Happy Holidays, kingstoken!
Dec. 15th, 2024 11:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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go_exchangeTitle: Echoes in stone
Pairing: Aziraphale and Crowley
Rating: T
Summary: Aziraphale is missing. The bookshop is empty and there's clear demonic energy around.
Crowley knows he's the only one who can get him out, but it's not going to be an easy ride. Aziraphale is going to have to trust him.
Word Count: 6784.
Crowley was humming in the shower, letting the steamy water run over his skin and feathers – he so rarely let his wings out these days, there wasn’t a whole lot of need for it but that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in the sensation of having them gently massaged by the water. Head bowed against the cold-white ceramic tiles, he closed his eyes and just relaxed. He’d be purring if he’d been a cat, but he wasn’t, so he just kept humming until it became a low hiss. Of course his mind was wandering and of course it was going to all the dark places that he tried to keep from going. And those were usually populated by all his years of finding himself pretending to not be completely obsessed with a certain angel. Of course it had started with mild curiosity and then turned into deeper curiosity and then...well. He’d been outright rejected, hadn’t he?
“You go too fast for me Crowley”
Only about a few hundred years, give or take. But had Aziraphale really understood? He seemed pretty useless at innuendoes but that had come totally out of nowhere. Maybe he had understood and had tried to let Crowley down nicely? Maybe it would just take another three hundred years, if the planet was still around by then…
Still dripping he reached out for a towel and walked out onto the cold floor and went to pour himself a whisky. The rain outside was still heavy and outright depressing. Three weeks of it and there was no end in sight. There was nothing of any interest on the TV, he didn’t feel like taking a magazine or going to a bar, he was listless. Maybe Aziraphale was feeling down under the weather as well? He should, as a friend, go and see what was up, maybe bring some curry or a pizza, anything to just not be alone right now. And it wouldn’t be weird, they were friends. They’d spent enough time hanging around that bookshop just talking. Yes, he should do that.
He could just walk there after all, a little rain never hurt anyone.
Twenty minutes later he was ambling down the familiar street, a good bottle of wine in one hand and a box of chocolate in the other. He knew the angel’s little vices and was all too happy to help him indulge in them. And for all the fussing and quiet disapproval each time he did, Aziraphale hadn’t said no yet. No reason he’d say no this time. So Crowley knocked on the door, already feeling a smile.
- Open up, angel. I’ve got some good Ghost Horse, and your favourite Ferrero Rocher multipack. Angel?
There was no answer and Crowley shrugged and just walked in, ready to find Aziraphale sleeping in an armchair or in a book, or simply in the backroom where he couldn’t hear anything.
- Aziraphale? You got lost somewhere back there?
He looked into every nook and cranny of the chaotic bookshop but found nothing. No sign of the angel, not one. Well, there was the abandoned cup of tea on one of the small tables, and it was still tepid so he’d not disappeared for long. Maybe he’d decided to brave the elements to go save a herd of cats or something. It wasn’t anything to worry about. A herd of cats couldn’t take that long to save.
Bedroom, maybe? To be honest he’d hardly ever seen Aziraphale’s bedroom...did he even sleep in one? Did he have one? Or was it used just as Crowley used his, as a reflection of humanity? Up the stairs he went, still holding onto the bottle and the chocolates – if he needed a quick escape from angelic wrath he could always use them as distractions. But he found nothing and still the angel didn’t reappear.
He knew there was certainly a reason for Aziraphale’s absence. This was London, there was always something to be done and something to see. But under such a bloody downpour he wouldn’t be feeding ducks or watching the clouds. Crowley took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, and that’s when it hit him. His eyes were stinging and there was an almost-imperceptible tinge of...something in the air.
Something wasn’t right.
The whispery noises were all around and there was nothing Aziraphale could do about it. He’d called and called but no-one had answered save the scratching and the whispers, and he’d decided that he should keep his voice and his energy. He’d also tried to see where he was but all around him was just darkness. And not normal darkness but the deep, abysmal, soul-swallowing darkness that was only found in the lost hours of the night. He was also – as much as he could guess – restrained by shackles around his wrists and his neck. He could move a little but the metal bit hard, the chains were too short for him to sit down, so he was left to stand as he’d been doing for...already a long time. It shouldn’t have mattered. He was an angel, he wasn’t limited to this body but something was poisoning the very air and working against him.
