A/N: Hello, my beautiful ducks.


And Several Days After That

Crowley had never so much as entertained the possibility of being soft.

Angels were made aloof. Demons were … well, demons—angels remade in hellfire. There was nothing in him programmed to be soft.

Aziraphale would have said he had a soft spot for humanity, but that wasn't quite right. Wasn't like he adored the bastards. He thought some of them were clever. He also thought some of them could have given Satan a run for his money. He just detested the injustice of mortal beings being bopped around by immortal bastards.

But the last few days had been a revelation in countless ways, not the least of which was the incredible pull he felt to do the thousands of silly little things he'd done. He'd gone out once that first full day and bought a flower from one of the girls on a whim. And then a pastry. And then he'd stood outside a bookshop fighting the urge to go in and buy them out just for the mere thought of the look on Aziraphale's face.

Silly. Just damn silly. It wasn't even hard to make Aziraphale smile.

And he tried not to think about how utterly bizarre it was to dream up a thousand different ways to touch someone. He couldn't get enough of the feel of Aziraphale. The second day, in the early morning light, after he'd stoked the fire—because Aziraphale liked to be warm and cozy—he'd propped himself on one elbow on the bed, leaning over Aziraphale, unbuttoning each of the little pearl buttons of his vest in between little, teasing kisses.

There was no good reason Crowley wanted access to more of Aziraphale's skin. There was no inherent urge in him to do what people usually did when they got each other undressed. He just knew he needed to feel and taste more of Aziraphale.

He needed to know all the tiny details he'd never even thought of before. Aziraphale, he found, had chest hair. Not a lot. It seemed a rather tasteful amount. And arranged just so.

A very specific choice.

And why Crowley was so charmed, he didn't understand.

He felt soft. And warm.

Long ago, Crowley had resigned himself to the fact the world—Heaven and Hell included—was made of sharp edges and steep cliffs. He was vigilant and adept at keeping his balance. He was used to the cold that seeped to the center of his bones.

He'd known Aziraphale for thousands of years, but this? This was new. A new side of the angel who had, improbably, been his friend. A new side to himself. A soft side. Sometimes, he didn't like how soft, but everytime he told himself to stop being so ridiculous, he … didn't.

On the fifth day, he came home—the word home was so different now than it had been five days before—to find Aziraphale in the garden, indulging in a cup of tea. The angel had his back turned, and he didn't seem to have heard Crowley come in. So Crowley took a moment to just watch.

Because he was silly. And twitterpated. And …

And really, there was absolutely no reason he should find things like the way Aziraphale tilted his head, his eyes obviously following the fluttering path of a butterfly, endearing.

Some demon he was.

Giving in—again—to this softness, he stepped quietly across the portico. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's waist, pulling him back into his arms. He hid his grin, ducking against Aziraphale's neck as the angel gave a little yelp of surprise. Crowley nudged his cheek with the tip of his nose, and Aziraphale sighed, tilting his head so Crowley could trail kisses at his neck. Setting his cup down, Aziraphale reached one hand back, threading his fingers through his hair—he'd noticed the angel had a thing for his hair—and pressed the other over Crowley's against his waist.

Crowley kissed up Aziraphale's chin, and when the angel turned his head to him, he kissed him.

Being ridiculous and soft had its merits, after all.

When Crowley pulled back a moment later, the look on Aziraphale's face was made of light, his smile so beatific that Crowley couldn't help but smile back.

But then, the angel's eyes dimmed just slightly, his brow furrowing just that much. He ducked his head, and Crowly huffed. He tilted his head, burying his nose against Aziraphale's outrageous curls. "You're going to say we should talk, aren't you?"

"Well …"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Crowley."

"There isn't." He shifted, keeping one arm around Aziraphale's waist as he moved to his side. His throat was tight. Though he could have drowned in Aziraphale's eyes, he found he couldn't look at him; not if he wanted to speak. He rolled his eyes up. "Nothing … That is, nothing much has to change."

