Chapter Text
1050 AD London
“Kill me.”
“What?” Aziraphale stares, horrified, and Crowley grits his teeth. They do not have time for this.
“Discorporate me. Whatever. Look. You said Gabriel is coming. We don’t have time to figure out how to break this blessed circle, and there’s no way he’ll let me live if he finds me here. You’ll have to send me back to Hell. It’s the only way.” They’ve already tried so much, and nothing has worked. This is the best-crafted summoning circle he’d ever been caught in. If he wasn’t currently facing potential death at the hands of an archangel, he’d admire the summoner’s skill. Now, though, it’s just one more bad thing to happen in a string of bad things that is making this his third-worst day ever. (The first, of course, being the day he got kicked out of Heaven for asking perfectly reasonable questions. Don’t ask about the second.)
“NO! Absolutely not .” Aziraphale shakes his head, standing back and holding his hands up, palm out, empty, helpless. And Crowley hates, hates that he put him in this position. But here they are.
He hadn’t meant to call for help, is the thing. He hadn’t been thinking, when those blessed humans caught him in a devil’s trap. He’d just felt himself being summoned and panicked. He hadn’t even realized what he’d done, until the angel had burst through the door, eyes alight with Heavenly wrath. The humans had taken one look at him and ran, leaving behind theirs scrolls and weapons and one very trapped demon.
Aziraphale had already spent most of the day now trying to free Crowley from the summoning circle, until he had remembered it was nearly time for his once-a-century check-in with Gabriel. That it was scheduled for that afternoon. And that Gabriel had told him to go about his day as usual. That when he was ready, he would come to Aziraphale.
“Angel, we don’t have time .” Crowley beats his hands against the clear barrier surrounding him, producing a ringing sound. It’s just empty space to the angel, but the minute his hand hits the border of the circle painted in blood (whose blood? He wonders. The summoners? Some hapless victim? Some poor animal? Not that it matters now, of course.) it becomes as hard as stone. They have maybe an hour, maybe as little as five minutes, and no way to break this circle without the human who created it.
Aziraphale steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “There has to be another way.”
“Don’t be stupid. There is no other way, ” Crowley growls, fear and anger getting the best of him. A flash of hurt crosses Aziraphale’s face, and guilt settles heavy in his gut.
“I’m not going to discorporate you, Crowley. No matter how much you snap at me. How do I know Hell won’t just keep you down there and send someone else up instead next time?” He tucks his hands under his arms and takes another step back for further emphasis.
“Better than Gabriel killing me,” Crowley says bitterly. “Better to be alive in Hell, than caught like a rat in a trap and let some bloody archangel smite me.” He doesn’t want to be discorporated. Doesn’t want the risk that, this time, Hell will be so upset with him for destroying his body they’ll force him to stay down there, where he’ll never see the angel again. Unfortunately, he really doesn’t see another choice.
Aziraphale’s expression cracks, and Crowley sighs, pressing both hands against the barrier and leaning against it. “You know that’s what will happen if Gabriel finds me here.”
“I could leave,” Aziraphale offers, “Draw him away and come back when he’s gone…”
“And risk him coming through here looking for you?” Crowley says, knowing it’s a distinct possibility.
“Maybe I can rip out the floor, break it that way?” He suggests, not looking at the demon.
“We tried that already,” Crowley reminds him, pointing to a section of the floor where they’d pulled up wood and stone all the way down to the dirt. The circle remained, even after they dug down, the spell that formed it sunk deep into the earth.
“What about-“
“Angel.” His voice is strained, full of barely-repressed terror. It isn’t just what Gabriel will do to him , if he finds them both here like this. It’s what he’ll do to Aziraphale that frightens Crowley the most. He knows just what Heaven can do, if it decides you’ve broken the rules. They’ll destroy Crowley, sure enough. He won’t be able to care what happens after that. But Aziraphale… the angel might just find himself with a one-way ticket to a boiling sulfur lake.
Aziraphale shakes his head. “I can’t , Crowley. I won’t do it. You can’t ask it of me.”