After another very long time he heard some other noises. There was the creak of a heavy door, a jangling of metal and a gush of fetid air that swam around him. At least that left him very little doubt as to where he was, and it definitely wasn’t Soho.
- Hello? Hello, I can’t see you…
- There’ll be time enough for that.
The voice was deeply unpleasant, like rocks grating against each-other in a blender, like nails on a blackboard. Obviously he was in one of the circles of Hell, but where...? And how..? Aziraphale could feel the cold come from the presence in front of him and shivered (his comfortable warm clothes had been taken from him, obviously)
- Feeling a little cold, are you? Get used to it.
- Who are you?
There was no answer. Nothing except the freezing wind and the smells that crept around him like a shroud. This was in no way shape or form a pleasant situation.
- Who are you?
- Silly little angel, all lost and alone… What a nice surprise my friends got me.
Not a pleasant situation at all. Aziraphale still couldn’t see anything in front of him, but that wouldn’t stop him from regaining some of his calm.
- Surprise or not, I ask to be let free. This is a gross violation of the general understanding between our two parties, there has been no declaration of war, the Apocalypse has been cancelled and I demand –
- What you “demand” is hardly my concern, silly little angel. Don’t you think I can’t see you? Afraid. Wondering why you’re so cold. So blind. Wondering why you were chosen to be my very special guest.
- Wondering when I’m getting a cup of tea.
Silence followed then the first blow. The pain was only half as bad as the intense cold that followed and that paled in comparison with the now-menacing voice that seemed to be all around him, very far away and right behind him at the same time. There was no more semblance of pretend.
- Hold your tongue or lose it, Aziraphale. Angel of the Eastern Gate. Lost Principality, fallen far from the Choir. You were condemned once by your own, you are alone. Relish these small moments of quiet and rest, because they will be few and far between.
- Then tell me at least why I am here.
But the demon had left, and Aziraphale was once again all alone.
Crowley sat in the empty bookshop, eyes fixed on a particular spot on one of the side-tables. One of Aziraphale’s teacups was sitting there, half-full and cold. But there was especially one torn-out page, laying half-crumpled on the floor. He knew he’d been there a long time, too long. He knew he had to leave, he needed to leave, come on Crowley get your ass out of that armchair…!! That smell he’d smelled was sulphur and something else, something that left a metallic, bloody taste on his tongue. A smell that permeated every part of him. He knew that smell, he just needed to remember why…
Right. Right, he had to move, this wasn’t like him. He didn’t know the first thing about what he was looking for but he knew Aziraphale was the hoarding type (would that fall under lust or greed…?) So around he went, moving books and papers around. Damn. Damn...damn damn bloody freaking shit… ! He’d complained about the mess so very often, albeit fondly, and Aziraphale had chosen this particular moment to actually tidy up around him. Nothing that could help him, nothing that he could use! Nothing that…!
Crowley fell back into the armchair and suddenly – suddenly – he understood as clearly as if someone had punched him in the face.
This wasn’t like him. Of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t because it was someone else. That was the smell and the cold and all the shit that was around him. He knew who had come here without even trying to mask his presence. The smell of
(cold)
(loneliness)
despair. There was no point in trying to beat the demon who had taken his angel, not in a fair fight (if a fair fight was even a thing among demons?) Well that was alright then, because Crowley was fine with fighting dirty.
Aziraphale opened his eyes to darkness. Always darkness, always cold, nothing had changed. Even summoning the tiniest sliver of light was impossible here, the darkness was too deep. Of course he’d tried. He’d tried everything he could think of but the chains were designed to keep angels in check.
A tinny laugh came from behind him and he stopped, turning his head towards the sound. It made his hair stand up on edge.
- And who are you?
- It’s of no importance, isn’t it? You’re going to die anyway.
- Maybe.
That tinny laugh came back around. They were two, then. Aziraphale once again tried to summon some sort of light but a gloved hand covered his and snuffed out whatever progress he’d made.
- Maybe? You’re still pretending, angel of the Eastern Gate.
