XVII — An Unsustainable Afterlife
Several hours later found the five of them in the Impala, Dean and Sam up front, and all present supernatural beings crammed into the backseat. They were almost at the playground that held Heaven's Gate. Dean glanced in the rear-view mirror, and noticed that Crowley had closed Good Omens for the time being, in favor of staring down at his hands.
"You okay, AJ?" he asked, mildly concerned by the demon's spaced-out expression.
"Trying to decide which of my hands looks better. Gonna use the worse one to test the Gate."
"You're left-handed, clearly you should put your right in," Aziraphale said.
"Yeah, but I feel like my right hand just looks better."
Dean and Sam exchanged a Look.
"It's likely you'll be fine," Cas reminded the demon. "When Lucifer possessed me, he was able to go to Heaven without issue, and he's probably the closest thing this universe has to you."
"Am I blushing?" Crowley deadpanned.
"You can just regrow your hand if it gets smote, can't you?" Sam questioned.
"Dunno. Never had to regrow a limb before," Crowley admitted.
"I did, once," Aziraphale shared thoughtfully. Crowley shot him a confused look. "Oh, you weren't there for that one, my dear. Let's just say I have an aversion to certain parts of Somalia, now."
"Where was I for this?"
"Sleeping, I believe."
"Ah."
They arrived at the playground, and filed out of the Impala.
Crowley blinked. "Sooooo, uh, where is it? The portal thingy?"
"It's in the sandbox. I'll have to contact Heaven to request access," Cas explained. "You read the books—you remember angel radio?"
"Err. Sure. Well, dial up then."(1)
Cas went to the desolate sandbox, but before he could do anything, a figure stepped out of the shadows. An angel—Dean could tell by the workplace appropriate pants suit. She approached Cas, who acknowledged her with a careful incline of his head.
"Duma," he greeted. Okay. Cas had told Dean about this chick, and he already wasn't a fan, but the angels could only be so much of a threat now, with less than ten of them still kicking in Heaven.
Duma's eyes swept over he and Sam, then Crowley and Aziraphale. When her eyes alighted on Aziraphale, she went down to one knee, bowing forward with reverence. Dean placed a closed fist against his mouth to keep himself from laughing, and he could see Sam's own face twitching with restraint.
"Lord. Thank you for returning to us."
Aziraphale was glowing. A miracle, Dean assumed, to further sell the God gimmick. He wondered if Chuck would be offended by all of this, or find it hilarious. Maybe both.
"Of course," Aziraphale said with a tight, awkward smile. "You needn't bow—really, please stand."
Crowley was pretending to be very interested in a monarch butterfly drifting around the swing sets.
Duma's eyes retraced the route they'd performed earlier, this time stopping on Crowley. She took a step back, dimly horrified. "What are you?" she demanded.
Aziraphale had clearly not thought to come up with an explanation for why a demon-snake-ex-angel-whatever was accompanying him into Heaven, and floundered accordingly. "Oh! Yes, well—he's, you see—I—"
"Haven't you ever heard of God's fiery flying serpents? Ministers of divine justice? As close to His feet as the Thrones themselves?" Crowley spoke up.
Duma eyes widened, never leaving Crowley. "What?"
"It's a thing. Look it up," Crowley bit out. "I'm God's most loyal servant, which means He likes me better, and I outrank you, so quit staring."
"Duma," Castiel intervened, no doubt seeing the incredible potential for error in the whole situation. "We just need you to open the Gate. Azira—our Father needs to return."
Dean didn't miss the sudden doubt in Duma's expression. "Of course," she said slowly. She went to the Gate and held her hand over the intricate Enochian sigil in the sandbox. It glowed a bright and brilliant white, before the portal sprung into life. She looked over her shoulder at Aziraphale and Crowley. "Let me notify Naomi of Your coming. It'll only take a moment."
Duma vanished through the portal.
"She's wise to you guys," Dean said as soon as she was out of earshot. "Definitely. Angels are dumb, but they're not that dumb."
Cas shot him an offended look.
"Most angels," Dean corrected with a roll of his eyes.
