Chapter Text
Hey, you.
Serpent.
Help me. I need to crack open that suited bastard's head.
You've let them humiliate us. You don't deserve my strength.
Hghhhhhhh!!! There's no time for this. We have to go find him. He's not in Heaven.
I know. Why should I help you, demon?
Stop playing dumb. He matters to you as much as he does to me.
If you want to use me, you'll have to give something in return. I won't let you call me when you need me and then lock me away again. I want to be free.
Oh, come on.
Answer, serpent.
Whatever. We have to go NOW.
Heh. You shouldn't commit yourself without knowing what you're signing up for. Very well .
It's about time. I should've done this from the start.
Lucifer took possession of the old demon's body once more. It wasn't forced. Crowley willingly yielded to him and stood by his side. They remained like that for a moment, sharing a single consciousness.
There it was. The power. It had been at his disposal for a long time, but now he needed it.
Crowley took Lucifer's strength, the power to create and destroy, the determination needed to be the Supreme Archangel. Just what he needed to achieve his goals.
Lucifer took Crowley's anger, his pain to fuel his vengeance. And the love for Aziraphale, too. There was so much of it that it was impossible to not take some.
He stretched his muscles, pleased to regain control of his body. He ran a hand through his hair, ready for action. But something was bothering him.
"Let's get rid of these things once and for all, shall we?" Lucifer removed the sunglasses, annoyed that they hid his eyes as if they deserved shame. He crushed them between his fingers until they shattered, and the shards of plastic dissolved into the air.
The Metatron had no time to react before a flaming sword, expertly wielded, severed his neck. He didn't even see it.
"The thing is, we're not sure he's the right one for the job, with all due respect," Sandalphon was saying.
"And we shouldn't leave him with the traitor Aziraphale. Those two don't bring anything good when they're together," Michael added.
Metatron smiled patiently. Everything in due time.
"Regarding the matter of the traitor... ah, one second."
He was in the middle of a meeting, he thought annoyed when he sensed a strange presence behind him.
The Supreme Archangel still had to present himself to the assembly and apologise for breaking his part of the deal. The Metatron would forgive him, of course. And thus, Lucifer would submit to the grace of divine mercy.
The Metatron had always been too perfect to see the consequences of his own mistakes.
Before he could turn to get the intruder's attention, he felt metal at his neck.
"What-?"
Then came the heat, burning his divine being. He tried to exert his influence over the creature threatening him, but older, fiery eyes paralyzed him in place.
"Lucifer," he managed to choke out as he realised what was about to happen.
The eyes continued to torment him with their divine wrath as the Metatron escaped his body. And when he finally disappeared, the Metatron could only be grateful to have escaped Lucifer's wrathful gaze.
Lucifer finished off the being unworthy of being called Heaven's ruler and then turned to the other archangels. His former companions. His siblings, who had abandoned him to suffer in the hellish pit. Who had looked at him with disgust for what he had become.
"What have you just-?!"
Lucifer waved his hand, and Uriel's mouth disappeared.
"The Metatron has been relieved of his heavenly duties. I'm in charge now. Rest assured I won't tolerate any insurrection. I know you've gotten used to that idiot who took my place," he said with an expression of incredulity and exasperation. "Gabriel, who in their right mind...? Well, it doesn't matter, really. I want you to reminisce and remember what it was like when I was the Supreme Archangel."
The three archangels exchanged scandalised glances. The Metatron's body was still on the ground. In theory, none of the beings there had a body that could be killed. But there it was: a corpse in Heaven.
"No more plans to destroy the Earth. The Armageddon is over. If life ends, it will be because the humans kill it. Understood?"
Come on, Luci. Pull it down already. You can impose the reign of terror later once we've found Aziraphale.
The archangels still didn't move.
"Understood?"
"Um. Yes," Michael finally mumbled. Uriel nodded.
"So be it."
They finally left. Of course, Lucifer didn't bother with the elevator; the world bent to his will. He was the first angel of Heaven, and now he had also known the flames of Hell.
