This is a companion piece to my other GO fic, 'Soar'. You may want to read that fic first so that this story will make more sense. Dedicated to LadyWallace and 29Pieces for their awesome Tumblr conversations and support; they both helped to inspire this fic so they also deserve the credit for this fic. I hope you enjoy!
Descent
"Then took place the first twisting-fit and rage of the royal hero Cuchulain, so that he made a terrible, many-shaped, wonderful, unheard of thing of himself."
Crowley looked up from his personnel records of the last century, one eyebrow raised. "Angel, what the blazes are you reading?"
"Oh, sorry, dear, I didn't mean to disturb. It's just that this poem's language is so beautiful, I couldn't help but read part of it out loud."
Crowley set aside the forms he had been studying and sauntered over to where the angel was sat at his dining table. It was one of the rare occasions Aziraphale was at Crowley's flat, rather than the demon at the bookshop. They were comparing notes from the last century to make sure that their reports didn't contradict each other. Crowley had found out only last night that Beelzebub had demanded a surprise inspection from all non-titled demons as he was feeling slightly panicked.
While Crowley made some notes on his forms Aziraphale had taken out a book and was flipping through it.
Tired and out of sorts from his upcoming inspection (it seemed to be in vogue for both sides these days), Crowley tried to snatch the book from Aziraphale but the angel held it to his chest protectively.
"What poem is it? I've never heard it before."
"How would you know? I thought you didn't read?" responded Aziraphale, a slight smirk tugging at his lips when Crowley fumbled.
"Er, I don't – that is, uh, not nearly as much as you. I mean, been 'round as long as we have, I've picked up some stuff, so yeah…"
Deciding to take pity on his companion, Aziraphale answered his first question. "It's an ancient Irish epic poem called The Tain. It's somewhat similar in style to the Iliad and Odyssey, only the hero's name is Cuchulain."
"Cuckoo what?" repeated Crowley as he pulled out a chair and sprawled in it, leaning forward with his chin in one hand, elbow propped on the table.
"Cuchulain," said the angel, resisting the urge to chide the demon for his appalling posture, or lack thereof. "Here, listen to this part." The angel flipped to another page and continued reading.
"There was heard the loud clap of his heart against his breast like the yelp of a howling bloodhound or like a lion going among bears…and the sparks of glowing-red fire, blazing and flashing in hazes and mists over his head…the Lon Laith ('Champion's Light') stood out of his forehead."
Crowley was silent for a second before speaking. "Angel, that is the most bizarre, twisted poetry I've ever heard. What is it even talking about?"
"It's describing something called a 'warp spasm'," said Aziraphale. "A sort of berserker rage," he added on seeing Crowley's baffled expression. "It's quite chilling, I agree, but the language is very compelling."
"If you say so," mumbled Crowley. The demon stood and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he scowled at the silent telly.
"I'd better be off," he said, grabbing his coat and shrugging it on. He straightened the lapels before giving Aziraphale a look over his shades.
"Want me to take a look at your wing when I get back?"
Aziraphale almost refused, not because he was uncomfortable with Crowley touching his wing, but because he was still feeling rather embarrassed about making such a fuss over a single broken blood feather.
Even if his wing had been aching the last few days, there was really no reason to put Crowley through all that trouble again, he thought.
He opened his mouth to decline the offer but paused when Crowley's brow rose. The demon clearly already knew Aziraphale's wing was bothering him and wasn't likely to take no for an answer.
"Yes, that'd be appreciated, dear," said Aziraphale after a moment. "Best of luck."
Crowley smirked before vanishing through the floor.
Crowley was back in only fifteen minutes, but time didn't really have any meaning in Heaven and Hell. Fifteen minutes on Earth could be an eternity for either side as they both technically operated outside of time and space.
"How'd it go, dear?" said Aziraphale, who had moved to the sofa and was attempting to navigate the channels with the complex remote control. He had currently stopped on an older show – something called "Mystery Science Theatre".
