Work Header

I've Fallen for you by Kujaku

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Story Notes:

Of course nothing GO-related is mine...
Just enjoy, 'kay?

Chapter 1 : The day was closing to an end. by Kujaku

The day was closing to an end, and the first stars were winking in the darkening sky as a young man (or at least, man-shaped creature) walked away from lightened streets towards a badly-parked vintage Bentley. Crowley sighed, his breath clouding the air (not that he really needed to breathe, but habits died hard after 4 000 years or so on this planet...) as he walked towards his well-loved car. He hated the cold, really hated the cold...really hated it. He hated it more than he hated anything else in the whole history of Creation; the boring speeches of the Lower Spheres, the human race, those annoying plastic toys you got inside Rice Krispie packets...all of this was nothing compared to the special hatred he reserved for cold.

Of course Aziraphale was going to love the upcoming weather...for some very deep and unfathomable reason, the angel was at his happiest when walking through the brittle cold, the (rare) snowflakes falling on his outdated tweed suit, eyes shining and breath hanging around his face like mist... Then again, mused the demon as he kept walking on, hands firmly in his pockets, the cold weather was helping him to spread disjoy and bother. Freak ice-storms, unexpected blizzards, "miraculous" hail and freezing winds...he was busy these days, smiling at the curses erupting around him. Shame it had to be so bloody cold! The gust of wind that blew into the small street made Crowley's teeth shudder and he lept into the Bentley as fast as a flash and drove off, destination his impeccable flat and a very hot cup of something. Spiked with something else.


Arriving back at his flat, he turned the heat up as high as it would go and rapidly found himself huddled up in the couch, warm fluffy blanket covering him and warm cup of soup spiked with breadcrumbs in his hand. He briefly imagined the look on Aziraphale's face, seeing a Spawn of Satan lounging in a designer armchair, with a mug marked To my Best Friend in his hand. Yes it had a smiling rabbit on it, and yes the rabbit was pink and fluffy. One things angels didn't have was a sense of good taste. Or was it just this one particular angel?

He moved his other hand and the loud blast of the television covered the silence outside. What a truely dismal day, he thought, looking at the news flashing on ths screen. And then he started to smile as more and more bad news echoed around him. The day was starting to brighten up, in a manner of speaking. The strange golfball-sized hailstones that had broken at least six of the greenhouses at Kew Gardens were a definate must... Not a classic, but still something to cheer him up. Feeling almost warm, Crowley got off the couch and started walking around the flat, inspecting the plants (that, thanks to their inbred terror of him, had bloomed even in full winter), checked his ansaphone (which was a complete waste of time: no-one called him anyway, and the only one who did still hadn't got the grasp of the machine...) and suddenly stopped.


"Um...yes?" answered Crowley, staring blankly at the wall.



He didn't really have a choice, the voice (voices, whatever...) was blasting directly into his brain. So he listened.


"Um...of, who is this?"


I'm sure I won't... thought the demon

"So, what's the plan?"


"Which one?" started Crowley, trying to make his now-panicking brain calm down.

Ok, think...there's no way they could've got the hint yet...They're good, but not that good...


Oh holy fuck. They got better...


"Dispose of, meaning..?" strained Crowley desperately playing for time.


Crowley closed his eyes, safely shielded beind his sunglasses. He knew very well what "use" angels were Down-There, and he didn't wish it on his worst enemy. Or enemies as it were... Hell, even Britney Spears didn't deserve a fate like that, even if Aziraphale had made the biggest cock-up since the Fourteenth Century with her...


The voice(s) disappeared, but Crowley hardly noticed it. He was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at the deodorant advert that had replaced the booming voice of Hell. And he heard Aziraphale's voice screaming his name in the distance...

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 2 : Supranatural beings had nightmares from drinking by Kujaku

Crowley's eyes shot open. He was lying askew in the couch, the blanket sloppily covering his chest, the half-cup of soup perching hesitantly on the armrest, and the noise of raindrops pattering on the windows. He breathed deeply (not that he actually needed to...) and walked over to the window. It was the early hours of the morning, which indicated clearly that it had all been a dream. Too much claret? It would certainly be an interesting side-effet if supranatural beings had nightmares from drinking!

No, it was deeper than that... He didn't believe in coincidences, but premonitions...that was a different thing. And since when had he dreamt of his immediate superiors? Without pausing to even materialize clean clothes, Crowley ran out of the flat and over to his car. He had to reach the bookshop, even if only to see the angel poke fun at his uneasiness. He had to see if the angel was safe in his dusty world, no matter how stupid he would appear.

