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Morning light filtered in past the curtains that swayed in a gentle breeze. Outside, birds were beginning their song for the day and their music trickled in to fill the room. Crowley was already up and about with breakfast already on the table and the daily paper already collected.
He was standing in the doorway of the bedroom, leaned against the frame just...observing.
The scent of flowers from the garden, the somewhat tidy bookshelf overflowing with all manner of literature, the desk in the corner that still had a few open notebooks tucked to the side.
And the soft breathing of the person in the bed.
Crowley sways forward in a very Crowley like manner, gently calling out; “Good Morning, Angel. It’s time to get up.”
The figure underneath the comforter shifts, but doesn't move any further when the demon fully enters the room.
“Oh come now love, breakfast is already done. If you don't get up soon, your cocoa will go cold.” Crowly murmurs as he gently touches the figure's shoulder. He has to be careful. His Angel was so easily startled these days.
Aziraphale finally awoke and slowly pushed himself up so he was facing Crowley.
“Oh...hello.” He said, voice soft with sleep.
“Hello to you too, Angel. Sleep well?”
“Mmm...I think so.” Said angel tilted his head to the side, a small but confused smile gracing his features. “Who are you?”
The demon smiled. “My name is Crowley. You and I live together, in a little bungalow, somewhere in London or thereabouts.”
“London?”
“Yes, London. I couldn't convince you of anywhere else; it had to be London, somewhere close to Tadfield.”
“Oh...I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a problem, dearie. You picked a great spot. Now up you get, breakfast is ready. You’ll remember where everything is as you move about.”
Aziraphale nodded, still smiling, his blue eyes just a little lost and is brow just a little furrowed.
Crowley tried to walk as nonchalantly as he could out of the room-he really did- but the moment he rounded the corner he braced himself against the wall and stifled sobbing gasps.
“It keeps happening. You know it keeps happening, get a hold of yourself…!” He furiously scolds. “The last thing he needs is to see you like this!”
He straightens up and rubs at his face, pouring himself a cuppa and waits patiently for his Angel to join him. This was their routine, and had been for the past few months going on a year now. Crowley would wake up or simply stand depending on what he’d been doing the night previous, make breakfast, wake his Angel and slowly remind Aziraphale of all he’d forgotten.
Which was...quite a bit, though it varies day to day.
Aziraphale, had Fallen. It was a reality they had both feared. Aziraphale because he still felt quite aligned to Heaven, and Crowley because he couldn't bear the thought of watching Aziriphale experience the pain he had felt.
But then, he had found Aziriphale on his stomach splayed out on the floor of their new cottage in the front room, the deep golden splotches on his back still smouldering with the Holy Light that had been ripped from him. The box Aziraphale had been moving in was upturned, the many knick-knacks he’d accrued over the years, shattered.
As had Crowley's, metaphorical heart.
He knew what had happened before he even reached him before he’d even gently rolled Aziraphale over and tried to wake him up. A Fall could kill an angel.
Crowley's Fall had nearly killed him .
“Please Angel, please. Please wake up. Just look at me.” He hadn't been wearing his glasses- why wear them when Aziraphale loved his eyes so?- and tried to get the angel to focus on him. Aziraphale's body had been cold, the boundless warmth that typically flowed from him, gone.
Crowley had called, of all people, Anathema Device first explaining what had happened between sobbing gasps as he tried to raise Aziraphale temperature.
How did one go about doing that for a non-organic being comprised of illusion and Pure Spirit? By keeping a roaring fire going and slightly miracled heating packs underneath them that could get impossibly hot.
It had taken a bit of explaining but she had arrived soon enough. “I wasn’t sure what to pack-I've never had to deal with a Heavenly Body being injured, before. I bought some books that may have something in them-”
“Listen I’m-ahm just happy you're here.”
And, to be perfectly honest, there wasn't much for her to do. Or Crowley. Or Adam. Or anyone for that matter. Because at some point, their little gang of merrymakers and End of Days Participators had decided it best to stick together, for tea, and dinners, and movie nights. So, when Crowley had composed himself enough to sit everyone down in the still very bare living room, he explained.
“Aziraphale;” He started. “; has Fallen. That means that his Holy Rights as an angel have been stripped from him. No, he is not going to turn into a demon.” He said when Adam had raised his hand. “And no, he won’t..be as strong as he once was. Or be able to call upon miracles. Or...or his wings.” He’d continued, pausing to re-compose himself. Dog whined, placing his head on Crowley's feet because dogs (this includes Hellhounds) are very good at sensing pain.
Crowley had breathed deeply. “But yes he...he might…” The word was left unspoken but it held in the air like old dust.