- And you have me at a disadvantage.
- Obviously. You’re hoping for names. But you won’t get them, we know how this game works. You can call me whatever you want. But since I just love watching you fake your courage, I’m going to tell you how this game ends. Let’s see…
The voice in front of him came closer and finally there came a dull reddish light, illuminating the cell in which he was kept. He’d never been to Hell before, all he knew about it were the official reports from the heavenly army (that he had learnt to disbelieve quickly enough) and the stories Crowley would sometimes tell him when they were sharing a bottle of wine. Those he believed without a shadow of a doubt. But these weren’t the chaotic, teeming rooms he’d described. This was what looked like an abandoned room deep, deep in the heart of the demonic realms. Just a dark room with grey-green streaked stone walls and pooling on the dirt where he stood barefoot. He could also make out the mud and filth on his skin and under his nails and a few lonely feathers on the ground.
And he could see the demon in front of him at last.
- Dantalion, isn’t it?
- Oh, you’re a clever one. What gave it away?
Dantalion giggled (Aziraphale was getting very very very tired of the demonic giggling – it felt like claws digging into his brain each time) and as he did the space where his face should have been shifted and something almost like features settled. At least there were discernable eyes.
- Dantalion, the Face Stealer. Great Duke of Hell.
- In the flesh. Does that make you feel better, angel of the Eastern Gate?
- I at least know who not to invite to my next Christmas party.
Dantalion did...something...with his face before that grating high-pitched laugh erupted around the room. Then the darkness around them moved and another dark shape appeared. This one was tall, rake-thin figure, dressed all in black and his face hidden behind a crow-skull mask.
- So you still haven’t stopped talking back, silly angel…
- He’s trying to convince us that he’s not terrified but I’ll get inside his mind fast enough...I want to see what he’s hiding in there…
Aziraphale watched both demons talk and posture and began testing his chains again. They were distracted and maybe they wouldn’t notice his movements. But the chains still resisted and they moaned loudly as he pulled on them – straight away the masked demon whipped out his arm and grabbed Aziraphale by the throat.
- Pull all you want but you’re not going anywhere.
- You still haven’t told me why I’m here.
- Guess.
Of course the first thing that flashed into his mind was
(Crowley)
(Crowley)
(Crowley)
Crowley. But he stuffed that thought into the very back of his mind and gave a smile. It wasn’t the answer his captors had expected because the masked demon brought his fist right into Aziraphale’s face.
- Still trying to cling onto strength? You stand upon earth taken from the field of Hakel-D'ma. Can’t you feel it sapping your will and your hope? A little trick for stubborn angels like yourself.
- There is so little left of the field Judas died in. It must have taken great effort to find. So much effort for just one angel…
- One angel, yes. But even if you have lost the favour of your superiors, you are still a Principality. And getting our hands on you and opening you up will be amusing.
A movement to his left and Dantalion was at once just a hair’s breadth from him, cradling his face in his gloved hands. And the laugh that escaped the place where his lips should have been was less amused and more hysterical.
- Show me your mind, Aziraphale! Show me what’s inside, show me how to break you...
- Get your hands off me, hell-spawn! I won’t let you into my mind, who do you think I am? I am a Principality of the Heavenly Choir!
At that, something cold and clammy and sticky made its way along Aziraphale’s face, making him take a sharp breath – a tongue. It was Dantalion’s tongue and the demon’s voice was raspy now.
- And I am a Duke of Hell and you will show me what’s inside your mind, what makes you still cling to hope and strength, what gives you the will to oppose us. It won’t last long, we will make you scream and cry and beg. I want you to beg. I want you to see the face of the closest person to you and to beg them to help you, to kill you, to make this all stop…
- You will try.
- Keep fighting me, please. I love it when angels fight back!
Aziraphale shivered, once, and looked towards the other demon, the one who was obviously behind his capture. He stood silent behind his mask, eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. The air was getting heavier...hotter...something was happening – something that was all to do with those eyes. They were
(golden)
No. No he wasn’t going to let either demon into his mind, he wasn’t.
- You will show him, Aziraphale. One way or another, you will show him. You are no match for a Duke, let alone a Prince of Hell. Such pride…
- Prince, Duke or whatever you are, I don’t care. You will not violate my mind.
