Chapter Text
Heaven had lost.
It was not an option any angel had considered. They were the good ones, they deserved to win. They were supposed to win. They were… they...
Oh no, he was losing it again, lost in hopeless thoughts about right and wrong, about fair and unfair, about the war that happened one hundred years and four months ago. Back then, at the airfield, when he and Crowley failed to prevent the Armageddon.
He would do anything to learn what happened to his best friend. The last time he had seen him was back then, one hundred years and four months ago, when the waves of angels and demons poured from Heaven and Hell. Was Crowley dead? Killed back at the war, or later as a traitor? Was he somewhere being kept in a cell, perhaps tortured every day? Or did they make a plaything of him as well?
Because that was what the remaining angels were now. Until the war happened, no demon or angel was interested in sex. That was a human invention. He and - to his knowledge Crowley as well - had never tried it before, but after the Hell won and all the surviving angels were herded, imprisoned and started being tortured by the demons, the inhabitants of Hell started wondering about the ultimate punishment, the most cruel and utter humiliation. And since the angels were beings of love they chose to make sexual slaves of them, to serve demons night and day, to be hurt and raped in brutal orgies.
Some angels had now only one master, serving them and their friends as the master saw fit. Being brought to orgies as playthings but leaving them again with the same demon at the end of the day. They were also often traded for another or sold for demon money when the demon became bored with them. That was Aziraphale’s case - thank Lord he was not important enough to be on of the Shared Angels , those ones were usually chained at one frequently visited place like the Main Hall, to be used by any passing demon or a hellhound that was with them. Removed from there only for any party prestigious enough to have one of the Shared Ones to entertain. The last time Aziraphale saw Gabriel at one of these parties he almost didn’t recognize the once proud angel.
Of course the demons didn’t limit themselves just to punishments of the sexual nature. The angel bodies - which were no longer clothed, only adorned by a collar and cuffs on wrists and ankles - and especially their wings which were now out all the time, were both often whipped, burned, broken and otherwise hurt. The angels couldn’t perform miracles to heal themselves instantly anymore but their bodies were still celestial and healed faster than a human would.
Did this happen to Crowley as well? Aziraphale never saw him at any demon party or when passing through halls - and how he looked for him the first few decades!
He needed to know what happened to his friend. He needed…
... he needed…
…he needed air !
Aziraphale choked and then finally the demon who had his cock in the angel’s mouth pulled it out and let the angel took a couple of gulps of air until the demon thrusted it back cruelly laughing. That was his master .
Reality came back into focus. Here he was, at one of those parties, lying on his back, on his broken and bloody wings, his wrist and ankle cuffs attached to the table. One demon brutally fucking his ass and another one his mouth.
But he knew he was lucky since besides the choking they were not paying much attention to him. They were focused on the main stage where Michael, one of the Shared Ones , was on display and a demon was showing the rest how electricity works.
Apparently in the last hundred years the humans quite perfected it. That’s right, the humans survived. There had been a big crater and a bare wasteland in the middle of Great Britain after the War, but that was all. After the winning, imprisoning the angels and putting God to slumber since they didn’t know how to destroy him, the demons didn’t much care about what happened to Earth so they let it be, sometimes venturing there to steal ideas and have some fun, but that was all. Even the Hell and Heaven functioned somehow but Aziraphale didn’t know the details - he wouldn’t put past them to reverse where the punishment happened but perhaps they had too little imagination for that.
“... back into society,” said one of the demons and Aziraphale wondered why his brain, which had become so good at ignoring the demons’ blabbering, made him focus on that.
“Crawly? Really?” WHAT?!
“Yes, four months ago. After a hundred years in the pit they pulled him out, wiped his mind clean of everything that happened after the Fall and now he’s sauntering around like he used to, trying to keep up.” HE’S ALIVE!!! … WIPED HIS MIND?!
“And he’s coming here today?”
“I think so.”
Aziraphale’s mind was on fire. His friend was alive. Alive! Was it still his friend though? Or was his friend murdered and this only his body living on? Living a life where he never met Aziraphale, never made the Arrangement with him, never tempted him to lunches, never-
“There he is.”
Aziraphale jerked his head to follow the demon’s eyes but grazed the cock in his mouth by his teeth in doing so. His master loudly swore.
The angel was promptly uncuffed from the table and thrown on the floor and then the blows started coming. His master was fond of caning. Aziraphale was not, but knew from experience that it could be much worse.
He was looking at the floor when he saw a pair of bare feet approaching them. The fact that it was unusual since most demons wore shoes now aside… he knew those feet! Back from the days when shoes were not invented yet and he and Crowley had travelled through the world barefoot.
That meant this was...
...this was…
“Crawly!” said his master. “So you made it.”
“I did, yeah,” said Crowley. Why did they call him Crawly anyway? To wipe his 6000 years on Earth completely?
Aziraphale finally steeled himself and looked up. His friend was as he remembered him from the Garden of Eden. Black tunic with a little red in it, long red curly locks framing his face, snake eyes without the sunglasses. Not bothering to look at the slave at his feet. Aziraphale wanted to say something to him but swallowed it.
“I see you’re having fun,” remarked his friend - or what was left of him - to his master dryly.
“Yeah, this slut was not careful. But perhaps he would like to apologize and try better, hmm?” said his master with a harsh kick into Aziaphale’s ribs.
