Chapter Text
It was a strange thing, being in a relationship with a supernatural being, but mostly strange in the way that it wasn’t very strange at all. Sure, Crowley preferred to watch Aziraphale eat rather than have anything himself, but that really just meant more for Aziraphale, and he had finally begun to fill out his khakis and sweater vests again. And lots of people talked to their pets, so walking in on an argument between Crowley and Anthony, (a nearly daily occurrence), was surely at least somewhat of a shared experience between pet owners. Besides, there were plenty of advantages: if Aziraphale wanted to eat somewhere, they had no trouble getting a reservation, the cellar never seemed to run out of wine, and the garden had never been greener and more beautiful, (even if Aziraphale occasionally found the flowers shaking on a perfectly windless day.)
Needless to say, the last few years had been much more joyful than Aziraphale would have thought to expect after his friend’s death.
He had asked Crowley about Terry once, when the warm September sun had filtered through the sitting room window and Aziraphale had found himself clutching the small eyepiece gifted to his friend over two and a half years before.
“I can’t imagine that he would have ended up… He was such an incredible man, so I’m sure… Even with the trouble he liked to cause… I just wonder about how he’s doing.”
Crowley watched his angel’s back from his spot sprawled across the couch. Aziraphale’s shoulders were tense as he scanned the titles sitting snugly on one of the many bookshelves adorning the walls. The demon exchanged a look with the cat before standing up in a way that certainly couldn’t be replicated by anyone with a human skeletal structure and sauntered over to stand behind the blond man. He flinched but quickly relaxed as long black-clad arms snaked their way around his soft waist. “From everything you’ve told me about him,” Crowley’s voice came out as a warm hiss, like breath released by sudden relaxation, released by the hug of a loved one. “I’m sure he’s somewhere safe.” There was a short pause as Aziraphlae nodded. Crowley wasn’t sure it was a conscious action. He tightened his arms slightly. “I’m almost disappointed. Would have loved to meet the guy. Still, better that I miss out than the alternative.”
There was another silence, and then Aziraphale turned to face his demon, hands still clutching the monocle. “What’s heaven like?” His voice was so small. Crowley hated when he sounded like this. It had gotten less and less common in the time he’d lived here, (well, corporeally lived here), but still, every now and then, Aziraphale would flash those big blue eyes, slight crease appearing between them, and speak in that tone that sounded like it was one harsh breeze away from breaking.
“I haven’t been there in a very, very long time, angel.”
“I know. And I know it’s not exactly fair to be asking you any of this, it’s just,” he swallowed and dropped his gaze to his tartan socks, “you said the Angels - the real Angels - were horrible. Manipulative and cruel and deceiving. How… how is he supposed to be safe and happy in a place run by beings like that?”
Crowley frowned, feeling slightly guilty. He wouldn’t apologize for his spite towards the Angels. Each one of them was a great heaping pile of pricks and he wasn’t about to lie about that. But he hated worrying his angel, even by accident. (The one exception was driving him in the Bentley, but a healthy dose of demonic intervention kept that worry from resulting in any real damage.) He contemplated the platinum curls below his chin, then, having decided something, Crowley gave a curt nod and moved his arms down so he could lift Aziraphale’s thighs up and around his waist. It had become a slightly more difficult task in the last year or so, but he was a demon, dammit, and if he wanted to pick someone up, then he would bloody well pick them up. Aziraphale let out a squeal, (“I do not squeal dear. I may let out a surprised yell, but it’s not a squeal.” “Angel, I love you, and you definitely, 100% squeal like a little girl.”), as Crowley carried him over to the sofa and sat down. Anthony gave them both reproachful looks and slunk over to the chair as Crowley rearranged Aziraphale until the man was curled up in the demon’s lap, head resting on his shoulder so the blond curls tickled the edge of his jaw.
“Shut it.” Aziraphale looked up confusedly only to see Crowley glaring at the cat.
“What did he say?”
Crowley returned his attention to blue eyes, and a very fetching pink dusted itself across his cheeks, making his freckles stand out. “Nothing that needs repeating.” He cleared his throat, completely unnecessarily. “Right, anyway. The thing about Heaven is… it’s big.”
“... Big?”