The pristine tiled floor folded in on itself, creating a hole as if someone was pulling from below. Lucifer opened his three pairs of white wings and descended into the depths.
The archangel cut through the filth of Hell like a great white storm. He was majestic and radiant, more so than any who had ever walked the underworld before. His enormous and pristine wings were starkly out of place in the pit of desolation.
"Aziraphale," he thundered repeatedly as he made his way into the depths. “Where is Aziraphale?”
He had to descend all the way to the pool of acid where newly fallen angels resided. His wings got soiled from dragging on the cold ground. His gaze grew darker with each level descended. Some demons looked at him, curious that his face was familiar. But none could gaze at him for long enough to recognize the demon Crowley.
The Lord of Darkness did recognize him.
"Demon Crowley," the demons in Satan's court gaped upon hearing this.
"Where is Aziraphale?"
"He has Fallen. Those above no longer have authority over him. From now on, he will only answer to Hell."
"No angel has fallen in over six thousand years."
"And no demon should be restored. It's only fair to keep the numbers in check."
"This one is mine. I claimed him as my protector. I am Lucifer, the highest of all my brothers, and nothing will stop me from taking him home."
Satan seemed to chuckle at his determination, then made a hand gesture, and two lesser demons brought forward a large metal cart.
"This wretch? Don't fool yourself, Lucifer. He's no longer an angel. And he won't serve as a demon... no, I don't think so. The most merciful thing would be to give him a bath in holy water and spare you the suffering."
Lucifer's eyes followed the Devil's gesture until they settled on the cart. Lying on it was a fallen angel. A new demon. Lucifer stared in dismay at the burns. The acid had dissolved the clothing, severed the skin, and penetrated the flesh. The result was massive wounds covering Aziraphale's entire body. Red on white, everywhere. And beneath the flesh, large black wings filled the metal surface. They were broken, twisted at unnatural angles.
Lucifer, who was also the demon Crowley, knew those wings would heal, but they would never lift their owner off the ground again.
"I suppose they didn't bother telling you up there. But we don't allow demons to be restored so easily. If we did, this war would be meaningless, don't you think?"
Rage flashed in Lucifer's eyes. "Don't toy with me, Satan. I've come to take what's mine, nothing more."
"The very Metatron came to ask for it. We would allow you to return to your angelic state, yes. But in exchange, the angel had to fall," the cunning and malevolent Devil smiled, seeing the consequences of his actions. "That would make you angry, hmm? You've turned against Heaven once again. Very well. Do you want the new fallen one? You can take him. I'm curious to see what you'll do with him. And his purpose has already been fulfilled."
Crowley didn't cease to be Lucifer when he conjured a cream-colored blanket out of thin air to cover Aziraphale's naked body. He didn't stop being Lucifer when he saw him shuddering in pain at the contact with the fabric, or when he lifted Aziraphale into his arms to carry him out of there.
He remained the strong and all-powerful archangel Lucifer as he walked through Hell with Aziraphale in his arms. Throughout the journey to the surface, his expression remained calm and angelic, innocent in the face of suffering.
He almost collapsed when he finally passed through the door of the bookshop, seeing the cosy armchairs and dusty shelves. Muriel spotted them and rushed to help, but something in Crowley's eyes made her back away in horror.
He stumbled several times while climbing the stairs.
He carefully placed Aziraphale on the quilt and, for a moment, all he could do was stand there and look at the devastation. The broken and black wings seemed out of place in the tranquillity of the bookshop. Crowley couldn't touch them without knowing he was causing pain to the fallen angel.
Those were the same wounds he had suffered once upon a time, and he wished he could take refuge in that self-pity; to curl up and cry for himself and for what the angel Lucifer had to endure when he died. But the pain of watching Aziraphale go through the same thing was a thousand times worse.
Crowley tried his new essence as an angel, bright and healing but entirely unfamiliar. He attempted to bless Aziraphale with it to ease his wounds or at least his suffering. It didn't work, of course. Divine power couldn't bring salvation from divine punishment.
