Well, I don't think many people were expecting a second season to be announced since there was only the one completed book, but I'm curious to see what they have planned. Neil Gaiman's involvement and the fact that he and Terry Pratchett at least discussed a possible sequel gives me hope. We'll just have to wait and see how it turns out.
Until then, after all that delightful humor and sweet bonding with the previous fics, it is time for something a bit more serious. And by that, I mean angst, pain, and suffering. Just because Aziraphale and Crowley are supposed to be off limits to everyone, that doesn't mean that it'll go smoothly. After all, Hastur already made another attempt to harm the pair (though he paid for that mistake with his life because Warlock does not mess around). Someone in Heaven was bound to make one final attempt at punishment.
This is another sequel to my previous series of fics, starting with "Chosen and Unchosen." I do recommend reading those stories first due to the fact they provide the proper context for this story. Plus, they are very entertaining.
Crossing a Line
The world should have ended four years ago.
That was how it was written. The Great Plan was very clear on that much. Six thousand years after the creation of the world, the Anti-Christ would arrive on Earth. And after his eleventh birthday, when he came into power, he would lead the demons into the Final War. All of humanity would perish while angels and demons clashed in one final glorious confrontation. And once Hell's forces were vanquished permanently, [1] everything would be perfect.
But no one had accounted for a few little snags. Like a couple of traitors. Or a disobedient Anti-Christ.
And then, as if the Apocalypse not happening wasn't already bad enough, Heaven and Hell couldn't even punish those to blame for that entire mess. Though not for a lack of trying.
The official stance regarding those involved was to ignore them and keep their distance. This decision was the same for both Heaven and Hell. And after Hastur pushed his luck and ended up destroyed during his revenge attempt, everyone seemed willing to go along with that plan. If they couldn't punish the traitors for their actions, then they could at least keep clear of them.
Michael refused to be that cowardly.
She was there every step of the way, trying to ensure that there was a proper punishment. She delivered holy water into the very depths of Hell for the attempted execution. Then she discorporated one of the traitors, ensuring that he was locked away and forced to suffer since he was apparently immune to traditional methods of destruction. Her blade piercing his corporeal form had been rather cathartic. But in both cases, the demon managed to escape his punishment. And instead of suffering for his actions, he was enjoying some form of retirement with his fellow traitor and the decoy Anti-Christ.
He was happy, alive, and unharmed. And now Heaven and Hell refused to touch him. Michael was supposed to stand aside while he got away with everything that he'd done.
That was unacceptable.
If asked, Michael would claim that her righteous fury was due to the prevention of Armageddon, the one thing that Heaven and Hell had been preparing thousands of years for. But if that was the whole truth, then she would be just as angry at Aziraphale. They both betrayed Heaven, but Crowley's betrayal happened thousands of years ago and he Fell for it. Aziraphale's actions were more recent and he remained an angel. She should have wanted to punish the principality more. He certainly contributed to the world not ending and he deserved to face consequences for that betrayal of Heaven and Her plan. But Crowley was the one she tried to help execute and Crowley was the one that she discorporated viciously.
She might also claim that it was because he was a demon and that she was meant to fight and destroy demons. Angels were meant to smite and punish the Fallen. She was a warrior. Battling the enemy was her purpose. Which was an acceptable and honest answer, but she rarely went out of her way for just any random demon.
There were a few different excuses that Michael might use to justify her actions. But if Heaven should ask for a reason why she felt such strong and almost vindictive fury towards Crowley, there was one that she would never give. Because there were no backchannels.
Crowley killed Ligur. He destroyed that Duke of Hell during the lead up to the failed Apocalypse. Hell in general and Hastur specifically made certain that crime was known when they had their mock trial for the traitor. Crowley used holy water against the demon, utterly erasing him from existence.
Michael and Ligur were not friends. She would be the first to dismiss such a ridiculous idea. There was no official arrangement between them. [2] But there was something resembling an understanding. They provided information to each other. An equal trade that ensured things went smoothly for both sides. And occasionally there were other moments where they exchanged more than just information.