"This might be a bad idea," Sam agreed.
"Oh, what can they do to us?" Crowley was already heading for the portal. "The way Aziraphale talks about them, sounds like they're no match for us anyway." Crowley carefully extended his left hand towards the portal. Aziraphale watched on, face a mess of pure anxiety.
"Please be careful—" he begged, but Crowley had already stuck his arm in up to his elbow, and wasn't screaming in total agony.
"Well?" Sam prompted.
"Tingles," Crowley said, withdrawing his hand and eyeing it critically. "No harm done."
Aziraphale let out a loud sigh of a relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I was ever so worried."
The angel and the demon turned to Dean, Sam, and Castiel.
"I guess this is goodbye," Crowley said, hands in the front pockets of his inexcusably tight jeans.(2) "I'd tell you it's been fun, but, what's the line? Jesus cries blood every time you lie?"
"I don't think that's a saying," said Castiel, brow furrowed.
"Well. Either way." Crowley shrugged. "Thanks for the...hospitality."
"Thanks for saving our asses. More than once," Dean said. "And I mean that."
"There's always a room for you at the bunker. You guys are welcome back anytime," Sam tacked on. After a moment of thought, he added, "I'm not sure why you'd want to come back, given everything, but if you do—door's open."
The gratitude seemed to fluster Crowley, who just nodded and said, "Right. Wasn't a problem. I mean, it was. But, you know."
Cas stepped in before an awkward silence could fill the empty playground, striding towards Aziraphale. Cas surprised them all by hugging him.
"Oh!" Aziraphale damn near squeaked at the contact, but returned the hug. Cas withdrew quickly, after one firm squeeze, but kept one hand on Aziraphale's shoulder.
"I owe you my life," he told him. His eyes darted briefly to Crowley. "Both of you," he corrected. "It was important for me to meet you, Aziraphale. To know that I'm—"
"Not alone?" Aziraphale offered, smiling sadly. "It was important for me too, Castiel. We should both count ourselves lucky."
Cas released his shoulder. "Please be careful in Heaven. I think Dean may be right about Duma seeing through your disguise. Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?"
"I think we should be fine. Even if they stand in our way, I don't think they'll be able to impede us a great deal," Aziraphale said. "We'll contact you once we've made it through. It was a pleasure to meet you all. It truly was."
"Be safe, guys," Sam said, smiling. "Good luck."
Crowley lifted a hand, and then the two turned, and headed through the portal. They vanished, and the portal with them.
"Some of the weirdest dudes(3) I've ever met," Dean commented, scratching his chin. "But, shit...I'm glad we met 'em."
"Me too," Sam agreed emphatically. "You know, it's..." Sam pursed his lips, slipping half-awkward through his words as he continued, "Aziraphale, he's kind of like what I imagined angels would be like. When we found out they were real."
Cas smiled fondly. "You were...in awe, when we first met."
Dean chuckled at the memory. "Castiel, I've heard so much about you, it's an honor," he quoted in what he thought was a spot-on imitation of Sam's voice.(4)"Followed by the world's most weirdly intimate handshake."
Cas's brow furrowed. "Did I not shake his hand properly?"
"Two handed handshake with prolonged eye contact, dude. You might as well have asked him out for dinner."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're the one I'd heard so much about him from. If I was in awe, you were in love."
Dean felt his face heat up. "Sh-shut up! Was not!"
His brother just laughed, turning to head back towards the Impala. "Come on, let's head home."
Aziraphale and Crowley stepped into Heaven, and the portal behind them ceased to exist. A long, featureless white hallway greeted them, lined with nameplates. Crowley's skin itched like he had a bad sunburn, but he didn't feel as though he was going to melt from the inside out, so that was nice. He didn't know whether to thank the cross-universe demonic differences, or Other Crowley's warding, but either way: not dead. Wahoo.
"What is it with angels and fluorescent lights?" Crowley complained, swinging his head about. "Pretty sure that was one of Ours. Headache inducing, all that buzzing, never mind nobody looks good in it. Worst selfie lighting."