Crowley tries on a grin, despite the urgency, the knowledge that’s tearing at his bones that it’s time to run away . “Oh, come on. You can do it. I’ll be downstairs for a decade at most. You’ll get some nice quiet time to do whatever it is you do when I’m not around to pester you. And then I’ll be right back up topside to annoy you again in a decade, tops.”
When Aziraphale doesn’t move, he scowls. “I know for a fact you’ve discorporated demons before. I’m no different from any of them.” Aziraphale flinches, and the guilt sticks in his throat, along with his fear.
Aziraphale studies the floor. “You are though,” he says, almost too quietly for Crowley to hear.
“Look at me.” Crowley presses against the invisible wall, leaning on it with all of his weight. “Aziraphale, look at me.”
Aziraphale raises his head, and Crowley is startled to see unshed tears in his eyes.
“What if Hell doesn’t send you back?” He asks quietly.
Crowley blinks. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Aziraphale was really worried about him , and not just getting a worse demon as a replacement. He came when you called for him , a voice whispers in the back of his mind. If he didn’t care, why would he have come? He silences it with a mental snarl. The angel would never feel something like that for something like him. No matter what he’d like to believe.
“Short of a contract, I can’t promise they will,” Crowley tells him. “But, listen, even if they do send someone else, it won’t matter too much. They won’t know Earth like you and I, they’ll be easy to thwart until they get their bearings. Easy points for you with - “ he points up, indicating Heaven. “So, hey, everybody wins. I don’t get smited, you get an easy adversary, and your boss never figures out you helped a demon.”
But Aziraphale isn’t listening. His eyes are on the scroll, left open on a partially-collapsed table. The contract the humans had been attempting to make him sign.
“What would happen,” he asks slowly. “If we did have a contract?”
“What? No. No, no no. Angel, you don’t want a contract with me.” Crowley shakes his head, backing away until he comes up against the barrier behind him. The circle is disturbingly small. It squeezes at him, the magic flaring up and gripping him tight. Answer the question , it insists. Answer Answer Answer .
Crowley growls and grits his teeth, trying to resist the compulsion.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale asks again, eyes still on the scroll oblivious to his struggle. “What would happen if we had a contract.”
Pain runs white-hot along his spine and he bites his lip. He doesn’t want to answer that. He holds out for ten seconds. Longer than most demons have ever been able to resist inside a summoning circle.
“Fine,” he gasps, when he can bear it no longer. “It’s binding. No matter where I go, the magic of the contract will force me to comply. If you make your condition my safe return to Earth, Hell will have no choice but to give me a new body. I’d be back up in record time.”
“So it would work?” Aziraphale looks at him now, and Crowley sighs.
“Sure. Price of one discorporation - must return to the angel. I get discorporated and not smited. You don’t get caught with a demon. I get to use the whole ‘tempted and angel into a contract’ angle to get out of any punishment for destroying my body. The contract compels them to give me a new one, and as soon as I have one it drags me topside.” It would work. Someone, he wants it to work. It would be so much better getting sent down with something to ensure he’d be able to return. He just doesn’t think the angel will be willing to deal with the consequences.
“But,” he adds quickly, when he sees Aziraphale’s hand reaching for the scroll. “It would bind you to me. For the duration of the contract, we’d be bound on a metaphysical level. Essence to essence. And I’m sure you don’t want yours tainted with-“
“That’s fine.”
“What?” He stares at Aziraphale.
“I said that’s fine. Unless you don’t want it.”
“I don’t,” he lies. And the magic of the circle seizes him, causing pain like a thousand needles plunged into his skin all over. “Ah, ow ow, okay, okay, I want it.” The pain fades immediately. He curses. “Bloody spell.”
“What happened?” Aziraphale looks at him with concern.
“Blessed thing won’t let me lie.”
The angel frowns at him. “Well, why did you, then?”
Crowley sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. “Because you’re not thinking. A contract would require you, an angel, to be bound metaphysically to a demon. You don’t want that.”
“Maybe I prefer that to the thought of losing you,” Aziraphale snaps, and Crowley freezes.
“Aziraphale-“
“No,” Aziraphale picks up the scroll, glaring at him. “Don’t ‘Aziraphale’ me. You told me yourself this is the only way to be sure Hell won’t replace you for getting discorporated. You’re not opposed to the idea. I don’t see the problem.”
