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Crowley’s head hurt. Well his entire body hurt, but his head especially.
Last thing he could remember was putzing about in a little village in Ireland, in one of those communities that was a little cut off from the rest of the world and believed they were still living in the Middle Ages. Aziraphale was hunting down some kind of rare first edition in Canada and Crowley was just waiting for him to get back, frequenting the only bloody pub in town. One of the locals had stopped in and struck up a conversation. Weird bloke, like really weird, but Crowley had literally nothing else to do. Maybe he could convince this guy to get toasted and make out with a horse or something.
The conversation they had during their round of drinking was…strange to say the least. The bloke asked him twice if he’d found Christ and he’d laughed outright both times. The man bristled both times but said nothing and the two settled into their shots of cheap whiskey. Usually, Crowley would have been able to hold his alcohol but after the third shot, he began to feel dizzy. Worryingly dizzy After the fourth, things went blurry. He was fairly sure he had a fifth, but he was long gone afterwards.
That bastard had drugged him! That does it, rules be damned, somebody was fucking in for it.
He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. A burst of yellow, orange, and red light filled his vision. There was a brief flash of darkness as well, dancing just between the lights. Voices chittered around him, the babble and conversation sounding a little muffled. His ears felt like they were full of cotton and there was a low hum in the back of his head.
“Urgh.” He groaned. There were a few silhouettes in his blurred vision and some more murmurs. Something that felt like a finger poked into his rib.
“Don’t touch the sacrifice.” A familiar voice barked. It was that nut job from the pub!
Crowley blinked a few times, his vision clearing up. Despite the fact that he was more pissed than nervous, a quick gasp emerged from him. He was surrounded by people in purple robes, hoods pulled up just so, stern faces only just visible in the flickering of the torches on surrounding stone pillars. They varied in age, the youngest among them appearing to be perhaps seventeen and the oldest maybe fifty or sixty. Standing near the front was that bastard from the pup, the only one without his hood pulled up. He stepped forward. There was a white symbol on the front of his robe that looked like a dove with its wings spread out to the side and its head raised. That didn’t seem right. The area was definitely fitting for a cult, the robes and hoods were all par for the course, but doves? Why doves?
Crowley looked around some more and a chill ran through him. Surrounding him, each covered with different markings were about seven pillars arranged in a semicircle with a much larger pillar in the center, though it was flatter while the others were round and it had a bit of a ledge that Crowley was seated on. The cold stone pressed against his back, but strangely enough there was a burn flickering across his skin. There were sigils carved into the stone pillars that he couldn’t understand, but he could see that there were also crosses carved into the top. Some of the cultists were also holding large golden crosses…Shit.
“So our demon finally awakens.” The leader purred, stepping forward.
“You.” Crowley growled, making a move to lunge at him. His arms and legs stayed where they were. There were thick ropes around his ankles and wrists, suspending his arms over his head. With a chill and a quick glance down to himself, he realized he was stripped of everything with the exception of a black loincloth. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He barked, snapping his head back up.
The leader settled his hand under Crowley’s chin, invasively stroking his jaw. “Nothing is wrong with me, demon. I’m simply taking advantage of the gift God has given me.” Crowley jerked his head away from the touch. The leader chuckled darkly as Crowley took in the volume of his words.
“How did you know I was a demon?” He asked, anger in his voice.
“Why, those beautiful eyes of yours.” The leader asked, reaching forward again to brush a finger against Crowley’s cheekbone, just under his eye. “When we were having our conversation in the pub, you took those sunglasses of yours off and I saw that you were a wicked servant of Lucifer.” He chuckled again. “I suppose it makes sense, with how you answered me when I asked if you had found Christ.” He pulled up his hood and turned to face the crowd of cultists.
“Brother and sisters! Tonight we gather in praise and thanks of our Heavenly Father and we gather to cleanse our earth of the minions of Satan.” The leader called out to the crowd.
“God’s a woman.” Crowley called with a little smirk, doing what he did best…pushing people’s buttons.