He heard Aziraphale swallow hard and felt the way his body tensed. He blew out a breath, knowing he was on the edge of saying the wrong thing … which was why he hadn't wanted to talk in the first place. "Well, what can we do, angel? There will be orders. We do what we always do, just …" He toed the ground, licked his lips—why was his mouth so dry—and tried to sound lighthearted. "You know, with a bit of this. After work."

Aziraphale turned to face him full on. Crowley found he still couldn't look, but he clutched Aziraphale's fingers tightly when the angel took his hands. "It's … This is dangerous," Aziraphale said quietly.

"The humans have gotten rather aggravating about it," Crowley said flippantly. "If we were back in Rome …" He shrugged and looked down. "I suppose one of us could take on a female form now and again. It can be inconvenient, I'll admit. Not as much ability to come and go as we please. And the corsets. Ugh."

"Crowley."

"Or we could just be careful. Plenty of humans do, and we've got more going for us than they have."

"Crowley."

Crowley growled under his breath and forced himself to look at Aziraphale. "We've always been in danger, haven't we? You've said it often enough. If anyone knew of The Arrangement."

"My dear." Aziraphale pressed fingertips against his cheek, studying him as though trying to memorize him. "This is something altogether different. What they would do to you ..."

And seeing the fear in Aziraphale's eyes made Crowley focus, calm. Again, he put his arm around Aziraphale's waist, pulling him closer. "You always told me they would destroy me if they knew I was working with you. What can they possibly do that's worse?"

Aziraphale shuddered. "You probably know the answer to that better than I do."

He did. He leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to Aziraphale's lips. "Do you want to stop then?"

"Stop?" Aziraphale gripped his collar, giving him a tug. "No. No, that's not what I want."

"Then? We're back to what I said. There's nothing to talk about." Another little kiss, and he let his hand go to the small of Aziraphale's back, intending to kiss him until he relaxed and then … Then, he might press the angel against that pillar. "We've been careful. We'll be more careful."

"Oh, it's a little late for that."

Crowley's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he took in the horrifying sight of Supreme Archangel Gabriel just across the garden from them, taking slow, measured steps forward. Crowley pushed Aziraphale behind him out of pure instinct, stepping in front of him in a protective stance though his rational mind knew damn well there was nothing he could do. Gabriel was more powerful than he ever had been.

Aziraphale stepped forward so he was standing at his side again. "Gabriel," he said, voice pitched high but remarkably steady. "I can—"

"They tried to send you your next assignment, Aziraphale, since you wrote to inform us Crowley wasn't a threat. But you weren't where you were supposed to be. Even though your mission was accomplished, you were still out and about in society." Gabriel tilted his head, his smile maddeningly placid when set against the malevolence in his eyes. "And that made some sense. I read in your report you had to work with humans to get to your quarry. But I heard one of the other little humans, the servant ones, whispering about how your business always seemed to be with Lord Crowley."

Despite the panic in his mind, the plans being formed and discarded at a rapid pace, that caught Crowley's attention. Why the heaven was the Supreme Archangel bothering to read the status report of a single angel? Aziraphale was a principality—right around the middle of the echelon. Surely, Gabriel couldn't be interested in his movements. And following up himself?

"Gabriel, I—"

"Do not. Speak. To me." Gabriel snapped, and Crowley watched in horror as Aziraphale fell to his knees as though his legs had been kicked out from under him. His hands were bound, and he'd been gagged.

It took everything in Crowley to keep himself still. He wanted to fall to his knees beside Aziraphale, wrap his angel up in his arms, to protect him or die with him. He was also made of fury. How desperately he wanted to tear this self-righteous bastard to pieces.

But no. He had to keep his head. There had to be a way out of this, for Aziraphale if not himself. The only thing about Heaven and Hell that had been betrayed here were their delicate sensibilities.

Gabriel had stepped toward Aziraphale to tower over him. Crowley could see the sharp rise and fall of Aziraphale's shoulders as he looked up at his enraged boss. "I don't even know what you are, Aziraphale. This is the blackest form of blasphemy I've ever witnessed, and Lucifer was my brother."

As he spoke, Aziraphale shrank, cringing backward, his head bowed.

