Chapter Text
If Crowley could pick one word to describe heaven, it would be ‘overly-fancy.’ Or was that two words? Hmm. ‘Ostentatious,’ maybe. That sounded more like vocabulary fitting for a demon of his caliber.
He blinked several times in an attempt to keep himself awake. The chief angel-justice, or whatever they were called, kept droning on about charges or something like that, as if they didn’t all know why they were there. That was angels, for you, though; loved nothing more than standing on ceremony.
“We shall now begin the trial of the Betrayer, Judas Iscariot. Here to testify is Israfil,” oops, that’s my cue, “chief Principality to earth.” The angel peered at him for several seconds. “You are not Israfil.”
Bravo. It wasn’t like he’d been sitting there for the past half hour or anything. Crowley tilted his chin up and here-goes-nothing took a breath to speak. “I am Gadre’el, here in his stead.” There.
The chief angel-justice-thing stared at him nearsightedly, which wasn’t possible because it was an angel and to the best of Crowley’s knowledge angels didn’t develop vision problems. Did they? “There are no angels by that name.”
Raguel. That was the angel-justice’s name. Aziraphale thought he was stuffy, which said a lot. Right. Nothing, going, right now. “Well, see…” Crowley stopped, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I am the Principality of Hell, sent here by –“
“Foul Demon, cease your lies! No angel would allow one of the Damned to enter Heaven.”
Right, yes, well, okay, but he was there, wasn’t he, so obviously that wasn’t true. Honestly, some people just didn’t think. Crowley tried for patience. “If he had not, would I be here? This place reeks of angel. I would not have come, given the choice.”
Raguel’s eyes narrowed, but it looked more like a squint. Crowley thought it might be rude to suggest glasses as an alternative. “Explain your presence here, Demon.”
“Azira—Israfil has… other commitments, but he wishes his testimony to be heard at this farce of a trial. Seriously, you’re not even going to pretend? Why the hell did you invent judicial process if you weren’t going to use it?”
Raguel’s face did a Thing. It was a fairly impressive Thing, considering it was constrained by the bounds of humanoid expression. “What commitments could possibly be more important than the trial of the Betrayer?” A small argument seemed to have broken out between several of the Archangels behind him.
“Well, since you lot pulled him”(Crowley indicated Jesus Christ, Son of God, who was slumped in his seat looking overwhelmingly human and dejected) “out about two hours before his scheduled resurrection, right now, Az…rafil is probably desperately trying to reassure several very worried disciples that the body of their Savior has not, in point of fact, been stolen.”
“There were… complications,” Raguel muttered. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. The argument behind him seemed to have sorted itself out, and one of the Archangels sat glaring at Crowley, arms folded in a surprisingly human gesture. “Very well, Demon, you may speak.”
Some of the tension drained from Crowley’s body. “Didn’t expect him to off himself so soon, did you?” he quipped. Whoops, maybe some of that was good tension. A choked gasp from his right drew his attention to the Son of God. “What, did you think they were holding his trial preemptively?” Said Son of God shook his head and sank back into his chair, face pale. Crowley felt slightly guilty.
“Silence!” Raguel snapped. “My patience is thin, Demon. What is your purpose here?”
Crowley tried to catch Jesus’ eye, but the man (God?) was looking determinedly at the floor. He turned instead to face Raguel again. “I am here to plead not guilty on behalf of Judas Iscariot.”
The Archangel who had lost the earlier argument jumped up. “Raguel, cast him out! Can’t you see he’s just lying to protect his little pawn?”
“Michael, I will ask you again to trust my judgment in this matter,” Raguel sighed. He turned to Crowley, stony-faced. “But I suppose in this case you are right. I gave you a chance, Demon, but you wasted it. Begone from this place and—“
“No, I want to hear him.”
Crowley turned. It was quiet, but it was definitely the Son of God who had spoken. Raguel looked conflicted. “Very well,” he said, closing his eyes as if asking for patience. “Michael, if you cannot be quiet I will have to ask you to leave. Now, Demon, tell me, why should I pardon the man who betrayed Jesus Christ, Son of God?” Michael looked gratifyingly shocked as he sank back into his seat.
Okay, that was needlessly patronizing. Whatever. Crowley could do patronizing too. “Let me tell you a story. It starts when the devil asked me to tempt one of Jesus’ followers to betray him.”
“You tempted him?”
Crowley smirked. “I’m good at tempting.”
“Ah, I knew I recognized you,” said the Archangel to Raguel’s left. “You were in the Garden, were you not?”
