Chapter Text
Splat. Splat. Splat.
The rank smell is the first thing Aziraphale notices when he comes to. The overwhelming stench is so distracting, it takes him a few moments to realise that the reason everything is pitch black, is because he’s wearing a blindfold.
A blindfold—and a gag, that effectively prevents him from using his mouth to breathe.
In the space of a heartbeat, his muffled screams become louder when it finally dawns on him that his naked body is tied down by his hands and feet, stretching him out in a sprawl on top of what feels like a mattress.
“Aziraphale, calm down,” someone to his right says. Someone sounding an awful lot like his ex Gabriel. “We’ll release you once we have what we came for.”
“You think he’ll survive this?” someone else whispers. It’s not a voice Aziraphale recognises, but it sounds like a man.
Gabriel mumbles a reply, not loud enough for Aziraphale to make out. Or perhaps it’s the whooshing noise in his ears as he panics that drowns it out.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a sensible voice urges him to calm down, and somehow, he successfully reins himself in—forces himself to inhale and exhale as deeply as he can.
“Shouldn’t it be here soon? I thought you said that whatever it was in that pouch, it would attract… whatever it is we’re supposed to catch.”
A third voice, and this one Aziraphale identifies as Gabriel’s sister Michael. She, too, whispers, but perhaps it’s not for Aziraphale’s benefit she speaks in a hushed tone.
Aziraphale zones out from their conversation, directing his focus to his restraints. Pulling and jostling does nothing but make the binds dig into his wrists and ankles—he holds back the tears forming in his eyes, not wanting to give Gabriel the satisfaction.
“We need to be ready with the tranquilliser. If it’s as big as the rumours say, it will take a while before it’s actually unconscious.”
“You didn’t tell us that! What the hell Gabriel, what if —”
“That’s what this stuff is for. The monster will be too busy fucking Aziraphale to notice what we’re doing.”
“You don’t think that was something you should’ve shared with us before we got here?”
Aziraphale is still trying to comprehend and process Gabriel’s words when he hears it.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.
It sounds like a broom dragging across a wet floor, and the source appears to be coming from his left.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Swish.
It’s approaching slowly but steadily, and perhaps that’s why his captors seem to remain unaware.
“Calm down, Sandalphon. My contact ensured me that the powder will force the monster to —”
Aziraphale can’t tell if the first shrill scream belongs to Gabriel or Michael. If he was scared before, he’s terrified now. Over the footfalls of people running, he hears the shrieks and cries of at least three other people that are cut short one by one; Aziraphale isn’t sure if the low thuds of bodies dropping to the ground are real—or if it’s his own mind making it up.
Because not being able to see what is actually happening… What he does perceive sounds like a horror film come alive— the sheer terror of it curdles the blood in his veins and freezes his own scream in his lungs.
It’s probably not more than a few minutes later when it becomes eerily silent. Aziraphale can’t tell for sure, but that’s what his mind tells him. His entire body is shivering now, and it isn’t from being cold; wherever they took him, it’s an almost humid heat.
Swish, swish.
The creatures—or whatever it is—comes closer, and it’s impossible to hold back a low whine. Aziraphale doubts it matters any more. The instinctual part of him wants to plead, to bargain—but Gabriel’s earlier words suggest that no amount of begging will stop the entity from claiming Aziraphale’s body.
He flinches when he feels the mattress dip between his forcibly spread legs. Even with his senses inhibited, he can feel the barely contained frustration tinging the air; the tension filling the room hums like a too-taut string about to snap.
A sound, like a shuddering breath, breaks the silence—and it doesn’t sound human. Aziraphale stops breathing altogether for a moment, his heart racing furiously.
The air in his lungs comes out in a choked, muffled whimper when something cold and slimy prods at and then enters his rectum. He assumes it’s an inanimate object—until it curls just so, like an inhumanly large finger. The friction stings, but the bite of it is less than he anticipated. A second joins the first, and it feels like the shapes stretching him are trembling just as much as he does.
He holds a back sigh of relief when they leave him, because he knows it’s just a short reprieve; even though he expects something, it still takes him by surprise when something presses down on top of him, covering him. The thing feels warmer than its fingers, but it’s still colder than any human—its skin feels moist, in a strange sort of way.
