Chapter Text
Well after dark, after all of the humans had vacated Whickber St, the lights were still burning in the windows of the A.Z. Fell and Co. bookshop. Inside, Aziraphale sat at his desk, his forehead heavily creased with concentration over the top of his reading glasses.
At first glance, this wasn’t anything particularly unusual, but upon closer examination, the angel was clearly in a great deal of distress. His normally immaculately kept suit was heavily wrinkled, as though he’d been too distracted to bother with things like changing clothes or miracling out the signs of wear. His hair looked as though he’d been pulling at it, and there were dark circles under his eyes despite the fact that sleep wasn’t a strict necessity.
It had been three weeks, four days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes since he’d last heard from Crowley, and he’d long since given in to panic.
They’d thought they were safe after the Apocalypse that wasn’t, and their subsequent tricking of their respective home offices. They’d settled into a routine, and it had honestly been the happiest times of Aziraphale’s existence. Day after day spent indulging in many of his favorite pleasures, most of all spending time with the demon that he loved more than anything. They’d been to the theater, to countless dinners. They’d spent quiet afternoons in the park and long evenings drinking at the bookshop, enjoying one another’s company long into the night. It had been bliss, and he’d even begun to consider possibilities for the future. Possibilities like actually admitting to the demon that he loved him.
They’d had plans to meet for dinner one evening, and he’d received a text message from Crowley confirming the plans, but his demon had never arrived. Aziraphale had waited for hours, and at first he’d been hurt, even angry, but that had quickly given way to concern when call after call went unanswered. Concern became alarm when he found that Crowley wasn’t at his flat (there was another demon living there, which raised even more questions), and his Bentley was unattended, as well as full of his plants, for some reason. Panic set in when he realized that he couldn’t sense the demon anywhere.
That had been over three weeks ago, and Aziraphale was growing more desperate by the moment.
He had to believe that Crowley was still alive. He would know somehow, if he were destroyed, he was certain of it. The alternative was simply unthinkable.
He’d spent countless hours pouring over various texts, trying to find a way to track down his missing beloved, and tonight was poised to be another of the same. He’d determined that it was most likely Crowley was in Hell, as it was the only thing that explained why he was blind to the connection between them, but he had no idea how to find him. He’d tracked down every reference that he could find, every demonology text he could get his hands on, even trading one of his beloved first editions for a particularly rare translation of a summoner’s shadow journal from the 12th century, but he still seemed to be no closer to finding his demon.
He wasn’t giving up hope, he never would when it came to Crowley, but he was definitely becoming more afraid by the hour, his thoughts becoming more and more dark.
If Crowley was truly gone, whoever was responsible for it would need to be very afraid indeed, for they would invoke the wrath of a vengeful Principality with nothing left to lose. Anyone who had anything to do with it would suffer.
It was nearly midnight when Aziraphale suddenly sat up straight at his desk as though he’d been struck by lightning, a familiar tingle in his chest.
Crowley.
For the first time in weeks, he could sense his beloved, and for one glorious moment the angel was filled with hope. Unfortunately, that only lasted until a wave of pain and fear hit that nearly drove him to his knees, a strangled cry tearing from his lips.
Something was very, very wrong.
Quickly, he made his way to the door of the shop, but before he’d even reached it, it swung open, revealing the demon in question leaning heavily against the frame.
Crowley’s hair was longer than it had been, far more so than it should have grown in less than a month. It hung down to his nipples in tangled, filthy curls heavily matted down with what looked like blood and other, thicker things. It took a moment for it to register that he was shirtless, because there wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t injured or slicked in gore, and blood dripped from him in thick streams that splattered on the floor.
“A-a-ngel…..”
Without warning, Crowley tipped forward, and only Aziraphale’s long disused reflexes allowed him to catch the demon in his arms and bear him gently down to the floor.
“Oh, my heart...what have they done to you?”
He had his demon back, but he was fading fast, and Aziraphale was going to find a way to save him, and then make whoever was responsible for this pay.
All the rest came after.