A/N: It's the final day of Whumptober! I hope you've all enjoyed these ficlet prompts! Come find me on Tumblr at 29-pieces if you want to hang out and see more of my headcanons, reblogs, arts, and ramblings!
This one is set post-series.
And with this, beautiful readers, we bid you adieu! ^_^
#31: Whipped - In ages past, Aziraphale could be punished for mistakes and disobedience by a flogging. If the angels can't get to him now, well, there's still other ways to get the message across.
There were people in Crowley's bedroom.
Thunder crashed outside the window as he jolted upright in bed, instinctively preparing to use any and all means necessary to fight off the intruders surrounding him. Of course it didn't get him far. His brain hadn't even fully caught up with what was going on when he was seized and dragged out of the bed, both arms wrenched behind him and held fast. Angels. Crowley hissed angrily and struggled, but he was held on either side.
"What the heaven is this about?" he demanded, digging his heels in as he was forced over to another silent angel.
Lightning shot a sharp spotlight on the intruders, illuminating half of Gabriel's face in a cold, grim light.
Crowley might have laughed at how ludicrously melodramatic it all was, except there was a very real possibility he was going to die like this, and that put a bit of a damper on things.
"Let me go," he snapped, twisting to either side to see that his captors were Michael and Uriel. Fantastic. Why did archangels always have to travel in packs? "Thought you lot were going to leave us alone!"
The door of the bedroom squeaked open and another angel strode in. Crowley groaned. Sandalphon; he hated that ass almost as much as he hated Gabriel. Maybe even more.
"Aziraphale's not here," Sandalphon reported.
Crowley silently thanked his stars for that, though he couldn't tell if Gabriel was pleased or disappointed. His face showed nothing, purple eyes boring into Crowley with too much triumph for comfort.
"The demon it is, then," Gabriel replied with a shrug. "Get him down."
"What? Wait! I didn't do anything-"
"This isn't about you. Uriel, get his shirt off. Michael, tie him up."
Crowley found himself flung to the floor. Desperately, he tried to clamber back up so he'd have the slightest prayer of defending himself, but Michael kicked him back down onto his back. Uriel was on top of him in a flash, silver blade slicing through his shirt as Michael dragged his wrists up and lashed them swiftly together.
"Get off!" Crowley spat, shivering at the cold steel of Uriel's sword skimming his bare chest to finish cutting his shirt away. "What is this, anyway?"
"Don't trouble your mind over it," Gabriel suggested with a shrug. "Aziraphale will understand, that's all that matters."
"You slimy bastards, if you touch him-"
"Alright, get him up. Hmm, the bedpost, I think. That should do."
Crowley tried to fling the angels off of him, spitting curses and insults to no avail as the two archangels silently dragged him the short ways across the floor back to the four-poster bed, his back to the room. He was yanked to his knees and his bound hands were further lashed high on one of the posts, the rope wound around the base of the round finial to keep his arms lifted. Crowley didn't want to panic, but this seemed like the ideal time for it, if ever there was one.
"What do you want?" he demanded again, twisting to look behind him. Crowley's mouth went dry as Sandalphon answered his question with a silently smirking unwinding of a whip. "Wait," he couldn't help but gasp out, yanking frantically at his bonds. "Wait, wait, wait, this isn't right, I didn't do-"
"We never had to gag Aziraphale," Gabriel informed him, eyebrows raised. "At least he knew how to take his lickings like an angel."
Crowley hissed at the casual admission—not that he hadn't already known his friend had been on the receiving end of Heaven's punishments before, but the utter unconcern from the archangel made it so much worse.
"If you think you can torture me into giving him up-"
"We don't," Gabriel interrupted with a shrug. "Told you, this isn't about you. Alright, Sandalphon. Start with, mmm... twenty."
"No, wait!"
The crack of the whip echoed with the booming thunder outside the window, masking Crowley's gasp of pain. He immediately bit his lip, determined not to make a sound. He was a demon, he'd had plenty of pain in his time, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction. The cold air slithered over the split skin on his back, making Crowley shudder.
Another crack, the whip scoring a second slice; he felt blood welling up and trickling down his bare skin.
Another. It was a heavenly weapon, and Satan it hurt far worse than the whips of Hell because of it, cruelly efficient against demons. Each crack of the whip tore out another piece of him, his back bowing and arching reflexively against the pure agony. It might as well have been holy water except he wouldn't even die. Fangs extended in Crowley's mouth as he bit through his lip in an attempt to silence the cries Sandalphon was urging to his throat.