Despite their assertions that they were above more personal desires, many angels found small indulgences. Innocent and not-so-innocent things that they would decide were acceptable for angels. They weren't openly discussed or acknowledged, but they happened. Gabriel had a fondness for well-tailored suits. Michael's preference was overloading her corporation's nerve endings with overwhelming pleasure, preferably via the use of a partner. And since humans were rather dull creatures and she didn't have the patience to explain to another angel why she wanted to flood her corporation's brain with endorphins in such a messy way, Ligur provided a useful resource. A reliable physical outlet that would never mention her preference since they weren't supposed to be in contact with each other anyway.
It was a mutually beneficial situation where they both got something out of it. It wasn't a friendship, but she found it useful. And she was annoyed and furious that someone messed it up. Michael would have understood Ligur getting killed in the Final Battle. She might have stabbed the Duke of Hell herself when the time came. But having some cowardly Serpent destroy Ligur like that? Taking away her inside source of information regarding Hell and simultaneously ending that rather enjoyable understanding between them? That would not be tolerated.
She refused to let Crowley get away with it unscathed.
Michael knew that he must suffer for his actions. And if destruction and death was something out of reach, she would settle for a more achievable punishment. Preparations took time. Especially when she did not wish for the rest of Heaven to know about her objective. The official stance was to leave him and Aziraphale alone, after all. But she was an Archangel and could manage. And there were faithful and willing humans that she could call upon. She didn't have her backchannels to contact Hell anymore, but she had other resources to draw on.
She took her time. Gathering the necessary materials. Holy weapons, blades of various shapes that were waiting for the Final War that they'd been denied. Potent incenses with useful properties. Chains and manacles forged by faithful humans, inscribed with carefully researched sigils and spells that she'd further strengthened. And she found a space to work where none would disturb her. Michael took her time to ensure that everything would be perfect. There could be no mistakes. No tiny crack where he could slither out.
Torture might be the domain of Hell and demons, but she was a warrior. She understood how to kill, how to wound, and how to overcome an opponent. She knew how to defeat and destroy. If she could not kill Crowley, then she would use all of her knowledge on how to harm. To wound, mangle, and leave an opponent in too much pain to fight back. She would find all the ways to whittle away at him until he wished that he could die, begging for the quick execution of holy water that he should have suffered years ago.
Perhaps it was best that he survived. After all, Michael was an efficient and knowledgeable warrior. She knew all the ways to kill and how to deeply wound without crossing that line. She could keep him on the brink of destruction without allowing him that escape.
Perhaps, even if he was immune to holy water, her blessed knives and swords could still slice him apart and extinguish his true form. They hadn't tested that. But the idea of keeping him alive to suffer seemed somehow more satisfying.
Maybe Michael did have a knack for torture. Though the only way to know for certain would be to test that theory.
Every room in the cottage was filled with music. They kept radios in every room, ensuring that there was constantly some form of background noise. They kept the silence at bay. At times, everyone would forget that it was there.
Until Warlock Dragon, previously known as Warlock Dowling back in the days prior to him assaulting the devil with a holy water gun [3], decided to hook up his iPod to the demon's sleek and expensive sound system.
I study nuclear science
I love my classes
I got a crazy teacher
He wears dark glasses
Things are goin' great
And they're only gettin' better
Grinning at his godchild bouncing around [4] and singing along with the music, Crowley asked, "Did good on your test then, hellspawn?"
Warlock nodded before both him and the iPod continued to the next part of the song.
I'm doin' all right
Gettin' good grades
The future's so bright
I gotta wear shades
I gotta wear shades
Aziraphale poked his head into the living room, flour smudged on his face from his baking attempts. He rather enjoyed the activity and eating the results. Though sometimes he went a little overboard when he was in a baking mood. Those days would have the kitchen packed with fresh bread, pies, cakes, biscuits, and other assorted delights. Which would then be handed out to other people in Tadfield. Mrs. Young especially enjoyed a loaf of made-from-scratch bread.
I got a job waitin'
For my graduation
Fifty thou a year
Will buy a lotta beer
Things are goin' great
And they're only gettin' better
"Having fun with your bebop? You have it a tad bit louder than normal."
The teenager just laughed while Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. While the boy still had his sullen days, today wasn't one of them. It was enough to make his guardians smile fondly at his antics.
