~ Crowley's Perspective ~
"SOMEBODY KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!"
Crowley's eyes snapped open. He lurched forward, crying out as he did so.
"Aziraphale!" he sobbed, feeling fresh tears pool in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. His heart was racing in fear, and his whole body shook.
"It's alright, my dear." a soft voice whispered. Crowley felt Aziraphale wrap his arms around his waist and pull him close. The demon cried quietly into his shoulder, clutching the angel's coat and letting his tears soak through.
The bookshop was still dark. Crowley had fallen asleep with his angel the previous night, and they had shared a bottle of wine. Crowley peered at the walls, which were still covered in shadows. He was curled up on the sofa next to Aziraphale, the nightmare still vividly playing before his eyes. He tried to block it out, telling himself that it wasn't real. His best friend was alive and safe. Yet, flames still danced in his mind. His chest rose and fell with each shaky, weak breath.
"Angel, I'm scared!" Crowley wailed. Aziraphale gave his hand a tight, comforting squeeze and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Warmth blossomed inside Crowley at the tenderness of Aziraphale's touch.
"I'll stay right here, Crowley," Aziraphale said, his words softer than feathers. The demon was immensely grateful for Aziraphale's kindness. This was a large portion of why Crowley was... a 'nice' demon. All the things Aziraphale said and did for him made Crowley want to do the same.
He was also madly in love with Aziraphale. This, an obvious fact to seemingly everyone but Aziraphale, makes Crowley feel like he has to protect Aziraphale with his life. Lately, he'd been failing miserably at this task. Aziraphale had been severely hurt so many times, and yet, he was cuddling with Crowley, one hand on the demon's chest, and the other tangled in his red hair.
"Shhh, Crowley, my dear, stop crying. You're safe," the angel said quietly. He continued to run his fingers through Crowley's hair, the other over his heart.
"I-I can't p-protect you!" Crowley sobbed, his own hand flying up to grasp Aziraphale's. He could feel his heart beating incredibly fast still as tears welled in his eyes.
"My dear, you've been protecting me this whole time. It's my turn now."
"No!" the demon cried, "I f-failed! I l-let Beelzebub hurt you a-and then the h-hellfire... And I don't w-want you to be hurt b-because I love you!"
Aziraphale gazed at Crowley with pale blue ocean eyes. They twinkled with adoration, and Aziraphale gently brought Crowley close to his chest.
"I forgive you." the angel said.
This brought the demon a fresh wave of sadness and relief, causing him to cry more.
"Crowley, look at me." Aziraphale told him. Crowley obeyed, his lips quivering. Aziraphale titled his chin up, "Please don't cry. Go back to sleep."
"If I fall asleep, will you promise me you'll be safe?"
The angel nodded, holding Crowley's still shaking body.
"I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."
"I love you," Crowley whispered.
Crowley fell asleep before he could hear Aziraphale say he loved him back.
~ Aziraphale's Perspective ~
The next morning, Aziraphale was still next to Crowley. He had cradled the demon in his arms the whole night, fulfilling his promise to stay. The angel watched as Crolwey's serpentine eyes softly blinked awake and stared at him, a warm smile twisting onto his face. Aziraphale returned the gesture.
"Good morning, Angel," Crowley yawned, stretching. Aziraphale moved across the sofa, straightening against the cushions. Crowley's yellow eyes were as round as the moon, his pupils dilating as he looked at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale loved it when his eyes did that.
As if on command, Crowley shot up and looked around.
"Where are my sunglasses?" he fretted, "Aziraphale, where are they?!"
"Hush, my dear," Aziraphale said, "There are no humans here."
"I don't need them just for the humans," Crowley snapped.
"Oh? What are the other reasons?"
"Well..." Crowley flushed, clearly ashamed of whatever answer he had. "My eyes are... well, you know... ugly. I already told you."
"Dear boy, they are no such thing! Your eyes are splendid." Aziraphale told him.
This only seemed to make Crowley fumble around for the glasses harder. He finally found them lying disregarded on the coffee table beside them. He snatched them up and shoved them on his face, brushing himself off.