The leader spun around and rewarded Crowley with a sharp smack to the face before gathering himself. “Perhaps it would be best if you kept your mouth shut.” The leader said, a small twitch in the corner of his eye.
Crowley smirked. He’d been indulging them for long enough. Time to end this.
“You know I could make you regret doing that. All it would take is a snap.” He wiggled his fingers, which were still untied, to emphasize how he was very capable of snapping them and performing any manner of demonic acts.
The leader stepped back, crossing his arms as Crowley flashed him and the other cultists a toothy smile, complete with a forked tongue. Some of the members looked nervous, but the leader kept that stupid smirk on their face,
Crowley didn’t want to outwardly show it but the leader’s confidence made the jolt of nerves pass through him again. It was overshadowed by the desire to wipe that stupid smug look off the bastard’s face but the nerves were there nonetheless. He would need to make this a particularly nasty punishment. Aziraphale had shown him a book of Greek myths and he’d been pretty intrigued by the myth of Dionysus, who’d been kidnapped by a group of sailors and rewarded his captors by driving them to insanity with constant eerie flute music and turned them into dolphins when they jumped overboard, That sounded like a pretty fitting punishment, though maybe he’d go with snakes instead of dolphins.
The demon readied himself and snapped his fingers. The sound echoed across the arena and…nothing happened. The snap faded and left the humans looking exactly the same as they had before. He snapped his fingers for a second and third time. Nothing.
“Wha…what on…?”
“You don’t think that we’d be so foolish to let you keep your demonic powers, do you?” The leader stepped forward and traced a finger down Crowley’s cheek. “This property has been blessed and the sigils on the altar keep you cut off from the infernal magic running through you. We can do as we wish to you.” Crowley shifted his head and moved to bite at the leader’s fingers. Rather than jump back in fear or alarm, the leader simply pulled his hand away and chuckled. “Naughty little demon.” He teased. “Try something like that again and I might just gag you. And that wouldn’t be any fun no would it?” Crowley let out a few breaths before scowling at the leader, who gave him another smile and turned back to the crowd.
“Let us pray that our sacrifice to our Lord will be pleasing and that we are worthy to enter the eternal paradise.”
These wankers were definitely worthy of going somewhere but it sure as fuck wasn’t Heaven.
He didn’t want to admit it, but as soon as he snapped his fingers and didn’t feel that familiar burst of power or slight tug in his chest, all the annoyance he felt was replaced with fear. He was utterly terrified. He knew what kind of fucked up things happened in the minds of humans. Only God Herself knew what they were going to do to him.
“You lot don’t know what you’re messing with.” He warned, trying to sound menacing more than fearful, but a quiver broke into his warning.
The leader glanced over his shoulder and chuckled.
“You think we don’t know? We are well aware what you are, servant of Lucifer. We know what you’re capable of and we’ve prepared accordingly.”
Crowley looked out to the crowd, hoping that one of them would have the sense to try and listen to him.
“You’re really going to listen to this nutter?” He asked.
“Do not insult our leader!” One of the younger members snapped. “Elder Samuel is the wisest man in town!”
“We trust him more than we do you, filthy demon, that’s for sure.” Another member, this one appearing to be in her late thirties, snapped. Oh yeah. He forgot. Cultists.
Well that was hopeless.
Elder Samuel went back to his yammering while Crowley tried to come up with another plan, the stings of sigils and the course rope digging into his skin.
Maybe he could try and reach for his powers again. They weren’t on the surface but if he could reach a bit deeper…a few beads of sweat trickled down his face from the effort. It was like trying to pull a brick through a mousehole. It was definitely there but there was a wall blocking him from just getting his fingers around it. No he wasn’t trying hard enough…It wouldn’t work. All his effort went to nothing.
He let out a breath and went back to thinking, though it wasn’t easy. Trying to reach for his powers had essentially drained him of the little stamina he had after he’d woken up but adrenaline from the fear was beginning to shoot through his body as he began to wiggle his wrists. Whoever had tied the roped had left them just a bit loose, so if he could just…
He twisted his arms, shifting them around and straining his shoulders. The fibers of the rope were beginning to scrape against his skin, leaving angry red marks all along his wrists and ankles. And it hurt. It hurt like a bitch but he kept on wriggling until the rope around his wrists gave a little bit of slack. He wriggled some more, keeping his eyes trained on the crowd, who were all still watching their charismatic leader. None of them were watching him.
