Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE

At first there was nothing.

Big empty space rolled on and on, as calm as a lake bed. God swam in this vast darkness of Her own creation, as Her mind’s thoughts flickered past Her, quick and colorful like glittering fish.

She was quite bored, She admitted to Herself - Her heart longed for company.

Plucking two thoughts from Her own head, She rolled and shaped them between Her fingers - giving them shape and meaning.

Let there be Light.

Commanded the Great Creator, and from Her words sprang forward a being of pure splendid Glory. Shining brightly, the Light Bringer breathed in and smiled warmly - gazing lovingly up at his Mother.

But where there is light a shadow must be cast. In the shade lay another being, just as beautiful as the first. They’d both sprang into existence at the exact same moment, one unable to exist without the other. They saw one another and fell into an embrace, their laughter filling the empty void with light and shadow.

God looked upon Her creation with love, and determined that all was well.

CHAPTER 1

Six years after the world didn’t end. Five years since the bookshop burned down. Four years since the adoption of an adorably clumsy puppy. Three years since Anathema and Newt’s disaster of a destination wedding. Two years since Crowley and Gabriel’s relationship had gone “official”. One year since Gabriel had taken his first big step towards his return to Heaven.

For the past twelve months, the Archangel Gabriel had spent two thirds of his time in Heaven diligently working and managing the celestial offices; the rest of his time was spent resting on Earth.

It shouldn’t have been a challenge for him. He’d spent most of his existence in Heaven, only ever spending a few hours at a time down on the physical realm.

Then all of a sudden his entire world had shifted. In the span of what felt like the blink of an eye, Earth had gone from a minor nuisance to a major source of terror. Gabriel learned to fear every visit to the planet, and dread the uncertain amount of time he’d be forced to remain there.

But just as quickly and without warning, Crowley had flipped his whole world one more time. Now, after the smoke had cleared and wounds had healed, Earth was now more than just a collection of painful memories; it was his home. A home they’d built together through hard work and effort.

Earth was a place Gabriel couldn’t wait to get back to.

He’d spent the last twenty days attending meetings and sitting anxiously at his desk, tackling an insurmountable amount of paperwork as Gabriel tried to handle his current workload and the backlog that had accumulated for the past four years. He’d considered taking some of it down to his flat on Earth - but he was certain Crowley would grumble and complain. And besides, Gabriel would much rather spend his free time with his boyfriend and puppy.

Smiling sappily, Gabriel picked up his phone and unlocked the screen just to get a look at the image he’d chosen to be his screensaver. The picture had been taken a few years back by his dear friend Anathema, who’d invited them to spend some time at her family home in Puerto Rico.

The lavish mansion they’d encountered had been nowhere near as intimidating as the sheer size of the witch’s family, but Gabriel remembered the trip fondly.

Sitting on the soft sand of the beach were Crowley and Gabriel, holding each other in an embrace. In the far back was Newt, running with his arms outstretched and calling out to the others.

Right behind the two sitting figures was the fluffy head of Applesauce, who had excitedly escaped the bonds of her leash and bound down at full speed towards her parents - elated to tackle them to the ground and smother them with slobbery kisses.

Gabriel chuckled at the memory. He couldn’t wait to see them all again.

As if reading his thoughts his phone pinged with a notification - a new message from Anathema.

have you broken out of your paper prison yet?

Dearest Anathema,

I have yet to reach today’s desired target but will reach it sooner rather than later. I will be ready to depart and meet with you and Newt in the next half hour ET (Earth Time). Please send my regards to Newt, I am looking forward to seeing you both soon.

With love, from his paper prison:

Archangel Gabriel.

you know you could have just said see you in 30

Darling Anathema,

Yes, I am aware. I will see you in thirty (30) minutes.

With love:

Archangel Gabriel.

The last five years of earthly education had changed many things about the Archangel Gabriel, but after literal millennia of reading, writing and filling reports, some things were just too ingrained into his being to change - any text that didn’t contain at least an introductory address and a signature at the end felt unbearably casual to Gabriel, and so he insisted in formatting his texts the same way he wrote his Heavenly letters.

They all found it annoyingly adorable.

The closest he got to casual texting was with Crowley, who still received the customary courtesy and lengthy reply, but any message addressed to the demon had a special signature, exclusive to him.

Every night, the Archangel would write to his partner - he’d tell him about his day, his annoyances, his victories, his thoughts and feelings. And every single time he’d sign:

Eternally yours, Gabriel. I. L. U.

Those were what Crowley endearingly referred to as his “love letters”.

Restlessly anticipating his return to Earth, Gabriel redoubled his efforts. The sooner he was done with this boring paperwork, the sooner he could make his way down to see his friends.

Officially he wasn’t supposed to return until tomorrow, but his human friends had convinced him to “play hooky” and “rebel against the system*”. They’d convinced him to make his way down to earth for a few hours and pick out a surprise for Crowley.

(*Gabriel had disapproved of that particular phrasing)

It was almost their anniversary after all.

His friends had already helped him choose a couple of gifts that Crowley would like, and now all they had to do was take a trip to Scotland to pick them up.

Gabriel would be back in Heaven and behind his desk before anyone even noticed he was gone. He’d been particularly careful around his sister, Michael - who’d been just a bit overprotective since his return. She would frequently check in on him at his office and send him text messages, as if scared that he’d disappear again.

She had every right to worry, Gabriel knew. Even though the danger had passed and Gabriel was whole, healthy and home, the lingering effects of the ordeal he’d overcome still haunted him to this day.

And she could tell - Gabriel was aware. Even though she remained thankfully ignorant to any of the details as to what had happened, her keen senses and protective nature had ensured that she’d been at least able to deduce one incredibly important fact.

Her little brother had been hurt.

That was enough to set off her sisterly instincts into high gear, as she dealt with the helplessness of not knowing what had happened - and not having been able to help.

Above all she resented the demon who had wormed his way into her precious brother’s life, and now sat there like a particularly annoying pest.

But despite their differences, both Crowley and Michael tried to be at least amicable to each other - their tolerance born from a mutual love for Gabriel.

Stretching and failing to stifle a yawn, Gabriel placed his pen* down. Finally finished and getting ready to leave, Gabriel made sure to leave his desk tastefully messy, as if he’d only just stepped out for only a moment and would be back any minute to continue his work.

(*His golden pen had been stolen many years ago. Now he filled in all his paperwork with a black and silver fountain pen that had been given to him by Newt as a “graduation” gift at their final reading lesson.

He also now owned a humorous gag pen that had been gifted by Anathema, which contained a bizarre and rubbery creature on one end, and wrote in glittery purple ink.)

Taking in his appearance in his dresser’s mirror, he picked out a long scarf to compliment his outfit, and messed about with his hair for a few seconds until he was satisfied. He smiled, pleased with the handsome individual that stared back at him - a part of himself he’d nearly lost completely.

Carefully sneaking past a distracted Joniel, Gabriel made his way to the escalator and descended to Heaven’s London entrance.

Exiting the building, Gabriel took in the familiar sights of Earth.

The sun was showing its glowing face, a rare and welcome occurrence in England. There seemed to be more people walking around than usual, no doubt taking advantage of the coveted sunshine.

Gabriel joined the crowd of humans, as they made their way about their day. He’d occasionally pause to take in the flowers growing on windowsills, birds perched on trees, and even pet a friendly cat that had walked right up to him and leaned its fluffy body against his leg.

Today was going to be a wonderful day.

Teleporting from London to Scotland was no trouble at all. In fact, if Gabriel had so chosen he could have manifested himself at his destination as soon as he reached earth. But he was tired and restless from being cooped up in his office, he was eager to move and stretch his legs.

He walked up to a power line and placed a hand on the nearby street lamp. The musical hum of electricity danced under his skin as the energy welcomed him in.

The bulb sprang to life and shattered as the Archangel disappeared from the sidewalk and entered the electrical grid. It was a skill he’d perfected centuries ago. Riding on lightning was fun and exhilarating, but incredibly difficult to control. Human made electricity however was a tame and linear creature he could use any time he wanted to move at unimaginable speeds across the country.

The scenery blurred past him as he zapped and skidded all the way to Scotland, the trip only taking him a few minutes at most.

Finally arriving at their designated meeting place, Gabriel re-materialized onto the pavement. Still thrumming with charged energy - he shimmied his shoulders to expel the lingering tingling in his limbs and hurriedly patted down his spiked up hair as best he could.

Still busy with his appearance, Gabriel failed to notice the two figures walking up behind him until they were close enough to touch.

“Hi Gabe!”

The Archangel squeaked and stood up straight - turning around he was met with the welcome sight of Newt, who was blushing and apologizing profusely for startling him, and Anathema who was doubled over laughing.

Heart still fluttering with the lingering echoes of fright, Gabriel smiled and enveloped both his friends into a hug, nearly sweeping them off their feet.

“It’s so nice to see you guys, thanks for getting me out of my office.” He said.

