Chapter Text
The Bentley flew across the inner city streets the way only a driver who’d never even considered the idea of getting a license, or vaguely contemplated the rules of traffic, would be able to make it do. It wove between other cars in impossibly tight turns, balanced two wheels on sidewalks every couple of seconds, and always miraculously ran newly green lights.
I’m burning through the sky, yeah, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit…
Crowley was in a rather good mood this afternoon.
He barely even glanced at the road; even if he weren’t constantly using miracles to drive, he knew this route by the back of his hand. London might be a great and constantly evolving beast of a city, but he came this way often enough to know it with his eyes closed. Momentarily, however, his eyes kept flicking to the flyer in the passenger seat.
It’d been two months since the world didn’t end. He’d vowed to himself he’d stop celebrating these stupidly sentimental little anniversaries at some point, but that point was not going to be today. It’d only been a blink of an eye to an immortal, really, especially if that immortal and his angelic counterpart had made use of that aforementioned non-end of the world to finally stop holding back, and to start saying and doing what they really wanted. Time really did fly when one was having fun.
Don’t stop me now, I’m having such a good time, I’m having a ball…
For once, even Freddie agreed, and Crowley grinned his sharpest grin.
Aziraphale had mentioned, a while back, that he’d resolved to take up dancing lessons again. He’d found it in himself to get over the gavotte and was looking forward to picking up a more modern dance, like – and here Crowley had been forced to keep a very careful straight face – the ‘Mashed Potatoes’ or possibly even the Twist. While suffering through a few suppressed spasms in his chest and an ever-so-subtle twitch of his mouth, the demon had filed away this information carefully nonetheless – especially considering the look Aziraphale had given him, a look inviting a potential partner in this endeavour. After all, demons didn’t dance well, but they were still more experienced than angels.
Crowley had resolved to gently but firmly lead his angel into the wild new world of dances that were actually in vogue in this day and age, though he’d still decided to be merciful and first look for a place teaching classical ballroom dancing; after all, he’d slept through the nineteenth-century invention of the waltz, as well as a few other fun dances that brought one rather intimately close to one’s partner, and well, he’d just figured there was no time like the present to catch up on human inventions, that’s all.
Alright, fine, he was rather undemonically excited to pose the idea to Aziraphale.
If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call!
The Bentley roared into Soho, and a few outrageous twists and turns later squealed to a halt outside a familiar bookshop on Old Compton Street. Crowley hopped out, snatching the flyer with him, and eyed the ‘closed’ sign for a millisecond before snapping his fingers and letting himself in.
And freezing on the spot.
Crowley hadn’t thought he’d ever run into something worse than Aziraphale’s shop going up in flames, but this just might be the ticket.
The bookshop’s polished floor and carpets were littered with white feathers and loose down.
He dropped the flyer, as well as his heart right though the soles of his shoes. “Aziraphale!” He strained himself – he could still sense the angel’s divine light, but something was off. He frantically stumbled through the shop, tripping over furniture and stacks of books, sending the feathers flying in a horrifying whirlwind. “Aziraphale! ” An endless stream of bitter curses ran through his mind – which side had it been? Which of them had gotten him? What had they done?
As he burst into the back room, Crowley got his answer.
Aziraphale sat slumped against the wall, wings spread out loosely around him, feathers scattered about here as well. He scarcely reacted to Crowley’s entrance, only staring ahead with a drawn face and hollow eyes.
Crowley’s entire posture immediately slumped with relief upon seeing him, and he continued the downward motion by dropping to his knees at his angel’s side. His snake tattoo coiled into life, wrapping around his neck and feverishly flicking its tongue at the angel, trying to detect anything amiss. Long fingers clenched Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Angel, what’s wrong. Talk to me.” The demon yanked off his sunglasses and frantically scanned for any injuries, but found none. “What the heaven happened to you?”
The angel shivered, drawing his wings closer to him, at last raising wide fearful eyes to the demon. He opened his mouth, but no words followed. Crowley gently squeezed his forearm, cupped the back of his head. “Can you stand?”
A nod.