“Well spotted, angel. I’m surprised you recognize me with legs.” One of the angels seated in the gallery smothered a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Anyway, yes, I’m the go-to guy for tempting, but Iscariot was a tough one to crack. I finally had to manifest as Himself over there—“
“You took the form of the Son of God?” Raguel sounded dangerously angry. Crowley had thought that might be a sticking point.
“You—you what?” whispered the Son of God, stricken. Oh yes, that too. “Why?”
“Did you really think Iscariot would be tempted by promises of wealth and power?” Crowley asked, more gently. Jesus’ flush said that yes, he had.
“What did you do, then?” he asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid of the answer.
“I asked him.”
He waited for an answer; some kind of revelation of feelings, but none came. Instead, the son of the All-knowing Father, who you would think had inherited at least some of his progenitor’s omniscience, sat there slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, apparently unable to comprehend the idea that someone might do him a favor. Crowley sighed.
"Completely useless, both of you. He’d have done anything you asked, he was so head-over-heels for you.” No recognition whatsoever. Crowley guessed you probably did have to be pretty unobservant to be willing to die for the world’s sins and think that would be enough. “Oh for—here, let me show you.”
(It is briefly important to mention that, while demons are of angelic stock, they are not usually capable of projecting angelic visions. Crowley took a gamble. It was most likely the overwhelming amounts of holy energy in the area that allowed him to do it, but he's very proud of himself nonetheless.)
“Judas.”
“Lord?”
“I need you to do something for me.”
Judas smiled, and if Crowley weren’t a demon, he would have felt absolutely horrible about what he was about to do. As it was, he felt mildly unsettled. “Anything, Lord. You know that. What is it?”
“I need you to go to the temple and tell them where to find me.”
“What? Why?”
“You know the Scriptures, Judas. I have to be martyred.”
“Why me?” Judas asked miserably. “Why not Simon Peter, or James, or, or—“
“You’re the only one who loves me enough to go through with it,” Crowley said.
“You know?”
“Of course I know, silly. Come here.” Crowley pulled Judas into his arms, feeling slightly guilty, but, well, what could he do? Not hugging him after that would have been a dick move. “We must go back before we are missed. Can you promise me you will do it?”
Judas nodded into his neck. “But only because I love you.”
“I know.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “Tell them you will show them who I am with a kiss.”
“Loves me? But—“
“I’m not done yet,” Crowley snapped. “But yes, he did love you. Keep watching.”
Judas stalked out of the temple, unaware of Crowley peeling away from the wall to follow. From a distance, Crowley could barely make out "it’s all just fucking blood money!” They kept walking, Crowley watching and Judas kicking at the ground with each step. “’Do it with a kiss, Judas,’ he says. ‘Of course I know.’ If he knew, why didn’t he fucking do something about it? Now I’ll only get one…” Judas trailed off and the scene faded as well, warping into a moonlit courtyard. It was terribly cliché, in Crowley’s opinion, but then, no one asked him.
The other apostles were curled up in various corners, fast asleep. A little ways off, Jesus knelt, praying. Judas hesitated before stepping into his line of sight. “The man I kiss is the king of the Jews,” he’d told the priests. Crowley only hoped they would give him a little time.
Hearing Judas’ footsteps, Jesus looked up. “Judas.”
“Rabbi,” Judas replied, stopping awkwardly before him. “I—“ He fished for words for a moment. "I have to -" After another moment, he seemed to give up, pulling Jesus towards him for an inelegant kiss. Jesus went stiff with shock and pulled away to search Judas's face. He stepped back.
“Judas,” he whispered, “must you betray me with a kiss?”
And then the guards were pulling them apart, and Jesus was turning to face the priests, and Simon Peter looked furious and John looked terrified and Judas was running and suddenly Crowley couldn’t keep up with it all.
Crowley, for a variety of reasons, is an excellent tracker. He didn't need any of those skills in this particular situation since Judas was making no effort to hide, but it did help in following a grieving man running through a hostile city. It was so anticlimactic that Crowley was almost unprepared to visit the prison. But because Crowley was a professional, he was able to displace some unimportant inmate just as Judas walked past the "conveniently" dozing guards. Judas stopped abruptly in front of the newly-bloody and battered Crowley. He dropped to his knees, reaching out to gently brush a lock of blood-matted hair away from Crowley's face.
“That’s not me,” Jesus interrupted. “I looked a lot worse.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I didn’t want him to see you like that, so I stepped in again. Stop interrupting.”
Crowley stirred. “Judas?” he asked weakly.
“I’m here, I’m here; it’s okay,” Judas whispered, cradling Crowley’s head as best he could through the bars. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I wish it were me in there, not you.”