"There." he finished, "That's better."
Aziraphale stared disapprovingly before getting up from the sofa and making his way to the front of the shop. He put on his coat, and adjusted his bow tie, running a hand through his cloud-like hair.
"I best be off," Crowley decided, standing from the sofa, "Got to water the plants."
Aziraphale simply nodded. Such strange actions of an angel and a demon, to be off watering houseplants in the middle of the war to end the world. You would have taken one look at the two and wondered whether or not they knew there was a war at all. Or whether or not they cared was probably the better question.
The answer was that they both cared immensely, but they cared more for one another.
~ Crowley's Perspective ~
The demon had driven home that afternoon in his Bentley, the black vintage car speeding along the main roads of Soho, London. It took approximately five minutes to drive from Soho to Mayfair.
Crowley could do it in three.
During the war, there was no traffic, meaning he could do it in two. His hand slid over the seat as he shifted the gears, and he whipped around the left corner. He slammed his foot on the brakes as the Bentley screeched to a halt in front of the apartments. Crowley took out his keys and locked the door behind him, sauntering over to the entrance. He took the elevator and made it to the top floor, breathing in the smell of dust. The Mayfair residences had been left vacant for the past week, all the humans who had previously owned them had fled from the war.
Crowley, on the other hand, was staying right where he was. Once, he would have wanted to run away too, using any attempt possible to get away from the war and keep Aziraphale safe. Now? Crowley had given up on all those hopes. His angel had declined the offer to go to Alpha Centauri three times now, and Crowley thought it was best to just stop wishing he would change his mind. Heaven and Hell were stupid. So, so stupid. How could either side think they could actually win this? What was even worse was the fact that Crowley, in all his optimism, still believed he and Aziraphale could win it. Heaven and Hell were fooling themselves.
Let the war go on, he thought, See how it works in your favour.
Now Crowley tossed his keys to the side as he entered his flat, glad to be back in the darkness of his home. Or, well, in the darkness of anything that wasn't Hell, really. His flat wasn't really his home, he never thought about it like that. More like something he would put his stuff in. Crowley didn't have a home. No demon did. Especially not him. Some demons might consider Hell their home - but Crowley didn't fit in there. He belonged there, because he deserved to be there, but he didn't fit in. He wasn't the same as the others.
And even if he thought he deserved to be in Hell, Aziraphale would have argued with him.
He sat down on the throne-like chair, swinging his feet onto the table and staring blankly out the window. When he looked to where he had one ankle crossed over the other, he noticed an envelope that had most definitely not been there moments before. He narrowed his eyes, taking off his sunglasses as he picked up the letter. Carefully unfolding it, he cursed three times in a row.
"Hell," he whispered to himself.
Addressed to the demon Crowley,
In regards to your inappropriate behaviour on Earth during the war, I am requesting that you report back to Hell immediately. Further instructions will be given from that point.
Hell has been more than merciful towards you.
Keep in line.
Don't try anything.
~Lord Beelzebub
Crowley swallowed in fear as he put his sunglasses back on. He was in trouble now. More than trouble. Hell never sent rude letters. Hell sent demons, dark magic and torture. He knew those weren't far off now, and he knew that there were unique torture mechanisms waiting just for him. He really did have a special place in Hell.
He wanted to call Aziraphale. He wanted to tell his angel everything, in hopes Aziraphale might comfort him. Tell him that everything would work out.
But that was Crowley's job. He was the optimist, the one who always assured the angel that everything would be alright, that it would blow over, just like the fourteenth century had. He was always the one who had to tell Aziraphale that everything was fine. It was just a letter from the Head Office. Nothing odd about it. Crowley ought to have checked up on them sooner - it was his job.
After all, he thought, It's not the end of the world.