“Alright. Come on, let’s get you to the couch.” Crowley helped the angel up, his snake writhing with unease. “I’ll – I’ll get you some tea.” The demon had never known tea to actually improve any crisis, but the English were convinced otherwise, and Aziraphale had always seemed to be as well. Crowley glanced back, and then forced himself to let Aziraphale out of his sight for a moment as he slipped into the kitchenette.
He knew next to nothing about tea, but he did know how Aziraphale preferred to take it. The demon applied his sharpest look in all four eyes to convince the cup that, if it knew what was good for it, it’d do its utmost to be exactly that.
When he returned to Aziraphale, the angel had sat up a little straighter, and a bit of the blind fear had gone out of his eyes. He managed a small, shaky smile as he took the tea from Crowley. “Thank you, dear.”
The demon’s shoulders sank with further relief hearing his angel’s voice. He sat down next to him, winding a protective arm between his shoulders and his visibly thinned-out wings. “You almost had me discorporate myself,” he uttered. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Nothing… happened. Well, not today. Not as such.” Aziraphale seemed on the verge of tears, unable to meet his eyes and electing to stare into his tea. “I’m so very sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean… I’ve just had… I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” Crowley remarked, cautiously relaxing and willing the snake back into his tattoo now the risk of imminent threat seemed to have passed. “Best not to overdo it.” He knew this better than anyone, though he never actually followed his own advice on the matter.
The angel looked up at him, pressing a little closer. His body was warm, but there was something very cold and lost in his eyes. “These past two months have been… perhaps the loveliest of my life, Crowley. The world was given another chance, we were given the most wonderful chance, and I’ve never been happier to…” His voice had swelled, but then abruptly trailed off. Crowley briefly squeezed his shoulders. “But…?” he prompted, trying not to dread the answer. Had he moved too fast after all?
“But… in enjoying myself this much I’ve put off thinking about certain matters, and they seem to have caught up with me today.” Aziraphale took a sip and gathered his thoughts. “It seems I’ve had a panic attack.”
Understanding dawned on Crowley. He knew blessedly well what might’ve bothered Aziraphale enough to have this much of an effect. “Heaven.” His voice dropped into a low rasp just uttering the word.
The angel looked back at him. “Consider what I’ve done, Crowley! Consider where we are right now! I could… they could…” He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then looked away, tensing up his wings again. “I could Fall at any moment,” he then uttered in a small voice. “It’s only a matter of time.”
“So you’ve been madly grooming your wings, looking for any traces of darker feathers, making a mess of yourself and the shop in the process,” Crowley concluded.
“Ye- well, yes.”
“Trust me, angel, Falling doesn’t just sneak up on you. If it’d started, you’d know.” Something steely glinted in Crowley’s eyes at the memory, distant but preserved in horribly exquisite detail. He looked up, slightly started at the realization he’d only managed to increase the distress in the angel’s eyes. “Not that bad, though, I don’t regret a thing,” he hurried to lie[1]. “Heaven didn’t deserve me and they sure as Hell don’t deserve you. Still,” he continued, upon seeing this didn’t help either, “I wouldn’t wish it on you, angel, wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I don’t think you should be worried, really.”
“Wh – what?” Aziraphale looked almost comically shocked, as shocked as a young Serpent had once been to hear of a flaming sword freely given away. It struck Crowley how certain the angel must be of his own wickedness in the eyes of the Almighty. Something panged in his chest, and he grew even more resolved to do something about it. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, angel. “Think about it. You didn’t Fall for lying to God about your sword. You didn’t Fall for hanging around me or even for lending a hand in my assignments. Yes,” he allowed when Aziraphale started to protest, “we always filed the paperwork properly, but surely the Almighty must’ve seen through that, and everything else besides. You didn’t Fall when we thwarted the Great Plan, not when we swapped bodies and you saved a demon’s life, and not even when you kissed said demon.” A small smile had appeared on Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley briefly indulged in the sin of Pride. “As I said, I don’t think you should worry now.”