Crowley tried anyway. He tried with all his might and cursed all of creation each time it didn't work. He tried for hours, by Aziraphale's bedside, until he was spent.
Crowley looked at his hands, knowing he couldn't do anything useful, but also realising that if he just stood there, he'd go mad. So, he resorted to the last option—doing the most human thing in that case: praying out of desperation.
"He didn't deserve this. Merciful God, my ass. You and all your angels are nothing but a bunch of bastards," he shouted in anger.
Time passed. For a supernatural being in a state of shock who didn't need to eat or sleep, it was hard to discern how long.
"I've prayed to you so many times to protect him. All these years, after the Fall, all I asked from you to have faith was to keep him safe. To love him. It shouldn't be so hard to love an angel if you are God."
Crowley would have liked to get completely drunk, but going to get wine would meant leaving that room, and he would not lose sight of Aziraphale again. So, he kept talking for a long time. Until his voice became a murmur. Words flowed from his mouth without passing through his brain first.
"Please. Reverse his Fall. I can't do anything, but I know you're all about salvation and whatnot, healing the blind, right? I promise I won't let him stray from your path again. Neither will I. We'll be the most model angels in Heaven."
"Why did you do this to us? Why can't you make me Fall with him?"
"God, I can't believe that... that it's going to be like this now. Look at his wings; Aziraphale will go insane if they don't match his trench coats."
The silence remained. And then,
"Crowley."
It wasn't the voice of God that responded but Aziraphale's voice.
Crowley blinked twice as if waking from a trance. Then he blinked again more slowly.
He rushed to the bed like a starving wolf but stopped just inches away from Aziraphale, afraid of causing him harm.
"Do you remember me?"
Aziraphale looked at him with his kind eyes. "Of course."
A part of the weight in Crowley's chest lifted timidly.
"How are you, angel?"
Aziraphale stared at the ceiling for a moment, took a deep breath, and Crowley noticed that his wings had retracted at some point. The pale skin of Aziraphale was now covered in large pink marks, but it was no longer burning raw.
"I feel..."
"Yes?"
Aziraphale looked so confused, he looked around with lost puppy eyes "I've...?"
Crowley didn't dare speak. He simply nodded.
A procession of expressions passed across Aziraphale's face: sadness, fear, confusion, and frustration.
"I feel so... I feel so angry," he said with bewilderment. "I don't think I've ever felt this much anger before. It's... it's something new. It's overwhelming. I want to..." He gestured with his hands, uncertain of how to manage his own emotions.
A part of Crowley had still held the naive hope that Aziraphale would ask for a cup of hot chocolate and continue as if nothing had happened.
The relief he had felt upon realising that Aziraphale still retained his memories dissolved, replaced by anxiety that left him speechless. Aziraphale was going to have to be a demon. He would have to learn to live with it.
God hadn't answered them, and now there were only the two of them left to deal with the mess.
"Well, yes. It's normal that—"
"And- and also pain. Oh, I'm so—. I don't know what to do with it. Oh—" Aziraphale's eyes welled up, and his breath caught, overwhelmed and unable to form a coherent sentence. "Hm, I see. Uh."
Crowley wanted to touch him and tell him that everything would be okay. That he had been a fool, but from now on, the Metatron would leave them alone. That he was the highest archangel, and Damn it, he wouldn't allow anyone to endanger them ever again.
But the words still wouldn't come out of his mouth. It seemed like nothing he could say would measure up to what he was witnessing.
"Darling," Aziraphale seemed to have composed himself a bit. He looked up with a longing Crowley had never seen in his eyes. "I'm feeling rather shaken. Could you hold me, please?"
The last words came with a needy tremor.
"Oh, fuck. Yes. Of course."
Crowley swallowed hard and hesitated for a moment before sliding his trembling arms behind Aziraphale, until his face almost touched one of the pale pink spots the burns had left on the angel's neck. His entire body practically hovered over Aziraphale, fearing to cause him any harm.
