Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trying to contact heaven is a bit more work than one would think. You can pray, sure, but how often do you actually get an answer to prayer? Like an actual conversation?

Aziraphale is an angel, so he’s actually been to Heaven before. He’s spoken with the Almighty, too, though that has been quite some time. His prayers go just as unanswered as the prayers of humans. He’s been on earth for six thousand years now and he hasn’t talked to God since Eden.

He barely even talks to the other angels. They show up every now and then, or he goes Upstairs. They only ever talk business. Not that he’d really want to talk with Gabriel more. He wasn’t sure why, but the other angels made him uneasy. Like he couldn’t truly be himself.

And that’s all he ever wanted, he thought as he tried to draw a perfect chalk circle. He just wanted someone to see him for who he really is and not run away. He downed his wine glass in one go and continued with the sigils.

If he’d been doing this sober, he would’ve noticed that he switched the order of some sigils. Not that he’d be doing this in the first place if he wasn’t drunk. He was a good angel, he’d never dream of calling heaven at 3 in the morning (not that anyone ever slept up there) and demanding a friend.

But he was just so lonely. The world will end in a decade and he’s been a good angel all this time (maybe, with the small exception of that time he gave away his sword, but that’s been ages), surely he deserved to at least have one meaningful conversations with a fellow ethereal being.

The circle lit up and instead of the carefully blank face of Metatron, or Michael’s bored ‘New summoning circle, who dis?’ he was suddenly face to face with a demon.

The demon’s red hair was all messy, his yellow eyes barely open and he looked like he just woke up. Which was preposterous. Demons don’t sleep.

“Have you got any idea what time it issss?” he hissed. “I have better thingsss to do than be sssummoned by ssssome inconsssiderate mortal during my nap time!”

Or maybe they do. This one, at least. “I’m not a mortal,” Aziraphale whispered defensively.

The demon looked at him, his gaze traveling across Aziraphale’s body so deliberately Aziraphale would almost say he was checking him out. “An angel?” he whispered incredulously. “What’ssss an angel doing sssssumoning a demon?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I didn’t mean to. I’m dreadfully sorry, I’ll release you from the binding right away.”

The demon smirked and leaned back. He was practically lounging on the floor in the middle of Aziraphale’s bookshop. “Why the rush? I’d love to know how a messenger of the lord managed to mess up a summoning so badly he got me instead of…whatever it is you were trying to summon.” The hissing was mostly gone from his voice and he just sounded…curious. Intrigued.

Aziraphale wished he could ask questions without fear like that. “Well if you must know, I was trying to contact Upstairs. I’m not sure what went wrong. Maybe I’ve had one glass of wine too many.”

The demon studied the circle for a moment and then let out a noice of understanding. “I see your problem. You’ve switched these two, going for an actual summoning and binding rather than just contacting. And this one, I guess that should’ve been a wave, but it looks more like a snake? So instead of Metatron or whomever, you just got me.”

"Oh," Aziraphale whispered.

"Where am I anyway?" the demon asked.

Aziraphale was a little nervous about admitting it. He dragged the poor dear here all the way from Hell. "Earth."

The demon scoffed. "Of course I'm on Earth, I'm not daft! I meant where on Earth am I."

"Oh. London, Soho."

"Oh? Soho, that's walking distance from Mayfair. Great," he smiled. It made him look quite dashing, Aziraphale noted. "Why were you contacting head office anyway? I didn't think they went for the face-to-face approach much. Just paperwork." He shrugged. "Not that I'd know what Heaven is up to these days."

"No, they still prefer paperwork. If anything I think there's less face-to-face contact than during your time." Aziraphale looked away. No small talk. No one idly wondering how you’ve been. No touch. "I haven't even submitted the correct paperwork for a chat, oh my. I'm really glad I got you instead, instead."

"Well, that's a first. What did you want to talk to the Metatron about? Can't imagine he's pleasant company. Not that the others up there are either."

"I don't know!" Aziraphale said, his voice a little watery. Come to think of it the demon was becoming a bit blurry. "I wouldn't know if any of them are good company, although I have my doubts about Gabriel. But I just wanted to talk to someone!" The treacherous tears ran down his cheeks.

"Talk?"

"It's just...I've been here alone all this time. And they check up on me, every couple of centuries, but we don't ever talk. Just talk." He was full on sobbing at this point. "About anything. I just don't want to be alone."

"Um," the demon looked startled. He didn't expect the angel to start crying. He hadn't expected most of the encounter. "There, there? No, that's not comforting, is it?"

He didn't have any faith in heaven. Hard to do that after they threw him out. But to treat one of their own, who's been out here on Earth doing their petty work for then all this time, so badly he broke down in front of a demon? That's low, even for them. "I know I'm a bit biased, but fuck them. Their loss if they don't talk to you."

Aziraphale laughed. "Of course a demon would say that." His smiled turned sad. "But what good is it to know that if I'm still lonely?"

The demon sighed. "Look, how about this. Right now, I'm here. I have two ears, the language centers in my brain function quite alright most of the time and my tongue might be forked but it still works for speaking. I know demon is probably not your best idea of company, but I mean. Can't be worse than Gabriel."

Aziraphale laughed again. "You're probably right. Thank y-"

"Shut up," the demon said quickly before Aziraphale could finish. "Don't even think about it. This is definitely evil of me. I'm, uh, getting an angel to casually converse with a demon. That's gotta count for something, right?" He didn't sound too sure, but Aziraphale decided not to undermine him. Let him have his justification. Aziraphale was a bit beyond that right now. Surely a chat will not damn him.

"I'm Aziraphale."

The demon raised his eyebrows. "Are you?” That explained why the angel seemed familiar. “I'm Anthony J. Crowley."

"Do you prefer Anthony or Cro-" Aziraphale paused. His eyebrows knitted. "Did you say Crowley? As in my adversary Crowley? The original tempter Crowley?"

"I prefer Crowley, but Anthony’ssss fine too, thanksss for asssking." His hissing was back. It tended to be harder to keep down when he was nervous. Surely now that Aziraphale realized who he is he'll change his mind about talking.

"Oh. Fancy running into you now,” Aziraphale said instead and Crowley breathed freely again. “Didn't you say you live in London too?"

"Yeah. I've been here for centuries though."

"So have I," he shook his head. "I can’t believe I’ve never met you until now.”

Crowley looked familiar though. Maybe they saw each other in passing in back in heaven or on Earth.

“I guess I’ve been avoiding angelic presence. Wouldn’t want to be smitten. Uh. Smited? Smote?” Crowley sat up and rubbed his neck.

“Oh, would you like to sit somewhere a bit more comfortable? What a terrible host I am.” Aziraphale got up from where he was sitting on the floor and fluttered about. “How do I, um, I’ve never bound anyone in a circle before, how do I release you?”

“Just erase a bit, so it’s not a closed circle. I won’t harm you, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I didn’t think you would, my dear.” Crowley’s ears turned pink at the endearment. “I simply forgot. Silly old me.” He released Crowley and stepped back. “Come to the back room, I have a couch there. Would you like some wine?”

“Sure.”

“And I wouldn’t smite you! I’ve never smitten anyone.” He handed Crowley a glass of the wine he’d been drinking (the bottle that hasn’t been emptied yet, anyway) and sat down on a plush sofa. After a brief moment of consideration, Crowley sat on the sofa as well, leaving enough space between them that it shouldn’t feel crowded to the angel.

“That’s awfully considerate of you.”

Crowley’s sarcasm flew over Aziraphale’s head, but that was okay. It wasn’t that bad to watch the angel blush and duck his head. Crowley’s never seen him blush, back when he saw glimpses of him in Eden. It made him look even prettier. Not that Crowley thought he was pretty, in Eden or otherwise.

“I just don’t like violence. I dread to think of having to fight in another war with Hell, now that the world is coming to an end.” They’d have to fight one another, he realized. The thought of having to fight the one being who’s made him feel seen was one he did not want to contemplate. “Gabriel said you had something to do with that,” he said instead.

Crowley shrugged. He also didn’t want to think about the war between Heaven and Hell. “I delivered the Antichrist. Not delivered delivered. Just brought him in a basket to the humans, that’s all. He’s being raised by the American ambassador, if you can believe it.” Maybe that was information he shouldn’t reveal to an angel, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

Aziraphale laughed. “Really?” He shook his head. “As if Armageddon was some sort of cinematographic show that you wish to sell in as many countries as possible.”

“Every country. All kingdoms of Earth and thereof.”

“But I’d prefer not to talk shop, if that’s alright? Let’s just…talk about anything. What do you like to do?”

“I have house plants,” Crowley found himself saying. He’s never talked to anyone about it, save the humans working in shops with gardening supplies he’s asked for help.

“Really?” Aziraphale was delighted, for no reason in particular. There wasn’t anything that fascinating about house plants, but it was the getting to know someone that brought a smile to his face. “What kind of plants?”

“Well, I have a snake plant, a devil’s ivy, angel wings and then some others with names that aren’t so much on the nose. I have a sun room where I keep them. Most of them, anyway.” The plants that couldn’t keep up with the competitiveness of the sun room were moved to different places in the apartment, though he made sure the places couldn’t be seen from the sun room.

“That sound nice. Gardens always remind me of Eden, even after all this time.”

Crowley smiled gently. “Me too.” Just for a moment he let himself imagine the angel in his sunroom. Would he be as curious and full of joy as he was in Eden or did he lose that over the years? “What about you? I assume you like reading?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale nodded and sipped his wine. “I love reading all sorts of things, though my collections is mainly focused on books of prophecy, first editions by queer authors and bibles with printing mistakes.”

“Isn’t that a bit blasphemous?”

Aziraphale waved his concern away. “Eh, I don’t think Upstair cares about that. I don’t think they care about anything I do, as long as I don’t step out of the box they’ve made for me.” The tears were back and Crowley found himself panicking. Should he comfort him? How?

He scooted closer to Aziraphale and tentatively raised his hand. He ever so gently touched Aziraphale’s cheek and wiped his tears. Aziraphale let out a loud sob at that.

Crowley jerked his hand away. “I’m sorry.”

“No! No. It’s okay.” Aziraphale’s tearful eyes met his own. “I just can’t remember the last time anyone touched me.”

“Oh, angel. Don’t cry.” Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s neck and drew him into an awkward hug. “Don’t cry,” he hummed.

After so long without touch, the hug almost felt overwhelming. No one’s ever hugged Aziraphale before. “I’m just so tired. Why don’t they love me?” he wailed.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s going to be okay.” How cruel this was of heaven. Angels were beings of love. To keep one so starved for affection should be criminal.

Eventually Aziraphale stopped sobbing and just rested his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder.

“I’m so tired,” he repeated.

Crowley disentangled himself from the embrace and grabbed an ugly tartan blanket from an armchair. He gently guided Aziraphale to lie down and put the blanket over him. “Sleep, angel. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Aziraphale peered at him. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” Crowley murmured. He whispered nonsense to Aziraphale and stroked his hand until the angel’s breathing became slow and even and then he slipped out of the bookshop.

Chapter Text

So Aziraphale summoned a demon and that was that. He woke up alone and the world went on. It will not go on for long, but for now it did.

But you know what the thing is about getting what you want? It’s never enough. You’ll always want more.

And so Aziraphale found himself once again drunk and summoning a demon. On purpose this time.

He was extra careful making the circle. Wouldn’t want to summon the wrong demon, or worse, an angel. It had been a bad idea, contacting Heaven. What was he even going to say to them? Hello, it’s me, the Principality Aziraphale. I need someone to be my friend, someone who won’t run away. Maybe send me an angel. The nicest angel you have.

Yeah, right. That would get him a great reaction.

Though, in a way, he got what he wanted. Yes, Crowley was a fallen angel, but he was nicer than any of the angels Aziraphale knew.

The circle lit up and Crowley appeared.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called out enthusiastically and waved, despite being an arm’s distance from him. Since it was only seven in the evening, Crowley looked more presentable than he did last time. He was dressed in all black again, had half his hair up in a bun and dark round sunglasses perched on his nose. He looked fantastic, but Aziraphale was a little sad that he couldn’t see his eyes.

“Was this really necessary?” Crowley sighed. “What’s wrong with using a telephone?”

Aziraphale’s smile slipped. Was Crowley not happy to see him? Or was it just the means of communication he disapproved of? “I don’t have your number.”

“Eh, right. But you can sense demons. It can't be that hard to find a demon in Mayfair."

"I didn't want to seem stalkery!"

"Oh, yeah, cause summoning and binding is so much better."

Aziraphale looked at his shoes. "Are you angry at me?"

“No,” said Crowley, his tone much gentler now. “I would just prefer to meet up without getting dragged through space by ancient summoning magic.”

“But,” Aziraphale waited for his courage to catch up with his mouth. “But you don’t mind seeing me?”

Crowley leaned as close as the binding allowed him to, smile lighting up his face. With the distance gone, Aziraphale could see his eyes through the sunglasses. “I’d love to see you again.” He looked away. “You’re not the only one who’ssss lonely. I could ussse a friend.”

Aziraphale grinned. Crowley remembered his smiles in Eden, but the hazy memories did not compare with the real thing, directed at him. “Friends. I like the sound of that.”

He erased a bit of the chalk circle and reached a hand out to Crowley. He studied it carefully for a moment before clasping it in his own and letting Aziraphale help him up. This brought them almost chest to chest and Crowley was about to step away and give Aziraphale some space, but before he could Aziraphale threw his arms around him.

Aziraphale was a happy drunk today it seemed.

Crowley returned the hug, trying and failing to ignore the hand rubbing his back absentmindedly. “How long does a hug normally last?” Aziraphale asked after a few minutes.

“About three seconds,” Crowley, who spend way too many sleepless nights browsing wikipedia, answered. “But humans see time differently. Don’t worry about it.” He was enjoying this closeness quite a bit, not that he would admit it.

“Oh my.” Aziraphale let him go. “I’ll remember that from now on.”

Crowley tried his best not to feel disappointed, which was ridiculous. He was a demon. He shouldn’t care about hugs from anybody, much less an angel.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“A walk?” Crowley echoed.

Aziraphale nodded. “We could go to St. James’s park. Feed the ducks.” He shrugged. “Or something,” he tacked on, feigning nonchalance.

“Sounds nice.” Crowley shouldn’t like nice. Nice is not for demons.

But just this once couldn’t hurt, could it?

And off they went. Crowley committed the location of the bookshop to his memory, just in case. Aziraphale watched him, wondering if it would be odd to link their arms together. It seemed it has mostly fallen out of fashion and Aziraphale felt a tinge of sadness at having missed his window for it.

Crowley reached up and released his hair from the bun. It fell down in waves and the setting sun shone through it, making it looked like it glowed and suddenly Aziraphale knew why Crowley looked so familiar.

Up until now he wasn’t completely sure what happened to the beautiful angel who hung the stars, though he had suspected he was no longer in Heaven. It made him sad to think of it before, but now he was privately kind of glad, in a weird way. Maybe at least Hell appreciated his efforts and imagination if Heaven won’t. And now Aziraphale can appreciate him too, again.

If Crowley noticed him staring, he didn’t comment on it. He wasn’t paying attention at the moment, actually. He noticed a penny on the sidewalk and tried picking it up. It wouldn’t move.

“What in the-oh, right.” He stood up straight, and the only reason his cheeks didn’t flush was that they knew better than that.

“Is that glued there?”

“Yeah, that’sss one of mine,” Crowley said and resumed walking.

Aziraphale frowned in thought and hurried to catch up. “You glue pennies to sidewalks as a demonic activity?”

“What? It’s evil!” he said defensively.

Aziraphale giggled, which was such a delightful noise Crowley could almost forgiving for laughing at him. “Of course it is.”

They sat down at one of the benches. This one was often occupied by clandestine meetings of two members of opposing forces. The ducks were getting ready to eavesdrop, even though they were pretty sure this was a couple on a date. That was just how the clandestine meetings sometimes ended up.

Aziraphale miracled up a bag of breadcrumbs. Crowley stopped him before he could throw it to the ducks with a hand on his arm. “Bread’s not good for ducks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t have the nutritional values they need,” he said, with the tone of someone who would claim not to like books but who had a bookcase filled with encyclopedias on various subjects at home. “They can get sick. There’s this one condition where their wings stick out from their body. It’s, uh, it’s called angel wings, actually.” He waved his hand and turned the bread into a can of corn. “There.” He smiled and was pleased to see the angel return the smile.

They threw corn to the ducks and talked about nothing in particular. Just a date, the ducks thought, and strategically moved to the two secret agents of different fractions two benches down. (To their dismay, they were also on a date and thus didn’t provide any juicy blackmail material.)

Since the ducks no longer seemed interested, the angel and the demon got up and resumed their stroll. Aziraphale noticed an ice cream cart, somehow still open at this time. A part of him wanted to go and buy a lolly, but another part was worried what might Crowley think. He could hear Gabriel in his head, saying he should not sully his celestial body with gross matter.

Crowley noticed where his gaze went and leaned closer to him, almost whispering in his ear. “Would you like to go for some ice cream? I believe there’s a cart still open.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. Crowley was worried people might notice for a moment; it looked like Aziraphale’s halo manifested beneath his skin. Then he realized he was just being dramatic. It wasn’t a halo, he thought to himself. He was just smiling. Get a grip, Crowley. Just cause the angel you had a crush on six millennia ago is your friend now doesn’t mean you need to act like a fool.  “That would be lovely.”

Crowley got a vanilla cone that did not go with his aesthetic at all, but which was incredibly delicious. Aziraphale got a strawberry lolly. It tainted his lips red, not that Crowley was noticing that. “I love ice cream,” he said to fill the silence.

“So do I! Oh, I would say it’s one of my favorite foods.”

