Chapter Text
“Aziraphale, we have a job for you.”
Aziraphale sat in the dark, his gaze fixed ahead, unblinking. Distantly he was aware of somebody trying the shop door. He ignored it. The closed sign was up, and if people couldn’t be bothered to read, then that was hardly his fault now, was it? To be perfectly honest, it was surprising that anybody bothered to try shopping there at all. The place had a reputation for being particularly stingy with selling its merchandise. The building wasn’t so much a shop as Aziraphale's own personal library, after all.
The busy murmur of Soho crept in from outside. The old clock ticked away behind him. These were the only noises. Aziraphale himself was hardly breathing.
He was just staring. Staring at the flask sat carefully before him. It was an unremarkable flask—plain silver and boring. The angel would have gone for a tartan one, he thinks vaguely to himself.
“You know the demon, Crowley, don’t you? He’s sort of your counterpart if you like.”
Tick, tick, tick went the clock.
Aziraphale blinked once, slowly.
In his lap, his hands trembled. His well-manicured nails pressed into his palms.
“We need you to deal with him.”
The door rattled again.
“We’re closed!” Aziraphale snapped, for once not feeling at all apologetic for his sharp tone.
“Wanker,” somebody yelled from the other side. Because the speaker was clearly drunk, when he spoke again, this time to whoever he was with, Aziraphale could still hear him. “Come on, theres’a pub down the road. We’ll use their bog, yeah?”
“Oh, come now, Aziraphale. You know exactly what I mean.”
Aziraphale glanced at the closed door, waiting until the loud voices disappeared. Really, some people could be so rude. Could one really blame him for the small, irritable miracle that saw that every toilet in a five-mile radius was suddenly closed?
“It’s not a problem, is it, Aziraphale? You’re not… friends with the demon, are you?”
Were he and Crowley friends? The answer should have been a firm no. So why was Aziraphale internally screaming yes?
He knew why, of course. But it was wrong, oh so wrong. Even just being friends was a sin. They were on opposite sides. Crowley had been cast from Heaven. He was evil, and Aziraphale was good. He was good, he was… Wasn't he?
“Excellent! Here’s the holy water. See that you get it done sharpish.”
Aziraphale couldn’t believe he’d agreed to it. He couldn’t kill Crowley… could he?
No. No, the very notion was ridiculous. He was an angel. Angels didn’t go around killing people. And Crowley was his friend. Crowley was…
Crowley was special.
Aziraphale couldn’t go against an order from Gabriel, though. Not a direct order like this. There would be no cutting corners, no easy way out. He had agreed to it, and now the murder weapon sat before him, waiting for him to use it.
It almost seemed to vibrate with anticipation.
All he had to do was call Crowley.
Aziraphale stood up abruptly. He walked towards the old telephone but hesitated as he reached for it.
No, he couldn’t do it.
The angel began pacing, his mind a raging whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Why was this being asked of him, anyway? Why him? He was just the angel of the eastern gate. He was nobody special. Just because they’d been on earth together for the past six thousand years, it didn’t make Aziraphale qualified to kill him.
This was all too much. This was awful. Terrible. A nightmare.
Why couldn’t Heaven and Hell just leave Crowley and him alone? It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? They’d done plenty for the cause. They deserved a break. They deserved to be left to their own devices, to enjoy the finer things that Earth had to offer. Aziraphale just wanted to enjoy the finer things…
“The demon Crowley must die, Aziraphale.”
Why? Why must he?
Aziraphale glanced at the flask again. He felt a little like crying. Scratch that; a lot like crying. What was he meant to do? He couldn’t kill Crowley, but he couldn’t disobey an order, either.
This time when the angel reached for the phone, he managed to bring it up to his ear. Crowley’s number was ingrained into his memory, but he hesitated between each number, scared to finish dialling. Scared to hear the familiar voice that was sure to follow.
Finally, he swiped round to the final digit, and the phone began ringing.
Please don’t answer…
“Hello?”
Of course, he answered the one time I wish he wouldn’t.
“Oh. Uh… Crowley,” Aziraphale said, stuttering.
“Angel! It’s been a while. Look, is this important? Because I’m just on my way out, actually. Got a minor tempting to do, you know the deal.”
“Um, well, actually…” Had words always been this hard? Why was he struggling so much to form a coherent sentence? Aziraphale swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I rather need to talk to you, dear chap,” he said quietly.
“Sure, sure. Can it wait? We could meet tomorrow? St. James’ Park? Or, the Ritz!”