"Can we focus, please?" Aziraphale asked, a note of faint impatience in his tone. "The faster we get you out of here, the better."
Crowley was unconcerned, thumbs tucked into the shallow pockets of his jeans. "Should we wait for your new friends?"
"I'd rather not. I remember where I came in at, no need for an escort, really—and, as Dean so deftly pointed out, I fear my Godly facade may be wearing thin," Aziraphale confided in him, worrying nervously at the faded edge of his waistcoat. He glanced down the left-hand side of the hallway. "Let's be on our way. Look for the surname Meyers."
Crowley hummed in response, tailing after his angel. He hesitantly took his hand again, and was elated when Aziraphale threaded their fingers together. Not even ashamed of him in Heaven. Miracles, and their strange ways.
Aziraphale stopped short when they'd made it to the upper end of the P names. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Before Aziraphale could speak again, Crowley was clubbed hard over the back of the head with something—well, hard, clearly—and went down to his knees, the world spinning in over-excited 360s around him. He could barely make out Aziraphale hitting the floor as well, the books Sam had given him skidding across the immaculate linoleum.
"Angel—" before Crowley could say more, he was clobbered again. He slipped promptly into unconsciousness.
Aziraphale felt as though someone had stuck his head in a vice, and was squeezing with great enthusiasm. He groaned, hands lifting shakily to cover his eyes. Even closed, the light radiating from up above only worsened the agony that radiated from the top of his spine and well into his temples. He tried to quiet the repetitive throbbing, strongly encouraging his skull to knit back together the hairline fracture it had the audacity to have sustained, and his brain to resume business as usual. Both ignored him entirely.
He felt daring enough to remove one hand from his face, and touched the base of his skull. Blood, a lot of it, matting his hair down. His hand came back sticky. He didn't understand why his powers weren't working. He tried, again, to self-heal, but to absolutely no avail.
He struggled to remember what had happened, but was met with only a blur.
They'd gotten into Heaven...hadn't they? Yes, he was fairly positive they had.
Wait. They.
His eyes sprang open, immediately assaulted by harsh fluorescence. He nearly whimpered, shying away from the light, but he did manage a word—a name; "Crowley."
"Ngk," came a pitiful moan from across the room.
After a bleary moment of consideration, Aziraphale decided that the room was in fact a cell. Not a large cell either, twelve-by-twelve if even that. Crowley was across from him, slumped in a miserable pile on the floor, a small pool of blood leaking from his ear, his sunglasses askew on his face.
Aziraphale crawled on hands and knees to the demon, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Crowley, speak to me, are you alright?" Aziraphale gingerly removed Crowley's Valentino's. Crowley's eyes were open, but his pupils weren't dilated equally, one a thin slit, the other blown to the point that black almost blocked out yellow completely. Crowley's powers were clearly suppressed as well. "Oh, dear."
"Hurts," Crowley managed. He pinched his eyes shut tightly. "W'happened?"
"I..." Aziraphale looked around, taking great care to move his head slowly. "We made it to Heaven, and it seems we're still there. But I think something went quite wrong before we made it to the portal."
"Did you really think we would let you leave?"
Aziraphale looked up sharply, and quickly paid for the action with a sharp bolt of pain to his cranium. Through blurred vision, he made out Naomi, standing in front of the bars to their cell, hands clasped behind her.
"I thought—" Aziraphale began roughly, but then wrangled his voice back into something within the realm of composure. "I thought we had an understanding, you and I. I'm—"
"You're not God," Naomi sneered with open derision. "We were foolish to believe you in the first place. No God of ours keeps the company of...whatever he is." She flicked vaguely disgusted eyes to Crowley. "Never mind the fact that you wouldn't have needed us to open the Gate for you in the first place, if you really were our Father, which you're not. The state you're in now confirms that much."
"Rubbish liar," Crowley murmured to Aziraphale, face pinched in misery, and if he hadn't looked so awful, Aziraphale might have found it within himself to let out an indignant huff. He thought he could be quite the good actor, when the situation called for it.
