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A drunk Crowley wandered through the graveyard, his angel held a tight grip on his waist, supporting him, holding him up—classic Aziraphale.
"Trust me, if hell noticed that little display I'd already be-" Suddenly the ground underneath him caved in, sucking him through the floor in a fast motion. His head rolled back in whiplash as he fell, landing on his back in the walls of hell.
"Ah, shit."
A demon stood in front of him, next to them was Beelzebub.
"Crowley." Beelzebub greeted.
"Aye, Beelzebub." Crowley's words were slurred with the poison. "The bloody hell am I doing here?"
The duke opened their mouth to talk but the other demon beat them to it. "You've broken the rules, Crowley. Doing...good." He spat out the word as if it physically caused him harm. "And hanging around with an angel nonetheless. We almost had the girl, she was right in our grips. You shall pay for what you've done."
Crowley shook his head, too drunk to properly process what was happening. "You don't have proof. Y'need proof. I hav'nt done nothing."
"The woman you helped, her friend is here," Beelzebub spoke harshly, but there was a glint in their eye. "She told us about you and the angel. We sense you helping the woman, a good deed like that..." They trailed off, shaking their head.
They've known Crowley for as long as they've both existed. Before they were in both Hell. As much as the demon didn't admit it, he hadn't really changed. Crowley had only adapted as much as he needed to for survival, but he was still himself at heart. Selfless, bright, good.
Beelzebub knew it would only get him in trouble, as Duke of Hell, it was their duty to punish traitors. No matter who they were.
"You brought this upon yourself."
Crowley spat out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Y'can't do anything to me. 'm too important."
The demon beside Beezlebub grinned wickedly. "We can do whatever we want to you, long as you survive." He moved closer, gripping the drunk demon by the collar of his shirt. He leaned in and whispered in his ear. "If it was up to me, I'd have you drowned in the holiest water and your little pet angel burned in the hottest flame."
Crowley shivered, suddenly feeling far more sober with the idea of Aziraphale being harmed. He kept his mouth shut, unwilling to show any reaction to the words.
"I'm going to break you, traitor." The demon spat, he pulled back, keeping his hands on the collar of Crowley's shirt as he turned back to Beelzebub. "May I start the process, my lord?"
Beelzebub's eyes shifted between the two demons in front of them before they turned away. "Do whatever you please. No holy water."
The demon grinned. Crowley felt a wave of dread crash over him.
Crowley was aggressively thrown into a small room, his tall frame colliding with the wall behind him. He let out a grunt, his drunken mind struggling to catch up as the other demon threw himself on top of him, his rough hands beating Crowley's face over and over until he drew blood. Crowley was sure he must have had a black eye, his vision swirling.
"Giving up already?" The bigger demon teased. "We've only just started."
Crowley coughed, blood pouring out of the side of his mouth. Despite that, he smiled numbly. "I don't give up."
The demon shook his head. Pounding his fist into Crowley's head hard enough to knock him out, the redhead felt his vision grow blurry, stars clouding his vision.
It was ironic in a way, that expression.
The stars he would never see again greeted him as he was sure he would meet his end. Poetic really.
Of course, he was not so lucky as to have truly been killed. When he awoke again, he found himself tied to a tall pole, his arms above his head and his feet pressed tightly to the bottom, hovering a few inches above the ground.
His shirt was gone, and the only clothing covering his body was his ripped pants, torn from his prior beating.
"The prisoner is awake." A mangled voice spoke from the shadows. Low chuckles echoing off the walls.
"About time." Crowley yelped as a sudden pain met his stomach. The demon from before now stood in front of him, his fist pounding into Crowley's bare stomach.
"That won't do." The black-haired demon looked up, an evil look in his eyes. "Bring in the holy water."
Crowley's breath hitched out of fear, not that he let it show, his hands held above him trembling.
The demon in front of him stepped closer. "You asked for this, Crowley."
Without any other words, he began to pour the liquid onto the exposed skin. Only a few drops, enough to leave a mark without killing the demon. Crowley wished they would just dump the whole bottle on him, put him out of this misery and humility.
He, of course, could never be so lucky.
He screamed in pain, it felt as though his insides were being ripped apart, flipped inside out from his very organs.
The pain didn't stop after the water stopped being poured. It still burned, it burned unlike anything Crowley had ever felt together. He had no doubts it would leave scars. He would have to make Aziraphale never saw them.
Aziraphale.
Oh, how he would die to see his Angel right now.
"Let's leave him here, fellas. Let 'em think about what he's done."
The demons groaned but did as ordered, all piling out of the room, leaving Crowley alone in the darkness with only the company of his thoughts.
He couldn't move, the pain still spreading through his body draining all energy he might have used to free himself. He was so tired. So, so tired.
Hours must have passed while Crowley did nothing but scream in pain, wishing it would stop, praying to a god that had lost faith in him an eternity ago.
"Aziraphale." He whispered, tears leaking from his eyes. His angel had never failed him, not ever. "I need you...make it stop, angel...make it stop."
All at once, he heard a voice. A voice he knew all too well.
"Crowley."
Crowley sobbed in relief. "Angel."
He couldn't see him if he was even there, but even hearing his voice brought a relief like no other.
"You truly are pathetic." The angel mocked. "Too good for hell, too evil for heaven. You don't belong anywhere."
"Aziraphale-"
"I've never liked you." The angel continued. "You're a failure, Crowley. That's all you'll ever be."
Crowley shook his head. "You're not real." He looked around the empty room. "You're not him!"
The voice sighed. "Maybe not, but I'm here. You'll never see the one you seek again."
That torture lasted for years upon years. Crowley lost count after a while. It altered between holy water and Aziraphale's hurtful words.
Holy water may burn, but nothing stung like his angel's anger.
When Crowley returned to Earth, he realized just how long it had been since he'd last stepped foot on the familiar plane. He numbly looked around, thinking about all the time he'd missed, how the ache in his heart resolved slightly at the comforting smells and sounds he knew so well.
The ache settled further when his eyes landed on a familiar white-haired angel.
He remembered hearing Aziraphale's voice while he was in Hell. He heard the angel's hurtful words, his disappointment. Even if it was all fake, it strung deeper than any torture.
He missed him.
When had Crowley allowed himself to be so attached to the enemy? He was only causing himself and the angel pain and misery. Although, as his eyes met the other's he found himself disagreeing with that thought.
The look in Aziraphale's eyes could only be described as relief, no matter how much the angel tried to hide it. Crowley knew him well enough.
He took his rightful place next to him, giving the angel his greetings. They caught up quietly before Crowley found himself moving on to more important matters.
The demon handed the paper to the angel, two words written on it in neat penmanship.
"Holy water."
Just in case. Crowley told himself. Just in case it happened again.
He watched the angel walk away from him, the anger in his tone wasn't anything new. They were enemies after all—Crowley would never see it that way.
He wouldn't allow it to happen again, if hell wanted to harm him, he'd harm himself first. He didn't have anything to live for anyway.