Oh, how Aziraphale wished he could agree to either one of them. Dinner at the Ritz with Crowley… He’d love that. He really would. His small smile dropped quickly, and Aziraphale shook his head, even though the demon couldn’t see him. Those places were too crowded. If he was going to do this—could he?—then it had to be somewhere private.
“I was… I was rather hoping you could come to the bookshop, my dear? I’ve just purchased a crate of vintage I thought we could try.”
“Sounds wonderful. Look, I really need to run, Angel, but I’ll catch you tomorrow, yeah?”
Crowley hung up before Aziraphale could even stutter his agreement.
Tomorrow.
He was going to kill Crowley tomorrow.
He hated to think what would happen if he didn’t.
Crowley wasn’t usually a prompt person. Aziraphale was used to waiting around for the demon. That was why, jumpy as he already was, the angel nearly leapt from his human body when the knock sounded, dead on time.
“Crowley,” he said, managing a smile as he opened the door. Despite everything, the sight of his demon still made him smile. “Come in, come in.”
“So, what’s this about, Angel?”
Crowley was dressed as usual; black, stylish clothes and dark shades that completely hid his serpent eyes. His red hair was effortlessly perfect. He was too skinny.
“Uh, well…” What was he meant to say? ‘Oh, I’ve been asked to kill you, dear boy, hope you don’t mind if I throw some holy water over you?’ No. He couldn’t do that. “Have you been asked to do anything big recently?” he asked instead.
“Big like how?” Crowley asked, taking a seat. Aziraphale’s eyes flickered towards the holy water. He’d put it in a glass in hopes of it appearing natural. Also just ease of use, really. The easier he made it for himself, the more likely he was to follow through. Or, so he hoped.
“Anything that would put you on my lots radar?” There had to be a reason Heaven wanted him eliminated.
“Not as far as I’m aware,” Crowley said casually. “Just the usual sort.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale felt his stomach sink. He’d hoped Crowley would make this easier by admitting he was about to do something despicable.
“You okay, Aziraphale?”
“Oh. Oh, yes, rather. Splendid, really. Quite splendid. How are you?”
Crowley just gave him a strange look. There was a thoughtful air about him, and a moment later, he announced, “Actually. I’ve got to be in Paris next week. Some car crash or other. You think that’s what’s got your lot all worked up?” The way he said ‘car crash’ was almost bitter and reminded Aziraphale, not for the first time, that Crowley wasn’t really a bad guy, deep down. He may do as he was told, but he didn’t have to like it.
“A car crash? I doubt it,” Aziraphale said. No, there had to be another reason. Or, maybe there wasn’t. Maybe Heaven just wanted Hell out of the way? Surely they knew somebody would quickly replace Crowley if he were gone? “I do hope nobody will be seriously injured.”
“I’m sure they won’t. Why’d you ask, anyway?” Crowley still looked so suspicious.
“Oh, it’s nothing important,” Aziraphale lied. “They were just asking about you. I told them we didn’t really know each other.”
“Good man,” Crowley said. “So, what about this vintage you mentioned?”
The angel sprang to his feet, somehow forcing the briefest of smiles. He glanced again at the holy water before rushing from the room to fetch the wine.
He was gone perhaps a little too long. He’d been trying to talk himself into it, into doing what needed to be done. He still didn’t understand why it needed to be done, though. He wasn’t happy with the idea of killing Crowley for no good reason. Well, he wasn’t happy with the entire situation. Deep down, Crowley was a good man. He’d certainly gone out of his way to help Aziraphale over the years. The angel would never forget the nineteen-forties and the books that should have been destroyed…
“Angel?” Crowley called out, making the blond jump.
“-Coming!” Aziraphale almost dropped the wine bottle in his haste to pick it up, and when he rejoined Crowley, the demon was on his feet. “You’re not… leaving, are you?”
“I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”
Angels and demons didn’t feel hunger. Aziraphale very much enjoyed eating food, but it wasn’t a necessity. Still, the relief at having a chance to escape his responsibilities washed over him, helping to rinse away the massive weight pushing down on his shoulders.
Aziraphale gave his first genuine smile. “Always.”
“We could go to Blockbuster, too,” Crowley suggested.
“I don’t have a television,” Aziraphale said. By now, it was pretty obvious that Crowley knew something was going on and was trying to cheer Aziraphale up. This kind of behaviour wasn’t normal for the demon. He was being too kind. He was making it too hard.
“You don’t? What’s that, then?” Crowley nodded his head to the corner of the room. He hadn’t so much as miracled one into existence as expected there to be one, and so, of course, there was. Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. It was a sad laugh. He had to kill Crowley, and the demon was doing everything in his unintentional power to make it impossible for him. The demon gave him another worried look but didn’t say anything.