"What do you have to gain from trapping us here?" Aziraphale asked, his voice low. "We've done nothing to you."
"Other than committed the highest blasphemy there is? Consider this purely self-preservation. With you two here, Heaven can continue for the foreseeable future...and for immortal beings, the foreseeable future is a very long time."
Aziraphale was starting to regret healing the other angel; she seemed far more sharp than she had when he'd first met her. Wickedly sharp. "There must be some kind of arrangement we could come to. We could—we could help you find a way to save Heaven, should you release us. We'd be very grateful."
"Don't promisssse her anything, 'Ziraphale," Crowley said, voice hoarse, struggling to push himself up.
Aziraphale gently pushed him back down. "Rest now, let me handle this."
"You're not handling it," Crowley insisted, seeming to gain back some of his strength.
"He's right, you're not—because there's nothing to handle. This isn't a debate. And your involvement with the Winchesters and Castiel is enough for me to be sure that letting you out of here would spell the end of Heaven, promises or not. The three of them wreak destruction wherever they go, and they have no concerns for Heaven. Castiel went native a long time ago, so to speak. They fail to see how dire our situation is here. If they did, they would have handed Lucifer's son over to us as soon as he was brought into the world."
"Right, you seem like the nurturing, motherly type," Crowley grumbled, and he made to push himself up again. Aziraphale didn't move to stop him this time, knowing that if Crowley was determined, there was little point. "If we're strong enough to keep Heaven running, don't you think we're strong enough to bust out of here?"
"I invite you to try," Naomi said pleasantly, punctuating the statement with a cold smile. "Have a nice eternity, gentlemen."
She click-clacked down the hallway without another word, leaving the two of them alone.
Crowley collapsed back to the ground, clutching his head. "Fuck. Fuck."
Aziraphale bent low, trying to pry Crowley's hands away. "Shh, shh, it's alright, let me have a look at you."
"Not like you can do anything about it," Crowley shot back weakly, but he did remove his hands, letting Aziraphale examine the gore-spattered wound along the length of Crowley's parietal bone. A worse spot for the injury, undoubtedly. Most likely why Crowley was having difficult so much as standing or speaking, while Aziraphale just had to deal with blurred vision and church bells ringing inside his head, now that he'd regained his bearings.
Aziraphale pursed his lips in worry.
"Don't like that look," Crowley said into the cold floor, and Aziraphale was incredibly disconcerted every time he met the demon's eyes, bright and uneven.
"I need to heal you."
"You can't. Already tried. This...place...holdssss ussss back."
Crowley's hissing gave Aziraphale an idea. "My dear...could you take your snake form? Even with the warding?"
"Wouldn't heal me."
"It may. I'm not sure how a severe concussion transfers to reptiles, but surely it must be less painful than it is for you in your human form," Aziraphale reasoned. "Can you do it?"
Crowley sighed, eyes slipping shut. "Could try."
Scales began to skate over Crowley, starting at his ear and working their way over his face. It took much longer than usual for him to shift forms, but after about a minute, Aziraphale had a large black and red snake in his lap. A quick check, and with a gush of relief, he noticed that Crowley's pupils were once again even.
Aziraphale ran a hand over Crowley's spine. "Better?"
"Sssstill hurts. But not assss bad," came the demon's hissing reply. Crowley lazily wrapped around Aziraphale, half-curling around his waist, then slithering up his back to let his head rest on Aziraphale's shoulder. His tongue darted out, grazing his cheek. "We need an esssscape plan."
"That we do." He was still highly disturbed by their current circumstances, but with Crowley coiled around him, he did feel ever so slightly better. "I, ah. I don't suppose you have any ideas in mind?"
"Wassss hoping you did."
"I see."
"You don't, do you?"
"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. You?"
Crowley made a sound that Aziraphale assumed would translate to some kind of thinking noise, were he human. "Maybe one."
The snake departed Aziraphale, and headed for the bars of the cell. Aziraphale blinked; surely it couldn't be that easy to get away? Crowley made to slip between the bars, spaced about two inches apart, but his snout collided with an invisible barrier, a loud bonk echoing throughout the room.