Crowley attempted a smile, but his lip cracked and began to bleed, so he gave up on that plan. “As if I would let you do that. I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”
“I don’t care, as long as I get to say goodbye to you,” Judas insisted.
“Don’t… don’t go tomorrow, okay? I don’t want you to have to watch…” Crowley was cut off by a fit of coughing. Maybe he had overdone the internal injuries a bit.
“I wasn’t… planning on it,” Judas replied, steadfastly refusing to look at him.
Crowley frowned. “Don’t do anything stupid, alright? Suicide is a sin, and I expect to see you in heaven in about forty years.” He reached his good arm through the bars to caress Judas’ face and smiled, ignoring the blood. “It’ll all be okay, you’ll see. I’ll talk to my Father for you.”
“If you say so,” Judas said, cradling Jesus’ hand in his own. “Will you be okay tonight?”
Crowley laughed softly. “It’s almost morning. I will; I promise. I'm sure I won’t even feel it.”
Judas’ eyes glittered. “You shouldn’t have to—I’m just… I’m sorry, I—“
Crowley tried to look as though he were fading. He had places to be. “I know. I love you. Remember that.” He only hoped it would be enough to keep Judas from doing anything stupid for a few hours. If not, well, he had places to be.
Judas blinked hard several times. “I will. I love you too,” he whispered as Crowley let his eyes drift shut once more. He carefully laid Crowley’s arm in the most comfortable position he could. Then he walked away without looking back.
As soon as he was gone, Crowley swore and rose to follow, but miracle-ing away his injuries took longer than it have. By the time he caught up, the sun was already beginning to rise. The procession was just starting up the hill, and Judas, evidently, wasn’t going to watch. When Crowley found him, he was fumbling to tie a noose through his tears. Crowley cursed again, running as fast as demonic speed would let him, but—
Crowley pulled out of the vision, to Jesus’ apparent dismay. “But—“
“No, you don’t want to see it,” Crowley said, cutting him off. “Look, the point is, he wouldn’t have turned on you for anything. The only way I could get him to do it was to pretend you wanted him to.” Crowley chanced a look at the Archangels only to find all seven of them staring at him. He flushed and turned back.
Jesus’ brow furrowed. “But then why did you… in the prison, you didn’t have to do that. Why?”
“Because he loved you, and I damn near broke his fucking heart by telling him to betray you!” Crowley flinched at the pointed throat-clearing behind him. Language. Right. “I didn’t want him to find out he’d been tricked and you really thought he’d betrayed you. He felt guilty enough already. If he’d gone to see you there, what would you have said to him?”
“I wouldn’t have been - I wasn’t angry. I was just , mostly, and disappointed and confused because he kissed me and I didn’t know why and he’d never said anything—“
“Demon, if we may, we would like a clarification.” Crowley tore his eyes way to look up into the shining face of – Gabriel, was it? Ah, yes, that was the face he’d seen casting him out of the heavens four thousand years ago. Well, no hard feelings, right? “When you say that Judas Iscariot ‘loved’ the Son of God, what do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I say. How else would I—oh, no, you can’t be serious. I thought all that stuff in Leviticus was a, I don’t know, a joke or something. A mistake.”
“Are you saying,” Gabriel hissed, looming over Crowley in a way that reminded him very acutely that he was a demon surrounded by what felt like every angel in heaven, bar one, “that Judas Iscariot lusted after the Son of God?”
“Well, I—“
“And are you saying, are you accusing the Son of God of the same sin?”
Oh, shit. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to presume, but it looked like it was requited, but I mean, I’m not a matchmaker and really it could have just been a big misunderstanding…”
“Oh, come off it,” Jesus snapped. He stood and stalked over to confront Gabriel, spine straight. “You didn’t complain about David, so just leave it. It’s not like you’d understand anyway. Angels are sexless, right?”
“David? David was one of God’s chosen! He would never harbor such unnatural desires!”
“Yeah, well, I’m one of God’s chosen; are you going to challenge me? Besides, come on, did you really think they were just friends? ‘Passing the love of women?’ Yeah, I’m sure it was real platonic,” Jesus spat, caustic. He turned to Crowley, searching for something in his expression. Crowley didn't know if he found it. “You’re telling the truth? He really felt... about me?” Gabriel, ignored, turned away to have a whispered argument with the Archangel who had recognized Crowley earlier.
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Does being the Savior of Man come with an extra perk of being completely oblivious? Yes. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it. He would have kissed me right then if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“Why didn’t you let him? You know, tempting, evil, all of that. I thought that’s what you demons did?”
