The angel waved a hand and Aziraphale's clothing disappeared. The blond shivered as the cold air of Heaven flowed over his bare skin. A hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head painfully backward. A finger slid along his jaw. Suddenly Aziraphale's head was flying to the side as the back of a hand connected with the side of his face. Tears fled to his eyes.
"Oh, don't cry, darling. Not yet at least. We have so much to do before you will be forgiven." The grin the red-head gave Aziraphale, made the blond's stomach twist painfully.
The angel raised their hand and Aziraphale rose and flew through the air until he met with the back wall. His body turned so that he was now facing the wall, his back to the black clad angel. "I think that we will start out rather simply." A table appeared in the center of the room, barring instruments that Aziraphale didn't want to know the use of, but knew that he would become far too familiar with.
*Up in Heaven Where They Have No Standards*
Blood dripped down onto the pristine white floor of the Heavenly room. Aziraphale took a shuddering breath as he rested his forehead against the cool wall before him. His body felt hot. It was like his whole body was on fire, he was so hot. A hand carded through his sweat damp hair. "Poor baby. I'm here for you. Just like I've always been here for you."
Aziraphale's brow furrowed. He recognized the voice of his torture, but there was something wrong with it. There was another voice below the one he heard. As if the one was covering the other. "Who are you?" He asked, or rather, he tried to ask. He still couldn't speak. He could scream though.
*Up in Heaven Where They Have No Standards*
The fog was receding again. Not that it mattered. Aziraphale's thoughts were all a haze of blood, pain, and screams. His torturer, Crowley. Yes, that was the demon's name. Crowley enjoyed it when he screamed. It always made the demon laugh manically.
"No, that isn't Crowley. Crowley would never harm me. That is an angel wearing Crowley's face."
"Why would an angel wear Crowley's face?"
"To fool you. To make you turn on your one and only friend in this whole universe. The only being that has ever cared – ever truly loved you."
"Why didn't I just stay with him?"
"You know why."
"I had no choice in the matter. My choice was sacrificed the moment I drank from the cup."
"I'm going mad."
Aziraphale's thoughts were interrupted by the door to his, what he now knew to be his prison cell, opening. The fake Crowley walked, a smirk on their face. "How are we today, my sweet sinner?"
Aziraphale simply glared at his tormentor. The angel moved over to where Aziraphale hung from the wall. Aziraphale had no idea how long he had been back in Heaven, but he knew that it had definitely been to long. As the other angel got close enough, Aziraphale lashed out. Bashing his head into the other's as hard as he could. Blinding spots burst behind Aziraphale's eyes. The other angel didn't fare much better as blood flowed from their nose.
"You fucking bastard!" The angel snarled. They punched Aziraphale in the face as hard as they could. The chains holding Aziraphale to the wall released him and he fell to the floor with a thud. The angel was upon him in an instant. The angel kicked him hard in the ribs. Aziraphale tried to stand but found himself chained to the floor and unable to move as blow after blow rained down over his body.
Once tired of beating him, the angel moved over to the table holding the whips. Taking up one, the angel let it snap against the floor with a snarl. "Ooo, I'm going to enjoy this." The first lash of the whip tore flesh from Aziraphale's body. Aziraphale bit back the scream that wanted to tear out of his throat. He wasn't going to satisfy his tormentor anymore.
*Up in Heaven Where They Have No Standards*
There wasn't an inch of Aziraphale's body left untouched by the whip. Even his feet had been stripped bare of flesh by the whip. Yet he had not released a single scream throughout the torture this time. As agony flooded his body, the miracled fog in his brain had receded. He knew for sure now that he had been under the influence of a miracle – a powerful one – when he was offered the job of Supreme Archangel. He wasn't able to say no. As for what he had said to Crowley… that was a mix of his own desires of wanting to be with the demon and the influence of the miracle. The one responsible for the miracle, the Metatron, had wanted to drive a wedge between him and Crowley and used his offer of a drink to do so with a hefty miracle. Not that being under the influence of a miracle would make everything better. So much pain was caused that day.
Aziraphale laughed silently where he lay in a pool of blood and flesh. Oh, if Crowley could see him now. He would rescue him, like he always does. He wouldn't even say "I told you so." He may require the dance, however. Once Aziraphale was better. Then again, maybe not.
The door to his cell opened up again. This time, the Metatron entered. "I see that the miracle is not holding as it should." He sighed. "It really would have made things easier on you. You would have forgotten all about that demon. And if you ever saw him again, you'd only associate him as something to bring you pain and punishment. Now look at you." The Metatron's face curled in disgust. "…. really did a number on you. Made them angry, did you? Too bad for you, your punishment isn't over. From here on out, I'll be handling your punishment sessions. And unfortunately for you, I am nowhere near as kind as …."
The Metatron snapped and a bed appeared. Another snap and Aziraphale stopped bleeding, though his flesh remained torn and ruined. The chains holding Aziraphale to the floor released. "Get up and get on the bed."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"No."