Chapter Text
Crowley walked into the flat with Aziraphale sure and steady at his heels. Crowley’s jacket and hair were properly damp. The angel looked unphased as he was in much the same state. It annoyed Crowley how glad Aziraphale looked to be here as if it hadn’t been 18 months of no contact, as if they hadn’t kissed on the mouth right before parting ways.
Crowley begrudgingly took his damp jacket off and plopped into the closest chair he could find, dark glasses still on so he could study the angel without giving anything away.
Aziraphale stood nonchalantly in the middle of the living room, his eyes casually grazing the interior of the flat. “I like what you’ve done with the place…” he said softly. “Very… industrial chic…”
Crowley scoffed at that. “Why are you here, Aziraphale?” He figured getting straight to the point would cut out any painful small talk.
“Shall I make some tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?” Aziraphale asked but, at Crowley’s silence, thought better than to push. “Right, well, before I… explain myself any further, I must tell you that I have received some news…” he said cautiously. “Rather perplexing news, actually. And it is important.”
“And what… you need me to help you with a problem?” The demon asked, coiled and ready to tell the other exactly where to stick it.
“Well, yes… you’re the only one who can solve the issue,” Aziraphale said and moved to take a seat across from Crowley. He sat down all prim and proper, eyes never leaving the demon.
“What can a lowly demon from hell do that the Supreme Archangel of Heaven cannot?” Crowley asked, leaning forward. “Who do I need to tempt and corrupt? What plan must I sabotage to save your holy arse from trouble?” As much as he was aware of the venom rising in his words, Crowley was not prepared to keep his rage in check. He’d been patient for too long, and the nerve of the angel to ask for help now was like fresh fuel to a fire that had dissipated into embers. And here he was, thinking it was just an apology.
“A demon is about to commit a crime punishable by the most extreme sanctions Heaven can unleash. And I have taken it upon myself to stop him.” Aziraphale murmured sternly.
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “Riveting. A demon committing punishable actions…”
“A demon or an angel cannot erase their own memory, and asking around for ways to get it done is a crime in and of itself, Crowley.” The angel finally said.
Crowley froze but did not let on that he felt like he was in trouble. “I see. And what punishment have you planned for this wily demon? The last extreme sanction I heard of was getting your name wiped off the book. Or has there been something more creative since you took office?”
“It is my duty to ensure whoever breaches confidential information to destroy it is punished,” Aziraphale said solemnly.
“So? Do it. Wipe their name off. Do something about it.” Crowley breathed out and leaned back in his seat.
“If I do it, it will be like they never existed.”
“Do it,” Crowley said, the sentence ending in a snarl – I dare you – he thought, storms in his eyes.
Aziraphale rose to his feet in a huff. “You are infinitely tiring, you know that?!”
Catching himself at the tail end of a flinch, Crowley raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
Aziraphale had that scowl on his face now, the one where his lips are pursed, and the space between his eyes holds all the anger and worry he could muster. “I know it’s you. You’ve been asking about your memories. And because they don’t just exist in Hell, Shax has had to ask Heaven for copies, too. And the request came to me because someone thinks it’s funny for me to wipe you out myself.”
The demon stayed silent for a beat or two before letting out a lame laugh. “Now that’s poetic.”
Aziraphale’s chest rose in deep, panicked breaths the more Crowley seemed to shrug off the direness of the situation, which only made Crowley laugh more.
Aziraphale was not a being of poor impulse or unplanned acts. His very existence had to be meticulous in order to avoid mess. However, the mess was inevitable when he decided to shack it up with a demon – and not just any demon, but the kindest, smartest, most infuriatingly good demon he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. So, the mess was a part of the gig. It was this embracing of the mess that caused the angel to throw the well-planned words he had in his head out the window. Talking would not convince the demon. It was this embracing of the mess that caused his angelic feet to close the distance between him and the lounging Crowley. He grabbed the other by the lapels of his waistcoat, hoisting him up to his feet. “I am sorry for leaving.” Aziraphale let out.
Crowley had found it amusing that Aziraphale would be the one to destroy him. He’d found it funny when the other was panicking on his behalf. He felt mildly enraged that Shax did not have the tact to be more discrete about who they asked about memory wipes, but also intrigued that they had been asking at all despite months of denying his request. He also felt anxious because as Aziraphale approached him with a certain desperation, he was sure he was about to be smited – smote? – smitten. Could it be worse than falling - than the sulphur, or than the pain and the confusion and the loneliness after? Could it be worse than the pain of being left behind by the only being he ever trusted? No, he thought, it could not.
When he was hoisted up by his waistcoat, he was brutally yanked out of his own spiralling thoughts. When Aziraphale apologised, inches from his face, he thought he might already be dead. When warm, cautious lips met his own, Crowley, who’d anticipated the sting of cruelty, instead felt awash with the salve-like embrace of Aziraphale. He wouldn’t attribute this warmth to Heaven – that place was sterile and cold. Only Aziraphale could emit this… this love and mean it.
It made Crowley want to sob.