Chapter Text
“I’ll only ask one more time” says Anthony J. Crowley carelessly swinging the razor-sharp blade in his hands. The knife was covered in so much blood that it was impossible to see silver under crimson. “Where. Isss. That. Douchebag. Gabriel?” The second word sounded very snake-like which only showed how off balance he was.
Aziraphale swallowed nervously. In those amber-gold eyes was that type of seriousness which he could only describe as deadly. A few drops of his own blood tickled his cheek when he looked at that dark man.
“I’ve no idea” he replied honestly even if he knew that it would only anger Crowley. He hated to lie so he didn’t. Even if his life was at stake. He really doesn't know where his brother is at that time.
“You know what, angel? Screw you” growled the second man and then Aziraphale felt that something sharp cut through his soft belly and something warm (and cold at the same time) ran down his thigh.
“I really don’t know” Aziraphale muttered weakly before darkness took him into it’s embrace.
~*~*~*~
The truth is… Crowley really never wanted to be a criminal. Or belong to a motorcycle gang. Hell, he doesn’t even have a motorbike in the first place. Of course, at the beginning, Beelzebub tried to convince (force) him to ride that bloody machine but quickly stopped when Anthony blew up the third in a row. Within one week. With only scratches and a motorcycle that cannot be rescued. Beel preferred when everyone said one of their members favoured cars over motorcycles than to hear rumors that someone in their gang wasn't able to ride a motorcycle at all.
Now, he received a restraining order for all machines including these belonging to other members - after one … not cool situation that happened to Ligur’s “baby”. Crowley swears that this stupid motorbike experienced spontaneous combustion all by itself, not because he was in the neighbourhood but others didn’t seem convinced. Not that he really wanted to persuade them to believe him - he preferred being away from these hideousness machines. They’re awful - not like his car.
Bentley was a wonder, the best creation made by human hands and the loveliest thing on the planet. His car, unlike these motorcycles, has a soul and a heart that beats with the same rhythm as his own. Crowley loves his car and the car loves him - their feelings were undeniable. Bentley was never seriously damaged, in fifteen years it has been at the mechanic only five times (except annual check-ups, of course), and only for minor repairs . Not a scratch, even after Ligur tried to set her on fire as an act of revenge.
Crowley thinks that Roger Taylor has a Bentley too - why else would he write a song about his love to a car? Only Bentleys deserve that.
So, anyway, Anthony J. Crowley never wanted to be a criminal or belong to a motorcycle gang. Or be ‘The First Executioner’ if we're at it. But he is anyway. As they say - you can't always have what you want. Sometimes life didn’t give you too much choice - if you stand by self-preservation or death in agony what would you choose?
Crowley chose life. Sometimes he regrets it.
~*~*~*~
It started like any other Tuesday - which stands for boring. As he liked best if Aziraphale wanted to be honest. And he always wanted to be honest - at least with himself. No customers in the bookshop, no contacts from Gabriel or Michaela in the morning, no vacuum cleaner salesmen or just any other people in his sight. It’s perfect.
It’s not that he hates people - on the contrary, he loves most of them and that’s why he sometimes wants to be left alone. Like they said - he is too good for his own good or something like that? People always, sooner or later, take advantage of his kindness.
He’s soft. He can’t be convincing enough in his refusals or ‘don’t-want-to’ things for most of the time and it, more often than not, ended badly for him. Like when his siblings kicked him out of the family business (that one turned to be very good because now he can own a very-just-his bookshop) or when he settled for a very long, very toxic relationship just because he didn’t know how to leave (the first and the last time Michaela intervened in his ‘love life’ and just kicked some asses; his only defense was that it was his first relationship and it was a very, very long time ago). Over the years, he has learned more assertiveness and he’s sure that it won’t happen again and he proved it by dealing with intrusive customers better and better - l ast week he sold only one book and he only did it because it wasn't his last copy .
Of course, the day can’t be too good, and Gabriel finally called to remind him that despite the fact he’s no longer a business executive he’s still one of the family members and has duties as one of them and that he wants his part of the work for yesterday. He of course doesn't care that today was the first day in which he hinted Azira had to do something for family - regardless of how little they agreed with each other, Aziraphale loves his family and duties for them always come on top of the list. But he didn’t argue - this will be pointless, because in his big family nobody ever cares about his opinion. For the rest of the day, he fulfilled his duties for the company - only papermaking, really, nobody really needed that, Azira was sure. But ‘a man chooses; a slave obeys’ or something like that.
So, an usual Tuesday. Almost. If we ignored the fact that, closing the bookstore for the night, he was kidnapped straight from the sidewalk. Then it's a very usual, normal Tuesday.