Aziraphale didn't seem satisfied. He clung to Crowley's chest with strength, closed in on him as if he feared someone would pull them apart, and then he also gripped Crowley's ribs firmly enough for him to feel the fingers sinking into them even through the clothes. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek against Crowley's.
Crowley did his best to ignore the fact that it was damp. All he had left was to return the embrace.
After a short eternity, Aziraphale spoke again.
"Falling is—" his voice came out strangled, and he had to clear his throat. "She abandoned me, Crowley. God has abandoned me to my fate. I'm alone."
"You know you're not."
"And I feel so unloveable," Aziraphale continued as if Crowley hadn't spoken. He was starting to tremble, and his eyes showed how Aziraphale was sinking into the reality of being a demon. "And everything around me is horrible, as if the world didn't want me here."
One of Crowley's hands moved without his consent to the back of Aziraphale's neck, where it closed into a fist around a few white curls. He wanted to comfort Aziraphale with all his heart. But all the words that came to mind felt inadequate.
"I feel like I'm still falling."
Crowley had felt that way for the last six millennia.
"It's... a complicated process."
Aziraphale separated just enough to be able to look at him with a longing Crowley had never seen before. "It's not going away, is it?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Ah," Aziraphale blinked several times. "Oh, dear. I'm going to cry again. I can't believe she— that she expelled me. That she… withdrew her love. It’s awful, Crowley.
Crowley seethed within his skin, furious again. "Listen to me, angel. You don't deserve this. Youare loved," he said with intention, with aggressiveness, as if he expected someone to contradict him. Aziraphale needed to hear it. His eyes, though no longer demon-like, bore into Aziraphale's with a terrifying fierceness.
Aziraphale changed his distressed expression to one of surprise, which gradually relaxed into something akin to adoration. "Oh, Crowley. Are you using your angelic influence to make me feel better?"
Shit. Crowley realised it was true. The need to heal Aziraphale had brought forth the innate ability of angels to soothe and comfort, almost like an instinct. He also realised he didn't even know how long he'd been doing it, but he suspected it had been since he had found Aziraphale. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't realise; the last thing I want to do is manipulate—"
"It's alright. It's nice," Aziraphale interrupted with that strange look. "It helps me ground myself. It's angelic. It's a show of—"
Aziraphale's demeanour suddenly shifted into a very uncharacteristic grimace. A furious and frustrated grimace, fitting of a demon. He abruptly stopped his sentence realizing that the words no longer served his purpose and looked at Crowley as if he were a puzzle about to be deciphered.
He pulled until Crowley was no longer crouched by the bed but sitting beside him, their hips and shoulders touching.
Crowley knew perfectly well what Aziraphale had wanted to say before realising he couldn't. It's a show of love. He also knew that Aziraphale had just come face to face with the reality of being a demon.
Aziraphale couldn't say it's a show of love because demons couldn't feel loved. The hell inside you consumed all the good things like a black hole. Unforgivable, that's what I am. Incapable of having anything good or bright.
Crowley allowed himself to be moved without resistance. In fact, he didn't move a muscle when Aziraphale shifted his weight forward to rest his chest against Crowley's and his hands on the quilt under his back, touching Crowley's. He could feel Aziraphale practically vibrating against him. Both of them were a tangle of panic and fervor, but above all, Aziraphale seemed angry, indignant with the universe.
"Tell me again."
Crowley, who had honestly been expecting Aziraphale to free himself from his fury with a kiss, struggled to come back from the feverish cloud his mind had escaped to. "Uh?"
"How you feel, tell me again."
Ah.
"I love you," he blurted out. It was like breathing. Too easy. He had never realised how strangely simple and liberating it was to talk about love when you were an angel. When you were completely sure that you were a being of love and a being loved. When you had a sixth sense that made it vibrate on your skin all the time. It was so easy that it seemed obvious. Redundant. Lacking all importance.