Crowley has always been curious. It’s gotten him into great trouble before, but on the plus side it was unlikely to get him into such trouble again. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly pick just one!” Aziraphale put the hand that wasn’t holding the ice cream on his chest and shook his head. Crowley imagined he’d be clutching his pearls if he had some. “I love sushi. And cake, oh, cake. There’s one called angel food cake, if you can believe it! It’s simply divine, although I must admit I prefer devil food cake. And crêpes. Hmm. I once nearly got discorporated over crêpes, you know.”

Crowley liked food, but this was something else. He watched Aziraphale passionately ranting with a smile. “Discorporated? Over crêpes?”

“I popped over to Paris for some. Didn’t realize there was still a revolution going on,” he said to the ground. It was a little embarrassing, after all. “I didn’t want to miracle myself out of the prison because I only just got reprimanded for doing too many frivolous miracles, but I figured it would be easier to explain opening a cell door with a frivolous miracle than why I got discorporated.”

Crowley laughed. The more he found out about the angel the more he liked him. “Did you get the crêpes?”

Aziraphale smiled, happy again now that the conversation was back to food and He was sure Crowley won’t make fun of him. He was laughing, but it didn’t seem mean-spirited. “Yes! Yes, I did. Worth almost getting send to the guillotine.”

Crowley walked Aziraphale back to the bookshop and then hesitated at the doorstep. “I’ll give you my number. No more summoning business, okay? You can just text me.”

“Oh, I don’t have a cell phone. Just a rotary.”

Crowley blinked, which is not something he did a lot. “Okay. Well, you can call me.”

They exchanged numbers and then there was no reason to stay. Still, Crowley lingered.

“You can just stop by the bookshop anytime if you want to hang out. I keep odd opening hours, but I’m usually here.”

Crowley nodded. “Alright. Well, good night, angel.” The term slipped out on its own accord and Crowley turned around, not wanting to face whatever Aziraphale’s reaction was going to be.

Aziraphale wondered if he was reading too much into things, but it felt like an endearment. “Good night, Anthony.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hung up and started pacing around his bookshop. It wasn’t that Crowley made him nervous. Well, he did, but that wasn’t the point.

He was afraid of consequences. Not for himself. It was obvious Heaven didn’t really care what he did. But Hell. They didn’t care about justifications and looking righteous and all high and mighty when they punished someone. They could do evil just for the sake of doing evil and if they found out Crowley was friends with an angel they would destroy him.

They didn’t check on Crowley much, that was true. He was just telling Aziraphale how much he lied in his reports on the phone a moment ago. But all it would take is one surprise check up at the right moment. Aziraphale couldn’t risk that.

There was the question of how to stop being friends with Crowley, though. What was he supposed to do? Just tell Crowley he didn’t want to see him anymore? Aziraphale would like to say he didn’t lie, but that would be, well, a lie. But just because he lied didn’t mean he was good at it. He couldn’t imagine Crowley would believe he wanted to be left alone after he saw him cry because he was not used to affection during one of their two meetings. (He would also like to say he only cried because he was drunk at the time, but he also cried twice after hanging up the phone. He was completely sober in both cases. He had tears in his eyes right now. It was one of the reasons he’s been avoiding seeing Crowley in person.)

Not to mention, this would all hurt Crowley, which was exactly the thing he was trying to avoid. So the only way to stop their friendship would be Crowley getting tired of him and leaving, which Aziraphale thought was unlikely. Not Crowley getting tired of him, he was rather surprised that it hadn’t happened already, but leaving because of it.

Crowley also didn’t have anyone. He was already talking to Aziraphale and Aziraphale couldn’t be that good company, could he? Crowley was probably just too lonely to care.

But all that brought him to his other fear. It was less existential, but just as real. He felt himself almost drawing back sometimes, the same anxieties as when talking to the other angels at the back of his head. It was different though, he knew. He wasn't afraid to show himself to Crowley because he would get punished if he didn’t fit the expectations laid out for him.

What if Crowley got to know him and didn’t like what he saw?

He knew it was possible, hell, quite likely. But he just wanted Crowley to like him so badly. He thought being there would be enough, but he just desperately wanted for Crowley to see all of him, every little piece he’s painstakingly hidden away over the centuries and still like him.

He knew that if he wanted Crowley to like him he must let Crowley know him. To say what he truly thought, instead of what he thought Crowley wanted to hear. He wanted this friendship to be an honest one, but he feared rejection.

After all, why should Crowley like him? He was a blubbering mess, a sorry excuse for an angel and soft in all the senses of the world, something which the other angels loved to remind him.

Crowley wouldn’t treat him like the angels have, Aziraphale knew. He wouldn’t be cruel. He’d let him down gently, eyes soft and full of pity. Aziraphale couldn’t stand the thought, so he resolved to keep him at an arm’s distance.

The two fears were in truth only one. He just got Crowley and was afraid of losing him. If they only talked on the phone, Hell would not be able to find out. And he could hide better and even if he couldn’t, well.

At least he wouldn’t see the disappointment on Crowley’s face when he realized he was not worth his time, after all and be spared the embarrassment of crying in front of Crowley again.

 *

There was a spring in Crowley's step as he sauntered towards the bookshop. It was Friday the thirteenth. Everyone was already on edge which made ruining their day so much easier. He wasn't on his way to ruin someone's day right now though. He was on his way to see Aziraphale.

They haven't seen each other since the stroll in the park. They talked on the phone sometimes, but Aziraphale's made no move to see him again in person, so Crowley took the matter into his own hands.

After all, Aziraphale told him he could just show up at the bookshop, didn't he? Besides, he had an excuse.

He was just about to grab the door handle when some human walked out and slammed the door. “Do not bother!” they said to Crowley.

Crowley simply raised an eyebrow and entered the bookshop.

“I told you, it’s not for sale!” Aziraphale called out from the backroom.

“It’s me, angel.”

Aziraphale stepped into the main area of the bookshop. “Crowley!” He looked happy to see him, and Crowley definitely did not let out a breath of relief.

“What did you do to the poor human?”

“I wouldn’t part with my signed first edition of Picture of Dorian Gray.”

“Oh, the horror. How could you be expected to sell books, in a bookshop of all places?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “It’s more of a place to store my collection, to be honest.”

Crowley laughed. A bit of a bastard, isn’t he? “I brought you something,” he said, holding up a paper bag.

“Really?” Aziraphale looked like he might start jumping up and down. He settled for reaching for the gift. It was a bag filled with delicate sugar dusted pastries. “Are those angel wings?”

“Yeah,” Crowley nodded. “In some places there’s a tradition to gift them on Friday the thirteenth to avoid bad luck.” Or at least it was a tradition between married couples, but surely it could be a nice gesture between friends. Besides, it was mostly a joke, since Aziraphale already had angel wings. Just a pastry wouldn’t be enough to protect him anyway, but with the helping of a small demonic miracle anything was possible.

Aziraphale popped one into his mouth and moaned. He closed his eyes as he savored the taste. “I haven’t had these since ancient Rome.” He touched Crowley’s hand. ”Thank you.”

“Uh, argh, it’s fine.”

“I’m going to make myself some hot chocolate. Would you care for some?”

“Sure.”

He followed Aziraphale upstairs into a kitchenette. He was glad his gift was received so well. He thought about just taking Aziraphale to dinner, but the gesture seemed easy to misunderstand. Dinner seemed to much like a date.

Aziraphale puttered around his kitchen, preparing the cocoa and talking idly about a book he was reading. Crowley leaned against a counter and watched him. He seemed nervous for some reason. Crowley internally debated bringing it up, but before he could make up his mind Aziraphale was handing him a mug. “Hold this.”

It was white and the handle was angel wings. Aziraphale was staring into the cupboard, frowning. “Do I only have one mug?”

Crowley pointed to the vintage teacups in the back. “What about those?”

“They’re for tea.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and suddenly there was another mug in his hands. This one was black and the handle was a snake, it’s tail coiled around the bottom of the mug. A snake that looked eerily similar to a snake one might find in, say, Eden, hanging of an apple tree branch. “There. That’s perfect.”

Aziraphale poured the chocolate into the mugs and topped it off with whipped cream and mini marshmallows. He put both mugs on a tray, next to a plate of the angel wings and Crowley was struck by how right it looked. The angel and the snake mug, next to each other. Different, but fitting together perfectly.

He looked away, before he started doing something ridiculous, like crying over novelty mugs.

 *

Turns out you can stay away from someone all you like, but if that someone knows the address of you bookshop and has no qualms about coming over at any time, all your effort’s useless. After Crowley’s first tentative visit went well he just kept coming back anytime he pleased. Aziraphale was selfish and weak. Seeing Crowley just made him so happy. Any resolve he had to keep his distance melted. Crowley seemed to enjoy these meetings as well, at least enough to keep initiating them, but Aziraphale wanted to pay him back properly.

“So. Where are we going?” Crowley asked. They were sitting in his Bentley together, parked illegally in front of the bookshop.

“It’s a surprise!”

Crowley looked at him. “You do know I need to know where to drive, right?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Oh. Well, we’re going to Greenwich.”

“Alright,” Crowley said and then floored it.

Aziraphale clutched his seat desperately. “Crowley! Are you trying to discorporate us?”

“Live a little, angel. I’ve got this perfectly under control.”

They sped through the town, listening to some bebop, because apparently the car had a fondness for it, while Aziraphale attempted not to pray. No one listened, but best not to push one’s luck. They saved some ten minutes thanks to Crowley’s insane driving, which was good for nothing, because they ended up stuck in a traffic jam.

“Aww, no. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t apologize, Crowley. It’s not like this is your fault.”

Crowley winced and smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I designed a lot of London’s infrastructure to spread low grade evil, so it kinda is.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and then added, proudly: “I changed the M25 into the shape of odegra.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Of course you did.” Gluing coins, causing traffic jams. Crowley wasn’t evil at all. He was just an asshole.

“So what are we doing in Greenwich?” Crowley asked, his car moving at the speed of approximately two miles an hour.

“I told you, it’s a surprise!”

“I can pretend to be surprised anyway. I am a very skilled liar.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I don’t believe you.”

Crowley gasped dramatically. “I’m wounded, Aziraphale, truly. I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover from this.”

Eventually the traffic cleared up and they neared Greenwich. “Where should I park?”

“Park near the park,” Aziraphale said and then giggled. “Pun, uh, not intended.”

Crowley parked, once again illegally, and Aziraphale led the way to the park. “Saint James’s park is not enough now?”

“Crowley, I’m not telling you why we’re here. In fact,” he added, just to be a bastard. “You should probably close your eyes.”

“Ah, come on, angel.”

“I’m being serious.” He wasn’t, but he wanted to see what would Crowley’s reaction be.

Crowley sighed theatrically. “Fine, but I won’t see where I’m going.”

“That is rather the point, my dear.”

“You will have to take my hand.”

Oh. Aziraphale reached out tentatively and grasped Crowley’s hand. It was…sweaty. And gross. It brought them way too close to each other and Aziraphale absolutely hated it.

He hoped it would never stop.

He guided Crowley to the building (“Stairs, my dear, mind your step.”) and payed for the tickets (“Can I open my eyes yet?” “No!”) and led Crowley into the room.

“Okay.” He squeezed Crowley’s hand and regretfully let go. “You can open your eyes now.”

*

Crowley opened his eyes and-

Stars.

There were stars all around him. Stars and planets and galaxies and nebulas, pictures upon pictures of space, amid the technological marvels that got humanity to discover them in the first place. To discover what Crowley created.

Crowley had to blink aggressively to clear the tears away.

“We’re in a planetarium.”

Aziraphale nodded. “There’s a show about moons in about an hour. And we can go to the Astronomy Centre and the Observatory, too.”

Crowley didn’t often show affection, mostly because he didn’t know how and even a small thing could overwhelm both him and Aziraphale. But in that moment he couldn’t do anything other than throw his arms around the angel and clutch at him desperately. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Anthony.”

He drew away, wanting to keep at least some of his dignity. “How did you know?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I remember you. I saw you in heaven a few times, before. You were always going on about space and the stars you were creating and you just looked so happy.”

Crowley wiped his tears away. “I don’t…we never spoke, did we?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“I didn’t think so. I would remember that. I don’t remember ever seeing you in heaven, but I saw you in Eden a few times.”

“Did you? Well, I suppose I did see you as a snake, I just didn’t realize it was you until after.”

Crowley smiled shakily. They spend the day learning about space, Crowley occasionally pointing to a star or a nebula and telling Aziraphale of its creation. At the end of the day, Crowley spent a stupid amount of time and money in the museum shop (Museum shops were on of his, so naturally, it came back to bite him in the ass.) but it was alright because Aziraphale was just as preoccupied by the book section.

They were walking towards the Bentley, Crowley happily clutching his purchases and a leaflet about astronomy courses. “I’ve had a lovely day. Thank you.” He hesitated before speaking again. “What would say to some dinner?”

Aziraphale grinned and his eyes shined. Crowley really didn’t know how anyone thought he was human. “That would be lovely! I know this nice place not too far from here,” he rambled on, not noticing Crowley’s soft smile.

Chapter Text

Crowley was lounging on a sofa in the bookshop, as he often did. Aziraphale invited him over for drinks after lunch and who was he to resist? They didn’t meet all that often and tried to be inconspicuous because they were still technically hereditary enemies, so of course he wanted to make their meeting longer. They phoned all the time to make up for it, though.

And sometimes, they got to hang out. And argue about which animals were mammals and which were fish.

“Okay, fine, dolphins aren’t a fish,” Aziraphale conceded. “But what about platy, uh, platypuses.”

“Frankly, I think the Almighty was inebuh, ineburh, unf, drunk when she designed them.”

The angel gasped. “Don’t say that! That’s heresy. Could get in trouble.”

“I already got kicked out, what more could they do?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Dunno. Send you to timeout.”

Crowley laughed. “That’s what Hell is! All the angels were naughty, half just got send to timeout and half got grounded!”

Aziraphale seemed to be struggling to hold in giggles.

“Except that angel.” Crowley pointed to Aziraphale dramatically. He ducked his head, blushing. “Aziraphale seems alright. Let’s send him to Earth, maybe he’ll meet some dumb demon who could be his friend.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, fully expecting him to burst out laughing. It wasn’t that funny, but they were both quite drunk. But Aziraphale wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling anymore.

“Are you alright?” he asked, immediately sober. “What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale muttered. “It’s fine. You didn’t do anything.” He started to rub his hands together and then stopped abruptly.

Crowley reached out, but stopped short of touching him, unsure if a touch would be welcome. Aziraphale saw his aborted movement and nodded tensely. Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

“It’s just…it’s silly.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale well enough to know that it probably wasn’t. Aziraphale was just taught not to see his feelings as important and once again Crowley found himself wishing he could go Upstairs so he could show the angelic pricks who were responsible for that his piece of mind. “It’s not silly if it bothers you, angel.”

“I just,” Aziraphale sighed and followed Crowley into sobriety. “I don’t like it when people call me he.”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “Okay. Then I won’t use it. Is there anything else you’d prefer or should I just stick to your name?”

Aziraphale was staring at him with something akin to awe. Crowley knew the angels didn’t show Aziraphale kindness, but they did at least show Aziraphale basic decency, right?

“I…um. I am a bit partial to ze and hir pronouns.”

“Alright.”

Aziraphale stared at him. It looked liked ze was waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Alright?” ze asked after a moment.

“Yeah, angel. It’s no problem, really.” He watched hir face intently. “Did someone give you trouble for it? Is that why you’re so worried?”

“No. No.” Aziraphale shook hir head. “I haven’t told anyone. I rarely interact with humans for an extended period of time. There really is no point.”

Crowley licked his lips, carefully picking his words. “I mean, it’s not like they’re entitled to know, or anything. But it’s not…you’re not a burden for wanting them to respect you.” He paused, contemplating whether he should even bring it up. “What about, uh.” He pointed skyward.

“Oh, I can’t imagine telling them. It’s…I don’t think they’d really understand. This is an awfully human concept. I shouldn’t be weak. It shouldn’t matter to me.”

“Your feelings matter, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, my dear. It’s…hard to remember sometimes. But my point stands.” Ze sighed and raked hir hand through hir hair. “Angels aren’t supposed to change.  I don’t know if it didn’t bother me before, or if I just never noticed. But I shouldn’t even be capable of changing my mind. The only way for an angel to change is to…” Ze looked down, only for a second, but Crowley knew what ze meant. “What about you? Demons? Are you allowed to change?”

“Of course. That’s the whole point. Well, ahg, within reason. As long as it's not a change Below would mind." Crowley shrugged. "I mean, I had a different name before this. Crawley. Well, and a different one before that, but I couldn't exactly keep running around with my God-given name, could I? Anyway, I didn't really like it. Too squirming at your feet-ish. Even for a snake. And yeah, Dagon grumbled about all the paperwork she'd have to rewrite, but she did it. And they all learned to call me that. Wouldn't Upstairs have the same common courtesy at least?”

Aziraphale sighed and shook hir head. "I didn't mean that they wouldn't use it. Of course they would. Angels use all sorts of pronouns. But I don't want to listen to Gabriel make fun of things that matter to me. He doesn't do it to be mean, but I'm afraid our sense of humor doesn't quite align. I don't want to give them all another reason to think I'm not a proper angel."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked hir in the eyes. "You are a better angel than any of them will ever be."

Aziraphale smiled at him, softly, like ze couldn't quite believe it but appreciated the gesture none-the-less. "You're too kind, dear."

Crowley hissed, more out of habit than any real indignation.

Aziraphale tilted hir head curiously. "Why did you pick the name Crowley? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"It's nothing complicated. I've found that the bird with wings like mine is called crow. And there it was, a name that was close to the name I used before, but one that I liked. One I chose for myself. And later I added Anthony J., though that was partially to fit in better with the humans. I didn’t bother making Dagon change the files again.”

