#because the demon was absolutely Astoreth

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Inflict Wounds

So. Today’s offering for @drawlight‘s advent calendar is, um, not super Christmassy?

Look, I went on a holiday-themed museum tour but the docent went off-topic to talk about Saint Bartholomew and the Demon, so now I am doing the same thing. That is the Christmas connection.

Also, the tone is a little weird on this one? There is nothing graphic, I promise, and it goes from really dark to really not rather abruptly, which is the reverse of my usual pattern.

(In D&D “Inflict Wounds” is the opposite of the spell “Cure Wounds” and...idk it’s 12:30AM that seems like a clever title right now.)

10 - Silver and Gold (2,546 words)

Aziraphale slipped through the door of the temple, into the darkness within. It took a small miracle to make sure none of the gathered crowd noticed him, but only a small one – all eyes were on Bartholomew as he assured them that the terrifying demon who had brought pestilence and death to the countryside had been contained, would soon be disposed of, the people would be saved if they professed their faith –

All according to the missionary script, of course, but it was the demon Aziraphale worried about. That was more than metaphor and rhetoric – he could sense it. The curses it cast on this helpless village had been clearer than a bonfire, catching his attention from half a kingdom away.

There were still a few dozen representatives of Hell at play in the world, several of them quite dangerous. Perhaps more than a single human could handle, however much that human had been blessed by Heaven. He would need to see for himself, and decide whether more direct intervention was necessary.

Picking up a small oil lamp, Aziraphale stepped deeper into the gloom. Here and there, the light reflected off the gold and silver of idols and sacred images, creating uncertain shapes that shifted in the darkness. Why, that one reflection ahead looked almost like a pair of eyes –

They lifted and focused straight on him. Enormous eyes, filled with anger, mirroring the light, adding shades of danger, promises of pain. Inhuman eyes, golden, unblinking, cut by vertical pupils…

“Crawley?” He called in disbelief.

“Crowley.”

Even heavily shadowed, Aziraphale could make out the familiar lines of the face, the arrogant sneer – though the eyes were changed. He’d only seen them in this serpentine form once before, during that first conversation on the wall of Eden.

“What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like, Angel? I’m preparing to be exorcised.”

Aziraphale took another step closer, and in the flickering light saw –

Gold and silver chains, wrapped around his arms, pulling them back against the golden idol so that the demon hung by his wrists.

Another chain twisted across his chest, over and under his black wings, binding them in place.

Crowley turned his face away from the light, growling low. His arms tensed, links of the chains digging into wiry muscle.

“Are you the one they sent to tear out my soul?”

“Crowley, stop being so dramatic, you can survive an exorcism.” The angel took another step forward, and again Crowley balled his fists, tension rippling across his bare chest. A rather poor attempt at intimidation, since he still refused to look at the angel.

Of course, he could miracle himself free whenever he wanted – Crowley loved his dramatic roles, and today he was apparently playing the martyr. “You are the last demon I expected to see here – didn’t you leave for the Far East over a year ago?”

“I wanted to grow my hair back first. This seemed as good a place as any to wait it out.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but sure enough the short curls Crowley had sported at their one meeting in Rome were now nearly down to his chin. “And this is what you do to entertain yourself in the meantime? I should have known.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I could feel you inflicting blight and disease on these people from twenty miles away! And what do I find – a village where nearly every person has cholera! And you! Why, Crowley?”

“Because I’m a demon,” he said, breath sharp, voice heavy with fury.

“Really.” Aziraphale tutted, trying to act as though this was only a minor disappointment, as if he’d never come to expect more from the demon who still sullenly refused to meet his eye. “I suspected something like that. Bartholomew was preaching in the area, so I sent him on a Holy Quest to find the demon responsible. I never thought it would be you.”

“And I never thought the Archangels were big on sharing power. Giving your new…saints Heavenly powers? Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I don’t make those decisions. I just search for the wiles of the Evil One and I thwart them.” He took another step closer, bringing the lamp towards Crowley’s face, even as the demon made a futile attempt to pull away. “And after what you’ve done, don’t tell me you don’t deserve –”

“Aziraphale!” The plea was desperate, almost broken, as he squirmed in his chains, pushing himself against the idol behind him.

The angel looked more closely at the chains, the gold and silver chains, alternating links glowing faintly like sunlight and moonlight in the dark temple. At the way they grew brighter with every step Aziraphale took.

At the burns where they dug into Crowley’s skin.

“Those chains…” he realized. “They’re –”

“Blessed.” Crowley turned to face him now, and Aziraphale could see at last that his eyes were wide not with anger, but pain – that he wasn’t flexing to try and intimidate, but writhing in anguish. He wasn’t even sneering – his lips were split, bleeding from a wound on the right side of his mouth, a cut on his left cheek. “You gave him powers and he used them.”

Aziraphale stumbled away, dropping the lamp, shattering it on the temple floor. He could still see the glow of Crowley’s eyes, and that of the chains, fainter now that his Angelic Grace wasn’t fueling them.