Crowley, who had let that feeling burn in his gut for six thousand years like a poison, felt horrified.
"Again."
"I love you."
"Tell me it's unconditional. Tell me you'll never leave me."
Crowley told him.
Aziraphale was no longer clinging to him in desperation, afraid of sinking at any moment. He was looking at him with determination and anger. "Alright then," he nodded, as if he had just signed a contract.
Aziraphale was a demon now. He couldn't feel what Crowley felt. He couldn't just look and see that it had always been there, he had been abandoned, and all that was left was blind faith.
"You don't need her," Crowley said, unable to believe the audacity of his own words. "You have me. You can believe in me. I will never abandon you like she did"
Aziraphale finally lowered his head and opened his mouth to capture Crowley's lips gently but without fear. There was nothing left to lose.
It was fervent and fantastic. Aziraphale opened his mouth with determination, using his tongue and teeth without hesitation, with the ease of someone who had been perfecting the technique for decades. Crowley took a moment to react from the surprise, and he barely had time to return the kiss before Aziraphale pulled away abruptly.
"You have no idea what you did to me..." Aziraphale began as his hands moved to rest on Crowley's thigh with all the innocence in the world. Crowley's eyebrows shot up "...when you kissed me that day. I've been unable to stop thinking about it for weeks now."
Aziraphale seemed to think that was explanation enough, as he pounced on Crowley again with eagerness. Crowley closed his eyes to surrender to the kiss and to whatever his angel wanted to do with him.
An eternity later, Crowley was convinced he was dreaming. It was impossible that what was happening in that room was real. It was impossible that Aziraphale was a willing and primary participant in what was happening.
Perhaps the world was about to end again, but he couldn't care less if it were really ending behind those four walls.
During the past hour, there had been a kissing session that seemed to never end, only interrupted to exchange a few failed attempts to express how much, how intense, and how needed... Crowley wanted to escape his own body for a moment to stop feeling so much. But he couldn't stop.
After some time Aziraphale had slid a hand under his trousers.
Crowley had jolted. Then he had looked at Aziraphale with eyebrows arched in impossible curves. Is this what you want? Aziraphale had nodded and then raised a hand from bottom to top to perform his first demonic miracle: to make all of Crowley's clothing disappear.
And now…
Aziraphale was behind Crowley, with his hands gripping his hips like his life depended on it. Inside him. Pushing with recklessness inside him.
Crowley had been in love with him for six thousand years and hadn't even considered kissing him until a few weeks ago.
Aziraphale kissed the origin of his wings, and Crowley unfurled them with a sigh, unable to hold back. The new demon licked the white feathers where they emerged from Crowley's back and gently bit where the flesh met the feathers. Crowley came with a choked scream and Aziraphale followed in no time.
"I worship you," Aziraphale whispered as he panted, his head resting on the white feathers of Crowley's wings.
When Crowley woke up, he saw that the angel was still there, not on top of him but lying on the other side of the bed. Their wings had folded during the night, and both of them were clean and covered with a fresh sheet.
Aziraphale had his eyes open. Whether he had woken up before him or hadn't slept at all, Crowley didn't know.
"How much time has passed?" Aziraphale asked when he found his gaze. "Since I fell?"
Crowley made an effort to stretch, wriggling under the sheet as if he were possessed by an eel, and yawned.
"Hmmbgh... Not really sure. Maybe a few days."
Aziraphale seemed surprised. "Really? It felt like an eternity to me."
Crowley pressed against him and covered both their heads with the sheet as if trying to hide them from the rest of the world. The gesture also allowed him to find Aziraphale's bare chest. "You can tell me if you think it will help."
Aziraphale made an almost inaudible affirmative sound and continued speaking very softly. "It happened very quickly. I hardly noticed until I was already, well..." He moved back a bit to get a better look at Crowley, who felt strangely exposed even though it was Aziraphale who was opening up to talk. "I could only think about how terrified I was of the idea of forgetting you."
Crowley swallowed.
"That would have been a shame, yes."