Aziraphale smiled. “You use he, right?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I mean, sometimes people call me she if they see me dressed like this.” He gestured at the dress he was wearing. It was black, like nearly all of his clothes. The sleeves in this style were, as Crowley smugly informed him, called angel wings. “I don’t mind. But I guess I like he best. Don’t like being called a man, though.”

“Got it. Listen, could you…not use ze for me in front of other people? I’m just…not ready for that yet, I’m afraid.”

“Of course, angel. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

 *

Aziraphale didn’t often receive prayers. Most people didn‘t pray to angels and besides, ze wasn’t an angel many people knew of. So it was a bit surprising when ze was disturbed during hir night reading by a soul in need.

The prayer didn’t have a structure, it could barely be called put into words. It was just someone, desperately calling out to hir. It’s been ages since anybody prayed to hir, but ze couldn’t remember anyone ever praying to hir in a moment of distress.

Ze was preparing to send a miracle their way and go back to reading until ze realized the energy was familiar. Too familiar.

Ze follow the prayer to its source, materializing in Crowley’s bedroom, not even sparing a moment to ponder how a demon could pray. Crowley didn’t seem be in danger at all. He was just asleep.

He was still sending out distress signals to Aziraphale, so ze sat on the bed next to him and tried to figure out what was wrong. He was shaking a bit, but humans tended to move during sleep. He might also just be cold. He was cold-blooded, after all.

This close, Aziraphale could almost make out words in the prayer. Aziraphale, help, please. And then a soft please don’t leave.

“Crowley,” ze whispered and put hir hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “It’s okay, my dear. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear hir. “Crowley.” Aziraphale shook his shoulder gently. “Please. Wake up.”

Crowley sat up with a strangled cry. He panted, his eyes darting around the room, looking for any signs of danger.

“It’s okay, my dear.”

Crowley jerked his head to look at Aziraphale.

“You’re save.”

“‘Zir’phale,” he mumbled. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” ze echoed and squeezed his shoulder.

“How?”

“You prayed to me.”

Crowley’s eyebrows knitted. “No, I didn’t. I’m a demon and I was just having a nightmare.”

“Well, whether it was conscious or not, you did pray to me. I can feel it when someone does that. Even with demons, it seems. So I came here.”

Crowley nodded and lied on his back, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” He shrugged and then proceeded to talk about it. “I mean, there’s not much to talk about. We were in the park and then I think a duck attacked us? It doesn’t make much sense now but it was disturbing at that moment. We were both badly hurt and I was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”

Aziraphale tried hir best not to laugh. It scared Crowley quite badly; it wasn’t funny. But really. “A duck?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s ridiculous. Dreams don’t always make sense, you know?”

Ze shook hir head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a dream.”

Crowley propped himself up on his elbow. “Never?”

“I don’t sleep much.”

Crowley hummed and leaned closer to Aziraphale, putting his arm around hir waist and his head on hir chest. “You can sleep now. Have to make sure I don’t have another nightmare.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead. “I’m sure you’ll dream of whatever you like best.”

*

Aziraphale woke up feeling refreshed and cold. Ze blinked and saw that Crowley was no longer in bed with hir. Ze had a feeling ze dreamt of something, but ze couldn’t recall. Miracling hir outfit neat, ze climbed out of Crowley’s bed and went to search for him.

Aziraphale’s never actually been to Crowley’s apartment before. It didn’t feel like him at all. It was dark and modern and completely impersonal with the exception of the odd plant or art. Crowley was sentimental, as much as he didn’t like to be reminded of it. It was strange that his home didn’t reflect that.

“Is that a spot?” Aziraphale heard Crowley’s voice down the hall and followed it. “I thought I made it clear that spots are out of the question!” He was yelling, but he didn’t sound distressed. Just angry.

Crowley was in the sunroom. It was filled with lush green plants that were inexplicably shaking like a, well, like a leaf in the wind. Crowley stood in the middle, holding a pot with a plant that shivered even harder than the others. “Failure is not an option! You’ve disappointed me.”

Aziraphale watched the display, fascinated. Crowley wasn’t a violent creature by nature. He was a demon, yes, but Aziraphale’s only ever heard him raise his voice when someone cut in front of his car. And even then he wasn’t actually yelling at the driver, just grumbling to himself.

“You’re going to pay for your mistakes. It’s your own blessed fault.”

“What are you doing?”

Crowley startled, nearly dropping the pot. “Gardening.”

“I got that,” said Aziraphale. “I was wondering why you were yelling at the poor dears.”

Crowley shrugged. He seemed almost sheepish. “Heard on radio once that talking to your plants helps them grow.”

Aziraphale plucked the pot out of his hands and gently put it down on a nice sunny spot. “Talk, dear. Not threaten.”

Crowley folded his arms over his chest, jutting his chin out. “They deserve it. I wouldn’t yell at them if they were good enough.”

Aziraphale’s face went through some complicated expressions Crowley didn’t understand, only to settle on pain. “Oh, sweetheart. Who hurt you?”

“What?” Crowley shook his head. “N-no one. Why would you think ssssomeone hurt me?”

Aziraphale stepped closer to him and cupped his face in hir hands. “You’re not a failure.”

To his great embarrassment Crowley started crying. One second his eyes were dry and the other he could barely see Aziraphale through his tears. Ze dragged him into an embrace, making soothing noises and rubbing his back. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t stop sobbing. “Shhh. It’s going to be alright, Crowley. Shh.”

“I-I jussst,” he blubbered. He took a deep breath. “I wassss a terrible angel and now I’m a terrible demon. I can’t do anything right!”

“You’re an amazing friend.” Aziraphale drew back so ze could see Crowley’s face better, but kept hir arms around his shoulders. Crowley was looking everywhere but at hir. “Crowley, look at me.” Reluctantly, Crowley did. “Maybe you’re not good not by the standards of Heaven or Hell, but you are a great person. You’re my best friend and the best person I know.”

Crowley let out a sob again. “Angel,” he said simply. He couldn’t say anything else. What did he do to deserve Aziraphale’s compassion? Crowley knew what ze meant by best friend, even if his idea of best friends was maybe a bit influenced by the number of times he’s heard the Best of Queen album. (Unbeknown to him, Aziraphale’s definition of best friend was also influenced by Queen. Ze’s heard the song in question in the Bentley maybe a bit more often than the other songs on the album, for reasons unknown to angels and demons. The Bentley was also quite fond of playing Somebody To Love while Aziraphale was around. It was a miracle Crowley hasn’t caught on yet.)

As much as he would like to be that kind of best friends with Aziraphale, he was incredibly grateful for having hir at all. Ze was there, drying Crowley’s cheeks with a handkerchief ze pulled out of thin air and it was all Crowley could do to not start crying all over again. “You should be kinder to yourself. And your plants.”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley protested half-heartedly.

“Exactly. I’m guessing Hell doesn’t exactly treat you as nice as they should. No reason you should do the same to yourself.” Ze grabbed Crowley’s hand. “Now come on. Some breakfast and coffee is going to make you feel much better.”

*

Crowley stood in the sunroom. He’s been standing there for a few minutes, but he’s yet to summon the courage to talk. The plants were shivering in anticipation as he misted them.

“You…you’re not a wassste of sssspassse,” he tried. The plants froze in confusion. They’ve seen their owner’s breakdown earlier that week, but they’ve seen him cry before. It’s never changed his behavior. Then again, he’s always been alone before. “You’re doing your besssst.”

The plants stretched out, as if they were chasing the sun or Crowley’s tentative praise. Crowley smiled.

Chapter Text

An angel and a demon were sitting in a Bentley, laughing at something that wouldn’t be so funny if they weren’t so spectacularly drunk. The dinner was lovely as was the wine and Crowley was reluctant to sober himself up. He would have to, to drive Aziraphale home. Maybe that was the issue. He did not want to part with hir yet.

Aziraphale was not the most graceful drunk. As ze laughed, ze tipped over and ended up dangerously close to hir friend. It was only now that ze was so close that ze noticed something. “Huh. You have freckles.”

Crowley leaned it conspirationally. “Some humans say that freckles are angel kisses.”

Aziraphale giggled. “Kissed a lot of angels, have you?”

“No. Not yet.” Crowley smiled and couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to Aziraphale’s lips. "But I'm hoping I might get to."

He probably wouldn't have said that if he wasn't so drunk, or maybe if Aziraphale wasn't leaning so close to him. Crowley leaned a bit closer yet; no closeness ever seemed to be enough.

Aziraphale almost followed him but then ze seemed to remember hirself and jerked away. "You go too fast for me, Crowley," ze blurted out and ran out of the car.

Crowley was left staring at the empty space.

They haven't known each other that long, that was true. It's only been a couple of years. To creatures like them, that was nothing. That wasn't what was perplexing Crowley so. It was that Aziraphale didn't reject him, not outright. Ze said he went too fast, not that he should not be going there at all.

And it hurt, but it was still more than Crowley ever expected from Aziraphale. And Crowley would wait. (He once hid in the bushes for three weeks waiting for someone to pick up the penny he glued to the sidewalk.) With no expectations, just stupid hope, that maybe, one day, this could happen. That they could be on the same page and also hopefully not dead.

Crowley considered sobering up, but thought better of it. The Bentley could take the wheel for a bit.

*

Aziraphale was a creature of panic. Ze was intimately familiar with it. It's been the only thing keeping hir company before ze met Crowley. So it was no wonder that when ze was faced with a possibility of acting on the feelings ze had for him ze panicked and ran.

It was all happening so fast. They've only known each other for a few years; that's like a drop in the ocean for ones older than Earth itself. It was the best drop in the ocean that was Aziraphale's long life, but it was still only a drop.

Aziraphale wasn't even sure what ze was feeling. Ze liked Crowley, certainly. Liked him romantically, even. But it seemed too much, too risky. To risk loosing their friendship and invoking Heaven and Hell's wrath? And for what? Something Aziraphale wasn't even sure ze wanted? Heaven was not known for forgiveness, but as apprehensive as ze was about them, Hell was much worse. Hell would destroy Crowley. Ze’d never let that happen, not if ze could help it. Ze certainly wouldn’t cause it.

If only Aziraphale at least understood hir emotions. Ze didn’t have a great frame of reference. Heaven didn’t go for healthy communication about one’s feelings. Or healthy communication. Or, really, any communication at all. Aziraphale had no idea what love felt like. (That was a lie. Ze was an angel; ze could feel love surrounding hir. Ze knew Crowley loved hir and ze loved him back, but the nature and intensity of the feelings was a bit harder to recognize.) Ze’s never been in love before. (That was also a lie. Ze had fancied hirself in love with the lovely starstruck angel Crowley used to be back in heaven. But ze was young then and they hadn't known each other, not really. Ze knew Crowley know.)

Aziraphale entered the bookshop and grabbed the telephone before ze could think about it. Ze dialed the only number ze knew from heart.

"I'm sorry," ze blurted out.

"Ngk?"

"I'm sorry, I just...I need time."

"I know, uh, I heard you the first time." No need to rub it in, Crowley thought. "Do we have to deal with this over phone?"

"I’ll lose my nerve, I’m afraid. If I don’t say it now.”

"Okay.” Crowley spoke softly, softer than the caress of an angel’s – or demon’s – wings.

"I need more time, but the thing is, we don't have time!” Ze paced around the bookshop, the telephone cord helpfully extending itself as much as ze needed. “The Armageddon is coming! The world will end and heaven and hell will fight and it will be glorious and awful and I don't want it to happen. I like the world! It has books and sushi and good wine and classical music and you." Aziraphale sighed. "With everything at stake, it shouldn't be so hard. I mean, I…there's no time! But I just can’t.” It tears me apart that we might never get to try because I’m too scared, ze thought. The world was ending and yet here ze stood, paralyzed. "It's all happening so fast."

"Angel,” Crowley said slowly. “You don't have to beat yourself up about it. I don't want you to make decisions you might regret because you felt pressured."

"But not doing anything is still a decision. What if I regret this one? Not that I would really get the time to regret it, that is.” Ze shook hir head and then spoke again, mostly to hirself. “We’re supposed to be enemies. I should hate you.”

"The world might not end!” Crowley blurted out, not wanting to listen to what they were supposed to be according to their higher – or lower, in his case - ups. “I'm...I have a plan. Well, not a plan exactly. Just a little something.” He paused for a moment, scratching his neck. “I like the world too. And all of the...stuff in it."

"You really think the world might not end?"

"I don't know. It's worth a shot."

Aziraphale smiled. "Maybe one day we could...I don't know. Go for a picnic. You know, if the world’s still standing and we’re alive and I don’t nearly have a panic attack at the thought of anything changing.”

“A picnic sounds nice.” The sentence was short, but Aziraphale could tell Crowley was crying. “Listen, angel. I’m glad we got to talk about it, but as it is, I’d rather not think about it right now, so. Imma hang up now.”

“Alright,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Alright,” Crowley whispered back and the rest was silence. He wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse than he had before the phone call.

 *

Crowley sauntered into the bookshop, which wouldn't be odd at all, if one ignored the child sitting on his back. "Why are we here, nanny?" the child asked, clearly talking to Crowley.

“I told you we’re meeting a friend of mine, Warlock."

Warlock.

Oh, no.

So that was Crowley's idea of helping. Aziraphale was just starting to worry hirself into a fit about the Antichrist being here, but then ze sensed it.

Love.

Ze wasn’t really in the business of intentionally sensing Crowley’s feeling since that evening in the Bentley, but sometimes ze did it without meaning to. Crowley’s love for hir was there, like always, without faltering even as he kept expecting it to, but that’s not what took hir aback.

The child, the Antichrist, and Crowley loved each other. Pure, unconditional love of a child and a parent. Crowley was many things a demon shouldn't be, he got attached easily for one. He was also an optimist, even in the face of hopeless situations. So it wasn't surprising that he’d get attached to the Antichrist he’s been apparently been taking care of.

And if the Antichrist loved and was loved, maybe they weren’t doomed after all.

"Hello,” Aziraphale said and waved in an attempt to appear friendly.

"Hi!" Warlock said and patted Crowley's back. Crowley put the child down. "I'm Warlock. I use she and they pronouns."

"My name is Aziraphale. I, um, I use ze/hir."

"Cool," said Warlock and went to wander through the shop.

“Hey, angel.” Crowley grinned, but didn’t touch hir. One would think their relationship would get awkward after their drunken conversation. But they were both quite adapt at compartmentalizing. Maybe they were a little less tactile or vulnerable with each other, but really, who could tell? Who would notice and miss it, terribly, every day the world continued to spin?

Not Crowley, that’s who.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly, glaring in an attempt to look cross, but couldn’t help hir smile.

“What?”

“Did you go and adopt the Antichrist?”

“Don’t be silly! I’m her nanny.”

“Oh, of course. A nanny. How silly of me.”

“I’m a demon! Not to mention adopting the Antichrist would be a bit suspicious, don’t you think? I’m meant to look after them, so that they become evil. Hell trusts me, who knows why, but I can’t take her away from the Dowlings! Even if I sometimes think it would be better for her.”

Aziraphale’s smile was way too gentle for Crowley’s tastes. “I’m sure they’re very lucky to have you in their life then.”

Crowley wasn’t blushing. Demons did not blush. “Stop it.”

“Nanny?” Warlock said, wringing her hands a little.

“Yes dear?”

“I’m bored. Can we go get ice cream?”

“Of course, darling. Do you mind if my friend comes along?”

“Nah. I’m glad you actually have friends.” They turned to Aziraphale and whispered theatrically. “I thought you might be imaginary.”

“Warlock!”

“What? There’s nothing wrong with being lonely! You told me that.”

“There’s a difference between thinking I’m lonely, dear, and thinking I would lie to you.”

“I didn’t think you lied.” Warlock rolled her eyes. “I said I thought you imagined hir. I thought my imaginary friend was real when I was little!”

Yes and what luck that she grew out of imaginary friends before she got her powers.

“You’re a child, little hellspawn. I’m a grownup.”

“He’s super old,” Warlock whispered to Aziraphale again. “Older than you could imagine. Like, fifty.”

Aziraphale giggled. “We’re the same age, you know.”

“What? How are you not dead yet?”

“I have good connections.”

If you told Aziraphale this morning ze was going to sit in an ice cream parlor with an eight (and a half!) year old Antichrist, ze would laugh in your face. But here ze was, discussing the number of ice cream flavors there are in the world with the child who might one day – a day which was not very far off now – destroy everything ze loves and having fun.

Ze glanced at Crowley, who was looking at the two of them with such raw affection ze had to look away. Maybe he was right, ze thought. Maybe this will work.

Please. Let it work.

I can’t lose him.

Chapter Text

Warlock didn’t understand why Nanny’s friend did a magic show at her birthday. She was excited when she saw hir at first, because ze had the same air of mystery around hir as Nanny. They’ve seen hir snap hir fingers to get a table at a restaurant many times. Ze was magical, just like Nanny. Duh.

But for some reason, ze was doing card tricks. Very bad ones. Card tricks needed quick, nimble fingers. Warlock knew that from when Nanny thought her how to play poker and, subsequently, how to cheat at poker. Aziraphale’s fingers, like everything about hir, were not quick or nimble. Ze was rubbish.

But it was rude to say so, and while Nanny was normally all for rudeness, it was obvious that Aziraphale was an exception to that rule. And since he was standing over by the food table, Warlock decided not to make him regret coming.

They didn’t see each other that often now, not since Warlock’s parents fired him. (Mom said something about Warlock being too old to need a nanny and dad grumbled about it not being manly when Warlock started crying. Warlock ran to cry into her room and then during the night she snuck into the hallway and glued all of her dad’s shoes to the floor. She got grounded, but it was worth it.) But Nanny promised to be there for their birthday. Wouldn’t miss it if the world was ending, he said. Not like the world was ending, anyway. Nothing at all was dead except Aziraphale’s magician career, which was in no way a recent development.