~*~*~*~
Being one of ‘The Most Trustworthy’ members of Hell's Angels has many disadvantages. Many people in the gang start this sentence without dis-, especially if they are in this group, but Crowley always has been a little different in this department. He never wanted to be the one from “elite” but it happened somehow anyway - and like many things in his life, he had a little (the truth is - he didn’t have it at all, but he had his pride and really, really loved to lie to himself) control of it.
So, he hates it. For most of the time. Being one of those members meant that he must do more different things (he really prefers simplicity of work from 9 to 17), work harder than anyone (again - he didn’t want that, but if he is anyway he want to be the best of them, it’s a matter of honour) and he must babysitting younger members of the gang, or, like Hastur like to say: torture them until they gonna love it.
But it’s not duties, at least not always, that led him to dislike this “work”. What caused that is the fact that the higher he climbed (not at all, it just happened) the more it all felt like falling (slipping on the rocks of the mountain) - lower and deeper in every minute. He wasn’t stupid - he know, that this is falling, not “being alphas of humanity” like every Hell’s Angels loves to say (they are liars, all of them). On top of the mountain is only lava and everybody meant to die in the mouth of a volcano - climbing was O.K. only if you never came to the top.
That’s why he always was, more or less, left alone. Because he doesn't care. Because they all can just kiss him in the ass, he doesn’t want to run in that Rat Race. He really just want to be left in fucking peace so that he can do his job in his own way, no help, thank you, that’s disturbing and you all are soooo stupid (nobody else here wants to think about that they are, in fact, doomed). He wasn’t stupid but probably it’s because he didn’t mean to fall in the first place. It just happened, because earlier, at the begining, yes, he was stupid. Very, very stupid in fact. ‘The Stupidest Man On The Planet’ on the scale of the Universe. He didn’t believe in redemption. That’s why he never really wanted to run from Hell’s Angels - he had nowhere to go anyway. He just stayed, did what they wanted from him, ate, slept, drank and sometimes found peace in his beloved Bentley (if he was lucky). It wasn’t life but he was alive and existed , didn’t he?
So, when he was asked by Beelzebub to ‘ Take Care’ of one of the guests (Lucifer never named them prisoners even when, in fact, this was exactly what they were) he just went to the Eastern Gate to Room Five. To ‘ Take Care’ . He didn’t know what that poor bastard did but he was almost lucky - Crowley was the laziest ‘The First Executioner’ ever and his effectiveness was high because Crowley could be ‘The most pissing off Man on Earth’ (and he usually was). In 99% of the cases, being the most pissing off person on Earth was enough for the interviewee to eventually testify just to get rid of him.
Because there were methods of torture that you couldn't train your people to survive, you just can’t even if you really want to. You could train them to withstand fire until the moment they could be almost fireproof, you could train them to resist brutal force or manipulation, but nothing can prepare your minions for a ‘simple conversation’ with Crowley. ‘The First Executioner’ knew very well that nobody can stand a mix of childish curiosity, vendorian talkativeness, egocentrism (he really doesn't care for answers or people in chairs), ignorance, hyperactivity and a little sadism. Most humans just can’t understand his actions, when in one moment he is very curious and almost compassionate, and in the other very mean and not interested at all. It's exhausting to listen to billions of questions per second that you can’t even recalculate for what to say and what not and then be left alone with the feeling that you have done something wrong after all and that you have somehow lost the other person's attention and desperately want that back (even if it’s ridiculous, why do you want it anyway?). It’s like play Good/Bad Cop in one person when you can juggle personalities within a split second. No, it wasn’t exactly that - because it wasn't an act. Crowley doesn’t play anybody, he just was himself. And that was frustrating because you can disclose manipulation, you can unmask somebody - but what can you do, when it’s all just the matter of personality? You can’t do nothing, that’s all. You can eventually scream and sometimes you really do that.
So, the Hell’s Angels know that their ‘The First Executioner’ was good. Or bad, in that case. And that he can force almost anyone to do or say almost everything. Nowadays they call him only when everybody (or so) else fails - they think that it was fun when “boys and girls” could do “whatever they want” and Crowley “repair it” anyway. In 99% cases, but it was very high anyway.
Cowley despised it. He didn’t mean to fall. But he did anyway. So he just opened the door to Room Five and entered.
He also didn’t mean to meet this man again. Not in this life, not in any other, even in the afterlife. But he did anyway.
‘Crowley?’ A weak question came from the darkness. ‘Is that you? I’ll never think that I can see you again!’
He regrets that either.