“ But he’ll be okay, right? God wouldn't...she wouldn’t, would she?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But he’s a good Angel!” Pepper had protested.
“And a better person.” Anathema had whispered.
“And none of that matters in the eyes of whoever did this-they wanted him out of the way and now...now he is.” Crowley finished. They had all stayed as late as they could, the children being driven home in the Bentley that somehow seemed to know where they each lived.
“One of those self-driving A.I’s.” Mr.Young had commented idly when Adam returned home.
Anathema and Newton had been the last to leave, promising to return with tea and soup and other human things that might help.
And Crowley had sat. And waited. And tended the fire. He was patient, after all, he had waited over 6000 years for Aziraphale to catch up; he could wait a few more for him to wake up.
The next few days (Weeks? Months? Crowley couldn't remember and time was an illusion anyway) had passed in a blur.
One morning, while waiting for the kettle to heat up, he’d mused on Falling and what it meant. If it truly did have set rules or was all totally arbitrary. Crowley's wings had burned up and been reformed black as night. Aziraphale’s were just...gone. And he’d passed out, gone completely unconscious; what was that about? Did Falls vary, angel to angel? It wasn’t like any of the other demons talked about it…
But there was one thing Crowley did know, something some demon at some point in his existence had let slip.
A Fall didn’t always just take one's Heavenly Power. It sometimes took other things.
“Wha...who are you!?” The frightened question had startled Crowley; for a brief moment, he feared that someone had come to finish the job on both of them. But when he looked up extending his senses as far as he could, he felt nothing. Just him, his Angel, and the billions of trillions of smaller life forms that fringed their reality.
He had sighed in relief and started to move back to Aziraphale’s side, a cup of tea in hand. “It’s only me. Just little ole’ Crowley. Please, don’t move love.”
Now, it’s important to note that no matter how hard, or how far an angelic being Falls-this includes demons-they still aren't human- so when a dull but very much there light glowed around Aziraphale, who was now sitting up blue eyes shining dangerously, Crowley paused in his approach.
“You...don’t recognize me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Should I!?” The light was dull and weak but it still echoed a Holy power, a power that could still hurt.
“Yes, actually you should. Name’s Crowley. Anthony J. Crowley. We’ve been friends for centuries, eons it feels like.”
“Wh...whats the ‘J’ stand for?”
Crowley had shrugged, gently placing the tea beside a still wary Aziraphale.
“S’just a ‘J’, really.”
“Oh...What's that?”
“Tea. You’re favorite blend. Lemee ahh...ask you, something. Do you know your name?”
“I...I do not.”
“Do you know what you are?”
“A person? I think…”
“And uhh...hmm. Do you happen to remember the events of a little something called the Not-Apocalypse?”
Aziraphale had accepted the tea and was currently taking small, pleasant little sips.
“ Mmm. I do not, I’m afraid. What a funny name.”
Beings like them didn’t require the same bodily functions that most did.
But Crowley's heart had been racing, faster than when he thought the world was going to end, and faster than the first time he thought his Angel was truly lost.
“It...it is..init...I need to...go. For a moment. Excuse me.”
How do you respond to your best friend not knowing who you are?
Crowley responded by hopping out of time and space for just a moment, to scream obscenities to Heaven, Hell, the Universe, whoever would listen.
Which brings us back to this particular day at breakfast.
Aziraphale, donning his normal attire which were as much a part of him as his love of books, had made his way into the kitchen and slowly sat opposite Crowley, whos plate was empty. The demon didn't particularly care for food, but a cup of coffee was always a treat.
“Hello again.” He said.
“Yes, hello. Again. Crowley, correct?”
“The one and only, love.”
Aziraphale cleared his throat, eyes wandering over the cozy kitchenette. “Right. And we um...live here together?” He asked.
“Aye, we do.”
“How long, if I may ask?”
“Oh...little over a year, I’d say. Not too too long.”
Crowley was a fairly good cook, not great but decent. He’d prepared a simple meal of bacon, eggs, and toast with Aziraphale’s favorite cup, still full of warm cocoa. The angel had been fidgeting, but he suddenly stopped and stared down at his plate.
“Why...why do I have such an awful feeling?”
“Awful feeling? Ya haven’t eaten anything yet.” Crowley mumbled as he leaned forward, alert.
“No, no this looks lovely!” Aziraphale was quick to add, hands fluttering nervously as he looked back up. “I meant...I feel like something is wrong. Amiss.”
“Amiss?”
“Yes.”