“Come on then, dear chap,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s go.” They stepped out into the hot August air, the door locking itself behind them.
Half an hour later, they were back at the bookshop. They’d gotten sushi and a VHS of the film Dragonheart. Neither had seen the film yet, Crowley because he had been too busy getting his claws into Independence Day at the time and Aziraphale because he didn’t really watch films, if he were honest. He saw the occasional one that Crowley had a hand in because the demon was always so pleased with himself afterwards, but generally, books were Aziraphale’s first and true love when it came to stories.
Even halfway through the film and two bottles into the vintage wine, Aziraphale couldn’t forget about the glass of holy water that sat like a silent reminder of what had to be done. Except, for Aziraphale, it wasn’t silent but shouting at him, basically screaming in his ear. He couldn’t ignore it, try as he might. He had no idea what was happening with the talking dragon in the film.
“Angel.” Crowley paused the movie. “How drunk are you?”
“Rather drunk,” Aziraphale admitted, glancing away from the glass to meet yellow, snake eyes peering at him from behind dark glasses. The room felt like it was spinning, and through his haze, he could still hear that darned glass screaming at him.
“Drunk enough to tell me what’s going on?”
Aziraphale swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was that drunk. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be that drunk.
“I know that’s holy water,” Crowley said softly, his own eyes flickering to the glass.
“W-whatever do you mean? Of course it isn’t!”
“I can smell it, Angel. Smelt it as soon as I entered the bookshop.”
“Oh. Oh, dear.” Aziraphale let his head flop to his hands and released a small sob. Whatever must Crowley think of him?
“Your lot want you to get rid of me, hm?”
Not daring to speak, the angel simply nodded against his palms. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the demon’s eyes, didn’t want to see the hurt and betrayal he would surely see looking back at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said into his hands.
“Why’re you sorry? I’m not angry at you.”
Aziraphale looked up then. Crowley’s face was set in determination.
“I tried to kill you!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“The holy water is right there!” The angel gestured wildly, freezing in fear as he nearly knocked the glass over. He had to be so careful. It would be so easy to accidentally do the ‘right’ thing. Not that killing Crowley would ever be the right thing in Aziraphale’s eyes. “M’an angel! I can’t dis—Can’t not follow orders!”
“I trust you, Angel.”
Aziraphale swallowed again, his eyes locking with Crowley’s. “You… you do?”
The room was still spinning around them. The angel blinked slowly, trying to work out what was happening outside of his drunken haze. He couldn’t understand why Crowley was being so nice about this. He should be angry. He should try and kill Aziraphale before Aziraphale could kill him. None of it made any sense!
“How long have we known each other now, Angel?”
Crowley didn’t appear to be drunk. Aziraphale couldn’t remember whether he’d seen the demon drinking any of the wine. His glass was certainly still full, which was unusual for him. Then again, it made sense to want to stay alert if somebody held you at a figurative gunpoint. At least sober, he stood a chance of defending himself. Aziraphale wondered about sobering himself up, but he wasn’t sure he could handle this conversation without the helping hand from the wine.
“S’long time,” he mumbled.
“Right,” Crowley nodded, “I think if you wanted me dead, you’d have done it by now. Fuck, you even gave me holy water yourself. What was it, thirty years ago?”
“Reluctantly!”
“And I’m still grateful.”
Aziraphale peered suspiciously at Crowley. “You’re beingtoonice,” he said, his words slurring together a little from the wine.
“Is it a crime?”
“You’re a demon, Crowley!”
“Fair point,” Crowley said. “I didn’t mean to become a demon, you know? I was just bored. Creating planets was only fun for so long.”
Aziraphale’s forehead wrinkled. “Creating planets?” he asked. “But… But…” Jesus, it was hard to think clearly right now. “Weren’t they cre—created by the archangels?”
“Bollocks,” Crowley said, almost comically slapping his forehead. He shook his head, looking pained. “I just… I helped out a bit, is all.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said his name slowly, fighting the alcohol making everything a muddle in his head. He really should sober up. “Who were you? Y’know, before?”
“I was nobody. It’s not important, Angel.”
“S’not important, then you can tell me.”
“Why do you even care?”
“‘Cus I’m meant to be. Throwing. Holy. Water. Over you! I think I deserve to know why.”
“Because your side is a bunch of pricks, is why! You’re the only decent one of the lot.”