Crowley shrugged as he flopped down next to the angel. He snapped his fingers and a bottle of a good Malbec and two glasses appeared on the coffee table in front of the sofa, at the same time vanishing his coat to the hall closet.
"Not bad – could have been better, could have been a lot worse."
With that cryptic answer he took a long drink from his glass before standing and gesturing to Aziraphale. "Right then, let me see your wing. I know it's been bothering you the past few days so don't try to stall."
Well, when he put it like that…Aziraphale closed his eyes and manifested his left wing, wincing as the injured limb flopped on the ground. He laid down on the sofa, resisting the urge to bury his face in his arms.
He felt the sofa cushion dip as Crowley sat down next to him and began to carefully prod the damaged wing.
"It's not healing as fast as I thought it would – it's still bleeding a bit," the demon muttered, frowning as he carefully prodded the wound. "Did you ask anyone Upstairs about this?"
Aziraphale shrugged and then winced at the movement. "I spoke with one of the Virtues – he said I should have been more careful and that it would take a few weeks to heal."
"That's it?" said Crowley. "You know what – no, nevermind, don't answer that."
Crowley dug a bit deeper into his feathers and Aziraphale nearly let out a gasp of pain before biting down hard on his bottom lip.
"Angel," said Crowley, his voice suddenly right next to Aziraphale's ear and almost making him fall off the sofa in surprise.
"Angel," the demon repeated after Aziraphale had stilled. "If I'm hurting you for Go-Sa-Someone's sake, tell me."
Aziraphale winced in embarrassment and pressed his face further into his arms, suddenly feeling like an idiot. He heard Crowley bless under his breath but he didn't push the angel for an answer. But he knew the wily old serpent – Crowley could be tenacious when it suited him and Aziraphale knew the demon wasn't going to let this go.
Crowley frowned at the angel even as he continued to carefully stroke Aziraphale's wing, smoothing out the feathers as he thought again to Aziraphale's reaction from a few days ago about having another angel look at his injury. There was something he was missing but he'd have to tread very, very carefully here.
Normally Crowley wouldn't dare attempt this conversation without a substantial supply of alcohol on hand, but not this time. This time he would use every skill he had in his substantial arsenal as the original tempter of mankind to get some answers.
"What are you afraid of? Tell me," he coaxed after a few moments of silence except for the background noise of the telly. He continued to stroke Aziraphale's wing, running his fingers along the delicate yet strong bone.
When Aziraphale said nothing Crowley decided to push a little bit more.
"I don't know what those bastards Upstairs told you," Crowley continued in that same low, compelling tone. "But there's no reason for you to suffer like this. It's ssstupid and pointless and only makes a useless martyr out of you."
Despite the harsh words Aziraphale never felt Crowley's gentle touch change.
"And I know you're none of those things." Crowley added quietly as he slid his fingers back to the injured area. His thumb stroked across the injury, wiping away the few drops of blood from the still-healing wound.
"What did they do, angel? Tell me…. what are you afraid of?"
Aziraphale just shook his head and Crowley dropped his voice to an even lower, almost gentle tone.
"I know you're not afraid of me – you never were. Because you know I'd never hurt you…I mean, before the Arrangement I know we came to blows more often than not, but…not like this."
He paused and leaned forward, trying to get a look at the angel's face. "You know that, right?"
There was no answer and for a moment Crowley wondered if he had pushed too far, but then Aziraphale lifted his head a bit to finally look at the demon.
"I know, Crowley," said the angel, his tone and gaze reassuring, no hesitation in his voice.
Hiding his relief, Crowley cleared his throat before returning his attention to Aziraphale's wing.
"You know," he said after a few moments, "it's funny, Falling…you always know where you stand. Things become a lot clearer."
That caught Aziraphale's attention. The Fall was something neither of them ever talked about, at least not without copious amounts of alcohol involved.
"Do they?" he asked, turning his head to rest his cheek on his arms so he could see Crowley's face.
