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St. James Park, the first weekend after they’d saved everything. Crowley is drunk on wine and the creeping, overwhelming realisation that he doesn’t have to hide anymore. He and Aziraphale sit side by side on a picnic blanket, the last of their dinner spread scattered between them, and as the first stars come out he leans in and nuzzles the angel gently.
“Do you see those up there? Aren’t they pretty?” He murmurs, and kisses Aziraphale’s neck. “Say they’re pretty, Angel.”
“They are beautiful,” sighs Aziraphale. “There’s Ursa Major. I think.”
“Right you are,” says Crowley with a giggle. He leans in conspiratorially. “I made them, Angel. I made those stars and I stuck them up there. Poof!”
“Did you really,” says Aziraphale, only just sober enough to register that Crowley may be telling the truth.
“Oh, yeah. Those are my girls up there, in the Bear. Dubhe...Merak...Phecda...Megrez...”
It had been some time since that night, almost two months now. But that was the memory which drifted to Aziraphale’s consciousness when he woke, to an overcast sky and a demon clattering around in his kitchenette.
Yawning, Aziraphale sat up. He was still on the couch in the back room of the bookshop, where he and Crowley had fallen asleep the previous night watching silly cat videos on Crowley’s phone. Their romantic activities were running the gamut from refined and sophisticated (meals at the Ritz, shows at the theatre, visits to classical art galleries) to simple and relaxed (picnics at the park, Japanese take-out and board games, making out in the Bentley.) That first picnic all those months ago set the standard for all picnics to come, although admittedly, due to the amount of alcohol involved, neither of them could remember most of it. Until now, at least. Aziraphale realised with a jolt that it was more than a wine-soaked flashback lost in the struggle from hangover to sobriety- it was a clue to a mystery he had all but forgotten to solve.
“You up, Aziraphale?” called Crowley. “I took care of breakfast. Humans and their clever food delivery apps!” He came in holding a paper bag. Aziraphale recognised the smell instantly.
“Crepes!” He exclaimed.
“Only the best,” Crowley smiled.
They fed each other the crepes on Aziraphale’s couch, paired it with coffee made at his kitchenette. While usually Crowley was the one watching Aziraphale eat, Aziraphale found himself less engaged in the food (astonishing, he knew) and more occupied with observing the demon.
“If I may ask, my dear,” he ventured finally. “It’s never occurred to me until this morning, but now I find myself wondering...since you’ve never exactly brought it up...and I apologise if it’s too painful for you to talk about, so- “
”Yeah?” said Crowley apprehensively.
Aziraphale cleared his throat, “You don’t talk about when you were an angel. Well, obviously. But I thought I might ask, anyway. Do you remember anything- anything else? I- “ he trailed off, seeing Crowley’s mouth set in a hard line. “I’m just curious. Who were you, before, you know, the Rebellion?”
Crowley stared at him. He didn’t have his sunglasses on, and the coldness in his yellow snake eyes was intimidating. “Now that’s going too far. Angel,” he added, assuring that he wasn’t mad at Aziraphale. “Can’t a guy keep some things to himself?”
“Right.”
But you told me you created stars. Where did that come from? Why won’t you share that with me?
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it,” said Crowley, reaching for another crepe. “Please.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale felt rather uncomfortable about prying too hard; sometimes he didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. But he was sure he was forgiven when Crowley held out the piece of crepe to him on a fork. He leaned forward and ate it, relishing the taste of strawberry and chocolate.
Crowley grinned an apology, pleased to have done at least one thing right.
Later Aziraphale waved him goodbye, watched the Bentley drive off at inhuman speed. He sighed and turned back into the shop, wondering why he’d approached it in such a roundabout way. Why couldn’t he have just led off with that memory? That certainly would have set the tone for a discussion, established once and for all it wasn’t just a drunken demonic rambling. But if there was one thing that Aziraphale had learned about Crowley, it was that alcohol made him honest- if a bit silly.
He’d blown his chance this time, and wasn’t likely to be able to bring it up again. It was too late; Aziraphale was already curious, and he found his mind wandering toward the one person who might be able to help.
Toward the end of the week a visitor came to Aziraphale’s door. This one was once again of the celestial type, but unlike other Archangels was not one of Earth’s regular visitors. In fact, she hadn’t come down here since the burning of the library of Alexandria.
Aziraphale answered to a soft knock, fully expecting the visit this time. Standing at his threshold was a short, slight young woman in a bright red raincoat. She wore a denim overall dress underneath that and oversized glasses, and her wavy blonde hair hung slightly damp against her shoulders.
“Harahel,” smiled Aziraphale, and stepped aside to let the Archangel of the Heavenly Library inside. “It’s been a long time.”