There was cake flying everywhere and Aziraphale flawlessly performed hir disappearing act. It was only flawless since the only people who were watching were Warlock and Nanny (who rolled his eyes and followed hir), so to everyone else it truly was like ze vanished.

Warlock took a paper plate, cut a piece of cake and followed hir as well. It took her a while to find where Nanny’s Bentley was parked, since Warlock first tried the reasonable and legal places for cars. Nanny was leaning against its side, alternating between kicking the wheel and apologizing to the car, swearing all the while. Aziraphale hovered around him nervously.

“It’s not the car’s fault that no one liked Aziraphale’s act,” Warlock said. “It really was rubbish.” Aziraphale looked at her, a little hurt. They handed hir the piece of cake, and were immediately forgiven.

“Yeah, no one to blame for that but the Angel,” Nanny agreed, turning around to face them. “Happy birthday, Hellspawn.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Nanny. Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”

He smiled at her tenderly. “Of course, darling. I would love to stay, but,” he paused, not sure how to explain it.

“There was an unforeseen hiccup in certain plans,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, sure. My point isss, shit’s fucked.” Aziraphale’s mouth opened to no doubt protest at the word choice, but ze didn’t say anything. “And we’re gonna have unfuck it very fast, or it’s all going to go to Hell. Or Heaven. Jury’s out on which yet. Neither’s a particularly good choice.”

"Alright," Warlock said. They were used to his idiosyncrasies by now. It stung a little, that Nanny was leaving already, but they knew Nanny wasn't like other adults. If he said something, he meant it. "We're supposed to go away for a couple of days anyway. Some lame diplomatic trip. We should be back on Monday."

"Things should be fine by Monday, if I do my job right. And if I don't, it won't matter anyway." He nodded to himself. "I'll see you on Monday, then. Just the two of us.” Warlock stepped closer and wrapper her arms around his waist.

“Nothing’s going to hurt you,” Crowley said and kissed Warlock’s forehead. It tingled a little. Why would anything happen to Warlock, they didn’t understand. It was just a bunch of boring bones in a boring desert.

"See you on Monday, then?"

“The end of the world couldn’t stop me,” Nanny said. He was wearing his sunglasses, like always, so Warlock couldn't see his eyes, but his voice had an oddly wet quality to it.

“Are you crying?”

“No! Of course not!”

“You know, you told me it’s okay to cry and that whoever tells me it’s not can shove it.”

“You’re too smart for your own good.” He rolled his eyes. He sounded proud, though. "We have to go."

Aziraphale was just about finished with hir cake, a smear of frosting on hir cheek. "Right. Of course. Happy Birthday, Warlock."

"Bye, Aziraphale, bye, Nanny!"

They climbed into Nanny's Bentley and drove away.

*

The car ride was tense. Crowley was speeding and Aziraphale couldn't even find it in hirself to complain.

“Do you think a blessing will save her from the war?” ze finally asked.

“I don’t know!" Crowley snapped and hit the steering wheel with both his hands. "I had to do something.”

“I know, dear.” Aziraphale reached out and covered Crowley’s hand with hir own. Crowley let out an small sob. They held hands until they got to the bookshop.

Crowley parked in front of it, as illegally as ever. “So. We’re fucked.”

“Yes, that appears to be the case.” Aziraphale sighed. "Care for a drink?"

"Yes, please."

*

"You'll be amazed at the kind of things they can do to you, down there," Crowley said after a some time of drinking in silence, tipping his glass back.

"I imagine they're very similar to the sort of things they can do to one up there.”

Crowley was about to contradict the angel, but then he thought of the flood and Gomorrah and Aziraphale crying in his arms and thought better of it. And then he felt it. The Hellhound. It's found its master.

He stared at Aziraphale. The Antichrist coming into their power must have cause some tremors in the earth, or maybe it was just Crowley, shaking like a houseplant that got a stern talking to. The wine on his tongue tasted like dirt. They had just days left now.

It would all be gone. Warlock, the Bentley, everything. Aziraphale would have to go back to the undeserving bastard upstairs. Crowley's promised his kid that he'll be there, promised Aziraphale he could fix it, knowing he might break those promises.

"Darling," Aziraphale said softly. "Oh, dear, you're shivering. Come here."

Crowley couldn't do anything but obey, falling into Aziraphale's arms. They didn't do this, not anymore, but the world was ending and if they didn't hug now, they might never get to hug again.

*

It didn't please Aziraphale to open hir shop in these circumstances, but ze didn't know what else to do with hirself. Ze had no idea where to start the search for the Antichrist. Crowley would know, but he was still asleep on the sofa in the backroom and Aziraphale didn't want to disturb him.

A few patrons perused the shop, though they've yet to attempt to buy anything. Aziraphale thought ze might let them, anyway, as much as it teared at hir heart to part with hir beloved books. What was the point? They will all burn in hellfire or drown in holy water anyway. Might as well use them to bring a final smile to a human's face.

But when a young human came to the register holding a first edition of Hamlet, ze found that ze had some energy to protest. Ze remember William. He was one of the few humans ze might have called a friend, if ze was being generous with the term. Ze knew him and ze missed him and ze was aware just how much ze might miss everyone and everything else in a few days and hir eyes got a little misty.

"I like your pronouns sticker," the human said. "I was wondering why does your register have pronouns, but then I realized it's probably yours." They chuckled. "I'm a little slow in the mornings."

Aziraphale bought the sticker on an impulse a few years ago. Ze was browsing the stalls at London Pride donating to charities when ze spotted a stall with various assorted objects with pronouns on them and found that they carried hir pronouns as well. The sheet of stickers was catching dust on his desk for quite some time before ze dared to put one on the cash register. Most costumers did not get to the point of actually purchasing a book and thus never saw it, which made Aziraphale a little less nervous.

The human had a pin on their shirt with a pattern Aziraphale recognized as a pride flag, though ze couldn't remember which identity it belonged to. That was the point of the shop, ze supposed, other than storing hir books. To create a safe haven for humans like hir.

Aziraphale sighed. Ze could part with this token of an old friendship if it made them happy. What mattered that ze made sure that there was still an earth for them to be happy on come Sunday and that ze didn't lose the friend ze had know.

Ze sold them the book, but was a little grateful when no one else attempted to buy anything. Ze could hear Crowley stirring in the backroom and ze smiled to hirself involuntarily. Crowley was a demon, but he's grown on Aziraphale. (In an alarmingly short period of time. Almost immediately, in fact.)

Aziraphale's smile slipped from hir face when ze heard the doorbell and saw who entered the shop. Crowley must have sensed it as well because there was a crash, a muffled swear and the sounds of a wily demon attempting to climb out of the window, completely forgetting the existence of the backdoor.

"Can I help you?" ze asked, stalling.

"I would like to purchase one of your material objects," Gabriel said.

"Books," Sandalphon corrected him.

"Books. Let us discuss my purchase in a private place, because I am buying, uh."

"Pornography?" Sandalphon suggested, entirely too loudly.

"Pornography." Aziraphale hated Gabriel's grin. It always made hir squirm.

“Gabriel, come into my back room," ze said, loud enough that Crowley would hear it if he was still in there and have time to hide.

"We humans are extremely easily embarrassed. We must buy our pornography secretively."

“Human beings are so simple and so easily fooled," Gabriel laughed when they entered the backroom. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes. Ahem, good job. You-you fooled them all," Aziraphale said, hopefully with a straight face. Ze never was good at lying.

Sandalphon walk ed to the end of the room while Gabriel stayed near the door, effectively trapping Aziraphale between them. "You remember Sandalphon?"

"Uh, Sodom and Gomorrah. You were doing a lot of smiting and turning people into salt.” Aziraphale grimaced. “Hard to forget.” This wouldn’t be the first time Aziraphale was at the wrong end of Gabriel’s intimidation techniques, but ze couldn’t help but wonder what’s ze done now.

Sandalphon sniffed. " Something smells evil."

Aziraphale could see the curtain shiver. It also had legs, which was unusual for a curtain. "Oh, that'll be the Jeffrey Archer books, I'm afraid."

Crowley didn't smell evil. (Or maybe he did, but Aziraphale was so used to associating the smell with Crowley evil was certainly not what came to mind.) Crowley smelled of love and despair and planting soil.

But those weren’t things ze should be thinking about in front of Gabriel. He asked about the Antichrist, sending Aziraphale into a brief but intense panic.

“Everything's going perfectly,” Gabriel assured hir, not that ze was feeling particularly reassured. “There’s a lot happening. All good.”

“All...good?”

“Well, all going according to the Divine Plan.”

Ah. Not quite the same thing, is it? Aziraphale wanted to say, but bit hir tongue. Not of what Gabriel spoke about sounded good. Aziraphale knew ze should be rejoicing at the thought of a great battle between Heaven and Hell, at the expense of Earth and all of humanity but it just left a bitter taste in hir mouth.

“Anyway no problems? How was the Hell Hound?”

“I-I didn’t stick around to see.”

“Thank you for my pornography!” Gabriel yelled in the direction of the main room of the shop and laughed. “Excellent job.” He passed the register for a second time, but didn't seem to notice Aziraphale's pronoun sticker. He didn't seem to ever notice anything about hir. Aziraphale was torn between relief and disappointment.  Ze knew it was futile, but ze couldn’t help wishing for Heaven’s approval.

 “You can come out now,” ze said to Crowley. “Curtains, really?”

“I panicked! The window’s way too small.”

“Crowley. There’s a door.”

“Oh.”

“Also, you’re a demon. You have magic.”

“Right.” Crowley nodded. “We should go. No time to spare and all that.”

Aziraphale knew that, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier. “I’ll just lock up. Wait in the car for me?”

Crowley nodded and left, not arguing at all. He probably realized that Aziraphale just needed a moment alone.

*

“My side called while you were locking up,” Crowley said and started the car, wasting no time breaking the speed limit. “Updates and all. The horsemen.”

“Crowley, you can’t do ninety miles per hour in central London!”

It was hard to see behind his glasses, but Crowley almost certainly rolled his eyes. “Au contraire, Aziraphale, I am proving that it is perfectly possible.”

Aziraphale decided not to dignify that with a response. “When you’ve done the baby swap eleven years ago, could something have gone wrong?”

“I doubt it. The place was full of our people! Well. Satanists. But you get my point.” He steered to avoid a pot hole, only not hitting anyone because the Bentley knew better than that. “I mean, switch two babies. How hard can it be?”

“We’ll just go through the hospital files,” Aziraphale said, trying to calm hirself more than Crowley. “And then we find the child.” Ze paused. “And then what?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Good grief.”

"I suppose - get off the road you clown! - your people wouldn't consider - and the scooter you rode in on! - giving me asylum?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing - Watch out for that pedestrian!"

"She’s on the street, she knows the risks she’s taking!"

“Watch the road!”

Crowley rolled his eyes again. "You know, the part of me that isn't panicking is relieved."

"Relieved? I said to watch the road! Why?"

"That Warlock isn't the Antichrist. If the worst came to...I don't think I could bear to hurt her." He didn't want to hurt any children, but he knew it was the last resort.

After some confusion, getting lost a couple times and a lot of bickering they managed to get to Tadfield and find the hospital. It didn’t much look like a convent or a hospital, but Crowley was adamant that it was the right place.

“When you get zapped with instructions via disturbing radio-based mind meld you don’t tend to forget,” he said. “It’s like riding a bike.”

Crowley walked on the grass, just because he could. Aziraphale stepped onto the path and promptly got shot square in the chest.

“Aaah!” ze shrieked. “Crowley!”

“What?”

“I’ve been shot!”

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale in panic, but before he could say anything, someone shot him as well. “Ow! So have I, damnit.” Neither of them wanted to even contemplate the mess and paperwork discorporation would include. “Hell’s teeth, Aziraphale, you’ve actually got blue blood.”

“Huh?”

“Wait a minute.” Crowley put his red stained finger close to his lips and flicked his tongue out. That wasn’t blood. “It’s paint.”

“Hi, you’ve been tagged, sorry, bit of crossfire,” said some human in camo. “Who said management training was boring, eh?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Just about everybody.”

“You can’t tell people business is a jungle and then put a gun in their hand and expect them not to shoot at anything that moves.”

“Do unto others before they do unto you,” Crowley agreed, a devilish smirk spreading on his face.  “Kill or be killed.”

“It’s all about that corporate head hanging over your fireplace.”

“You’re a chap after my own heart.”

“If you had one,” Aziraphale grumbled, glaring at the stain on his favorite coat.

“Grab a gun and join us,” the human suggested before running off.

“Give ‘em hell.”

“Look at the state of this coat!” Aziraphale complained as soon as the human left. “I’ve kept it in tip top condition for over hundred and eighty years now. I’ll never get this stain out.”

“You could miracle it away.”

“Yes but I’ll always know the stain was there.” Ze looked at Crowley, almost expectantly. It’s not like ze expected Crowley to do favors for hir, but ze hoped he would. It would certainly be nice of him. “Underneath, I mean.”

Crowley stepped closer and blew on Aziraphale’s “wound”. The pain lifted from both of them and dissolved.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Crowley’s eyes lingered on Aziraphale’s grin for a moment before he snapped out of it. “Let’s go talk to some nuns.”

Chapter Text

An angel and a demon walked into a building that used to be a satanic hospital. It sounded like the beginning of a corny joke, but Crowley couldn’t think of a funny punchline. He was not in the mood for jokes. He was in the mood to wreak havoc.

“Who’s winning?” asked a human they passed on the way inside the building.

“We’re all going to lose,” said Crowley and snapped his fingers. A series of gunshots followed.

“Golly. That doesn’t sound like pellet guns”

“No,” agreed Aziraphale, glaring at Crowley. Ze knew the demon was restless and anxious now that the end of the world was drawing near but there was no reason to take it out on his surroundings. “That sounds like aerodynamically-shaped bits of lead traveling extremely fast, Crowley.”

“I don’t see why you’re so shocked.  He wanted a real gun.  Every desire in his head was for a real gun.”

Aziraphale couldn’t argue with that.

“So I gave him what he wanted.”

Flawless as Crowley’s logic was, it was still terrible. “So there are people out there, murdering each other?”

Crowley sighed. “Oh, no one’s actually going to get killed.  They’re all going to have miraculous escapes. Wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” he grumbled.

Oh, of course it wouldn’t. “You know Crowley, I’ve always known that deep down, you are quite a ni-“

“Alright, alright. Tell the whole blessed world, why don’t you. Nice. Pfft,” he scoffed. “I’m a demon.”

“A rather nice one,” said Aziraphale, because ze too was feeling restless. The temptation to pick up a stick and poke something that probably shouldn’t be poked was too great to resist.

“Shut it!” Crowley snapped and pinned Aziraphale to a wall, more because he wanted to touch hir than because he was actually angry. Aziraphale, for hir part, didn’t seem to react at all, other than melting into the pseudo-embrace and watching Crowley’s snarling lips closely. “Nice is a four-letter word.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. Sorry to break up an intimate moment.”

Not gentlemen, they both thought, though Crowley was more upset at being called gentle than at the misgendering. He glared at the woman and then froze, recognizing her. It took Aziraphale a moment to tear hir gaze away from Crowley’s face.

“Master Crowley.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and sister Mary froze.

"You didn't have to do that. You could have just asked her.”

Crowley sputtered and looked at hir. “Oh, of course, of course. No. Yeah. Excuse me, ma'am, we're two supernatural entities just looking for the notorious Son of Satan. Wonder if you might help us with our enquiries?"

Aziraphale gave him a look and walked over to the frozen lady.

“Um, ahem, look. Hello. You weren't by any chance, a nun here at this convent eleven years ago, were you?”

“I was.”

Aziraphale was still feeling a little restless. "Luck of the devil." Ze glanced at Crowley, to see if he got the joke. Given the double take he did, probably yes.

"Your name then was Sister Talkative. Or something."

"Loquacious," she corrected him. There was no bite in her word; Crowley's hypnosis worked too well.

"And do you recall an incident involving the switching of newborn babies?"

"Yes."

"Is there any possibility that the switch could have gone wrong in some way?"

"I do not know."

"You must have had records. There are always records. Everyone has records these days." Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. "It was one of my better ideas."

Aziraphale decided not to mention that it wasn't purely his idea, since Heaven and Hell have been obsessed with paperwork before they even split into two sides.

"Oh, yes,” she nodded. “Records. We were very good at keeping records. They were lost in the fire."

"Noooo," Crowley whined.

"Strange coincidence," remarked Aziraphale.

Crowley sighed. "It was probably Hastur."

There were police sirens outside, getting louder. "We’re going to be knee-deep in police at any moment, and I’ll be morally obliged to assist them in their inquiries."

Crowley shrugged. "Stop them."

Aziraphale sighed and snapped hir fingers. "All I need now is Gabriel wondering why forty police officers have suddenly gone to sleep."

"Mary, do you recall any details about the other child?"

"Yes."

"Please tell me," Crowley gritted through his teeth.

"He had…lovely little toesy-wosies."

Crowley just about had enough of this all. He'd call it quits completely if the fate of the Earth didn't depend on it. "Okay, that’s it, that’s it, it was worth a try.  Let’s get out of here." He turned around and exited the building.

"Mary," said Aziraphale. "In 30 seconds you will wake up, and you will have had a lovely dream about whatever you like best."

"Come on, angel!" Crowley shouted over his shoulder and the angel scrambled to follow him. People started to wake up, but no one noticed them as they left.

*

There was something Aziraphale couldn't put hir finger on in this town. Ze felt it at the old hospital and now, as they drove through the forrest. Well, ze felt it elsewhere, but it was the strongest here. "There’s something odd about this place.  Can you feel it?"

"What?" asked Crowley. He sounded distracted, not really paying attention to what Aziraphale was saying.