With a clink of gold on silver, Crowley relaxed, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“Don’t think this – this changes anything,” Aziraphale snapped, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He’d only wanted to talk. The idea that he’d been used to hurt Crowley – even unwittingly, even knowing what had happened… “This whole village is sick because of you –”

“You idiot!” And this time it really was anger in his voice. “They’re sick because there’s a city upriver. The water is contaminated.”

“But I sensed you –”

“I’m a demon.” Slow shaky breath. “I can’t purify water, and I can’t heal any disease I didn’t cause. So the only thing I could do was inflict something even worse, burn the real disease out of their systems, and then cure them. Over and over because they keep getting sick.”

“But…why…”

“Because your lot wasn’t going to do it!” Crowley rattled at the chains. “Now Heaven finally decides to share its powers and what do we get? Silly parlor tricks and warriors – where are the healers? When your friend outside gets rid of me, is he going to stay and take care of them? Is he going to find them clean water? Are you?”

“Crowley,” Azirapahle started to take step forward, but changed his mind when the demon gasped and tried to pull away again. “You should have said something. You shouldn’t have tried to fight –”

“What do you take me for?” He sagged in his chains again. “Of course I didn’t try to fight. The temple was full of people from the villages, they came for healing. I didn’t want them to get caught in the middle of a fight with a Holy Warrior.” He turned his head just a little, showing off the cut, though Azirapahle could hardly see it in the dark. “I got this for trying to explain myself.” Then he shrugged, touching his tongue to the split lip. “And this one for telling him exactly what kind of bastard he is.”

For a long moment, they were both silent, Aziraphale rubbing his palms together slowly. “You…were really here healing them for a year?” He should demand proof. No proper angel would believe such an outrageous story. It was obviously some kind of deceit.

“It was exhausting. I got really sloppy towards the end, but…” A humorless chuckle. “I kept hoping you would notice. Come lend a hand.”

With a sinking heart, Aziraphale realized he was no proper angel.

The noise of the crowd outside was growing louder. Bartholomew would be in any moment. “It – the exorcism shouldn’t be too bad. Similar to smiting.”

“Not too bad? Do you even know what smiting feels like? I’ll be lucky to have enough strength to leave Hell sometime this century!”

“There isn’t much I can do!” He tried to step forward, again causing the blessed chains to flare in the darkness.

The doors of the temple burst open, Bartholomew leading in a hundred villagers with lamps and candles, filling the space with brilliant light.

“Behold, your so-called savoir. Look upon the true face of the being you worshipped!”

“They worshipped you?”

“I told them not to!” Crowley complained. “You know humans, they’ll worship anything!”

The angel could feel the heat of Bartholomew’s holy aura as he approached, causing the chains to glow once more. “For the crimes you have committed against these people, I sentence you to utter extinction.”

“I say,” Aziraphale waved a hand, “that sounds a bit extreme…”

“Think of something!” Crowley ground out.

“Prepare for your doom!” The chains burst into fire.

“AZIRAPHALE!”

“Right.” Aziraphale straightened his robes. “I’m terribly sorry about this.”

--

The true form of an angel would immediately render any human who saw it into little more than a pile of ash.

What Aziraphale showed the crowd – an enormous pillar of fire, surrounded by wings and covered in a hundred blue eyes – was about a third of the way to his true self.

The temple filled with Grace, the whole village, curing people for miles in every direction, purifying the river, bringing peace to every heart even as they trembled in awe. The chains around the demon shattered like glass.

With a booming voice that shook the temple, toppling the idols and images (and anything else that wasn’t nailed down), the holy presence bid the people:

LOOK UPON THIS THING THAT YOU HAVE WORSHIPPED. THIS HORRIBLE, WRETCHED, TWISTED THING.

“Seems a bit unnecessary,” grumbled the demon.

I SHALL DRIVE IT AWAY INTO THE WILDERNESS FROM WHENCE IT CAME, AND IT SHALL NEVER MORE RETURN TO CURSE YOU. FOLLOW BARTHOLOMEW. HE WILL LEAD YOU TO A NEW LAND, UPRIVER OF THE CITY, WHERE DISEASE SHALL NOT TROUBLE YOU.

Many in the crowd fell to their knees, openly weeping at the glorious form before them.

(CROWLEY. THAT’S YOUR CUE.)

“Oh. Right.” The demon rose onto shaky legs and moved through the shocked crowd as quickly as he could. “Ah. Oh, no. What a horrible wonderful being. However shall I escape.”

RIGHT. THAT’S SETTLED. I’LL JUST FOLLOW THAT…DASTARDLY BEING. ENJOY YOUR NEW HOME. MIND HOW YOU GO.

The pillar of light drifted, stately but unstoppably, through the crowd and out the temple doors.

