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"You're lucky," Beelzebub gestures behind them, "You're getting a choice, traitor."
Their grin show nothing but malice and row upon rows of sharp, cutting teeth.
---
On this particular day, Crowley had decided to take his car out on a drive around the area of London, when his radio had crackled and he twisted to stare at it, raising an eyebrow.
Surely, he thought, the powers of hell wouldn't be trying to come for him now? Not after the holy water trick, anyway. Flicking his tongue out at the corner of his mouth, Crowley coughed.
If they were going to do this now, they might as well get it over with.
"Ah! Alright, alright! There's no need for that!" His face quickly morphed into one of concern, his hands tightening on the wheel. His body tensed - just like it had when he was in his snake form - at the sound of Aziraphale's voice coming though the hellish radio.
Sucking in a breath, the radio sighed.
"I'm awfully sorry about this dear. I- I seem to have rather gotten myself into a sticky wicket. Afraid you'll have to come get me."
Baring his teeth, Crowley turns the Bentley in such a way that shouldn't be possible and proceeds to hit the gas.
---
"The car or the angel, Crowley." Beelzebub grins at him though the invisible barrier surrounding the circle, that's currently being sprayed by blood from his knuckles.
They'd known he'd come. It had been a trap. He had broken out of his swagger the moment he had seen Aziraphale dangling over a lava pit.
He had ran straight into the sigil.
The hooks holding his angel up had been pushed though the layers of soft tissue at the curve of his wings. His whole weight was pulling on them, his corporation beaten and bloody. He couldn't see his face from here, but he knew it wasn't going to be pretty.
Everything Crowley held dear was hanging on by a thread.
"The angel! That's not even a choice! I pick Aziraphale, you bastards!" he hisses back at the lord of the flies, fangs showing.
The grin on Beelzebub face grows, and creates a pit in Crowley's stomach. "Of course." They turn on their heel, clicking their fingers in a command, "Drop the angel."
There's a screech from Crowley's throat that is entirely inhuman that makes the lord giggle, as they wander over to the only door, walking though and then locking behind them.
"Have fun!"
The sigil flares out as soon as the door's deadbolt clicks into place, and Crowley is moving, darting forwards to grab at what he can see of Aziraphales jacket and pulling.
Screaming at the pull back, Crowley reaches to a place of old and tugs, dropping to his knees as soon as it's clear that Aziraphale is no longer in the fire.
The smell of burning feathers and skin, however, doesn't die down.
It pulls at Crowley, back to his own fall. There's a moment where it's silent, and then Aziraphale takes a haggard breath in before the screaming starts.
The only thing he can do right now is pull at the burning feathers, a new coat of velvet down replacing them in seconds.
Even just putting a finger into one of hells pits would burn hellfire straight though an angels grace, and Crowley is aware that he had been submerged completely. The angels nails are growing sharp, and shredding at his face.
Grabbing them and struggling to hold them away, Crowley snarled at the mess of skin ribbons and rivers of blood that Aziraphales face had become in just a few moments.
There were also holes in which Aziraphales eyes should have been.
His eyebrows were pinched as he howled out, unable to even cry. He scrambled and cried out for Crowley, who could only hold him back from harming himself further.
Slowly, his hair started to change, root to tip in colour. A jet black, but still remaining fluffy.
Crowley has to swallow and shut his eyes as the angels horns pierce though his forehead, sweeping upwards, then spiralling back and out. A black sheep, then, Crowley thinks. By the time they're done growing, the angels grace will have been pulled out of him completely.
As soon as he cries out and slumps forward, fainting from the pain, Crowley pulls him - wings and all - into his arms and lets a few tears patter down onto his burnt waistcoat,
"I got you, angel." He whispers, before pulling his own wings out and soaring back to Earth.