Good Omens: The Devil's Favor (Crowley x Aziraphale)

Epilogue

Crowley snaked his way through the crowds of Hell. Many of the demons he passed glared and shook their heads. He'd only half expected to get this far through the underbelly of the hellish halls, so he counted it as a win so far. He had to admit that the angel's plan seemed a bit farfetched but was technically truthful, and he hoped that technicality was what would save their collective hides. Crowley had to play it cool. All he had to do was pretend to be a narcissistic smug bugger, and he didn't think he'd have to work too hard at it.

He flicked out his tongue. No stupid sign was going to stop him from licking whatever the hell he felt like licking.

Crowley reached the door to Dagon's office and paused. This was it. Everything they had worked for and everything they had sacrificed, it had to be enough. It had to make the difference and convince their higher-ups that they were each loyal to their respective parties.

Dagon would not be happy after losing to Aziraphale, but he had to hope that leaving the angel in such a battered state would be enough to satisfy them.

He entered the room.

Crowley tried to return the devilish sneer to Dagon, but he didn't have nearly enough teeth. He sat and shifted on the chair. It wobbled from a loose leg and had grime crusted all over it like mange on a scrawny mutt. He would've had better luck trying to find a comfortable spot to sit on an actual rabid dog instead of the blasted chair.

"So," Dagon purred. "You are here to report on your fight with the angel, Aziraphale?"

Crowley nodded and rubbed his hands together. "Yeah, it was an intense fight. Barely managed to escape in one piece."

"Is that so? Then, why don't you recount the events of the evening."

Crowley forced out a smug smile. "Oh, yeah. Got the bastard good. We, uh, fought all night. Nearly got myself discorporated a few times."

Dagon pointed at his neck. "Is that why your human body is covered in–"

"Bruises. Bruised all over actually. Been too tired to send them away. I'll probably do it later, after a good nap or something." He yawned. He really had given it his all; it had been a few centuries since he'd pulled an all-nighter like that.

Dagon glared daggers at him. "It seems very unlikely that you'd be the sole demon to survive the blast from that insufferable angel."

"Well I told you, didn't I? I'm the only one who knows him well enough to evade his attacks. I tried to help you lot, but you all thought I'd gone mad and fed you some bloody lies. We could've had him if you'd just listened to me."

Dagon stood from the desk and paced behind it, weaving back and forth like an irritated eel, eager to snap its jaws. "So, this battle, did you at least injure him? Stab him a few times perhaps?"

"Of course. I, um, actually landed the first blow. Had to disintegrate his armor first, but after that, it was," his cheeks flushed pink, and he coughed, "it was easy to take him down. I got in there and...got him good?" He glanced at Dagon through his shades. It wasn't really a lie, technically.

"So, you did, in fact, try to discorporate him?"

Crowley scoffed. "Of course, I did! I fu-fought him all night. I tried my damnedest to, uh, top him, but..."

"But?"

Crowley hung his head. "He got me in the end. I couldn't take him."

"Even after our combined forces, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate still had enough angelic force left to defend against your attacks?"