Chapter Text
“Come on, Angel,” Crowley stated, holding out his elbow for Aziraphale to take.
“Where are we going?” They had done this enough times by now that whenever Crowley held out his arm like that, Aziraphale knew they were time-hopping.
“...I’m showing you the whole truth.” Crowley hoped Aziraphale didn’t hear the way his voice wavered as he spoke.
With a look of shock in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide as well as he tried, Aziraphale took the arm that was offered to him. Crowley, for the first time since the angel had reappeared into his life, allowed himself to indulge in the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest at the touch. This was a special occasion. Crowley knew that once he’d shown Aziraphale how it had ended between them, it would be over. The temporary life that he’d re-grown between himself and the amnesiac angel would wither away and Aziraphale would return to Heaven.
So, Crowley felt absolutely no shame or guilt in pausing for just a moment to soak up the affection glowing like an ember within the emptiness of his ribcage at the caress of Aziraphale’s hand in his elbow. Trust him, it was a guilt-free indulgence.
Ok, maybe he felt a little guilt. But at that point, it was like spilling a cup of water into the ocean; in the grand scheme of Crowley’s Guilt, it was hardly noticeable.
With a rather dismal sigh, the demon redirected his train of thought away from Aziraphale’s hand and towards the beginning of the Almost Apocalypse. Aziraphale would need as much context as necessary to understand the very complex situation that was the Jim Incident.
When Crowley opened his eyes, he was back in that blasted graveyard with Hastur and Ligur. He didn’t even have to pay attention to what was going on. This particular part of his long and tiresome existence was not something that he would forget anytime soon. He couldn’t help but laugh at Hastur as he fumbled what the meaning of “ciao” meant, dumb bloody bastard.
But, of course, you know the rest. Wrong baby, the scramble to find the right boy, their two fights within an hour of each other, Aziraphale’s bookshop burning down, Tadfield Airbase, and their respective trials. Aziraphale had merely watched it all go down, commenting on little things here and there.
The worst part for Crowley to re-experience was, naturally, the bookshop burning. The heat was unbearable. Hellfire couldn’t hold a candle to how oppressive the flames were on that fire. Crowley hadn’t needed to breathe, but he felt as if the smoke was suffocating him. It had filled his throat as he desperately cried out for the love of his life, strangling out his hope like the oxygen in his lungs. The sharp blast of water was what finally dashed his hopes. It was the reality check he had needed at that moment, but not the one he wanted. He had wanted to live in that sliver of faith he harbored moments earlier when he charged into the flaming bookstore, but he knew the second he saw the flames that Aziraphale wasn’t there. He had just been hoping he was wrong.
Oh, what a sin
Aziraphale had been extra silent during that whole scene. He even went pale when the demon had been violently struck by the high-pressure blast of water from the firehose. But, he didn’t comment at all. Crowley could hardly blame him. What was there to say, really? It was a very somber moment that spoke for itself.
And then there was Crowley’s behavior after Aziraphale’s discorporation. He was such a sorry sight to behold that it even fostered a sense of pity in the demon’s chest for himself. However, the main emotion he felt watching his past self grieve in a drunken stupor and slurring out his pitiful past about falling from the warm embrace of Heaven into a pit of boiling sulfur, was embarrassment. He had felt the overwhelming urge to apologize to the angel standing next to him for how he had acted.
“I lost my best friend,” Past Crowley uttered, his tone watery and on the verge of bursting into tears.
“You were referring to me, no?” Current Aziraphale asked, leaning in towards his partner and speaking in a hushed tone. It was as if he was afraid of catching the attention of their past counterparts for some reason.
The demon hesitated to answer. He wasn’t entirely sure why. But, ultimately, he had promised to tell Aziraphale the whole truth. And he intended to keep that promise.
“Yes. I was.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so clipped. But in his defense, he was experiencing that awfully painful sense of losing your other half all over again. He was almost jealous of his past self here. He was allowed to express that sorrow whereas Current Crowley could not. There was no comfort of knowing that the world was going to end in half an hour, so there was no freedom to just damn the consequences. He had to hold himself together not for himself, but because Aziraphale was depending on him. And, as it had been well established by now, the angel’s needs always came first.