“But what if – if Heaven is waiting until I least expect it? When I’m at my happiest and they have the most to tear away?” Aziraphale fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat, eyes and fingers restless, gradually sinking back into the state Crowley had found him in. “If I Fall now, surely both sides will know I’m a true demon, and either Hell will claim me or Heaven will use holy water on me, and we’ll never –”
Crowley gently guided the angel into facing him, and Aziraphale fell silent. “Angel, I don’t know what game the Almighty is playing, but I don’t believe for a moment She’ll ever let you Fall. I’ve mistrusted and doubted Her on many issues, but of this I’m sure. You’ll see.”
Aziraphale uttered a small, noncommittal sound and avoided the demon’s eyes.
Crowley pondered for a moment. This clearly was a mental barrier Aziraphale could not cross on his own – it always had been, and a few rose-tinted weeks had temporarily made him forget, but couldn’t magically clear it away. Heaven very rarely physically threatened its angels, not the way Hell treated its unsatisfactory or even just lower-ranking demons; but then, Upstairs worked in more insidious ways than Downstairs, dare he think it. Heaven had always been in the back of Aziraphale’s mind, a constant whisper of disapproval at everything the angel decided for himself, and here was the horrible bit: that whisper was supplied by Aziraphale himself. And it continued to be supplied, free of charge, even now Heaven had withdrawn from him entirely.
Crowley wasn’t about to let the vengeful ghost of Heaven’s hold come back to haunt them both. Not after six thousand years. Not now Aziraphale was finally, actually free. He narrowed his eyes, the serpentine gold practically glowing with the diabolical drive to solve this little brain teaser.
Then that drive shifted diabolical gears, and floored it all the way down the highway.
“Aziraphale,” he spoke slowly. “You’ve always followed Heaven’s orders to the letter, haven’t you. Even if you did add in just a tad of your own creativity. But in the meantime, during your time on Earth just surrounded by all this worldliness, you’ve also been sinning quite a bit.”
The angel lowered his teacup and snapped around to face him. “I never – ! I covered for you, yes, but – we always filed the paperwork correctly! You just said that didn’t count as sin!”
“I’m not talking about that, angel. I mean the seven official, cardinal sins.” A slow smile crept onto Crowley’s face. “You’re farther along than you think, you know. Consider it. Your love for the culinary.”
“Innocent enjoyment!”
“Gluttony. If your body is a temple it’s a Catholic church, full of wine and bread. Your collection of books, your silver snuffboxes, your very physical clothes?” the demon steamed on before Aziraphale could protest. “Greed.”
The angel shut his mouth, clearly shaken. Crowley would feel guilty, but as matters stood he’d snapped Aziraphale out of his earlier panic, and he was still getting to his point. “It’s always irked you not to have the author’s copy of the Nice and Accurate Prophecies when someone else did – that’s some potent Envy. In the meantime, however, you’ve been very proud of the rest of your collection and yourself for collecting it, topping it off with Pride with a capital P. That’s four out of seven.” Despite everything, the demon couldn’t help but feel delightfully proud of Aziraphale himself, a warm glow blooming in his chest upon listing how much he’d gotten away with already. He had to admit he’d always admired the angel for toeing the line just right, even if he himself had Fallen for attempting the same. “And none of it mattered to the Almighty. See, if you haven’t Fallen for any of that, or in the light of more recent events, you never will. She’s not gonna change Her mind now.”
Aziraphale wrapped his arms and wings around himself, still unwilling to lose sight of his white feathers. “I suppose you do have a point. A very logical, rational point.”
Crowley’s sly smile grew smaller, more sympathetic. “But this isn’t a rational sort of fear, is it.”
“I’m afraid not,” the angel mumbled quietly.
And suddenly, Crowley smiled like a snake. “I think I’ve got just the remedy.”
Aziraphale abruptly turned to face him. “No. No, not another word –”
“Knowing’s not enough. Me telling you’s not enough. You need to see it for yourself.” If they’d been standing upright, Crowley would’ve been circling Aziraphale, too excited to keep still, his voice dipping into a relishing hiss. “You need to complete the set. If you commit all seven cardinal sins and still don’t Fall, you’ll be able to breathe easy. Nothing too terrible, mind, just a smidge of each.”
