He knew it was a mistake the moment he'd done it, of course, he knew it would only be worse for him now, Lucifer will burn him and whisper threats in his ear, and sure enough. Aziraphale tries to twist out of the grip but it's inescapable, forcing him back against the wall, the now-familiar sensation of burning and freezing spreading fast across his skin. He whimpers helplessly, twisting and struggling as much as he can, and, though it is a horrendous concession, squeezing his eyes shut. There is no respite in this: out of the dark he only sees Lucifer's prophecies painted out before him, sees himself tangled in Hell's web, held down by it, subjugated, ruined, spirit utterly broken. It is worse than any death, seeing himself there. He opens his eyes again, forces himself back into the the here and now.

He moans, soft and desperate, muffled beneath Lucifer's hand. He looks into Lucifer's eyes and tries to tell himself again and again that he will never give in, his will will never break. It is becoming more difficult to believe.