- Silly angel, just wait and see.
Hell was exactly as always but Crowley didn’t notice, didn’t care, didn’t bother with anything except what he was hell-bent (ha!) on doing. The long corridors flashed by as he made his way towards a particular door. He was going to regret this, but what other choice did he have? If anyone could throw him a clue...anything…
- Beelzebub!
The quiet that fell after that was so loud that Crowley wanted to melt into the closest wall. He wouldn’t walk out of this room alive. Or at least not in this form – if Beelzebub were merciful, they might only turn him into a bug… But instead, Beelzebub simply turned their head and stared right at Crowley, voice as cold as a fridge in the Arctic Circle.
- That’zzz “Lord” Beelzebub, Crowley. What do you want?
- I need to know where he is!
- Where izzz who?
- The angel Aziraphale!
- An angel? Here?
Beelzebub was obviously enjoying this. Crowley knew they’d wondered for a while if Crowley had more than just a business relationship with the angel and the mirth in their eyes was enough to send shivers down Crowley’s spine. That and the almost off-handed way they’d reacted when their title had been forgotten. Crowley had been stupid (more than usual) and this grim amusement was the only thing that was stopping Beelzebub from disincorporating him. And he stayed. No point in lying. They were the only one here would would know.
- Why do you assume I know where he izzz?
- Because nothing happens in Dis and Pandemonium that you don’t know. Nothing happens in all of the Hells that escapes your knowledge. And I’m asking, I’m begging you...tell me where he is.
He had to do more than lip-service here and actually bowed for the first time in who knew how long.
- Lord Beelzebub, ruler of Tartarus, prince Baʿl-zabūl... I need to know where the angel Aziraphale is.
Silence was all the answer he got and in all honesty he’d never really expected anything else. Why would anyone help him, least of all the demons he’d spent years taking the piss out of. And Beelzebub would know for sure that Crowley had...feelings. He’d pay for that one day but he didn’t care. He needed to find his angel.
So he kept quiet as he felt the prince of hell ponder.
- Yes, Azzziraphale. Your precious angel ...friend.
- How…!
- Do not raizzze your voice at me, Crowley. Nothing hazz been communicated to me.
Rogue demons who hadn’t been given orders… If Beelzebub wasn’t aware of Aziraphale’s presence here then it was worse than he’d thought. It meant they might not even want information or anything. Just...to play. But he might have an idea. Something that could help.
- Merihem is involved. I know he is, the whole shop was full of despair, I could even taste it, it was everywhere…
- It could juzzzzt be from the angel’s fear. And don’t tell me your...friend wouldn’t be afraid. Angelzzz are afraid, just like anyone else.
- I wouldn’t accuse anyone without proof! Especially not here.
- Especially when you have no other optionzzz. Not even lying. That angel must be very important to you.
Their tone was mocking and dripping with mirth, and Crowley just waited and hoped that Beelzebub would be curious. Just curious enough to see where this was going. And finally the Lord of Flies raised a hand, almost idly.
- You could try the Wood of Suicidezzz.
Everything swam. Everything was swimming. His mind was burning but he wouldn’t...he couldn’t let them in. If he let them in… By all rights he shouldn’t have been able to fend them off for so long. His captors weren’t wrong : a Prince and a Duke of Hell should have been able to break his mind easily. But he had faith. He had faith…
- Faith? In who, hm? Do you think God is going to come and save you, Aziraphale?
Oh. He’d spoken in his feverish state.
- Get. Away. From. Me.
- Anger now? How many deadly sins will we pull out of you?
The masked demon came forward and smiled, a cold smile that made the cell he was kept in feel warm.
- You think Heaven will save you? Heaven wants no part of you, why would it? You should see what I see and you’d understand. A prideful angel, so certain that he can resist us. And I don’t need to see your mind to know that pride and anger certainly aren’t the only sins you’re guilty of. You feel it, don’t you?
- What are you talking about?
- I’m talking about this…
The demon brushed his hand across Aziraphale’s face and once again a rush of heat sent the angel reeling, his body rocking with slight tremors – he understood. The last bit slid into place as the demon’s name settled on his lips.