"You can't do 90mph in Central London!!!"
The angel's voice came back to him as Crowley's eyes rivetted themselves on the road. It was very easy to do 90mph in Central London, it was just hard to miss the pedestrians. But today he wasn't even trying to hit them. The dream had rattled him so bad, he just had to try and set his mind right. This wasn't right. This was going beyond the Arrangment. This was beyond Good, Evil or road-signs. This was just to set his mind at ease, to at least have some more time before the whole thing blew over.
Above and Below would soon catch on to them...he just didn't want it to end yet. Turning native, Hastur had said... Perhaps he was, perhaps they were turning native. Heaven and Hell almost meant less to them than their week-end trips to the country or their evening drinks in the backroom. They had even turned their backs on their own superiors to stop the Apocalypse, and were both wating for the dreaded time when Up-There or Down-There would suddenly remember the two beings that had spoken against the Metatron and almost raised a hand against...the Other One.

Turn left...left again at the lights...second right... Crowley gritted his teeth as he reached Soho and sped down the windy streets towards the well-known bookshop, thoughts racing through his mind.


It was over. Totally and completely over. The Agreement, their friendship, their dinners or lunches at the Ritz, the duckpond...all that had suddenly disappeared. He felt empty, colder than ice and sicker than he ever had been. How - why had it come to this? How could six thousand years, six millenia, just be destroyed by one long-distance phone-call? Crowley recognised his usual attempt at bad humour and just gave up. He didn't want to think about the time when they would be recalled by their separate superiors. Crowley only had Hell to look forward to; Aziraphale had Heaven and it's clemency. Crowley remembered the cells they had in the Celestial City, and some of the things he had seen while still a Heavenly Being, and shuddered. Angels were supposed to be the extension of God's neverending love towards His creatures, but Crowley wondered how things he had seen there could exist in a world based on love.

Before he had Fallen, he had mentioned this fact to Aziraphale several times, hoping his companion had answers. But Aziraphale had looked away and had murmured something about ineffability, his voice not quite hiding the undertone of bitterness. God loved all His children but could still cast them away from Him. God was love, God was forgiveness and yet He was also wrath and vengeance. Neither of them had understood.
Aziraphale had searched long and hard in the Celestial Libraries, hoping for a clue, and had found nothing. Crowley had sided with the MorningStar, hoping that he, being God's greatest and most-loved creation, had an answer. But God had turned away from His rebellious children and had cast them out of Heaven, without a shred of the mercy he had shown generations of Men.

Crowley had Fallen, his wings tainted, his Light turned to Dark, and Aziraphale had been left alone in Eden's garden, enshrouded in his the Earth, Gods newest playtoy, was in full bloom, Aziraphale (having been demoted from Cherub to Principality after all that flaming sword business) had been assigned to look over it, to be its Guardian Angel. And he had descended to Earth and had witnessed countless events that would shape History. And he watched and waited, learned and remembered, thinking about a dark-haired angel that had he had met Crowley again, on a certain hill in Judea, on a certain afternoon, a couple of hundred years after their last meeting.


The blonde angel standing in the full sunlight, invisible to mortal eyes, turned his eyes to the sky and whispered one word in a voice that trembled slightly, although with fear, anger or sadness, no-one could have told. Except for the other figure walking towards the same hill, a dark shape against the sun.

- He won't answer you...

The angel turned swiftly and his blue eyes widened as he recognised the speaker. How could he not recognise him? He had lost his sacred glow but his now-golden eyes still shone with the same glitter as they had done so all those centuries back, under the apple-tree, and before that, when he had been this beautiful angel who hadn't even thought of following the MorningStar.

- Cae-

- Crowley, angel..., the other said quickly, lifting a warning finger.

Aziraphale merely smiled and nodded, before turning back towards the sight before them.

- I thought you'd be here, started Crowley.

- I had to be..., replied the angel, before lapsing back into silence.

No other answer was needed and together they watched, before Aziraphale breathed a deep sigh.

-What had he done? I've asked Him the question but He won't answer me...

- There's no answer point in asking Him, He probably doesn't know either...

Aziraphale turned shocked eyes to his companion, and Crowley wasn't too surprised to see tears glittering in the angel's eyes. Angels loved everything and everyone, even when their love was undeserved. Perhaps even more so...

- His own son...

- Yeah...

- Why?

- I can't tell you angel...I don't think anyone can.

A silence filled with hesitation fell between the two unearthly creatures, before Aziraphale whispered softly.

-I'm sorry...

- What?

- I'm sorry Crowley...I'm so, so, sorry...

Crowley looked up sharply and saw tears streaking down Aziraphale's cheeks.

- I didn't Fall because of you.

- But I wanted an answer... I wanted to know...

- I didn't Fall because of you! Get that into your head, Aziraphale! We all wanted answers, and none of us found any, but I didn't Fall because of you!

- I wanted an answer! If I hadn't wanted one, you wouldn't have gone looking, and you wouldn't have followed Lucifer... You wouldn't have Fallen...

Crowley could see tears falling, and lifted the angel's head up, staring deeply into those azur eyes that reflected his own golden ones.

- Angel...what makes you think I did it for you?

Aziraphale looked shocked for an instant, then smiled gently, and suddenly his eyes were full of blood and the smile frozen on his mouth...