With a quick wince, he pulled his wrist free, with the other one soon to follow. Quick as he could, he tugged the ropes away from his ankles.
“He’s getting away!” One of the cultists shouted. Crowley peeled the ropes away and broke into a run, the bottoms of his feet burning from the blessed ground. Miracle. Miracle. Just use a miracle….too tired. He didn’t have any energy left to use one, all of his strength was focused on running.
There was a pounding of feet behind him and before he could start speeding up, he was tackled to the ground, two or three bodies piled on top of him, grabbing at his arms and hoisting him to his feet and dragging him back toward the altar. A few more people joined the struggle. One harsh hand was tugging on his bicep while someone else had a firm grip on his shoulder. Crowley jolted forward in his attempt to wiggle free but while the rest of his body fell forward, his arm stayed behind. There was a sickening pop and a throbbing pain bloomed from his shoulder. A loud cry burst from him as he was dragged back into the illuminated circle. As soon as his feet were back on the cobblestone, the burns broke out over the soles of his feet again.
The cultists roughly pulled him back to the altar where Elder Samuel was waiting with a dark grin on his face.
“Such a disobedient creature.” Elder Samuel purred, tucking a finger under Crowley’s chin. “This could have been easy, but your kind never likes to cooperate, do they?”
Crowley continued to squirm, though by now it was unclear if it was due to him attempting to escape, his body responding to the throbbing pain in his body and the chill in the night air, or if the fear was beginning to manifest and take a toll. Either way, he couldn’t stop shivering.
One of the cultists gathered the ropes from the bottom of the altar and brought them to Elder Samuel. Another wandered off towards the edge of the circle where there was a small pile of equipment. The grabbed a bucket and a large plastic pitcher. A chill ran through Crowley as the cultist unscrewed the lid over the mouth of the pitcher and poured a clear liquid into the bucket. Holy water.
Crowley began thrashing even more as they brought the bucket to Samuel, who smiled as he gathered the rope and dropped it into the bucket.
“No! No you can’t!” Crowley screeched as Elder Samuel fished the rope back out, holy water dripping form the fibers.
“Hold him steady, brothers.” He instructed.
The five or so cultists manhandled Crowley the rest of the way to the altar and sat him back down. One pulled his hands back above his head, jolting his dislocated arm. Another cry of pain came form the demon. The others grabbed hold of his ankles and pulled his legs back.
“Hold still now.” Elder Samuel instructed with a grin as he began to tie Crowley to the altar once more. The second the rope touched his skin, the most intense, burning pain Crowley had ever experienced broke out over him. Coursing through every cell and atom of his corporation, burning him, eating away at his essence. It was slow, it would take at least a day to fully destroy him if the ropes weren’t removed before then but it was still agonizing and utterly excruciating.
Samuel pulled the ropes around his wrists as tight as he could, tying them off with a thick knot, then moved to Crowley’s ankles, suspending him to the pillar. But he wasn’t done. With the leftover length, he wrapped around and then wove it between the pillar and Crowley’s body and then looping back around again, tying down Crowley’s hips, and then under his thighs, before pulling it back up to his hips and tying the loose ends together. With a tug, he pulled the extra length, fully suspending Crowley to the altar. He was stuck where he sat, unable to move at all. Any small movements he managed were quelled with a shot of pain from wherever the rope touched him.
“There we are.” Elder Samuel said, his voice smooth. “That’s much better.” He looked over his handiwork and gave Crowley’s cheek a quick pat. “You won’t go squirming away again, little demon.” Another cultist brought forward a tray bearing an empty bowl, a pristine white rag, a small cup of herbs, a dagger made from Damascus steel, and a small pitcher, filled with more holy water.