“I’m not opposed to the idea,” Crowley snaps. “But you should be . This is a demonic contract , Aziraphale. Not some gentleman’s agreement.”
Aziraphale glares at him. “And I don’t care . You said yourself, we don’t have time. If this is how we have to do it, then we’re doing it with insurance. I refuse to be the reason you get stuck in Hell forever.”
They stare at each other, neither one backing down, and for the first time Crowley feels something, a strong emotion, leaking from the angel. Something that smells and tastes a lot like fear. He is worried about me. The revelation stuns him. Aziraphale is worried about me .
“Alright.” The word slips out, even before he knows he’s going to do it.
“Good.” Aziraphale shakes out the scroll, and the human’s writing falls away.
“Demon Crowley,” he intones. “For the price of one discorporation and rescue from certain death, you will return to me, the angel Aziraphale, with all due haste.” He makes a gesture, and the blank scroll is suddenly filled with his own fluid handwriting in enochian, spelling out the terms of the contract. He then presses his finger to the bottom of the scroll, leaving an imprint of his thumb in soft blue light.
“So it is written, so shall it be,” Crowley says, grinning a little at the irony of it all. When Aziraphale offers him the scroll, his own thumbprint glows red next to the angel’s.
Aziraphale rolls it up, satisfied, then pauses, frowning. “Wait… shouldn’t I feel something? The spell should be taking hold. Did we do something wrong?”
Crowley scratches his head, unsure. “No, I don’t think… oh.” His stomach drops. “Bugger.” There’s a reason he doesn’t like doing contracts, one he’d all but forgotten after years of squirming out of every one he’s ever been called to make.
“What?” Aziraphale asks, curious.
“Uh.” He chews on his tongue, clenching his jaw against the pull of the magic that burns up his spine.
“What is it?” Aziraphale insists, and Crowley winces as the circle surges against him, urging him to answer.
“Forget it. You don’t have to do the contract. Let’s just- let’s just forget it, ok? You’ve got my word. Even if Hell doesn’t send me back, I’ll make it back up anyway.”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale stares at him, not moving.
The circle burns him, pressing down on him like a boulder on his chest.
“Wehavetosealit,” he says, so fast the words all run into each other, and the weight and the pain fade away.
“We have to… what was that?” The angel tilts his head, watching him.
“Seal it.” Crowley sighs, sinking down to a defeated crouch and letting his head hang low, surrounding his vision with a curtain of red curls. “We have to exchange a sign of our… intent to seal the deal.” This day really is his worst nightmare. Trapped, helpless, having to call on the angel for help, and now, having to ask him for the one thing above all he knows he’ll never give. Bad enough he knows it’ll never happen. Bad enough that his bones ache with how much he wants it. But to have to ask for it, after already asking so much else of him? Perhaps, he thinks, he should just let Gabriel come for him. At this rate, death might be a kindness.
“Forget it,” he says again, not looking up. “You don’t have to do it. You’ve got my word. Even without the contract, I’ll find a way to come back. I swear on… on my life.” It’s really the only thing he has that he can swear on.
Unseen by the demon, Aziraphale’s eyes soften, and concern takes over his face. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I trust you. But I don’t trust Hell. I won’t discorporate you without some insurance to know they won’t keep you this time.”
A large part of Crowley wants to believe he’s fighting this hard to keep him around because he likes Crowley. But if he’s being honest with himself he knows that can’t be it. He probably just wants Crowley around because he’s used to him. They’ve got a comfortable sort of working relationship now, and a new adversary would negate the years of work they both have done to improve their working conditions here on Earth.
Aziraphale walks up to the edge of the circle by Crowley’s feet and crouches down, separated from the demon by just a thin red line. “How do we seal the contract?”
“Kiss me.” He doesn’t wait for the circle to try to force it out of him. He just says it. And hates himself for doing so. Hates the instant of refusal he sees in Aziraphale’s eyes. Hates Hell for deciding that this was how contracts would be sealed.
“What?” There’s a tremor in his voice, and Crowley hates himself a little more.