Crowley cursed out loud as he parked the Bentley to a screeching stop. That last part certainly didn't belong! He quite literally jumped out of the car (yes, roofs don't mean much when you're a demon...) and hurried towards the shop's front door. The sign read "Closed" as it quite obviously would at around 4am, but that didn't quite stop Crowley from opening it and shouting the angel's name. He half expected to hear the upstairs flat's door to creak and for muffled footsteps to make their way down the stairs before a a ruffled Aziraphale asked in his polite voice what on Earth Crowley wanted at this ungod-Sat-unearthly hour.

But nothing happened. The silence remained just that : silence. Where was that blasted angel?? Just his luck, he thought bitterly, a whole week without a word, and now, at the one particular time he needed to see the angel, he wasn't there. It had happened before, but right now, Crowley didn't have the patience to dig out a random book and wait for Aziraphale's return, like he usually did.

Right, keep calm, he's just out buying...a curry or something and he'll be back in a few minutes... A curry? Does that angel actually eat curries? What kind of thought-track is this?? Take a book, something that 18th century edition of the Kama Sutra where the idiot wrote "helpful" guidelines...

And Crowley sat down, book in hand, and started to idly flip through the victimised pages. It wasn't helping him calm down, not at all, and he put the book down (rather sharply), coughing at the way the dust rose up around him... Hang on... Aziraphale was the most manic person that Crowley knew, and he would leave his shop like this? Crowley felt cold sweat pearl down the back on his neck. There was almost a week's worth of dust here. He walked over to the backroom and stopped when he saw the overturned table and the cracked mug on the floor. Crowley noted in a that it was the Guns 'n Roses mug he'd brought back from a concert for the angel several years ago. Right, that did it! He needed to find clues, not that he actually couldn't guess who was responsible; he just needed to know which one he was going to permenantely discoporate first.

" I swear, when I find the bastard responsible..." started the demon.

" I'm looking at him Crawly" replied the wall behind him.

Crowley didn't even need to turn around to guess who was talking to him; the icy-cold tone and the way the voice's owner could make his name rhyme like "pus-filled bubo".

"Hello Mikael..." he sighed, finally turning.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 3 : This was a stupid thing to say. by Kujaku

Archangel Mikael, Lord of Fire, slayer of Dragons and not my favourite tea-time guest... Such had been the way Aziraphale had introduced the idea of Mikael to Crowley one fine morning in 1st century Israel when they were walking amid the palm-trees. Crowley had never seen or met Mikael and had been surprised to learn that he was Aziraphale's direct superior, even after the angel's demotion.

And this was the entity that Crowley turned to meet, in the dust-filled world of a second-hand book-store.

"What's up Mika? Lost your way?"

This was a stupid thing to say, and Crowley knew it the moment the words were out of his mouth. You did not smart-talk to Mikael, Lord of Fire and Slayer of Dragons. Especially when you were only one of the lower demons and that said Mikael was in full warrior-angel mode, complete with shiny armour and fiery sword. Da-Ble-Fuck his mouth!

"Come to rejoice in your doing, Crawly?" began Mikael.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid!" roared Mikael, and Crowley found himself pinned against the wall with a very angry archangel looking at him down a sword.

"Where's Aziraphale? What have you done to him?" demanded the archangel.

" I have no idea what you're talking about, Mika... I just arrived here..."

Crowley's head was starting to throb. Even Mikael himself was here looking for Aziraphale...this was definately not good.

"Look, Mikael, I have nothing to do with Aziraphale's absence! Trust me!"

Mikael advanced his blade closer to Crowley's neck, hissing.

" I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, demon... Why should I trust a slimeball like you?"

" Because Aziraphale does..." whispered the demon.

Mikael's eyes grew large, and Crowley almost thought his last hour had come, before the flaming sword buried itself up to the hilt in the shop wall. Crowley's first thought was Oh crap, Ziri's not going to be happy, and then he noticed the piece of paper the Mikael was holding in front of his eyes. Crowley looked at it questioningly for a few seconds (noting in passsing that the top corner was smouldering...) before he recognised the bold copperplate handwriting.

Crowley dear, gone for a spot of shopping. If you pass by, do put the kettle on, there's a good the demon.

" So what have you to say to that!?" thundered Mikael.

"Perhaps I should put another teabag in the pot..."


Crowley ducked in time to avoid being beheaded, shouting at himself again for his big mouth. Did he have some kind of deathwish when it came to people stronger than him...?

"I'll ask you again demon, where is Aziraphale?"

" How should I know!? Ask him when he gets back!" shouted Crowley.

"When he gets back? Crawly, this note has been here for a week! Now where did you take him? He was supposed to report three days ago..."

"A week? The angel's been missing for a week?"

"You said that Aziraphale trusted you..." began the archangel in an icy tone.

"Shut up."

"Look where it's got him demon!"

Shut up...

" I knew I shouldn't have allowed him to remain this long on Earth, where he could meet the likes of you!"

"Shut up!"

" If it hadn't been for you, he might still be here Crawly! He might still be thwarting demons instead of inviting them for tea! And now he's dead, demon! His stupidity has killed him!"


