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HEAVEN, SHORTLY AFTER THE BEGINNING
Raphael is dusted with starlight when he returns to Heaven.
Starlight and moondust, like glitter – all over his white robes and in his hair and his wings. As he steps down from the sky onto the ground of Heaven, he beats his wings a few extra times to throw some of the glitter off, then looks up to admire his work. The sky is dark, but not black. Nebulas and galaxies churn in their newness like a kaleidoscope of color – blues, violets, reds…and all sprinkled with stars. Deciding how to settle.
Raphael smiles to himself. Very stylish, he decides.
Strong wing-beats rustle his copper hair. He turns his head and there’s Mother’s favorite – Lucifer. He, too, is admiring the sky that Raphael has built.
“It’s beautiful,” Lucifer says, golden hair gleaming in the brand-new moonlight.
Raphael smirks at him. He leans in conspiratorially. “I’ll think She’ll be pleased, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” But his tone is, perhaps, a bit flat.
“Something wrong?” Raphael wants to know, his voice tinged with concern. Little does he know, this will be one of the last completely pleasant days in Heaven for quite a long time. Rebellion is on the horizon. But that trouble won’t start for a while. For now, there’s something else that needs attending to.
“No, of course, not,” Lucifer lies. “In fact, you’ve made it back just in time, Raph. there’s something you’ll want to see.” He gestures for Raphael to follow.
“What is it?”
“The Almighty is creating a new angel today,” Lucifer tells him as they fall into step with each other, walking easily across clouds and empty space – although it feels solid below their feet, and smooth like glass. “And not just any angel – She says this one is going to be very special. His name is to Aziraphale.”
“Oh!” Raphael says, delighted. The creation of a new angel is always a pretty cool thing to witness. “A-zira-phale.” He tests the name, rolling it around in his mouth. “Bit of a mouthful, but it’s all right, I suppose. Did she say what was going to be so special about him?”
Lucifer chuckles, and Raphael grins to himself. “No, of course not,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “But then, she never does, does she? Makes you wonder…”
Raphael snorts in agreement. “Tell me about it. I have half a mind to ask Her.”
“Maybe you should.” Lucifer loops an arm around Raphael’s shoulder, companionably pulling him along. “Come on, Raph. We’d best not be late.”
“Late,” Raphael mocks. “As if they’d start without you.”
There is already a crowd of angels by the time they arrive, but they part upon Lucifer’s arrival, splitting like stage curtains – as Raphael knew they would. He is always by the Almighty’s side during these big events.
Raphael waits with the crowd while Lucifer climbs the gleaming, white steps. God is not there yet. Fashionably late, as usual. Beside Raphael are the other archangels: Gabriel and Michael. And by them are their favorites, Sandalphon and Uriel.
“Raphael,” Gabriel greets him politely. “Good to see you. How was hanging up the stars?”
“It was fine,” Raphael says coolly. It’s not that he dislikes Gabriel…he just doesn’t particularly like him. Or Michael, for that matter. “Smashing success.”
“Oh, good. I’m sure the Almighty will be pleased.”
“Mm-hmm.”
That’s when, in a flash of warm, white light, She appears. The Almighty.
There is a rumble of appreciation and excitement in the crowd, but the three archangels set the proper example. They bow their heads respectfully and soon, the crowd settles. God smiles and, despite his cool exterior, Raphael’s heart races a little as her gaze settles on him. It’s just for a brief moment, but he feels it, nonetheless.
When the archangels lift their heads, God smiles.
“Today, we greet another angel as he takes his first steps into the universe,” She announces, and her voice is smooth and tranquil like the babble of a stream – which haven’t been invented yet, but Raphael snuck a peek in God’s notebook the other day. But shh, spoilers!
“His name will be Aziraphale,” the Almighty continues. “And—” Her eyes fall on Raphael, whose hand is in the air. She doesn’t frown, exactly, but there’s a tinge of displeasure in her eyes. “Archangel Raphael,” she says shortly. “What is your question?”