There was a pause. Aziraphale blinked at him before deciding that, finally, it was time to sober up. He closed his eyes, his body jerking as he concentrated on expelling the alcohol from his system. A moment later, it was done. His foggy mind cleared, and the world seemed to make sense once more.
“Better?” Crowley asked, too softly. The angel jerked his head in a stiff nod, his gaze not wavering from the demon.
“You were an archangel,” he said. “That’s why they want you dealt with.”
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose but didn’t deny it. Finally, when Aziraphale thought he wasn’t going to say anything, he spoke. “Don’t you think, if that were the reason, they’d have done something about me a long time ago?”
Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. Crowley made an excellent point. There had to be something else. Maybe Heaven had discovered their friendship? It certainly wouldn’t look good up there to know one of their own was fraternising with the ‘enemy’.
“So, who were you?” he asked instead. “If I’m perfectly honest, I didn’t realise any of the archangels fell. They certainly never announced it.”
“Do we have to talk about this?” Crowley looked uncomfortable, running his finger around the rim of his wine glass just for something to do. “I’m just Crowley now. Can’t that just be enough?”
Guilt instantly washed over Aziraphale. Whomever he was before, Crowley could never be them again. Of course it stung to be reminded of his past. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said. “You’re right, of course. It doesn’t matter.”
“So, what now?” They both glanced at the holy water.
“Well, I can’t do it,” Aziraphale said as if it were obvious. Crowley’s smile was fleeting.
“You’ll be punished.”
“Then let them punish me.”
“But—”
“I’m not going to kill you, Crowley.”
“What about your orders?”
“Fuck orders!” That made Crowley smile.
For a moment, there was silence, the pair of them staring intently at one another. Finally, breaking eye contact, Crowley said, “Raphael.”
“Pardon?”
“I was Raphael.”
“But…” Aziraphale trailed off, eyes wide. While he hadn’t personally ever seen the archangel Raphael, there had never been any indication that he wasn’t still doing his thing in Heaven. Of the seven archangels, Raphael was in the top four, third only to Gabriel and Michael. It didn’t really make sense. The archangel Raphael couldn’t fall. Besides, Crowley was a lowly demon. Surely he would have been higher in the ranks had he formerly been an archangel. Unless being an archangel worked against him, made him less trustworthy in the eyes of his formidable comrades...
“I asked questions,” Crowley explained, seeing the confusion on Aziraphale’s face. “The wrong questions. God’s whole ‘mysterious ways’ bullshit never sat well with me. It still doesn’t. Mind you, Satan ain’t much better.”
“No,” Aziraphale agreed. “He’s a hell of a lot worse. Literally.”
“I don’t know, Angel. I think they’re equally bad.”
“But—” Aziraphale started to argue but cut off. Since coming to earth six thousand years ago, the angel had become very fond of the human race. He had never really understood how God could casually kill them in horrendous ways and think nothing of it. Human lifespans were short enough as it was without God drowning them or sending a plague to wipe them out.
The angel sighed. “I hate to admit that you might be right.”
“I often am, Angel.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but snort at that. “Hey!”
“You keep telling yourself that, dear,” Aziraphale said, patting the demon on the shoulder, much to the chagrin of the other. He felt lighter now that the secret was out. Sure, he would face punishment for his disobedience, but he’d rather face the wrath of Heaven than live in a world without Crowley.
Crowley. It was… odd to know that the demon had once been his superior, one of the angels closest to God. Aziraphale would never have guessed it. Crowley was a clumsy, free-spirited, mischievous demon. Nothing about him reminded Aziraphale of the other archangels.
“You sure you want to do this, Angel?”
“Do what?”
“Disobey orders. For me.”
“My dear, there is no one in the world I would rather disobey orders for.”
Crowley smiled. “So what happens now?”
Aziraphale’s own smile dropped. “I will probably be sent back up there, punished and replaced by someone willing to get the job done.”
“I can’t let that happen. You love it here on Earth.”
“Well, we’re not doing the alternative, dear chap.”
“There’s got to be another way.” There wasn’t, though. Not that either of them could think of anyway. All options ended up with them never seeing one another again.
The silence was deafening. Aziraphale couldn’t take it.
“I just want you to know, dear, that I wouldn’t change anything for the world. Knowing you these past six thousand years… Well, it’s been wonderful.”
“Angel…” Crowley sounded weepy. Aziraphale didn’t even know demons could cry. Crowley had never been a very good demon, though. His idea of evil was switching the VHS tapes between boxes or delaying the tube. He was mischievous at best. Irritating at worst. And he cared about children, and he always turned up to save Aziraphale even though he didn’t need to…
Crowley was still an angel at heart. He just didn’t abide by the bloody bureaucracy of idiotic rules and, quite frankly, not very nice angels that made them. When he thought about it, neither did Aziraphale, not anymore. Not in a while.
