Chapter Text
Aziraphale breathed shallowly, feeling something in the air he wasn’t quite sure he recognized. It was demonic, ergo coming from Crowley, but... it wasn’t the demon’s aura. It was something else.
“You’ve done nothing unrighteous. This was my choice, not yours. I was going to try it, with or without you. All you did was ensure I succeeded,” the girl Penny said, laying an attempted comforting hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. In the state of things, the events of the evening... it felt more patronizing than anything. But the angel was sure she hadn’t meant it that way, so he simply nodded, replying with restrained sarcasm “Lovely.”
He peered at the fireplace one more time, his better judgment telling him that Lucifer wouldn’t just leave that easily. But the flames were dying, the ashes of the pentagram were scattering, and the heavy darkness was lifting.
Lucifer... it seemed... had actually relinquished his hold on Crowley. And let a witch have him...
Apparently.
“Alright, up you pop,” Aziraphale said distractedly, his angel heart still torn about having consented to a human surrendering her soul.
He attempted to push to his feet, his arm under Crowley’s, but paused as Crowley’s hand clenched hard on Aziraphale’s back, bunching up his shirt. Aziraphale looked at him finally, feeling himself pale. Crowley had slouched a bit farther forward on his knees, the adrenaline rush of Lucifer’s presence apparently wearing off.
“A-angel,” he whimpered, his hand beginning to tremble as it continued to grasp Aziraphale with monstrous conviction.
Aziraphale softened, leaning back down. Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but only a doggish whine escaped.
“Crowley, what is it?” Aziraphale asked worriedly, peeking up at Penny, who was supporting him on the other side. She simply stared.
“This may—” he paused, another pained sound escaping as a shudder coursed through him. “May b—be a very sh—short lived victory... literally, angel...”
His breath hitched in his throat, and he slammed his eyes shut tight, attempting to pitch forward and only managing to lean against the grasps of both Aziraphale and Penny.
Aziraphale felt like his heart did a backflip in his chest.
“Oh... you mean...” he whispered, disbelieving.
Crowley nodded haltingly, his whole body beginning to shiver uncontrollably. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what would happen if Crowley discorporated, what with the new arrangement with the witch and all, but... he wasn’t willing to find out.
“What?” Penny asked, obviously not understanding.
Aziraphale began to understand what he was feeling in the air... it was Crowley. Not his aura, but his very soul—searching desperately for a way to avoid discorporating.
Worry seeped down to Aziraphale’s very bones, first and foremost for his dear friend, but also for the vulnerable human girl who might fall victim to the demon’s desperation.
“No time to explain,” Aziraphale hurried, fishing in his pocket for his rosary and handing it to Penny. Crowley hissed viciously as the divinity threatened his weakened state.
“Take this—take it far away from him. And if you have any holy symbols on your person, get rid of them,” he begged, clutching Crowley closer to support him as Penny took the rosary and pulled away.
“Why, I don’t understand?!” Penny yelped as she stood and backed away.
“Really, dear, no time to explain,” Aziraphale snapped, studying Crowley’s expression and finding him deteriorating extremely quickly. He must have been holding it together in front of Lucifer. If there was one thing the Lord of Hell would recognize and pounce on with fury... it was weakness.
“Probably best for you to stay away as well,” Aziraphale added, placing his free hand against Crowley’s chest to keep him upright and earning a gasp of pain as he found another wound, which began to slowly soak his hand with blood.
Penny disappeared for only a few seconds, and Aziraphale was too distracted to hear the clang as she chucked the rosary into the hall with gusto. However, she quickly returned, against Aziraphale’s immediate protests.
She dropped to her knees, helping to support Crowley again.
“I’m not leaving, Aziraphale!” she yelled as he rocketed through more rushed protests. “I’m helping. Accept it.”
Aziraphale sighed, feeling a pulse in Crowley’s aura, and the demon cried out, trying once more to collapse.
“Oh, my dear... don’t do that, please don’t do that,” Aziraphale begged, feeling the demon’s will to fight it sapping quickly. “Can you stand?” he asked, motioning with his head at Penny to try to get him to the bedroom.