- I know of you. Prince of Powers, Whore of Sheol.
- Say it then.
- ...Carnivale.
- Well done… So we have pride, anger...and now lust? Are you a lustful angel, guardian of the Eastern Gate? Oh, don’t try to deny it, your body is burning as we speak.
- ...Certainly not for you.
- And who for? We should find out, don’t you think?
They were three now. Aziraphale could see the pale figure to Carnivale’s side, cobwebs covering his face and tarnished silver rings on his hands. Straight away the despair and the cold came rushing back and he bit down on the strangled noise that almost escaped out of his throat. He could feel Dantalion behind him, that tongue trailing down the back his neck and across his shoulder-blades, still ripping and knocking at the shreds of resistance the angel’s mind had to offer. At the same time Carnivale came
(close)
(too close!!!)
closer and caught Aziraphale in a kiss. And it was like a gunshot, like a wildfire, like a burning wave of nauseating delight and he jerked back as much as he could. He just wanted to get away from Carnivale, to escape from the touch that threatened to undo everything. As long as Carnivale didn’t touch him it would be fine. He had faith. He had
(faith)
(faith)
(faith)
faith that everything would be alright. But as he moved away he felt something wrap around his throat and then he was struggling to breathe as the rope was pulled tight. A tiny gasp was all he could do and Carnivale smiled again, that wide, cold smile.
- You might also know of Merihem, since you’re so well-read. Also known as Bringer of Plague, Red Death. He brought the earth from Hakel-D'ma and he even found something even more interesting. Can you guess? Oh, I suppose you can but you can’t talk, you can hardly breathe. I’ll tell you then. This is the noose with which Judas hanged himself. Such a powerful unhallowed relic...I wonder what it does to angelic beings…
A gesture and the rope let up, just a bit, letting Aziraphale finally take a breath, bringing in damp and fear into his lungs. Another Prince of Hell, just for him, he should have felt honoured. Instead he felt terrified. At once Dantalion was upon him with his ear-piercing laugh.
- I’m inside….I’m inside your mind, Principality!!
- No!
- Let’s see what faces are in there…
- Don’t! Get out!
And everything turned to red, to black to white and –
- Good of you to have found my angel. I wondered where he was.
The three demons stopped and turned towards him, and Crowley just gave a grin, jauntily coming through the door and sitting on an overturned box in the corner. He knew them – of them – he’d seen and heard what they’d been doing and he was perfectly, perfectly terrified. Ah well, here he went.
- I’ve been looking all over for him, now will you please give him back to me?
- Leave, Crowley. There’s nothing for you here.
- Is that what Princes and Dukes do now? Nick stuff from lower demons? Must be boring here these days.
- You’d know if you were around more, you little cockroach.
Carnivale wasn’t amused in the slightest, that was evident. That creepy bitch Dantalion was there as well, holding onto Aziraphale’s face and staring right at him. And there, in the corner, Merihem in his cobweb-y glory… Never a word would pass though his lips, he just stood there looking as if he wasn’t involved. Except he was the one holding the rope around Aziraphale’s neck.
- Lord Carnivale, the angel is mine.
- Is he indeed.
- Well I didn’t drag myself down into this charming place just to watch you play around with him, did I? After all the trouble I went through to make him think I cared.
The three demons were still staring at him with at least a little curiosity – at least Carnivale and Merihem were. Who even knew where Dantalion’s eyes were…
Aziraphale was almost naked, hanging from chains that were biting into his wrists and his neck; he was pale as a shroud, covered in dirt and grime, those beautiful blonde curls flat and looked just
(pale)
(absent)
(extinguished)
exhausted. And Crowley just grinned, not looking at the angel. He couldn’t.
- So? Nothing to say?
- Shut your mouth, Crowley. I will not entertain you here.
- Oh, I’ll entertain myself then. How about a little bet?
Demons were demons. They lived off pacts and contracts and in some way, a bet was like a contract. It was like appealing to their very nature (he was the same, this was a huge fucking gamble) and he waited. Time seemed to slow down : he could hear every single droplet of water, every moan from the walls, every laboured and pained breath coming from the angel. Aziraphale was calm, as calm as he possibly could be in such a situation. Crowley just needed play it smooth, play it slow and play it evil.