"Do you have any concept of how foul you are? I doubt Hell would even want you." Gabriel's hands had begun to glow brilliant white.

He was going to smite him. He was going to annihilate Aziraphale from existence in front of Crowley's very eyes.

Crowley jolted forward, hand raised, trying to think around his panic. "You can't be too angry at your angel," Crowley said, working hard to sound breezy. "I'm very good at what I do."

Moving toward him had been a mistake. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and Crowley crumpled instantly to the ground, a terrible burn moving up from his hands through the rest of his body like his bloodstream was made of fire. He cried out before he could help it, his head bending low to the ground as he tried to move his arms and failed.

Shackled. He was shackled.

The shackles had been blessed; that's why they burned.

The initial burn faded, and Crowley forced himself to concentrate. He chuckled, raising his head and bringing himself up as straight as he could. "You could have asked if you wanted me to genuflect, your most esteemed grace. I'll cooperate. I'll tell you all about my plan."

"Your plan?" Gabriel said around a sneer.

"You can't blame me for needing a plan." Crowley nodded in Aziraphale's direction and almost wavered. The angel was looking at him, his expressive eyes confused, frightened, and worried all at once. Crowley had to look away quickly, knowing there was every possibility Aziraphale would think he was telling the truth.

Maybe it would be better if he did. One way or another, Crowley couldn't figure out how he was going to survive himself.

"I'm sure you know, if you've read his reports, Aziraphale has been quite effective at thwarting my wiles for, well, all of human history, hasn't he? Never forgiven me for slipping by him in Eden.

"So I had to ask myself what my strengths were and his weaknesses." Crowley tilted his head at Gabriel as though they were conspiring together. "You know how he is, caught up with humanity. His little books. His romances."

He'd let derision leak into his tone. His heart ached, sick with this betrayal. He adored those things about the angel. He wished with everything that he'd had the balls to say it to his face.

"He's so curious about human things," Crowley said, his tone condescending. "It was obscenely easy to tempt him to sully his being with human food. Little harder with drink, I'll grant you. But there are no specific rules being broken." Crowley shrugged, trying not to wince as the movement sent a fresh wave of fire through him.

"But for all I could get him to eat with me and drink with me, he never let me get close enough. Desperate times, right? I have a job to do. So I decided to try a truly vile tactic. Seduce him. I thought it might work. And the prize was worth the disgust. To have an angel wrapped around my finger. You have to see the advantage."

He couldn't look at Aziraphale. He just couldn't. His time with Aziraphale had always been the very best part of his life. There was every chance Aziraphale would be doubting him; doubting everything about them from their friendship to these last five days, and he couldn't maintain his cool façade if he had to see his angel's crushed expression.

Gabriel stared at Crowley, gaze unreadable. Then, his features twisted. He reached down, grabbing Aziraphale by the collar and hauling him to his feet.

Crowley yanked at his binds and only just kept from writhing as the burn flared. He was glad for it though because it stopped him from snapping at Gabriel to get his hands off his angel. He breathed in through his nose, knowing he couldn't afford to lose control.

Gabriel pulled Aziraphale against him so they were nose to nose, his violet eyes glinting. "What do you have to say for yourself?" He snapped his fingers, and the gag disappeared. "You let this dirty hellspawn get the better of you?"

"There's no shame in it. It took centuries," Crowley said. "And I told you I'm very good."

Aziraphale made a visible effort to stop his rapid intake of breath. He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up. Then, he turned to Crowley, his blue eyes cold. "My, dear. Really," he said, his tone pitying. "Did you actually believe you had me fooled?"

Crowley had to stop himself from grinning. His heart soared, and he had never loved someone more than he loved this angel. So easily frazzled, a bit high strung, yet here he was facing down perhaps the third most powerful being in his sphere, bound and helpless but cool as anything.

Aziraphale looked away from him as if he mattered not at all. "Gabriel," he said, letting some shame leak into his tone. "I realize it's hard to understand how I live down here. The human world is so full of nuance; I quite got used to the idea of doing unpleasant things as a means to an end."

"Unpleasant. It's unnatural."