Although, Crowley knew it was precisely that. The end of the world. Crowley grabbed his keys once more, and watched as he spared a part of his mind to insure Hell's letter went up in flames. He adjusted his leather jacket around his shoulders and fixed his glasses as he strode to the bottom of the apartments. He hopped in the Bentley and turned the keys, pressing his foot down and speeding away. He barely took notice of the trees and cars that whizzed past as he drove, his mind preoccupied with Beelzebub's threats. He skidded past three cars and a truck, watching the sun set slowly. He screeched to a stop in front of the building and threw himself out of the car, locking it behind him. He entered the building, slithering onto the elevator and feeling his stomach flip upside down. He sauntered over , calming himself down as the wooden door came into view. It swung open at his arrival, the dark stairwell inviting him in. Again, no lights to help his crappy snake eyesight.
He clutched the broken railing and slowly made his way down the stairs, his hands shaking. His breath rattled with every step, until he stopped, shaking so badly he wouldn't have been surprised if Beelzebub themself had heard.
I can't do this, he thought, feeling himself beginning to panic, I don't want to, I don't...
He shook his head violently, whimpering. He whispered Aziraphale's name, over and over, overtaken by the sudden sense of anxiety and panic. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to the cold stone wall. Then he took one big deep breath, fought back the tears in his eyes, adjusted his sunglasses and strode down the stairs. He brushed off a speck of dust from his leather jacket and ran his hand through his hair, forcing a grin onto his face and then making sure it stayed there. None of the demons in Hell could ever know he didn't have as much confidence as he portrayed - none of them could know he was afraid. If they did, they wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of a demon who was absolute shit at his job.
Crowley finally reached the bottom of the crumbling stairs and sauntered down the hallway of Hell to Beelzebub's throne room. As always, there were demons scurrying about the halls, whispering and snickering at him. It was stuffy and crowded - barely allowing room to breathe. Crowley bumped into at least three demons on the way, accidentally tripping a demon in female form, her entire face covered in smooth silver scales. He muttered an apology, then immediately straightened and snapped at her, remembering not to say anything 'nice' in Hell.
He entered the throne room, not at all surprised to see Hastur, now chain free (thanks to Aziraphale) with his arms crossed next to Beelzebub. His white hair stuck out in all the wrong places, the frog on his head glaring furiously at Crowley. Hastur's pale green eyes drilled through Crowley, who flashed him a smile. Beelzebub was slouched on their throne, the blood red sash draped across their chest and their dull blue eyes looking bored.
"Princess," began Crowley, "You called?"
"Indeed," Beelzebub mumbled, rolling her eyes at him already, "I've called you here to discuss, as I'm sure you've assumed, the war. Heaven, unfortunately, is fighting just as good as we are and everything remains balanced. An endless tie."
Can't we keep it that way? Crowley thought.
"I see." he said instead, pretending to steer his attention elsewhere.
"You've been interfering with the Great Plan."
Crowley twitched, turning his attention back towards them.
"Of course I have," he said icily, "It's my job to interfere with Heaven. You know; 'Get up there and cause some trouble'. Just as you said."
"You've been causing trouble for us down here," Beelzebub hissed, leaning forward in their throne, "And You've already escaped us once. Twice. Thrice. Stop running. It'll only get you killed. Or worse."
Crowley smiled.
"And if that's what I want?"
"I haven't got time for games, Crowley!" they bellowed, "YOU BELONG TO HELL. HOW MUCH DO YOU WANT US TO HURT YOU?"
"That wouldn't be wise, now would it? Demons turning against demons in a war against angels and God -"
"IT'S YOU TURNING US AGAINST YOU. YOUR FAULT!" Beelzebub stood up now, standing a step above Crowley so they could meet his gaze. Their breath was hot against his face, but Crowley maintained eye contact.
"And do you know why?" Beelzebub hissed.
"I thought you lot didn't like questions." Crowley said, knowing he was treading on thin ice.
"Do you know why?" they repeated, "You've fallen in love."
Crowley's heart caught in his chest.
"I see the way you act around him. Around Aziraphale. I was an angel once too."
"That... that was a long time ago," Crowley said.
"I remember what it felt like to be in love. And as demons, we are cursed never to find love again! Don't you understand that?! You can't love him! The Great Plan goes against it!"
"I don't care."
"HE CAN'T LOVE YOU! He'll hate you. He'll hate you for simply being yourself. Don't you get that?! The war will -"
"Fuck you and your stupid war!"