Crowley viciously nodded ‘no,’ choking in a breath and gasping “wings.”
“Hold him,” Aziraphale commanded of the girl, relinquishing his hold on Crowley and leaning back.
Aziraphale let out a wounded sound at the sight: Crowley’s midnight wings were hanging limply behind him, and their shredded lengths wasn’t even the worst part. The joints where they met his spine appeared to have been twisted horrendously, and if there weren’t broken or fractured bones involved, it would be a miracle. The skin was split on the outsides, and it was clear by the swollen flesh that several tendons had been torn in the process.
“Oh, God,” Aziraphale whimpered, reaching out and barely touching.
Crowley screamed, the sound shrill and unholy. The demon lurched forward then, choking and gagging as if he might vomit.
“I’m so sorry...” Aziraphale murmured, yanking his hand back. Injured wings were the worst possible wound an angel or demon could take, and they were by far the most painful. The angel knew this quite personally, the recent break in his own twinging through his spine even now. They were some of the most permanent, too. While injuries in their corporations could be healed with enough power, wings were more difficult. Wings were connected directly to their divinity, or in Crowley’s case, former divinity. At a certain point, wings couldn’t be healed. There was a reason Lucifer no longer had his...
“Crowley, this is going to be agonizing, but I need you to hide them,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning forward once more and holding Crowley delicately by the shoulder. “I can’t deal with them right now; I need to concentrate on your body. Please...”
Crowley maniacally began to nod ‘no.’
His lips hung open in an attempt to speak, but all that came was a yelp and a wince. He growled in frustration before trying again.
“Using a—all my power to k—keep myself together. Can’t divert it, angel. Can’t—” he stuttered, his shivering worsening into near convulsions.
“I know, I know,” Aziraphale cooed, rubbing his temple in his worry.
“Can’t you help? Heal him?” Penny asked quickly.
“Well, I certainly would like to try, but… I don’t think he could take the divine nature of it right now. Normally he’s strong enough, but...”
He trailed off, not wishing to finish the sentence. The mere presence of his rosary had prompted a reaction, so divine essence itself... it would probably sap what was left of the demon.
“Come on, Crowley. The wings. You must,” Aziraphale begged, tightening his grip on Crowley’s shoulder.
Crowley growled, his whole body tensing as he prepared to try. His teeth bared, and his eyes squeezed shut tight. His grip on Aziraphale’s shirt tightened even more, and the angel desperately wished he could help him. He settled for monitoring Crowley’s aura, which was severely weak and barely radiating from him.
Crowley let out a pitiful cry as his wings disappeared from sight, leaving only two torn and bloody holes in his shirt. No sooner had he done so, every wound on him opened up like flood gates, blood seeping through his clothing in worrisome volumes. Crowley’s eyes rolled, his fist going slack against Aziraphale’s back, and his whole body collapsed. Aziraphale caught him, but he was completely limp; his aura... not detectable.
“No!” Aziraphale yelped, slowly allowing the demon to slump to the floor with a supporting hand behind his neck. “No no no, Crowley!”
Penny yelped suddenly, grasping her temples and flailing onto her back on the floor.
“Crowley, release her, come on. You can get through this. Come back,” he demanded, daring to place a hand on the demon’s chest, using whatever power he could, the consequences be damned.
Aziraphale felt healing energy flow from his hands and into the demon’s chest. The bleeding slowed, a few of the lesser wounds closing entirely. Penny gasped, her hands falling away from her head as clarity filled her eyes. She sat up, confusion playing across her features.
Aziraphale didn’t have time to devote to her. He looked down, finding that Crowley had opened his eyes, but with it came all the pain of returning to his body. He seized up, an animalistic whimper escaping, one hand flailing out toward the angel.
Aziraphale grabbed it, holding it tight.
“Be still, Crowley, please let me try to help you,” he begged, but it was obviously too much. Crowley’s spine arched him off the floor, and he let out a desperate cry, followed by wet and bloody choking.
Penny launched to her feet, running for Crowley’s bathroom.
“Do drugs work on you guys?” she called, and the angel heard rustling.
“Yes,” he answered weakly. “But I doubt he’s got any.”