Crack! Crowley choked out a garbled sob and mindlessly tried to get up from his knees, as though he could fight all four of them even if he got his hands free. Someone, either Michael or Uriel, kicked his legs back out from under him so that he collapsed down, suspended by the rope around his wrists. Another crack of the whip finally tore a sharp cry away from him.
"What do you want?" he pleaded.
"Nothing from you," Gabriel replied uncaringly. "You're doing just fine. Sandalphon."
CRACK! The whip struck him over and over, criss-crossing his back as Crowley gave up trying to stay quiet. For the first time since the averted Apocalypse, Crowley wanted to discorporate, even though it would mean returning to Hell, but at least it would give him a reprieve. He lost count of how many lashes they'd given him already, body shaking and sweating when Sandalphon finally fell still.
Crowley's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears dripping down the side of his face to fall on the carpet. He hung by his wrists, in too much pain to straighten back up. When something leaned down next to him, the demon instinctively flinched.
"A few more?" Sandalphon asked hopefully from behind him, drawing an unbidden whimper.
"Hmm. Best not," Gabriel decided, hand pulling Crowley's head back by his hair to look him over. "I don't know if he could take any more without discorporating. Not much of a message if it goes to Beelzebub instead of Aziraphale. Right, we'll leave him here, let Aziraphale find him like this."
With one final crack of thunder, all four of them were gone. Crowley released a breathy sob, pulling weakly at the ropes. His back felt like it had been dunked in holy water, blood dotting the carpet. He couldn't get free, couldn't heal the wounds, couldn't do anything but slump on his knees and bury his face into the blankets in front of him to muffle his scream.
o.O.o
There was probably a perfectly good reason why Aziraphale couldn't get in touch with Crowley, but he just had a Feeling. He'd ignored the Feeling all night, knowing how much his demon friend loved to sleep, but by mid-afternoon, Crowley still wasn't answering his phone, and everything in Aziraphale screamed that he had to get over to the flat. Now. He'd made it in record time, knocking on Crowley's door and waiting, hoping even now that the door would open to reveal a grouchy, sleepy-eyed demon demanding what was so important.
"Crowley, I'm coming in," Aziraphale called, and then immediately did so. No one came to greet him as he slipped into the flat and shut the door behind him, no answering call from further in. Aziraphale swallowed back a surge of completely unreasonable fear. For goodness sakes, Crowley was probably fine.
Letting himself in to the bedroom at the back, Aziraphale stumbled to a petrified halt. The angel felt his heart stop. Crowley was not fine.
"C-Crowley?" Aziraphale whispered hoarsely, staring at the scene in front of him without comprehending. No, this... this was all wrong... Aziraphale raised shaking hands, unconsciously rubbing at his wrists. He knew this scene. But it wasn't supposed to be Crowley there, kneeling with wrists bound to a post, back flayed open by the cruel strokes of a whip.
It was supposed to be him.
Crying aloud, Aziraphale stumbled forward, falling beside his demon friend and taking Crowley's chin gently in hand to lift his head from the bed. "Crowley? Crowley! Oh, please... please don't do this... please, no..."
Crowley's eyes were closed but his lips moved in wordless muttering at the sound of Aziraphale's voice. The angel nearly sobbed with relief, just to know that Crowley was alive, but oh... oh, in so much pain...
"Hold on, my dear," Aziraphale found himself murmuring, whispering reassurances over and over with more confidence than he felt, as he jumped back up and tried to pull the rope off of Crowley's wrists. The demon's hands were swollen and blue from lack of circulation, deep bruises already forming where he had been bound so tight. Aziraphale couldn't undo the knots, finally cursing with a cry and snapping the ropes away with a small miracle.
Crowley pitched to the side, forcing Aziraphale to lean down quickly and catch him, cradling the tortured demon close.
"Crowley, open your eyes, please," he begged. "I'm so sorry... I should have been here- Crowley, my dear, please... It was Gabriel, wasn't it. Gabriel a-and Sandalphon, I'd know his work anywhere..." Aziraphale's breath hitched as he felt blood seeping through his own clothes where Crowley was pulled in against him. His own back twinged with the terrible memories, golden scars that would never fade.
