Author's Note: And here we have the thrilling conclusion to this story! Yay for getting stuff done! This chapter takes place during and just after 5x19, "Hammer of the Gods." Ya'll savvy SPN watchers know what that means… Beta'd by the lovely Naomi Ricard and cross-posted to AO3.

Warnings: Angsty fluffy stuff. Some people prefer to be warned about these things.

Tattoo
by Judanim

Chapter Two: "A Part of Everything I Do"

Crowley wasn't expecting Gabriel to come home. After all, he knew better than to hope. A gathering of some of the most powerful pagan gods on Earth? Yeah, that wasn't a massacre waiting to happen or anything. Crowley knew he should have at least argued with Gabriel not to go, but when he looked into the archangel's eyes, he saw the determination and felt it mirrored by the tattoo on his back. Gabriel wanted to do something to stop this damned Apocalypse, and since Crowley's bid had failed, the angel decided that he had to try his own way.

"Stupid bloody angel," Crowley was muttering into a glass of Craig after Gabriel left. But he wasn't angry or disappointed at Gabriel's insistence on sticking his neck out. For the first time, the demon felt guilty, because he hadn't gone with Gabriel, the one being Crowley would ever do a selfless act for. The worst part was the angel wasn't even surprised when he let him go off on his own. The demon should have taken that as his sign to not feel guilt or regret, but the lack of condemnation only served to twist the knife; after knowing him for three hundred years, Gabriel knew where Crowley's priorities lay, and he never expected him to change, never asked him to. That was— fuck, that was love, and Crowley almost choked on the word.

For all the time they'd spent together over the centuries, and despite the bond they shared via the magic in their tattoos, it was that silent acceptance that did him in; that proved it.

Crowley knew he didn't deserve it, and in a way he didn't want it. The archangel's pure, unconditional love only served to magnify what Crowley felt for Gabriel himself, and it was nothing a demon should feel, nothing a demon should be capable of feeling.

He refilled his glass once, then twice, enjoying the way the scotch burned in his throat. Crowley almost poured a third, but instead he took a swig from the bottle before tossing it against the wall. Glass and expensive liquor flew everywhere, and Crowley couldn't bring himself to care. He watched it run down to the floor, scotch staining the paint and the hardwood, before snapping up a new bottle.

A few hours later, Crowley felt a pain rip through his body, starting from his back before radiating to everything. He forced open his eyes to see his dark living room flooded with a golden light, the source of it behind him. The tattoo. Gabriel. As Crowley started to process what it could all mean, the pain and light both vanished, gone as suddenly as they had come.

Once the shock ebbed away, Crowley realized there was a dull ache in his chest, different from the bright stab of pain. It felt like a piece of him was missing, snuffed out along with the archangel's light.

Crowley must not have been the only one who noticed. I'm disappointed in you, brother, a voice said from somewhere in the space between the demon's mind and heart. First you take the humans' side, and now this.

The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone—that condescending, imperious tone—was something Crowley would always know. An angel. Lucifer, if he had to guess. How Crowley was hearing him now, he didn't know.

You let a demon mark you, taint you. I know you can hear me, Gabriel. A little of your Grace remains in this world, somewhere. I forgive you, but I will find and destroy the demon. They deserve no less.

So that was it, then. Lucifer must have been communicating directly with the bit of Grace that Gabriel had embedded into the tattoo, allowing Crowley to hear. But if that was true, then did that mean…

Another voice cut into his thoughts. This one he knew, knew it better than his own. Crowley, run.

Despite the lump in his throat, Crowley had to ask. "Gabriel?"

The new voice gave a little, impatient sigh. Yes, it had to be him. Just go. Didn't you hear Luci? You've got to move. Are your safe-houses still safe?

"Far as I know," Crowley said, not really believing he was actually speaking to the archangel. "Why haven't we tried this before?"

You are really focusing on the wrong thing here.

"Call me distracted."

Go. I'll figure out the rest once you're safe.

The concern in Gabriel's tone was too much to take, and he willed the angel to stay quiet before popping out of his mansion.

It was odd enough to be a demon with an angel perched on your shoulder, so to speak. Things got downright strange when the saving of the sodding world got involved. And worse, these things were becoming a regular thing for Crowley. Purely self-interest, he told himself, to help the enemy of an enemy. Gabriel would chuckle every time, but otherwise say nothing on the subject.

At first Crowley had wanted answers, and even a way to maybe revive the archangel, but there simply hadn't been time. Between running from Lucifer and his forces, hopping from safe-house to safe-house, and helping the Winchesters, Crowley's mind was occupied. And he did kind of like having Gabriel close, being able to talk to him with half a thought, though being able to hold him—or punch him in the face—would be even better.

When there was a little breathing room between making sure Lucifer and Michael's Cage was sealed up tight and moving into position as the new King of Hell, Crowley finally remembered to bring up the subject with his archangel. "So, are you stuck like this forever?"

Gabriel took a few moments to consider it. I don't know. I didn't really plan or research anything beyond giving Sam and Dean that tape. Truth be told, I'd kind of taken our bond for granted; didn't occur to me that it would be my last lifeline.

Crowley didn't have to say that he would've been Gabriel's lifeline either way, mostly because the angel could sense it in the core of his being. "Well, if we can find you a vessel, maybe we can do some kind of transference. You might be more or less human while your Grace recovers, but you'd be alive."

