Tight Trouser Never Won Fair Angel

Chapter Fifteen (And The World Falls Down)

Sometimes things have sad endings. Sometimes things have happy endings. Sometimes whether an ending is happy or sad is entirely dependent on where the ending lands.

-/-

Crowley paced the length of his tower room, hands clasped behind his back, wringing, wringing, wringing- where was that blasted fairy? He should be here by now, why hadn't he made it yet? Was he stalling? Had he run into trouble? Had he taken a wrong turning in the tunnels, tried going down one of the offshoots? Crowley let out a guttural hiss and ran his hands through his hair. No, no, he couldn't think like that. Aziraphale was fine, he would make it in time- he had to make it in time.

He'd never forgive Crowley if he didn't.

Crowley spun sharply and went over to the window to gaze out at the sands, relief flooding him when he saw the figure approaching across his desert. His shoulders sagged with relief- Aziraphale was about ten minutes away, and he had eleven minutes left- he would make it in time, barring incident.

Hopefully there would be no incident. Part of Crowley wanted to smooth the sands down before him, but he didn't- couldn't. There were rules; he was allowed, nay, encouraged to cheat, but there were certain things that had to happen on their own, one way or another. He couldn't interfere with Aziraphale's path directly, that wouldn't be... Faer.

He let out a breath and spun once more on his heel, scooping up the boy on his way by. He shooed away his goblin attendant and turned to hurry up the steps to the tower roof, where the final confrontation would take place.

Hurry, Aziraphale, he thought. You're almost out of time.

-/-

The tower in the heart of the labyrinth sat in the middle of its own oasis, more greenery- and night-blooming flowers, glowing white in the moonlight. Aziraphale spared them an admiring glance, but barely that: he had only a minute or two left, no time to smell the flowers.

The door sprang up at his touch, and Aziraphale hurried in, the door at the base taking him to top room without bothering to wait between. Aziraphale was tempted to call foul play- much as he wanted to win, winning at the cost of the Rules could lead to worse things- but he'd seen no stairs in the room he'd glimpsed through the door before entering, and could only assume that this was a normal function of the tower.

Anyway, Crowley wasn't in the room. Only a spiral staircase off to one side suggested where he might be- Aziraphale took off at a run, time was running out- he took the stairs a few at a time, using his wings to at least give him some speed even if he couldn't fly -

-he burst through the door to the roof to find Crowley lounging on the rim of a large clock, Adam perched in his lap, held carefully in place by one hand. Aziraphale crossed the roof in a few strides, reaching them, reaching out, just as the second hand ticked over, just as the first of thirteen final grains of sand sank through the slot in the timer.

"He's here, angel," Crowley said, and the clock bonged once.

"Give him to me. Please," Aziraphale begged, and the clock bonged twice.

"It doesn't have to be this way. You could stay here. Stay with me." Three. Four.

"I can't. I have a life of my own." Five. "He has a family, his parents love him." Six.

"You could change their memories. Make them forget they ever had a child at all. Or leave them a replacement, isn't that what your lot do?" Seven. Eight. Nine.

"Please." Ten.

Crowley's face crumpled. Fell. Eleven. "Then say the words, angel." Twelve.

"You have no power over me," Aziraphale murmured.