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Our Own Side

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Somehow, in the fray of black and gold blood, white and red fabric and yellow and purple eyes, they found each other. Each one took the others free hands as hundred upon hundreds of Angelic and Demonic bodies, all intent on killing anyone they could get their hands on, press against them. “I never truly believed it would come to this, you know,” Aziraphale yelled in his ear. Everything was far too loud for Crowley to reply, but he nodded. At Aziraphale’s side was his flaming sword reclaimed from War. But he seemed to reluctant to use it, and the flames hung loosely in his grip.

There was a yell a few meters away and the movement increased. Aziraphale was pulled away from him. He was lost again. Crowley looked towards the sky, it was crimson red, and began to pray, not to God or Satan. Just hoping and willing for everything to work out well.

In the confusion, he swiped a sword from someone and poked around at the crowd. If he was going to die here, he might as well take some beings with him.

Soon the numbers were dropping fast and a gong sounded. The ground seemed to vibrate righteous truth.

Everyone stopped, retreating to opposite sides. Only Crowley stayed surrounded by bodies and dropped weapons.  

As he looked to the right, he could see Heaven atop a hill. There was storm clouds above them, and they stood in victory above the mass grave of thousands of ethereal beings. To the othe rside, Demons were writhing and growling. There were far less of the black mass and suddenly he knew what had become of the war.

He didn’t belong with either side. Him and Aziraphale had made their own. But where was Aziraphale now? Surely if they had both created their own side, he’d be here, standing in no man’s land with him.

As he watched, the Demons dissipated into ash. He wondered why he was not leaving. HIs eyes trained every inch of his skin for a russel of movement, Nothing came.

When he was certain he was not disappearing, he began to search and to yell. “Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Where are you?” The angels seemed undisturbed. It was impossible to think that even if Aziraphale had gone with them, he would leave him alone on the Battlefield as he was screaming his name. “Aziraphale!” There was no movement, and felt tears spilling down his face. He slumped to the ground, sobbing. “Aziraphale…”

“Crowley?” A weak, wavering voice carried on the slight wind, and he looked for the source. A few meters away, a beautiful, tufty haired angel lay dying. Impossibly quickly, he fell to his knees next to the sprawled body of his lover. His pure, golden blood mixed with the black of demon blood. It felt disgusting and wrong, the blood of something so innocent and beautiful mixing with something so… not. “Please don’t be angry with me.” He was jerked away from the scene before him to Aziraphale’s face. The words shocked him, coming from someone so completely undeserving of any anger. His face was screwed up in pain, and he was breathing shallowly through everything. There were two wounds in his chest and his signature cream jacket was ripped and stained with the shimmering blood that seemed to coat the everything.

“Why… why the fuck would I be angry with you?” He caressed Aziraphale’s hair and cheek, trying to comfort him in his pain. There was a cut on his forehead, and he kissed it gently. As he saw his Angel’s face screw up in pain, Crowley swore then that he was going to make whoever had done this to him pay. “Just, stay alive while I do this one thing,” He kissed him on the forehead again and stood, staring directly at the blazing wall of Angels “You have taken everything from me. I’m getting it back now.” Before he completely destroyed them all, he wanted them to know why.

Taking a last look at his broken and damaged lover, he ran forward to meet a blazing wall of angels. As he jumped, a weapon made from his anger and love appeared in his hand, brother to Aziraphale’s blazing sword that he had taken from the floor.

The first angel that dared to take him on was shot down with a blow to the neck. He completely mowed through them, and on either side of him, angels fell until he reached the final four archangels. Finally he stilled, hovering in front of them, a weapon in either hand. Gabriel stepped minutely behind the others, and opened his mouth to speak, “How have you done this? Survived and killed our entire army in about thirty seconds?”

“You destroyed my Aziraphale.”

“Aziraphale? He is nothing. Worthless. A traitor. If I did not know that any minute now he will be suffering a hugely painful death, I would immediately cause him to fall. He would join you.”

