The first time, Crowley hadn't believed him. The second time, he had thrown him out. It'd be a funny old world, he had mused, if he and Gabriel went around trusting each other.

Finding Azira—Fell, finding Fell, hadn't been much of a challenge. Human though he might be at present, Fell exuded an energy so pure that Crowley found himself drawn to it against all sense of self-preservation. And the funny thing was, Fell had come to him. He had walked right into it. It was too easy and too mean, even for Crowley.

But Crowley had said he would do it. And Crowley always kept his promises. Drawing up the contract, handing over the rights to the Plan back to Gabriel's side. True, Fell was the sole holder of the intellectual property, but that was in his human form. Back Upstairs, it would belong to Him, because sometimes Upstairs operated like Communist Russia. And Crowley would receive Divine Immunity and a release from his Hellish duties for an eternity on Earth.

Was it any surprise that blasted Gabriel would double-cross him? Of course, Crowley, you're more than welcome to stay on Earth. No, Crowley, don't worry about Lucifer. Yes, Crowley, Hastur and Ligur won't be bothering you any more. Oh, Crowley, did I mention that there's an Apocalypse on the way and you've given us just they key to start it? Angelic bastards.

Speaking of bastards, Aziraphale! Fell! Whatever! He was not going to be pleased. Crowley hadn't even known Aziraphale that well before his whole human experiment. Sure, they would nod at each other every couple centuries or so, and there was that one time they ran into each other at that fig place in Babylon, but he hadn't talked to him much until he was born into a body with a brain that possessed absolutely no recollection of Anthony J. Crowley, eating figs or otherwise.

And now here they were, looking at that completely socially inept trio of angel and demons that had—with his unwitting help—managed to jumpstart the end of the world, and Crowley was falling for the angel-man-thing who couldn't even begin to understand the extent of his demon-lawyer's betrayal. Perfect.

"I know you don't remember me, Aziraphale," Gabriel was saying, "but you're in good hands now."

Crowley glared. "What are you, an insurance advert?"

Ezra said, "What's that you've been calling me?"

Crowley patted Ezra's hand. "It's going to be okay."

Ezra sat up sharply and whirled around to face him. "You! What did he mean, he couldn't have done it without you? Done what? I don't know any of these people," he squinted, "wait, that's the Misters Hastur and Ligur, isn't it? What are they doing here? What do they want with me?"

Crowley opened his mouth to attempt to explain, but Fell continued, "This is about your debts, isn't it? You want me to pay your creditors! That's why you wanted to discuss contract payment later!"

"Something like that," muttered Crowley, "but you're not supposed to be here! I was trying to take you away from them, not bloody deliver you right to them!"

Gabriel stalked towards the passenger seat of the carriage. "Crowley! You weren't honestly thinking about giving up your part of the bargain?"

"You gave up yours," Crowley growled.

He had been trying to move the carriage into reverse for the last several minutes, but it refused to move. Even the wind had stopped. Not simply dropped away, understand—completely stopped, as though that moment had been given the boon of stretching out eternally. Twigs, presumably propelled by the gust, were hanging in the sky, and Mr. Bentley was poised with one menacing front leg in the air as though anticipating an attack.

Ezra, who looked about as fed up as a man at the dawn of the Apocalypse possibly could, stepped out of the carriage before Crowley could stop him and marched straight towards the Angel Gabriel.

"You listen to me," he spat, as Crowley closed his eyes in dread, "I don't know who you are or what you want with Crowley, but you're not getting a cent out of me!"

"Can't ya do somethin' about 'im," Hastur begged Gabriel, "not that I'd like another one of ya around or anythin', but he's just bloody annoyin' like this!"

Crowley threw caution to the frozen wind and stepped out of his beloved carriage. "No one can do a thing," he said, "unless it's Ezra himself."

The latter looked at him. "Crowley, you really do know these people, don't you?"

Fell's countenance had taken on the hazy and nigh-empty look that most humans get when they find themselves embroiled in situations far beyond their comprehension. But Crowley bent forward to look closely—which was quite unwise under the circumstances—and could see in his eyes the same solid blue irises that had manifested before they had…

"Yeah, I know them," said Crowley.

He took Ezra's hand, squeezed it. "I'm really sorry about this, angel."

Then it was as though nothing was there and that there wasn't there and Crowley didn't ever want to stop kissing him. And into that kiss he put every fiber of his damned and once-angelic self and he could feel Aziraphale waking up from that body, could feel the surge of divine energy building from his solar plexus.

Aziraphale broke it first. He looked at Crowley with a sadness that encompassed eons. "My dear boy," he said.