Chapter Text
Aziraphale’s bookshop was restored. Or rather, when the angel entered, taking in all of the space around him, he decided it felt like had never been destroyed at all.
‘The library of Alexandria.’ He said. The tips of his fingers sliding over a bookshelf and collecting a bit of dust. Even the traces of his preoccupied mind, his lack of a good grasp on time and therefore a good grasp on how often one must dust, even those traces were still there.
‘Hardly.’ Said Crowly. ‘I mean, your bookshop is nice, you know I think it is nice-’
‘It was your doing, wasn’t it? Burning it down?’ He watched Crowley open his mouth in protest, but then clarified:
‘The library.’
‘Julius Caesar wouldn’t like me taking credit, but…’ Crowley hesitated, staring at a set point about twelve inches above Aziraphale’s left shoulder.
‘But?’
‘I might’ve handed him the match.’ He looked at the angel now. Aziraphale could see the guilty eyes burn behind his dark shades. There was a silence, leading to the demon shuffling his feet uncomfortably and shrug.
‘I am sorry, okay? I know you were fond of the place!’
‘Oh, it’s in the past.’ Aziraphale turned away to let his fingers go over other dusty shelves. His voice was weaker. Absent, almost.
‘I was just wondering why it didn’t get resurrected the way Adam resurrected my shop.’
‘I see.’
Aziraphale stepped over the creaking floorboard and up the seven steps into the section on religion. He did hear Crowley mutter on about something, but he was far too busy collecting his thoughts from the crooks and crannies of his precious collection and he had concluded that the demon would speak up if it were truly important.
‘Is… is something still burning?’ Aziraphale sniffed, recognizing sulphur in the air.
‘Nuh… can’t be!’
Aziraphale sniffed again, a great, big, dollop of air, but it was there. The smell of sulphur was there.
‘When was the last time you took a shower?’ The angel said.
A crooked smile danced over Crowley’s lips.
‘The thing about Armageddon, angel, is that it is never definitive.’
Aziraphale blinked.
‘But it is! That’s it’s whole schtick. The last judgement! The final war!’
He waved his hands, almost as if to apologize he didn’t put it as eloquently as he would have liked to.
‘It’s subjective. You and I, we have witnessed Armageddon plenty of times.’ Crowley came closer, looking at the other over his shades with those amber-colored eyes of his. His thin pupils seemed to pulse, widen and shrink again, as he spoke.
‘The flood after Noah built his arc, must have been Armageddon to many. La Terreur, Armageddon. The burning of the Library of Alexandria, Armageddon. And yet!’ He raised his voice and a finger in the air, making a nearby houseplant shiver.
‘The human race has grown bigger than the two of us could have even predicted. The rich are still getting richer! And every idiot carries around a device giving access to all knowledge within human range.’
‘I see your point, Crowley.’ The angel sighed. ‘But you must forgive me for disagreeing. We came rather close this time.’
The demon’s face tightened as he gave a small nod. Aziraphale could feel the slight pressure of his exhale on his bowtie.
‘Very close.’ The demon said. The smell of burning was more fragrant than ever.
‘Ah…’ Aziraphale muttered. He meant to go further into the whole Armageddon-being-definitive-thing, but there was more pulsing in those amber eyes. Aziraphale wished Crowley’d take off his shades.
‘I am glad we saved the worl- our home.’
‘Me too, angel.’
The thing about Armageddon was also that every time it had happened, Crowley and Aziraphale had very little world-saving left to do and a lot of miracle-ing all over, which often meant spending a lot of time on their own.
Apart.
Away from each other.
‘I have a bottle of red in my study.’ Aziraphale whispered. He tore himself away from the amber and the curling lips and lead the way.
‘Just the one, eh?’ Crowley grinned.
‘Now Crowley, you know me better than that.’
An angel and a demon getting drunk together usually means vicious plans or great ideas are afoot. Sometimes they can be the same thing.
‘Crowleyyy…’ Aziraphale wasn’t drunk, he had merely finished his bottle.
‘Are you blushing, angel?’ Crowley wasn’t drunk, either.
‘I wasn’t afraid down there, you know! With your... colleagues.’
‘You told me about the rubber duck. Quite impressive! I growled at Gabriel.´
´You growled?’
‘Spat fire.’ In his smile, the demon showed teeth.
Aziraphale’s face was burning. His white suit was warm around him. It seemed as though the heat had never left his bookshop.
‘I couldn’t have abandoned humanity, you know.’ He said after a while. For a moment, he thought there was a lump in his throat. Maybe he was just a tiny bit tipsy.
‘When you asked me to leave with you… for Alpha Centauri…’
Crowley sat up in his chair. He had hoped Aziraphale wouldn't change the subject... not to this. His hands were restless on the armrest.
‘I just… I couldn’t believe you’d ask me that.’
Crowley bit his lip. His cheeks tensed.
‘I tried to save us.’
Aziraphale held back his thoughts. They were having such a nice time. But the words seemed to be out already. He hadn’t even drunk that much wine.
‘There’s no ‘us’ without them.’ Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and looked to the door. Behind it was the world.
‘I have offended you.’ Crowley said, matter-of-factly.
‘Ah…’ the angel said, still looking away, ‘you have, actually.’
‘Ange… ah, man… I didn’t mea-’ the demon sighed.
‘Well.’ He said. ‘Well!’ He was NOT drunk. He stood up, his auburn hair dancing as he couldn’t suppress a hiss, and Aziraphale was afraid that in his anger he would make his way to the door.
‘I wasn’t going to leave without you!’ Crowley said loudly. ‘I wasn’t going to leave the human race! I just tried to… I tried to…’ he looked down at the angel. Seeing his puffy, blushing face and his wet eyes only angered him more. He didn't really understand why. Aziraphale gasped when Crowley lunged at him and grabbed him by his vest, knotting his fist in the fabric.
‘Why are you like thissss?’ the tip of his tongue came out. ‘Why won’t you appreciate what I am trying to do for us?’
Pride and words were stuck in Aziraphale’s throat. He never feared the demon. If anything, he felt his hurt, the hurt about his hurt. All this hurting and feeling hurt didn’t seem very productive, and Aziraphale wished he could express this to the demon, but the fist in his vest loosened and Crowley actually did make his way for the door now.
‘Crowley!’ the demon halted with equal parts reluctance and eagerness.
‘Don’t go!’ the angel stood up too fast and got light-headed (not because he had been drinking) and then he stumbled over his own feet. Because he could be quite clumsy, certainly not because of the wine. Aziraphale had found his words and the guts to finally formulate his thoughts, but he lost his balance and had to turn to exhibiting this bravery in a non-verbal way.
He clung to the demon, who turned in time to witness the fall. He witnessed it as much as becoming an inherent part of it. He then let out a helpless ‘Oof!’ as he was dragged to the ground.
In Aziraphale’s final moment of bravery, he put the rest of his weight on the other man, pinning him down, hands clawing at his jacket.
The thing about Armageddon, Aziraphale thought, was that you never knew how it was going to end, even if you have felt it coming for 6000 years.