Chapter Text
“ - and watched the rain fall,” Aziraphale finished. He’d recalled everything that happened since Chapter 15, as those chapters covered the beginning of his life. Or what he considered to be the beginning of his life, at any rate.
Next to him, Crowley sighed contentedly. He was tucked under the covers and against Aziraphale, pretending to be asleep. He’d woken up somewhere around the middle of Chapter 15, completely missing Aziraphale’s conversation with God; when he awoke, he’d made Aziraphale start Chapter 15 over.
His eyes were only half open as he mumbled, “You read good, angel.”
“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled at him. Early morning light streamed in through the window, gently warming the exposed side of Crowley’s face, caressing it. Aziraphale thought about doing the same, but hesitated, unsure as to how the demon would receive the gesture. It had been a trying day for the both of them; Aziraphale didn’t want to become another source of stress.
Instead, the angel flipped the last page of the book over, examining the paper for any extras; a small part of him hoped that God Herself had signed the book somewhere.
His searching paid off, as he discovered the book’s final secret. A glyph was inscribed on the inside of the back cover, and Aziraphale recognized it immediately - written in angelic script, the back cover said: “Remember.” It glowed slightly as Aziraphale read the word, understood the word, and realized what it could possibly mean.
Three things happened very quickly.
Thing the First: the soft glow of the glyph flashed impossibly white, momentarily blinding both the angel and demon.
“Fuck!” Crowley swore, covering his eyes. If he’d had his glasses, the light wouldn’t have been nearly as bad, but as it was, he now couldn’t see a thing.
Thing the Second: the book grew so hot in Aziraphale’s hands that he dropped it onto the duvet, where it started to smolder, setting a small fire in Aziraphale’s lap.
Thing the Third (and perhaps the most important): the angel’s eyes rolled back in his head as he began to remember.
There is a very large difference between being told of an event and recalling your own memories, and Aziraphale had quite a lot to remember at once. It came back to him in stages - the expansiveness of the Kitchen, Cassiel, Helel, all of the angels who were now demons, what he’d done to Heaven, meeting God? - and, oh -
“Raphael,” the name slipped from his lips as he fell backwards onto the stack of pillows. He could recall it all: the Archangel Raphael in all his Godly glory, hand in hand, being shown the stars, fighting one another, the heartache of being kept apart, and love! He’d been in love! He felt the old, familiar feeling spread from his stomach to his fingertips and take root in his bones. Aziraphale, young and timid, had been in love with not just an angel, but an Archangel who loved him in return, and, oh wasn’t that strange? The feeling was familiar; it didn’t feel very different - but, then again, why would it? It was the same, the very same love, and the very same being.
Aziraphale slowly became aware of someone shaking his shoulders. He blinked a few times, trying to separate memories from current events.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley yelled, voice strangled and cracking. “Oh, angel, please!”
Aziraphale also became aware of a faint scent of burning. He shook his head and, attempting to bring his eyes into focus, but finding it more difficult than it should have been.
Crowley was on his lap, shaking his shoulders. The book was gone, but a scattering of ash across the duvet and floor led to Aziraphale to conclude it had burned itself up. For your eyes only, indeed, he thought peevishly.
“Crowley,” he said, softly, looking back at his worried companion. “It’s alright.”
The demon sagged and buried his head in Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale thought he heard a sob, but said nothing. Instead, he brought his arms up and held Crowley there; not too tight, not too loose, just enough to say I’m here and I’m never going anywhere.
After some time, Crowley unburied himself and looked at the angel. His eyes were red, but he didn’t care anymore. “I-I thought I was going to lose you again,” he whispered. He didn’t enjoy thinking about the last time there had been a fire in Aziraphale’s bookshop.
Aziraphale took a second to answer. In his mind’s eye, he saw two figures in front of him: one was Crowley. The same face he had seen with increasing frequency for the last 6000 years; his loyal companion and, dare he say it - friend. He knew every ridge and wrinkle of Crowley’s face and loved him, he loved him, with a love that Aziraphale reserved for old books and crepes.
The second figure took Aziraphale’s breath away. He looked much the same, but every freckle glowed golden with God’s light. His eyes were, not yellow, but golden and brilliant and kind. He was kindness incarnate, brilliant red hair braided down his back. His wings were glorious, stretched out to either side, more fantastic than any Archangel’s wings he’d ever seen before. It was still Crowley, but not Crowley - it was Crowley Before.
It was Raphael.
You will love again, God’s words rang in his ears.
Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to cry. His breath, which had hitched in his throat at the sight of Crowley’s face, let itself go, bringing tears with it. He cried for everything he’d done. He cried for all the people he’d hurt. He cried for all the years they’d lost, but he also cried for the newfound memories and the knowledge they brought. He cried for what lay ahead of them, now that they had a future, and he cried for everything they’d been given.
And Crowley held him.
When the tears were dried, Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley, red eyes matching the demon’s. “I -” he choked. “I remember.”
Crowley’s face lit up. “You do?”
Aziraphale could do no more than nod. There was nothing more to say; all the words had been said.
There was only one thing left he needed to do.
Moving slowly, gently, carefully, Aziraphale reached up and placed a hand on Crowley’s face. Then he brought the demon’s face down, meeting him halfway, and they kissed.
It was like each one of them remembered, and it was completely new. There was no pretense, no pretending, just a private display of love and affection between two beings who had waited far too long.
They had found their Heaven at last.
For those who were paying attention at that particular moment on this particular day swore that, against everything known by science or discussed in philosophy, the world got a little brighter. The sun shone harder, the leaves were crisper underfoot, food tasted better, and even the dreary places seemed a little more beautiful. Several scientific breakthroughs all occurred simultaneously, and no less than four stars went supernova.
It was as if, for some reason, the entire universe had something to rejoice about.
And rejoice it did.