Chapter X — An Unexpected Celebration
Dean shot up ramrod straight, jolting Sam, Cas, and Jack out of their anxious waiting. His eyes snapped open. Yellow, with slits for pupils.
"INCOMING!" the words came out of Dean's mouth, but it was very distinctly Crowley's voice.
"I think that's your signal, Jack," Sam said, tensing.
Jack stepped forward, visibly bracing himself. He waved a hand, and the holy fire vanished. He grabbed Dean by the shirt and hauled him up, just as Michael's blue-white celestial formed rocketed out of Dean at a spectacular speed. It tried to make for the ceiling, no doubt to ghost through the concrete walls of the bunker and back out into the world to find another host, but with one finger, Jack halted it.
"This ends now," he said, eyes glowing a brilliant gold.
Jack spread out his fingers, lifting his hands slowly, slowly, until it almost looked as if he was holding Michael in his grip. High-pitched whining filled the air, and Sam was forced to cover his ears.
"You can do it, Jack!" Cas encouraged, taking a few steps back and throwing an arm over Sam's chest, trying to protect him from whatever would come of this.
Jack made a tearing gesture, and white light suffused the room. Blinding. Sam ducked his head, covering his face, and he felt Cas shield him with his body. Sam's entire being shook, his muscles ached, his bones vibrated, his blood seemed to overheat in his veins, and he thought for sure the bunker and everyone in it would be eviscerated in the fallout of Michael's destruction.
But then the light faded, and the shaking ceased, and all was quiet.
Sam lifted his hands away from his face, and Cas backed away from him, wide blue eyes focused on Jack, who was on the ground, flat on his back, gasping. There was no sign of Michael.
"Cas," Sam said the angel's name urgently, "did he—?"
"Yes. He did," Cas said, the relief so palpable in his voice that Sam had to grin. The angel went down to his knees next to Jack. Jack's eyes were open, but his breathing was labored, his skin ashen. "Are you alright, Jack?"
Jack swallowed and nodded. "Y-Yeah, just...I'm gonna need a second."
"I'll get you to your room," Cas said. He looked to Sam and made what Cas surely thought was a subtle gesture towards Dean, but it wasn't subtle at all. Sam caught the meaning either way: get the demon out of Dean and make sure he's okay.
Cas departed with Jack in his arms, carrying him like a baby. Sam approached Dean, who was still definitely Crowley. He sat in the burned circle, legs splayed out in front of him, dim wonder in his eyes.
"He really just—tore an Archangel apart with his bare hands, didn't he?" said Crowley, and Sam really didn't like that voice coming out of Dean's mouth. Evidently voices traveled with occult beings in Crowley's universe. "What a world."
"Right. Um, Crowley, can you...?"
Crowley looked down at Dean's body, as if he'd just noticed his situation. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He put one hand on Aziraphale's head and one on his own abandoned body. A moment later, Dean fell back, and the demon and angel sprung up simultaneously. Dean's gasped, eyes green again. Sam caught him in a hug before he could even stand.
"Are you okay? Michael didn't melt you on the way out?"
Dean clutched at his back. "I'm good, I'm good," he said into Sam's shoulder, his fingers digging into him. "Jesus, fuck. Did Jack—?"
"Michael's dead. He's finally dead."
Dean sagged against him, exhaling loudly. "Thank God."
"What the hell did God do? That was all us, mate."
Sam turned his attention to Crowley and Aziraphale, as did Dean. Sam immediately noticed something off; namely that Aziraphale had snake eyes and Crowley's were a glittering blue. The demon and angel seemed to realize this at the same time, looking at one another sharply.
"Wrong body," said Aziraphale-as-Crowley
"Wrong body," agreed Crowley-as-Aziraphale. "How'd we manage to muck that up?"
"It's beyond me, my dear, but if you would..."
"Right, right." Crowley extended his hand, but Aziraphale ignored it, choosing instead to splay his fingers out over Crowley's temples (well, his own temples) and lean their foreheads together. A moment passed, eyes closed and opened again, and when they did, the two were back in their proper bodies, with the snake tattoo slithering below Crowley's ear once more, in its correct resting place.
Dean just shook his head. "What the fuck is up with you two?"
Aziraphale looked perplexed. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Never mind."