+++
Crowley had made the executive decision to skip the years between the Apocalypse That Wasn’t and The Gabriel Thing as there really wasn’t much to show. The pair of them had hardly gotten the chance to see one another, what with that blasted pandemic and all. Besides, Aziraphale had already seen Current Crowley moping around missing his angel enough that he wasn’t missing Past Crowley doing it during lockdown.
Instead, he snapped them to when Not Gabriel showed up stark naked to Aziraphale’s door. Crowley couldn’t help but feel a stab of rage lance itself through his chest; that was the start of the end for them. That was the moment where it all started to go awry.
Just as with the rest of the more current memories, Aziraphale was quiet. He intently observed each moment as if he was committing each one to memory in excruciating detail. And perhaps he was. Crowley knew that if he had lost his memory like the angel had and was given the opportunity to relive it, he’d try to document each part in his mind as best as he could.
However, it was excruciating for Crowley. He wasn’t able to tell what Aziraphale was thinking through each moment. He was wearing this impassable, expressionless mask that was driving the demon mad.
Then came the worst part of all.
Crowley had begun shaking as soon as the party had started. It wasn’t awful at first, just a subtle quiver in his hands. As the night went on and the demons and Shax were storming the bookshop, it had spread to cover the entirety of his skin.
And then Metatron had walked through the door.
Suddenly, that benign shake had seeped into his very bones. It seemed as if his entrails had started to cower, Crowley’s very insides trembling in fear at the sight of the angel. It felt as if the very ground he was standing on was roiling beneath him, the walls crumbling around him. That fragile existence he had worked so fucking hard to carve out for himself and Aziraphale was in jeopardy and Past Crowley was too caught up in his former boss being in love with Aziraphale’s former boss to even recognize the threat for what it was. It struck him in the back of his mind in a tiny voice that he wasn’t sure if he was shaking in fear or anger anymore.
“Right. It’s just you and me, Aziraphale. I think we need to have a bit of a chin wag… Don’t you?” Metatron proposed, his voice friendly and warm but Crowley could see right past it. He saw that cold, calculating look in those beady eyes of his, always two steps ahead of everyone else. Guess when you are the voice of God, you start to think of yourself as one.
Crowley once again was left to stand uselessly by as the love of his life was convinced to walk away from him… convinced to abandon him.
“Don’t go,” Current Crowley had begged quietly. It sounded desperate to his own ears, and he couldn’t deny that it was desperate. Here he was, forced to rewatch the lead up to the most heartbreaking moment of his life with no power to change the outcome, and he was pleading with his one and only love, who could not hear him.
“Stop him!!” he had screamed at his past counterpart. But, again, it was useless.
That feeling of utter helplessness only became worse as Aziraphale walked out of the shop with Metatron. He wanted to chase after them, to know once and for all what that rat bastard had said to convince Aziraphale to leave behind his life with Crowley for a promotion in Heaven, but he found himself unable to move. He was frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the door unseeing, every part of him feeling like the embodiment of television static.
The trembling hadn’t gone away.
He felt a delicate hand press onto his shoulder, wrenching him out of his spiral of panic. Crowley whipped his head around to see Aziraphale gazing at him with a barely concealed look of concern in those gorgeous blue eyes.
All of the sudden, Crowley felt as if the darkest of clouds parted to make way for the sunlight. Without meaning to, the demon took a deep, gasping breath as the gloom departed from his chest. No longer did he feel as though he was being violently thrown about on the rocky and unforgivable ocean, but sailing smoothly on a calm and unassuming lake. He hadn’t even realized that he was leaning into Aziraphale’s touch until he felt himself nearly lose his balance.
Though, he couldn’t stare his salvation in the face for long. After a moment, he tore his gaze away and pinched his eyes shut. The action unintentionally caused the tears brimming in his eyes to tumble down his cheeks, his fingers quickly flying up to furiously wipe them away in the hopes that Aziraphale wouldn’t see. Crowley didn’t know why he bothered; the angel had seen him cry less than a week ago. But dignity was made to be held with a death grip.