He cut down one, relishing in the way it’s head rolled in the dirt, “Aziraphale is the very best of you all,” The fury seemed to blind him and he struggled to keep himself under control. Just long enough to kill them all. The three remaining Archangels stumbled back and he threw the new weapon, straight through the ost outwards one’s chest. It came back to him in an instant and he advanced on the final two. Michael and Gabriel. “You couldn’t hope to understand Aziraphale. If anything, you are the traitors to the Ineffable plan.” Swiftly, he used his two swords to decapitate Michael.

Leaving Gabriel vulnerable and open for attack. “And he is worth more to me than anyone.” With a final word, he plunged his swords simultaneously into Gabriel's chest, and pulled them apart, separating his torso in half. The man himself gave him and shocked look, before him eyes rolled back into his head and he fell like a piece on timber.

Once he had finished, he looked around and descended the pile of bodies. His wings unfurled as he walked to Aziraphale. They were human blood red, stained like ink and he felt so perfectly himself that he spread them further, smiling as the wind hit his feathers.

When he re-found his Angel, he bent down and picked him up, cradling him into his chest. The man was barely breathing and no longer conscious, and he still burrowed into Crowley’s side. The sight made him want to break down, his Angel so vulnerable and hurt. Made him want to massacre the Angels again.

He walked off the battlefield and back onto Earth, jump starting time as he did so. The humans were stood in a circle and they looked at Crowley descending from the air in amazement.

They could only look in shock for a moment. Aziraphale cradled in Crowley’s arms, his weapons sheathed and tears leaking from below his lizard like eyes. “Crickey! You were over there… and now…” Sergeant Shadwell was pointing at them and the place they’d disappeared from with his ‘exorcism fingers’ and gaping like a goldfish. At any other time, Crowley would have laughed about humans and their inability to possibly consider that maybe other beings weren’t confined by just simply time and space. But this was now. And Aziraphale was dying .

“I have to leave.” Was all Crowley gave as an explanation, and he took off, Airzaphale still cradled in his arms. As he flew, he looked down at his Angel. If he’d been wounded by a Demon, as Crowley feared, he’d only have a few moments before the hell fire they infused into all of their weapons destroyed him. Instinctively, he landed outside his bookshop, and it was only when he saw that it was still intact that he remembered what had happened. Although his heart had no space right now, he mentally noted to congratulate Adam on his powers.

Opening the door with a quick miracle, he place Aziraphale gingerly on one of the overstuffed sofas in his bookshop. His eyes slowly blinked open, as if struggling to open. When Crowley saw this sure sign of life, he let himself hold him in his arms. Ever so gently he combed his hair, and watch him struggle to produce a watery smile. “Come on Angel.” It came out as a growl, his teeth clenched.

His mouth opened but no sound came out. A trickle of golden blood did though, a Crowley wiped it away tenderly. “Your, your,” He coughed wetly, unable to get the words out, “Your wings, my dear.”

He nodded, trying to mentally shake himself out of this slump. “We’re on our own side now, Angel.” Aziraphale trying to sit up and against his better judgement, he helped him up.

“Want to see,” He choked out, and Crowley knew instantly what his few words meant. Aziraphale stood, unfurling his wings. They too were a blood red, dripping with his golden blood but incredibly more majestic.

The effort of standing proved too much, and his knees buckled. Crowley was there to catch him, but it was too late. Hell fire ripped through his veins, and soon his entire body was on fire. All Crowley could do was hold him as he burnt, whispering quiet, comforting murmurings. He didn’t even scream, and soon there was nothing left.

Nothing left of the being that Crowley had loved for six thousand years, except for red feathers and gold blood everywhere. So much blood, everywhere. Everywhere, all over the sofa and  surrounding book. And Crowley. His hands stained and shining. It hurt to look at them.

Crowley was left, shoulders sagging the the shop that smelt so overwhelmingly of Aziraphale.