Cas reentered the room, sans Jack. "Dean." Cas gave a rare grin, and when Dean stood up, he embraced him.
"What the fuck is up with you two?" Crowley mocked quietly in Dean's voice, and Sam was relatively sure he was intending only for Aziraphale to hear it, but the glare Dean threw him begged to differ.
"I don't know how the hell you guys pulled this off—but thank you," he said, and Sam knew he meant it. This felt like the first true win they'd gotten in a long time. When Dean withdrew from Cas, he turned to look down at Crowley. "And, uh. Just to clarify. You're not actually Satan, right?"
Crowley barked out a laugh. "Oh, don't tell me you bought that rubbish. I made all that up on the spot."
"Rather brilliantly, too," Aziraphale commended.
"Wait, what?" Sam asked, brow furrowed.
"I don't know. Michael was beating the shit out of me and—what was your name again?" Dean directed the question at Aziraphale.
"Aziraphale."
"Too long. I'm gonna call you Az." Aziraphale visibly cringed(1), but Dean ignored him. "Michael was beating the shit out of me and Az, and AJ just walked in pretending to be Lucifer and scared him so bad I got control back."
"YOU scared him?" Cas repeated dubiously.
"What? I'm scary!" Crowley insisted, outraged.
The demon got to his feet, and then promptly fainted from blood loss.
"Yeah," Dean said. "Fuckin' terrifying."
When Crowley woke, it was roughly thirty minutes later. He was flat on his back in the bed he'd slept in the night before, shirtless, with Aziraphale diligently cleaning out his wound with an alcohol swab. Crowley let out a sharp exclamation, jerking away from the angel's gentle touch. "That burns, you know!"
"Crowley, sit still. I'm trying to help you," Aziraphale ordered.
Crowley grimaced, unable to remember the last time he'd had an injury that couldn't be miracled away. He let himself fall back into the bed again, and Aziraphale continued his work, Crowley wincing all the way.
"How are you feeling?" Aziraphale asked softly, concern evident in the small dip between his brows.
"Better. Kind of. Everyone else alright?"
"Jack is resting. He'll likely sleep the next day away. Everyone else is just fine." An amused smile played on Aziraphale's lips. "You've made friends quickly."
"Friends now that we've saved their lives and pretty much their whole bloody universe," Crowley replied. "They had me in a trunk twenty-four hours ago, if you can believe that. Tried to keep me chained."
"Tried?"
"I snaked out on Castiel. Changed his tune."
Aziraphale chuckled. "Of course you did."
"How'd you even get here, anyways?" Crowley asked, arching an eyebrow at his friend. Aziraphale finished, mercifully, with the damned alcohol swabs. He placed a small field surgeon pack on the bed, rooting through it.
"Anathema helped me. First we tried a locator spell, no such luck, for obvious reasons. We determined you were in another universe, and she believed that the fabric of reality would be thinner from where you'd been taken from. So, I just..." Aziraphale made an elegant door-opening gesture. "Let myself in. Ended up in Heaven, but I got down here eventually."
"How was their Heaven?"
Aziraphale expression sobered significantly. "There's...almost no angels left, I'm afraid."
"So a nice one, then?" He could tell he'd said the wrong thing by Aziraphale's stricken face. "Sorry, just kidding."
"They wanted me to stay. I have enough celestial energy to keep Heaven powered, they don't. Given enough time..."
"It'll fall apart."
"Yes."
"Surprised they let you leave."
The angel turned bashful, pretending to be very intrigued with the small suture kit he'd extracted from the field surgeon pack. "Oh, ah. I just exchanged a few words with their leader, and they were understanding of the situation."
Crowley peered at him over the top of his sunglasses. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. Yes. Why would I lie?" the angel said dismissively, voice ratcheting up a few octaves.
"Because you're a bastard. What did you really do?"
Aziraphale muttered something as he extracted the needles from the suture kit, the picture of sheepishness.
"Sorry, what was that?" Crowley goaded, leaning toward the angel.
"I told them I was God," Aziraphale burst out miserably. "It—it was the only thing I could think of in the moment, and—and I was so powerful in comparison to them—"
The rest of the sentence was drowned out by Crowley's uproarious laughter.
"Stop laughing! You pretended to be Satan a half an hour ago!" the angel raged.