“Oh, I’m willing to bet he does,” she snapped back, the sound of bottles hitting the countertop spilling from the bathroom.
He clung to Crowley’s hand comfortingly, his other hovering over a wound in his right side that was releasing a whistling sound as Crowley used breathing as a coping mechanism—the whistling meant a punctured lung. Not as deadly for something that didn’t need to breathe, but... it certainly wasn’t good.
Crowley’s aura pulsated before dimming again, and Aziraphale paused. Healing it would be another rush of divine energy, and the demon was weak... possibly too weak to withstand it.
“Bollocks,” Aziraphale cursed, his hand retreating back as Penny came bolting back into the room and slid on her knees to his side.
“Ketamine,” she said, holding up a syringe filled with a clear but hazy liquid. “Should do the trick. At least... so we can move him.”
Aziraphale wasn’t sure what good moving him was going to do at this point. If he tried to heal Crowley while he was doped up on ketamine, he could discorporate, and they wouldn’t even know. He wouldn’t react, he’d just be... gone.
Or worse, he’d possess Penny again.
Before he could put any of that to voice, though, Penny had ripped Crowley’s sleeve up and injected him.
He let out a pitiful whine, his convulsions slowing and his muscles going slack. His hand on Aziraphale’s was the last thing to release, and it almost broke the angel’s heart.
“I’ve got him,” Aziraphale said as he slowly slid his hands beneath Crowley’s shoulders and knees, lifting him as gently as possible. His head rolled back dangerously, and Aziraphale ignored it as best he could as he walked gingerly to the bedroom. He was sickeningly aware of the streams of blood running down the demon’s arms and off his slackened fingers, leaving rivers that followed his path.
He clicked his teeth worriedly as he set Crowley’s dangerously limp body on his black comforter.
“Penny... there is something you can do,” he said, angry that he needed her help.
“Anything, what?” the girl asked, stepping forward and wringing her hands nervously.
“I’m going to try to heal a few of these,” he said slowly. The divinity of healing was just as likely to discorporate Crowley as the wounds were, but at this point… he had no choice. “I need you to touch him, monitor him. I can’t even detect his aura anymore. If you feel him slipping, tell me to stop,” he asked, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.
Penny nodded, dropping to her knees next to the bed and taking Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale sighed, letting his hands hover over the puncture wound afflicting his lung. He nodded, letting the power flow to his palms.
Immediately, he could feel Crowley’s reaction in the air. He was searching again, his natural demonic entity retreating from the divine.
“It's alright, Crowley, it’s just me,” he said, unsure of why he even spoke the words. It wasn’t as if he could hear them.
Penny smiled at the angel suddenly, her hand jerking against Crowley’s.
“He heard you,” she said, genuine care showing in her features. The demonic activity in the air lessened, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but grin bitterly.
The happiness was short-lived, however. A loud pop filled the air as Aziraphale mended a broken rib, and Penny yelped.
“Stop stop stop!” she cried, her hand grasping Crowley’s so tight, her knuckles whitened. “I can barely feel him,” she continued, closing her eyes as she spoke.
Aziraphale nodded, yanking his hands and his power back. Crowley’s body was beginning to shiver again, despite the drugs.
“Shit,” Aziraphale cursed, for the third time ever. “See if you can find some blankets, would you?” he asked of Penny.
She stood, releasing the demon’s hand and hurrying to every closet she could find.
Aziraphale teetered nervously back and forth from one foot to the other, helpless to stop this. Crowley was suffering, on the verge of discorporating, and there was little he could do.
Penny returned, tossing the blankets furiously over Crowley.
“He’s not cold, Aziraphale,” she said worriedly. “He’s lost too much blood. He’s going into shock.”
“I know,” Aziraphale replied hastily, still rubbing his temples. In a better state, Crowley could easily fix it, or slow it at least. But as he was, his power was nonexistent. The only option he had was to stop the bleeding.
“I have to keep going,” he said, stepping forward once more. “You need to leave.”
Penny immediately launched into her arguments, but Aziraphale yelled over her.
“Penelope, if he possesses you, all the progress we just made will be lost. You won’t survive it. And I can’t be witness to that as well. Please go!”