“You work too hard,” Anathema admonished him gently, “it’s good to take breaks every once in a while.”

“I’ve got a week long break coming up!” Gabriel exclaimed, although he knew reminding her wasn’t necessary, “and I had a four year break before that. I’d say I’m due a little hard work.”

Rolling her eyes, Anathema reached into her shoulder bag and produced a small comb. Running it gently through his hair, she succeeded in helping his frazzled locks lay back down again.

Returning the comb to her bag, Anathema took his hand and started leading towards their first stop. Gabriel reached behind him and took a hold of Newt, so all three of them could walk hand in hand through the streets of Glasgow.

Gabriel stared at Anathema quizzically, “have you done something to your hair? You look… different.”

“Huh, no? Different how?”

“I’m- not sure.”

He turned to Newt for help, but he just shrugged in confusion.

Walking leisurely and without a worry in the world, they appreciated the sights the city had to offer. They made several unnecessary detours to visit some of the more touristy areas, and stopped for lunch at a small cafe.

Before Gabriel knew it two hours had passed and they had yet to accomplish the reason for their visit.

“I can’t stay for much longer,” Gabriel regretfully informed them “Michael is bound to notice I’m gone soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Newt reassured him, “you’re coming back tomorrow anyways, we’ll have plenty of time to keep exploring!”

Fueled with a rekindled sense of purpose they paid for their meal and finally headed towards their destination - a narrow, tall building with a single unassuming sign over the door that simply read “yarn”.

Wincing at the tinkling sound of a bell, Gabriel pushed the door open and motioned for his friends to enter first - giving himself just a little bit of time to brace himself for a new experience.

He’d never met one of Anathema’s friends before.

The building was clearly several centuries old, built at the beginning of the 1500s according to the bronze plaque nailed to the wall - and for all that time it had surreptitiously served as a magic shop disguised as a yarn and wool store.

Soft and colorful skeins filled every shelf, which covered every inch of every wall. There were many knitted goods hanging from racks and clothes hangers, a multitude of hats, socks and jumpers with all sorts of patterns and colors. Making his way inside, Gabriel marveled at the whimsical interior - extending a hesitant hand and caressing the soft fibers of a lavender colored ball of yarn.

“That is some excellent yarn fer protection spells.” Gabriel snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned, surprised to find a human standing right next to him.

Their hair was bright fiery orange, falling around their face in a wild mass of curls, their entire body jingled and shone with colorful jewelry and occult symbols - warm brown eyes looked up at the Archangel with knowing interest. “Me name’s Hallie, Anathema’s friend. I’ma guessing yer Gabriel?”

“Uh- yes! I’m Gabriel, nice to meet you.” Still thrown a bit off balance by the human’s fearless approach, Gabriel extended a hand in greeting. Their grip was firm and friendly, shaking his hand only once before releasing.

“So, are ye here for pick up, or is there anything else yer looking to purchase?”

“Just pick up at the moment, thank you,” Gabriel turned back to the colorful yarn and smiled with appreciation, “you have a lovely selection. I’ve never seen yarn this vibrant before.”

“We only use natural dyes, and I shear some of the sheep me self!” Hallie exclaimed with pride.

A moment later, Anathema and Newt emerged from behind a display - their clothes and hair slightly more rumpled than they had been when they entered the shop.

“Hallie!” Anathema ran to give her friend a hug, “is it all finished? Need any help with the spells?”

“All done and dusted, ready to be gifted to a demon. Heya, Newt! You’ve got some lipstick on yer collar!”

Ear burning red with embarrassment, Newt hurried off to the washroom to clean up.

“Follow me upstairs. That’s where we keep the real magic,” Hallie led them up a flight of stairs, down a hall and pulled down a ladder leading to the attic. The strong scent of herbs and spices wafted down in a cloud, the mixture a pleasant yet overwhelming attack on the senses.

Gabriel sneezed and his eyes watered as he climbed up and entered a room that was just as colorful and lively as the one below. Stained glass windows, spinning crystals and hanging gems cast rainbow specks of light all across the room; both dried and fresh flowers, and all manner of plants covered every available surface. A multitude of colorful strings hung from the ceiling as swaying shambles twisted and turned overhead.

The multitude of magical devices began to spin and shake over Gabriel’s head, reacting to his ethereal presence.

Hallie rushed over with an apologetic smile and hushed them with a wave of their hand. “They’re usually not this excitable, but it's the first time we’ve had an angel in our premises in centuries!”

Decidedly not asking about what other angels had visited the shop in the past, Gabriel ignored the still clattering shambles and continued to take in his surroundings as Hallie rushed over to a work bench hidden beneath the magical clutter.

“Here it’tis!” Cheered Hallie as they took a bundle out of a drawer. Hanging from their hands was a deep dark purple colored jumper. Braids and embroidered patterns decorated its surface, and reflecting the light were small woven feathers made of silver thread which sparkled like starlight.

“It’s beautiful.” Gabriel gasped.

“And as per requested it has a protective spell knit into the pattern, here hold it.”

The jumper was thrust into Gabriel’s hands, and it took him only a moment to notice the magical component.

“It’s warm!” He exclaimed with wonder.

“That’s right! No matter how cold or warm, the jumper will ensure perfect and comfortable temperature for any wearer. Like wearing a permanent hug!”

Holding the soft shimmery fabric against his cheek, Gabriel took a moment to appreciate the incredible craftsmanship.

“This is amazing, your skill is unparalleled.”

For the first time since they’d met, Hallie seemed at a loss of words. They smiled shyly at the awe in Gabriel’s ancient eyes - they understood that such praise did not come
lightly.

“I really hope yer partner enjoys it.”

“Crowley will love it!” Anathema exclaimed, breaking through the momentary spell that had fallen over them.

They made their way back down to the main shop, where they could still hear the sound of running water as Newt struggled to wash off Anathema’s dark lipstick from his clothes.

As they walked towards the counter Gabriel’s eyes drifted from his path, inexplicably drawn to the large front window that overlooked the street. Right outside, for only a moment, he saw a pair of people walk past: one was tall and slender, a cascade of dark red hair falling over their face and shoulders. The second slightly shorter and wider,
with a mass of wild silver hair and-

Crystal clear, piercing cold, icy blue eyes.

Gabriel stopped walking. He stopped breathing. Tense seconds rolled by as his mind tried to catch up with what he’d just seen.

No.

No.

That’s impossible, it can’ t be him. He’s gone - he's been gone a long time and can't hurt you.

But why wouldn’t his heart stop beating so loudly? Why were his hands so sweaty, and shoulders heavy? Why did he desperately want to fall to the floor and kneel?

Rushing out of the shop on trembling legs, Gabriel barely registered Anathema’s voice calling out to him as he ran in the direction of the two figures.

***

Swearing softly under her breath, Anathema struggled to keep up with the running Archangel.

Damn, he’s fast!

Huffing and puffing she nearly ran into him as Gabriel abruptly came to a stop at the shadowed mouth of an alley.

“Gabe?” Gently laying her hand on his shoulder, Anathema’s heart leapt at how badly the small gesture startled Gabriel. Wide eyed and hyperventilating, the Archangel kept looking around the small alley and made his way down the dead end.

“No. No, they were here. I saw them turn here- where-“

“Gabriel?” She called out again, worried at her friend’s erratic behavior, she hadn’t seen him this freaked out since…

“What did you see? Gabriel, why are we here?”

Abruptly stopping his pacing circles, Gabriel’s eyes widened and locked in on something over Anathema’s shoulder, his voice softened with fear as he hesitantly whispered.

“A-Aziraphale.”

Every single hair on her body stood on edge as she suddenly became aware of an oppressive presence behind her. Cold sweat ran down her back as she saw Gabriel struggle with indecision - fear urging him to flee as fast as possible but unwilling to leave her behind.

Finally he took one step towards her but stopped when Anathema let out a startled gasp.

Something- no, someone had just brushed up against her; she felt a small sharp pressure on her neck as a dark, insidious voice spoke right against her ear.

“I wouldn’t recommend that course of action, Gabriel.”

A chill ran up her spine as she felt a hand land heavy and unyielding on her shoulder. The pressure against her neck increased until she felt a small prick and a bead of blood trickle down her throat.

Gabriel gasped, wide eyed and frantic - following the progress of the red drop until it disappeared under her collar. Desperate to temper his fear with fierce determination, Gabriel lowered his voice in warning and tried his best to stop trembling.

“Let her go!”

A soft scoffing laugh echoed in the empty alley, as Anathema felt the hand on her shoulder push her forward, leading her deeper into the shadows. Gabriel reacted in kind, taking a step back away from them until he ran out of space to retreat.

Trapped and cornered, Anathema watched with horror as Gabriel slowly lowered himself to the ground - hands extended in pleading submission.

“Please let her go, you d-don’t need to hurt her. I’ll obey, I’ll do whatever you ask just-“

They both flinched at the sharp sound of snapping fingers - before Gabriel’s knees appeared a pair of shimmering golden cuffs, connected by a thick gold chain.