“Out of the question!”
Crowley leaned in conspiratorially. “I’ll sweeten the deal for you. If you commit the sins, I’ll practice some virtues. Principal ones.” His thoughts returned to the dance flyer, discarded at the shop’s entrance. If that plan had to be put off for a bit… “After all, it takes two to tango, right?”
Aziraphale turned to him, still clearly scandalized, but shocked surprise and a hint of intrigue also beginning to dawn on him. Crowley grinned. “Think about it, angel. Wouldn’t that be something to see? Come on, I’m willing to humiliate myself for you here.”
For just a moment, Aziraphale grinned as well. Then all humour drained from his face and left only a hollow, wildly worried expression. The angel helplessly met Crowley’s eyes, and bless it, but Crowley knew that gaze. He’d been looking at it for the better part of six thousand years, every time the angel stopped or censored himself. Aziraphale did want to give it a try, but couldn’t bring himself to make another move or say another word.
The demon shifted on the sofa, facing the angel more directly. A long, infinitely gentle hand cupped Aziraphale’s cheek. “Do you trust me?” he asked softly.
The angel went very still. Something shifted in his eyes. He smiled, and his smile held, and something in Crowley’s chest performed a funny little flip. “Oh, my dear. I decided some time ago I trust you without condition.”
“You did trust me with your life, when we swapped and I covered for you in Heaven,” the demon heard himself say, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Oh, in a heartbeat. No, I didn’t mean my own life. I daresay it took rather more out of me to give you that thermos and trust you to… not unscrew the cap yourself.”
Crowley forgot to breathe, and only felt his pupils dilate and his mouth stretch into a wide, stupid smile. Then all he could do was lean in and silence Aziraphale before he could say anything else that’d really stop his heart, feeling as though he might burst and not trusting his lips to express it in any other way, as well as being overcome with a sudden desperate need to feel Aziraphale’s on his. The angel uttered a muffled little laugh and readily welcomed him, enveloping him in his arms and wings and parting lips, his inner light tangibly swelling and at last returning to its full, proper angelic splendor even as it entangled with Crowley’s breathless darkness.
“You can’t just say these things, angel,” the demon eventually managed.
“Then let me say only this. I trust you,” Aziraphale smiled. He’d regained his rosy complexion, and all his fallen feathers had vanished from the floor; the angel’s downy white wings had miraculously filled out once again.
Crowley sat up, straightening his jacket with a crooked grin. “Very well, then. In that case, let the evil plotting commence.”
The angel shifted uneasily. “Do you suppose it’s too early for a nice Château d’Yquem?”
The demon pressed a fond kiss to his temple. “I suppose we’re both going to be needing a drink. Only fair to pair our evil plotting with something sweet.”
It was a few hours and only slightly fewer bottles later when they finally arrived back at the topic at hand, sitting opposite eachother in Aziraphale’s well-worn chairs, a low bottle-littered table in between. Crowley had been happy to give Aziraphale some time to calm down, put away his wings and simply enjoy the company, but the angel eventually stopped putting it off and addressed the matter once more.
“So, you’re saying I’ve already committed four cardinal sins.” Aziraphale still didn’t sound very happy about it, but couldn’t keep a hint of intrigued curiosity out of his voice. “How do you know for sure, exactly?”
“I’m a demon, I can sense that sort of thing. It’s my job to tempt humans into it, after all, best be able to tell if I’m successful. No mistake, angel, you can tick those four off the list.” Crowley swilled the wine around in his glass. “I take it the same applies to you where it comes to virtues? What’s my damage?”
A slow smile spread across Aziraphale’s face. “Are you finally allowing me to elaborate on just why I’ve always maintained you’re a good person? Well, whenever you’d actually let the words leave my mouth, of course.”
“Just this once. Make the most of it.”
“Well.” The angel rubbed his hands together with something that could only be labeled glee. “As I recall, you’ve always gone out of your way to prevent the loss of human life, both from Hell’s schemes and regular Earthly circumstance. You’ve also lent me a hand quite a few more times than the other way around, through the years. Unprompted, might I add. That, my dear, is purest compassion, the virtue of Kindness.”
