Chapter Text
There had always been blood on Crowley’s hands. In the past, it was all in a metaphorical sense. This time was different. Today, an angel’s blood dripped through his fingers in an all too literal sense. There was so much blood around them that he knew there was no hope for survival. The demon’s irises exploded to fill his entire eye, the easiest way to tell that Crowley was moments from losing his cool. But he would hold himself together—at least until he got his revenge. Yet there was no denying how badly he would break when the time came.
The day had started off as they all had since the Un-End of the World; with the demon Crowley waking up next to the angel Aziraphale. Even under the threat of death, Crowley would never admit that it was his favorite part of the day. The fact that he could stare adoringly at the angel without having to risk his reputation made the past 6,000 years of unrequited pining worth it. Well, almost. The only thing that really made the pining worth it were the moments Aziraphale woke up and smiled at Crowley. His blue eyes were still blurry with sleep, yet his smile was as dazzling and radiant as it ever was.
Had Crowley not already been drowning in love for thousands of years, he may have burst into flames the first morning the angel smiled at him. “Y’know, I was thinking about that picnic,” he said, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You know, the one you promised me in ’67?”
“Of course. 1967,” Aziraphale smiled at the memory for a moment before it faltered. “Crowley…”
“Yeah?” the demon sat up a bit.
“Whatever did you do with the holy water I gave you that night?”
Crowley stuttered for a moment. “Oh, er… I, uh, I used it.”
“Used it?!” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, you swore you would never–!” His hands reached out to brush the demon’s cheeks, as if to prove that he was really still there.
“Angel, I didn’t…” Crowley’s fingers moved to cover Aziraphale’s. “Like I told you when I asked for it, it was for insurance—protection, really. When Hastur and,” he couldn’t say or think the other demon’s name without bile rising in his throat, “and the other one came for me, I knew I had no choice but to use it. I swear, I never thought about it as a… a ‘way out.’ It was only ever for protection.”
Aziraphale pursed his lips and slowly pulled back his hand. “You killed someone,” he said, rather than asked, softly.
“I had no choice,” Crowley protested weakly. “It was either them or me, and I wasn’t going to leave you yet. Besides, I wasn’t the one who walked under a bucket filled with Holy Water,” he mumbled. “So it wasn’t really my fault.”
“Of course not.” Aziraphale smiled a little bit. “I’m glad you didn’t go to Alpha Centauri. I really don’t know what I would do without my favorite serpent.” Crowley blushed and Aziraphale’s smile widened as he watched the demon squirm. He decided a few moments later to change the subject for Crowley’s sake, “So a picnic, then?”
“I think so,” Crowley nodded after taking a large breath. “Tell you what, I’ll go back to mine and get everything ready.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “Crowley, we’ve just woken up. Don’t you think it’s a little early to go for lunch?”
“Darling, it’s nearly eleven thirty.”
“Ele–!” The angel sprang up. “Oh! I haven’t opened the shop!” Crowley laughed as the angel scurried out of the room, his hair still ruffled and sticking up in odd places.
Slowly getting up and sauntering out of the room, Crowley miracled himself out of his pajamas. “Darling, what time would you like me to pick you up?”
Aziraphale popped his head out of the kitchen, the tartan bow that had been hastily applied hanging crooked around his neck. “Sorry?”
Crowley walked up to him and straightened the bowtie. “Lunch. What time?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed gently when Crowley fixed his bow. “Thank you. And I do believe one thirty would work wonderfully.”
“One thirty it is,” Crowley grinned. “I’ll bring crêpes.” His heart swelled when Aziraphale’s face lit up in excitement. “See you soon, angel.” He winked and strolled out of the bookshop, slipping into his Bentley. Crowley spared a final glance at the blonde shadow through the old windows of the bookstore before taking off to Paris.
When he returned to London, everything seemed slightly off. He shook his head and blamed it on the good weather. He pushed open the doors to the shop. “Angel? I’ve got the stuff. And the sun is out and there’s not a cloud in the sky. Looks like the perfect day for a picnic to me.” Crowley stopped at the angel’s desk, a mug of cocoa sitting cold and forgotten on the edge of the tabletop. “Angel?”
“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was soft and barely audible through the bookshelves.
“Angel, where are you?” Crowley began peering down the aisles. “Angel? I don’t know what you’re playing at. Really, you’ve never been one to tease,” Crowley hummed, amused. He rounded a corner and let out a scream, all amusement immediately vanishing. On the ground was the angel, his now-flameless sword protruding from the side of his stomach. “Angel!”
Aziraphale clutched the hilt of the sword for a moment before pulling it out, his back against the last bookshelf of the row as the wound began to bleed heavily. “Crowley, I…” he gasped in pain. “I’m sorry…”
“For what, angel?” Crowley asked, crouching down, his hands hovering over the bleeding wound.
“They figured it out,” he said. “The switch. They wanted to know where you were. They promised not to hurt me if I did, but I didn’t tell them,” Aziraphale added hastily, pain lacing his tone. “I didn’t tell them where you were because they would have killed you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t because I…” he trailed off with a painful wince.
“Angel,” Crowley begged, “stay with me.” His sunglasses slipped down his nose, but he didn’t bother to fix them. “Look at me, angel, you’re going to be fine.”
Tears ran down Aziraphale’s face as he reached out to caress Crowley’s face. “I’m sorry it took so long, dear.”
“For what?” Crowley swallowed hard and turned his head to press a kiss to the dying angel’s palm.
“For our picnic,” he murmured, his normally glittery eyes dulling. “And for me to tell you that… that I…” his voice trailed off and his hand dropped from Crowley’s face as his pained expression slowly went slack.
“Tell me what?” Crowley brushed back some of Aziraphale’s curls. “Tell me what, angel?” he repeated, his lower lip trembling. His face scrunched up in sorrow as tears began to flow down his cheeks when he realized that he was never going to get a reply. “Angel?” his voice cracked. “Aziraphale?” He clutched the limp body to his chest and screamed. “Somebody killed my best friend! Bastards! All of you!” Crowley screamed until his voice was hoarse.
Eventually, he picked up Aziraphale’s body and carried it to the bedroom. Crowley hated that his best friend had now been reduced to little more than an “it.” After he had gently set the angel on the bed, Crowley began to sob. He cried until he passed out, eventually collapsing at the foot of the bed.
Crowley woke up in near hysterics. A scream had just barely passed his lips when he bolted upright in bed. He was covered in a cold sweat and about to panic when he felt the weight of the person in bed next to him.
Aziraphale’s death… It was just a dream. A nightmare.
Crowley closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He turned towards the angel and froze, ice racing through his veins even though his heart stopped beating.
It wasn’t a dream.
The angel remained slumped across “his” side of the bed, and he was cold. His eyes were still half open, bloody tears dry and cracking on his cheeks. Crowley ran a shaky finger across the golden lines.
Angelic blood was the brightest gold, demonic being murky black. Crowley remembered watching the blood spill from his broken body after he fell turn from radiant gold into the inky black it was today. Black was the only color that could describe Crowley now. The light of his world had been violently extinguished, and he didn’t care who knew it.
He swore on every circle of Hell and every corner of Heaven that he wouldn’t stop until he had taken care of everyone even remotely responsible for the angel’s death. He wouldn’t rest until the two of them were standing side-by-side once again on the Wall of Eden, their hands woven tightly together.