Work Text:
Crowley and Aziraphale both should have known better than to think they could get away with thwarting the apocalypse unscathed. They stood with their hands clasped together, eyes trained on the legions of Heaven and Hell.
The only thing to take comfort in was that they had managed to lead them to the middle of nowhere, hopefully minimizing human casualties. It was a fool's dream, but maybe, just maybe.
Crowley tightened his hand around Aziraphale's.
"Our side," he whispered.
"Us."
It was a declaration. A promise.
They were completely surrounded within moments of that. Thousands of angels and demons with weapons they didn't have.
It was just them.
Aziraphale and Crowley did their best to fight back, sending out what miracles they could, and dodging anything thrown back at them. Had there been far fewer, maybe they could have come out on top, but as it was, they could only go for so long.
Aziraphale couldn't have told you which side was the first to land an attack, or any following ones. There was nothing but chaos, angels and demons even taking out their own. What he could tell you, however, was that he would never forget what a gaping hole in Crowley's stomach looked like. Nor would he forget the pained scream that fell from his dear Crowley's lips.
Aziraphale caught him before he could hit the ground, holding him in his lap while he cradled him close to keep any more attacks from hitting him. A stray tear made its way down Aziraphale's cheek before splashing onto Crowley's.
"Was it all for nothing?" Crowley choked out. "If this goes on, everything..."
"It couldn't have been," Aziraphale said, just barely loud enough for Crowley to hear. "It can't be."
Something shot through Aziraphale's shoulder, causing him to cry out.
The noise of battle seemed to fade around him, all except the footsteps of someone he had the displeasure of knowing all too well.
"We've decided to give you one chance to make the right choice, Aziraphale," Gabriel said. "Leave that—" he snarled, "—demon and you can come back to Heaven when I— we win this war."
Fury coursed through Aziraphale, and he could feel the way it did through Crowley as well, even as he was fighting to stay coherent. As if either would ever leave the other for dead.
"It would sooner be a pleasant day in Hell," he spat.
Gabriel gave them both a cruel smile. "Well, it's your choice. Don't say I didn't try. Now, how about you both shut up and just die already."
With that, thousands of angels and demons advanced, closing in on them. Hellfire and holy water hadn't worked, so execution by two separate, but equally brutal mobs was clearly the second best choice.
At some point, Crowley had lost his glasses. Aziraphale stared into the vibrant yellow eyes that rivaled the beauty of the stars Crowley had helped to make. If asked, no one present could have told you what happened next, only the moments before and after.
Aziraphale would have said he couldn't bear to see Crowley hurt, with the real possibility of his long list of tricks finally at its end. He would have said he felt a burning pressure in his chest, but whether that had anything to do with what happened next or just the sobs he was suppressing, he didn't know.
Crowley would have said he had the same feeling in his chest, although he had more so attributed it to the utter hatred he felt towards Gabriel. How he had not just once told Crowley's Angel to die in the past months, but twice, and in practically the same way. How he pretended had Aziraphale accepted his offer, he wouldn't have destroyed him the moment they got off of Earth. It was despicable.
Everyone else would have said their hair stood on its ends. They would have said they knew something was amiss; they just weren't sure what that was. They did know, however, that the auras surrounding Crowley and Aziraphale were off. Practically merged, even.
A light that was unlike anything most had ever seen spilled from the angel and demon huddled on the ground. It sent their assailants flying backwards, and at the same time, mended the wounds both had sustained.
At first, Aziraphale and Crowley were too stunned to do anything. They looked at each other in disbelief.
"Was that us, or..." Crowley glanced up, standing to his feet with Aziraphale.
"I— I'm not sure."
"I can't move! Why can't I move?!" an angel cried.
"What did you do to us?!" a demon yelled.
The two set off a chain reaction, and everyone started whining so loudly it was impossible to hear oneself think.
Finally, Crowley got fed up with it. "QUIET! Or we'll..."
"It's too horrible to speak aloud!" Aziraphale finished, giving Crowley a tiny nervous smile. "You'll be praying for the days when paralysis was your biggest problem."
"Yes, listen to the angel. I know of tortures not even Hell has yet to think of. Leave Us and the Earth alone, or be prepared to experience every single one of them."
Aziraphale offered Crowley his hand, to which he gladly accepted. He made one more face at the legions, and then they were in the bookshop.
Both were quiet for a long moment, checking the other for injuries they no longer possessed.
"So, how long do you think that will deter them?"
"I'm not sure, but maybe long enough to wonder why their war has been stopped not once but twice."
Crowley blinked. "Wait, you don't think—
Aziraphale let out a joyous laugh. "Oh, my dear boy, Her plan is ineffable."