Slowly, the villagers climbed back to their feet, clutching at each other’s hands, amazed to feel for the first time in so long – truly healthy, truly happy. All quarrels were forgotten in the face of the amazing gift of love that had been planted in their hearts –

OH. ONE OTHER THING. STOP DISPOSING OF YOUR WASTE IN THE RIVER. IT IS MOST UNHYGENIC!

--

Many miles away, Aziraphale and Crowley rested on a jumble of rocks in a clearing. The angel ran his fingers over the burns, perfect impressions of gold and silver chains, already turning into scars.

“It’s no use,” Crowley said. “Angelic aura, blessed chains. Regular healing won’t cut it, and if you give me the full dose, I’ll probably explode.”

“I can’t help feeling responsible,” Aziraphale murmured, touching the cut on Crowley’s cheek. “Even this one won’t mend.”

He shoved the hand away roughly. “Well, he hit me with the chains, didn’t he?” Crowley wasn’t sure how he felt about Aziraphale right now. Wasn’t sure how he’d ever feel about him again. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep them. As a reminder. At least it’ll make an impressive story back in Hell.”

Aziraphale took his hand, turning it over to look at the scar forming across the palm. “There is…one thing I can try.”

“You don’t have to,” Crowley grunted.

“Please. I inflicted this on you.”

“Fine.” He was going to have to learn to resist that look. “Just try not to destroy me.”

Lifting his palm, Aziraphale pressed his lips to the scar.

Crowley’s veins filled with – fire and ice, silver and gold, starlight and moonbeams and the raw, uncontrolled power of lightning, racing across his hand, burning through his skin, drowning him in – ecstasy, joy, bliss –

His hand convulsed, he gasped, eyes opening wide –

And in less than a second, Aziraphale lowered his hand, the scar removed, skin smooth and unbroken again.

“I think I can remove all of them. If you can bear it.”

Crowley could only nod.

It seemed to take hours. Perhaps it did.

Each brush of the lips an eternity of pleasure and pain, like Falling and Rising at the same time, and the interval between a mindless, numbing void, empty of any sensation or thought.

Up one arm, down the other. Chest. Back. Wings. Crowley would have wept if the tears hadn’t already been burned out of his eyes.

Finally, all that remained were the cut on his cheek, and the split lip.

Somehow, that was worse than anything else.

Aziraphale sat, Crowley’s chin cupped in his hand, staring at the wounds clinically.

“You…really, Angel, you don’t…that is, if you don’t want to…”

“Do you want to carry these scars for eternity?”

Crowley swallowed. “Honestly…this might be too much for me…”

Another detached look, and a small nod. “These aren’t as bad as the other burns. Likely because the chain only hit you briefly. I should be able to heal them with much less power.”

Before Crowley could say anything, Aziraphale had leaned in and brushed his lips across his cheek and oh Satan without the overwhelming power he could feel them, soft and warm and just a tingle of delight where they touched and he didn’t know if that was the healing or something else…

This was so much worse.

Aziraphale hovered above his lips.

“Hey. Angel…”

“Don’t move.”

One on the top, just where regular skin met lip, gentle, quick.

One on the bottom, pressing it, so Crowley could feel the plumpness of Aziraphale’s lips.

It was over before he could move, before he could betray something he’d never realized he felt before, but was now desperate to keep hidden.

But Aziraphale didn’t pull away. He sat, not even an inch between them, breaths still mingling, blue eyes filling Crowley’s entire world.

“I suppose the villagers were grateful. That you cared for them.” The softest whisper.

“Don’t know what they think of me now.” His voice trembled, but he couldn’t think why. “At least they’re alive.”

“What you did, Crowley. It won’t go unappreciated.”

And Aziraphale leaned in again but there was nothing left to heal, just lips, soft and warm and slightly parted, pressing against his, tearing out his soul, pulling him to pieces.

Crowley’s eyes drifted shut, his hand reached up to brush one silver curl. His own lips parted and if he just tilted his head surely he could –

Gone. Aziraphale stood up and stepped away. “I hope I have healed all the wounds I inflicted on you.”

And then the angel left, taking Crowley’s voice and breath and heart with him.

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #advent calendar #ineffable husbands #hurt comfort #writing challenge #bastard aziraphale #bamf aziraphale #but like the weirdest BAMF idk #look every time i look at that painting of St B and the Demon I think of Crowley #and then i read the actual legend and it just Got Worse #because the demon was absolutely Astoreth #and he was just hanging out healing people in either India or Armenia #ancient people are bad with geography #and then Bartholomew shows up like yo hes not really healing anyone he's causing the disease #and then suddenly there's an angel revealing the demon's true form #and being all like believe in the lord not this guy #also imma chase him into the wilderness good work B #and later Bartholomew gets skinned alive sorry these things always end badly #but anyway i mostly just love showing Crowley getting mixed up with saints #and i wanted aziraphale to kiss his wounds better #but i was tired and part of my brain was like lets go all in #so we went all in