“Put them on.”

With trembling fingers, Gabriel struggled to keep hold of the cold metal in his hands.

Right before he closed the first cuff around his wrist, Anathema felt the hand on her shoulder slacken for just a moment. Seeing her opportunity she stamped down as hard as she could on her assailant's foot with her heel - she felt a satisfying snap quickly followed by a wail. Anathema pulled herself free and ran to Gabriel, who took her hand and snapped his fingers.

Anathema braced herself for teleportation, an incredibly uncomfortable process that she avoided as much as possible - but to her horror nothing happened. Uselessly clicking his fingers, Gabriel’s eyes widened with terror as one of his worst nightmares was made reality.

But the cuffs were off his body, his powers should be unrestrained, why-

Anathema looked down and noticed a pattern scratched onto the stone floor. Similar to a summoning circle, the power etched into those runes blocked miraculous power - she recognized a few of them, having seen them in some of her darkest books - which she kept only to ensure they didn’t fall into more dangerous hands.

A rune for binding. A rune for obscuring. A rune for silencing. In that small patch of Earth where they stood, no one could find them.

There were other, more worrying signs. Sigils meant for transportation between realms.

They were standing on the literal gates to Hell.

“That was exciting!” An impossibly familiar voice spoke behind them, Anathema whirled around to see a second Aziraphale emerge from the shadows. “I can’t believe you let the girl get a drop on you, Barbel. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Her heel must be blessed or something, that fucking hurt.” Speaking through gritted teeth, the stranger glared at Anathema.

She watched in fascinated horror as the fake Aziraphale’s face began to twist and melt.

Their body elongated, their features sharpened. A mass of dark red hair covered their head for a moment before the color faded to a muted russet shade. Glinting coin-like eyes looked up from between the strands of hair, innumerable needle-like teeth filled their mouth as they grinned. A single glowing dot illuminated their pale face, shining with a sickly green sheen.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, lord Archangel.” The unfamiliar demon bowed mockingly.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Aziraphale replied, standing at the edge of the magical circle, grinning triumphantly at the frightened, kneeling pair. Anathema could feel Gabriel trembling next to her, as he pressed his body closer, gently squeezing her hand. She squeezed back.

“How are you alive?” She had to keep the conversation going as much as possible, keep them distracted and don't let them focus on Gabriel. If she could stall long enough Newt might be able to find them, Michael will discover Gabriel’s absence, someone would come looking-

No. She remembered the carvings on the floor - no one would be able to find them, even if they had been actively looking in their direction. Aziraphale smiled at the realization in her eyes - they were truly and royally fucked.

“You’ll find, my dear, that trapping me in my own home and setting it ablaze with hellfire was not the best way to get rid of me.”

The light from the lure reflected in the back of his eyes like a mirror. A shiver ran up her spine as Gabriel’s hoarse voice whispered.

“You’ve Fallen.”

Aziraphale scoffed.

“I’ve been liberated! No longer do I have to suffer under Heaven’s stifling rule - I am free to carve my own path and make my own decisions. To claim back what is rightfully mine.”

With a pointed kick, he nudged the cuffs back into the circle from where Gabriel had flung them in their desperate attempt to flee. Gabriel looked down at them with wide eyes, minutely shaking his head.

Aziraphale growled in warning.

“You will obey, dove, if you know what’s good for you. Of course, you’re welcome to disobey - Barbel here has been desperately hungering for a meal, I’m sure your little friend will make for an appetizing morsel.”

Anathema shivered at the hungry smile, as a long, thin tongue quickly darted across grinning lips.

Gabriel wrapped an arm protectively around her, holding her tight against his chest.

“Don’t hurt her, please! I- I’ll obey, I’ll do as you say, just- please let her go.”

“And why would I do that? Isn’t she the reason you and that serpent foiled me in the first place? It was her magic that protected Crowley’s mind from my influence, she was the one responsible for poisoning him against me.

“No. She’s far too dangerous to leave unsupervised. I’m afraid that our darling little witch is going to come with us,” Aziraphale’s voice and face darkened as he whispered, “what state she’s in is entirely up to you.”

Without hesitation Gabriel took the cuffs and locked them around his wrists. Anathema felt Gabriel list sideways and lean his weight against her as his power was forcefully locked away, he gasped wearily at the sudden weakness that enveloped his corporation. Tears dripped from his eyes at the awfully familiar feeling.

“Good boy.”

The tiles under their feet began to glow with infernal power. The world dissolved around them as they sank down, deep under the earth and were dragged to the bowels of Hell.

***

Crowley sat alone in their apartment, restlessly thinking about Gabriel’s return to Earth.

He lounged lazily on their loveseat, legs sprawled over the armrests and spine bent at an uncomfortably sharp angle. But he paid no mind to any discomfort as he fiddled with a silver chain around his neck

He’d fallen into an agonizing routine. For the three weeks Gabriel spent in Heaven, Crowley would restlessly pace and brainstorm ideas of what to do once his Archangel returned, often followed around by the fluffy steps of Applesauce - who was endlessly entertained by the pacing-around-in-circles game.

But Crowley had been too stressed to give her any proper attention today, and had sent her to spend some time with the now tall and beautiful young man that Adam Young had become.

The former antichrist had taken a shine to the puppy, probably detecting the infernal nature within her. She looked up at the boy with almost as much love and adoration as she looked at Gabriel; and she also enjoyed the company of the older hell hound, Dog - who despite being far smaller in stature, easily ruled over the playful puppy.

Sending her away, and leaving him with only his slowly stewing nerves as company had perhaps not been the best course of action, but Crowley was self aware enough to know that her presence wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

Tomorrow would be unlike any other homecoming he and Gabriel had experienced; their first anniversary since his return to heaven was coming up.

Two years ago Gabriel had taken Crowley on an achingly perfect date, which had culminated in the Archangel hesitantly and quietly asking Crowley if he’d like to change the label of their relationship.

The demon had stared in shocked silence as Gabriel took his hand and shyly raised it to his lips before asking, barely over a whisper: “…will you be my boyfriend?”

Crowley’s heart had nearly beaten out of his chest, his face burned with flustered excitement as he nearly tripped on his own feet and stuttered as many forms of agreement as his reeling mind could remember.

Impossibly, their relationship had only improved from there. They’d already been inseparably close, but the cementation of their relationship as definitely “more than friends” had filled them both with an air of quiet certitude.

It was the kind of reciprocal devotion that Crowley hadn’t even known was missing from his previous relationship. Now that he had a clear example of what a healthy, considerate and loving partner looked like - he often cringed in shameful embarrassment every time he remembered just how one sided and conditional Aziraphale’s love had been.

Shaking his shitty ex from his wandering thoughts, Crowley forced himself to concentrate once again on the open notes app on his phone - as he scrolled through all his ideas for how to celebrate Gabriel’s monthly return to earth, and their second anniversary as a couple.

There was one idea that shone brightest in his mind, a plan he’d already laid out and prepared for, but hadn't had the courage to make a reality. He thought anxiously about the little box he kept hidden in the glove compartment of his car, buried under a ridiculous amount of sunglasses - he also thought about the beautiful ring kept inside.

But- no! It was a ridiculous idea. He and Gabriel had only been officially dating for (almost) two years; their relationship was brand new by celestial terms. They were immortal beings, their lives were more easily categorized into centuries. The mere five years they’d known each other was practically nothing.

It was too much- too soon. It would surely scare the Archangel away.

Crowley was startled out of his inner turmoil by the incessant buzzing of the phone in his hand.

Newton is calling…

Odd. Anathema was usually the one who called him, he couldn’t remember the last time the boy had called Crowley directly.

Raising the phone to his ear, the demon answered the call.

“Crowley speaking. Who’s this?”

The teasing remark went completely ignored as Newt’s desperate voice sprang out of the phone’s speaker.

“Crowley! Thank God, I need you to-” whatever else the human said was drowned by the rushing of blood through his ears - as Crowley’s heart sped up in alarm at the sudden appearance of a woman-shaped being in the middle of the living room.

The Archangel Michael blazed with accusatory fury as she stalked towards the scrambling demon and effortlessly picked him up with one hand.

The phone slipped from his struggling fingers, landing with a harsh impact on the floor - cracking the screen.

Newt’s desperate voice could still be heard calling out for help as the Archangel and demon disappeared in a flash of light.

***

Newt had stumbled out of the restroom with an uncomfortably moist shirt. He’d managed to remove most of the lipstick stains, but a few purple smudges still lingered on the edge of his collar.

Choosing a white shirt on the same day Anathema had chosen to wear the midnight purple lipstick Gabriel had gifted her had not been his greatest idea. But a small part of his stomach fluttered with delight at the idea of carrying the marks of Anathema’s love on his clothing all day.

He’d approached a confused Hallie, who’d informed him that both Gabriel and Anathema had fled in a hurry, and even left their purchase behind.