Crowley drew back and tried again.
Bonk.
"Unfortunately, it seems the bars are more for show than anything else," Aziraphale observed.
Bonk.
Bonk.
Bonk.
"Crowley," Aziraphale chastised.
"Ssssorry." Crowley returned to his lap, looking as dejected as a snake could look.
Aziraphale gingerly rested his hand on Crowley's head, hoping he wasn't jostling whatever injury carried over from his human form. "We're in a bit of a pickle," Aziraphale said quietly, trying to shove down the fear rising inside him. An eternity of imprisonment...it was but for the Grace of God he was with Crowley, making the prospect of an infinity in a cell much less crushing, but had they not been trapped together, at least the one who was could count on a rescue attempt.
There was no one coming to save them.
"If only we had someway to get in contact with the Winchesters," Aziraphale lamented. "But, there's no surface in here reflective enough for us to ring their mirror."
Crowley's tongue made an appearance again. "Could make a puddle."
"How would we do that? We've no water."
Crowley just looked at him.
"Good Lord, Crowley, I don't even think I'm capable," Aziraphale said, aghast once he understood what the demon meant.
"Well, I know I am."
"There has to be a better way." Aziraphale's eyes swept around the room, taking in every detail categorically. Surely there was something...
"Angel."
Aziraphale glanced down at Crowley. He'd swiveled his head to grab at something—when he turned back, his abandoned Valentino's were dangling from his mouth.
Aziraphale lit up, grinning. "Oh, my darling boy. Absolutely capital idea." He took the sunglasses from Crowley, holding them in front of his face, reflective lenses turned towards him. Aziraphale recalled the words Rowena had taught he and Castiel. "Partum un ponte, speculo. Partum un ponte, speculo. Partum un ponte, speculo."
Crowley curled around him so he was able to see the front of the Valentino's. They waited with bated breath.
"Pray this works," Aziraphale said tremulously.
"Fat lot of good that'll do."
The mirror surface shimmered, shifted, and he was gazing at featureless tan. The inside of Castiel's pocket, he hoped. There was some jostling, some muttered voices. Then, Castiel's face came into view, seated in the back of the Winchesters' vehicle.
"Hello Aziraphale," Castiel greeted. "Did you make it safely to the other side?"
Castiel was shoved over incrementally, and the Winchesters' Crowley dipped his head in. "So, this is mother's work, is it? I could've done better."
Dean's voice echoed from somewhere out of view. "Ignore him. He just showed up to yell at us about his mom."
"Too bloody right!" snapped the demon.
"Gentlemen, please," Aziraphale interrupted. "Something's...happened."
Castiel's expression immediately turned to one of concern. "What is it?"
Aziraphale turned the mirror so Castiel could see where they were. "We could use a spot of help."
"What's going on?" Sam asked, his voice distant but worried.
"They're in Heaven's Prison."
"Shit," said Dean.
Castiel didn't hesitate. "Crowley. Take us to the Gate."
"Do I look like an Uber driver to you?"
Castiel seized the demon by the collar, one-handed, still holding the mirror. "NOW, CROWLEY."
"Use your big boy words."
"Fuck off!" came Dean's voice.
"Not those big boy words."
"We're coming," Castiel told them firmly. "Just hold on."
The connection flickered out.
Aziraphale lowered the sunglasses, setting them back down on the floor. He returned his hands to Crowley, one on his spine, one at the base of his head.
"We ssssaved them," Crowley said quietly. "Hope to Ssssomebody that they can ssssave ussss."
"They will. I'm sure of it," Aziraphale replied.
But his voice betrayed that he wasn't so sure at all.
1. Crowley had already forgotten a large majority of what he had actually read of the Supernatural books—and what he hadn't forgotten, he'd skimmed over in the first place. Any conversation that took place with the boys sitting on the hood of the Impala was immediately skipped, same went for anytime the phrase 'a single tear traced down Dean's face' was used.
2. Certain things had to be miracled away to wriggle into them, but, such is the price to be paid for fashion.
3. *Dude-shaped entities
4. It was not.