Slitted eyes glowed deep gold, wings arched and flexed, and a look of pure rage twisted the demon's face, as he spoke in a tongue that had long eluded him.

"Thou daressst ssssay that thissss is my fault? Thou daressst ssssay that thisss is his fault? Thou wassstethsss thy time here inssstead of sssearching for the onesss resssponsssible, and thou daressst sssay that we are the culpritsss?"

Crowley gestured to the note, claws glinting in the electric light.

"Thou shallsssst leave that here and depart. I'll not have thou here any longer, angel! Leave and report back to thy ussselessss sssuperiorsss..."

Mikael growled and bared his own wings, battle-aura climbing as he faced the wrathful figure in front of him.

"Be careful Crawly... I'll not have thou insulting Heaven! I shall run thee to the ground if thy tongue sayeth else on that account!"

"Thou hasssst insssulted it long before I, by leaving one of thy own to thy enemy! Isss thissss the love of thy Heaven? Fighteth me if that be thy wish, but I be no lesssser criminal than thyself! Know that blood is already on thy handsss! Blood of thine own brother!"

With a snarl, Mikael disappeared, leaving Crowley by himself in the empty bookshop.


Great...and what have you achieved now? thought Crowley bitterly as he sat down on the floor.

Well...Mikael was even more inclined to hate and kill him (not that it changed much), and Aziraphale had spent the last week down in Hell.
Crowley's mouth hurt from using the old language he had spat at Mikael, and he felt exhausted. He hadn't used the...other...shape in such a long time, and he could still feel the aches and pains that came with it. No wonder he preferred this shape...

But he was going back to Hell. He was going Down-There and he was going to drag that stupid, stupid angel out of the claws of his captors, and he was going now.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 4 : Temptation of that sort doesn't work by Kujaku

" Crowley dear...please refrain from sitting on there..."

"Why? It's only a pile of paper...

"Yes, but there's an original edition of an 18th century Kama Sutra under there..."

"You're blushing Ziri!"

" Nonsense!"

"Come on angel! What's so special about this edition of the Kama Sutra, the world's most erotic piece of writing?"


"Is it the complete unabridged version with the lesbian chapter?"

"Crowley...temptation of that sort doesn't work on me..."

"No, it's the pop-up version! Wait a minute... Temptation of that sort? What sort does work?" grinned the demon luridly.

"Really, dear...!"

"All right, all right... Interesting foot-notes? Tell me there are interesting foot-notes!"

"Well yes..."

Blushing profusley, Aziraphale removed the book from under Crowley's nether regions and presented it to the demon, who proceeded to instantly open it and flick through the very interesting articles until he found the foot-notes. He was still reading intently (laughing like a maniac) when Aziraphale closed the shop and offered an early dinner.

They walked over to their usual table, waiting completely unawares at the Ritz for them, and ordered a fine wine and some fine hors d'oeuvres to go with it.

"What would you recommend as dessert, my dear?" asked the angel, when the meal had been ingested and was well on the way to being digested.

Crowley smiled and waited for the chocolate mousse to appear. As it did, right before the delighted angel, who proceeded to stuff his face. All very angelically of course. And then he screamed as he bit down on his tongue.


Aziraphale's eyes shot open. Sure enough he had clamped down on his tongue so hard that blood filled his mouth. Again. He was almost getting used to the taste; it was the same routine since he had arrived.

Hell. This was Hell. He had often heard Crowley describe what it was like, but he had never truely managed to realise what it truely was. But now he knew. Hell was being here. Hell was hearing screams of agony and knowing that they were yours; Hell was knowing that you would no longer see anything except the walls of your cell and the faces that taunted you each day.
Hell was wishing you could die so that the pain and loneliness would stop. But Aziraphale wouldn't die now. They would make sure of that. They had been to so much trouble to keep him alive, they weren't going to kill him now. He wasn't even chained, they didn't see a reason to. After all, he wasn't going anywhere...

The angel tried to inspect himself, to see what had been cut, burned or ripped, but could find no new wounds. Ah, so it hadn't been a torture least not a classical one. Of course he had known what use angels were in Hell, Mikael had often repeated it to his troops.

Die in combat but do not be captured by the enemy. If you die you shall see Heaven again; if you are caught, you shall only see Hell.

So he had been captured, and now he was seeing Hell. He was going to spend eternity being used by demons, used and abused and entertaining them... Angels had been programed to resist suicidal thoughts, or he would have choked on his tongue long ago instead of biting down on it... What did Crowley call it? His angelic martyr complex...


He only whispered the word, not even sure he would ever be able to talk again. But what use for talking? He had tried not to say a word but they had worked on him for so long that they had finally won a sob. But nothing else.

The last of his pride rose up from the shattered remains of his heart. He hadn't screamed once. No matter how they had cut, and burned, and thrust and laughed, he hadn't screamed once. And that had angered them... The vision was still painfully engraved in his mind, the moment they had kicked him in the throat and left him to choke on his blood. But he couldn't die... They wouldn't let him...