Not yet alarmed, Newt had apologized on their behalf, certain they’d had a good reason to leave so suddenly.

Slightly annoyed at being left behind, Newt exited the magic shop and made his way to the high end liquor store that had been their next stop. Picking up the whiskey they’d ordered for Crowley, Newt meandered around the streets - growing more weary with worry as all his phone calls went unanswered.

Returning on hurried footsteps to the occult yarn shop, Newt asked if either Anathema or Gabriel had returned. Hallie informed him that they hadn’t seen either since that morning.

Teetering on a full blown panic attack, Newt had gratefully accepted the witch's offer for help.

Hallie had taken a thin golden spool of thread from within one of their many drawers, and chanted something that sounded very much like Ancient Greek* to Newt’s inexpert ears. Dropping the spool on the floor, they’d both stared as it rolled outside the shop’s front door and down the street, in the direction Hallie had seen them both run off to.

(*unbeknownst to him, he was in fact correct.)

Chasing after the golden thread, they balked with horror when they arrived at a secluded alleyway - Anathema’s body lay in a crumpled heap atop a badly damaged portion of the road, with what seemed to be a sinister cluster of spells etched into the stones.

Collapsing to his knees, Newt hesitantly reached out a hand - fingers gingerly and frightfully looking for a pulse.

Weeping with relief when he found the soft flutter of a heartbeat and the nearly imperceptible rise and fall of her chest, Newt had looked up with grateful eyes as Hallie phoned for an ambulance.

Newt had ridden in the back, never once letting go of Anathema’s hand until they reached the hospital.

Biting his nails - a nervous habit he hadn’t done since he was a child - Newt waited anxiously for the doctors to bring him news.

During his restless pacing it occurred to him to call Crowley, who’d no doubt have a conniption once he realized that Gabriel was missing.

The demon picked up after a few rings, but his voice vanished right after Newt began to speak.

Listening to the silence at the other end of the still connected call with ever growing fear, Newt sat down and buried his face in his hands - forcing himself to breathe slowly and count backwards from one hundred.

***

Crowley woke up groggy and disoriented. His head pounded, his limbs feeling useless and heavy. Had he been drinking?

He hadn’t gotten blackout drunk in years - he knew that his extremely inebriated self made Gabriel uncomfortable, and so he strove to limit his drinking to social events and to more moderate amounts.

But the searing light digging into his retinas and the steady throbbing of his temples felt incredibly similar to some of his worst hangovers.

Adjusting slightly to the harsh shine, Crowley forced his squinting eyes open and took in his frighteningly unfamiliar surroundings.

He was sitting slumped on a metal chair; his hands were restrained by a pair of silver cuffs attached to the arm rests, preventing him from moving his arms entirely. His legs were similarly restrained, forcing him to remain seated in front of a metallic chrome table in an empty white room.

On the wall across hung a wide mirror, reflecting Crowley’s frightened and bruised face back at him.

Tugging experimentally at his restraints, Crowley settled in to wait for whatever power play Michael had planned this time.

She’d approached him a few times while he was on his own - but never before had she dared to lay a hand on him, and risk alienating Gabriel. Instead, she'd made a litany of colorful and eerily specific threats of what she'd do to him if he ever even thought about harming Gabriel.

Crowley looked worriedly around the room, wondering what had caused such a stark escalation of the Archangel’s behavior.

“Where is he!?” Bellowed Michael, as she suddenly appeared behind Crowley. He saw her approach in the mirror, until she stopped right behind his chair and whirled it around until they were both facing each other.

“Wha-? I don’t-“

Crowley’s baffled reply was interrupted by a fist to the face, as Michael gripped his shirt and lifted him (chair and all) cleanly off the floor.

“I know you are responsible, demon. And you better start talking. Where has Gabriel gone!?”

Capable of nothing more than baffled silence, Crowley’s mind frantically scattered as he tried to make sense of her accusations.

“Isn’t he still here, in Heaven?”

Enraged at his words she let him drop unceremoniously to the floor. The chair toppled over and landed on its back, causing a soft “ow” to escape past Crowley’s tongue tied lips as he felt the impact aggravate his already aching head.

Michael crouched down onto one knee, grasping at Crowley’s short cropped hair and turning his face to look up at her.

“I don’t have time for your games. Tell me where Gabriel is or I will bring out the holy water and start melting fingers off your body.”

Shuddering at the very real threat, Crowley whirled with confused panic as he fully processed what Michael was demanding.

“You mean to tell me he’s missing!? How the Hell did you lose him, he’s huge!”

Growling in frustration, Michael set the chair back to rights - glaring into Crowley’s eyes as a gleaming knife manifested in her quaking fist.

Holding it firmly against his throat she whispered menacingly.

“You have until the count of three to tell me where you’ve hidden him. One. Two-“

“Bloody Hell! Give me a fucking moment, I’m trying to catch up! Gabriel is missing? Since when?! Tell me what the fuck happened before you start jumping to conclusions!”

A small, hesitant, and frightened emotion flashed momentarily across her gaze - the knife remained motionless against his neck as she considered her next actions.

“Since this morning. Joniel, his secretary informed me that she saw him leave his office - he didn’t return after a few hours and so she informed me. He left for Earth shortly after exiting his office but his trail has gone cold. I can’t detect him anywhere on Earth. The last time he disappeared so thoroughly-“

“Was when he was trapped in the bookshop.” Whispered Crowley with dawning horror.

Jumping at the scrap of rarely given information, Michael withdrew the knife and clenched a fist around Crowley’s throat.

“Trapped!? What do you mean by trapped? Who trapped my brother?!”

Eyes widening in realization at what he’d just let slip, Crowley decided that honesty was currently his best weapon.

“Aziraphale; before Gabriel disposed of him. He found a way to restrain Gabriel and keep him against his will.”

“Restrain an Archangel? How- that should be impossible!” Michael wailed, deeply disturbed by Crowley’s words.

“He had a- device. A magical tether that bound Gabriel to him, it allowed Aziraphale to control him from afar, dictate his movements… punish the Archangel if he stepped out of line.” Shame silenced his words under the accusatory glare of the elder Archangel.

“Stepped out of line? What the fuck was that miscreant doing with my brother? What device?”

“A- a watch,” Crowley stuttered, decidedly only answering the less loaded of the two questions, “silver and gold, with gemstones.”

Michael finally released the demon and took a step back. Running her hand through her hair, she worried at her bottom lip with her teeth - her mind filled with memories of a thin and haggard Gabriel, his clothes a mere shadow of their former glory. His eyes had looked dreadfully dull and flighty, never quite meeting her own.

And during all that, as the state of his corporation and clothing worsened, he’d always been wearing a gleaming jeweled watch on his wrist.

Her chest ached at the memory of his frightened face, as he confessed in privacy that something was troubling him- how every sentence had been punctuated by a worried glance down at the time.

She’d thought he was simply anxious over his upcoming speech, but now the simple action took a far more sinister tone.

Turning back to the demon, Michael leveled at him the most severe glare in her repertoire. “Where is this device?”

“Gone; destroyed. By Gabriel’s own hand.” Crowley answered immediately, with no hesitation.

She didn’t dare trust him, but he seemed sincere enough. This was all information that had been deliberately kept from her, no doubt under Gabriel’s orders. Her heart clenched with worry as she considered the implications of the demon’s words.

“Where is he now then?” She decided to backtrack to the original focus of her interrogation, cataloging the worrying information for later, “did you make another device? Have you taken my brother prisoner once again!?”

“What, no!” Exclaimed the demon indignantly, “I thought we were over this! I had no idea he was gone until you told me!”

“Lies! You’re the only suspect in this case, no one else would have knowledge as to how to restrain an Archangel!”

Rising desperation colored Crowley’s face red. Furious and frightened by the Archangel’s words.

“Why would I do that and then tell you I know about the device!?”

“I don’t know!” Michael shrieked, “to trick me, or mislead me? The point is no one else could have done this!”

“Except Aziraphale…” whispered Crowley with quiet horror.

“Gabriel told me himself that Aziraphale is dead. Why in Heaven's good name would he lie to me!?”

Crowley scrambled for an explanation, desperate to convince Michael that neither of them had had any reason to suspect that Aziraphale might still be alive, but that he was the most likely person to want to kidnap the Archangel.

“He could have had help, or Fallen. If he survived the burning of the bookshop then Gabriel could be in serious danger at this very moment! You have to help me, we don’t have enough time to waste for me to convince you-!”

“Then make the time!” Slamming her hand down on the metal table hard enough to make the entire room tremble, roaring with indignant frustration. “The only reason you are still breathing and not a pile of demon ash on the floor is because I’m sure you have information I want. So unless you’re willing to start talking, your current situation is about to get far more unpleasant.”

Closing a trembling fist over his jaw, she drew his face closer. Crowley was startled by how much of his own fear and panic he could see reflected in her eyes.

When she finally spoke again her voice was barely more than a cold whisper, betraying none of the warring emotions Crowley had seen.