“He already tried earlier, and I’m still here, still fine,” Penny snapped back. “I know what to expect now. I’m stronger than you think, angel, and I can do this. If you want me to leave, you’re going to have to drag me out.”
Aziraphale huffed, knowing that the girl’s determined attitude was a product of His design. You certainly made this one tough, he thought, smiling a little.
“Fine,” Aziraphale snapped, stepping forward once more. He pointed a blood-covered finger at Crowley’s hand, and Penny knelt, taking it in her own. Her brows immediately furrowed harshly, and she looked up at the angel with panic in her features.
“Aziraphale... he’s barely...” she whispered.
He groaned in frustration, nodding. “I know.”
He let his hands hover over Crowley’s chest again, light beginning to pour from them. The demon’s body arched, and Penny yelped as his hand tightened on hers painfully.
“Stop,” Penny begged quietly, her voice pained as if she were sharing Crowley’s pain. In fact... she probably was.
“I can’t,” Aziraphale replied, his heart torn. “I have to keep going.”
“Angel, he’s...” Penny began, but there was a sudden growl in the air. The girl screamed, thrashing back and against the wall. Her limbs splayed out beside her, her pupils expanding and making her eyes go black.
Aziraphale let out a tortured whimper, ignoring the poor girl as best he could and continuing to heal Crowley. And it wasn’t easy. There were lacerations all over him, probably thirty or so, all deep enough to warrant internal healing. And he was only halfway done.
When Penny spoke, it was unnatural and... unholy.
“Stop, please... I’m begging you, ” her lips said, but it clearly wasn’t her.
“Just hold on, a little longer,” Aziraphale replied, not looking up at Penny’s possessed form as he continued moving his hands over the wounds.
From his periphery, he saw her collapse to her knees, grasping her temples.
“I’m scared, angel...”
Aziraphale felt his heart nearly torn in two.
“Few more minutes,” Aziraphale groaned, feeling his own power stretching thin.
“Don’t want to go, angel. Please don’t let me go...” Penny’s voice said again.
“I won’t. Just try not to hurt her,” Aziraphale said, leaving some of the lesser wounds and only going for the awful ones. The longer Penny stayed possessed, the less of her would return when it was over. Demonic possession was nothing like angelic. It was meant to be intrusive, destructive.
Aziraphale felt his hands falter, the light coming from them dimming as his own power was almost spent.
“Come on,” he growled, pouring his strength into one last wound; mangled flesh and a broken femur.
Aziraphale gasped, falling back against the wall and feeling faint. “Re—release her, Crowley, now. You have to.”
Another growl filled the room, and the girl collapsed to the hardwood floor, completely limp and unmoving. Crowley himself began breathing laboriously, pained whines escaping on every exhale. The drugs were still working on him, but not enough to keep him sedated. His eyes hung open, the gold glowing with pain.
Aziraphale was torn between his two charges, electing to crawl to Penny, pulling her into his lap.
“Penelope. Wake up, please,” he whispered, shaking her shoulders gently. She groaned, a trembling hand reaching up to grasp her forehead.
“‘S he—okay?” she mumbled.
Aziraphale let out a frantic half-laugh. The girl had just been forcefully possessed, and she was worried about the demon who did it.
“He’s... still here,” Aziraphale replied, reaching for one of the blankets she had dropped on the floor and wrapping it around her. “Rest my dear. You did well.”
She gave a little “mmhmm” in reply, pulling the blanket closer as she curled into it on the floor.
Aziraphale stood, feeling his own corporation weak and tired from the exertion. He stumbled to the bedside, sitting next to Crowley as he panted like an overheated dog. His long forked tongue kept darting out in a show of his discomfort, angry hisses accompanying it.
“Alright?” Aziraphale asked, laying a hand on Crowley’s wrist. The demon jerked at the contact, his eyes opening weakly.
“I don’t know,” Crowley replied, trying to take a deep breath and only managing to choke and whimper in pain.
“Sleep, you need it,” Aziraphale responded. “I’ll make sure you don’t go anywhere.”
Crowley looked like he wanted to respond, but his eyelids grew heavy, and within seconds, he was asleep.