The difference between them was that Crowley had questioned things while Aziraphale remained silently biting his tongue. Crowley had been brave and had been shoved from Heaven in a burning heap for it. Aziraphale was a coward and got to keep his halo.
Aziraphale didn’t want to be a coward anymore.
He reached out.
“Azzzziraphale?” Crowley was hissing, flustered and blushing. His dark glasses had slid down his nose, and Aziraphale could see his snake eyes flickering nervously from left to right. The angel didn’t stop reaching until his well-manicured hand found the demon's cheek.
“If this is the last time I’ll have a chance to say it, then I don’t want to have any regrets, dear,” Aziraphale said. He wasn’t confident the demon felt the same, wasn’t sure he could, but it didn’t matter anyway. Soon they would be separated forever, and Aziraphale wouldn’t have to live with the embarrassment. “I am rather in love with you, Crowley.”
Crowley liked to think he was cool, but right now, he was a flustered mess, frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I’m afraid I rather overstepped. I’m ever so sorry, dear boy. Just forget I sai—” He started to pull away, but with snake-like reflexes, Crowley grabbed his wrist, effectively holding his hand in place against his flushed cheek. Human bodies were so bizarre.
“Angel,” he said breathily. “I have loved you ssssince the beginning. It’s been driving me crazzzy.”
“Y-you have?” Well, now that was a surprise.
“Did you really not know?” The demon seemed to have gained some form of control; his words were coming out clearer, with less hiss to them. He still held a firm grip on Aziraphale’s wrist, his yellow eyes still peering over the top of his dark glasses, locked on the angel’s blue pair.
“Well… no,” Aziraphale said honestly. “I rather hoped but… Honestly, Crowley. How was I meant to know?”
“Why do you think I was always showing up? I didn’t have to save you all those times you got yourself into fucking ridiculous situations, you know, Angel.” With his free hand, the demon removed his glasses, carelessly tossing them onto the table before them.
The television was still paused, the dragon's wings spread out, perhaps ready to take flight.
“Well, I certainly never asked you to!” Aziraphale was getting defensive now. This wasn’t panning out at all how he had expected it to.
“For someone so smart, you really are very stupid,” Crowley said. Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get so much as a word out, Crowley was leaning forward, pressing his lips firmly against the angels.
Kissing really was a very human thing. Aziraphale had never really understood why they did it. It didn’t seem particularly appealing, exchanging saliva and wrestling tongues with one another. That was before Crowley kissed him, though. When the demon’s lips pressed against his, fire raged through the angel, bubbling in his stomach and burning his lips. Time seemed to stop. Certainly, all thoughts stopped. Any protests he’d been trying to make were swallowed by the black hole currently consuming his brain, leaving his mind blissfully blank.
He pushed himself into the kiss, a surprising noise escaping his lips. It seemed to encourage Crowley, whose tongue snaked against Aziraphale’s lower lip until it teased another moan from him.
“Angel,” Crowley panted against his mouth, so close Aziraphale could taste the words. “You’ve no idea…” He didn’t finish his sentence, Aziraphale didn’t let him. He’d been thoroughly disappointed by the lack of soft, warm lips against his own and had deemed it his responsibility to fix that problem.
Aziraphale loved a lot of human things. He loved wine and good food. He loved music and the theatre. Most of all, he loved books. Somehow, impossibly, kissing Crowley topped the lot. Really, it shouldn’t have been so good. It was a bizarre custom, pressing one's face into another. He was quickly discovering, however, that lips weren’t just… well, lips. They were sensitive. They tingled against Crowley’s. Somehow, they made the rest of his body tingle, too.
When they eventually parted, they didn’t go far. Crowley’s forehead rested against Aziraphale’s, his warm breath tickling his nose. The demon's eyes were closed, but Aziraphale’s were wide open, taking in every inch of Crowley’s face despite him being close enough to make the angel cross-eyed.
“I won’t let them take you away from me,” Crowley murmured against Aziraphale’s cheeks.
“My dear Crowley, I don’t think you’ll have a choice.” Aziraphale’s voice was equally quiet, twisted with a conflicting mixture of sadness and happiness. Sad because it was ending, happy because it had happened.
The demon pulled away. Not far, but far enough that Aziraphale instantly missed his proximity. His snake eyes seemed to glow with determination.
“I’d like to see them try. Angel, we’re going rogue.”