Chapter Text
He does not saunter vaguely downward so much as he plummets in a barely controlled spiral.
He feels it coming. Her Grace is slowly pulled from his body as if She is tugging a loose string on an expensive sweater. He feels hot and cold all at the same time. There's a sudden stench of brimstone and butyric acid. The ground beneath him starts to grow hot. It's coming.
"Crowley, love, I need you in here." His voice does not waver.
His demon is already rushing into the bathroom. The Angel of the Eastern Gate stares at himself in the mirror. The angel-winged ring he wears burns hot and starts to warp, but he can't move to take it off. His hands grip the porcelain sink so tightly it starts to crack. He looks at the stricken demon through the mirror and smiles weakly. "I think...I think this is it. I think I'm Falling, my dear."
"Shit. Shit shit shit!" Crowley is at his side in seconds. He grips the angel's hands and manages to pry them away from the sink. But, even as the gold rings drip molten metal onto his hand, he doesn't let go. "Ten years! Ten fucking years and they decide this is it?" He snarls all fangs and vitriol and guilt.
The ground under them illuminates with an infernal flame. Hellfire. Aziraphale gasps. His nails dig into the skin of Crowley's hands with enough force to tear his skin.
"It's going to hurt, angel, but you have to be strong. Do you hear me? You have to be strong. You have to remember! Aziraphale!" His voice is rightfully panicked. "Who am I?"
The angel's corporeal form is slowly burning. His unneeded breaths become harder and more challenging as his skin blackens. His lungs are burning "Crowley."
"And what are we?" He begs.
"Lov... Lo..." He pants. His form is nearly gone. "Love." He finally chokes out. His eyes are still big and blue.
"That's right. We're in love." Crowley grips his hands hard. The skin crackles and starts to melt away. His slacks and baby blue jumper burn like kindling. The room smells like burning flesh and burning hair. However, the flames do not so much as singe Crowley's very expensive mimicked Balenciaga jacket. "I'll be with you. I swear. I love you, angel, do you understand me? I need you to remember."
The flames finally properly discorporate the angel. He plummets through the ethereal, swirling black hole created on the floor of the bookshop bathroom. Crowley follows with his night-black wings spread wide. Aziraphale cannot scream. The humans would see two shooting stars fly across the sky. Instead, Aziraphale can only see flames. His own wings try to spread as he tries to slow his fall, but the lily-white feathers with their streaks of silver crackle and burn. The pain is ineffable. He feels strong arms wrap around him. The descent slows from freefall to a rapid spiral. A few black feathers rip from the demon's wings from its force. He thinks he might hear sobs, but he doesn't know who they belong to. He feels the flames lick at his eyes, and his vision blur.
Slamming into the sulfur pool rips the last of Her Grace from his body. His mouth and lungs fill with liquid sulfur. Is this what drowning feels like? Somewhere, beyond the pain, he feels himself being pulled up by strong arms. He still can't see. Why can't he see?
"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝!"
He's laid on his stomach onto the too hot ground, and his head is tilted so he can vomit up the sulfur he's swallowed. What is that noise? A familiar voice. "Fuck...Shit shit shit...! Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝. You have to open your eyes. You have to wake up, angel." A firm hand is rubbing his back. The pain ebbs away as he vomits a final time and takes a gasping breath before his diaphragm goes still. This form doesn't need to breathe.
When he opens his eyes, he sees everything all at once. He thinks there might be two tiny blind spots, but it's so much to take in at once. But, then, the Creature that helps him sit up makes his head spin.
"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝? Can you hear me?" The Creature has the loveliest yellow eyes. "That's it. Show me a smile, hm? Can you speak?"
His head lolls to the side as he tries to focus his vision. The room is lit by glowing pools of unknown chemicals and compounds. The walls are dull grey, and there are signs he can't quite read. One he recognizes as having a "No Swimming" symbol. A very bored-looking demon sits at a desk with a very outdated computer. She doesn't even spare them a glance as she fills in a crossword puzzle. He lolls his head to the Creature holding him up. He blinks slowly and smiles lazily as his vision finds its focus.
"Ả̴̢̛̫̠͚̅z̵̡̜͇̬̫̏̃̚ǐ̷̡̨̺͕̦̦̍r̴͙͓̜̫̖̍̓̎a̶̬͎͙͍͠p̸̢̦̓̅̿̓́h̵̡̜̣͙̗̩͗̿̈́̈́̽a̵̝̩̖̲̓͌̕l̸̲̻̭͕͍͆ě̴͎̮̎͂͝͝?
"Why do you keep saying that?" Then, finally, he finds his voice and tears in the yellow-eyed Creature's eyes.