“You say you need my help, and I’m certain that’s in some way true. But don’t think for even a second that I need yours.”

Still trapped in the Archangel’s grasp, Crowley felt a wave of calm certainty descend upon him. Heart aching with determination, Crowley stared into Michael’s unwavering gaze, willing her to see the veracity of his conviction.

“I don’t care what you do to me. Fucking smite me, drown me in holy water, do the worst you can think of! Nothing is worse than this. Knowing I’ve failed him - I’ve disappointed him more than anyone else ever could and he still chose to forgive me. Knowing I could never forgive myself.

“You’ve been right all along, Michael. I hurt him. All of this is my fault, but I swear I never meant for any of it to happen!

“After the failed executions I threatened Gabriel, intimidated and humiliated him and then I… I told Aziraphale what I did - again and again, every time he asked me to tell him the story.

“Then he decided he wanted to see it for himself- experience it for himself. Gabriel’s submission, his fear. And he did, and so much worse. He c-crossed so many lines, pushed my boundaries, did so many heinous things I never could have imagined an angel was capable of.

“For a year, Aziraphale tortured him, brainwashed him, abused him - tore Gabriel apart and rebuilt him into something else, someone more pleasing to him. Told him that it was God’s will. Aziraphale threatened you, claimed he’d destroy any angel that stood in his way if Gabriel spoke of what was being done to him.

“And I just stood there, watching. Did hardly anything to stop it until it was almost too late-“

Gasping for air, Crowley struggled to form words. The truth too painful to admit, even after all these years.

“I eventually came to my senses, and set Gabriel free with the truth. The secret to Aziraphale’s supposed indestructible power. Even though I knew that would mean the end of Aziraphale, the end of- me. Or at least, it should have been. But Gabriel didn’t- he spared me.

“He didn’t just spare my life that day, he saved it. Since then everything I have, everything I am, belongs to him. Anything I can give, I will.

“I know I can never make up for what happened. But I might as well damned try! Even if I have to spend the rest of eternity as a pile of ash on the floor! Please help me save him, Michael. I want nothing more than that.

“I swear, on my life I’m telling you the truth.”

Michael was still as stone, a mask of terrible fury had descended upon her face. Any remnant of the fear Crowley had witnessed was gone. Her voice was as cold and sharp as the steel of her blade. “It’s not as if your life is worth much. You just admitted yourself that you don’t care what happens -“

“I swear in the name of the Almighty.”

The silence following Crowley’s words was deafening.

Michael took a few stumbling steps back. The Archangel wearily glanced up at the ceiling, as if expecting a thunderbolt to strike down at the blaspheming demon who had dared to invoke the name of their Creator - in the very halls of Heaven no less. Michael could not think of a greater insult, a more grievous mistake a demon could do while standing on holy ground. But no blessed rain descended, no righteous power struck him down.

The serpent sat still, unharmed. Golden eyes wide open and glistening with unshed tears, desperately willing her to believe his words. And what other choice did she have?

For a demon to so brazenly invoke Her name - they would have to be convinced that they were speaking nothing but the truth. And if She’d allowed him to live after uttering those words then that could only mean one thing…

Michael turned her back to the demon. Hands and shoulders trembled with suppressed emotion as she took a moment to steady herself.

Facing him once again, Crowley noticed with apprehension that none of the tension or murderous rage had left her face. She still seemed one push away from smiting him on the spot.

“You said Aziraphale abused him. What exactly do you mean by torture?! How could Aziraphale even hurt an Archangel?!”

Crowley explained with halting, hesitant words the punishment feature of the watch. Watched as haunted horror washed away the fury from her face, leaving only desolate anguish in its place.

Grief and pain consumed her. It took every last ounce of her willpower not to let it descend upon Crowley, destroying him on the spot.

She lifted him by the collar of his shirt and swept him off the floor- holding him up to her face.

Then she was screaming. Thunderous, echoing roar of pain. The walls of the room shook under the strain of the sound, the metal table and chair melted and deformed, the reflective glass of the mirror cracked and splintered under her power.

Unceremoniously she threw him to the floor, raising her trembling hand to cover her eyes and stop the flow of tears that had started during her breakdown.

She wiped furiously at her face, angry at herself for allowing such weakness in front of the demon.

“We need to get to Earth,” Crowley stated with quiet certainty, “if that’s where Gabriel disappeared then there might be a clue as to where he went. Do you know where on Earth he was before he went missing?”

“Scotland.” Replied Michael with certainty*.

(*Michael wasn’t proud to admit that she’d been carefully monitoring Gabriel’s movements ever since she’d found him cohabitating with a demon. She understood that it was a massive violation of her brother’s privacy, but at that moment she was grateful to have been so cautious.)

“What was he doing in Scotland- you know what, that’s not important at the moment. We need to first drop by my flat again, I need to retrieve my phone.”

With a snap of the Archangel’s fingers the restraints around Crowley’s ankles opened. The metal around his wrists remained firmly locked in place, but separated from the armrests of the deformed chair, giving him back his freedom of movement.

“Don’t even think about trying to run from me.” Michael whispered menacingly as she forcefully grabbed the demon’s shoulder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Replied Crowley.

They left the confines of the detention room and startled at the sight of Sandalphon snooping outside the door, evidently trying to eavesdrop on the interrogation.

“Michael!” He exclaimed with far too much enthusiasm, flashing his golden teeth with a guilty smile, “we all heard your outburst - I was just coming to make sure everything was al-“

“Sandalphon, this is a code red. Heaven is to be locked down. Pause the intake of souls and seal all the entrances. All of them.”

Eyes widening with alarm, Sandalphon turned to Crowley, surprised to see the demon walking free and relatively unharmed.

“But Michael, we haven’t shut down since-“

“DO AS I COMMAND!” The walls shook once again. The assistant Archangel scrambled away as fast as his short legs could carry him.

“Let’s go.” She tugged at Crowley’s shoulder and led him firmly to the elevator.

Trying desperately to suppress a flinch, Crowley remained in troubled silence as they descended - only occasionally sending weary glances at the Warrior.

He’d grown too used to seeing her gentle side with Gabriel, and had nearly forgotten just how terrifying she could be.

As soon as the elevator landed on Earth, they teleported directly into the flat - everything was still exactly as he had left it. His phone was laying, cracked on the concrete floor.

Crowley was shocked to see dozens of missed calls from Newt. When he returned the call, Newt picked up after the very first ring.

“Crowley! Thank goodness, I was so worried! Where the fuck have you been!?”

Crowley reeled in shock at hearing Newt swear. “I got caught up in something, Michael is-“

“That’s not important right now,” The human interrupted urgently, “listen, how fast can you get to Scotland?”

“Scotland!?”

“I need you to get here as fast as you can, to Gartnavel General Hospital. Ana needs help and I think this might be more than what normal medicine can handle.”

“Is she okay? What the hell happened!?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what happened! I lost sight of them for a second and the next thing I know Gabriel is missing and Ana is passed out in an alley-“

“You were with Gabriel!?” Michael inserted herself into the conversation

They talked and argued, but in their desperation and panic they didn't manage to glean any useful information. Newt sent them the address to the hospital, and Crowley offered to drive them there*. Michael simply grabbed him by the shoulder once again and immediately teleported outside the hospital.

(*Crowley can teleport by himself, but he’d need clear instructions and visuals to manage it. He cannot teleport safely to places he hasn’t been to before. Michael doesn’t have such limitations)

They rushed to Anathema’s hospital room and found her laid in bed, hooked up to a ventilator. Her frame so small and fragile, her face pale and seemingly at death’s door.

Newt sat protectively over her, and explained that the doctors had no idea what’s wrong. Their medical equipment struggled to keep her alive.

He begged Michael for help, but the Archangel was disinterested in the human’s pitiful plight. She demanded more information on Gabriel, and Crowley barely managed to defuse the situation, holding back a desperate Newton from attacking the Archangel and being incinerated on the spot.

Crowley pointed out that Anathema most likely knew more than Newt about Gabriel’s disappearance, so waking her up was the best course of action.

Closing her eyes and concentrating, Michael reluctantly performed a healing miracle over Anathema’s body.

Nothing happened. She tried to scan for any physical or magical injuries but she couldn't detect any damage.

Newt started to tremble with unrestrained worry, and Crowley led him gently to a chair.

Michael frowned with concern as she informed them that she’d summon the help of a Heavenly healer and disappeared from the room.

***

There was a sound like the tinkling of bells, as consciousness slowly returned. Gabriel felt his body swaying - he was once again hanging from chains. Cuffs tore into his wrists as he was forced to lay the entirety of his weight upon them. His bare toes barely grazed the ground, offering no support. His shoes, jacket, and scarf were gone, leaving him in only his dress shirt and trousers.

At least he was still fully clothed, although Gabriel knew he wouldn’t be for long.

This is how I like you best.