He painfully uncased his wings, wincing as the left one bumped the cell wall. It had been broken in several places, but he wouldn't let a small detail like that stop him preening. His wings fell limply in front of him as he raked through them, detaching dead feathers and watching them fall to the floor.

Story of my life...he thought dully, before almost smiling.

Crowley had been rubbing off on him apparently... Tears began to sting his eyes and he blinked them back fiercely. If he started to cry now, he wouldn't stop... It was almost funny, the one thing that could make him sad was remembering Crowley. They had reached an understanding, after 6 000 years being almost non-stop together, they had stood against all and everything, they had spoken up against the Apocalypse, they had even managed to find a wine that they both hated... But all that belonged to a past that seemed aeons ago...

Aziraphale stopped preening his ill-treated wings and folded them up again, waiting for the next time they would be forced out and butchered. He just wanted to enjoy the last moments of peace before they came back, picking up his courage and storing it safely. In the end he fell asleep, huddled against the cold stone walls.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 5 : He would endure and remain silent. by Kujaku

The sound of a key in the lock jerked him out of his sleep and he instinctively pulled his beaten wings around him. He knew who it was, he just didn't know what they wanted. Yet. The door opened to reveal the maggot-infested face of two more nameless torturers, and he slowly pulled his wings back in. He wasn't going to cave in now...they could have what they wanted, they always did; and he would do what he always did. He would endure and remain silent.

"Hey angel... Ready to have some fun? We know we are!"

"Then hurry and get it over with..." Aziraphale replied in a quiet, dulled voice.

"Oh we will,'ll be begging us to stop before too long..."

The first demon advanced and breathed deeply.

"Still haven't got the smell out of you, have we, angel?"

Still using the same perfume, angel?

"It's a shame we won't be able to play longer though..."

I have to run Ziri...see you later

"'re finished Aziraphale... Tomorrow's the big day!" came the second demon's voice, from somewhere near Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Kill me if you want... I don't care..."

Hands began to run their way along his back, along his chest, cold, clammy hands... They were going to kill him. He was going home... For that idea he would endure anything...even what they had in store for him. It wouldn't be first time anyway...

"Ah angel...the things we're going to do to you tonight... Kind of a good-bye present really..."

Hands, claws, mouths...he could feel their filthy touch all over his exposed flesh. He started to loose himself in the dreamscape that had so often protected his mind, back to light, back to London... Back to the well-known streets and smiling faces...

"Not every day you get to kill an angel in the Pit! Especially one as important as you..."

The lurid voice didn't even touch the angel, and he dully registered teeth biting deep into his flesh, a hand groping places he had once kept secret... Who cared? Even God had forsaken him, not that that was new... He waited dully as the conversation erupted above him.

"Looks like there's one lucky bastard getting a promotion then..."

"Yeah, bet he's been waiting for this moment for years!"

"That's a surprise! After being around this piece of heavenly shit all this time... What was it...4 000 years? Pretty long time to stand their kind! Wonder how Crowley managed it!"

Aziraphale raised his head at that last.

" Crowley..." he whispered.

"What did you say, Heavenspawn?" asked the first demon, grabbing a handful of Aziraphale's once-beautiful hair and pulling his head painfully up.

- Crowley...couldn't... I... We...

"You what, angel?" leered the demon, holding firmly onto Aziraphale's hair.

"He didn't...didn't betray me... I.. I..."

"Look here, the angel's going to cry... Get over it, your precious Crowley's gone and sold you out! How do you like that, angel filth?"

But Aziraphale wasn't listening. Crowley hadn't betrayed him, and he knew it...Crowley couldn't have betrayed him!

"I don't believe you..." the angel croaked, rising to his feet, staggering a few steps towards the door.

The two demons looked at each-other for a second before grabbing Aziraphale's arms and pining him to the wall. But the angel ignored them, like he ignored the pain that coursed through his already shattered wing, like he ignored their voices. Crowley hadn't betrayed him! Crowley hadn't left him here to die...Crowley was his friend...wasn't he?

How do you like that?...

CROWLEY!! screamed the angel, tears finally released and pouring down his cheeks, wings flailing wildly.

Grinning widely, the two demons approached the struggling angel, their lust awoken by the sight of the once-stoic Aziraphale now screaming and crying. They tied his arms and his legs, spreadeagling him and chaining his wings to the walls, all the while whispering and touching the once-white body under them. But Aziraphale hardly noticed them; he cared only about what he had learned; Crowley had betrayed him, had abandoned him, had left him here to die alone and uncried... He almost thought of calling out to God, but didn't even find the words, apart from the one word he had uttered on a certain hill in Judea on a certain afternoon. And like before, he received no answer... But still he screamed over and over again, calling to God, to Crowley, to anyone who would hear him.


The corridor towards the cells was dark, damp and smelly. Of course, refleted the shape as it walked, it would hardly be the picture of Hell if potted geraniums were found in front of every cell door.
Ah ha...and azeleas, big and pink! Sure, that would this place really feel like home...although he doubted Lucifer would be very pleased.