“You have to kiss me,” he repeats. “And, while you do, think of why it is you’re doing it. Your intentions for the contract. The exchange of intent and of - of bodily fluid will be enough. It will bind me to you until both of our intentions are met.”
“Alright,” Aziraphale says simply, and Crowley falls back in shock, staring up at him with his jaw hanging open.
“Alright?” He asks, stunned. If he didn’t know better, he would be absolutely convinced he was dreaming.
“Yes.” Aziraphale reaches out to him through the circle.
Crowley backs away, until he runs into the wall again. “We could find another way. Something else-“
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, almost gently. “You said it yourself. There is no other way.”
He watches Crowley, holding out a hand to him, as if this was as simple as offering a sheltering wing to hide from the rain. And maybe to him, it is.
“Please, Crowley,” he pleads. “We really don’t have much time now.”
He can feel it now. The approach of something holy. Finely tuned senses have picked up on the oncoming danger, and are screaming at him to run. To stay away. It says something, he thinks, that he never got that kind of warning off from Aziraphale. And that the angel never seems to get that kind of warning from him .
He gives in.
“Alright, angel. Have it your way.” He stands, moving back to the side of the circle within Aziraphale’s reach.
“Remember,” he says, as the angel reaches for him. “Intent matters.”
“You will make it back,” Aziraphale says fiercely, and grips his shirt, pulling him as close as the barrier will allow. And then he’s there, soft lips pressing against his, at first tentative, and then more demanding, drawing him in. And it’s… it’s everything Crowley had imagined it would be, those long nights when he lies awake and dreams of what he cannot have. He smells familiar, comforting, like old parchment, petrichor, and cocoa. His strong hands grip Crowley tight and hold him with something almost like desperation. And the kiss… Crowley has been kissed before. Entered into contracts before. But he’s never once felt it like this, electric, powerful, the magic of it singing in his blood and making him feel alive. He would give anything in the world, even his own life, to stay right here, kissing Aziraphale just like this, for the rest of eternity.
And then, the contract takes hold. He can feel it, burning into his skin like a brand just above his heart. All of Aziraphale’s intent flooding into him, marking him all the way down to his true form. It settles into his bones, and he gasps from the strength of it. It hurts . Aziraphale’s emotions rip through him, so strong it’s like a tidal wave. For an instant all he can feel is his desperation, his fear, and his love.
His love.
Crowley’s eyes fly open at the realization. There’s no mistaking it. Not when it’s been burned into him down to what passes for his soul. Aziraphale. Loves him.
They break apart. Panting. Both of them looking utterly destroyed.
“Angel…” Crowley gasps. “You-“
“Crowley, I-“ Aziraphale starts at the same time. And at the same time they both stop. Frozen. All of Crowley’s danger senses come alive, screaming at him to flee. To flee now . They’re out of time. Gabriel is here.
“Angel, now!” Crowley points to a fallen sword. “Do it now!” He can feel Gabriel’s approach, the stench of Heaven so close now it burns like salt on a wound.
Aziraphale nods, jaw tight. He takes up a weapon, closes his eyes, and rams it straight through Crowley’s corporeal heart.
There is an instant of blinding pain. And then, lights out.
Aziraphale stares at the pile of sand and ash that had, moments earlier, been Crowley. His numb, shaking hands still hold the sword and he tries not to look at it for fear of what he might see. He feels like being ill, though of course as an angel he’s never actually thrown up. He can still feel the sick sensation of his blade sliding through Crowley’s flesh, grating against bone and piercing his heart.
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel appears at his side, smiling that too-wide false smile. For the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale allows himself a flare of anger for this angel, without whom he would have had time to find a better way to free Crowley from this trap. He swallows it down along with his revulsion and panic, fixing a pleasant expression on his face.
“Hello Gabriel.” He drops the sword to the table beside him, knocking over some candles and scattering a few occult books. One tiny miracle, and the scroll with the contract goes skidding under the table, out of sight. “So good to see you,”
“Of course, of course.” Gabriel’s smile doesn’t falter as he takes in the destroyed room around them. Aziraphale notes with shock that he had somehow managed to tear apart the tapestries on the wall, as well as the furniture and ritual pieces placed around the summoning circle. He hadn’t been thinking at all when he came in, too caught up in the desperate need to protect his demon.