I'm an archangel, Crowles. I only have one true vessel, and it's currently rotting away. Unless someone was bright enough to torch it. Gabriel sighed dramatically. I liked that vessel too.

The demon wracked his brain for something, anything, that could help. "Your vessel didn't happen to have any descendants, did he?"

Not that I can remember. Then again, it has been a long time, and my memory gets kind of fuzzy somewhere between Jesus and the fifteenth century. Crowley felt a thrill of excitement run through him, and it wasn't his. I got it! If we can get even a little bit of my vessel's DNA, we can search for him.

"That will only work if he's a criminal, Gabriel," Crowley said. It would be easier, and far more reliable, to just ask Castiel to take a peek at the Heavenly records. Surely the angels kept this kind of information on hand.

Gabriel didn't miss the thought, per usual. Heaven's probably a mess right now, and somehow I doubt little Cassie would help. Even if you explained everything, he'd still think you're lying. He's one of the good ones, you know. And besides, we're talking about someone capable of playing host to a trickster. Do you really they think they don't have a rap sheet?

Crowley couldn't deny that. "Fair enough."

The first place to look was the Elysian Fields Hotel, scene of the crime. Crowley didn't expect to find anything, because other than the Apocalypse-Not that would be his kind of luck. When he landed, he was caught off-guard by the sheer amount of magic and tainted Grace in the air.

"Bastard preserved it like a trophy case," Crowley said, unable to keep the anger out of his tone.

The trickster quirked a metaphysical eyebrow. I'm not sure whether to be flattered or creeped out. I mean, I know I was Luci's favorite, but…

Crowley glared, even though Gabriel couldn't see him. "If you're about to tell me that this was his way of showing he cared, I will go right back to running Hell, and you'll be forced to watch me fantasize about you and Sam shagging for the rest of eternity. Might throw Dean in there too, just to get the point across."

Gabriel actually laughed. That's cruel even for you, cupcake, and it would hurt you just as much as it would me.

"Maybe not. The moose is moderately attractive." With a chuckle, reminded of old times, Crowley ventured into the reception hall, where Gabriel had said everything went down.

His first thought was actually Gabriel's, and wasn't that slightly terrifying—Jeez, Luci, would it have killed you to put an anti-dust feature in your spell? The ease in the archangel's tone put Crowley further off-balance, so he wasn't prepared when he finally found what remained of Gabriel's vessel, mighty wings turned to ashes but the body otherwise perfectly preserved, as Crowley had surmised earlier. He knelt down at the once-Gabriel's side and put a hand on his chest.

"There's the stab wound," Crowley said.

Think you can heal it up? Would make recovery easier, you know.

The magic in the air made it difficult, as it seemed especially geared towards dampening his powers, but there must've been some of the demon blood essence in the body, because it took a lot less effort than it should have for Crowley to heal the blade-shaped hole in Gabriel's chest. Once it was done, he didn't remove his hand, only turned his attention inwards and said, "You ready?"

As I'll ever be. I hope this works.

"So do I, love."

Crowley closed his eyes and focused, calling forth the little bit of Grace in his system that was Gabriel, willing it to travel from the tattoo on his back, through his chest, down his arm, and out from his hand into the waiting vessel. What Crowley didn't expect was the burn, the pain of the Grace passing right through him, far worse than holy water or bullets of rock salt. The pain in his back he'd gotten used to, comforting in its own way, but this was like a fresh wound, and it was almost too much for him to take. Almost.

Suddenly there was a strangled gasp from beneath him, and Crowley looked down to see Gabriel—fuck, yes, Gabriel—sputtering and flailing around, trying to get a grasp on the whole having-a-body thing again.

"Just breathe," Crowley said, helping Gabriel sit up. "You're almost human right now, you need to breathe."

Gabriel leaned into him and rested his forehead on his shoulder. "Not stupid, Crowles." He took a few deep breaths before speaking again. "Thank you."

For the moment, Crowley let his guard down, running his fingers through the archangel's hair and holding him close. "You were inside my head. Couldn't have that now, could I?"

"Oh no, never." Gabriel chuckled and then raised his head slightly. "You think the bond still works?"

They tried it out and were surprised to find that it did. "Must be a tiny bit of Grace left," Gabriel said.

Without even thinking, Crowley asked, "Do you want it? Because I can—"

The angel cut him off with a shake of his head. "You hang on to it. Might come in handy again."

"If you're sure," Crowley said, hesitant to keep something that might help Gabriel recover, little though it was.

"Trust me, Crowles, it's yours," Gabriel said. He pulled himself up a little straighter and kissed the demon. "I'm yours."

A hundred and fifty years after they'd drawn tattoos on each other, binding them together, and this was the first time either of them had put it into words. Crowley couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips.

Most would have been offended. Gabriel only raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"It would take the combined forces of Heaven, Hell, and Death and an almost-Apocalypse for us to admit that, wouldn't it?" Crowley said, laughing a little more.

Gabriel joined in, head canting back in pure joy, something Crowley hadn't seen him do in a long time. And suddenly the demon found himself smiling, something he hadn't done in forever. An occasion like this called for some irregularities.

To add to the oddness, after Gabriel had stopped cackling Crowley said, "And I'm yours, angel." He returned the kiss given earlier, Gabriel sighing and moaning against his lips.

It should've been a mess, should've been endlessly complicated, but it wasn't. They were an archangel and the King of Hell, but what did that mean without the end of the world hanging over their heads? For now they were just Gabriel and Crowley, and the world was theirs for the taking.