A high-pitched scream echoed around the corridor, and after listening for a few seconds, the figure ignored it and continued his walk. The voice he was listening for had a certain...something about it... something...


Crowley's head snapped around with snake-like speed and he started to run towards the voice. He ran and ran, hoping that he wouldn't arrive too late. Angels were rare down here, and they didn't last all that long. Crowley had witnessed, a long time ago, one of the few to fall into demonic hands; two weeks of endless torture and the angel had just...cracked.
He hadn't died, they had seen to it, but he had lost his mind and had wasted away in a cell. He was still here, or so it was said, and Crowley had no intention of allowing the same fate to befall this angel!


Throaty laughs and groans answered the cries, and Crowley felt sick as he approached the door, not wanting to see what was happening inside. The angel was alive, that at least answered one of his questions. br He felt boiling rage bubble up inside him, and assumed the other shape, before opening the door.


What the two demons saw would never be known, but they really didn't have time to register the sight in front of them. They fled screaming into the darkness, fleeing as fast as possible towards the upper regions of the Lower Spheres, and the figure regained it's normal (and favoured) shape.

Crowley went to the bound and shivering angel, just as said angel opened his eyes. A flash of fear flickered in those azur eyes, before Aziraphale gave a tired smile.

"What took you so long?"

It came out only as a whisper, but it was better than nothing, and Crowley was relieved to hear the angel's voice not screaming.

" Sorry Ziri, took me a while to find the right floor... How was the room-service?"

"Atrocious... Would you believe that they didn't have chilled Chardonnay?"

Crowley grinned and started to work on the angel's bound hands, trying not to bruise them more than they already were.

" I don't suppose you would have anything that I" started Aziraphale, blushing a deep pink, apparently noticing for the first time that he was stark naked.

Crowley was about to ask why the angel couldn't just summon a tweed ensemble out of nothingness, but shrugged it off and materialised something for him. He ignored the questioning look he was given, as Aziraphale gingerly picked at his Guns 'n Roses t-shirt and leather pants; after all, if they were going to escape here, the angel owed him. Big time.

Right, now came the fun bit...

"Um, Crowley? Are you sure this is sensible?" intruded the angel's soft voice onto his thoughts.

"Am I sure what is sensible? That t-shirt?"

"No dear...I mean rescuing me... If they find out..."

Crowley started to whistle softly as he finished untying the last knots that held Aziraphale prisoner.

"What will they find out? Two of the dumbest demons this side of Dis are going to run up to their superiors complaining that something scared them. To which said superiors will reply that the door to the cell of a very important angel had better have been locked before they ran away. To which said demons will look at each-other very sheepishly and stammer something stupid."

"Dear...everyone knows about your different avatars..."

"Don't worry, I have a few shapes that no-one here knows about.."

"Really? How come?"

"Because they're so bloody uncomfortable that I wouldn't use them for all the Freddie Mercury tapes in Hong Kong..."

The angel smiled softly.

"Thank you Crowley...thank you so much..."

"Oh stop thanking me and come on!"

"People to see and promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep..." quoted the angel, smiling happily as he walked towards the door.

And Crowley just stared at the sight in front of him; the angel, his angel, bloody, beaten, hair caked in mud and a Guns 'n Roses t-shirt, spouting poetry at him after having spent a week in the hands of demons. Aziraphale had never looked more angelic.

And then he just kneeled and fell head-first into Crowley's arms.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 6 : What on Earth had just happened!? by Kujaku

"Bloody...stupid...heavy...angel! You...really...should...cut down...on the...chocolate...mousse..." grunted Crowley, as he carried the unconscious angel up the stairs of his little flat.

His back really was complaining about the ill treatment it'd been given for a few hours, what with escaping the fiery pits of Hell with a slightly pudgy ex-Cherubim on it. A few cold sweats later, and a well-known Bentley had driven up on the curb near a well-known second-hand bookshop, and Crowley had dragged Aziraphale out of it and was now wrapping him in his very own tartan-covered bed.
After that job well done, Crowley did what he often did while waiting for Aziraphale to pop his blonde head around the nearest shelf : he put a bag in the teapot, heated the water and sat down in one of the angel's prized Chesterfield chairs and took a book.
And just looked at the cover.

What on Earth had just happened!? Had he really done what he thought he'd just done? He'd just gone into Hell, dragged one of their prisoners out of it, and was now happily sitting down and drinking a cup of tea. The tea-cup, he noted in passing, was a bright orange tartan.
They were really going to go spare Down-There, and two of them were probably finding out what a living Hell really was. But, as he thought about the way Aziraphale had almost flinched away from him, he couldn't really find it in his heart to pity them. That was enough for Crowley to wish he could be back Down-There, roasting the bastards himself. He was just starting to doze off when he heard Aziraphale's voice, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Crowley raced up the stairs and into the bedroom. Aziraphale was writhing and screaming on his bed, wings outstretched, eyes wide open and glazed over, tears brimming over and staining the sheets. Leaping forward, Crowley took his arms and pinned him down, but Aziraphale threw him back easily with a sweep of a wing. Cursing, Crowley jumped back onto the angel's chest and hung on with all his might, trying not to injure the angel more than he was already injuring himself.