“I’m sorry.”
Aziraphale perceives the words, rather than hears them, as if the creature spoke to him inside his mind. He barely has time to let it sink in when something large pushes in where he’s loose. Although not loose enough; his eyes prick with tears of pain as he cries out.
“I’m sorry,” the creature repeats, once it’s buried deep inside him.
It stays like that for a long while, it’s breath warming Aziraphale’s neck, and it takes several moments for him to realise that he’s not the only one shaking—for him it’s fear and pain, but what about the entity?
A thought occurs to him then—it’s holding itself back for his sake. Giving him time to adjust. It’s little solace for him in that moment—if anything, it makes his heart break even more, knowing this is ruining not just him, but also the creature.
When it finally moves, the pace starts off slow—but it’s only a matter of time before it turns more frantic, the enormous thing inside Aziraphale filling him to aching over and over and over, stretching his rim too much, too forcefully for it to be pleasurable.
He weeps for them both, his tears streaming uncontrollably down his reddened cheeks. His only wish then and there—besides for it to stop—is that Gabriel is somehow still alive, so he can kill him with his bare hands. Strangle him slowly, while he watches the life drain out of his ex’s eerily purple eyes.
Deep down inside, he knows he doesn’t have it in him to take a life, but it’s a strangely comforting thought that keeps him grounded as he is being used.
At some point Aziraphale blacks out—he thinks it might be just as the creature empties itself inside him with a screeching roar, vaguely remembering a strange sound just before losing consciousness when recalling the incident afterwards.
It must be quite some time later when he finally stirs. He’s still on the mattress, but that is the only thing that’s the same as last time; now, his restraints are gone, as is the blindfold and gag—and he is wearing clothes.
His body screams with pain as he sits up to look around. The mattress is lying on some kind of cement platform in what looks like part of a sewer system. Three lanterns stand on the ground in front of a flight of stone stairs: his way out of there, he hopes.
It’s not until he has risen that he realises that he’s alone. For just an instant, he wonders if the screams were a figment of his own traumatised imagination, but then he sees the dark pools of blood scattered all over the platform.
No bodies, just blood. Large amounts of blood.
It scares him when his first thought is that he hopes that this means that the creature has disposed of its victims, rather than that they survived and somehow escaped.
He’s halfway towards the stairs—he still feels groggy and sore—when he hears the voice again.
“I’m sorry,” it says, for a third time.
Aziraphale turns around, less frightened than he ought to be. The flames of the lantern don't reach far enough for him to see the creature; the only thing he can make out is the glimmer of two snake-like yellow eyes looking back at him.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says. “Are they dead?”
“Yes.” The reply is almost hesitant, as if it’s not sure if it should be honest.
“Good.” It does feel good, satisfying even, to know that Gabriel and his lot got their due for what they did to them.
“I didn’t want to violate you. I need you to know that.”
“I do. We were both victims in this.”
Aziraphale holds back an urge to ask the creature to step forward into the light. It’s better if he doesn’t know. At least not when everything is still fresh in his mind.
“My name is Aziraphale.” He’s not sure why, but suddenly it’s important that the creature knows.
There’s a beat of silence, as if it hesitates. “Crowley.”
His next question surprises even himself, “Will I find you here if I ever wish to meet with you again?”
This time the paus is longer, to the point Aziraphale wonders if he should take it back. The only reason he can think of why he asked, is because one day he might need it to fully come to terms with what happened to him. What happened to them both.
“Yes.” There’s sadness in its—Crowley’s—voice. “Yes, return to this place and call my name, if you ever need me.”
“Goodbye, Crowley.”
For the first time since Aziraphale turned around to look at him, Crowley blinks. Another blink, and then he’s gone. Aziraphale doesn’t see him leave, but he can feel it happening.
He drags a shuddering breath into his lungs and then makes his way to the stairs. Ignoring the other two lanterns, he takes one and climbs the steps, one by one. Up there awaits freedom—but also a new reality he yet knows how to deal with.
The only thing he does know, is that he’s not alone.