“Hi, Aziraphale,” Harahel said in her soft, pleasant voice. She came through the doorway and looked around, instantly taken by the interior of the bookshop, “Is this your place? Gosh, it’s swell!”
Harahel was one of those angels whose manner of speech had been stuck in a certain place and time period- that is, 1950s America. She did not have that sharp, professional-to-the-point-of-impersonal kind of energy the higher-ranking Archangels made a point of giving off, but she was indeed an Archangel, albeit one a little further down the corporate ladder. While Harahel certainly outranked Aziraphale, she got the job of Celestial Librarian and Keeper of Records, and as a result had little to no reason to make regular trips to Earth.
Once upon a time Aziraphale would have coveted that assignment. But up in Heaven, he’d never have been allowed to dress up the library the way he’d done here.
“Wow, this is just the ginchiest. I love that lamp! What a soft-looking sofa. Oh, and you’ve some Discworld novels, too. You know I read them all in one sitting, and when I finally looked up, the polar ice caps were melting? Yikes. Anyway, what a swell little place. I am so jealous of you right now.”
“Harahel, you are the sweetest,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Shall I find you something to eat?”
“‘Eat’?” repeated the Archangel, looking confused as if she’d got off at the wrong train station. “Uh, no. Nah. I’m fine. And I can’t stay very long, you know that.” She pulled out a large scroll and a thick, leather bound book from the canvas bag she was carrying. “So let’s make this speedy. Here’s that information you asked for.”
Aziraphale took the items with relish. It had been a long time since he’d held a proper scroll.
“Thank you, my dear,” he said graciously. “I know it must have been quite a risk to come down to see me.” He set the book and scroll down and a worn library card appeared in his hand with a small pop.
Harahel took the card and flipped it over between her own fingers. “Gosh, don’t worry about it. I miss you up there, Zee. Not many angels have the appreciation for books that you do.” She handed the card back to him, the check-out and return dates now printed on the next blank space. “I’m so glad you didn’t get incinerated after all. You look real happy here.”
“I am,” said Aziraphale with a small smile.
She raised her eyebrows at him cheekily, “Sooooo...Word’s going round that you’re jacketed with that demon. Is that true?”
Aziraphale blushed, but it gave him great pleasure to tell her, “Yes, that’s true. Crowley and I are seeing each other.”
“I never would’ve thought,” said Harahel. “What’s that like? Oh,” she added, seeing him look flustered, “never mind. Certainly none of my business. Who you want to spend your days with outside of Heavenly influence is up to you. And I’m sure he can’t be all bad.”
“No, he isn’t. I dare say he isn’t really bad at all.”
She looked rather awkward for a second, but Aziraphale graciously said nothing further. Eventually Harahel cleared her throat.
“If you don’t mind,” she said. “What did you need all this stuff for anyway?”
“Oh...research, you see,” said Aziraphale. “I’m sure you’re well aware what’s happened. Things have...changed for me. I’m not quite the Angel I once was. Not exactly Fallen, but I believe the term they used was gone native. This body they’ve issued me, I rather believe it’s become more human by exposure.”
He knew Harahel was one of the ones he could trust, but he still wasn’t about to let her in to the whole truth- the body swap, the deception. This ruse came out quite easily, and while he felt a twinge of regret at lying to one of the few angels who was actually his friend, Aziraphale knew that protecting Crowley was worth it.
“In any case,” Aziraphale continued, “there hasn’t been a great deal of discussion about how my miracles are to be monitored now, so I thought I would check the logs myself, see what really makes an impact and what doesn’t...and the book about the Rebellion, well, I was simply curious to have a read of angelic history from a different perspective. To see where I fit into now- or if I fit in anywhere at all.”
“That’s why you called me down here,” said Harahel. “All this just to satisfy a curiosity, huh?”
Aziraphale tried to hide his smile. This, he knew, was one thing Crowley loved about him. “Thank you, Harahel. I really am grateful.”
“Aw, no sweat,” She said lightly. “I want them back in good shape, okay?”
Aziraphale looked scandalised. “What do you take me for?”
Harahel laughed. “Kidding. Now, I gotta split before anyone notices I’m gone.”
“Of course.” Aziraphale saw her to the door. “It was so good to see you.”
“Likewise,” said Harahel. She beamed at Aziraphale before turning in a swirl of blonde hair and red polyester. “Later, Daddy-o!”
“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed Aziraphale.
The scroll was a curious, clever thing. It started off as text-heavy, details and details of miracles logged in by and assigned to angels since the dawn of Creation. But as Aziraphale passed a hand down the length of the scroll, the information printed on it decreased significantly, only showing the data he wanted- that is, names of angels who’d worked on star development.
The filtered list was a quicker, less confusing read. Aziraphale scanned it quickly and frowned.
He recognised all these names. All angels who were still active in Heaven.