"Why can't you be this strong when we've got books to sort?" groaned Crowley.

But the only answer he got was a shrieked yell, and Aziraphale crying out over and over again the same word.

"No-one's going to answer you, Ziri! I told you that centuries ago! Now stop it and come back!"

The shudders and cries didn't subside, but Crowley still soothed and reassured. Great, he was the demon, and he was the one trying to stop someone cying... Oh the legions Down-There would never let it rest if they ever found out.

"For Go- Sat- for someone's sake Aziraphale, snap out of it! You're safe here! Everything's ok... No wait a minute, what am I saying? Of course everything's not ok... You've been through Hell, angel. But it's ok now! Please come back Ziri! What am I going to do without you? If your mind snaps like the other one...what am I going to do? If you become a vegetable, who am I going to annoy every day? London won't be the same without you and your nagging little habits, without your 5 o'clock teas, without that very fine layer of dust you always seem to have..."

Crowley was quite close to pleading, the angel was still screaming (making Crowley wonder what the neighbours were thinking was happening...) and Crowley was still holding on to his arms, straddling him and trying to calm him down, but Aziraphale still wasn't calming down.

"Aziraphale...please... Don't leave me alone... Don't make me go through eternity without you... Ziri..."

And before truly realising what he was doing, Crowley kissed those quivering lips beneath him.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Text

Summary: The angel's in Hell, and Crowley is well decided to get him out of it.
(First GO fic ever, so be gentle...)
Categories: Slash Fanfic Characters: Crowley
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Non-con, Squick potential, Violence (mild)
Series: None
Chapters: 7 Completed: Yes
Word count: 8072 Read: 1262
Published: 28 Nov 2009 Updated: 28 Nov 2009

Chapter 7 : Don't try and lie to me by Kujaku

The first thing that went through his head was "ohbloodyhellwhatthehellamidoing?!!" and then he noticed that Aziraphale had stopped shaking and was looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. So the second thing that went through his head was "ohbloodyhellwhatthellhaveidone!!"


"I'm sorry angel, I'm really, really sorry, I don't know what came over me... Um..."

He noticed that he was still straddling Aziraphale's chest, that their faces were almost touching, and he went to jump off, but a hand grabbed his.

"Crowley...make me forget..."

"What can I do? I don't...I don't know what to do..."

The angel sat up and clutched Crowley's hand even tighter, looking at him with pleading eyes.


"I wanted you to be my first and only Crowley... I wanted you to be the only one, to take what I wanted to give you. And if you didn't want it, I would've wanted to keep it to myself..."

The angel's voice was brimming over with tears again, and Crowley sat close to him and held him tight, feeling Aziraphale's heart beat faster and faster.

"They took everything Crowley! They took my heart and ripped it! They took my love and shredded it! They took my light and threw it away! They took everything I had and abused it...and now look at me, Crowley... I'm a wreck..."

"You never were a sex-symbol, angel, but you're wrong. They didn't take anything from you... I can feel your heart here, and it's not broken. I can feel your love all around... You're an angel, for Somebody's sake! You love everyone and anyone, remember? Your kind are programed for that : everlasting love and compassion and all the rest of that sappy stuff. And as for your light, it's blinding me from here... So tell me angel... What can I do? What can I do to make it all better?"

Crowley squeezed the angel a little harder, hoping...hoping for what? Hoping to chase the bad thoughts and the pain away with a hug? This thought-track was really not was all the angel's fault! As usual...things were always a little more complicated when he was involved.


"Love me, Crowley..."

Said demon's sunglasses almost fell off as he stared at the shivering angel in front of him.


" you care for me?"

"I've been to Hell and back for you, haven't I? Of course I care for you!"

"Enough to take what I want you to? Will you... Will you love me?"

"Angel, I..."

Aziraphale suddenly straightened up, the last tears drying in his eyes.

"I'm sorry dear... I just... I thought I wouldn't see you again, so my mind's been working itself up. Just ignore what I..."

But Aziraphale couldn't finish. Crowley had sealed his mouth with his finger.

"I care for you, 'Ziri."

That was the problem. He cared for him too much to make him Fall. Crowley gently prised the angel away from him, closing his eyes against the lost look Aziraphale was giving him.

"I can't do this, angel..."

"Crowley... I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..."

"It's not that, it's just... I don't want to let you Fall."

Aziraphale looked at him as he continued, sitting on the edge of the bed, runnning his hand in his hair, the picture of human embarassment.

"I love you Ziri... I love you so much, and it's not even a lie. But I can't. You're not supposed to love a demon... We're not made to be loved..."

"Crowley, dear..."

"Your love is for humans, not for me."

Crowley turned to his angel, and grinned once again, a grin hiding all he felt.

"Better be off, angel. I'll see you in the morning, ok?"