"An-gel?" Crowley rasped, clouded eyes opening halfway. His face contorted into a grimace of pain as Aziraphale whispered soothing shushes. "Th' wanted t'send you a message..."
"Yes, I see their message," Aziraphale replied, controlling his fury with effort. "Those cowards..." He took a bolstering breath. There would be time to deal with his outrage later, but for now Crowley needed his help. "I'm going to fix you up. Wait right there, my dear, I'll just fetch some water and towels."
He hurried towards the bathroom, running the tap until the water came out hot and steaming, gathering some supplies. Aziraphale found a bucket under the sink and filled it with the hot water, then carried his bundle back to the bedroom. Crowley was barely holding himself up, hands clenched in the blanket on the bed as he leaned his head against the side of the mattress. Aziraphale could see him trembling from there. He could only imagine how much worse the heavenly weapon would have hurt a demon, even worse than it had been for him.
"Alright, I'm going to wash everything," he warned Crowley, kneeling behind the demon with the water and some soft rags. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be pleasant."
"Jus' do it," Crowley muttered into the blankets. "'M fine."
There was nothing else for it. Aziraphale dipped the rag in the hot water and carefully started to clean away the blood, some still freely flowing and some already crusted and dried to Crowley's skin. Each time the rag touched one of the slices, Crowley flinched and made a muffled sound of agony, which hurt Aziraphale even worse than his own punishments had. He murmured soft apologies and whispered reassurances as he worked, which seemed to soothe the demon ever so slightly. By the time he was done, Crowley was shaking like a leaf and Aziraphale felt nearly sick.
"Alright, I'm going to put some bandages on," he said. "Just a little bit more, dear boy, and then you can rest. You're doing splendid, my dear, and I'm nearly done, alright?"
Crowley nodded into the blankets that couldn't quite muffle the ragged, hitching breaths. Aziraphale worked as quickly as he could, finally tucking in the ends of the bandage to hold it in place.
"There we are, all finished. Do you think you can stand? You'd be more comfortable in the bed than on the floor."
Again, Crowley nodded, slowly raising his head and unclenching his hands from the blankets.
It was a heart-wrenching process to get him to his feet, seeing the agony every movement caused, but Aziraphale managed to maneuver the demon around to the side of the bed so he could sink down onto it. The angel guided him back onto his side and carefully pulled the blanket over him in comfort and protection.
"There we go," Aziraphale whispered. He cast about, seeing a chair along one wall, which he hastened to drag over so he could sit beside the bed and take Crowley's hand in both of his own. "My dear boy... how- how can I ever say how sorry I am?"
"This wasn't you."
"It was because of me, though. They wanted me to see... they wanted me to know it was punishment, and since they couldn't hurt me, they- they hurt you instead, the same way they used to-" He broke off and dipped his head in sorrow. Aziraphale was no idiot. This had been staged with clear intention, every detail as close as the archangels could come to mirroring Aziraphale's punishments of old, letting him know in no uncertain terms that even if his days of working for them were over, their ability to punish him was not.
The hand in his squeezed lightly and he looked up to see Crowley's earnest gold eyes watching him.
"I'm glad," Crowley whispered hoarsely.
"Sorry?"
"I'm glad it was me. They'll never hurt you again, angel. Never on my watch." And he glowered with such ferocity that Aziraphale felt his heart melt, a watery smile crossing his lips.
"Oh, you wily serpent," he murmured, squeezing Crowley's hands with soft affection. "You needn't worry about me, worry about you-"
"I spend every day worrying about you, why stop now?" Crowley waited until Aziraphale met his gaze, then said, "We're stronger together. You know it's true. Doesn't matter what they do to me, we're not gonna let them make us think we made the wrong choice. We did the right thing. You know it, angel, I know you do."
"Of course I do," Aziraphale instantly replied, drawing up straighter. "No, I- I don't think that was ever my concern. It feels right, you and me, on our own side. With the humans."
"With the humans. Look, they got me this time, no mistake. Next time, I'll be ready."
"We'll be ready."
Crowley managed a small smile, then his eyes fluttered closed. "Just need to rest..."
Shifting in his seat to find a more comfortable position without letting go of Crowley's hand, Aziraphale nodded. "Rest then, my dear. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Gabriel might have thought he could use Crowley to threaten or frighten Aziraphale, but now more than ever the angel knew in his heart that this... this was what he was meant to do.
And this was where he was meant to be.