By now, God has grown used to his…insatiable curiosity. His questions. Beside her, Lucifer is grinning approvingly.
“Ah, yeah, what exactly is going to be so special about this angel?” Raphael asks.
She appraises him. Her stare is steady and cool. In these days, God is a lot more…touchy than she will be in the future. Comes with building a universe. Exhaustion and all that. “That,” she prompts. “Is part of the Great Plan, Raphael. And not for you to know just yet.” Her tone is crisp, and feels like a warning.
“Ahh…” He glances at Lucifer, but Raphael can’t read his friend’s expression at all. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
God turns to Lucifer. “It’s time,” she says. Her favorite nods and steps back, freeing an area of the stage. All She has to do is wave her hand. And sure, maybe it’s a lot of build-up for something simple, but seeing God flick her wrist and a new creation blink into existence out of nothing never ceases to be incredible.
Not all Creations happen the same, either.
Some things just appear. One moment, nothing, the next – a flower, or grass, or a stone.
Other things are welcomed by the universe in a much more spectacular way.
They say when Raphael was created, the universe gave off great sparks – like embers, or what would one day be called stars (perhaps a bit of narrative foreshadowing on the Almighty’s behalf. ) The sparks flew all across Heaven, and when everybody looked back, there he was – Raphael, surrounded by a warm glow.
This time, just after God waves her hand and all of Heaven is watching expectantly, there’s a small spark – just a quick ZIP of light buzzing in the air.
Raphael leans in, holding his breath.
The light crackles, and blossoms, and turns into a ball of sparking energy.
Some angels gasp and step back. It looks explosive, which is not entirely out of the question. When Sandalphon was created, there’s a huge BANG and half the reception room turned to salt. Creations were moved outdoors after that.
Raphael doesn’t move away, though.
The ball grows and grows until it’s angel-sized, then it yawns open and a figure steps out. He’s difficult to see at first, but then the light fades angels relax. It wasn’t a violent entrance to the universe, after all – but a calm one. Almost lazy with how long it kept them waiting. But it’s worth it, at least in Raphael’s opinion.
The angel is mostly translucent, as they all are, but Raphael starts to make out details – a rounded jaw, white-gold hair, a nice pair of wings, and…
Raphael blinks, momentarily rattled.
This new angel, Aziraphale – he’s never met him before. Couldn’t have. He was just born today, literally, but there’s something oddly…familiar about him. Especially his eyes, which are gentle, and blue, and gazing around curiously.
It was sort of like…he took one look at Aziraphale and something inside him said, “Oh, it’s you.” Like he was expected.
Raphael is so stunned he misses God’s graceful departure back to her workshop. He stands there, racking his brain, trying to figure out why he felt such a flutter just now, as all the other angels rush to meet their new associate.
But then he notices the line forming. Oh, he remembers the line…
Literally thousands of angels, all politely waiting their turn to politely shake your hand, politely. They all smile and say, “Welcome to Heaven!” and they all give their names, but you can’t remember them all, let alone connect names to faces, and it’s all so overwhelming. At least, it was for Raphael.
And by the look on Aziraphale’s face, he’d say it’s getting to him too. He’s smiling, but it’s strained, and the poor thing is trying to so hard to say hello to everyone, but it’s impossible.
One nice thing about being an archangel is the line-cutting privileges. He strides right up to the next angel due to shake poor Aziraphale’s hand and steps in front.
Aziraphale looks like his head is spinning.
It promptly stops spinning the moment Raphael takes his hand.
It’s not a handshake. He just holds it between them, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Hello, Aziraphale,” Raphael says softly. The brand-new angel looks at him, really looks at him, and smiles like he desperately needed this reprieve from all the names and faces. Getting a moment to just see one face is like…the stop at the end of a rollercoaster. Finally, you can breathe.
“Oh—oh, hello,” Aziraphale says. “Um—”
“Raphael,” he offers, and Aziraphale nods, committing it to memory.
“Raphael,” he repeats. His eyes are wide, and blue, and open like the daytime sky.
“Don’t worry,” Raphael says lowly. “I’m not going to say ‘welcome to Heaven.”