He started to walk down the stairs leading away from Aziraphale's flat, when the sound of running feet made him pause. He turned and saw Aziraphale, still bloody, messed up and in his Guns 'n Roses t-shirt (even if a pair of tartan slippers had apparated), standing at the top of the stairs with an undescipherable look on his face.

"Crowley...look at me."

Crowley did (as if he didn't want to) and saw Aziraphale in all his light. Ignored were the scars and the bruises, ignored was the messed hair and tasteless slippers. In front of him, Aziraphale was haloed in pure white, his wings outstretched and gently swaying as he stood there, a smile on his face.

"Well? They're still white, aren't they?"

"What? asked Crowley, trying to get this thoughs in order."

"My wings... They're still white, aren't they? Admittingly, the left one's seen better days, but that'll take a few weeks to heal, nothing more..." continued the angel in a light voice.

"What are you trying to say to me, Ziri?"

"Dear...sometimes you're as slow as Gabriel before breakfast."

"Thank you..." was the acid answer.

"What I'm saying is that I think your fears are unjustified. Be it Up-There or Down-There, I think they've decided to ignore us."

" 'Ziri, I've told you, I don't want you to Fall... What makes you think They'll just overlook us?"

"Because, my dear, these wings have been white for 6 000 years."


" I've been in love with you for at least all that time..."


The look on Crowley's face was one of those priceless moments that should have been put on DVD. Had the angel moved beyond tapes, that is... And then the old, normal, not-at-all-startled-and-blushing Crowley pushed his sunglasses higher up his nose

"Angel, don't make fun of me..."

"I'm not, dear...that would hardly be fair, not after all you've done for me..."

"Then don't try and hope... I couldn't stand it, 'Ziri. If you're wrong, which you invariably are, angel, what then? I'd be ready to go and offer myself to Mikael's flaming sword! And he'd be only to happy to comply with my request...

"I'm never wrong about things like this... Goodbye Crowley."

Crowley just stared as the angel turned away and walked back into his flat, locking the door behind him!!

"'Ziri? What the... 'Ziri!"

Crowley threw himself on the handle and rattled it. To no avail. And then he remembered that he really didn't need a door...He walked in (feeling rather stupid) and looked around for Aziraphale. Where had that stupid angel gone this time?

The sound of running water came to his ears and he walked (rather quickly) towards and into the small bathroom the flat had to offer.

"Look, angel, what I wanted to say..." he started before trailing off.

In front of him, the angel was sitting in the shower, water running and cleaning his bruised skin and muddied hair, and a sharp knife in his hand. A sharp knife stained with blood. Blood coming from a fine white wrist.

"Angel! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" shouted Crowley, grabbing the knife and throwing it out of the window, not caring who it hit (or missed, as the case was).

"You don't want don't need me... No-one why am I still here?" whispered Aziraphale, tears lost in the water.

Crowley cursed and held the angel close, feeling him tremble. He hadn't seen how this had affected him deep, hadn't guessed at the pain and the loneliness of the one in his arms. Aziraphale had told him everything, and he still hadn't understood...

"How stupid do I have to be? I'm sorry angel... You kept saying things and I wasn't listening. Of course I want you, of course I need you! If I went all the way back Down-There for you, don't you think that means anything? If I'm terrified at the thought of loosing you, doesn't that mean anything either? We've been together for as long as this miserable little planet saw the day...and I'm still as slow as Gabriel before breakfast. Of course I need you, angel...of course I want you..."


Crowley reached out and took the trembling angel's slashed arm in his hands and slowly began to kiss those long fingers, taking care not to touch the still-bleeding skin under his touch. In answer, Aziraphale moved closer, pressing himself as close as possible to the leather-clad body next to him, but then stopped himself, shaking ever so softly.

"Angel? What's wrong?"

"Nothing dear...nothing at all..."

"Don't try and lie to me 'Ziri. Why are you crying?"

The angel slowly raised a hand to his face, noticing for the first time that his exquisite eyes had filled with tears. What was wrong, indeed? And then he winced as his slashed wrist reminded him that it existed.

"I've really been acting the fool, haven't I?"

Crowley just sat there, under the steady pounding of the shower, staring at the...his angel, so perfect and pure. And he just took his angel in his arms and squeezed him in a tight embrace.

"Don't ever do that to me again, angel..."

"Promise..." replied Aziraphale in a whisper.

The next morning, the sun's rays shone over England, heralding a new day. The rays finally pierced the gloom that was London, and then the gloom that was a shabby bookstore-keeper's flat, where it was greeted by a low groan. Crowley rubbed at his eyes (under the sunglasses) and turned on his side. The still-sleeping face of Aziraphale greeted him, and he smiled. Not the smile he usually kept for trickery and deceit, but a real smile of contentment.

" I've really fallen for you, angel."

End Notes:

And it's done! Hope you liked I said, 'twas my first. I'll try and get something more light and fluffy up next...

(and just noticed : seven chapters, seven layers of Heaven and Hell in the Kabbala...coincidence much?)

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.