"It's everywhere. All over here. Love," Aziraphale said, looking at Crowley intently. "Flashes of love. Someone really loves this place."

“Pardon?” Crowley turned to Aziraphale, not caring that he should look at the road.

“There seems to be this great sense of…love.  I can’t put it any better than that.”

Crowley bit his lip. “Do you mean like—“

“Look out!” Aziraphale yelled. But it was too late. Crowley hit someone. Crowley insisted that someone hit him, but, well. The lady on the velocipede - bicycle - could hardly do anything to the car. At least after Crowley miracled it better while Aziraphale took care of her.

 "That's it," ze whispered to the confused woman, healing her. "No broken bones."

"You didn't have any lights on," she grumbled.

"Nor did you, fair's fair." Crowley shrugged, patted the Bentley's hood and walked over to help her get up, his glasses slipping down his nose a little.

"Your eyes are a funny color."

Crowley pushed his glasses back up. "So's your hair. Look, we’re not gonna hurt you.”

“All evidence to the contrary.  I carry a bread knife, you know.” She looked around. All her things were strewn around. “Um…somewhere.”

Aziraphale picked up a large device that rather reminded hir of the things ze saw at the planetarium with Crowley. “Doing a spot of astronomy, were you?”

“That’s a theodolite, not a telescope,” she corrected hir. She seemed cross, still, but who could blame her? They did hit her with a car, after all.

“Strange time of day to go surveying,” Crowley muttered. No one was paying attention to him so he just scowled and picked up the bike. Or, what probably used to be a bike. One couldn’t be too certain based on what it looked like at the moment.

“Oohh, my poor bike.”

Well, that answers that mystery.

Aziraphale waved hir hand, putting the bicycle back together. “Amazingly resilient, these old machines.”

“But—you—oh. You’re right. “ She stopped, staring at the angel. “This is my bike, is it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Only, it never had a pump.”

Aziraphale looked at the velocipede with a combination of confusion and guilt. "Oh, um, but there's a place for one," ze said and pointed. "Two little hooks."

“We should go,” Crowley said and attempted to hand the bike to the young woman.

Aziraphale perked up at hearing that. “Oh, of course! Where do you need to get to?” ze asked her.

“No,” Crowley whined. “No. We’re not giving her a lift. Out of the question. There’s nowhere to put the bike.”

“Except the luggage rack.”

“What lugg—“

The Bentley hurried to comply with what Aziraphale said, growing a luggage rack. It normally didn’t listen to anyone other than Crowley (and sometimes not even him), but Aziraphale was a special case. It made the straps in Aziraphale’s tartan pattern, because that’s exactly what Crowley deserved if he was going to drive it like that.

“Oh.”

“Jump in the back, young lady.  Here’s your book, maps, thermos, torch, and bread knife.  Um, I’ll pop the bike and theodolite up on the rack.” Ze did as ze said, not moving a finger.

“Thank you.”

“So,” Crowley leaned on the Bentley’s door. “Where are we taking you?”

“Back to the village. I'll give you directions.”

They all got in. The Bentley decided to play a bicycle themed song. The purr of its engine sounded a little remorseful (or maybe that was just Aziraphale projecting), but ze supposed it didn’t actually know how to better convey the sentiment Sorry I hit you via a Queen song.

“My bike didn't have gears either,” the lady said. “Make a left.”

“Oh lord, heal this bike,” Crowley whispered mockingly.

“I got carried away,” Aziraphale snapped back irritably, trying and failing to keep a low voice. Luckily for both of them the lady on the backseat still had enough of a remaining headache from the miraculously healed concussion that she ignored them completely.

“The luggage rack isn’t bad, actually,” he grumbled. He was even considering keeping it, maybe. Or putting it there again if he ever had a need for it.

“You’re welcome.”

Aziraphale sounded entirely too smug. That won’t do. ”But tartan straps?”

“Tartan is stylish!”

Crowley scoffed.

“Whatever. The point is, one does not pass by on the other side, Crowley.”

“Your one might not.  This one does.”

Aziraphale rolled hir eyes. Crowley could pretend all he liked, but Aziraphale knew him. He was kind.

“Oh, you can drop me off here, “ she said and so they stopped.

Aziraphale miracled the things from the luggage rack to lean against the fence. “Oh, look, no gears. Just a perfectly normal velocipede.”

“Bicycle,” Crowley corrected hir. Only Aziraphale could listen to a song majorly composed of the word bicycle and still insist in calling it a velocipede. “Can we get on? Get in, angel.”

 *

The car ride back to London was spent in relative silence. They didn’t have anything to say. Or, they did, but didn’t how to tell the other. Armageddon was scary business, but that didn’t mean it untangled everyone’s tongue.

Crowley stopped in front of the bookshop. Would it be weird to follow Aziraphale in? He didn’t particularly fancy spending his last few days alone, but he didn’t want to seem clingy. He was a demon. Demons definitely didn’t do clingy.

He got out of the car, leaning against the Bentley.

“What are you going to do now?” Aziraphale asked.

I was planning to follow you to your bookshop and spend my last days on Earth trying to get more time with you was probably not the answer ze was looking for. “Get some sleep.” He shrugged, as nonchalantly as he could. “Got into the habit.” He noticed a book, lying on the floor in the back of the car, next to the tartan cookie tin Aziraphale secretly (if you could call it a secret, considering Crowley both knew about it and occasionally refilled it) kept in there. “Oh.  Your book.” He took it, handing it to Aziraphale.

“Eh? I didn’t bring a book with me.”

"That’s a first,” Crowley muttered.

“The world is ending, Crowley. Excuse me if I have other things on my mind.”

Crowley shrugged again. He didn’t mean to annoy Aziraphale. It was probably good that they were each going their separate way. Ze would just get tired of him. “Well, it’s not mine. I don't read books."

Aziraphale didn't know why Crowley insisted on lying, since he was so bad at it. Ze didn't wonder if thinking this made hir a hypocrite. Angels couldn’t be hypocrites.

“It has to belong to the young lady you hit with your car.” Aziraphale glared at him. How long was ze going to fault him for that?

“I'm in enough trouble as it is. I'm not going to start returning lost property. That's what your lot do. Why don't you just send it to the Tadfield post office, addressed to ‘the mad American woman with the bicycle’?” Crowley didn’t realize he was rambling until he stopped. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him, just down at the book. Hir expression was a little unsettling.

“Oh, uh, jolly good, yes.” Ze looked back at Crowley, only for a second, before looking back down. “Rather.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’ll, um… I’ll mail it back to her.  Or, ah, something.”

None of that was an answer to Crowley’s question, but he knew better than to pry, as much as he wanted to make sure ze was alright.

“Okay,” he said slowly.  “We’ll be in touch then, shall we?”

“What?” ze looked up, confused. As if ze forgot Crowley was there.  “Oh, oh, yes.  Fine. Jolly good.”

“Ciao.”

Aziraphale hurried into the bookshop, completely missing the sad expression that overtook Crowley’s face.

Crowley didn’t know this, of course, since he didn’t specialize in prophecies, but the book was allegedly the key to apocalypse, not to mention the holy grail of prophetic books. One almost couldn’t fault Aziraphale for focusing on it so strongly. Almost.

There are reasonable amounts of time to spend doing one activity. If you’re immortal and do not require to eat or to sleep those amounts might be higher for you than for the general population. But reading until you start to gather dust and your cocoa grows tepid and possibly some living creature when you only have days before the world ends is certainly not reasonable.

Crowley spend the two days like he said he would, attempting to sleep away the worry. That was not reasonable either, but given the fact that Crowley slept through most of the nineteenth century, at least it wasn’t that out of character.

Aziraphale was just thinking of talking to Crowley about what’s ze found when Crowley woke up and decided to call hir.

“Speak of the devil.”

“Spawn of Hell if you please, Aziraphale.”

“Have you found the boy?”

“Not yet. But I think a human might help us.  Humans are very good at finding other humans.  They’ve been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is partly human.” Ze really didn’t want to think about how that worked. “Other humans might be able to sense him.”

“That wouldn’t work. He's the Antichrist. He's got an automatic defense…thingy, hasn’t he? Suspicion slides off him like…like…whatever it is water slides off.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas? One single, better idea?”

Crowley sighed. He didn’t, really. “We need a front organization to do the spadework for us.  Professionals.”

“I suppose so.  I have, uh, a certain network of agents spread across the country. A disciplined force.  I could set them searching.”

“You do? I, uh, actually have something similar. You never know when they come in handy.”

“Gosh, do you think they ought to work together?”

“No!” Crowley laughed. “No, no, no. No. I don't think that would be a very good idea. My lot aren’t very, uh. Sophisticated. Politically speaking.”

“No, no, neither are mine. Then we’ll each contact our own people and see what they can manage.”

“Good.”

“Goodbye, Crowley.”

“Goodbye, Aziraphale,” he replied cheerfully. He always felt better after talking to Aziraphale. “Something’s missing.  What am I missing?”

He snapped and turned on the radio. The breakfast show was on.

“Surely not this.”

It’s probably Aziraphale, his traitorous mind supplied.

“And welcome to the show, especially you, Anthony Crowley.”

“Oh, flames!”

The last thing he needed right now is to talk to the higher-ups. Lower-downs. Whatever.

“Crowley, the horsemen are being summoned.  The troops are assembling.  Why aren’t you with the child Warlock?  Where is the hellhound?”

“I-I-I’m very close to having everything ready, master.”

“Make sure you do.  We’ll talk again tomorrow,” the voice paused briefly and when it started talking again it was no longer demonic. “But right now, here’s Queen.”

“I forgot to tell Crowley about the girl’s book,” Aziraphale was meanwhile saying to hirself. The book! Maybe the book was being literal about the Antichrist’s number. Ze dialed the Tadfield area code and added six six six.

The phone rang for a moment before someone picked up. “Tadfield, six double-six.”

Aziraphale froze.

“Hello?” they asked again. A child was yelling in the background.

“Dad! Dad, look, I got Dog to walk on his hind legs!”

Oh no.

“Sorry.” Aziraphale finally regained the power of speech. “Right number!” Ze hung up and started pacing.

“I'll just go to head office and explain it all. Yes. So, Gabriel, um, Listen, Gabriel, most holy Archangel Gabr-No, that's too formal.” Ze sighed. “Hello, Gabriel, me old mate. There is a-a-a child we have to deal with and-and make everything okay again. Oh, God.”

She wasn’t listening, or else she didn’t care to respond, which Aziraphale was somewhat grateful for. No one needed to see hir panic.

Aziraphale shook hir head. “I ought to tell Crowley.” Ze didn’t actually ought to, ze knew. Ze ought to tell heaven. But ze wanted to tell Crowley. Crowley wouldn’t want to kill a child himself and neither did Aziraphale, so it wouldn’t actually help anything. Ze just wanted to tell him.

I will, ze decided. But first. Heaven.

*

“So, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. “Got your message. You got something big? Lay it on us.”

“I’m sorry?”

Aziraphale was starting to think this might not have been such a good idea. Gabriel was smiling, and that was never good, was it? Aziraphale was supposed to keep an eye on the Antichrist too. Ze was just going to get into trouble like this.

This is more important than getting in trouble, ze reminded hirself.

“What's happening?” Uriel asked. Ze wasn’t as terrified of her as ze was of Gabriel, but that was a very low bar.

“Okay, ahem, so. Well, ahem. It's-it's about the Antichrist.”

“Yes?”

“I think that, um. Well, it's not impossible, uh, considering all-all the alternatives that the-the other side, might have lost track of the child.”

“The ‘other side’?”

Aziraphale pointed downward.

“Lost track of him? He's the son of the U.S. ambassador.”

Aziraphale bit hir tongue. This was not the time to correct them on Warlock’s pronouns. Ze was not even supposed to know her. She didn’t really tell anyone but hir and Crowley anyway.

Gabriel continued talking and it was a while before Aziraphale could get a word in edge wise.

“Yes. Well, um, it's possible that the demon, Crowley, a-a-a wily adversary. Keeps me on my toes, I can tell you. But the, um, ambassador's, uh, child, uh - Well, it may have been a ruse.”

“A ruse?” The archangels looked as disapproving as ever.

“And the actual Antichrist might be, um, somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Not sure.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what possessed hir to lie. Maybe it was the anxiety ze always felt in Heaven, but ze didn’t want to tell them. “I mean, I-I-I could find out,” ze hurried to add. “I have a team of agents. A dedicated team who who would investigate the possibility. Um, hypothetically speaking, if that were the case.”

“It wouldn't change anything, Aziraphale. There was war in Heaven long before the Earth was created. Crowley and the rest were cast out, but nothing was ever really settled.”

“I suppose it wasn't. But there doesn't have to be another war, does there?”

“As much as we appreciate your hypotheticals, Aziraphale, I'm afraid we have other things to do. The Earth isn't going to just end itself, you know.”

“No. Yes. Right.”

Aziraphale returned to the Earth in a haze. It was almost like. It was almost like they wanted a war. It was ridiculous, Aziraphale couldn’t imagine anyone wishing for one. Angels were the good guys. Good guys didn’t wish for wars.

Ze couldn’t bear to talk to Crowley right now. Everything was just so overwhelming. Ze decided to just call hir people and try to sleep on it for a couple hours.

Unbeknown to both Aziraphale and Crowley, their operatives were the same. They were in fact just one person, who’s been scamming them for years. And if his only recruit won’t be able to locate the Antichrist the world would end tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale didn't sleep often. Ze saw little point in it since ze didn't need it and had better ways to spend time. Still, ze indulged in it every once in a while, when ze was feeling particularly tired. It always made hir feel better.

Not today, apparently. The weight of the world was still pressing heavily on hir shoulders. Ze decided a short walk was in order, just to clear hir head. Ze still had time. Probably.

The fresh air seemed to be working to make hir feel better. And then Gabriel ran past hir.

Aziraphale ran after him. Ze struggled to keep up. Ze couldn't even remember the last time ze ran and ze’s certainly never done it voluntarily. It must have been centuries, at least.

"It's me."

"I know it's you, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale did hir best to explain the prophecies, all the while trying to keep up with Gabriel. “Armageddon is coming, and I'm fairly certain it starts today. Just after teatime."

“Exactly," agreed Gabriel. "Right on schedule. What's your point?"

"Look, will you please stop, just for a minute? Please."

He did, gesturing annoyedly. Aziraphale tried to get hir breath back. It wasn’t working very well and ze didn’t even need to breathe.

"Well?"

"I-I just thought there was something we could do."

“There is. We can fight. And we can win."

He just didn't get it. "But there doesn't have to be a war," Aziraphale insisted.

“Of course there does. Otherwise, how would we win it? Hmm?" Gabriel was acting like it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was decidedly not. "Now look, wrap up whatever you need to wrap up down here. Report back to active service and," Gabriel sighed and playfully punched Aziraphale in the stomach. It reminded hir of the playfulness with which a cat torments a mouse. "Lose the gut. Come on. You're a lean, mean fighting machine." He laughed. "What are you?" And with that he disappeared.

It's been literal ages since Aziraphale's been anything resembling a warrior and even then, he never enjoyed it. "I'm soft."

“Almost forgot," Gabriel said, reappearing. Aziraphale did not shriek. Certainly not.

“According to our records, you were issued a flaming sword. You didn't lose that?"

Aziraphale chuckled nervously. "What, like I-I'd just give it away? Or something."

Gabriel smiled and ran off.

Seeing Gabriel never made ze feel good, but today's meeting was worse than usual. Surely the others weren't looking forward to the carnage like he seemed to be? If he just got to the right people. They would fix it!

Aziraphale walked back to hir bookshop, lost in hir mind. Maybe ze should stop by the nice bakery. And call Crowley.

Yes. Ze should definitely call Crowley.

As Aziraphale walked, ze was looking at the ground, so ze didn't notice ze was surrounded until ze almost collided with archangel Michael. Ze wished ze would see the other angels less. Normally they could leave hir alone for centuries at a time. This was the fourth time just this week.

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Michael purred. ”We've just been learning some rather disturbing things about you. You've been a bit of a fallen angel, haven't you?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously.

“Consorting with the enemy?”

Now they’re interested in me, Aziraphale thought bitterly. Ze felt like a child acting out to get the attention of a distant parent. Except no, that metaphor didn’t fit at all. Crowley wasn’t a rebellion. Crowley was an escape.

And even that was an understatement. Yes, that’s how it started. But by now, Crowley, Crowley was everything.

“Oh, I-I haven't been consorting.”

“Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell,” Uriel said.

There were several emotions fighting for attention in Aziraphale's brain. Ze was terrified and giddy and nauseous all at once.

"He's in trouble too."

The fear was definitely winning.

“Aziraphale, it's time to choose sides.”

Yes, it was, wasn’t it? “I wasn’t aware I had a choice. That-that’s for them, right? Humans. Choices are a human thing, I think.”

“You think too much.”

Sandalphon punched hir in the stomach. Aziraphale toppled over in pain, but Uriel grabbed hir by the lapels and slammed hir against a wall.

Ze stared at the angels in horror. “You-you mustn't. Why would you do this? We're the good guys.” They must be rogue, acting out of their own volition. Heaven would never let this happen, would it? “I have to warn you that that I'm going to take this entire interaction up with up with a higher authority.”

“You really think upstairs will take your call?” Uriel leaned in, sneering. “You’re ridiculous.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what they’d do if the horn didn’t sound just then, calling angels into action.

“Oh, this is great. It's starting.” They all jumped up and disappeared.

Aziraphale’s breathing was heavy. “You…you.” Ze tried to find the right words, very close to swearing. Ze didn’t like swearing. “Bad angels.”

Ze didn’t know what to think or how to feel about what happened, so ze elected not to think about it at all. Ze walked to the bookshop with a purpose. The end was almost there. Surely the Almighty will fix it.