By the time Crowley gathered himself, Past Aziraphale had re-entered the shop. He hadn’t even noticed he missed Maggie and Nina’s little pep-talk with him. Nearly this entire journey of having to relive his entire history with Aziraphale had felt like an out-of-body experience. But watching himself nervously stand in that bookshop as he attempted to gear himself up for the bravest thing he’s ever had to, well out-of-body didn’t even cover it. He felt as though he was in an entirely different plane of existence as he numbly observed himself stumble over words.
“Look, I suppose, um… I’ve got something to say,” Past Crowley attempted, his fingers fiddling with his sunglasses, “I know we ought to be talking about- It’s probably best that I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, ‘cause if I don’t start talking now, I won’t ever start talking, Right? Yes, so-”
“What’s that lovely human expression?” Aziraphale interrupted, excitement in his voice, “Oh, yes! Hold that thought.”
Current Crowley felt his heart sink to the floor. His past iteration of himself had been disappointed in the moment, but the crushing weight of the angel halting his momentum made Crowley feel as though he was a million miles below the sea, the weight of all those hundreds of millions of gallons of water suffocating him and compacting him.
Crowley purposefully made himself gaze out the window to watch the pedestrians buzz about the streets of Soho. He found himself unable to listen to Aziraphale’s speech about his new job opportunity as it made him want to vomit all over the carpet. His blood had long turned to ice inside his veins as he felt his skin begin to fall victim of necrosis. His eyes had pinched shut as he leaned himself into the hand that was still placed on his shoulder, craving any and all comfort he could allow himself to indulge in, however small it may be.
“He said what?” Past Crowley slowly hissed, his incredulous anger starting to mount.
“He said I could appoint you to be an angel. You could come back to Heaven and… and everything! Like the old times! Only even nicer!” Past Aziraphale looked as if he were about to burst from his excitement.
He’d recognized it then and he’d recognized it now, but Crowley had once again come to the realization that Aziraphale had never ever looked at the demon with that much excitement. Not in the over 6,000 years of their knowing one another; not once.
“Right… And you told him just where he could stick it, then?”
Current Crowley didn’t even have to look to know that the angel’s face had dimmed significantly. He could see it in his mind’s eye, the way his smile fell at Crowley’s response. He clearly had not expected that response from the demon; God knows why. Because, really, when had Crowley ever uttered the desire of returning to Heaven? Yeah, Hell wasn’t fantastic, but heaven made it perfectly clear to him that he was not fit to house him and humor his silly little questions.
“Not at all…” Aziraphale answered through a forced smile.
Past Crowley’s anger surged at the response. “Oh, we’re better than that- you’re better than that, Angel!”
The correction was not lost on Crowley, but it seemed to have gone right over the angel’s head.
“You don’t need them. I certainly don’t need them!”
Crowley really wished he could be anywhere else in the entire universe. He’d even take Hastur’s torture methods over being in the bookshop.
He’d failed to notice, but the demon’s hands were clenched into fists as he attempted to fight back the tears once again brimming in his eyes. It was awful, having to live through this again.
“Tell me you said no!” Past Crowley spat, not seeing how much Aziraphale’s face had fallen.
A silence permeated the bookshop, one that was loaded with so many complex emotions and words unspoken that it was a miracle there was any oxygen left in the place.
Past Aziraphale glanced away, his mouth quivering as if attempting to form words that he couldn’t quite bring himself to formulate. It was answer enough for Past Crowley, but that didn’t matter. He took a step towards the angel, his eyes locked onto Aziraphale’s.
“Tell me you said no,” he repeated, softer this time around. You see, by that point, all of his anger had drained right out of him with that simple little glance away. Instead, it left a pitiful little glimmer of hope that was battered by reality.
Past Aziraphale couldn’t even say the word. Instead, he uttered an excuse for why he accepted the position.
The pain of that sentence was still just as poignant the second time around hearing that.