Like a demon.
Carnivale didn’t seem very receptive, standing in total silence – probably imagining 400 ways he could squash Crowley like the bug he thought he was – but surprisingly it was Dantalion who moved forward and who gave Crowley an almost quizzical look (somewhat).
- You were in his mind, Crawley. Why?
- Silly question, don’t you think? Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been fucking with him for years. Angels are uptight stuffy assholes but this one…well, you’ve seen him. A chubby, fluffy, soft useless excuse for one. How could I resist? Remember, Aziraphale? All those little sweet nothings I used to whisper in your stupid ears?
He grinned (his heart was screaming) and stroked Aziraphale’s pale cheek.
- You remember, don’t you… Going off together? Being on “our own side” ? How easy it was to make you believe. And you believed, oh how you believed… It was too easy.
- Crowley…
Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He hadn’t planned on Aziraphale being conscious enough to answer him. He could do what he’d planned if Aziraphale was all woozy and half-awake but instead his angel had had the insane idea to be resistant to Dantalion’s mind-meld or whatever he called it – by all rights he should have been floating in a hellish
(oh for fuck’s sake)
night-scape fuelled by Merihem’s despair and instead he was still fighting. Stupid, brave, shining angel…
- Yes Aziraphale, it’s me. You thought I was just going to let you go so easily? You’ve made new friends and that’s nice but it’s time to remember who you belong to.
He needed Aziraphale to understand but Carnivale moved and took Aziraphale by the hair, pulling his head back. The angel seemed to be at last completely out of it.
- You want to keep him? You?
- ‘Course I do.
- And if I don’t comply with your ridiculous demands? You’ll fight me for this pitiful excuse of celestial fluff?
- You seem to have put a lot of effort for this so-called pitiful excuse, lord Carnivale.
This time Carnivale’s eyes flared a deep dangerous blue. At the same time Merihem and Dantalion turned towards Crowley – they were just waiting for the next heartbeat, the signal that would mean they could rip Crowley to shreds. This had been his biggest gamble yet and Crowley prayed
(to who exactly?)
that it would pay off.
And it did. Carnivale let go of Aziraphale’s hair and gave a short, tight noise that passed for a laugh.
- I don’t know if it’s courage or stupidity but you intrigue me, Crowley. Are you the bravest demon to haunt these realms to stand up to those who are so much more powerful that you, or is it abject suicidal folly?
- Bit of both, really.
- Really ? Then I accept your wager. Make him beg.
- Sorry?
- If you’ve been playing with him for so long then I’m sure you know how to get under his skin. In one sense, anyway. So make that angel beg. It’ll be amusing if nothing else, to see that self-righteous, hypocritical creature plead. If you manage it then you can reclaim your prize.
- And if it doesn’t work?
- Oh you’d better hope it does. I don’t make wagers lightly, and neither should you. So get to work or you’ll be chained up next to him. And that is a promise.
Crowley hadn’t taken anything supernatural out of the bookshop for multiple reasons, mainly because carrying a Highland Spring bottle full of holy water or blessed oil from Jerusalem into the heart of Hell would possibly be one of the most idiotic ideas he’d ever had. No, he’d found something that he’d never thought he’d use as a weapon in his existence and took it out of his pocket with a flourish. Dantalion immediately came over to inspect it and grinned. Apparently.
- A book?
- Yep. A book. You haven’t been paying attention, have you? I know what makes that angel tick.
- Show me? I want to play with him!
- You’ve played enough, it’s my turn. Watch and learn, losers.
Don’t be too cocky, Crowley… Don’t be cocky, this can still go wrong in so many different ways… Look at me, angel...please understand…
- Aziraphale, wake up.
No answer just now. Aziraphale was dead to the world – seeing Crowley arrive must have sapped the little strength he still had. But the charade was only beginning so Crowley moved forward and slapped him. Hard. The dead air of the silent room rang with the noise of it and the look in Aziraphale’s eyes was something Crowley would remember for a long, long time, a look of pure terror but divine wrath at the same time. It would have made him weak at the knees if he wasn’t so focused on his dumbass suicidal plan.