“W-what are you going to do to me?” Crowley croaked, the fear beginning to turn to ice in his veins. Elder Samuel turned towards him, that gleeful grin had yet to leave his face.
“Whatever God wills.”
The group of people that had grabbed him gave the ropes one final tug before rejoining the rest of the crowd. Crowley’s struggles were much weaker this time around, every movement sent a tongue of fire through his veins. The pain was starting to become unbearable and for a moment, he thought he’d lose consciousness, but when his eyes started to drift closed, a harsh slap brought him back out of it. One of the cultists, a woman who couldn’t have been older than 25, was standing by him with a scowl on her face. He couldn’t even be granted the mercy of being unconscious before he was destroyed. They were going to keep him awake and aware the entire time.
“Please no!” Crowley begged. “Stop! Please don’t do this!” He began to squirm some more but the burn of the ropes against his skin made any kind of movement impossible. Another shot of fear pulsed through him. Fuck was he crying? He was! Tears of humiliation and terror were pouring from his eyes.
“Let me go!” Crowley shouted as he watched the elder take the little jug of holy water and pour it into the bowl, mixing it with the cup of herbs.
“Lord in Heaven!” Elder Samuel began. “We ask your favor and forgiveness for our transgressions agains your holy will!” He took the rag and dropped it into the water, the fabric becoming soaked within a few seconds.
“Let me go please! Have mercy!” It was humiliating that he had to sink to begging a group of humans but he had no other choice. His miracles were blocked and he couldn’t move. His only hope was to appeal to their emotional side. Crowley usually considered himself a prideful creature and he would never resort to such sniveling, but if he didn’t swallow his pride, he’d be destroyed. Besides, humans had been created with some small sprinkling of empathy.
The sound of Crowley’s plea made Elder Samuel pause, his movements going stiff as he snapped his head towards Crowley. For the first time that night, the grin was gone from his face.
He stormed over to the demon, rage in his eyes as he grabbed a fistful of auburn hair.
“Mercy?” He snarled. “Did you honestly have the gall to ask us for mercy?” He released Crowley’s hair and delivered a sharp smack to his cheek. “You listen here, demon, and you listen well. You are filth. The spawn of Satan. The closest thing to mercy you deserve is being wiped from existence.”
Crowley’s trembling worsened as Elder Samuel delivered another smack to his cheek before wiping his hands on his robe and turning back towards the crowd.
“Brothers and sisters, see how this disgusting creature of darkness begs for mercy? Is it not convincing?” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “Let this serve as a reminder to you. Demons are masterful manipulators, they can emulate any emotion to try and obtain your soul. You must resist the advances of the dark on at every turn!”
He picked up the soaked rag and the knife, rubbing the wet fabric across the blade while murmuring some kind of blessing. Even if Crowley couldn’t hear it, being so close still made his ears hurt.
“Stop! Please! Don’t do this!” Crowley begged.
As soon as the knife was glistening with holy water, Elder Samuel turned back to Crowley. The cultist standing next to the pillar grabbed a fistful of Crowley’s hair, pulling his head back with a painful yank and exposing his throat.
“Take heart, little demon.” Elder Samuel said, the sudden rage gone from his voice. Now it was sickeningly gentle, like he was trying to soothe a frightened child. “Once the ritual is complete, you will be cleansed, your existence as a minion of Lucifer will have ended and you will find peace in oblivion.”
He stepped closer to Crowley, setting a warm hand on his cheek. Had the circumstances been different, if he weren’t caught in the middle of a cult gathering about to be sacrificed, if it were just him and Aziraphale, he would have welcomed a similar touch. But this wasn’t a different circumstance, this wasn’t Aziraphale. This was real and this was dangerous. He didn’t have the luxury of escaping into a fantasy or even escaping period. He was going to die.
Wait. There was a chance…
Elder Samuel took another step closer and pressed the knife to Crowley’s throat, the demon could feel the blade resting under his Adam’s apple. The holy water began to sear the skin on his neck, a hissing noise and thin tails of steam rising from just about his collar one. Another scream of pain came from Crowley’s throat as Elder Samuel began chanting in Lain, the other cultists joining in. With a firm press forward, the knife dug into Crowley’s skin and he could feel blood beginning to trickle down his chest.