Aziraphale giggles quietly and looks around to make sure no one heard the little jab. “Thank you,” he says. “Is it, um, is it always like this?”
“So fast-paced you feel like your eyes are going to pop out of your skull?” Raphael guesses. “No. Mostly, it’s rather boring, actually.”
“Oh—oh thank goodness.”
Raphael smiles at him, and then releases his hand. “Well—” He glances at the huffy-looking angel to his left. “I’d best get out of their way before there’s a riot.”
Aziraphale blinks. “A what?”
“A r—” Raphael stops and makes a face. You see, the word concept of a “riot” had not existed until that moment, further proof of the declining state of things in Heaven. But neither of them knows that. “Ah, never mind. Anyway, I’ll see you around, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale smiles and waves as he saunters off. And yes, the new angel continues saying hello to every angel that passes him, and tries to give as many handshakes as possible, but more than once, his eyes scan the crowd around him for that familiar face – the one familiar face among all these faces.
Unfortunately, he’ll never see it again. Not the way it looks now, anyway – all gold-lit and airy, unburdened, with its eyes toward the brand-new stars.
Fall-time is days away now.
And the next time Aziraphale sees that face, it will look predominantly the same…but also fundamentally different in a way Crowley will never be able to describe, even to himself. Exactly similar but unrecognizable.
When the demon formerly known as Raphael slithers up to Aziraphale on the wall of the Garden of Eden, he doesn’t yet know that Aziraphale won’t recognize him.
“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he mutters. Below them, tripping on the hot sand, Adam and Eve flee the Garden. Above them, the sun is setting. Soon, the stars will be out.
Aziraphale, glancing nervously sideways, says, “What was that?”
“I said, that went down like a lead balloon.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale looks forward again, seeming to agree. “Yes—yes. It did, rather…”
“Bit of an over-reaction if you ask me. First offense and all that.” Raphael looks at Aziraphale, who looks uncomfortably back. And yeah, sure, that’s fair, he supposes. After all, he is a demon now. Technically… Really, they shouldn’t be talking but, come on. This is fine. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.”
“Well—” Aziraphale shifts his feet. “It must be bad…”
His blue eyes, which are a little heavier than they once were, look at Raphael and…
Oh.
There’s a question in them, one that Raphael recognizes. After all, if there’s one thing he’s good at – it’s questions.
Most of the Fallen changed their names after being cast out. They were bitter, hated the idea of going on with eternity using the name She gave them. Raphael did too, but not because he was angry, but because he changed all the time. Part of being a snake. Always moving, changing, growing…
The look in Aziraphale’s eyes asks, who the bloody Heaven are you?
And Raphael answers quickly. “Crawly,” he says. His sparkly, new demon name…wahoo…
“Crawly,” Aziraphale says, committing it to memory.
Six-thousand years and one near-Armageddon later, Aziraphale has another question. And somehow, this one hurts even more than the last.
“Do you remember the archangel Raphael?” he asks. They’re sitting in the bookshop. Crowley is in his favorite chair, legs kicked up, a glass of dry wine in his hand. Aziraphale is at his desk in a pair of reading glasses with a new edition in front of him. Evidently, however, he wasn’t paying attention to it.
“Raphael?” Crowley says, staring into his glass.
“Yes, he—” Aziraphale shifts in his chair. “Well, I heard he Fell during the rebellion and I…I suppose I’ve always wondered what happened to him.”
“Really.” It’s been millennia. A lifetime. Thousands of them, actually. Crowley barely remembers being Raphael. It feels like someone else, like a half-forgotten story - although he knows the truth.
Aziraphale nods at his hands, which are folded neatly in his lap. “I only ever met him once,” he says thoughtfully. Suddenly, Crowley realizes Aziraphale is squeezing his hands gently, as if in a handshake. “But he seemed very…kind.”
Crowley squirms, then sips his wine. “No, sorry, angel,” he lies, feeling guilty about it. “But, uh, I’ll…keep my ears open…”
“Thank you, my dear.”