"Great minds," Crowley wheezed, head thrown back, trying to force down his urge to continue giggling. Aziraphale started stitching his wound back up without warning, and that did the trick of stifling his mirth. "Ouch!"
"So sorry. Thought I best get to it," Aziraphale said, faux-innocent.
Aziraphale worked in silence for a few minutes before Crowley said, "Thanks. By the way."
Deft hands still working, Aziraphale distractedly asked, "Mm, for what, my dear?"
"Coming to save me. You didn't have to."
The angel halted, almost seeming offended when his eyes met Crowley's. "Of course I had to! It's—good Lord, Crowley, it's you. I could hardly just watch you disappear before my very eyes and not go searching for you."
The way Aziraphale had emphasized you warmed his cold blood infinitesimally.
"It's nothing you wouldn't have done for me. You have done it for me," Aziraphale continued matter-of-factly.
"Never crossed universes for you."
"But you would." It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. I would." Crowley let out a long exhale through his nose, needing a change of subject. "So, when do we go back?"
"The portal should be open another forty-four hours. We can take our time."
"Not too much time. Last thing I want is to get stuck in this mad place."
Aziraphale finished the last suture and made a pleased noise. "There you are. All taken care of. Do be careful not to tear the stitches out."
"No promises," Crowley groaned, sitting up all the way.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," Aziraphale called.
Dean poked his head in. "Hey guys. How you holding up?"
"Didn't get mind-fucked by an Archangel today like you, so...aces," Crowley responded.
"We're quite well Dean, thank you for asking," Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a strong dose of side-eye. "How are you?"
"Me? Since that son of a bitch is gone, I'm great." Dean cleared his throat, and asked, "So. Uh. Y'all wanna get drunk?"
The post-Michael celebration was in true Winchester fashion; Chinese takeout and all the cheap beer and liquor you could hope for. Aziraphale, horrified by the concept of drinking something that wasn't older than both Sam and Dean, miracled up a bottle of sixty year old Riesling from a vineyard in Turkey, and then added a sushi spread to the night's offerings, which delighted Sam and disgusted Dean.
"We didn't invent fire just to still eat shit raw in the 21st century."
"Suit yourself," Aziraphale said, happily taking a piece of unagi nagiri.
They drank, they ate, they talked, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Dean was having...fun?
Angel and demon alike were boisterous drunks, which Dean got an absolute kick out of. They were gifted with ten minutes straight of Crowley ribbing Aziraphale for apparently pretending to be God to slip past Naomi and get down to Earth from Heaven.
"I wouldn't worry about it, brother," Cas said, a slur to his words after his umpteenth beer. "The last time I pretended to be God, I exploded, and he just resurrected me and didn't say anything."
That earned him horrified looks from both Crowley and Aziraphale.
"It was a whole thing," Dean offered eloquently.
The conversation weaved through both of their universes, catching Aziraphale up on things they'd already told Crowley about, and at one point, Aziraphale said: "I just, don't really understand how you were all able to cope with this. You've been through so much. Most would've buckled under the weight."
Dean, Sam, and Cas exchanged a look.
"Well," Sam said, thoughtfully, "We...we always had each other."
"There's very little the three of us can't accomplish when we set our minds to it," Cas added with something that sounded like pride.
"Usually it ends up making things worse for everyone, including us, but we're a one problem at a time kinda family," interjected Dean, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a PBR bottle.
Aziraphale just smiled. "Human resilience," he said, as if that explained everything.
They stayed up late, well into the night. Somehow Dean and Crowley got into a pissing match to see who could drink more(2) and around 2am, with his forehead plastered against the kitchen table and Crowley victoriously prancing around the room in that weird, nobody-human-would-ever-walk-like-that fashion, Dean admitted his overwhelming defeat.
"You cheated," Dean slurred.
"Demonic alcohol tolerance does NOT translate to cheating. I beat you fair and square, not a miracle in sight. Now pay up."
Dean couldn't remember how much money he'd actually bet, or if he'd bet at all, so he just groaned a threw his wallet on the table. Crowley rifled through it with unrestrained glee.
Sam had long since passed out on the couch. Cas was trashed but still awake, wavering on one of the kitchen chairs.
"Well, we should probably leave them be before we kill them," Crowley said when he'd extracted forty bucks from Dean's wallet.
