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This day really, really was not going as planned. Crowley yelped in pain again, then squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the next blow.
It came fast, a hard kick in his side that definitely cracked ribs. He howled and thrashed weakly, but the humans held him down. They’d been at this whole beating thing for quite a few minutes, and didn’t seem to be getting tired.
“Look, look,” he said through a mouthful of blood, then yelped as another kick landed. “Look! I’ve got money, right? I can pay you!”
Normally, that worked. On the whole, humans were pretty money-motivated.
This lot didn’t go for it. They just kept beating him.
This wasn’t good. Best case scenario, they’d get bored soon and wander off. Worst case—or almost worse case—they’d discorporate him, and then he’d get a turn with Hell’s torturers.
But there was another, even worse possibility. The humans might decide to keep him, and take him somewhere else to be tortured more extensively instead of just beaten up.
Hell’s torturers were bad. But humans had imagination, which was much, much worse. Maybe it was Crowley’s own fault for the apple thing.
Whether or not it was his own fault, Crowley absolutely did not want to get on the other side of human imagination again. He snapped his fingers, trying to miracle them away, but he couldn’t focus. Another kick crashed into his body, and then another. And another.
He opened his mouth to try again to talk them out of this, and gurgled instead. Terrific. Gurgling at them would be so effective. Would really, really accomplish a lot.
“He’s not screaming anymore,” one of them said, sounding really disappointed about it.
“Beat him too much at once.”
“Could take him home.”
They all laughed darkly, and Crowley’s heart sank. Ohshitohshitohshit, he really was in trouble. Couldn’t talk his way out, couldn’t miracle himself out…
The humans conferred amongst themselves, then bound his wrists and ankles. They slung him over the back of a horse. Then, laughing again, they rode off down the road.
Crowley cast one last longing look in the direction of the village he’d been hoping to visit, the one with the really terrific inn that served the good mead. Then his eyes closed, and he sank into a semiconscious haze.
It was a pained sort of semi conscious haze. He hurt absolutely everywhere. That made it hard to even let himself drift off.
Especially hanging over a horse like this. Every step jarred him, and his stomach lurched. Oh, gosh. This was bad. This was so fucking bad.
He was still only semiconscious, but also in tears by the time they stopped for the night. The humans dragged him off the back of the horse and flung him down to the cold ground. They left him there and wandered off to do things like start a fire and cook food.
The fire was too far away to warm him up. His shivering, which had started a while ago, got even more convulsive.
Okay. Okay. This was fine. Maybe he could discorporate from hypothermia before they got around to torturing him again.
“Hello!” a cheerful voice called, and Crowley’s chest seized with panic. Oh shit. “I was wondering whether I might share your fire.”
Crowley forced his eyes open and stared at the light colored blurry blob that had just dismounted from a horse. He opened his mouth, trying to call out, to warn Aziraphale away. But all he could manage was a moan.
The light colored blurry blob turned towards him. “Crowley? Is that you?”
Crowley moaned again, this time in confirmation. His teeth chattered, and the waves of shivering got even more violent. His vision darkened around the edges, and his ears started to ring.
Raised voices didn’t help the ringing. He wished they would stop. He wanted to sleep.
He couldn’t catch much of the conversation, although he did hear Aziraphale say something like “think about the consequences of your evil ways”. That seemed important. Not for himself—he was a demon, and evil ways were part of the package deal—but for whoever Aziraphale was talking to.
Someone touched him, and he groaned. Being touched hurt, really hurt. He wanted to go to sleep.
“Crowley, don’t go to sleep!” A warm hand lightly patted his battered cheek, and he groaned in protest. “I’m sorry, but you’re in rather a lot of danger of discorporating. I need you to try to focus on me. Stay with me, don’t slip away.”
“S’ okay,” Crowley mumbled, head spinning. “Don’t mind.”
“Well, I do mind, very much. Who will I have lunch with if you’ve gotten locked up in Hell?” The hand touched his cheek again, this time a tender caress. “Just wait, Crowley. I’ll have you patched up in a moment.”
Miracles began to wash over him, prickling annoyance. His mind cleared, though, or at least started to. He could think again, some.
Aziraphale had clearly dealt with the humans in one way or another, which was good. That meant that he didn’t need to hope he discorporated. He wouldn’t need to deal with human imagination after all.
The pain gradually eased, and he could finally breathe again. He blinked a few times, then squinted up at Aziraphale, who was a lot less blurry now.
“Hi,” Crowley rasped. “Hi. Thanks.”
Aziraphale gave a small, worried smile. “You’re welcome. Are you all right?”
“Better, yeah?” Experimentally, he stretched. Nothing made him want to scream. “Gosh. M’ glad you were riding by.”
“Technically, I was riding up. I had no intention of going by. I wanted to sit at the fire and have some food.”
“Whatever,” Crowley said, too achy to argue. He took Aziraphale’s offered hand and struggled into a seated position. “Ow. So, what’d you do to the humans?”
They were all sitting near the fire still. But instead of laughing, they were all sort of crying. Tears glistened on their cheeks.
Aziraphale blushed. “Oh. I just did a slight miracle to encourage them to use their imaginations.”
Now Crowley understood, and he smiled. “Lemme guess. To think about the consequences of their evil ways?”
“Mhm.” Aziraphale stared at the crying humans with a certain degree of satisfaction. “I rather think it was effective.”
“Yeah, especially since humans are way more imaginative than demons. If they’re imagining Hell, they’re making it loads worse than it actually is.” Tears of relief stung Crowley’s eyes, and he hid them by seizing Aziraphale in a hug. “They were planning to keep me. I really didn’t wanna find out what sort of things they imagined.”
Aziraphale hugged him back, very gently. “Shh, you don’t have to worry about that now. If they do come out of it at all, I shall simply do another miracle to encourage further contemplation.”
Crowley snorted. Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he couldn’t manage to choke back a couple of quiet sobs. He also couldn’t stop shaking.
Thankfully, Aziraphale didn’t point out any of his reactions. He just held Crowley carefully enough that it didn’t worsen the aches, one hand moving in slow, careful circles on his back. The other cradled the back of Crowley’s head, drifting across his hair.
Although the trembling continued—or possibly shivering, he was still cold despite Aziraphale’s warmth—Crowley choked off further sobs. Sobbing was not fun with how sore he was. He’d rather appreciate the embrace, and the simple comfort of Aziraphale’s presence.
His breaths evened out, and soon he felt more like himself. He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck, still not pulling back. “Thanks for the rescue, angel. I owe you.”
“All part of the Arrangement.” Aziraphale slid fingers through his hair, managing to avoid all the bloody, matted bits. It felt good. “But if you’d like to repay me, you could buy me dinner.”
“Terrific.” Crowley would happily do that, at least once he’d gotten his fill of being hugged. Thanks to Aziraphale, the humans were only torturing themselves with their imaginations instead of him.