- Ah, there you are. I thought you were going to sleep all day, and we’ve got work to do.
-...what…?
- You’ve been giving these boys a hard time, apparently. Or maybe you’re just playing hard to get?
Aziraphale gave him a quizzical look and Crowley tried desperately to send telepathic signals that everything was going to be alright, he just needed to play the game, understand what Crowley needed, give him anything that they needed to be able to walk out of there.
- You know you belong to me. Say it.
- Crowley?
- Ssssay it.
He almost winced at the not-so-hidden threat, the danger dripping like venom through his ophidian syllables. If Aziraphale understood or not was no longer important.
- I belong...I belong to you.
- Again. Like you mean it.
- I belong to you, Crowley.
Crowley grinned (oh his heart) and turned to Carnivale. The Prince was standing in silence, arms crossed, his two companions beside him. Dantalion was whispering in Carnivale’s ear, something that didn’t bode well for anyone in any case. Even worse when Carnivale gave a smile that should have belonged to a shark. No, a megalodon. A fucking cold-blooded predator who never should leave the deepest, darkest realms where they preyed.
- Oh he belongs to you, that’s interesting. I did sense that he still had some cardinal sins to expiate.
- I said he was a special case.
- Fuck him.
What.
What.
- ...What?
- You heard me. It’ll be amusing than seeing him just beg to be saved. I want to see him beg to be fucked. So fuck him. He’s just asking for it…
- Carnivale, that’s not going to happen. You’ll touch him if I lose the bet, and that’s that.
- If you lose the bet, I’ll do more than that. To both of you.
- Crowley.
The angel’s voice was faint and whispery but it cut through everything else. It sounded so much like a plea, already a plea, already a
(prayer)
petition to make everything stop, but nothing could stop what was in movement. Crowley had to work fast and he held up the book, the small dog-eared thing in a battered red cover and grinned again. (and if his grin was more a rictus of anxiety, that was a totally other subject)
- Yeah, Aziraphale’s got a lot of sins to be forgiven and that’s what’s so fun. Like his little habit of collecting books. I guess you could call it lust of a kind, or gluttony? He really, really loves his books, don’t you, Aziraphale. As the humans say, he devours his books.
- What…? Crowley, I -
- So you’re going to devour this one. Page by bloody page.
Dantalion was laughing, that horrible, high-pitched sound that grated on every single nerve in his body, but he ignored it as well as he ignored Aziraphale’s eyes on him. He had to understand, he had to.
- Open wide, page one out of...hm...i don’t know and I don’t care.
- Crowley…?
- Eat the page, Aziraphale.
- But I...I don’t want to! Why are you doing this to me? Don’t…
- Eat the bloody page, angel!!
Aziraphale stared right back at him, frozen. There was a heartbeat. Another one. The demon lords were breathing right behind them. The cold, the gloom, the fear, the despair, the hate, the violence, the threats… Everything coalesced into this one tiny moment.
And finally
(finally)
Aziraphale choked it out.
- Please...please don’t do this...please Crowley!
- What’s that…? I haven’t done everything yet…
- Please! I beg you, don’t make me do this…! Crowley!!!
No-one moved. The angel’s pleas were echoing off the walls in all their supplicant glory and horror. Crowley was frozen in place, eyes burning behind his sunglasses as he blinked back tears furiously, and then he almost jumped as arms circled his waist. Fucking Dantalion… The sooner he’d leave that creepy asshole behind the better.
- You made him beg so easily, I’m jealous…
- Like I said, I know what makes him tick.
- I want a turn now.
- No. I’m taking him back, like was agreed. Am I wrong, lord Carnivale?
The masked Prince of Hell was still silent and unmoving against the wall; Merihem had disappeared at some point and Crowley certainly wasn’t unhappy about seeing the back of him either. Now all he wanted was to get Dantalion’s hands off him and probably burn every single thing he’d put his gloved hands on. No, that would wait.
Carnivale still wasn’t saying anything and Crowley decided to just get on with it. Aziraphale was still chained up and the cuffs were tightly locked but at least for now he could take the noose from his neck and loosen the chains – Aziraphale could only gasp as his arms were finally lowered for the first time in several days and Crowley didn’t (couldn’t) look at him.