He’d been in the middle of a particularly fascinating scroll on a newly discovered astronomical pattern when he felt it, a wave of pure terror carrying one word - his name. He’d dropped the scroll at once, expending a miracle to travel instantly to the place where the call had originated. He’d appeared just outside the door, in time to hear the humans threatening Crowley and demanding he give them their desires. Then, he had heard Crowley cry out in pain. And that had been his last rational thought before he came to in the middle of the room, the humans fled, the room destroyed, and one terrified demon huddled in the center of a summoning circle from which he could not escape.
“Oh, um.” He fidgeted under Gabriel’s gaze, certain his loss of control was more than obvious to the archangel. “This is… I can explain.”
Gabriel gestures for him to continue, still wearing that awful too-wide smile, like he’s only ever heard what a smile was before trying it on.
“I. Ah…” how did he explain this, anyway?
Gabriel’s attention strays to the pile of ash inside the circle. “Was that a demon?” He asks, walking over to poke at it with a finger, bringing it up to his nose to sniff. Aziraphale’s nonexistent stomach nearly revolts.
“That was- yes. Yes, that was the demon Crowley. Just discorporated, I’m afraid.”
Gabriel looks impressed. “You discorporated him?”
“Yes.” He tries to look pleased with himself. “I had to act fast, you see. I caught these humans in the process of summoning him, planning to enter into an evil contract. I arrived just in time to, er, show them the error of their ways.”
“Fantastic!” Gabriel’s praise is as sincere as his smile. “This is impressive Aziraphale. Very impressive. It might even earn you a commendation.”
“Oh. Um. I- thank you.” His stomach churns. He doesn’t want a commendation for this. There is no triumph in this.
“Yes.” Gabriel claps his hands once and rubs them together, clearly pleased about something. “This is good. Hell will take a while to send someone up to replace their agent, and we can take the opportunity to get ahead with our blessings. They may not even send Crowley next time, which I’m sure will be a relief to you.”
“Yes, quite.” Gabriel doesn’t even seem to hear him, which is just as well.
“Well.” The archangel grins at him. “It looks like you have things in hand here. Submit your paperwork for this and I’ll see to it you get that commendation.”
“I- I will. Thank you.” He tries to focus his thoughts on how miserable the paperwork will be. There’s twelve forms he’ll have to fill out just for interrupting a summoning. The pile of papers for discorporating a demon are even worse.
“Excellent. Then we’re all done here. See you in another hundred years or so. Mind you clean up this mess, we wouldn’t want some hapless human coming in and accidentally activating that summoning ritual.” He doesn’t even give Aziraphale a chance to reply. He just vanishes, leaving the angel alone in the destroyed, empty room.
Aziraphale sighs in relief. That was far too close a call. He falls back into the chair that conveniently appears behind him, and stares at the circle.
He can feel the magic of the contract, if he looks for it, settling into his essence as easily as if it belonged there from the start. He raises a hand to his lips, where he can still feel a faint tingling and the ghost of Crowley’s lips on his. Yes. This had been far too close a call, in more ways than one. In his fear for the demon he had come far too close to admitting his feelings for him. Silly feelings, of course. There was no way Crowley could ever reciprocate. And if what he felt became known… well. He didn’t want to think about that. Crowley would never have agreed to a contract like that. Unless he did it out of obligation, perhaps. But then he would come back to dissolve the contract, and then he would vanish. Or maybe Aziraphale would get lucky and he would stay, but everything would be different. Aziraphale can’t believe that he’d ever use his feelings against him, but it would be clear he didn’t reciprocate. In time, the friction between them would become too much. They would fight. And he would leave again, this time for good. No, it would be best if he never found out.
Still, his absence hurt. Aziraphale can feel the hole in the world where Crowley normally was. That place that is his and his alone, suddenly empty and gaping. It aches, like a phantom limb. He can only hope that the demon will hold up his end of the bargain.
“Return to me,” he says quietly, staring at the place where Crowley had been. “Wherever you go, however long you stay. Return to me.”