"It is getting late. You should rest, after the day you've had," said Aziraphale to Crowley, drunk but sweet.
"If you guys are gonna bang in the spare room, you can just say it," Dean said. He heard both angel and demon alike sputtering. He ignored them. "Sleep tight. Or don't. Whatever works for you."
They bid their goodnights and drifted off, leaving Dean with Cas. Cas snorted in amusement and tapped Dean on the shoulder. The nausea in him evaporated immediately, and the room stopped spinning. He lifted his head and sighed in relief. "Man, you couldn't have done that an hour ago? I could've won."
"I suspect Crowley or Aziraphale would've noticed," said Cas gruffly, his voice wrecked from all he'd drank.
Dean rested his chin on his hand, happy Cas had still left him drunk, just not painfully so. "They're really weird, aren't they?"
"I'm sure they think the same about us."
"Probably right." He thought for a moment, then said, "Cas...are things gonna be okay, now?"
Cas blinked blearily. "Are they ever?"
"No, but I mean, like...what do I mean?" He tried to push past the fog in his brain. "Michael's dead. Lucifer's dead. Nick's in jail. We've got hunters on the payroll. A bunch. Jack's super-powered again. Mom, Bobby, Charlie, all back, all kickin', that's like...fuck, dude. Things are OKAY. Things are...things are actually okay."(3)
"Hopefully they'll stay that way."
Dean closed his eyes, suddenly desperately wanting to sleep. "I hope so, Cas. 'Cause I'm getting too old for this."
He jumped when he felt Cas's hand on his shoulder. He looked up at the angel. "Let's get you to bed before you fall over...old man."
"Oh, shut up! You're like a million years old!"
"With an ageless body," Cas reminded him, pulling him up and out of his chair and into a standing position. His legs were little more than jell-o underneath him, but Cas supported him with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and his palm flat against Dean's chest.
"I c'n walk."
"Not well."
They hobbled out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
"Cas?"
"Yes, Dean?"
"You know you're my best friend, right?"
"And you're mine," Cas responded easily.
"I know I'm a dick sometimes. A lot of the time."
"That's just who you are."
"I dunno why you put up with me."
He pushed open the door to Dean's room with his foot. "That's what you do when you love somebody."
Dean didn't know what the hell to say to that. Cas set him down so he was on the edge of his bed, then backed away from Dean, but Dean caught the edge of his sleeve.
"You too," he said, trying to find the words. "I mean...I've never said it before, but. You too." I love you too. Maybe someday he'd be able to get all the words out, but he'd have to be drunker than this.
Cas just squeezed the hand holding onto his trench coat. "I know," he said gently. "Now get some sleep."
Dean released him and fell backwards. He was out in seconds. Cas turned out the light for him.
Crowley and Aziraphale stumbled into Crowley's room in the bunker, giggling all the way. Crowley gracelessly kicked the door shut behind them.
"I still can't believe you pretended to be God," Crowley said between snorts of laughter, leaning against the wall, a bottle of pilfered Jameson, now almost empty, dangling from between two long fingers. "The absolute fucking audacity."
"And you pretending to be Lucifer!" Aziraphale accused back, leaning next to the wall beside him.
"Bet Lucifer isn't gonna hit ME with a bolt of lightning, he's dead here," Crowley reminded him, swigging out the end of the bottle.
"Well this universe's God clearly didn't much care," Aziraphale said with a criminally sly smile. Bastard angel.
Aziraphale eyed the empty bottle and made a tutting sound before snapping his fingers. It refilled, with a notably richer brown liquid than before. Curiously, Crowley twisted off the cap and sniffed.
"Bastille," the demon cooed happily. "Now that's something."
Crowley took a deep draught, and passed it to the angel. The bottle didn't have to go far. Aziraphale was leaning much of his body weight on him, their shoulders pressed against each other. Aziraphale happily sloshed down a bit as well, cheeks turning infinitely redder by the second.
"It's like a vacation, but without any of the fun parts," Crowley mused. "All this," he clarified, waving a hand around at the room at large.
"It's been a little fun. The Winchesters and Castiel are nice."
"I wouldn't use that word. But they're interesting, at least. Angel, have you seen all the BOOKS? You'll lose your mind when you see the library. Books even you haven't seen before. Different universe and all that."