He had no other choice. He had to try.
“Aziraphale!” He shrieked, turning his eyes to the sky. “Aziraphale please!”
Elder Samuel grinned as he began to slide the knife across Crowley’s throat. The pain was beginning to claim the demon when he saw a glint over the Elder’s shoulder. One of the cultists gasped and a few more began murmuring to each other as the wind began to pick up. One by one, the torches were extinguished and replaced with a strong, pure white glow. Elder Samuel whirled around, mouth agape as a figure appeared at the center. Crowley squinted as the figure began to take shape. A familiar round face was twisted into an angry scowl, eyes that were usually blue were blazing with holy light. Two pairs of soft, white wings spread to either side. Instead of the usual cream colored suit, waistcoat, and bowtie, he was wearing a white robe with golden trim, similar to what he was wearing when they met on the wall of Eden, though his chest was also covered in a golden plate of armor.
Crowley had never seen Azirpahale like this before. He’d only seen him as the gentle bookseller, who fussed about his suit getting dirty. Aziraphale only went full warrior of God when he was truly angry.
In short, somebody was in big trouble.
There was a beat of silence before Elder Samuel spoke up. “Brothers and sisters in Christ, the Lord has sent us His messenger to grant us His favor. Truly-”
“You’ve certainly earned something, but it sure as hell isn’t anyone’s favor.” Aziraphale snarled.
Elder Samuel paled slightly, a nervous smile on his lips.
“But, sir angel, we thought you’d be pleased-”
Aziraphale snapped his fingers and there was a quick yelp of pain and a bleat. In a blink, there was a goat where Elder Samuel had been. A collective gasp broke through the crowd as Elder…as the goat let out another distressed bleat and looked up at. The angel gave the goat a scowl before addressing the crowd.
“Let this serve as a lesson to all you who try to obtain too much power over Her creation. There is still much you have yet to understand, foolish humans.” He snapped his fingers and the entire crowd shifted to bleating goats. “Now go on, off with the lot of you. Pray that I don’t hear word of these horrid gatherings again or next time it will be permanent.”
The goats took off in every direction as Aziraphale let out a breath. The glow faded from his body and the robe and armor melted away, revealing his regular suit underneath. He tucked his wings back into the aether, rolling his shoulders and giving his back a stretch as he surveyed the area.
“What bothersome people.” The angel muttered as he dusted himself off. “That should teach them to try and-“ His stormy eyes fell onto the altar where Crowley was still tied, shivering and bleeding. “Crowley!” He gasped, rushing over.
“A-angel…?” Crowley breathed, more tears coming to his eyes.
“Oh dear Lord, what have they done to you?” A soft, plump hand laid itself over the demon’s cheek, brushing the tears away.
“Aziraphale…Aziraphale I-I…”
“It’s alright, my love. Let’s get you down from there.” Azirpahale eyed the Damascus steel knife at Crowley’s feet and picked it up, wincing as soon as he sensed the holy essence of the blade. “They…they wouldn’t…”
“They would.” Crowley murmured, doing his best to calm down. “And they were going to.” A tremble brushed over his body.
Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on Crowley’s knee before he began cutting the ropes. Crowley tried to keep it together, he honestly did. But the exhaustion, the pain, the absolute roller coaster his mind had gone through, and the crushing fear and looming threat of being utterly destroyed was just too much.
Aziraphale made quick work of the knots and as soon as they were cut, he gave the holy dagger a stern look and it turned to dust in his palm. His swift hands pulled the ropes away and Crowley’s exhausted body crumpled forward into the angel’s waiting arms.
“I don’t think you’re strong enough to make it back to the bookshop in a single jump. Or even to England in general for that matter.” He said as he sapped his fingers, pulling a soft handkerchief into existence and pressing it against Crowley’s throat. “Keep that there for me, dearest?” He instructed. After a few breaths, Crowley’s hand replaced Aziraphale’s, the angel giving him a gentle smile. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.” He said as he closed his eyes and took a breath. “Oh!” They popped back open. “There’s a little cabin about four miles from here that’s been recently abandoned.”