Which meant none of them had Fallen.
“Really,” he huffed. “This doesn’t add up at all.” Aziraphale wondered what he was missing. Crowley had to be one of the angels from the Star Production Department, but that department had been quite small to begin with and was discontinued shortly after the Second Day of Creation, when it had been established that the ever-expanding cosmos would take care of filling itself. Some of those names appeared in dark grey, indicating that they had perished, been destroyed, in the Rebellion. But none of them seemed to have Fallen.
Maybe he was going about this the wrong way.
Aziraphale tilted his head. Ursa Major. That was a clue. Almost as soon as he thought the name the scroll re-filtered itself, showing only one name, stark ink on thick paper. Aziraphale peered at it, breath bated.
“No,” he said in disbelief. “That’s impossible.”
He reached for the book Harahel had left about the Rebellion.
Dinner with Crowley the following evening was a delight, but Aziraphale wished he’d been less distracted throughout it all. Crowley seemed to see that something was off, but rather than press on the issue as Aziraphale had done about his nightmare, he patiently acted as if he didn’t notice.
They shared a seafood platter and some dessert afterward, and later walked it off, hand in hand, along the Thames. It was just about late enough for the riverside walkways to be mostly empty- either that, or a tiny subconscious miracle on both their parts that allowed them to be left alone. As Crowley chattered on about one thing or another, Aziraphale felt himself teetering on the edge, wondering if Now was the right time to divulge the information he had just gleaned.
“Heyyy, Angel,” Crowley said in a singsong voice, and Aziraphale turned to see him grin at him expectantly, “Where the Hell are you right now? ‘Cause you’re surely not here with me.” He lifted his hand in a tiny wave, “Everything okay?”
“Y-Yes,” stammered Aziraphale, giving him an assuring smile.
Ask him. Ask him. Ask him.
“You’ve been distracted all night.” Crowley moved closer, started to fiddle idly with the lapel of Aziraphale’s coat.
“Sorry, dear. I was just thinking about a book I read.”
Crowley chuckled. “Let me take your mind off that, then.”
He leaned in for a juicy kiss, effectively taking all of Aziraphale’s breath away. Not that he’d needed to breathe, being an angel. But Aziraphale let his eyes shut and sank into it, arms reaching up with clutch Crowley closer. They staggered into the nearest lamppost, the soft thud as Aziraphale’s back hit the cool metal jolting them back to reality.
Crowley broke off with an embarrassed giggle and pushed his sunglasses up out of his face. “Whoops. Sorry.”
And just like that, Aziraphale slipped.
“Raphael,” he breathed.
Time seemed to stop around them. Crowley leaned back, his slitted pupils constricting into thin cursors. “What?”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said shakily. “It’s been you the whole time.“
“How did you even- “ Crowley took his hands off him, took a step back. “How the Hell?”
“I found out,” Aziraphale blurted, “I checked the records, I did the math. I always knew you were one of us, just not this one—Raphael, the healer, builder of constellations—“
“Don’t,” Crowley snapped, despite himself. “Don’t call me that, okay? I can’t believe you found out—“ he raked his fingers through his hair, breath suddenly short. “Nobody’s called me that in a long, long time.”
“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale quietly. “I just thought- I should find out more about this- because of- of something you once said when you were drunk- “
“Wait, you went digging around because of something I said when I was drunk?” Crowley threw up his hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“No, no, Crowley, don’t you understand? This is huge for me!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “The records - they said Raphael was killed in the Rebellion, that he was the first Angel to die.”
“And he did,” said Crowley. He stalked past without so much as a backward glance at Aziraphale, who followed anyway.
“No, he didn’t. He Fell- you Fell. There’s a difference!”
“I don’t see why it matters. I haven’t been Raphael for eons.”
“It matters because it means the archives have it wrong. They say Raphael was the first to face Lucifer and tried to reason with him, and was flung screaming to bleed into the very stars he’d created- “
Crowley clenched his fists, screwing his face up tight. “Stop.”
Aziraphale reached for him, grabbed his arm. “Look, will you- will you just tell me what happened?” He said desperately. “Your side of the story. It’s bad enough I had to sneak around behind your back to find it out. Crowley, please.”
They stopped again. Crowley’s eyes reflected the lamplight, appearing almost sickly neon. His face hardened. “Well let me set it straight then. When I faced off against the Morningstar, we did not have a grand moral bloody argument, I literally told the others, ‘Look guys, let me go and talk to this chap, maybe we can still salvage the situation,’ and they said, ‘alright, we’ll let you go out there first,’ so then I went up to him and said ‘Hey, Lucifer, all this, y’know, rebellion and bloodshed, is it really necessary, mate? You didn’t exactly mention it in our first chat,’ and he goes ‘Yeah, well, Raffy, it’s your own fault for not paying attention. This was the plan all along. Are you in or are you out?’ And I was like ‘Um,’ and Lucifer was like- “
“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, holding a hand up for him to stop, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Could you please get to the point? How did you manage to deceive everyone?”