"I'll have to take a look once you're asleep."
Crowley rested his forehead against the angel's shoulder, reveling in the preternatural warmth he radiated. "You should sleep too. Powering up Jack took a lot out of you. Out of both of us."
"I'm fine, my dear."
"Come onnnnnn," the demon said. He set down the bottle of Bastille on the night stand. He then grabbed Aziraphale by the sleeve and tugged him towards the bed. "When was the last time you slept? Since the night the world didn't end?"(4)
"I don't need sleep, Crowley," the angel laughed, stumbling into Crowley, but Crowley caught them and spun them onto the bed, crashing down in a graceless mess of limbs, clashing black and beige.
"It's not about needing, angel, it's about wanting. We're occult—ethereal, whatever—we don't need anything," Crowley said, and became very aware of how close Aziraphale's face was to his, the comfortable sensation of his weight pressing him down into the bed.
"Well...I suppose it couldn't hurt. Just a few hours."
Wow, he hadn't expected to actually win this argument. He chalked it up to the alcohol. Feeling extraordinarily daring, Crowley began sliding Aziraphale's jacket off of him.
"Crowley...what...?"
"You don't sleep fully clothed, angel," Crowley said lowly, surprised by the tone of his own voice.
Aziraphale nodded slowly. He seemed apprehensive, but allowed Crowley to slip his jacket off. Crowley folded it neatly and placed it on the nightstand next to the transformed bottle of liquor, knowing Aziraphale would be furious if he dared to do any damage to his clothes. Next, he lifted (trembling?) hands to the angel's bow-tie, undoing it with the utter lack of skill of someone who has never once, in 6,000 years, considered wearing one.
The bow-tie went on top of the jacket. Crowley disposed of the angel's waistcoat in a similar fashion. At this point, Aziraphale shifted slightly, his thigh between Crowley's legs. He suspected the angel was going to roll over now to his side of the bed, but Crowley had a grip on his collar before he could.
With immense trepidation and one too many butterflies having an ecstasy-fueled-rave in the pit of his stomach, he undid Aziraphale's top button. The angel's hands rested on top of his, stopping his progress.
"Too fast?" Crowley asked, and oh no, now they were doing that thing, that thing where they were saying cryptic things intentionally and leaving them up to interpretation, dancing around meanings that meant too much. Dancing around everything, always, forever.
But, to his shock, Aziraphale shook his head. "No, no, just..." He released Crowley's hands, and Crowley's skin jumped when Aziraphale started unbuttoning Crowley's shirt as well.
He noted their breathing had both grown quicker, shallower, a pool of warmth between them.
His hands skidded down Aziraphale's chest as more skin was revealed, and he wondered idly if he could discorporate from how fast his heart was beating.
Aziraphale managed to get his shirt open before Crowley succeeded with his, and he nearly whimpered when the angel ghosted his fingers down his ribs.
"Angel—" he gasped, breathlessly, fighting with that last button.
The door banged open, and it was like a bucket of ice water getting dumped on the both of them. "Oh shit—wrong—sorry, sorry! Wrong room!"
A very drunk Sam Winchester stumbled away from the door, evidently trying and failing to find his own, but too late, Aziraphale had already flung himself so spectacularly off of Crowley as to have hit the floor and possibly even slid a few feet.
"Ah—right, yes, I'm...just going to go have a look at that library, now, I think—I'll see you in the morning dear, sleep well, sweet dreams."
Aziraphale was out of the room so fast Crowley didn't even have time to try to stop him.
1. Many people have tried out every nickname under the sun for Aziraphale—Az, Azi, Zira, Azira—and he has detested all of them. Mr. Fell or A. Z. Fell is acceptable when human pseudonyms are required, but the only thing he'd ever liked being called besides his name was 'angel'. And, well, only one person had ever called him that.
2. Cas: "Dean, you can't outdrink a demon."
Dean: "Pfft. Hold my beer. Actually, don't, give that back."
3. Had Dean not been so thoroughly plastered, he would've noticed the fear in Castiel's eyes at that statement—and also, he should've been genre savvy enough with his own universe to know that nothing, under any circumstances, was ever totally okay in their world.
4. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED IN CROWLEY'S FLAT