“Yeah. Real bloody big. I mean, has to be, doesn’t it? Lots going on. So there’s all these different… I guess you could call them departments. Different departments in charge of different jobs. There’s those that are in charge of things happening on Earth, making sure everything’s good with the ‘Great Plan,’” he said this part with distaste, as if merely mentioning the thing was equivalent to swallowing mud, or gas station coffee, which he often argued were essentially the same, “those in charge of other angels, even those in charge of making sure they obtain enough souls… but then there’s those that are in charge of the souls they already have. The part of Heaven where the angels wander about is, as far as I can remember, cold, clean, and bloody bright. Essentially a big office building, yeah? Actually, that’s where the main entrance is right now. Some stupid glass monstrosity in Central London.”
“Crowley, you like those glass monstrosities.” Crowley looked down to see the small hint of amusement on Aziraphale’s face. Good, that’s progress.
“Well, yeah, the cool ones designed specifically to spite the engineers and most laws of physics. Not the boring ones that are there just to fill space.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything. “Right, so the Angels like wandering around in a big white box. But the part of Heaven where the souls are, the part with the humans… that part is what you lot think of when you think of Heaven. It’s paradise. Perfect and lovely and as close to human as those gits could possibly get. Kind of ironic, really.”
“What’s that, dear.”
The demon shrugged. “The best part of Heaven is the one part the Angels aren’t really supposed to go. But my point is, my point is,” he gave Aziraphala a little squeeze, “the souls that go to Heaven are happy. Really, angel. They are. And I’m sure Terry is tearing it up, having the time of his afterlife up there.”
Under the demon’s chin, the head of curls gave a small nod. He was still holding the monocle, fingers gently brushing along the nickel frame. “He would have loved you, you know. You two would have gotten on like a house on fire. Which, incidentally, is something I believe you’ve both caused at one point or another.”
“You have no proof. Now,” Crowley released his arms from their position around Aziraphale’s waist, “what would you say to some cake?” The demon gave a snap with a graceful upward flick of his wrist and the smell of something sweet started wafting in from the direction of the kitchen.
Aziraphale gave a little pout. “Dear, you know it’s not as good when you just miracle it up like that.”
Crowley let out an exaggerated sigh, that would probably be more accurately labeled as a groan, and rolled his head back on his shoulders. “ Satan , you humans are always so picky. Cake is cake.”
“I have standards.” Aziraphale stood and went about straightening his waistcoat as the demon continued to grumble on the sofa.
“Not as good when I miracle the cake, not as good when I miracle the laundry, not as good when I miracle the lube-” This last comment earned him a hardy smack directly to the chest. “ Oof . Oi, watch it, angel. I’m delicate.”
This caused another eyeroll. “Oh, please . We both know that if I were to cause you damage, it would hardly be from that .” He turned away and began making his way towards the door, but Crowley thought he heard the blond mutter something under his breath that sounded like, “It would be from something much more fun than that.”
Crowley couldn’t stop his smirk and pulled himself off his seat to follow Aziraphale to the door. “Oh no. Where are you going? Is it something I said? Are you abandoning me with the cat?”
Aziraphale shook his head, attempting to hide his own responding smirk as he sat to pull on his Oxfords. “No. Although I don’t agree with your methods, cake does sound rather nice. What would you say to a trip over to Tracy’s?” The real estate agent that had sold Aziraphale his beautiful little cottage had decided to close her practice the year before, settling down and opening a small bakery along Tadfield’s High Street. While that alone wasn’t all that bizarre, her interest in Aziraphale’s old army friend, Shadwell, took a bit more getting used to. He had come by to visit spring before last for the first time since helping the blond move into his cottage and they had all decided to try out the lovely new little bakery. The two had been pining ever since.
“Sounds great, angel. I’ll drive.”
“You most certainly will not,” Aziraphale retorted, standing and pulling on his lighter summer coat. “It is a lovely day and there is no rush whatsoever. We’re walking.”
And so they wandered down the streets of Tadfield to the small bakery and ordered their cake, (and a scone, and maybe a croissant or two, Crowley wasn’t about to deny his angel a pastry), and sat and ate and chatted and watched the afternoon lazily drift towards dusk. They grabbed dinner on the way home and walked back home, hand in hand, deliberately passing Mr. Tyler’s place because Crowley relished in the old man’s obvious disdain. By the time they got home, the evening sky was flirting with nighttime, and they settled into the sitting room with a glass of wine each, takeaway container settled on Aziraphale’s lap.