Ze made a summoning circle, just like ze did all these years ago when ze first met Crowley, except properly this time. “Hello,” ze said, closing hir eyes. “This is the Principality Aziraphale. I'm looking for, um, a higher authority.”

“We know who you are, Aziraphale,” a deep voice said. Aziraphale opened hir eyes, but there wasn’t really anything to see. Whoever ze was talking to did not have a corporation in the human sense. It wasn’t the Almighty, unless her voice has changed a lot since they last spoke. Which was unlikely. She tended to sound like whatever the person imagined she would sound like. Aziraphale knew what her voice was to him, and it was not this deep. More importantly, her voice was kind.

“I, erm, I-I need to speak to the Almighty.”

“You are speaking to the Metatron, Aziraphale. We are the voice of God. To speak to us is to speak to the Almighty.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, yes. But you are the voice of the Almighty in the same way as, eh, a presidential spokesman is the voice of the President. I actually need to speak directly to God.”

“What is said to us is said to the Almighty.”

No getting through them it seemed.

“Well, Aziraphale?”

Ze thought about complaining about the attack, but then decided not to. There time, and ze didn’t really want to hear the inevitable scolding for not fighting back ze’d somehow probably get anyway. Or an actual punishment for being with Crowley. “I found the Antichrist! So there doesn't need to be any of that nonsense about, ah, a third of the seas turning to blood or anything,”ze smiled. Ze finally so close to fixing the problem. “There needn't be a war. We can save everyone.”

“The point is not to avoid the war. The point is to win it.”

Slowly all the light and hope drained from Aziraphale’s eyes and heart. “Ah.” So no one wanted to stop it. Heaven, all of Heaven, wanted the war. As did Hell.

All the ethereal and occult forces except him and Crowley. They were all ready to wipe this whole planet clean just to have another war. As if the first one wasn’t terrible enough.

“What sort of, er, initiating event will precipitate the war?” ze asked. Maybe ze could stop it here on Earth.

“We thought a multi-nation nuclear exchange would be a nice start.”

Aziraphale thought of all the atom bombs that were on Earth. And the ones that have already been detonated. He’s lived through that, but many humans didn’t. Many won’t. “Very imaginative.”

“The battle commences, Aziraphale. Join us.”

“In a jiffy,” ze said and then the circle darkened. The call was over, but the connection was still open, waiting for Aziraphale to join Heaven. To go fight.

Well, Aziraphale thought. To hell with that.

Ze carefully stepped around the circle and picked up the phone, dialing the only number that mattered. Ze supposed ze's truly exhausted all alternatives at this point. It was time to tell Crowley. “Anthony! I don’t have much time-“

“Hi, this is Anthony J. Crowley,” Crowley said, ignoring hir.

“I know who you are, you idiot.”

“You know what to do.”

“I telephoned you.”

“Do it with style. Eee.”

“Stop making noises! I know where the Antichrist i-“

“Yeah, it's not a good time,” Crowley interrupted hir again, sounding out of breath this time. “Got an old friend here.” And then he hung up.

Old friend? But Crowley didn't have any other friends. Well, there was Warlock, but they were in Mediggo. Unless Crowley got paranoid and decided she’s safer with him? But why would he hang up on Aziraphale then?

The door slammed open.

“You foul fiend!” Shadwell shrieked, barging in. “In league with the forces of darkness!”

“Sargent Shadwell?” Was someone else going to tell hir off for being friends with Crowley? Really?

“You monster! Seducing women to do your evil will.”

Nevermind. Clearly he’s just had too much to drink. “Oh, I think perhaps you've got the wrong shop.”

“You are possessed by a demon.”

Aziraphale genuinely snorted at that. Crowley didn’t possess hir. Ze was hir own angel, thank you very much. (Technically ze belonged to Heaven. Ze didn’t read the user agreement. They just told hir to sign here please right after ze spawned after existence. Ze didn’t know better then. Ze didn’t know better now, either, but that’s not neither here nor there.)

“And I will exorcise you with bell, book and candle.”

“Yes, er, fine. But, please, keep away from the circle.” The last thing ze needed right now was a human teleporting to heaven. Honestly, the journey would probably kill him and even if it didn’t, security escorting him out would.

“I'm honestly not a demon,” ze said, fully aware Shadwell wasn’t listening. But he kept advancing and the circle was close and ze needed to do something.

Shadwell just kept pointing at hir, mumbling something about witchcraft.

“It’s rude to point!  Don’t—“

“Return no more!” he chanted.

Aziraphale had to keep stepping backward just to maintain hir personal space. “Just stay out of the circle, you stupid man!” Ze’s foot collided with something that wasn’t regular ground. Ze looked down and there it was, the circle.

“Oh, fuck.”

Chapter Text

Demons don’t pray.

There’s nothing to pray about, really. Everything they want is either impossible or they can take it. God hasn’t been chatty even before there were any demons, and it’s not like she’d take their calls now.

There was an exception to that rule. One demon who prayed, sometimes accidentally to an angel and sometimes intentionally to the almighty herself.

“I only ever asked questions!” Crowley yelled, dramatically draping himself over his throne. Crowley tended to pray the way he used to talk to his plants. At least God’s done something to deserve his wrath. “That's all it took to be a demon in the old days.”

Why are you making this? Why should the humans suffer? Where’s the bathroom? It didn’t seem to matter what question Crowley was asking, only that he was doing it too much. Too curious. Too annoying. Too disobedient.

“Great Plan? God, you listening? Show me a Great Plan.” She wasn’t listening, Crowley knew. The amount of people, of demons, of angels…she couldn’t pay attention to every person yelling at her. Much less if the person fell from her grace such a long time ago.

Or maybe she was listening. What did Crowley know? Maybe she was sitting up there, a bowl of popcorn in her hands, watching the poor sods bellow her. Knowing they’re all marching to their deaths. “Okay, I know you're testing them, you said you were going to be testing them.”

She tested them a lot, in the old days. Eden, Gomorra, the Flood. She hasn’t been a very hands on teacher lately, yet here she was, with an exam that determines everyone’s fate. Didn’t even give them time to prepare. Didn’t even tell most of the students. “You shouldn't test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.”

Crowley threw himself away from the throne with a wretched cry. “And you know what? For the record, great pustulant mangled bollocks to the Great blasted Plan!” he screamed. “Why would you make all of this just to destroy it? Just to abandon it when it needs you? Because they make mistakes?”

Crowley should be running away. Crowley should pack his bags, grab Aziraphale and Warlock and get the hell away from Earth. Alpha Centauri was nice this time of year.

“I’m not leaving them. You want this place gone? Fine. You’re just going to have to go through me first.”

As far as threats go, it wasn’t a very good one. Crowley was just a sentimental and fairly incompetent lowly demon. The almighty was, well, almighty. But he meant it, and that was what mattered.

And running away, well. Abandoning humanity seemed a bit too much of a dick move, even for Crowley. And there was no telling if Aziraphale and Warlock would even want to go with him. And going without them wasn't an option.

Crowley did what any reasonable demon would do. He went to watch his comfort cartoons. Stalling for time at the end of times wasn't exactly the best strategy, alright, but what was he supposed to do? The witch army didn't have any leads. Aziraphale's people didn't have any leads. The rats very politely asked Crowley if he was out of his fucking mind. That or asked for a pepperoni pizza. (Probably both.  His ratese was a little rusty since the cell tower business.)

"Crowley!" the cartoon bunny yelled. It took its mask off. It was Hastur. He almost looked cute in the cartoon's style. “What the heaven is going on, Crowley? What have you done?"

"Hastur.” Crowley smiled. It was tense and fake, the only smile of his Hastur ever saw. “Hey. Not following you. How do you mean?"

"The child. The child called Warlock. We took him to the fields of Megiddo. The dog is not with him. The child knows nothing of the Great War. He is not our master's son. He said that I.” Hastur hesitated, looking away. “That I smelled of poo.”

Crowley has never been more proud of Warlock in all the years he’s been raising her. "Well, you can see the kid's point."

"You're dead meat, Crowley,” Hastur said, punctuating his point by ripping out the other cartoon bunny’s throat. “You’re bloody history. You stay where you are.”

Crowley got up and ran.

“We're coming to collect you."

What to do, what to do. Warlock was alright, she must be. Crowley's spell would protect them from Hastur's rage. Maybe he should warn Aziraphale. But was there time?   They didn't know about hir. They will just come after Crowley. Crowley's best chances were on his home turf.

He drove the bentley, even faster than usual, and got to his flat in record time. Once in he begun assembling a trap worthy of a Duke of Hell.

“Desperate times,” he muttered to himself.

“Warning, you have accessed emergency weapons,” the ancient safe informed him.

“Yeah, thank you.  Apron.  Gloves. Tongs, tongs!  Thermos.  Quick, quick, unscrew lid.  Carefully. Don’t spill, don’t spill—  Good, good, good, good, calm down.  OK. Door, just ajar, nice, heavy, uh, yes.  Good, good.  Right. Sit at desk, look in command.  Oh, plant spray, good good good.”  Crowley took a deep breath. “Show time.”

“Crowley! We only want a word with you.”

Crowley held the plant mister like a weapon, willing his hand not to shake. “In here, people!”

Ligur entered the room first and the bucket fell on his head and then Ligur was no more. It took only a moment before his mostly melted body hit the floor and then vanished. Hastur was shrieking, as if in pain, but he wasn’t melting. He didn’t get hit.

“Hi.”

“That’s holy water!”

Crowley smirked. “Yes. What else would it be?”

“I can’t believe even a demon would. Would. Holy water!”

It was a bit like talking to a stuck record player.

“He hasn’t even done anything to you.”

“Yet.”

“Your fate will be whispered by mothers in dark places to frighten their young,” Hastur whispered.

“Go away,” Crowley snapped. “This is a pound-shop plant mister.  Cheapest and most efficient plant mister in the world.  It can squirt a fine spray of water into the air. Do I even need to tell you what’s in it? It can turn even a duke of hell into a mess on the carpet.  Now, go away.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Ask yourself: do you feel lucky?”

“Yes.”

Hastur pointed his finger and Crowley’s favorite plant mister exploded, soaking his hand with the enriched water for his plants. What a waste.

“Time to go, Crowley.”

“Wait!”

The phone rang. Crowley had a brilliant idea.

“Don't move! There's something very important you need to know before you disgrace yourself.” He picked up.

“I know where the Antichri-“ Aziraphale started saying before Crowley interrupted hir. “Yeah, it's not a good time. Got an old friend here.”

“But-“

Crowley hung up.

“Well, you've definitely passed the test. You’re ready to start playing with the big boys.”

“What? You're mad.”

“The Lords of Hell had to make sure you were trustworthy before we gave you command of the legions of the damned in the war ahead. And, Hastur, Duke of Hell, - you've come through with flying colours.”

”Me?”

“Now, I-I wouldn't expect you to believe me, Duke Hastur.” Especially since he was lying through his teeth. “But why don't we talk to the Dark Council? They’ll want to see us. Race you there?”

Crowley dialed the his landline’s number.

“What, down a mobile phone?”

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve only surfed the electrons in a landline? Live a little! Be a devil!”

“Is this a trick?”

Crowley grinned and for once he was hissing on purpose. “Ssso long, ssssucker!”

He jumped down the phone line. Hastur followed him, screaming obscenities all the way. The surfing reminded Crowley of riding a rollercoaster and maybe a little bit of flying. He could hear his landline ringing. He would have to time his exit very carefully.

Luckily, he doubted Hastur knew how many times a phone rang before going to the voice mail.

Crowley jumped, turning back into his regular size.

“Hi, this is Anthony J. Crowley,” the voicemail recording said. “You know what to do. Do it with style.”

“Wha- You bloody snake!” Hastur yelled.

“Iron bars do not a prison make, but magnetic tape works nicely.  One telephone answering machine with resident duke of Hell.  Thank goodness for old technology.  Now, any left?” He peered into the bucket. “Excellent.  Goodbye, Hastur.” 

Crowley took the cassette and dunk it in the remaining sulfuric acid. Hastur and Ligur can’t catch him if they’re discorporated. The paperwork alone will take them decades.

He ran out of his apartment and into the Bentley. Time was of the essence.

Oh, you make me live, the radio played. Aziraphale wasn't picking up hir phone. Crowley threw his phone on the passenger seat in frustration. Bloody angel.

As Crowley got closer to Soho, he noticed the smoke. The closer he got, the harder it was to deny that it must be coming from the bookshop. Firemen were gathered outside of it. Crowley ignored them and ran in.

"Aziraphale!"

The entire bookshop was on fire. The smoke clouded Crowley's glasses so much he could barely see. "Aziraphale, where the Heaven are you?"

Angels could sense other angels and since they were of the same stock, so could demons. Aziraphale wasn't there. Aziraphale wasn't anywhere near the shop.

“Can’t find you.”

Ze wasn't anywhere on Earth.

"You're gone."

Somehow, Hell must have learned about Aziraphale and him. Or it was Heaven, but how would Heaven get their hands on Hellfire?

It didn't matter. Who did it didn't matter. Aziraphale was gone.

A spray of water broke the window and knocked Crowley on the ground. It hurt, but he barely noticed. The force made his melting sunglasses fall off. If there was anyone in the bookshop, they’d see the despair and tears in his serpent eyes. But he was alone. “Somebody killed my best friend. Bastards! All of you!” he screamed. His throat hurt, either from the smoke or the screaming. He didn’t care.

"Angel," he whimpered.

There was a book, the book the lady that hit the Bentley forgot, on the floor in front if him. Crowley took it and crawled out of the collapsing building.

The humans fretted as they saw him, but he payed them no mind. He climbed into the Bentley, letting it drive him away. Queen was still playing, but it stopped the second Crowley took a sharp breath at the words somebody to love.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into the compartment, took a pair of sunglasses and put them on. He wasn’t sure where he was going. Just away. Away from London. Towards the end of the world, wherever that was supposed to be.

He looked at the book, as if it was supposed to hold all the answers.

And lo and behold, it did. It was full of Aziraphale’s notes explaining the prophesies. Crowley noticed his name, but there didn’t seem to be anything important. There was prophecy 42: what ye’ve lost shall return, serpent of Eden (It probably refers to that time Warlock hid my favorite scarf, Crowley thought). Crowley didn’t bother reading the other ones connected to him, focusing instead on the map to the antichrist.

Tadfield it is, then.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale stumbled as ze rematerialized, blinking at the harsh light of Heaven. It was the last place ze wanted to be at the moment. It was the last place ze wanted to be at most moments.

"You! You're late."

Ze limped toward the quartermaster, gripping hir thigh. Must have pulled a muscle going up. “There’s been a bit of a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here yet. Still some things to sort down,” ze pointed downwards and then added. “On Earth.”

“Aziraphale, isn't it?” they said, handing hir a uniform. “Principality, Angel of the Eastern Gate. Your whole platoon is waiting for you.” They paused, looking at him. “Aziraphale. Why is that name so familiar?”

Oh dear , thought Aziraphale, looking everywhere but the quartermaster.

“Hang on,” they said and jabbed their finger into the papers. “Aziraphale. You were issued with-“

“A flaming sword, I know,” Aziraphale confessed before they could finish their sentence. “It's not my fault. She was having a very bad day-”

“You were issued with a body.”

Aziraphale looked down at hirself, experimentally flexing hir hand. Oh. Turns out ze didn't rematerialize as much as ze thought. “I'm afraid I hadn't actually prepared to step into the transportation portal, you see. And the body,” ze paused, shrugging. Ze felt strangely uncaring. “Discorporated.”

The quartermaster didn’t seem to share hir laid back mood.

“So you just turn up, late for Armageddon, no flaming sword, not even a body, you pathetic excuse for an angel! ”

Aziraphale frowned. Heaven never got better, no matter how desperately ze kept hoping it would. Ze never got better at being an angel either. “I suppose I am, really.”

This was not worth it. Sticking to a side that never valued hir and for what? To let Earth get destroyed? To watch Crowley fighting on the other side? “I mean. I have no intention of fighting in any war.”

Ze threw the uniform on the table.

“Don’t be a coward! You get into position right now, and I won't say anything more about the body you discorporated. We can take the sword out of your celestial wages.”

Aziraphale didn’t even consider it. Not too long ago ze would’ve shut hir mouth and did as was asked of hir, no matter how much it pained hir to do so. But ze was very much out of - what is the lovely expression Crowley liked so? Oh, yes. Out of fucks to give.

Heaven didn’t care if all of humanity will die, but ze did.

“I was in the middle of something important. I demand to be returned.”

”Without a body? That's ridiculous.”

Aziraphale paused. Ze’s never got hirself discorporated before and ze wasn’t exactly sure what was the procedure, other than the mountains of paperwork. “It is?”

“Obviously. What are you going to do? You can't possess them.”

Without intending to, the quartermaster gave hir the perfect idea. “Demons can.” And why couldn’t ze? It couldn’t be that hard. If Crowley could do it.

”You're not a demon,” they snapped. “You're an angel.”

Aziraphale wandered over to the large globe. It rather reminder hir of the one at Crowley’s flat. I’m coming, Crowley. We can do this.

“How does one navigate?” ze asked, but the quartermaster just yelled something at hir. “Oh, well. I'll figure it out as I go.“

*

Crowley stared at the traffic jam in front of him. If he wasn’t so angry he’d be proud of himself. “Oh, for badness’ sake!  Stay on the pavement, I’m in a hurry!  Ugh, Crowley, it’s going to be a stressful day. You need something to calm you down.“

He turned the radio on. “Yup, brethren,” said an annoying voice with an american accent.

“Oh, I love this guy.” Despite what most would think, Crowley didn’t avoid religious folk. He admired humanity’s affinity to find meaning in every little thing. And, as a bonus, religious bigots were so fun to rile up. Televangelists (or radiovangelist as the case might be) weren’t one of his, his mind was not that twisted, but he enjoyed them as if they were.