At this point, Past Crowley had begun to change gears. Clearly this was no longer a conversation about what they should do about their future together, but a battle of core beliefs. No longer was this confession going to be about confirming his feelings for Aziraphale, but a desperate attempt to get him to stay.
He never could ever have things go in the way he wanted them to go, could he? For his entire existence, he’s had what he wants most just out of reach, and it seemed that today was no goddamn exception.
Crowley hadn’t known where to start. So he figured just stating the facts would be a good way to ease himself into it. Maybe if he started small, he’d be able to work his way up to finally asking for something he wanted after 6,000 years.
Current Crowley’s heart thundered within his chest, his blood pounding against his veins. He knew what was coming next.
“We’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me… I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We’re a team, a group; group of the two of us…”
Finally, Current Crowley realized just how hard he was clenching his fist. His nails had dug so far into his skin that he felt blood begin to drip down onto his fingers.
“And we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t,” Past Crowley managed, his voice wavering under the sheer amount of emotion weighing down on him, not to mention the stakes that were present.
Just say something, he had begged Aziraphale in his head.
The silence was so oppressive that Past Crowley felt himself needing to fill it.
“I mean, the last few years, not really.”
And here it comes. The part that was the hardest. The asking.
“And I would like to spend…”
Past Crowley growled at himself in frustration.
“I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it - go off together - then we can!”
Coward, Current Crowley spat at his past self. He still wasn’t able to say what he wanted - what he needed - despite this being his one and only chance.
“You and me, what do you say?” Crowley had tried to keep some of that same nonchalance that he relied on so heavily to mask his emotions, but it came out wrong. It was too forced to be believable.
“Come with me… to Heaven. I’ll run it, you can be my second in command,” Aziraphale pleaded after stepping closer to the demon. “We can make a difference!”
It hadn’t worked. The offer of just Crowley how he was, just the two of them being able to live happily ever after in retirement had failed. He wasn’t even sure why he tried. Demons don’t get to live happily ever after.
He still had one last card he could pull.
“You can’t leave this bookshop.” You can’t leave me.
Fine. Aziraphale didn’t want him? Maybe he’d want his bookshop that he seemed to love more than he could ever love Crowley.
“Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever.”
A single tear sluggishly trickled down Present Crowley’s cheek.
“No.”
He had lost.
“No, I don’t suppose it does.”
Past Crowley schooled his face to become an expressionless mask, aided by the help of his sunglasses sliding back onto his nose.
“Good luck,” he bid before heading for the door. He needed to leave, to just get away. It was too stuffy in that bookshop. There wasn’t enough oxygen left in the world, frankly. His throat was closing in on itself, turning into a vice grip around itself.
“‘Good luck’? Cr-Crowley!” Aziraphale chased after the demon, his eyebrows knit in concern.
He kept walking towards the door, his shoulders hunched in on himself. He just had to make it to the door, that was it. Then he’d be free to forget all this happened with the help of multiple bottles of liquor.
“Crowley, come back… to Heaven!” It felt as if the last part was tacked on at the end as an afterthought; come back to me it almost said. But, Crowley didn’t want to get his hopes up. Nothing good ever happens when he does that.
He did turn around, however. Though, he couldn’t say he was exactly listening as Aziraphale tried that same tired argument of them being angels again. He didn’t care that that particular argument had only started a few minutes earlier, he was already dead fucking tired of it.
He couldn’t even bear to look Aziraphale in the eyes as he chattered on about “doing good” or whatever.
“I-I need you!”
Present Crowley felt a tear fall down his other cheek, this one falling quickly from his eye. It was hot and angry, his entire face feeling as though it was on fire.
You bloody liar
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you,” Aziraphale stated, his voice significantly stronger than the last lie he just spoke. He’d attempted to school his face into a mask of authority, but that knit in his brow gave him away.
“I understand,” Crowley finally looked over at the angel, “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”
That small glimmer of hope drained from Aziraphale’s eyes.
“Well…”
He’d resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to convince Crowley to join him.
“...then there’s nothing more to say.”
Keep fighting, Crowley had wanted to say. If he kept fighting, that meant he cared.
It wasn’t meant to end like this.