Aziraphale let both Crowley and Penelope rest for almost 24 hours. And while Penny scarcely moved, Crowley was a different story. His aura returned with a vengeance as he slept, and Aziraphale could feel it through the entire apartment—it was dense and suffocating to the angel’s, but he knew why. Crowley wasn’t certain he could survive his injuries, and nothing could make a demon stronger than everything he was feeling in response to that knowledge; panic, claustrophobia, and of course pain.
Aziraphale knelt next to Penny after the sun went down, gently rocking her.
“Penny... Penny,” he crowed, glad to see her stir.
She slowly sat up with a groan, her hair tousled from pressing into the blanket she had burrowed into.
“What... what happened?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“What do you remember?” the angel asked, hoping she had forgotten.
“Lucifer... he left... I went and got the Ketamine... what happened after that, how did we get in here?” she asked hurriedly, peering up at Crowley’s still trembling form on the bed.
So she didn’t recall the possessions... that was certainly for the best... though Aziraphale wasn’t sure what other damage she might have suffered besides memory loss. Whatever it was... it would have to wait. The girl needed to leave before he did what he was planning on doing next.
“I’m sorry, Penny, but this time I really need you to leave,” he whispered, offering a hand to help her up. She took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet as she teetered unsteadily.
“I need to tend to his wings, and those... they’re... well, he’s not going to react well,” he said, apprehension rising in his throat. Demons didn’t let angels touch their wings, ever, and vice versa. Add to that Crowley’s depleted state and tremendous pain... he would probably lash out. An angel could take it. A human couldn’t.
“Are—are you sure I can’t help?” she asked, attempting to tame her wild hair.
“I’m sure, sweetheart. But I very much appreciate your concern. And I’m sure Crowley would too if he wasn’t...”
“If he wasn’t Crowley?” she asked sarcastically, grinning at the angel.
He returned it, resting a hand on her arm. “Yes,” he said softly. “Now please...”
He motioned for the door, and she obliged, shuffling forward.
“I’ll... I’ll check back with you... later...” she mumbled, disappearing from the bedroom, the flat’s front door clicking closed soon after.
Aziraphale steeled himself as he turned, facing the tormented demon. He had pitched sideways, curling in on himself as his body continued to shiver against the slow healing. Aziraphale stepped forward, resting a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. He jerked, his eyelashes fluttering as he let out an anticipatory whimper.
“Crowley, it’s me,” he said quietly, pushing on his shoulder gently. “Come this way. I need to look at your wings.”
Crowley obliged the movement, but let out a sound that might have been a muttered ‘no.’
“Think you can summon them?” Aziraphale asked, running a hand over the demon’s back as he lay on his stomach. As his fingertips brushed where his wings would be, Crowley growled, tensing and gripping the sheets in his hands.
“Leave them, angel,” Crowley whispered, a hint of very childlike fear tinting his words.
“You know we can’t do that,” Aziraphale said, leaving his hand on Crowley’s back, searching for any damage that may have extended to his spine. Crowley arched away from his touch, a threatening hiss escaping his lips.
Aziraphale wanted to chastise him, but knew the fear he was feeling. When Hastur had broken his own wing, something animalistic in him had taken over, protecting his divine appendages with an almost mindless fervor. He’d barely allowed Crowley to touch it, something in him wishing to strike the demon, even though he’d been trying to help.
“I know, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, attempting to sneak a bit of healing powers into the demon where his hand was resting.
Crowley yelped, his hands grasping the sheets harder as he bit down on the pillow beneath him.
“Come on. The sooner we can get it done, the sooner it will be over,” he tried, feeling small pops beneath his fingertips as nerves and tendons in Crowley’s back mended.
Crowley growled, attempting to move away. “Just let them rot. Don’t use them anyway,” he snapped, his eyes beginning to glow red as he turned to look at Aziraphale.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale chastised, removing his hand. “You don’t mean that!”
Of course he didn’t. He was just afraid of the pain.
Crowley didn’t respond, instead burying his face in the pillow. He let out an anguished cry, the sound muffled in the fabric, and suddenly his wings burst into the open room.