“That was the Power Cable Evangelical choir singing When I’m Swept Up By the Rapture, Grab the Wheel of My Pickup.”

Crowley laughed. “Who writes this stuff? Not that you’d need a lot of talent for songwriting, but    the imagination for thinking of such terrible themes can’t be that easy to come by.”

“To hear that song, and others just as edifying on my album Jesus Is My Buddy, just phone 1-800-CASH, and pledge your donation now. But brothers and sisters, it’s all there in your Bible, in the revelation our lord gave St. John on Patmos. War, Plague, Famine, Death! But before the destruction comes, before the four horsemen of the Apocalypse ride out, there will come the Rapture!”

Nothing could lift Crowley’s mood like stupidity, so long as it was someone else’s. “Rapture, oh, that’s priceless. You couldn’t make this up.”

”It don’t mind if you’re in the bath,” the man on the radio continued, ”driving your car, or just sitting at home reading your Bible.  When the Rapture comes, all the true believers will be swept up in the air in perfect and incorruptible bodies, looking down at the sinners as the destruction arrives.  Only the faithful will be saved, only those of you who have been born again will avoid the pain and the death and the horror and the burning. Then will come the great war between Heaven and Hell, and Heaven will destroy the forces of Hell, and God shall wipe away the tears of the suffering, and there shall be no more death, or sorrow, or crying, or pain and he shall-“

Suddenly the man stopped talking and a different voice chimed in. “Well, nice try, ahm, only it won’t be like that at all, not really.”

Crowley froze. He recognized that voice. He would recognize that voice anywhere. “Aziraphale?!” Ze wasn’t dead? Ze wasn’t gone?

“I mean, you’re right about the fire and war, all that. But that rapture stuff, well.” Crowley could see hir shrugging in his mind’s eye and he suddenly fell back into motion again. He dragged his phone out of the pocket of his pants, which should’ve been too tight to even fit a phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found ‘that hilarious guy who thinks Jeshua is a bumper sticker and a telephone repairman’ and dialed the number.

“If you could see the league after league of them in Heaven, flaming swords, all that,” Aziraphale continued. ”Who has the time to go round picking people up in the air to sneer at other people dying of radiation sickness on the parched and burning Earth below them? If that’s your idea of a morally acceptable time, I might add.”

"And as for that stuff about Heaven inevitably winning…Well, to be honest, if it were that cut and dried, there wouldn't be a Celestial War in the first place, would there? It's propaganda. Pure and simple.”

In the back of Crowley’s brain, the part that wasn’t preoccupied by continuous screaming and listening for anything other than the annoying on-hold music, he felt pride rise up. Aziraphale sounded like ze’s just about had enough of everything, with Heaven’s bullshit first on the list. Good. The bastards didn’t deserve hir.

“We've got no more than a fifty percent chance of coming out on top. You might just as well send money to a Satanist hotline to cover your bets, although to be frank when the fire falls and the seas of blood rise you lot are all going to be civilian casualties either way. Between our war and your war, they're going to kill everyone and let God sort it out-right? Anyway, sorry to stand here wittering, I've just a quick question. Where am I?"

”It’s the devil!” shrieked the radio host, who has been suspiciously silent up until them. “The devil’s possessed me!”

“Oh, no, I’m an angel.  Ahm, this has to be America, doesn’t it? I’m afraid I can’t stay.”

No, no, no, Crowley thought. Pick up, pick up, pick up.

“Gosh.” Aziraphale sounded in awe. “Am I on the radio?” Ze laughed giddily. “Oh, you have a caller. How exciting!” Ze must have pressed some button or other, because the terribly jingle stopped and Crowley was finally connected.

“Hello?”

“Angel!” he cried.

“Yes, I a-“ ze paused. “Crowley? Is that you?”

“Angel,” he sobbed, unable to do anything but. “Aziraphale.”

“What are you doing listening to this nonsense? And why do you sound so wretched?”

“Aziraphale, please. You have to come here.”

“I’m trying, my dear. Oh! You mean I could jump down the telephone line, be right there with you. Oh, what a splendid idea, my dear, you’re so clever.”

Crowley made a noise at the back of his throat that could’ve been described as a whine, if Crowley wasn’t so resistant to the idea.

“Well, here I go. Pip-pip,” ze said and then ze was sitting on the passenger seat of the Bentley. Well. Sitting was maybe a bit of a strong word for what ze was doing, considering ze was more of a formless ball of warm light than a person.

“Crowley!” ze smiled. Crowley couldn’t see it, but he could hear it in hir voice “I found you! Or, well, I suppose you found me. We found each other, that’s what’s important.”

Crowley was glad he put another pair of sunglasses on. “Bentley, steer yourself for a bit.” He was about to hug Aziraphale and then it occurred to him that he cannot hug a disembodied glow. “What happened to you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed. “I got discorporated. Terrible timing.”

“I’d say,” Crowley muttered. He still couldn’t believe that Aziraphale was here. That ze was alright. Ish.

“I thought I’d possess someone, but I’ve had a bit of a hard time finding England. Still have to find a receptive body now.”

“I’m right here.”

“What was that, dear fellow?”

Maybe it would be better to keep my mouth shut , some part of Crowley thought, but Crowley didn’t listen. “You can possess me.”

“Oh.” Despite the fact that Aziraphale didn’t currently have a body, Crowley got the impression that ze was blushing. “That would be very convenient, my dear, but are you sure that’s safe? Angel, demon. Won’t we explode?”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he laughed. “That makes no sense, angel. Why would we explode? We’re made of the same stuff, aren’t we? Same basic model, I just got a…an upgrade or downgrade, call it what you will.”

“If you’re quite sure you don’t mind.”

“Quite.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said, more to hirself than to Crowley. “It’s simple. It’s just like a hug. I like those.”

Crowley felt Aziraphale envelop him - or maybe it was him who was enveloping Aziraphale? - and then they were one.

Well, not really. Their souls were not melding. As much as they cared about each other they weren’t familiar enough with each other for it to happen. Now, if they spent the last six thousand years with each other it might have been different. As it was there was a pretty defined border between Aziraphale and Crowley, which did not make this any less intimate.

They managed to keep their thoughts to themselves, mostly. There was a terrible stain of grief on Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t know what to do about it. What happened? ze wanted to ask. Who did you lose?

Ze reached out, tentatively, towards the part of them that was Crowley. Crowley reached back. There was an understanding between them. No words were necessary, but they were nice.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale said. It felt odd to hear hir voice coming from Crowley’s vocal chords. “You’re not alone.”

“I know,” Crowley said and they smiled. There wasn’t really an issue of who takes the wheel, so to speak. The literal wheel of the Bentley was obviously taken by Crowley. Aziraphale couldn’t drive. (Ze would argue neither could Crowley.) There was no internal struggle. Just understanding and love.

And annoyance. They were still stuck in the world’s biggest traffic jam, after all. They couldn’t afford waiting, so Crowley did a couple of illegal maneuvers and drove toward the highway.

Which appeared to be on fire. The Bentley slowed as they got close, not wanting to risk being too near. Spontaneous automobile combustion was not a thing to trifle with.

"There's a wall of fire," Aziraphale said, because ze didn’t know what else to do about it.

One of them sighed, but they couldn't tell which. "Yeah, my bad. I've had the M25 made into the shape of Odegra. Figures my greatest accomplishment would come back to bite me in the ass."

"Nothing better bite us there, these pants are uncomfortable enough as it is."

"I don't wear them for comfort. It's fashion, angel."

"And you wear them well! I, um. I mean. They look very fashionable indeed."

Neither were sure if the embarrassment and flusteredness came from themselves or from the other. Somehow, the minor emotion sharing wasn't as nerve wracking as they would have thought. It was almost comfortable, except no, no. It wasn't. It still smarted a little, like shoes that haven't been broken in yet. But it was a relief, feeling and being felt. It was effortless, unlike having to talk about feelings, or trying to decipher what the other was feeling through other means. They didn't have to hold anything back, mainly because they couldn't and because ultimately, the biggest emotion they felt as they shared Crowley's body was love and trust and the sheer joy of being together.

And of course, enormous panic. It was still the end of the world.

"We have to go through it."

"No!" Crowley snapped. Aziraphale could feel a sled of emotion ze knew wasn't hirs. The ever present panic spiked and with it came terror and the grief ze's been picking up on since they joined. "That's hellfire, angel!"

“It won’t touch us.”

“It very much will!” Crowley ran their fingers through their hair, tugging at it distractedly. He tugged so hard it almost hurt. Aziraphale took control of the hand and gently brushed it through their hair, trying to soothe Crowley.

“But it won’t touch me. I’m currently nicely wrapped up in a cozy cocoon of protective demon, I doubt it could do a thing to me.”

“That’s not how it works and you know it.”

“Do I? Because no one’s done this before.”

“Precisely! Let’s not be lab mice.”

“It's going to work."

"I'm not losing you again! I...I can't."

The grief spiked and suddenly Aziraphale knew exactly what was causing it. "I didn't actually die, Crowley,” ze said, as gently and firmly as ze could.

"But I thought you did! That’s enough.”

Aziraphale felt the heat of fire all around and overwhelming despair. “You thought I burned. In hellfire.”

Crowley tried looking down, but Aziraphale moved their head so he could see hir in the review mirror. “I’m here. It’s going to be alright. We’ll get through this. But we need to go.”

Crowley held hir gaze for a moment before nodding.

Aziraphale stepped on the pedal and nothing happened.

“Th-that’s the break, angel. Maybe just let me drive?”

“Right. Of course.”

“Bentley,” Crowley said as he started the car, tenderly stroking the dashboard. “I know you’re a one band kinda car, but I would be so grateful if you played Highway to Hell.”

The radio turned on and the first notes of I’m in Love with My Car started playing.

“Yeah,” Crowley said, picking up the speed. “I don’t deserve it for intending to put you through fire anyway.”

They were almost there. Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They both nodded at the same time. “I’d hold your hand if I could,” ze confessed quietly.

Crowley smiled and floored it.

“You’re not going to burn,” he said, gritting his teeth. “You’re my car, and you’re not going to burn. And the fire’s not even going to come close to the angel.”

The fire enveloped the car, but as promised, it didn’t touch them. They were safe. Crowley gritted his teeth and screamed. Aziraphale tried to think calming thoughts, but it didn’t appear to help.

They drove out of the wall of fire, invincible. The Bentley was still on fire, but it seemed much easier for Crowley to hold it together now that the fire wasn’t everywhere. They passed a police car and Crowley couldn’t help but cheekily wave at the gaping police officers.

They drove in peace, as much as they could, given that the world was ending and the car was on fire. Not in peace at all then. They were just so stressed that they appeared calm to outside observers, as one does. They got to Tadfield without a problem, but they couldn’t figure out how to get to the airfield.

“Shouldn’t there be a sign somewhere?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Ducks!” Crowley blurted out.

“What about ducks?“

“They're what water slides off,” Crowley said, a little petulantly.

Aziraphale sighed. Ze didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. “We should just ask for directions. We don’t exactly have a lot of time to spare.”

Crowley stopped the Bentley next to a tense looking man walking his dog. He didn’t even ask about the fire, which they felt grateful for. (Well, Aziraphale did. Crowley found the situation funny either way.)

The gate to the airfield was open and no one was guarding it, which didn’t bode well. Crowley drove onto the airfield, near to the group of humans. They climbed out of the Bentley, Crowley’s hips swinging in a way that was natural to him. Aziraphale found the sensation mildly disconcerting, now that ze was feeling it from the inside perspective.

“Hey, has the world ended yet?” Crowley asked, suave as always.

“You’re late.”

“What?!” They both spoke at the same time. One would think it would sound odd or dissonant, but to them it sounded right. (The humans around them covered their ears.)

“Adam stopped it.”

They breathed a sigh of relief. And then, because someone forbid Crowley had a nice moment, there was a terrible crash behind them and when they turned around the Bentley was falling apart into tiny pieces. Crowley collapsed on his knees. The grief got intense again. “Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’m sorry, but we have to get up.”

“Excuse me,” said a young boy, evidently the antichrist. “Why are you two people?”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him. He got up and grabbed the starter handle, saying goodbye to the Bentley silently. “Well, you see,” Aziraphale started. “I was in my bookshop-“

“It’s not right, being two people. You should get back to being one.”

He waved his hand and suddenly they weren’t a we but a you and me and Aziraphale was standing in hir own corporation, safe and sound. Ze grabbed Crowley’s shoulder to steady hirself and noticed that Crowley was staring. “What is it?”

He shook his head, unable to voice his thoughts at the moment, and in front of strangers. He wouldn’t get a chance anyway, because lightning struck and with it came Gabriel. Really, is it too much to ask for two minutes of peace today? Crowley thought, a little hysterically.

Gabriel stood there, waiting for Beelzebub to make zir way through the ground. Ze dusted off zir shoulders and they marched towards the group of people in unison. Gabriel didn’t seem particularly surprised to see Aziraphale here. Ze braced hirself. This is the right thing to do, ze reminded hirself. Heaven is wrong.

Saying it in hir head felt freeing. Still, six thousand year old habits are hard to kick and ze found hir hand itching, begging to be fiddled with. Ze realized, with a start, that ze could hold Crowley’s hand now. Holding it in front of their superiors might not be the brightest idea, but Aziraphale was tired of hiding.

Ze grabbed Crowley’s hand before ze could change hir mind. Crowley froze for a second, staring at their joined hands, before squeezing. I’m here, Aziraphale could feel his touch saying. Ze hoped hirs echoed the message.

Gabriel and Beelzebub were trying to talk to the antichrist. Apparently no one told them kids don’t appreciate being talked down to. Great plan this, great plan that.

Actually, ze was wondering about this. And it was just as good distraction as any. “Excuse me,” ze said, letting go of Crowley and walking over to where the Antichrist was standing. “You keep talking about the great plan.”

“Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale was happy to ignore him.

“Only, there’s one thing I’m not clear on. Is that the ineffable plan as well?”

“The great plan,” Beelzebub hissed. “It iszzz written.”

“Yes, yes. I was just wondering if that’s the ineffable plan as well.”

Gabriel waved his hand. “It’s the same thing, surely.”

But Aziraphale saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He didn’t know for sure.

Crowley must have caught on to what ze was doing, because he joined hir by his side. “Be a pity if you thought you were doing what the great plan said, but actually, you were going directly against God’s ineffable plan. Everyone knows the great plan. But the ineffable plan, well, it’s ineffable, isn’t it? By definition, we can’t know it.”

“But it iszz written!” Beelzebub insisted.

“But it might be written differently somewhere else. Where you can’t read it.”

"In bigger letters," Aziraphale added, a tad smug.

"Underlined.”

"Twice.”

“God does not play games with the universe!” Gabriel insisted. Aziraphale winced. Ze’s seen the blueprints for the platypus, if that wasn’t a game, what was?

“Where have you been?” Crowley asked, incredulous. Aziraphale didn’t have it in hir to be surprised. Gabriel’s been in Heaven, and Heaven was not big on thinking independently and having your own opinions on the Almighty. Granted, that was partially Gabriel’s own fault, as he was amongst the top managers.

Well, Aziraphale’s always thought that evil contained the seeds of its own destruction.

Gabriel and Beelzebub discussed something together quietly, away from the others. They’ve been thrown of their steady footing. Finally, finally, Aziraphale has managed to weaponize his tendency to nitpick at everything. He grabbed Crowley’s hand again, because he could and he wanted to.

“At least we know who’s fault it is!” Gabriel growled in their direction. Aziraphale gave a little wave.

“We did fuck all,” Crowley whispered aside to hir, but grinned cheekily anyway.

“Young man,” Gabriel addressed the Antichrist now. “You are a disobedient brat and I hope someone tells your father.”

“Oh, someone will,” Beelzebub smiled. “And your father won’t be pleased.”

With that both of them vanished.

Aziraphale turned to smile at Crowley. But Crowley fell to the ground, like someone was pulling his strings.

“Nononononono,” he whispered. “Ohshitohshitohshit.”

“Crowley? What is it?”

“They told his father!”

“Oh no.”

Aziraphale has never actually met Satan, not after the fall, but ze remembered him from the war. It was not a memory ze liked to relive.

Crowley crawled onto his knees. “It’s been nice knowing you.”

“We can’t give up!”

“This is Satan himself! It’s not about Armageddon, this is personal. We are fucked!”

There was a sword on the ground. Aziraphale picked it up, ancient muscle memory still in place. Ze gripped it tightly. “We have to do something.”

“What are you going to do, fight Satan yourself?”

 “Do you have a better idea? Because if we die here we won’t ever get to talk to each other again.”

That seemed to work. Crowley’s face scrunched up in hurt and he staggered to his feet. Aziraphale steadied him with the hand that wasn’t holding a sword. Crowley reach skyward and suddenly time stopped existing.

Aziraphale was in an empty desert with Crowley and the Antichrist. It must have been a pocket reality, on a slightly different plane, because their wings were tangible here. Crowley’s wings were pitch black and beautiful. Aziraphale wondered if Crowley would ever let ze groom them.

Focus, Aziraphale, it’s the end of the world!

“Antichrist! What’s your name?”

“Adam.”

Aziraphale didn’t even have time to ponder on the irony. Less on the nose than Warlock, but the symmetry is quite poetic.

“Adam. Your father’s coming to destroy you, all of us, most likely.”

“My dad would never hurt anyone,” Adam protested and Aziraphale was reminded that he was just a child. Just a child with all of the world on his shoulders.

“Not your earthly father. Satan.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Fight him?”

“No! You’re…no, I don’t think that would help.” Crowley’s voice was tight with badly concealed panic. “We need to figure out something else.”

“But I’m just a kid.”

