lights flickered.
“Good. That will be all then. I have what I came here for. You can trust I will be watching.” Lucifer was fully clothed and standing at the foot of the bed. Crowley could still feel the heat of his hands on his body. He was still pining for his master, lusting painfully, unsatisfied.
He fell forward onto the bed, gripping the sheets, his knuckles white. “When will I see you again?” He asked in a small voice, very unlike himself, his eyes begging his master for some relief as he crawled to the end of the bed.
“In due time my pet… I don’t care how you do it- use that creativity of yours. You will know what to do, and you will be rewarded.” With that he smiled at Crowley. With that smile Crowley felt himself released from his master’s grasp.
“Thank you master.” Crowley whispered out of breath. He laid there breathing heavily for several minutes, one hand on his forehead, the other still gripping the sheets. He felt the presence of his master leave the room the moment he came, and the ever-full wine glass burst into shards. There was no more wine.
He passed out. He was not sure for how long. When he awoke he felt a pang of fear, like a dagger in his heart. What had he done? It was not like he had a choice, but now, he was bound. He tried to stand up, but stumbled to the floor sobbing. His face hurt, his heart hurt. If he disobeyed his master, he would certainly be destroyed… but if he obeyed his master, he would be forced to kill his true love. Wait… true love? He was feeling again, so much pain. Physical and emotional.
He crawled to the bathroom and pulled himself up to the mirror. Satan was a cruel master indeed, instead of leaving Crowley empty, or even full of adoration for his Morning Star, he left him exactly as he was before his visit. Destroyed, dismayed, drunk, his sliced mouth and face bleeding, and his heart pining for his Angel. The difference was now he had a mission, a diabolical mission, to destroy everything he had ever loved and to bring Hell to Heaven, destroying the world. He looked at his own snake-eyes in the mirror and was filled with rage, he punched his reflection over and over again, shattering the mirror and ripping the flesh from his hand. Blood dripping on the floor and every surface that he touched he crawled into the shower.
He turned on the hot water, only the hot water. It scalded his skin, but he did not care. He sat under the blistering stream as the tub filled, wishing with all of his heart that it was holy water that would burn him away. The blood from his face and hand washed into the bathwater, tuning it pink as steam filled the room. When the water ran cold he turned off the shower. Bloody water ran out of the tub as he let himself sink into the water, if only Demons could drown, or bleed out. He stayed completely still, his hand draped out of the tub dripping blood onto the floor.
A great deal of time must have gone by, because the water had cooled. He pulled himself out of the tub. As his body left the water his ribs cracked back together, the cuts on his skin healed and the searing pain of the blisters on his scalded skin dissipated. He healed very quickly when he wanted to, at least on the surface. He stepped across the threshold of the bathroom doorway and was suddenly clothed in his best black suit, and his hair neatly dry and styled. He pulled his sunglasses out of his lapel pocket and put them on.
“Well, I suppose it’s show time”. He said flatly. He took the lift down out of his flat, it was morning, breakfast time.
He got into the Bentley and drove in the direction of the bookshop. “I bet Muriel has never had breakfast at the Ritz.” He mumbled under his breath as he turned on the radio. A low demonic cackle coming from behind the static before Queen’s Made In Heaven finally broke through. He drove slower than usual, under the speed limit, to the bookshop.