“Well, technically my job for the past thirty-one years has been to watch you, but I wouldn’t have let him anyway. It wouldn’t have been right.”
“What kind of demon are you?” Jesus asked.
“The sort of crap kind,” Crowley admitted.
“Indeed, Demon,” Raguel boomed, and Crowley thought he saw Jesus roll his eyes. “And it seems you have made promises you cannot keep. What did you hope to gain by telling Judas Iscariot that he would be forgiven?”
“I wanted to comfort him!” Crowley protested. “And, well, I thought I’d have another few decades to marshal my arguments for that one.” He shot Jesus a guilty look. “I told him not to do it.”
Jesus sighed but didn’t otherwise acknowledge him. “So he’s in hell, and he expected to be in heaven.”
“I don’t think he really expected to end up here,” Crowley corrected. “Suicide is a sin. But I think he felt guilty enough that he figured nothing he did could make things any worse than they already were.”
“Demon. Lord.” Raguel interrupted them. “We must deliberate. Do not leave this room until we return. Come, Michael.” They filed out, Raguel leading a grumbling Michael behind him and Gabriel bringing up the rear, the other angel--Raphael, that was his name, the one Aziraphale practically worshipped--jogging beside him, still arguing. Crowley caught snippets of “not our place“ and “can’t believe you didn’t know; even Saul--“
Jesus stared after them. “I expected heaven to be more…”
“Like you?” Crowley supplied. “It’s just a bureaucracy. Hell’s the same way. They’re not infallible, not by a long shot. Especially Gabriel. He’s a prick; don’t pay any attention to what he says.”
“How do you know so much about heaven?”
“I was an angel once too, you know,” Crowley griped. “Everyone always forgets that.”
“Then you really were the snake?” Jesus asked.
“Sure was,” Crowley said. After all, it wasn’t often he got to brag. “Az—Israfil, too, he was guarding the Tree of Life. Lost his flaming sword, the idiot. We’ve been down there ever since, watching the humans and making sure the other side doesn’t do anything funny.”
“You were watching me?” Jesus asked, moving to sit in one of the now-empty gallery seats and gesturing for Crowley to join him.
“Do I look familiar to you?”
Jesus scrunched up his nose in a way that was not at all befitting the Son of God. “Well, you look a bit like Thomas—oh.” He paused. “You were a bastard. It’s in your nature, I guess. This Israfil, was he there as well?”
“Philip,” Crowley replied.
“Philip? But he was so boring!”
“Completely true to character.”
“He… doesn’t know you’re doing this, does he?”
“I mean… he knows I’m here. He doesn’t know the… full nature of my involvement in this whole thing. As it is, he’s still not talking to me for picking Judas, which, by the way, wasn’t my decision at all and is therefore totally not my fault. It’s not like I said, ‘hmm, who should I pick? Oh I know, how about the guy whose betrayal would absolutely destroy him, that's a great idea.’”
“I wish it had been you. That way I could chalk it up to you being a demon and just hate you without all of this... whatever this is.”
Crowley leaned back in his seat. “Believe me; I know the feeling.”
Jesus bit his lip. “If it doesn’t go well… will you visit him and tell him I’m sorry?”
“I’ll try my best,” Crowley assured him. He tried not to think about the fact that that might be even more torturous than what they were already doing to Judas now.
“Thank you. And… whatever does happen, you did a good thing.”
“I was only righting a wrong I had done,” Crowley mumbled.
“And that’s a good thing,” Jesus insisted. “You really are better than you pretend to be.”
Crowley smiled weakly. “Nonsense,” he said, “I’m just a demon.”
He knew Jesus didn’t believe him even as he said it. He opened his mouth to protest more, not willing to accept the praise of the man he'd recently had assassinated, when the Archangels began to file back in, looking solemn.
“Your presence is no longer required, Demon,” Raguel said, almost… gently? “You may go. Thank you for your testimony. It has been… enlightening.”
“I don’t get to stay for the verdict?” Seven pairs of eyes focused on him. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just…” It occurred to him that he had no idea how to leave.
Jesus, as if sensing this, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Remember: you did a good thing.”
As the light from Jesus’s hand began to envelop him, Crowley shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Good luck, Rabbi.”
“To you as well, Thomas.”
And with that, Crowley was gone.
“How was the trial?” Aziraphale asked, watching James gather the scattered apostles.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley said, surprised to find that it was the truth. Something was wrong with him if he was starting to care like this.
“Did it at least go well?” Aziraphale pressed.
“I hope so.”
If not, he owed someone a visit to Hell.