"Precisely. It was entertaining to see just how big of a fool he'd make of himself. And it had the added benefit of keeping him well in hand."

Again, Gabriel just stared, his features giving away nothing of what he was thinking. He made a gesture, and Aziraphale's body jerked around. Again, he was driven to his knees, this time right in front of Crowley, facing him almost nose to nose. He blinked hard, and Crowley stared back, stomach twisting because he just knew something horrible was about to happen.

Gabriel, dressed in the purest white finery of the era, squatted down behind Aziraphale. He took the angel's head between both of his hands, forcing him to keep his gaze steady on Crowley. Crowley's heart leapt to his throat.

He begged in his head, praying to a God he knew didn't care.

Don't let them kill him in front of me.

"I want you to listen to me, Aziraphale." Gabriel said near his ear, his voice calm, almost tranquil. "When Armageddon finally comes and the war begins, the first order l will give you will be to drive your flaming sword through his heart."

As he spoke, all the color drained from Aziraphale's face, his blue eyes reflecting deep dread and sorrow.

Crowley's stomach twisted in warning a split second before the ground nearby tremored, a fireball flaming bright as a figure emerged.

Beelzebub.

"Oh, good. Look at that. Your ride is here." Gabriel pushed his feet, yanking Aziraphale up with him. He pushed him forward so he all but barreled into Beelzebub, who caught him by the arm.

"No. No," Crowley said, gritting his teeth at the burn as he leaned forward. "That's not how it's done. There's to be a trial. You're the Supreme Archangel of Heaven. Those are the rules. And for what? He hasn't gone against God's will or questioned Her."

Beelzebub made a tsking noise. "Protecting your little pet again, Crowley?"

Crowley furrowed his brow. Again?

"You are pathetic," Beelzebub hissed.

But Crowley wasn't paying attention. His mind raced, bits and pieces of a puzzle arranging itself.

It has been odd enough when Gabriel showed up, but maybe it made sense given what he'd said. Aziraphale wasn't where he should have been, and Crowley's name had come up. It was a stretch, but he could make the narrative fit if he squinted.

But it was strange.

And stranger still that he wasn't there with his closest minions flanking him. Aziraphale never mentioned Gabriel without one or both of the other archangels and usually a smattering of the others besides.

And now here was Beelzebub, who rarely deigned to talk to Crowley. They also didn't usually travel alone.

They were here together.

Again.

Almost on a whim, Crowley pushed against his own mind. He hated doing this, poking gently where he knew broken and stolen memories were supposed to be. It hurt, and it made his stomach twist and twist, churning with nausea. He concentrated on Gabriel's face in his mind.

The first memory was the oldest. After his trial when he'd been sentenced to Hell. Gabriel leaning over him, his eyes cold as he ripped divine memories out of his head. It was mostly just a feeling. One of the most terrible feelings he'd ever known.

But as he'd suspected, there were fuzzy memories after that. He pushed again, and there it was.

He was on the ground, his head caught in a vice grip, but his eyes were on Aziraphale as Beelzebub dug their fingers into his hair, the glint around them red, and Aziraphale screaming in agony.

Another broken memory—Gabriel's voice with the double timbre of authority, filling a space deep in his mind.

"Angels have nothing but loathing for you. None of us will ever feel more than contempt. Aziraphale feels nothing but contempt for you."

Crowley blinked, coming back to the present.

They'd been here before. They'd done this before.

"But you didn't kill us. You can't kill us," Crowley said out loud, realizing. "Why?"

"Demon, if I wanted you dead—"

"You do. I may not remember you well, Gabriel, but I know that much. You wouldn't look anyone in the eyes if you didn't have to, you arrogant—"

Crowley's voice cut off as a spark of lightning arched across the garden, striking him to the ground. He heard Aziraphale call his name, but that was nothing. It was a warning.

It made him laugh. Fighting to move when it sent pain through his arms, he got back to his knees, glaring across at Beelzebub, then Gabriel. "And see? You do know something about angels fraternizing with demons."

Gabriel's violet eyes flamed. He raised a hand, bathed in white light, and snapped.

Crowley's world turned black.