They chatted and debated and joked well into the night until Crowley started to yawn. It still struck Aziraphale as rather funny that the being who didn’t technically need to sleep still spent much more time unconscious than he did. They headed into the bedroom, Crowley sauntering a bit more haphazardly than he would normally, and changed into their sleep clothes, (Aziraphale in blue pinstriped PJs and Crowley in boxers and a worn Queen shirt), before crawling into bed, Crowley wrapping himself around the angel like the serpent Aziraphale knew him once to be.
The next morning, (11:52 was still morning, thank you very much), Crowley was woken by a knocking on the door, followed by Aziraphale’s voice coming from the kitchen: “Dear, would you get that? I’m a bit tied up.” Crowley resisted the urge to respond with I wish and rolled out of bed. With a snap, he was wearing black skinny jeans over his boxers so as not to scar whoever dared interrupt his sleep. Pulling open the door, the demon found himself face to face with a witch. “What?”
“Good morning to you too.” Anathema made her way into the house, giving the demon’s copper curls a ruffle on her way by. He just grumbled and went to shut the door, but it was pushed back open by a fluffy-haired teenager.
“Nice shirt, Crowley.”
“Thanks, Adam.” Adam was followed by Pepper and Brian, who both offered their own greetings, (“Hey, old man.” “Hi, Crowley!”) and behind them was Wensley and Newt locked deeply into a conversation about… something to do with numbers. Whatever, those two were weird.
Once everyone was through the door, Crowley shut it and turned to shout towards the back of the house. “Oi! Aziraphale! You didn’t tell me you had invited a parade over!”
His indignance was responded only with, “It’s Sunday, dearest.”
Pause.
“Is not.”
“Is too,” chorused the teenagers.
Crowley lumbered his way to the kitchen to find Anathema taking her station next to Aziraphale at the stove. He noticed the demon standing there and threw him a smile before continuing, “I’ve also invited over Tracy and Shadwell, so I thought we’d eat out in the garden. Have a bit more room. And it is such a lovely day.” Crowley turned to the dining room to find that the Them were indeed grabbing chairs and carrying them to the backdoor. Fortunately they didn’t have to lug out the dining table anymore. Two summers before, when the weather had started to warm, they had purchased an outdoor table specifically for this purpose and settled it on the back patio. Newt was already sitting happily at his spot, having learned a while ago that it was better to just stay out of the way rather than risk dropping the fruit salad. In the early days, he had tried to help with the table and ended up knocking off one of the legs. Crowley had quickly miracled it fixed and everyone mostly just thought it was funny, but after that he elected to wait at the table until food was served.
Crowley turned back to the two bustling in the kitchen. “Do I have to put real clothes on?”
“No, that’s alright, dear,” said Aziraphale at the same time Anathema said, “Yes, you bloody disaster.” Then she turned to a smirking angel. “Did I use that right?”
“Yes, I believe you did.” He turned to face his partner with an indulgent smile. “If you would be willing, dear, but you don’t have to.”
“That means yes,” chirped Anathema.
“Yeah, I’m aware.” He sighed dramatically but made his way back to their room to get changed.
By the time he was buttoning up his waistcoat, (he was keeping the jeans on, dammit, but he could at least pretend to look like he was trying), there was another knock at the door.
“Got it!” he called down the hall, sliding along the hardwood to get the door. He pulled it open and was surprised to find both Tracy and Shadwell. He hadn’t expected the two of them to come together. “Hey, guys. Come on in.”
Tracy smiled and gave him a “Thanks, love,” while Shadwell merely grunted and stepped in behind her.
Sunday brunch, (or lunch, as it always turned out to be), was just as nice as it had been every other week for the last two years or more. Aziraphale had made a lovely spread with the assistance of Anathema and the table was laden with sausages, eggs, fruit, juice, and crepes, which Aziraphale spent a month teaching himself to make. Seated around the slightly too small table were familiar faces, laughing and smiling and generally enjoying each other’s company under the late summer sun. As the afternoon marched on, Aziraphale felt his worries from the previous day fade. Even the question he hadn’t asked Crowley, about what would happen if he himself went to Heaven, a place the demon could no longer go, seemed to become inconsequential. Aziraphale hadn’t had faith in a very long time, but sitting in his back garden with all the people he loved most in the world, next to his grinning demon whose hair shone like fire and eyes like molten gold, he found it incredibly doubtful that everything wouldn’t turn out alright. They had time, they had love, and they had the world. And even if neither of them could find it in themselves to have faith in God anymore, at least they could have faith in that.