"Most times…others, well, y'know…" Crowley shrugged before pinning Aziraphale with that sharp, golden gaze of his. "You always know exactly where you stand in Hell's books – not that Hell has any good books, but you get what I mean."
Aziraphale didn't, not really. But he somehow felt that it was important to let Crowley talk so he stayed silent.
"I guess what I'm saying is, those bastards Upstairs don't have the same perspective you and I do – they only see what they want to see. So you shouldn't let whatever they said get to you."
"Try telling that to Sandalphon."
The words slipped out without conscious thought and Aziraphale resisted the urge to clap a hand over his mouth, suddenly terrified that someone Upstairs had heard him.
Crowley's eyes narrowed as Aziraphale suddenly looked uncomfortable, as if he knew he had already said too much.
Sandalphon. There was that name again.
One day soon, Crowley vowed, he would find out why Aziraphale looked slightly ill every time Sandalphon's name was mentioned, or why Aziraphale's eyes always grew wary whenever he was in the other angel's presence.
But he'd worry about that later. For now, he concentrated on the angel's wing. Aziraphale slowly relaxed under his hands, and when Crowley hit a particular spot the angel let out a gasp, but not one of pain.
Crowley was a demon at heart and he couldn't resist his next comment. Smirking, he leaned down, one hand lightly resting against the angel's back, as he whispered in Aziraphale's ear.
"Angel, if I had a way to bottle those noises I'd make a fortune in the porn industry, not to mention the commendations I'd get in Hell."
Aziraphale's gasp turned into a choke of embarrassment. The angel lifted his head, his face flaming red to the roots of his hair. "You're incorrigible," he said, his expression annoyed but Crowley could see that he was fighting back a smile.
"And damn proud of it," said Crowley with his familiar Flash Bastard grin, glad his teasing had helped distract the angel from their earlier conversation.
"Oh hush, you old serpent," said Aziraphale with an airy sniff. He sighed and reluctantly sat up, pulling in his wings. "Thank you, Crowley. It does feel much better than it did two days ago."
Crowley grinned and picked up the remote, flipping through the channels until he got to a show.
"Hey, I know that guy," he said in surprise, gesturing to the telly with the remote. "It's Bob from Accounting! Well I'll be damned, he finally got a promotion!"
Aziraphale looked up from his wine glass, grimacing at the hideous, ghoulish caricature of a talking skeleton on the screen.
"And this colleague of yours is now a…Crypt Keeper?" he asked as the talking skeleton introduced himself to the viewers. It looked like an older show, not a new one.
Crowley laughed as he settled in for a binge watch of 'Tales from the Crypt'. "Yeah. I heard he had interviewed for a new position – just didn't think it'd be in marketing."
The demon smirked at Aziraphale. "You said you wanted to learn more about current pop culture. Well, now's your chance."
Aziraphale groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Heaven help me," he mumbled.
"C'mon, angel, it can't be that bad. It's just reruns – you can just explain to Heaven that you're doing research to better understand the enemy."
Aziraphale reluctantly made himself watch – the current episode playing was 'The Reluctant Vampire' and by the end of it Crowley was howling with laughter.
"This is brilliant! It's so cheesy and lame and utterly bad that it's actually good," he wheezed, still chuckling.
Aziraphale shook his head but he was also smiling. "Yes, you're right. It's so bad it's…not good, but, well, I see why it would be appealing to viewers."
Crowley was checking the TV guide and suddenly grinned. "Looks like there's a twelve-hour marathon tonight."
Aziraphale sighed as Crowley poured them more wine and then decided to miracle some popcorn. If he was going to be stuck here for twelve hours, then he might as well make sure neither of them went hungry.
And if neither of them mentioned their earlier conversation, well, that was fine with both of them. And when Crowley finally fell asleep five hours later, snoring on Aziraphale's shoulder, well...there were far worse ways to spend a day, the angel thought fondly.