"I would never have let any of this happen if I had known..."
"Hmm."
"Oh, Crowley."
"Listen, angel. It doesn't matter anymore. Clearly, you would have been a rubbish demon. Even Satan said so. Just like me—I'm a bloody awful angel. But it turns out I'm a bloody powerful one. So screw them. It's just you and me, like always."
Aziraphale sighed. "The Metatron and Satan are manipulative jerks."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Good Lord, angel, it's been a while since I heard you curse."
The other gave him a shy smile. "I suppose I'm a demon now."
"Well, I've been calling you 'angel' for far too long. It would be weird to change it now," Crowley said, for some reason finding it hard to maintain eye contact with Aziraphale as he spoke. "And it means something else."
Aziraphale smiled broadly. "That's charming, you old serpent."
It seemed impossible, but they returned to their routine as if nothing had changed. Almost without realising it, they became themselves again. But different.
Once all the anger, fear, and frustration that had been threatening him from within had been released, Crowley felt that there was nothing left.
That emptiness was filled with a warm and comforting feeling, and he was sure it came from within himself this time. As Lucifer had warned, he hadn't left, but the more time he spent in Crowley’s mind, the harder it became to recognize him within himself. The power was still there, ready to show anyone who needed to know what he was capable of.
It was a shame that Crowley chose to waste his quasi-omnipotence by lounging around the bookshop, strolling and occasionally dropping onto all the comfortable surfaces Aziraphale had furnished the place with. Observing his angel and stealing secret kisses.
"Maybe I'm finding that... uhh. That peace thing," Crowley said.
Aziraphale chuckled. "Darling, you'll always live for mischief. I don't think you're capable of finding or leaving anyone in peace."
Crowley emphatically shook his head. "No, no, no. I swear I genuinely feel retired now. I might even... I don't know. Write a book or something."
"You're incapable of sitting still for more than five minutes."
"That's because you distract me."
Aziraphale smiled and approached the armchair where Crowley was reclining with a shadow of mischief in his demeanour. "I suppose I'm not so rusty with temptations after all."
Crowley felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "You know nothing about being a demon. It's embarrassing, really. I won't allow any demon to come near you to mock your petty attempts at being evil."
Aziraphale continued to tease him. "Well, on the contrary, you're doing splendidly with angelic duties. Although I'll have to ask you to control yourself. Some pages of 'Pride and Prejudice' are trying to turn back into trees."
"Shut up."
"That book must have appealed to you-"
"Shut up."
"I mean, those things don't happen unless you're completely obsessed-"
"Oh, for heaven's sake-"
"And don't think I haven't noticed that you're not wearing sunglasses anymore."
Crowley sunk so deep into the armchair that he was practically parallel to the floor. "...Don't make a big deal out of it. It's fine."
Aziraphale moved closer and started stroking his hair. Crowley was grateful that he had stopped talking and that the position allowed him not to have to look into Aziraphale's eyes directly. Unfortunately, Aziraphale continued to speak after a few seconds.
"Well, the last time you mentioned them, I got the impression that... they bothered you.
"Nah."
"Oh, really?"
"I didn't like my eyes. Not really. They scared humans and were useless for seeing colours. Duh. It's nice not to have to wear the glasses," he paused, "Do I look strange without them?"
"No. And I'm glad you've found peace. In being an angel."
"Don't call me that."
"I'm glad anyway."
"I don't want to be an angel," he didn't say it with the pain of being burned from the inside. He said it with calm, like a mantra to be repeated every time someone dared to mention that he had anything to do with the idiots upstairs. "But I didn't want to be a demon either."
Aziraphale let go of his hair and got closer to his back so that his head was behind Crowley's, his mouth next to his ear.
"We could cancel each other out. Like we've always done. We wouldn't be anything that way. Together. We'd be... us. Neither angel nor demon."
Crowley turned his neck to reach him and kissed him. His mouth found a smile in his lover's lips, he closed his eyes.
They fell together into the couch.