“Just didn’t want to see you embarrassed,” the demon mumbled habitually, suddenly understanding just how Aziraphale felt about the revelation of his sins.
“Pish-posh, I could tell then, I can tell now, it’s the real deal. Furthermore, you’ve saved my possessions more than once, done me favours and took me out to delightful lunches and dinners more times than I can count. That’s Charity.” The angel was beaming, and Crowley didn’t know if that made the whole thing more or less bearable. “Now, you’ve also worked tirelessly to keep the world from ending, moreso than I, as I still had the hope of reasoning with Heaven. That’s Diligence.” The angel paused, figuratively sobering for a moment. “And I suppose… with everything I’ve put you through out of fear, and rather misplaced loyalty…” He swallowed and briefly glanced upwards, but then his eyes returned to Crowley, who intently stared back, his cheeks feeling warmer than they ought to be, “…you’ve also displayed both divine Patience and Chastity.”
“You suppose?” the demon croaked.
“Six thousand years, dear. It puts you up there with the finest human saints, I’m afraid. Well, both of us, if that makes matters easier.”
Crowley pulled a face as though he’d been sucking a lemon instead of sipping sweet wine. “Five out of seven. I’ve actually been more virtuous than you’ve been sinful.” His eyes widened slightly in quiet horror. “Good thing demons can’t sense virtue, really.”
“A good thing indeed.” Aziraphale put aside his glass. “So, to come back to me for a moment.” He smiled as Crowley let out a small huff of relief; the demon had clearly felt the floor metaphorically heating up under his feet, and had seemed in need of a reprieve. It was the Kind thing to do. “It appears I’m short on Sloth, Wrath, and… Lust.” He grimaced. “Crowley, I really don’t feel like… well, you know. Fooling around with some poor mortal.”
The demon uttered a noncommittal little sound. “Nah, I get that, me neither.”
“You…? You never…?”
Crowley’s eyes flicked up. “Angel, I’m a demon, not an incubus.”
“I suppose so.” Aziraphale steepled his fingertips. “So… while I’m not opposed to trying out this whole human-style, you know, physical sex business…” He posed it as though the idea was akin to trying out a novel new restaurant, or discovering a new composer; interesting but ultimately optional, and Crowley nodded in agreement and understanding[2], “…I gather that no matter what you indulge in, it’s not actually a sin if you love one another.”
“Yeah,” Crowley choked out, pushing back a ‘ngk’ that’d bubbled up for no reason in particular. “Yeah, that’ll be a problem.” He briefly stared at the angel, trying on the one hand to tell himself he really should be used to him just openly saying these things by now, and wishing on the other that he’d never get used to it at all. “Y’see, Lust – as a sin, mind – is about seeing the other party as just an object for one’s own pleasure.”
“I could never.” Aziraphale had the nerve to look ashamed about this, and Crowley could only laugh. This was one brain-teaser he didn’t intend on solving. “I think we’d better cross that one off the list, what’d you say?”
“No Lust,” the angel spoke, a relieved smile breaking through on his face.
“No Lust. You’re getting off easy.”
“I do suppose just two sins will do the trick just as well.”
“Two sins, two virtues. I’ll go first.” Crowley leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Just to set an example for your wickedness, mind.”
Aziraphale made a token effort to hide his touched gratitude, and failed. “Of course.” Between his relief, his amusement, Crowley’s warm presence and the sweet wine, Aziraphale found it very hard to stave off his smile, and couldn’t feel further removed from his panic earlier that day. “Your virtues being Temperance, and Humility.”
“Haven’t the foggiest on how to define nor practice those.”
“It’ll be my pleasure to guide you down the right path, and tell you when they’ve been achieved of your own free will,” Aziraphale beamed. “And then I’m left with Sloth and Wrath.”
Crowley leaned forward, eyes shining with malicious glee. “And it will be my sincere and utter delight to tempt you into committing those.” He held out his glass. “To virtue, and tangos for two.”
Aziraphale reached across the table and toasted. “To sin, and the right dance partner.”