'Til We Meet Again - Crowley x Reader

Chapter 11

1793, Paris

The year was 1793, and Paris was a city steeped in chaos and terror during the tumultuous Reign of Terror. Aziraphale, the angel with a penchant for fine food and books, found himself imprisoned in a bleak cell in the Bastille, with the grim sounds of the guillotine echoing from the window. The Reign of Terror was in full swing, and Aziraphale's celestial nature had earned him the attention of the revolutionaries.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Crowley, had recently started dating, and their love had blossomed amidst the trials and tribulations of their shared adventures. The couple, who had embarked on a romantic journey together, arrived in Paris on a mission to rescue their dear friend. The city was in turmoil, the streets filled with the cries of revolutionaries and the ominous sight of the guillotine.

.......

Within the grim stone walls of the Bastille, Aziraphale sat in his dimly lit cell, the weight of his captivity bearing heavily on him. The Revolution had swept across Paris, and he had found himself ensnared in its merciless grip.

Then, as if by a miraculous intervention, a familiar presence stirred in the shadows of his cell. The door swung open, revealing two figures who seemed entirely out of place amidst the prison's oppressive atmosphere, Crowley and Y/N.

Aziraphale's eyes widened in disbelief as he stood up from his meager cot. "Crowley? Y/N? What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

Crowley, ever the embodiment of nonchalance, sauntered forward with a sly grin. "Oh, you know, just dropping by for a visit. Thought we'd check out the local accommodations."

Y/N, standing beside Crowley, offered a warm smile. "We heard you needed some help, Aziraphale."

As the trio exchanged pleasantries, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope in the midst of his dire circumstances. The presence of his celestial friends, even in the darkest of times, was a source of solace.

"So, what brings you to Paris?" Aziraphale asked, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

Y/N exchanged a knowing look with Crowley before answering. "Hell rewarded Crowley's work with a trip to Paris," she explained, her voice filled with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Crowley added with a grin, "And we decided to make it a romantic getaway."

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, his celestial senses detecting the change in their relationship dynamics. "A romantic trip, you say?"

Crowley, leaning casually against the cell's stone wall, couldn't contain a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Might as well spill the celestial beans. Y/N and I are dating."

Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle at their explanation. "Ah, a romantic trip to Paris amidst the chaos of the Revolution. How very you."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the cell. The door swung open once more, revealing Aziraphale's captor, a surly individual who bore the insignia of the Revolution.

The captor's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the sight of the celestial beings standing before him. He stammered, "Who are you people? How did you get in here?"

Crowley, never one to pass up an opportunity for mischief, offered a sly grin as he raised a hand. "Oh, you know, just a bit of celestial intervention. Nothing to worry about."

With a flick of his fingers, Crowley performed a subtle miracle. The captor's uniform and appearance transformed, leaving him clothed in the garb of a nobleman.

Aziraphale and Y/N exchanged amused glances, and Aziraphale chuckled. "My dear Crowley, always the showman."

The captor, now dressed as an aristocrat, looked thoroughly bewildered and entirely out of place in his newfound attire. "What's happening?"

Crowley, in his usual enigmatic manner, waved dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about that. Just enjoy your time in the Bastille. It's quite the fashionable establishment these days."

Aziraphale found himself dressed as a revolutionist, and his captor, now dressed as a prisoner, was led away to face the guillotine.

.......

With Aziraphale's escape assured, the trio made their way to a quaint little creperie, a charming oasis amidst the chaos of revolution. As they savored their crepes, Aziraphale explained his unexpected presence in France with his characteristic air of nonchalance.

"Well, you see, I was feeling rather peckish," Aziraphale confessed between bites of crepe. "And what better place to satisfy one's culinary desires than France?"

Y/N and Crowley exchanged amused glances, their friend's insatiable appetite for good food a familiar quirk. They couldn't help but smile in the midst of the madness that surrounded them.

As they began to leave Paris, their hearts were lighter, believing that they had escaped the clutches of the Revolutionists. But fate had other plans. Just as they were about to depart, Y/N was seized by the relentless hands of the revolutionaries. Her eyes met Crowley's and Aziraphale's, filled with fear and desperation as she was dragged away.

Crowley and Aziraphale searched frantically, their hearts pounding as they navigated the chaotic streets. They ran down street after street until the arrived in a crowded square. The pair pushed their way through the crowd, desperately seeking Y/N.

Their search ended at the grim spectacle of the guillotine. Crowley and Aziraphale were powerless to intervene as Y/N was dragged before the guillotine, her fate sealed in a cruel twist of destiny. Y/N, who had been caught in the clutches of the Revolutionists, stood before the instrument of death. Her gaze met Crowley's, a mixture of fear and resignation in her eyes. 'I love you' she mouthed to him. Tears welled in Crowley's eyes, he hated the feeling of being powerless to save her.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood in the crowd, shock and fear freezing their bodies. The guillotine's blade fell, and in that heart-wrenching moment, they watched in helpless horror as their beloved Y/N was beheaded before their eyes and the crowd roared. The revolution's relentless thirst for justice had claimed another victim, and in the shadow of the guillotine, they were left with only the painful memory of Y/N's death. Although Y/N had died so many times before, they would never get used to the idea.

In the midst of the French Revolution's Reign of Terror, they had witnessed the cruel and unforgiving face of humanity, a reminder of the fragile nature of life in a world marked by chaos and revolution.