Whumptober Day Six: Dragged Away
I’m writing a prompt a day for October from this list. Feel free to send me a fandom for any prompt or even an idea for them - but remember my goal is to make the groupchat shout at me so I’m not gonna be nice.
The Bentley is in its usual spot, parked outside Crowley’s flat and Aziraphale can’t stop staring at it.
It’s perfect, exactly as it was when Adam restored it. Just as shiny as it has always been; one owner from new.
And it’s sitting in its usual spot as if Crowley never left this morning.
Not as if, because. Aziraphale grumbles to himself as he makes his way up to Crowley’s flat. Because Crowley decided, for the first time in all eternity, to not meet at an agreed time. To stand Aziraphale up.
He swallows down the bolt of fear creeping through his chest. It has to be because. It must be because. Heaven and Hell agreed to leave them be. They agreed-
Crowley’s front door is open.
Aziraphale stares at it for a long moment, fear clutching at his insides in a way he didn’t realise he was capable of allowing to happen to himself.
He’s through the door in a minute, freezing at the state Crowley’s usually bare flat is in. Ripped papers are everywhere, a layer of dirt and prized plants cover everything and the few pieces of furniture Crowley has have been turned over or smashed.
Worse of all is how, with the dirt lying everywhere, Azirazphale can see a clear mark on the floor as if something heavy and vaguely human shaped was dragged away.
His eyes follow the dark mark to its orgin, without him even thinking about it. There, held up by a knife Aziraphale can feel the occult energy on, is a piece of paper with two large words written on it.
It is written in Crowley’s messy scrawl, unchanged for milliuem and something Aziraphale had memorised the look of long before he’d been willing to admit to Crowley being a friend.
Beneath it is another sentence, in an unfamiliar handwriting.
Run if you want but you’ll always know that we got him back.
A firey rage fills Aziraphale, lighting him up with a rightous rage. How dare Hell break their word? How dare they take Crowley? How dare they.
He clenches his right hand once, then again. The third time he does it, his hand is gripping a flaming sword.
Hell thinks he is just Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Kindest and therefore weakest of the angels, the one who screwed up apple duty the day the serpent tempted Eve. And he is - Lord knows Heaven’s told him how soft he’s gone a thousand times now.
But he is also Aziraphale, lover of Crowley, Principality of Earth. He is the Angel whose kindness gave humanity War.
It is time to show Hell why.