“Well is ...something...amiss?” Crowley was already reaching around them and again, he felt nothing wrong. Someone over the river had a flat tire, but that was about it.
“I don’t...know.” Aziraphale had finished.
Crowley leaned back and set his cup down, watching as Aziraphale had again bowed to his plate.
“...if it's something I can fix, please tell me.” Crowley eventually said softly.
“I think it's nothing. I hope it's nothing. Thank you, though.”
“Mm.” Was all Crowley responded with, lifting his cup to his lips again with his eyes trained on his Angel, who did the same with his cocoa.
The day passed as it had been for the past few months, mostly. Aziraphale was still delighted when he realized the library was all his, was still happy for a nip of wine around lunch, even sat in the garden for a while as Crowley tended to it.
But every now and again, the angel would pause, as if he were listening to something. This bothered Crowley, but he let it pass.
Later in the evening, Crowley was sat on the couch with a glass of scotch. Aziraphale was upstairs, reading in his room. Their bedrooms were separate, they had to be. The first time Aziraphale had woken up next to him he’d nearly killed Crowley; he’d been so startled.
It was for the best, really. That was what Crowley told himself.
“Bloody plan...blast to all of it.” He murmured.
“Ahem.”
“Jeez-” Crowley jumped up, spilling the scotch in the process.
“Sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you!” Aziraphale said.
“Frighten, who’s-who’s frightened, I’m fine, what’s…” Crowley settled back onto the couch, patting the spot next to him that was suddenly void of all dampness. “What’s troublin ya?”
“I...think I figured out what’s amiss.” The angel said, accepting the offered seat, but not as close.
“And?”
“It’s you.”
“Well, that’s a lil’ hurtful.” Crowley mumbled.
“Ahh...well not you, or rather, not just you. Me. You. Us. We’re amiss.”
“...ah.”
Aziraphale scooted a little closer to the demon, folding his hands in his lap.
“I feel a lot of love, between us. But also a lot...of sadness. From you.” He frowned. “It hurts.”
“S’not my intention.” Crowley mumbled, swirling the scotch in his cup.
“I’m sure it’s not. I know it's not.”
They sat in silence for a while, Aziraphale listening to the crackle of the fire, Crowley trying very hard to squash the sadness he was apparently emanating.
“Are you sad because of me?” Aziraphale asked.
“What? No! No, you could never make me sad. Well not never, there were a few times, but they didn't last long.” Crowley protested.
“See, I can’t remember those times. Or much of anything, to be perfectly honest. Is that why you’re sad?”
“I-aaah. Hmm. I. Well.” Crowley was trying very, very hard to squash the rising feeling.
“I wish I could. I feel like I almost can, sometimes. But then it’s gone again, like...like a cloud.” Aziraphale said.
The angel wasn’t making this easy, Crowley thought.
“I feel like I remember children. Four of them, all very bright in their own way. I remember a dog. Very cute, a little yappy. I remember feeling warm, and safe and I feel like I remember you. And then sometimes…” Here, Aziraphale reached over his shoulder. “I feel cold. So, so cold and so, so scared.”
He frowned again. “But when I try to remember specifically why , my head starts to pound, and my back starts to hurt. It’s all very confusing...oh.” He turned to look at Crowley who was looking back at him, tears streaming down his face.
“I wasn’t there to catch you when you Fell.” Crowley whispered. It felt like a confession. For the demon, it was.
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed again in the way it did sometimes and he turned to look fully at Crowley. His eyes looked clearer than they had in a long, long time.
“But you were there to pick me up.” Aziriphale responded, softly in the way that only he could.
Crowley sniffled and nodded. “Yeah... yeah, I was, wasn't I?”
Aziraphale nodded. “I could hear you, speaking to me. I felt so...far away. It’s what I imagine dreams are like, for humans. There, but not really.”
Aziraphale gently placed his hand over Crowleys, still smiling that warm smile.
“You sounded so sad. I didn’t want to leave you alone. I couldn’t. I think something wanted me too, though. I could hear singing and it smelled so wonderful; it felt almost like home. But not really.”
The demon sniffled. “Wh...what’s home, then?”
Aziraphale gently brought Crowley's hand to his lips, pressing a small kiss to his knuckles.
“Here, is home.”
Crowley stared at the man before him for a moment, before bowing his head and pledging himself to this angel, his Angel for the millionth time, as he would do a million times more.
Aziraphale fingers loosened around his, and he tilted his head, looking confused.
“Ah, it happened again.” Crowley said gently. He wiped his tears with his free hand.
“I’m sorry. Who are you again?” Aziraphale asked.
“Crowley, my Angel. And I’ll always be here to pick you up."