“Listen. You hear that?” Crowley pointed upwards, his tone containing the smallest edge to it.
“I don’t hear anything,” Aziraphale answered in a huff, his arms coming up just a bit before going back to his sides in a show of annoyance.
“That’s the point.”
Hurt him like he hurt you
“No nightingales.”
“You utter fool,” Present Crowley cursed at himself under his breath, his tone watery as it managed to slip through his gritted teeth.
“You idiot,” the demon lamented, “we could’ve been… us.”
Aziraphale looked away at that, a conflicted look in his eye.
You’re losing him, Past Crowley had thought to himself. It was an awful and desperate little thought that nearly paralyzed him with fear. He needed to do something, to at least try to keep his precious angel where he was… to keep him with him.
He didn’t think as he started walking towards the angel, acting on instinct alone and desperation.
Current Crowley pinched his eyes shut again. He couldn’t stand to look at the two of them kissing. He didn’t need to. His nerves came alive with the sensory memory of it, his skin forever branded with the feeling of his lips finally pressed against the being that mattered most to him in the entire universe. He even felt that bloody ember of hope reignite inside of himself when he felt Aziraphale’s hands cautiously come to rest on his back. He wanted to stay in that moment, to forever have that warm embrace wrapped around him with an undying sense of love that even God’s light couldn’t hold a candle to.
But he pulled away.
He needed to know if his desperate, half-baked attempt at getting the angel to stay with him worked. Crowley was sure that his pitiful hope was showing on his face, and it was. It was clear in the way his eyebrows curved slightly upwards over his glasses, the way his mouth parted to let out the silent word of begging.
Please
“I forgive you.”
Those words formed a dagger that Aziraphale then used to plunge into his heart. It was bleeding all over the carpet and the angel scolded him for staining the rug. At least he had the decency to look Crowley in the face as he desecrated the demon’s heart. True friends stab you in the front, and all.
It certainly wasn’t the three word phrase he was hoping for.
Crowley let out a sigh, the breath leaving him taking that stupid fucking ounce of hope he had with it.
“Don’t bother.”
The bell to the bookshop door jingled indifferently as Crowley left the bookshop for the last time. He wouldn’t return to it, despite Muriel’s attempts.
And despite him leaving that bookshop with that bleeding chest wound of betrayal, Crowley dutifully went to stand beside his Bentley. He observed Metatron step in the building, too heartbroken to even conjure up the proper amount of righteous fury for the bastard.
And he waited.
He waited, hoping against hope that his precious angel would make the right decision. That he would tell Heaven to piss off and return to Crowley. That they would jump in the car together and plan the rest of their lives together away from it all.
Because despite everything, Crowley was, underneath it all, an optimist.
He waited in vain.
Current Crowley stayed planted in his spot as Current Aziraphale chased his past self out of the bookshop; there were probably roots growing around his feet at that point.
He returned with a somber look in his cerulean eyes, his hands twiddling as he walked towards his counterpart like an innocent man walking towards the noose.
This was it. This was the part where Aziraphale would, politely, tell Crowley that he wanted absolutely nothing more to do with him. This is where he would watch the love of his life, the most precious being ever in the whole blasted universe walk out of his life once more.
He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it again.
Maybe he should set up another robbery of a church.
“I-I would like to go back, please,” Aziraphale timidly requested, his eyes cast downwards. His hands still hadn’t stopped wringing.
Crowley nodded numbly. He reached a hand out to hold the angel’s shoulder. When had he started shaking again?
With a snap of his fingers, they landed back in his apartment. It was dead silent and it remained that way as he slipped his hand off Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“I…” the angel began, turning to look at Crowley. With an audible swallow and a deep breath, he tried again. “I need some time to think.”
Get away from me, you filthy vermin, is what Crowley heard.
Taking the hint, the demon made himself scarce. When he finally reached his bedroom, he shut the door and engaged the lock.
That was when he burst into tears.
Sliding his back down the door, Crowley - the Serpent of Eden - held his head in his hands as he sobbed. He sobbed into the cold, dark emptiness of his room.
It was the only comfort he’d ever been able to let himself get acquainted with.