- Where’s the key? The deal is the deal, I’m leaving with him.
- Yes. You are indeed.
The key appeared in Carnivale’s hand and he walked to the bound figure, opening the manacles and freeing the angel’s wrists and neck. It was all Crowley could do to not rush over and grab Aziraphale and hug him tight and promise to never let him go but he wouldn’t have needed to anyway because once free, Aziraphale straightened up, draping himself in his destroyed clothes like in a cloak of seraphic resistance, and walked right out. Before Crowley could follow, Carnivale gave another of his cold, shark-like smiles. He’d guessed, hadn’t he? Crowley didn’t give a shit at this point and just ran out of the door.
The Wood of Suicides was a cacophony of moans and screams, the large birds circling overhead darkening the already-gloomy sky. Crowley stayed at a reasonable distance from where Aziraphale was walking, a pale-white silhouette in the surrounding darkness, ready to pounce if a demon came close. He wasn’t even certain that Carnivale would keep up his end of their bargain… In front of him Aziraphale faltered and this time Crowley was next to him, taking him by the waist to steady him. He was certain he’d be on the receiving end of another of Aziraphale’s terrifying glances, he was ready to get a fist to the face, a scathing comment, anything. But certainly not to a tired yet genuine smile and an outstretched hand.
- I might need a little help, if you could, dear?
It was very hard to not check every single part of the angel for hidden wounds. It was harder to resist the temptation to hold him close as they both made their way out of the Circles, so Crowley didn’t even try. He’d put his jacket around Aziraphale’s shoulders to shield him, a very human gesture after all, and they walked in silence. No demons had jumped out at them during all the walk back to safety, so maybe they’d be alright and Carnivale and his friends weren’t going to attack.
But he owed Beelzebub.
And he owed Aziraphale. The already dark bruise on the angel’s cheek was a stark reminder of what had happened, what Crowley had done and it was ugly. He was walking slowly, lost in dark thoughts until the angel’s slightly strained voice soon shook him out of it.
- Stop it, Crowley. I just need a cup of tea and a bit of sleep and I’ll be fine.
- I – I’m sorry. I’m really sorry…
- Stop it.
- I had to make them think I was serious, I had to. Or they’d have kept going, they’d have kept going until...
- Until I broke? Crowley… I knew you would never leave me there. I can’t say I wasn’t scared because I was. I didn’t know what you were going to do and I was so worried they’d turn on you as well. But I knew you’d find a way to get us out of there. I had faith.
- Yeah, well I hope God deserves the faith you have in Her.
- Not Her, Crowley. Faith in you.
Aziraphale stopped walking. His energy might have been slowly coming back the further away he was from Abussos and the Wood of Suicides but he was still very tired. He could still feel the remnants of spidery fingers rummaging through his thoughts, he could still feel the ghostly touch of those demonic hands on his face, he was cold and he ached everywhere. They were finally out of Hell and in the middle of Trafalgar Square, surrounded by nothing more than loud teenagers and people going to and from the closest Marks ‘n Sparks for a quick lunch. No-one noticed as they found a bench miraculously free in a ray of sunshine and finally – finally – they could breathe.
Crowley was about to say something but he didn’t have time. Aziraphale turned, took the demon’s sunglasses off, stared straight into those beautiful, golden eyes, and kissed him deeply.
- It’s always been you.
And if Aziraphale kept Crowley’s hand in his as they made their way to the bookshop, and if the doors stayed closed all through the next day, well that’s a tale for another time.
Author’s notes
There is a distinct lack of physical description of Carnivale, Merihem and Dantalion that I could find. I took what I could from the Ars Goetia, and from Sébastien Michaelis’ Histoire admirable de la possession et conversion d'une penitente (1612) and quite frankly invented the rest.
(I also chose Carnivale because his name cracks me up.)
Beautiful
Date: 2024-12-15 07:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2024-12-15 07:14 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for writing this for me!
(no subject)
Date: 2025-01-05 06:26 am (UTC)I also liked how you used parentheses here to show their inner thoughts and, more often, inner turmoil.
I've read quite a few 'one of them gets captured' stories, but I think you've written the creepiest ambience for one yet!