Echoes of memories played over and over in his mind. Hours. Days. Months of forced exposure, little to no clothing to shield his body from lustful eyes and grasping hands. It was only a matter of time now, before he’d be forced to bare his body once again.

But he’d never- not in front of her. His human friends had never seen him in less than a long sleeved shirt and trousers. Even when they’d gone to the beach the most skin he’d shown were his calves whenever he’d felt brave enough to wear shorts. His usual ensembles consisted of at least three layers of clothing, his sleeves always long enough to cover the scars that still marred his wrists. It had become an unconscious habit to cover up as much as possible.

Rising his throbbing head, Gabriel glanced at Anathema - who was restrained by a short chain around her ankle. She looked helplessly up at him, dark eyes wide and frightened.

“Now, I do believe we’re ready!” Clapping his hands in giddy excitement, Aziraphale entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Approaching his hanging captive with purposeful steps, Aziraphale barely offered a single glance of acknowledgment towards Anathema before his focus snapped squarely and entirely upon Gabriel.

Stomach clenching with dread and heart stuttering in fear, Gabriel prepared himself to relive his worst nightmares.

He’d expected, as countless times before, for Aziraphale to snap his fingers and render him immediately nude. He braced himself for a storm of pain and fury to be unleashed against his skin, for all matters of violation and humiliation to descend upon him without mercy.

The still silence was almost worse. Aziraphale looked upon him with longing and naked desire, his eyes carving an achingly slow path down his helpless form. The clothing that still covered his body did nothing to make him feel less exposed.

Lowering his head as much as possible, Gabriel tried to hide his face against his arm, to block out as much of the lascivious eyes as possible.

“There you are,” Aziraphale murmured, taking a measured step closer. Close enough to touch. “My sweet dove, how I’ve missed you.”

A hesitant, almost reverent hand reached out and laid gently against his chest. It drifted slowly down the length of his torso until it reached the boundary created by his trousers. Delicate fingers traced along the edge, teasingly touching his quaking abdomen before playfully gripping the loops holding his belt.

Pulling his shirt free of the confines of his trousers, Aziraphale let his hands delve under the fabric, enjoying the faint tremor he could most certainly feel as his hands freely explored the skin underneath.

Biting down hard on his lip, Gabriel did his best to remain still and unresistant. He fought back the instinct to kick and struggle, to stop the grasping cruel hands from taking any more pleasure out of his body.

After years of caring and loving touch freely offered by Crowley and his friends, the careless disregard of Gabriel’s boundaries was unbearable. He couldn’t stop the tears that sprang forth from his eyes, or the sobs that wrecked his aching shoulders.

Aziraphale’s soft, unconcerned laughter filled the room along with the sound of faintly rattling chains.

“Why such distress, dove? I haven’t hurt you yet, have I?”

“Stop touching him!” A furious voice cried out. Anathema struggled against her restraint, desperately wishing to reach her friend and shield him from harm.

No, no please don’t. Don’t draw his attention, don’t make him look at you. Please, Ana; just close your eyes and pretend you aren’t here.

Gabriel hoped he’d managed to convey all that with just the desperate shaking of his head. Willing Anathema to understand through their silent communication that there was nothing she could do to stop this.

“My dear girl,” Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled with annoyance, barely offering a glance in her direction - a wicked grin unsheathed long serrated teeth from within the demon’s mouth, “I’m barely getting started.”

With no hesitation, Aziraphale reached for the collar of Gabriel’s shirt with both hands and ripped it open. Buttons popped and landed all over the floor, the torn fabric sagged limply on Gabriel’s restrained body.

Aziraphale laughed with soft derision at the undershirt he’d just uncovered.

“That’s new.” He mused, before carelessly extending long, curved claws from his fingers and ripping the remaining clothing off of his captive’s torso, unbothered by the gashes left behind in his excitement.

Chest now fully exposed, Gabriel shivered in the unnatural chill of the room.

“Oh dear, are you cold? Let me remedy that.” With a snap of his fingers sparks flickered to life in a previously unlit furnace, the scalding glow cast stark shadows across the demon’s face.

The chains holding him up lengthened enough for his feet to make full contact with the ground, as Aziraphale continued his careful exploration with his hands.

Next he drew closer still, holding him in a pale imitation of an embrace. Claws extended and dug into his shoulder blades - they made an agonizingly slow trip down his back.

Fighting back an agonized wail, Gabriel arched his back, pressing himself more firmly against Aziraphale’s body.

Gasping at the horrible sight of blood cascading down Gabriel’s body, Anathema once again struggled fruitlessly against her bonds. Desperately screaming for Aziraphale to stop.

Leaning into his face, Aziraphale placed a soft kiss on the side of Gabriel’s neck and whispered into his ear. “Our poor dear Anathema doesn’t know how she ought to behave herself yet. You’re going to set a good example for her, aren’t you?”

Gabriel could hardly register the words over the rushing sound of blood beating in his eardrums, but old conditioning recognized the need to agree with whatever Aziraphale had just said.

“Y-yes, sir.”

Humming with satisfaction at the reply, Aziraphale continued ravaging his neck with lips and tongue. Making his way down towards the Archangel’s chest where the hellfire brand still stood proud against his skin.

He kissed the scar tenderly, allowing his hands to drift towards Gabriel’s lower back, teasing along the edge of his belt until they found the buckle, which came undone with practiced ease.

With the belt out of the way, Aziraphale continued on to undo the front clasp of Gabriel’s trousers, slowly lowering his zipper and thrusting an intrusive hand inside, gripping him roughly.

Gabriel couldn’t help the startled yelp or the way his knees automatically drew together in a vain attempt to halt the intrusion.

An unsatisfied growl rumbled deep from within Aziraphale’s throat.

Flinching at the sharp sound of fingers snapping, Gabriel felt a sudden pressure clasp around his ankles. He became aware of the fact that a matching pair of cuffs had just materialized around them - chains shot out and clung to the floor, forcing his legs apart just as the chains holding his arms shortened once again. Leaving him completely immobilized and vulnerable to Aziraphale’s desires.

“Please, please sir-“ Gabriel gasped, face reddening with shame. “Please don’t let her see.”

Wiping at the tears flowing freely down the Archangel’s face, Aziraphale tutted with false sympathy.

“Feeling shy, are we?” He unceremoniously let Gabriel’s trousers drop to the floor, pooling around his restrained ankles, and gasped in dark delight at the undergarments he’d just discovered underneath. “You didn’t used to bother with undershirts and pants - didn’t have much use for them before, did you?”

Leaning in close and intimate once again, Gabriel shivered at the ghostly feeling of Aziraphale’s breath on his face. “Did you start wearing them because of me? I do so love tearing through gift wrapping.”

Extending his claws once again, Aziraphale tore at the last remaining shreds of clothing that still clung to Gabriel’s trembling body. Once he’d disposed of the tattered remains of his shirt and pants, Aziraphale took a step back to admire his handiwork.

“How I wish Crowley were here to see this-“

His words were interrupted by the dull thud of a boot striking him on the side of the head. Aziraphale turned just in time to see Anathema’s second shoe sailing through the air, missing his face by a hair’s breadth.

“Leave him alone you asshole!” Anathema looked around for any other possible projectile.

Eyes narrowing with indignant anger, Aziraphale stalked towards her. His violent intentions clearly broadcasted through every inch of his tightly wound body.

Gabriel’s mind raced with terror.

“You can’t hurt her!” He wailed, desperate to stop the demon in his tracks. His heart sank with a different sort of dread as Aziraphale turned to look at him with a disbelieving smile on his face.

“I can’t? Are you commanding me, Archangel?”

“I- I’m warning you,” Gabriel could hardly stutter the words out as Aziraphale made his way back towards him. He desperately tried to explain, “according to the #1300 Heavenly treaty with Hell *No living human soul can be harmed by demonic hands while accompanied by a celestial chaperone through Hell.*”

“Are you speaking about the Alighieri Agreement?” Aziraphale laughed incredulously. “What on Hell makes you believe that your little friend qualifies to be protected under its immunity? She’s hardly a saint.”

“The sanctity of the soul doesn’t matter,” Gabriel dared to argue, his stomach twisting with terror but determined to keep Aziraphale’s attention on him, “many living humans have found their way into Hell. Some singers, poets, prophets. They were all protected during their pilgrimage - what’s stopping it from applying to her too?”

Aziraphale considered Gabriel’s words in silence for a few moments, ruminating and considering the possible consequences if the Archangel was right in his assessment. With a final annoyed glance back at Anathema, he waved a hand in her general direction.

All around her materialized the see-through walls of a glass box, barely big enough to hold her. She started at the sudden change in her environment, raising her fists and banging against the solid glass. Her mouth opened and closed with unheard words, silenced by the thick crystal. All she could do now was helplessly watch as the demonic predator once again stalked towards its prey.

When Aziraphale stood before his captive once again, he extended a single claw, softly tapping against Gabriel’s quivering lip. Leaving behind a small nick.

“And who gave you permission to speak, my dove?” Satisfied with Gabriel’s cowed silence, Aziraphale manifested a long leather whip in his hand.