He gathered the demon in his arms and brought out the two pairs of wings again. He beat one set in a mighty flap, lifting them both into the sky, and wrapped the other in a feathery cocoon around Crowley’s body. The demon buried his face into Azirpahale’s shoulder, doing his best to hold off the wave of tears that threatened to overcome him.
“Sh sh sh.” Azirpahale soothed. “It’s alright, my darling,”
Soon enough, they touched down in front of a small log cabin, just on the edge of a set of woods. The door was obediently waiting open for them and there was already a roaring fire in the fire place and a soft bed with extra pillows and blankets.
Azirpahale tucked his wings away as he nudged the door closed behind them and set Crowley down onto the bed.
“You can move this now.” He said, gently guiding Crowley’s hand and the handkerchief from the slit on Crowley’s neck, tracing a finger just under where the skin had broken. The gash slowly began to knit back together but the burns that flecked all over his skin stayed where they were.
“I’m afraid these will have to heal the old fashioned way.” Aziraphale said sadly. “But that won’t stop me from trying to soothe them a bit.”
he took the bloodied handkerchief and snapped it clean before miracling a little bedside table with a jar of ointment and a bowl of water sitting on top.
Crowley flinched and jerked away, the horrible aching pain breaking over his shoulder again.
“Crowley!” Azirpahale let out a gasp as he sat down on the bed in front of the demon. “What is it? Where’s the pain?”
“S-shoulder…” Crowley groaned.
Aziraphale gently lifted his hand before hesitating. “I’m going to need to touch you. Is that okay, love?” Crowley nodded as the angel seated himself next to him at the head of the bed and moved his arm behind Crowley’s back, cupping his shoulder. With a few quick murmurs, the muscles knit back together and the joint shifted back into place.
The angel guided Crowley so he was laying on his back and looked toward the bowl of water before snapping his fingers and turning it into a bottle. He soaked the handkerchief before looking at Crowley. “May I?” Crowley nodded again and the angel gently blotted the rag against Crowley’s neck, soothing the burn and cleaning the trail of blood from the demon’s chest. As carefully as he could manage, he soothed the burns on Crowley’s wrists, ankles, legs, and hips, then applying some burn ointment to the afflicted areas as well.
“Can you sit up for me?”
Crowley propped himself up onto his elbows but had to be helped up the rest of the way. The demon laid his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder as the angel gently pressed the cool rag to the sigils burned into his back and applied ointment to them as well.
A pause came to the angel’s movements when he saw the shivers wracking Crowley’s body. He looked at the demon’s face, seeing the way he was biting his lip and forcing himself not to cry.
“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, a pain in his voice.
With a snap of his fingers, Crowley’s body was covered with a set of warm wool pajamas that were a soft berry red. His long tangled locks had been cleaned and brushed back into a smooth tail.
The angel pulled Crowley close as he tugged the blanket around the demon’s shoulders.
“There we are,” he cooed, “nice and warm.”
“Angel…Angel I…I…” Crowley buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and began to sob.
“It’s alright, my love. It’s alright.” Aziraphale soothed, kissing the top of the demon’s forehead.
Crowley weakly clutched at Azirpahale’s coat, sobbing and hiccuping. Tomorrow he’d deny this ever happening, but for right now, he simply let himself be comforted.
“Aziraphale, I…I thought…”
“Sssshh.” Azirpahale crooned. “I’ve got you. It’s over now. I won’t let them hurt you again. You’re safe.”
Crowley continued to sob and hold Azirpahale as tight as he could, and the angel would let him for as long as he needed.
But even with all the fear, Crowley couldn’t deny that he felt safe. The warmth of Aziraphale's arms, the soft pajamas and fine blankets, the crackle of the fire, they were all his protection, fighting against the darkness and the cold just outside the window.
Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead again, whispering into the smooth red locks.
“You’re safe.”