“Yes, master, I am sorry, master. Please let me do better, master,” said Aziraphale looking down, shuffled to his master and started kissing his boots. He knew how the game was played.
The demon who owned him huffed. “Hmm, Crawly, perhaps you would like to try him?” What? No. No, no, no, no, no! Not that, please not that.
“Why not?” said his friend and went to sit himself to the nearest sofa while putting aside his tunic.
Aziraphale was grabbed by the hair and hoisted up. “Do not disappoint me, whore. I heard Hastur has been looking for another slave lately.”
The angel shuddered; he had never been Hastur’s slave but he had seen slaves of Hastur’s - and their empty tortured looks were not very encouraging.
“Yes, master,” mumbled Aziraphale unhappily and watched with trepidation how Crowley revealed himself. His master whistled and the angel realized that Crowley was more endowed than any demon he had ever seen.
“Snake, hmm?” laughed his master.
Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley’s smirk as he was roughly pushed on his knees between his friend’s legs.
The angel looked up at him but there was no recollection on Crowley’s face, only a raised eyebrow, “Well, get to it.”
Aziraphale’s fingers trembled as he tried to relax his jaw and put the half hard demonhood in his mouth. He tried to relax it some more, and started to move.
He did his best to do it all on autopilot, as he would if he was servicing just any demon. Any demon that did not watch Shakespeare’s play with him, any demon that did not proudly show him his new Bentley, any demon that... had not been his best friend. But it was true, wasn’t it? This was not the same demon.
It was a staggering and horrible realization. His friend was truly gone. This was not him. This was not Crowley. This was Crawly, a demon who could have been Crowley, but never got the opportunity. But Crowley? He was dead. Dead and gone. He was alone.
Tears started pouring from Aziraphale’s eyes as he bobbed his head; as he licked and used his hand to massage the demon’s balls, he was careful not graze the cock in his ugly sobs. His hands and, well, all of him trembled as he tried to finish the job and not to break completely.
Finally. Finally the demon came and Aziraphale dutifully swallowed the cum.
His master look at the wreck that was his slave. Trembling little sack of tears, clutching and rocking himself with heartful sobs, and said in admiring tone to Crawly, “Wow. How did you do that?”
The addressed demon look puzzled, “I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s talent! I’ve never seen this one so broken.”
“Oh.”
“Have you got yourself a slave already?”
“No, not yet. Still trying to catch up after… you know what.”
“Hmm, do you want this one? I already have my eye on another one and you surely can ruin this whore better than me.” No, no, no, no, please, if anything is left of right in the world, do not let that happen. I can’t, I can’t…
“Alright. How much?”
They haggled for a bit but Aziraphale was not listening. If there was anything worse than his best friend being dead, it was becoming a slave to what was left of him.
“Oi, slave.” Aziraphale was whacked over his head by a black wing, but only softly, not to hurt. “You better listen when I’m talking, do you understand?” growled his new master and Aziraphale dropped his eyes with a soft, “Yes”.
A hand firmly grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. Crowley’s face was harsh and unforgiving, “Yes, what?” he hissed.
“Yes, master,” whispered the broken angel.
The hand let his chin go, “That’s better. Now, I plan to spend some time here, but I don’t really want to mingle , so will just sit here and observe. Until we leave, you will keep my cock warm.” It wasn’t a statement, it was an order.
“Yes, master,” said Aziraphale and put the soft cock in his mouth again. Fortunately for the angel his gag reflex was long gone; Crowley’s cock was quite big and the angel would have had trouble otherwise even with a softened cock of this size.
Aziraphale didn’t know how much time they spent there, but it was when he started to feel the cock in his mouth hardening again that his new master decided they would leave the party.
Crowley miracled them into his quarters. Aziraphale didn’t even manage to look around properly before he heard, “On the bed, on all four.”
He did so.
He waited. He waited for the harsh push into his body, perhaps a swish of a whip hitting his back or wings, he waited for a hand gripping his collar choking him or for hands bruising his hips further.
What happened was… nothing.
So Aziraphale waited some more.
After a while he turned his head and looked. He saw Crowley standing near the bed frowning and looking over his scarred back, his bloody wings, his abused asshole, his bruised arms and legs.
Finally his new master spoke, “Well, this won’t do. Sit on the bed.”
When Aziraphale did, Crowley put an armchair across from him and sat in it. He took Aziraphale’s hands and maneuvered his wings to be softly touching the angel’s ones.
Suddenly Aziraphale knew what the demon was doing. He wanted to heal him, a complete recovery to repair his wings, mend the broken skin, remove the bruises and his scars. Oh that silly snake. That was not possible. Even before the War many angels, beings of love, were needed to perform such a miracle. And much more demons. Because what was needed when healing other celestial beings was love .
Perhaps his Crowley would have been able to heal him somewhat, but this stranger? Without a chance.
This, Aziraphale knew for certain. That’s why he was greatly surprised when his ribs stopped hurting, when he felt his feathers sprout anew and when he saw the bruises disappear.
He was fairly sure his jaw dropped when Crowley smiled at him with the same boyish grin he had given him in the Garden of Eden and said, “Well, that’s better, isn’t it? Now go to wash all the blood off,” and showed him the way to the bathroom.
There was a waterfall and a pool of warm water and as Aziraphale sank into it, he had a beautiful smile on his face. His friend was not dead. He was buried somewhere deep in that body and did not remember Aziraphale… but he was there.