Aziraphale stepped in closer. “That’s not a bad thing to be. I was worried you’d be Hell incarnate. I was hoping you’d be Heaven incarnate. But you’re so much better. You’re human incarnate.”

“Reality listens to you right now. You can change things. And once I restart time, you will have to do it fast.”

“And whatever happens, for good or for evil, we’re beside you.”

“I have no idea who you are, but thanks.”

Aziraphale gripped the sword tighter. It whooshed and light up in flames. Huh. Could Aziraphale do that with any sword or was this a heavenly sword?

Crowley cranked up what was left of his car and then they were back.

It all happened so fast. Satan broke through the ground and Adam yelled at him about proper parenting and then it was over. For real this time. And then ze was hugging Crowley tightly, tighter than ze’s ever held anyone.

Ze knew Heaven and Hell will still go after them. But for now, they were safe and they were together. That was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale stared at the piece of paper. It was all that was left of Agnes Nutter’s book after it met its doom in the Bentley. A final prophecy.

Crowley entered his living room, carrying a bottle of red wine and glasses. “If you keep staring at it this hard you’ll give yourself a headache.”

“I will do no such thing.” Ze took a big gulp of the wine Crowley handed hir and resumed glaring at the tiny piece of paper.

“You won’t figure it if you just look at it long enough. Have a drink, relax a little. We helped save the world, we deserve a break.”

“We did ‘fuck-all’ as you so aptly put it.”

“Well, at any rate, the world was saved, so. Cheers.” He raised his glass. Aziraphale reluctantly set the prophecy down and clinked it with hirs. The wine was delicious, but it didn’t stop hir from fidgeting.

“Angel.” Crowley was leaning towards them, eyes locked with hirs behind his sunglasses. ”Breathe.”

“I don’t need to,” Aziraphale mubled pettily, but did as Crowley said. It made hir feel a bit better.

“We’ll be okay.” Crowley sounded convincing. Aziraphale wanted to believe him so badly, but ze couldn’t.

“Crowley,” ze whispered, fighting to keep hir voice level. “They could make me fall.”

“What? No! You were just doing what you thought was right.” 

Ze fiddled with hir waistcoast. ”Well, you know what they say theroad to hell is pavedwith.”

“Frozen door-to-door salesmen, yeah.Paved it myself."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

"It's nice for ice skating. I've been trying to get Hell to upgrade to a highway, because having aliteralhighway to Hellwould be cool, not to mention much easier for transporting souls, but Beelzebub won't green light it. Most demons don't even know what a car is."

Aziraphale smiled, grateful for the distraction. “What is it with you and roads?”

Crowley shrugged, bashful. “I might have ended up getting a degree in infrastructure while I was working on the M25. It’s fun.”

What a silly creature, Aziraphale thought fondly. But as much as ze wanted, ze couldn’t let hirself get distracted.

“Crowley…if I fall-“

“You’re not going to fall, angel.”

“IfI fall. Will you take me skating on the pavement in Hell?”

Crowley laughed. “Of course I will. But you’re not going to fall. We’re going to be okay.”

Aziraphale had no choice but to trust him.

*

Crowley was right. They were okay. They got out. They were alive and they were together.

They went to the Ritz and then to the bookshop for more drinks and there was a bookshop to have more drinks in and they didn’t have to hide and it was all a bit overwhelming if Aziraphale was honest. Crowley was sprawled across the couch, using his advanced vocabulary to curse - figuratively - everyone above and below.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked when Crowley finished complaining about Dagon’s love for paperwork, wringing hir hands together. "What happened at my trial? I've told you about yours, but you haven't said anything about mine yet."

Crowley's smile slipped and fell on the marble floors. "You, ah...you didn't have a trial, angel. Not really."

"Oh?" Aziraphale said, voice carefully flat.

"It was just an execution. No lower angels present, either, just the archangels. They..." Crowley hesitated. He seemed to be weighting his options.

"Tell me," ze said through gritted teeth.

"Gabriel said to shut up and die. They just…expected you to walk into the fire.”

Aziraphale’s face lost all colour. Ze nodded. “I see.”

“I’m sorry, angel.”

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t ask me to burn myself to death.”

“Aziraphale…”

Ze smiled tensely. “It’s alright.”

“It very clearly isn’t.”

“I think I know my mind well enough, thank you.”

Aziraphale stared at the table. Ze wasn’t in the mood for wine anymore. Ze already knew that Heaven was not all it was cracked up to be, but for them to-

No. It did not bear thinking about. Ze waved hir hand and the wine obligingly turned itself into scotch. Ze poured two glasses and handed one to Crowley. “To the world,” ze toasted, but it sounded bitter and small.

 *

If there was a good reason for the world to end, Crowley thought, it was hangovers. Waking up on the bookshop sofa was nothing new, but usually he had the foresight to sober up before he fell asleep.

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said. Crowley adored hir voice, which did not stop it from grating at his brain. Ze was bustling around the bookshop, looking for all the world like nothing happened.

“Urnhf,” Crowley mumbled and drew the blanket over his face. “How are you awake?”

“Ah, you know I don’t sleep much. I thought I would do a spot of inventory while you napped. Adam’s done a wonderful job restoring the shop, but it eases my mind to check.”

Aziraphale, who hasn’t stopped moving for a second while talking, looked the opposite of at ease. “Right,” Crowley said, fumbling with his phone to check the time. It was noon and he already had a text from Warlock, asking when and where they would meet. He bit his lip as he watch the angel fuss, a blank look on hir face.

“Hey, angel?” he called. “Would you like to go for ice cream with me and Warlock?”

Aziraphale, finally, stopped moving. Ze put the book ze was holding back on the shelf and turned to look at Crowley. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose. I know she was looking forward to seeing you.”

“She won’t mind,” Crowley reassured hir, shooting a quick you ok if angel comes tooto Warlock just in case.

“In that case I’d be delighted.” Ze smiled, but Crowley could see it didn’t reach hir eyes.

 *

They took the Bentley, although not before Crowley purged the residue alcohol from his system, and drove towards a lovely ice cream shop near the American Embassy. Warlock miraculously managed to slip away from the secret agents just in time to meet them.

“Nanny!” they called, running full speed at Crowley, fulling expecting him to catch them. Which he did, even if some manner of infernal powerswere needed. “You wouldn’t believe how weird my trip was.”

“Oh, I bet I would,” Crowley said, planting a protective kiss on Warlock’s forehead. He grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the ice cream place. “Come on, you can tell me over ice cream. I don’t believe we’ve ever properly celebrated your birthday.”

“I mean, Aziraphale did a magic show and all,” they said, at which Crowley rolled his eyes and muttered something about that not counting as magic. “Hello, Aziraphale,” Warlock said as she remember ze was also there.

“Hello, dear child.”

Warlock shot Crowley a worried look. They weren’t very subtle about it, but Aziraphale did not notice anyway. Ze turned to contemplate the ice cream sellection, not paying hir companions any mind.

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled to Warlock. “I know I said it would be just the two of us. But ze’s,” Crowley looked over at Aziraphale’s blank face studying the ice cream flavours. “I’m worried about hir. Didn’t want to leave hir alone.”

Warlock nodded. “Ze looks awful,” she said, with all the tact of an eleven year old.

Crowley wanted about to disagree but he knew they were right. Aziraphale looked detached, hir usual excitement for new culinary experiences nowhere to be found.

They picked their ice cream flavours, although only Warlock seemed to be happy about it, Crowley’s hangover still too fresh on his mind. He and Aziraphale went with their comfort flavors – coffee and lime, respectively – while Warlock picked an abomination of an ice cream sundae.

When they sat in the booth, Warlock started arranging the gummy bears and smarties by color. “So, Nanny, what exactly was going on on Saturday? Cause some smelly guy kept asking me about a dog and then there was nuclear war and then not. And you both look like you’ve aged a century since my birthday. So. Spill.”

Crowley laughed. “You’re too clever for your own good, hellspawn.”

“I know. Compliments won’t distract me though.”

“Worth a shot.”

Crowley tried thinking of another way to distract her, but decided better of it. Warlock’s always been stubborn about getting her questions answered. Crowley thought they took after him in that regard. The thought made something soft unfurl in his chest, even though he’d deny it if anyone asked. He tried giving her the abgridged, censored, eleven-year-old-appropriate version.

“Long story short, the apocalypse almost happened. And then it didn’t.”

Warlock raised their eyebrow in a perfect immitation of their nanny. “And?”

“And that’s it, basically.”

“Nanny! I know you know the details. I know the two of you have powers. You were there, weren’t you?”

Crowley sighed. “Yeah, we were. Did our best to stop it, but we didn’t do much good.”

“I think we did a rather nice jobs at getting the higher ups angry with us,” Aziraphale said. It was the first time ze spoke since they arived, other than to greet Warlock and order the sorbet he wasn’t eating.

“So you have bosses? Is there, like, a magic counsil that deploys goth Mary Poppinses or something?”

Crowley hesitated. “Warlock, how much do you know about our powers exactly?”

Warlock shrugged, stuffing her face full of ice cream of a suspicious color. “I know you can get things to get what you want. People too, but you don’t like doing that much. I know you have snake eyes. I’m pretty sure you can turn into an actual snake. I don’t really know what ze can do, but I’ve seen hir repair things with a thought and get customers to remember they have somewhere else to be, so I thought ze’s like you. Without the snake thing.”

Right. So basically Crowley’s done a shit job trying to be discreet on front of his charge. Great. “Well we’re…actually we’re…” Crowley took a deep breath. “We’re an angel and a demon.”

“Oh!” Warlock said. “That makes so much sense.”

“It does?”

“I mean, duh. Of course you’re an angel, Nanny.”

Crowley dropped his spoon. “N-nonono no no! I’m not an angel, why would you think that? Do you think angels dress like this?”

Warlock shrugged. “I didn’t think all powerful beings need a dresscode. Besides, you’re so nice!”

Crowley gasped. “You take that back!”

“Then prove it!”

Crowley thought about it. “You’re grounded.”

Warlock raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually have to be in charge of me to ground me.”

Crowley sighed. Raising Warlock by himself has always been a pipe dream. He couldn’t risk Hell using them to get to him. But now that Hell knew better than to mess with him maybe it was time to start considering it seriously.

The implication of Warlock’s assumption caught up with him. Crowley burst out laughing. He turned to Aziraphale. “She thought you’re a demon!”

Ze looked down, fidgeting with the edge of hir waistcoat. “Well. I am a bit of a pathetic excuse for an angel, aren’t I?”

Suddenly Crowley didn’t find it so funny. He reached out tentatively and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. “You’re amazing. Upstairs is full of stuck up idiots.”

Aziraphale raised hir eyes to meet Crowley’s. “You really think so? You’re not just…trying to make me feel better?”

“I know so.”

Aziraphale smiled. Hir smile was still fraying at the edges, but it looked real.

*

A few weeks later, Crowley was on his way to the bookshop. He came there a lot, finding it hard to purge the memory of the place on fire from his brain. But everytime he came there, the place was fine. Whole. Unburnt.

And Aziraphale was there, safe. Not burning to death at all.

He parked the Bentley – legally for once, but being a dick to anybody else who’d like to park on this street – and came in. “Angel?” he called, trying to control the anxiety in his voice. “You in here?”

“Crowley!”

Crowley followed to voice to its source. Aziraphale was climbing off a ladder, beaming at Crowley. Ze was not wearing hir coat and hir sleeves were rolled up. Crowley gripped the nearest bookshelf for stability, trying to lean on it in a cool, suave way, but probably just looking like he was having a stroke.

“I was just finishing the installation.”

“Installation?”

“Well, after the whole. Apocalypse thing. I noticed you…” ze hesitated. “I know you were here when the place burned down. And just the thought of all my books in flames and you in flames, I…you keep tensing every time you come here. You can’t relax if I’m not in your line of sight and even then I know a part of you still worries. So I thought I could bring the building up to code, so to speak.” Ze pointed to the device on the ceiling. “I’ve installed smoke detectors. And bought some fire extinguishers. The lovely lady at the fire department recommended sprinklers, but I can’t stand the thought of the books getting destroyed by water damage because I burned some toast.”

Crowley stared. He didn’t know what to say. Or, well, he did, but his mouth wouldn’t start working. He didn’t realize Aziraphale knew about his…issues with the bookshop. But ze did. And ze’s taken steps to insure Crowley might feel a little safer in hir home.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Aziraphale smiled, toying with hir pocket watch chain. “Yes, well. You’re welcome.”

“Let me take you to dinner. As a proper thank you.”

“I couldn’t possibly-“

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, very well.”

“What do you fancy? Sushi? Italian?”

“I think,” Aziraphale said carefully. “That we could go for a picnic.”

Crowley stopped for a moment, searching Aziraphale’s face. All he found was determination. He hasn't forgotten about the promised picnic, of course not. But he didn't think it was going to happen, at least not this soon. How was he supposed to deal with this?

“Alright. Picnic it is.”

*

Aziraphale would be the first to admit, in the privacy of hir own thoughts at least, that sometimes ze could be a little impulsive. Oh, ze liked to stick to hir habits for the most part, but sometimes ze just went and did something right as ze thought of it, before ze could lose hir courage. Which then left hir to deal with the consequences of said impulse action. The consequences could range from having to find a new café to go to or lying to God about a flaming sword, but they were rarely pleasant.

Which left hir here, clutching a picnic blanket and sweating much more than an ethereal creature who had no need for such bodily functions should. Ze’s made a mistake, hadn’t ze? Crowley would surely read too much into this and then get his heart broken again when Aziraphale inevitably couldn’t find the courage to finish what ze’s started.

Speaking of the devil, Crowley seemed…relaxed. He was wearing a loose dark grey sweather. Aziraphale didn’t even know he possesed any clothing that wasn’t skin tight. He was smiling, too, humming along to the bebop. It was a very lovely look on him.

When they arrived, they found a nice secluded spot in the park. They didn’t need to use any frivulous miracles for that, since it was a bit chilly for a summer picnic, and the park was mostly deserted. Aziraphale spread the blanket – tartan, of course – and sat down primly. Crowley joined hir, putting down the basket. Aziraphale had no idea what was in it, as Crowley kept insisting that it was a surprise.

“I meant to tell you,” Aziraphale said “I like the sweather. You look…cozy. It suits you.” Ze smiled tensely, cursing hirself internally. Why couldn’t ze just tell Crowley he looked pretty? It was true.

“Thanksss,” Crowley muttered, fidgeting with his sleeve. “Might assss well wear it after all the time I ssspent making it.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. “You knitted it?”

Crowley nodded.

It was funny. He spend so much time trying to appear cool and unafected. Aziraphale liked the real Crowley better, the one who stammered and hissed and loved astronomy and knitted himself sweathers he never wore because he didn’t want to look soft. But he was soft, under all that prickliness. And Aziraphale loved him so much.

Ze looked away. “Now. Will you finally let me know what is in that basket?”

Crowley laughed. “Impatient, are we?” he said, opened the basket and started taking the food out. There was tea and sandwiches and little cakes and fruit and oh. All of them, every single one of the food items, were Aziraphale’s favorite.

Ze looked up at Crowley, who was looking at hir with a shy hopeful smile. He knew. It was on purpose. He remember Aziraphale offhandedly mentioning how he liked wild strawberries much better than the garden variety. That he liked devil’s food cake. He remember that how ze took hir tea.

Crowley knew hir.

Heavens, Crowley knew hir well enough to succesfuly pretend to be hir in front of the other angels! He breathed fire at them for hurting Aziraphale. He knew Aziraphale better than anyone else and he was still here.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Do you like me?”

Crowley frowned. “Of course I like you. What kind of stupid question is that?”

Aziraphale laughed, a little giddy. “Forgive me for asking, dearest, it’s just…I don’t think I’ve ever gotten as close with anybody like I have with you. I don’t think anyone’s ever liked me enough for that.”

“Then they’re all idiots,” Crowley snapped. He seemed so sure of it. Like it was obvious that everyone should like Aziraphale.

“What I wanted to say is that you mean so much to me. You’re my best friend. And,” Aziraphale hesitated, before putting hir hand over Crowley’s. “I don’t want to waste time being afraid anymore.”

Crowley looked down at their joined hands. “Angel,” he whispered. “We have time now. You don’t have to rush.”

“Yes! I know. And I want to spend that time with you.” Ze looked away, trying to find the right way to phrase it. “I was scared. And now…”

“You’re not scared anymore?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I’m scared plenty. I’m terrified. But…I trust you. I trust us.”

Crowley looked Aziraphale in the eye. “Are you sure, angel? I know that Heaven and Hell can’t touch usss anymore, but…that wasn’t the only reason you turned me down.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “And what I’m saying is that I’m sure now! Anthony, I loveyou. I’ve never felt like this before and it took a while to adjust to. And I’m not saying we should get married tommorow, or something, I’m saying I want to court you.”

Crowley laughed, because if he didn’t he might start crying. “Court? Angel, it’sss the twenty first century, no one sssayssss that.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale smiled playfully. “What do they say then?”

Crowley did his best to show how flustered he was and failed miserably. “It’s called dating. We’d be…well, I ssssuppossse neither of us would like to be called ‘boyfriend’, ssso…partnersss, I guessss? Ssignificant otherssss? Datematessss? Human-shaped entities in a relationship?”

Aziraphale covered hir mouth to hide hir laugh. I wasn’t funny, but ze was just so happy. “I think partners would be…well.” Ze looked into Crowley’s eyes, not caring how sappy ze looked. “That would be lovely.”

Crowley held hir gaze, smiling softly. “I love you,” he whispered.

They just sat there, holding hands and smiling at each other, until Crowley remembered something important. “Fair warning though, I’m probably going to adopt Warlock soon.”

“Oh, I figured you would.”

With that out of the way, they went back to holding hands.