Nine Inch Scales Chapter 12 - Bad Witch
Cover art by @and-his-hands-were-24-crows Thank you so much, Crows! Please show them some support by checking out their work on Instagram and ao3!
And a huge thank you to my beta harem, who have been with me on this journey for over six months now: @totheendtimes, @Nightshiftcaffeine, @ineffable-xenanigans, @nosferatini, @moderndayklutz, @Savyl and @TansyOgg
Additional in story art by Demented_DeMeown and @avadoingart-imus
And a gorgeous new illustation this week, courtesy of @divinitydemon
Thank you so much!
CW/TW for this chapter: Explicit, suicidal ideation
For a brief stretch of time, Crowley and Aziraphale allow themselves a fragile happiness. There are mornings spent in each other's arms, shared laughter and the comfort of loving each other without distance once again. But on their return to London, they find reality waiting for them: the world is dying, and they’re the only beings trying to stop it.
As Crowley spirals back into obsession and sleeplessness in his quest to save everyone, he begins to see an answer: vast, terrifying and likely irreversible. He knows it will break Aziraphale’s heart, but the choice is already made. To save the world, Crowley may have to destroy the peace they’ve only just found together.
Excerpt:
Not wishing to keep inflicting his bad mood on Aziraphale, Crowley did the one thing he least wanted to do, but felt he ought to.
Aziraphale took it gracefully, putting on a brave face and saying he understood. But the sad little smile he gave over his shoulder, just before the front door closed, stuck in Crowley’s mind, making him feel like the world’s worst bastard. Still, better he sulk alone than wear the angel’s shine down anymore than he already had.
So, Crowley retreated to the sanctuary of his music room, asking not to be disturbed, and telling Aziraphale he’d compose for a few days, maybe crawl out the other side feeling like himself again. And if not, at least it would be productive.
He started by recording fragments of the songs he’d created while Satan had kept hold of his mind. It felt good to get them out, but even so, he hesitated, unsure where his words ended and Hell’s began. He sang until his throat was raw, chasing the manic, anguished laughter he remembered from the stage. It wasn’t pretty, but after a long session, after hours of hammering his inner darkness into melody, he found he could sleep a little easier when night fell.
The song that reminded him to breathe was different — cathartic, somehow. It pulled him back to Aziraphale holding him close, breathing with him, the angel’s light chasing the corruption from his veins as music poured from them both.
The day came when the rough demo was finished and he sat cross legged in the middle of the music room, letting the sound crash around him from every speaker. The chords built and broke and built again, rising and flaring in Crowley’s mind like a kind of cleansing fire. It wasn’t peaceful, exactly. But it was the closest thing Crowley could manage.
He didn’t notice when the line between inspiration and obsession blurred. He never did. But inevitably he stopped being so consciously aware of tinkering with beats and samples, instead simply letting music guide his movements, no longer paying attention to outside distractions like his phone or the need to rest as the days began to blur. He was possessed, in a way. Not by Hell, but by the desperate conviction this would be another chance to save the world.
Read the rest here on ao3
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And if you would like to read chapter 13 early, it is available now to members of my patreon.