I'm doin' all right
Gettin' good grades
The future's so bright
I gotta wear shades
I gotta wear shades
Warlock playfully tried to snag the sunglasses from the demon. Crowley ducked out of the way and ruffled his hair. He would have accused Warlock of being lovestruck, bouncing around like that and acting half his age, but he already knew that a crush wasn't the cause of his good mood. There was a superhero movie coming out and the deal was that if he made a good enough grade on his science test, they would watch it in the newer theater in the city. The one with a huge screen and better snack options. It turned out to be a decent way to motivate him.
Well, I'm heavenly blessed
And worldly wise
I'm a peeping Tom techie
With x-ray eyes
Things are goin' great
And they're only gettin' better
"Well, if you don't mind me borrowing Crowley for a bit, I promised Anathema one of my apple pies," said Aziraphale.
"And you want a certain demon to offer her up some fruit?" Crowley smirked at him. "I can manage that. Though I'm not sure she'll appreciate the symbolism behind that."
"Oh, hush. It would be more of a baked good than a forbidden fruit. But yes, I would like you to drive it over to her. I believe she has something special planned and she requested some dessert if I was already busy in the kitchen."
Grinning even as the fifteen-year-old stopped bouncing around, Warlock said, "Brian thinks she's going to propose to Newt soon."
"Taking control of her life and not letting someone else who isn't even around dictate everything anymore. Good for her," muttered Crowley.
I'm doin' all right
Gettin' good grades
The future's so bright
I gotta wear shades
I gotta wear shades
Crowley pulled away from the boy, slithering close to the angel as the song drew to a close. He gave Aziraphale a brief smile. A softer expression than he wouldn't have dared before Ain't-mageddon. An open expression that hid nothing of his affection for the rest of the household. [5]
"All right, angel," he said. "I'll run an errand for you. But I need you to do one thing for me."
"And what would that be?"
His hand reaching over to squeeze the angel's hand, Crowley mumbled shyly, "Could you say the thing?"
"Of course." Pulling their joined hands close, Aziraphale gently kissed the demon's knuckles. "I love you, my dearest. And I appreciate you doing this for me."
"You're both worse that Newt making lovey-dovey eyes at his girlfriend," shouted Warlock from across the room. "How did Heaven and Hell not figure you two out sooner?"
The drive between the angel and demon's cozy home and Jasmine Cottage was not a long one. Warlock and the rest of Them regularly walked or biked the distance. It shouldn't have taken Crowley long to get there. Especially with his normal speeds.
And there was no reason why there should have been any problems on the short trip. A simple route without much traffic, vehicular or pedestrian. No hairpin turns or anything similar. Crowley had years of experience at driving and the Bentley knew better than to cause trouble for him. Outside of a witch on a bike slamming into the car, there should have been no issues.
Crowley wasn't worrying about anything. He was singing along to "Killer Queen" with the radio, a warm apple pie sitting in the passenger seat. His thoughts drifted vaguely over which plants needed some extra incentive and where he should treat Aziraphale during their next trip to the city. He was relaxed and calm, enjoying the short drive.
Nothing should have happened. Nothing except a quick errand.
Except a bolt of lightning tore its way down out of a clear blue sky, sending a tree crashing down. Too fast for Crowley to react with a miracle or for the Bentley to avoid the sudden obstacle.
The crash of impact, metal warping and crumpling from the forces involved, erupted loudly in an explosion of chaos. Crowley's face slammed into the steering wheel hard enough to stun him. [7] Pain exploded in his skull, stars flashed across his vision, and consciousness wavered as it tried to slide from his grasp.
Groaning from the throbbing pain and dread of how his car must look, Crowley tried to raise his head from the steering wheel. His mind seemed to be swimming and wobbling. A faint coppery taste suggested that he'd either broke his nose or busted his lip in the crash. To be fair, most humans would be nursing broken bones or worse after an impact at that speed. His less extensive injuries were a bless— were a windfall.
He would need to heal his corporation when he could think straight. His head felt rather scrambled still. He suspected at least a slight concussion might be involved.
Crowley clutched at his aching and throbbing head, trying to force some of the damage down. Reversing the swelling in his brain before it could properly start. Keep himself from passing out. Then he could work on fixing the Bentley afterwards.
Metal creaked loudly as someone yanked open the car door. He tried to raise his head from his hand, intending to try waving off the well-meaning neighbor trying to rescue him. Except a strong hand grabbed his throat and squeezed.
