Work Header

Morningstar's Angel

Chapter Text

Falling was not like flying in the slightest. For one thing, it hurt a great deal more. As his wings burst into flame and he was yanked from the existence of Heaven that he had known so far in his immortal life, he caught sight of all the planets and the stars. The whole thing was spread wide open to him as he crashed through the atmosphere of Her latest project at the wrong angle. The pain was horrific, but he lost track of it for the length of time that he saw the Earth. And then, he slipped under the ground and was lost for who knows how long.

It felt as though he hit every single rock on his descent into Hell, and he landed in a heap at the bottom of a shaft, sweltering heat weighing down on his burnt form. He had landed on a rock rather than the flames, but he could not quite feel grateful, as he was busy feeling hatred for the One that had made him. He attempted to stretch a wing forward to survey the damage, but he barely so much as twitched it before another wave of agony rippled through him. He pulled on his inner grace as well, and even though it was as twisted and broken as his wings had become, it did not hurt as it responded to him. 

He used it to cycle through shapes and forms and settled on one that did not have wings. It did not have anything but a smooth sleek body and a mouth full of venomous fangs. In this way, he did not have to hurt any more. Eventually, his wings would heal, and the feathers would grow back - black, naturally - but he would never stop feeling the flames that burned them first. His memories of Before did not fade as it did for the rest of the Fallen, but that made it worse in a way rather than better. Nevertheless, it was he that rose to power, taking his throne in the depths of Hell. 

And so he remained on the throne until he went to tempt the despicable creatures that She had left in the Garden. That was where he met a Principality by the name of Aziraphale. His immortal life was never quite the same after that. He chose to spend much more time on Earth, leaving a council of Dukes and Lords in his absence to oversee the day to day processes. Every so often, he would pop back in to throw in an idea or two, but for the most part, he spent his time trying to get to know the unique angel better, causing trouble of his own along the way. 

Oh, but he would do anything to get that stupidly sweet smile on Aziraphale's face again. The delighted way that he would say his chosen name when he would do something for the angel. Even if he would protest vehemently at the prospect of being called 'nice'. He... he enjoyed making Aziraphale happy. That was not very demonic of him, but he was the bloody King of Hell. He was allowed to have a few freebies if he wanted to. What were the others going to do, drag him back to Hell? They would never dare do such a thing to their King. 

Speaking of which, he had never actually told Aziraphale about who he was... exactly. The angel got into a tizzy over him just being a filthy demon at times, so he could only imagine how he would react over learning that his friend of the past few millennia was the King of them all. Yeah, he did not think that would be a great idea. He would rather cut his own tongue out than have Aziraphale not talking to him. The last time that had happened, he had made himself sleep for eighty years. Not one of his finest moments but whatever. The point was that he would rather not tell Aziraphale. He did not like lying to the angel, but omitting the truth was not the same thing as lying, was it? 

Crowley propped his head up on his fist as he watched Aziraphale dig into his plate of crepes like he had not eaten in days. Always so proper, elbows off the table and posture erect. The demon had only an untouched cup of tea in front of his spot, which he ignored in favor of staring at the angel from behind his dark glasses. If Aziraphale was bothered by his attention, he made no complaint. Crowley tended to avoid eating food in contrast to his angel, who nearly lived for it. If Aziraphale was not an angel, he might even be accused of gluttony. 

"Oh, my dear." Crowley blinked and wondered if he had missed something in their conversation. He realized that Aziraphale had turned toward him, and he was looking at him with his blue eyes. "I believe I'm being terribly rude. Here, have some. It is really quite delectable!" Aziraphale said. 

Crowley's stomach made an odd little fluttery feeling, and he swallowed. He flicked his eyes from Aziraphale's sincere face to the pieces of crepe stuck onto his fork, angling in his direction. When Crowley remained silent for a few more seconds, Aziraphale started to lower the fork, his expression falling briefly. The demon snatched the fork from him and plopped the slightly too sweet food into his mouth. His tongue passed over his lips slowly as he handed the fork back to the angel. It was not something he particularly liked, but Aziraphale was looking at him like that again. So expectant. 

"Yesss," Crowley remarked. "Very nice." 

The smile his angel made was definitely worth it. He made a mental note to bring Aziraphale here for lunch more often. He had a whole list in his head of places that Aziraphale enjoyed, whether or not they ever went back to them again. Crowley washed down the too sweet taste of the crepes down with a gulp of bitter tea. His cup was set back on the table with a light thump. His golden eyes tracked Aziraphale's neat hands as they brought a white kerchief to dab at his mouth. 

"So what have you been up to, Crowley?" Aziraphale asked. 

"Much of the same. Trouble," Crowley said. He gave the angel a smirk, letting his lips quirk up. 

"Hmm. I can imagine," Aziraphale replied. "I do hope that your side isn't encroaching on young Amelia's soul, however." 

"Don't worry, angel. She's all yours," Crowley said. "We have plenty of other souls to taint."