“I was getting there, Angel,” said Crowley impatiently. “Anyway. So I said, ‘ah, what the Hell,’ and Lucifer said ‘damn right,” and he stepped aside, and there was this big ol’ hole in the clouds, and I dove right in.” He took a deep breath and added, “The screaming was for effect.”
“You made everyone think you were dead.”
“Well, yeah. That was the whole point. Not even all of my side know, or care, for that matter. I made a simple fucking mistake and I had to choose a side, so I did. But hey- “ he spread his hands, “at least I did it with style!”
Perhaps before, Aziraphale would have been agitated, even frightened at Crowley’s outburst, but he merely stood by patiently, his presence serene. Crowley wasn’t sure if that was soothing or more aggravating. He ran a hand through his hair again.
“What thing did I say when I was drunk, anyway?”
“Simply that you made stars and put them in the sky. It was that night we had our first picnic.” Aziraphale smiled helplessly. “You named all the stars of Ursa Major. Then I checked the archives and filtered names by miracles created and saw that Raphael...built that constellation. And others, too. Nebulae, even.”
“Oh,” said Crowley in a small voice, and he stuck his bottom lip out, “I gotta admit, Angel, that’s really clever.”
Silence descended on them. When Aziraphale reached out, Crowley let him take his hand.
“Look,” he said at last, “Just drop it, okay?”
“Fine,” was all Aziraphale said. Through the contact of their skin he could feel a swirl of emotions- guilt, anguish, frustration, resentment. They continued walking, Crowley as if wrapped in his own personal storm cloud.
At length Aziraphale said, “You know you could have told me. You can tell me anything.”
“Like I said,” replied Crowley, his voice tight. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Well maybe you’re right,” said Aziraphale. “After all, I’m sure I would love you regardless of what name you go by.”
Crowley actually stopped at that. He looked at Aziraphale searchingly.
Aziraphale smiled. “That’s what you’re worried about, right? That my feelings would change if I found out who you used to be? That I’d, oh, I don’t know, love you less because it seemed like you didn’t trust me with that part of you, or love you more only because I know you were once an archangel?” He shrugged, and chuckled softly, “I admit, this is big news, such that I wish you’d told me earlier, but really, what would it change? Not a thing,” Aziraphale said, moving forward to take Crowley’s face gently in his hands, “not a single thing.”
Crowley did not meet his eyes at first. “Angel, you know I’m not ashamed of what I am now, I just...” he exhaled, a shaky breath, “The whole thing was just so messy, you know? I’ve tried so hard to forget it all. Jumped into a car and drove fast enough to leave it behind. I don’t wanna talk about it...Can we just go home?”
“Alright, my dear,” said Aziraphale, raising himself on tiptoe slightly to kiss Crowley’s forehead gently. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. But I meant what I said: it doesn’t change a thing.” He pulled Crowley close to whisper in his ear. “‘That which we call a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.’”
“Shakespeare? Really?”
“Just trying to prove a point. Raphael,” Aziraphale murmured again. He could easily see Crowley’s mouth pull down in disgust.
“Yeah, let’s not do that. Try again.”
“Hmm.” Aziraphale’s gaze softened as he took in Crowley’s features. “Anthony?”
It was worth it to feel Crowley’s posture shift in his arms, his back stiffening in surprise. “Anthony,” Aziraphale tried again with a tease in his voice. Crowley squirmed slightly.
“Anthony,” said Aziraphale, this time like a prayer. He gathered him close, one hand resting on the back of Crowley’s head and tangling gently in the tufts of his hair.
Crowley broke into a helpless giggle. “Angel, you’re driving me crazy - “ He put his hands on Aziraphale’s hips and pushed him just far enough away.
“You know that’s one thing I’ve always loved about you?” said Aziraphale. “How easy it is for you to adapt? You really are a wily serpent, always changing your skin, your name even. I wish I could do it half as well.”
“So you don’t regret missing out on my former celestial state?” Crowley countered, his voice sliding into the sultry tone that always sent a thrill up Aziraphale’s spine. He slipped his arms around the angel’s waist and pressed himself closer.
Aziraphale looked up coyly, “Not at all. I much prefer dancing with the devil.”
Crowley grinned at that. Unable to resist, he leaned in and kissed Aziraphale, dipping him backward slightly as if they’d just finished dancing a tango, delighted when Aziraphale burst into giddy laughter as they swooped back up again. He loved making his angel laugh.
Could Raphael, the healer, the builder of constellations, have done that?
Definitely not.