Demons might not technically need to breathe, but that took focus. Something hard to do with a scrambled mind and a weak grasp on consciousness. Crowley scrambled weakly at the choking force, but his vision was already darkening.
"Stop panicking. You won't discorporate," stated a calm voice through the growing darkness. "I simply need you to remain unconscious until you're settled in a new location. It will be easiest this way. Less physical damage than relying on blood loss to knock you out. Though if you take too long, I can always go that route instead."
The choking gasp might not have been the most articulate response, but it was all that Crowley could manage before his corporation surrendered. His body went limp and slumped in the ruthless grip, only the struggling pulse in his neck proving that she hadn't gone too far. Crowley was dragged out of the mangled remains of the Bentley like an oversized ragdoll.
Moments later, there was no one left at the crash site. Only a crumpled classic car crying out "Then momentarily out of action, Temporarily out of gas, To absolutely drive you wild, wild, She's all out to get you," a splattered mess that used to be an apple pie, and the sharp bite of ozone remained behind.
It wasn't until Aziraphale was pulling a cake out of the oven that he realized that Crowley should have made it back already. Delivering the pie to Anathema shouldn't take too long. Not unless she managed to distract him with some type of conversation or he started messing with her boyfriend. Poor Newton Pulsifer seemed to be too tempting of a target for the demon sometimes. But regardless of how much fun that Crowley might be having winding the young man up, he needed to head back soon. It was Crowley's evening to pick the movie.
Setting aside the cake too cool, Aziraphale picked up the landline phone. Crowley might have provided him with a mobile for emergencies, but Aziraphale preferred using the one that had an actual cord. It felt more reliable. And he could have called Crowley's mobile directly. That would be the simplest option. But if he called Anathema, it gave him a good excuse to ask what she thought about the pie at the same time.
After a few rings, she answered, "Hello?"
"Good afternoon, Anathema. Could you ask Crowley to start heading back? I would hate for him to drive around after dark and forget his headlights again."
A small joke. There was still time before the sun would set and that would be an issue, but he thought she might find it an amusing reminder of their first encounter.
Pausing a few moments, she said, "Crowley isn't here."
"Oh, he's already returning from dropping off the pie? I suppose he'll be here any minute then. Thank you very much, my dear."
"Aziraphale," she said carefully, "he hasn't been here with a pie. We haven't seen him all day."
A cold chill ran down his spine and Aziraphale suddenly felt thankful that Warlock had moved upstairs to his room. He wasn't certain what his current facial expression might be and didn't think he'd be able to maintain a controlled façade. Breathing was already starting to get tricky enough as it was. Anxious fears began slowly climbing their way up from his gut. Whispering horrible possibilities to him. Aziraphale knew it could be just paranoia. He hoped it was paranoia. But a dark dread made him suspect otherwise.
"Aziraphale?"
Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and reached for a familiar feeling. The bright, warm, and wonderful feeling of Crowley's love. He knew his demon's love. He knew it intimately and cherished it. Aziraphale once followed the feeling deep into Hell to find him. He knew Crowley's love.
But he couldn't sense Crowley's love.
"Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale immediately balked at the idea of Crowley being gone. Because he refused to consider it as a possibility. The universe could not be so cruel.
Maybe it was the general background love of Tadfield, Adam's affection for his home. Maybe it was blocking out everything else. It was possible. But even if that was true, that didn't mean that something wasn't terribly wrong. Crowley was late and he was at least weak enough that the sensation of his love must have faded into the background enough that he couldn't find it. He could be hurt.
Hurt was the better outcome. Hurt meant that Aziraphale could find and help him. Hurt was better than gone.
Crowley couldn't be gone.
"Aziraphale, what's going on? Talk to me."
"Something is wrong," he said, somehow managing to sound calm and controlled. Probably from thousands of years of experience at hiding his emotions when reporting to Heaven. "I need to find Crowley."
"I'll grab Newt and we'll start looking," said Anathema, her soothing tone making it clear that she'd recognized his distress regardless. "Did you try calling his phone before calling me?"
"No. And if I can't sense him," said Aziraphale, the slightest unsteadiness slipping into his voice, "I doubt he'll answer."
"I'll try it anyway. If he was coming here, then we'll go towards your cottage and you come towards us. We'll meet in the middle. Let us know if you find him."