Beelzebub bristled, grabbing his collar.
"You stupid, pathetic, half-witted fool! You're a demon. Can't run away from that. What sort of angel is ever going to love you? We're in a war. This is Armageddon. This is The End. The war is ending soon, Crowley. Once it does, that's it. No more Earth."
"It's... it's ending?"
"Yes," they breathed, "He's going to die. It's either him, or you."
"No," Crowley snapped, "There's a way to save us both. You can give it to me. You have to give it to me."
"You really do love him."
"Yes! So please, give me the way. I... I can't lose him! Not again!"
"Love is a cruel thing. Look what it does to you. It's a disease. A sickness. It takes you when you're most vulnerable, and kills you from inside. Don't let it claim you."
"You were in love once too, weren't you? I don't know who you loved, when you loved them or if you still do, but you loved them. You know what it feels like to lose them. It hurts. More than Falling, more than torture, more than holy water. Help me."
"Demons can't love."
"Beelzebub, please. I'm begging you to save him."
"You're such a foolish demon. You're in love with an angel."
"...I'm in love with my best friend."
Beelzebub seemed to be lost, gone somewhere else that wasn't Heaven or Hell. They blinked once, looking at Crowley's hand, which was clawing at the one gripping his collar. He hadn't realised he'd done that. Beelzebub removed Crowley's hand from theirs, stepping back slowly and snapping their fingers.
"Sign this," they said quietly, still not entirely back. They unfolded a piece of paper with one line at the bottom.
"Better read the terms and conditions for once," Crowley muttered.
"The what?" Beelzebub asked.
"Human thing," he replied.
"If Aziraphale signs this, you will both be safe after the war. One might say we've got a special place in Hell for the both of you. However, Aziraphale must fight for us. Not Heaven."
"What?!" Crowley exclaimed, shaking head and crossing his arms, "No."
"I'm only offering you this once, Crowley," Beelzebub said flatly, "Unlike you, I've got duties and important roles in this war. I'm a demon. I don't fall in love. I don't cry. I don't show mercy. If you refuse to sign this - you'll get to see just how bad this war can be."
Beelzebub stared straight at him, all traces of kindness wiped from their gaze.
"Aziraphale won't agree."
"Then he'll die," Beelzebub whispered, "And you'll have to be the one to kill him."
"I won't do that," Crowley snarled, "Not ever."
"Then he'll kill you."
"He wouldn't do that either. He loves me."
"You still really believe that?"
"Yes."
"Then sign."
"You're not giving me much of a choice."
"Everyone has a choice. That's why we're demons. We questioned God. We made the right decision. She didn't like that. But you do have a choice."
"No one gets a choice. We're all pawns in God's big, stupid, ineffable game of cosmic chess. Going forward until we get knocked off the board. Demons, angels, pawns! That's all we're ever going to be! Black, white, it doesn't matter! We're all being ruled over! You thought it would be better here? Better in Hell than Heaven? It's the same fucking game! And when we're eliminated in the war, do you think we'll die knowing we won? We won't. Why? Because no one wins! No one wins but God! The chess pieces don't win, the one controlling the pieces does. So at the end of this pointless war, who wins? God. God always wins. It doesn't get better. It doesn't fix itself. It just gets worse. And trust me, even if you think it can't get any worse - it can. It does. And if we're all going to keep moving forward at God's Almighty hand, then so be it. Let Her rule. Let her send us to our deaths. Let her smite every damn being in existence. But for God's - for Satan's - for our sake - let it be with with someone we love."
Beelzebub looked upset again.
"You can't fight anymore." they said softly, holding the paper up and giving Crowley a pen that hadn't existed before, "Just sign."
Crowley took a deep breath, holding the pen in his hand and scribbling down a not-so-elegant swoosh at the bottom of the page, on the dotted line.
"I won't see you again." Beelzebub said.
"Nice knowing you, Princess."
"No it wasn't,"
Crowley grinned.
"No, it wasn't." he echoed, "But it would have been."
Beelzebub shook his hand, and Crowley walked away, taking the contract with him.