Shuddering in horror, Gabriel recognized the tell tale shimmer of hellfire infused along its tail.

“How about we stop chatting and get to the main event?”

Stalking slowly around him, Aziraphale ran a hand soothingly down Gabriel’s back and then immediately struck hard and fast with the whip.

The loud deafening crack of the whip, the acrid smell of burning flesh, and the agonized screams of the Archangel were all that filled the room for a very long time.

*

Anathema had screamed her voice out. She’d yelled begging, pleading and desperate for the demon to stop. She’d cried despondently as she witnessed Gabriel’s torture - hoping to drown out his screams with her own. The sounds sickened her, the impact of leather against his skin, the sizzling of burns, Gabriel’s soft broken cries when Aziraphale finally stopped.

“Shhh, shhh… it’s over, dove.” Aziraphale whispered soothingly, running a hand down the weeping Archangel’s flank. To Anathema’s horrified amazement, the lacerations littering Gabriel’s body began to close, leaving behind only red livid burns.

Gripping Gabriel’s chin roughly and forcing his head up, Aziraphale leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead.

“You do understand why you’re being punished, don’t you?” He asked sweetly.

Sobbing, Gabriel attempted to speak, but his lips trembled too violently to form words. “F-fo-for ru-ru-nnn-”

“For tricking me, for lying to me. For taking what’s mine.” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice dark and severe. The rattling of the chains intensified as Gabriel’s trembling worsened.

“Now, don’t believe that your punishment is over. What you did merits severe consequences, but I’m feeling lenient enough to allow a break for say - a day or two ,” Aziraphale smiled, taking in Gabriel’s harrowed expression, “but of course I do not need to be so kind, you should be grateful for my mercy.”

“Th-thhhank you… sir.”

Eyes softening with disturbing affection, Aziraphale stepped away from Gabriel - once again looking him up and down. Taking in the view.

Anathema’s eyes darted away in disgust when she noticed the growing bulge in the front of his trousers.

“You’re so welcome, my dear. I dare say you look almost perfect, I believe there is only one small detail missing.” Aziraphale’s face lit up as he made his way towards a dark desk that leaned against the wall - Anathema craned her neck to see what he took out of an ornate wooden box that rested on its surface.

Something metallic glittered in his hands, Anathema caught sight of gold and diamonds grasped between his fingers - but Aziraphale quickly turned away from her and headed back towards his shivering victim.

Rising his hands to wrap around Gabriel’s neck, a loud click echoed throughout the still room as Aziraphale locked something against the Archangel’s throat.

“There! Now you’re perfect!”

Anathema’s hands flew to her mouth, dismayed at the sight before her.

A collar. A golden collar cinched around her friend’s neck. A thick gold band, with a line of glittering diamonds around its circumference and a loop at the front. It put her in mind of an opulent dog collar.

Gabriel’s head hung limply against his shoulder, exhausted and inconsolable. Face streaked with tears, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs. Naked, injured, and in unimaginable agony.

Gasping, Anathema’s vision blurred as she swayed to the side - thumping her head against the glass. Suddenly lightheaded, she clutched at her chest feeling desperately out of breath.

Shit. Am I running out of air? Is there oxygen in Hell? Can I suffocate here!?

Struggling against the panic, Anathema tried to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Gabriel’s eyes darted to her, alerted by her drastic change in behavior. Concern seemed to push away the fatigue and shock, as Gabriel struggled to open his mouth to speak.

“She can’t b-breathe! Sir, please- I- I’m sorry I ca-can’t use my finger to ask- permission, I- I’m so sorry- p-pl-please help her.”

Looking over at Anathema for the first time in what felt like hours, Aziraphale smiled maliciously.

“But this is merely her spiritual self; her soul has no need for air, she merely believes she needs to breathe. Just like you!

“And I do believe I’ve made myself clear- when you are restrained you are to remain silent.”

Voice dripping with mockery and disdain, Aziraphale raised a hand - a golden ring very similar in design to the collar glittered in his index finger, and closed it tightly into a fist.

The collar tightened around Gabriel’s neck, strangling him.

Even in her delirious state, Anathema paled at the sight of her struggling friend.

With no more strength to stand she now kneeled limply on the floor - willing herself to remain calm and breathe as little as possible.

Aziraphale must be right. She realized. They were in fact in Hell, a human body could not make its way down here. So she must simply be barely more than a spirit - a living ghost.

But knowing that she didn’t need to breathe didn't make it any easier to stop.

“Please…” what came from Gabriel was barely more than a strangled whisper, “I’ll do- anything…”

A vicious idea shone from within Aziraphale’s malicious eyes.

“You’d present your wings to me? To spare her?”

“Y-yes.”

The chains disappeared, leaving the Archangel to collapse onto the hardwood floor. Struggling to his knees and gasping for breath, Gabriel wrapped his arms around his body as he deliberately relaxed his shoulders, and lowered his forehead to lay on the ground.

An unwilling gasp escaped from Anathema’s mouth as a stunning and terrible sight unfolded before her.

Gabriel’s wings bloomed from his back, a cascading wave of white and gray feathers, glistening and light, seemingly glowing from within. Dark charcoal gray peppered with sparkling white spots covered his plumage, which grew beyond the limit of his wings and onto his back.

Anathema had never seen Gabriel’s wings before. He’d never offered. She’d never asked. It had seemed too intimate, even for their close friendship. Gabriel was uncomfortable revealing parts of his body, she understood and respected his boundaries.

Now she’d been forced to witness him naked and exposed, baring before her the most vulnerable parts of his body - against his will.

Fresh air rushed into the glass case. Anathema choked in desperate lungfuls of air, her eyes watering.

Rising her hands to wipe at the tears, Anathema wept with sorrowful relief at the sacrifice Gabriel had made so willingly to keep her safe.

But she couldn’t let her friend bear this alone. She wouldn’t repeat Crowley’s mistake - shut her eyes and ignore the horror happening before her.

Anathema lowered her hands to see Gabriel still knelt low to the ground, kissing Aziraphale’s shoe. Gripping his hair, Aziraphale forced his head back up and shoved two fingers into the Archangel’s mouth, forcing them as far down his throat as he could. Choking and gagging, Gabriel tried his best to keep his jaw relaxed and his teeth safely out of the way.

Aziraphale unfastened the front of his trousers and pulled Gabriel closer to his crotch.

“You better do a good job, sweet angel.”

Gabriel desperately tried to please the demon with his mouth, but it didn’t seem to be enough. Grunting with equal parts pleasure and frustration, Aziraphale roughly clenched his fist around Gabriel’s back feathers - using them as leverage to roughly jerk the Archangel’s head back and forth, thrusting his hips in tandem and choking Gabriel with his cock.

Anathema could hear Gabriel’s little cries as his mouth was violently violated. There was nothing she could do but clench her teeth with overwhelming disgust as Aziraphale held Gabriel firmly in place, gently stroking the Archangel's quivering wings as he came down Gabriel’s throat. Once he was finally done, Aziraphale wrenched Gabriel off of him and kicked him harshly to the floor.

“Watch, darling,” fear gripped her heart as Anathema realized that Aziraphale was talking to her. “He’s doing this for you.”

The cuffs on Gabriel’s wrists locked onto the floor as Aziraphale roughly gripped his hips and pulled him forcefully onto his knees. A clawed hand pressed his face firmly against the wooden floor, leaving the Archangel completely exposed and vulnerable to the demon.

Tears fell from Gabriel’s eyes as he stared up at Anathema for a single agonizing second before clenching them tightly closed. Anathema’s chest ached with grief, and desperately wished she could wipe away his shame and tears.

Leaning down, close and intimate, Aziraphale whispered into Gabriel’s ear loudly enough for Anathema to hear.

“Just like our first time, dove. Do you remember? I had you just like this.”

He set about raping Gabriel, fast and ruthless. With a sort of aching desperation akin to a starving man - feasting on something he’d been long denied.

At that moment, a small part of Anathema died. It left a deep gaping hole in the center of her being - in its place a dark and wicked feeling burst into existence; a twisted and snarling thing that longed for nothing more than to rip that filthy creature off of her weeping friend and tear the miserable wretch to pieces.

Never in her life had Anathema felt an emotion tear through her body so violently. Wrath birthed in Hell burned within her as helpless tears fell from her eyes and her hands closed into fists, nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. She clung to the anger to keep herself from falling into despair.

I’m going to kill him. She promised herself. And I’m going to make sure he suffers.

Once he’d finally finished with a disgusting moan, Aziraphale remained on top of Gabriel, still buried deep inside him. Leaning forward, Aziraphale whispered something into Gabriel’s ear which caused the Archangel to shiver and shake his head, struggling to find a way to make himself seem even smaller under the demon.