Aziraphale nearly dropped his phone as he tried to hang up. Panic kept trying to bubble its way back up. He needed to stay calm and focused. He couldn't help Crowley if he was panicking. He had to stay calm and go look for Crowley. But first, he needed to do one important thing.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Aziraphale called, "Warlock, come down. We have a bit of a situation."
Adam wasn't always certain that he enjoyed growing up. They couldn't just spend all their time hanging around in the woods anymore, playing games together. Their lives were busier and their interests were changing. The same imaginary adventures didn't feel as exciting and fun as they used to. Adam and the rest of Them weren't eleven anymore.
But growing up was a normal part of life. And Adam wanted to be normal.
They'd found other ways to have fun together. After Crowley's amusing stories about how people tried connecting the game to something called "the Satanic Panic," they'd all started playing Dungeon and Dragons. Adam would be the Dungeon Master, devising adventures to entertain his friends. [8] He was already working on another campaign for everyone. One that should surprise his friends and keep them guessing.
That didn't mean he didn't still enjoy wandering around Tadfield. Biking along the familiar paths with Dog trotting at his side. Not really going anywhere specific. And not really doing much except sometimes annoying R.P. Tyler with his existence. Just exploring and seeing what he could find.
Until he spotted a black car smashed into a rather large and sturdy rowan tree fallen across the road. Adam froze briefly in shock before racing towards the damaged Bentley. He knew the demon would never leave his beloved car in that condition.
"Uncle Crowley," he called. "Are you there?"
The entire front of the vehicle was crumpled like tinfoil. The driver's side door was open, music still played, and there were sticky stains that took Adam an embarrassing amount of time to realize was the remnants of a pie. But what he didn't find was the owner of the Bentley. And the only thing more concerning than the state of the car was the lack of demon being dramatic over the damage.
Then Dog sniffed at the open driver's door and growled. A low and aggressive growl with his hackles raised. And that immediately put Adam on the defensive. There were a limited number of things that could make Dog react like that. Other than a couple of the more annoying neighborhood cats, it tended to be dangerous entities that might be aggressive towards Adam. Like possibly displeased Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Or one of the angels or demons who were less fond of Earth.
Dog wasn't barking about Crowley's scent. He knew that Crowley wasn't a threat. Whatever Dog could smell around the Bentley, it was something else. Something that he didn't like.
While his father had grumbled something about kids these days and not understanding why they couldn't be satisfied with just using a landline, Adam had managed to eventually convince him to grant the teenager a cheap and basic mobile phone. And he did it without using any Anti-Christ abilities. [9] Adam made good use of it to call a number that he rarely used. He normally would call Crowley's phone, but he suspected he would have better luck with the angel.
Barely letting it ring, Aziraphale immediately answered with a desperate, "Crowley? Where are you?"
"Sorry, Uncle Aziraphale," he said. "But I did just find the Bentley. It's crashed into a downed tree and there's no sign of Uncle Crowley anywhere. And Dog doesn't like the smell of something here. Which means there was probably someone else here earlier too." Adam hesitated a moment, not wanting to say it and knowing that someone needed to. "And they probably took him."
[1] Though to be fair, the outcome of the Final War was a little vaguer on who would win. Heaven was certain of their victory, but Hell was similarly motivated by the promise of their enemy's destruction. At the end of the day, the two opposites had far more in common than either side liked to consider.
[2] Or an Arrangement.
[3] A fact that he would never forget and Crowley continued to take pride in. And Satan continued to fume over.
[4] Unfortunately, Warlock took after his godparents when it came to his dancing skills. Meaning that they were approaching nonexistent.
[5] Except for Brother Hamster. Crowley's feelings for the tiny vicious creature were far less positive. [6]
[6] To be fair, the feeling was mutual. Brother Hamster would gnaw Crowley's head open if given half a chance.
[7] The Bentley was built before airbags were a common safety feature and that wasn't something that the demon ever worried about upgrading.
[8] And yes, Warlock's character in the game was a warlock class.
[9] At least not consciously. Unless he asked his godparents to check, Adam couldn't always tell what he might be influencing subconsciously. But he was still fairly sure that he didn't do anything.
The song choice ("The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades" by Timbuk 3) was solely my father's fault. He really likes that song and I couldn't resist a song that literally has "shades" in the title since we all know how iconic Crowley's sunglasses are. Plus, it has a really catching harmonica section.