Laughing, Aziraphale pulled Gabriel’s hair and twisted his head back far enough to access his lips once more. Forcing his tongue inside, he set about exploring Gabriel’s mouth with slow and gentle movements. Disturbed by the sight, Anathema gagged when she noticed that Gabriel’s lips were moving in a shy attempt to return the unwanted kiss.

Anathema was aware of the beads of blood dripping down from between her clenched fingers, but she felt none of the pain. The ache in her soul overwhelmed every other sensation as her mind traveled back unbidden to a conversation she and Gabriel had held years in the past, back when their friendship was still a new and fledgling thing.

“…people don’t usually kiss back when they don’t want to be kissed.” Anathema could remember trying to reassure him, so long ago. In a dark and empty room that had looked disturbingly similar to this one.

“I did. When… he made me.” The Archangel had confessed.

Knowing about it did nothing to prepare her for the revulsion she felt at seeing it with her own eyes.

Aziraphale grasped at Gabriel’s hair, pulling him closer in a way Anathema knew Gabriel hated.

Get off him. Get off him. Get off him!

Her heart and body raged against the glass containing her.

Finally releasing the battered Archangel, Aziraphale looked up at her with dark delight, amused by the desperation that stained Anathema’s face with tears.

Rising back to his feet, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and set his clothing back to normal, all stains of blood or other fluids immediately rendered obsolete with the barest thought. He left the Archangel still bleeding and dripping with agony.

Walking towards her with purpose, Aziraphale opened the front pane of the box, even though Anathema could see no hinges that could facilitate such movement. Barely glancing at the red smears that Anathema’s bloodied hands had left, he reached inside - his claws extended. Aziraphale teasingly moved the few strands of hair that had fallen over her face during her struggle and tucked them behind her ear.

Flinching, Anathema jerked away. Aziraphale scowled, and tugged on a lock of hair to pull her head back into place and caressed her cheek with the dull back of his claw. An unspoken but loud threat.

“You’re new and inexperienced, my dear. But you will soon learn the proper order of things. You have a role to fulfill, and it is my job to ensure that everyone does their part.

“I understand you’re used to seeing Gabriel as an equal - a being worthy of kindness and respect. But you could not be further from the truth, and with time you’ll learn that his place is to forever be… beneath me.”

Chuckling darkly at his own joke, Aziraphale finally stepped away and closed the glass door once more.

“You ought to consider yourself very fortunate that I am in a particularly forgiving mood. My sweet dove behaved himself spectacularly, even after all our time apart. He’s paid the consequences for that little stunt you pulled earlier, and I’m willing to let it slide - but make no mistake my dear girl,” leaning close enough for his breath to fog the glass pane separating them, Aziraphale loomed menacingly over her and smiled with serrated teeth, “there won’t be a second time.”

Satisfied and nearly skipping with joy, Aziraphale finally left them on their own; closing the door behind him with a resounding click.

Anathema remained on her knees, catching her breath now that the demon was gone and the shock began to wear off. The true severity of their situation dawned on her as she allowed herself to tremble through lingering terror of Aziraphale’s threat.

But she wouldn’t let the fear consume her.

Ever since she was little she had been mentally preparing to face the end of the world. Often she’d woken up haunted by nightmares of catastrophe and death. Anathema’s mother had made sure her daughter was well equipped to face the apocalypse their ancestor had predicted. She’d raised her to compartmentalize, analyze and adapt to any situation.

Forcing the fear deep down, smothering it with anger and worry, Anathema decidedly focused on her highest priority at the moment.

Gabriel.

She worriedly tapped against the glass, trying to catch his attention.

Certain that he couldn’t hear her voice, she hoped the noise canceling miracle didn’t extend to any contact she made with the glass.

Huddling as low as he could, and holding his wings tightly against his body, Gabriel shook his head miserably.

Sobbing into his restrained hands, the Archangel hesitantly turned his face to look up at her with worryingly pale lavender eyes.

Shame and guilt radiated off him; his voice so soft and broken that Anathema wasn’t entirely sure he’d meant to speak aloud.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” On and on, the Archangel mumbled desolate apologies. His body quaking under the weight of his pain.

“It’s not your fault, Gabe. None of this is your fault.” She longed to reach out, to hold him, and clean him. Wipe away every last trace of Aziraphale from his body.

But neither her words nor hands could reach him.

***

All was right with the world. Aziraphale lounged on his new armchair - an ornate and elegant piece of furniture which was considerably bigger and far more befitting him than his previous one.

Really, Aziraphale had no idea why he’d bothered with such embarrassing humility for such a long time. It was the trappings of being an angel - always weary of falling to temptation and sin.

But now Aziraphale had no such limitations, he’d been set free to enjoy life and all its pleasures. And no pleasure was greater than his deepest and oldest obsession.

Gabriel.

How he’d longed for him - for far longer than the last four years. His angelic superior had always been so powerful, so perfect, so beautiful. He’d fantasized innumerable times about bringing him down a peg, breaking through that infuriating veneer and exposing the weak and pathetic insides the Archangel so desperately tried to hide.

No amount of thanks could ever be enough to express how grateful he felt towards Crowley - no one else could have so thoroughly stripped the gilded exterior and left the Archangel primed and ready for Aziraphale.

He was almost grateful enough to forgive him for the blatant betrayal and the destruction of the earthly life he’d built for the past six thousand years. Almost.

But there would be no pleasure to be found punishing the demon directly. Crowley was too jaded, too used - he’d always find a way to make himself less entertaining.

Gabriel on the other hand was trained to perfection, and was the perfect tool to keep the serpent in line. No matter what kind of agony he tried to inflict upon Crowley, he knew that nothing hurt him more than seeing even a fraction of that pain aimed at his Archangel. And Aziraphale planned on unleashing much more than that.

Taking a sip of the delicious vintage he’d saved for this special occasion, Aziraphale smiled as he went through the Archangel’s phone. The little fool hadn’t even bothered with a passcode, leaving the bounty of information fully free and available at his fingertips.

He’d already scrolled through years worth of pictures and videos, rolling his eyes and gagging at the sickly sweet nature of every single photograph. They all just looked so… happy. Petty resentment settled deep in his stomach, souring his drink and leaving a bitter aftertaste.

They didn’t deserve a happily ever after - not after what they did to him. He’d be sure to make them pay.

Next he went to the text messages. Gabriel had hardly any contacts, and he made quick work of reading through all his conversations. For an avid reader like Aziraphale it took no time at all.

Saving the best for last, he finally allowed himself to click on Crowley’s text history, which was saved under the disgustingly corny nickname:

babe ❤️

As he made his way through most of their exchanges, Aziraphale felt his anger bubbling in the back of his throat. His emotions had become much sharper since his metamorphosis, no longer stifled due to millennia of repression and self control - he now allowed his worst impulses and flights of fancy to soar freely and indulgently, reacting with as much emotion as he desired.

No longer worried about public perception, nor concerned over appearances and virtue - Aziraphale reveled in his depravity, reading through the private messages, fondling the front of his trousers as he enjoyed the sinful voyeurism of his actions.

Far too quickly he reached the end. The loving and gentle words of his demon that were no longer directed at him but to another - and yet Aziraphale could almost fool himself into believing that all that devotion was still solely his.

Only in the deep confines of his mind did Aziraphale admit that he terribly missed Crowley; hated him too - resented the serpent for betraying him and abandoning him for someone lesser. But a part of him that had existed for six thousand years longed for his other half. To hold him. Possess him. Break him. Make him sorry for ever leaving his side.

How he’d longed to capture both of them, but it was too dangerous to approach when they were together - and on Earth they were hardly ever apart. He’d attempted to approach Crowley during the Archangel’s long work weeks in Heaven, but he’d proven to be cleverly evasive. After millenia of practice in evading his fellow demons, Crowley had a knack for slithering away as soon as he caught a whiff of demonic energy.*

(*His plans to use Gabriel as bait to lure in the serpent had been thwarted by the elder Archangel - who had reacted much faster than Aziraphale had anticipated and captured Crowley herself. He hoped that she was at least making Crowley suffer in Heaven.)

But then, as if in answer to his prayers - he’d felt the Archangel’s presence on Earth ahead of schedule. It was just the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Capturing Anathema had been a happy accident; the witch responsible for corrupting Crowley’s mind and turning him against their side. Such a darling little doll she was, in her billowing skirts and ringlets of dark hair - a perfect little mantle piece decoration, an unwilling witness to his victory.

But despite the two prizes he’d acquired, and the exhilarating joy of having his dove back under his control, Aziraphale still felt unsatisfied. There had to be a way to use this to punish his former lover, the traitorous snake that he’d welcomed into his life only to be bitten at the heel.

Scrolling through the messages once again, Aziraphale smiled as a wicked idea dawned upon him. He’d have to be careful not to reveal any leading information - anything that might guide Crowley and Michael to him; keep the messages simple and as similar to the Archangel’s self important, condescending tone as possible.

It was almost night time on Earth. Perfect. This was around the usual time the Archangel relayed messages to his stolen lover.

Finally sated and eager, Aziraphale composed a letter.