Chapter Text
2020, Middle East.
Voices echoed inside the building. The museum was old and a little worn. Swords and urns were exposed directly to the eyes, without the slightest panel of glass or the tiniest alarm. The very old night guard didn’t even wake up when the two entities walked past him, talking animatedly.
“Loved these guys! Sumerians knew a LOT about magic!”
“Way too much for their own good. Look where it led them.”
“T’wasn’t entirely my fault, angel. Couldn’t know they would listen to me!”
“You told them it was too peaceful and they needed to do something to change that! You know you shouldn’t say that sort of thing, Crowley!”
“But it was too peaceful. T’was so boooring, Aziraphale! I didn’t tell them to go to war, just to have a little fun!”
“You have to watch your mouth, that is all I have to say. Wait. East wing. That is the right direction.”
“You always want to go East, angel. It’s South. Raphael said South wing. Come on.”
“Are you sure? Where did I put her letter… I was certain she said East...”
“Am I sure if my sense of direction is better than yours? Or were you talking about my memory? Cause the answer is “absolutely” in both cases.”
“No need to be mean.”
“M’not mean, I’m realistic. Here we are. Where’s the thing?”
Aziraphale looked around. Old objects looked back at him. So much history. So many precious pieces of the past. To think the country was at war and a bomb could destroy that in the blink of an eye…
The sad part was, if it ever happened, some humans would think it a loss worse than that of the lives disappearing with it.
Something caught his eyes. To a human, it would only be an old metallic box. To the angel, it was shining enticingly.
“Crowley? Here. I found it.”
Crowley put down the five-century old sword he was playing with and joined his friend.
“Well, well… look at that. That’s strong magic.”
“Good Lord” uttered the angel in a breath “Raphael was right, it is powerful. We have to take it away as soon as possible before it hurt someone.”
“What is it supposed to do? My Sumerian’s rusty.”
“Difficult to say…” Aziraphale was circling around the small pillar where the box was exposed, eyes squinted to decipher the ancient writings “Some of the words faded away… I think it is about… longing? Or is it… remembering?”
The angel shuffled in the bag he had brought, and fished out an old, huge book.
“AH-HA!”
Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. He stepped closer to the glowing box while Aziraphale opened his book and turned some pages, clicking his tongue. Outside, rain started to fall. Crowley smiled, like every time he heard rain. Rain was comforting, it always reminded him of…
His finger brushed the carved box.
There was a rush of magic.
4004 BC, Eden.
He was outside, under Aziraphale’s wing. Crowley startled, looked at his friend with wide eyes. Looked about him in panic.
“What the… fuck? Angel?”
Aziraphale looked around nervously.
“What? What did you see? Oh dear, are angels heading this way? Maybe you should go!”
“Wh… what? What angels? Where the fuck are we? Why am I wearing these awful clothes? I burned these! Is this… Eden? It… it’s Eden. It’s Eden, angel?”
“Of course it is, what do you want it to be? Are you quite all right? You don’t seem right...”
The demon spun around, eyes darting everywhere. It was Eden. Definitely. Even the smell, that smell of the first rain ever. He would never forget that.
But Eden was… lost. Had been hidden by God, just the day after the humans…
First rain. Eden. Angel’s wing.
Crowley looked at his friend a little more closely, horror growing in his mind. There was a tide about to crush him, he felt it, and he could do nothing against it, nothing but look at the angel and try to convince himself that it had to be a joke. Not a nightmare, impossible. Too realistic. Plus, there was no fire. His nightmares always featured fire.
It was Aziraphale, his open, honest face, his hesitant expression… too hesitant. Too wary. Too unsure. Too eager to please. His heart dropped in his chest. Aziraphale was not eager to please him. He was not that stressed. He was not supposed to be like that. Not with him. It was like… like Aziraphale didn’t… know him.
“Angel… Aziraphale. Is that… is that you?”
But he already knew. It was Aziraphale.
It wasn’t Aziraphale.
The angel looked at him and frowned.
“How do you know my name?”
Yep. Stupid enough to protect an unknown demon with his wing, but not missing half a second to pinpoint that little error. Definitely Aziraphale.
Crowley’s first thought was, of course, self-recrimination.
Shit! He didn’t say his name before the rain! Stupid demon!
His second thought was a little more frightening.
How on Earth am I supposed to come home?
2020, Middle East.
Aziraphale felt a rush of power emanating from the artifact, dropped his book and pushed Crowley away, crushing him on the ground. Crowley hissed and clawed at him, twisting under him to escape. Aziraphale seized his hands, panic overflowing him. Crowley didn’t lose control like that unless he was terrified or hurt.
“What happened? Are you hurt? Crowley, calm down, it’s me!”
The angel shot a look at the glowing box. It didn’t seem to be doing anything to the demon at the moment. His friend was still squirming under him, and he sat back to give him room, letting go of his hands.
Crowley jumped away and crouched down, waves of rage radiating from him, and Aziraphale had to fight the choking sensation. The demon’s eyes were entirely yellow, which was a clear sign he was experiencing a powerful emotion. His glasses, realised Aziraphale absentmindedly, were crushed on the floor. Crowley spoke in a hateful tone.
“I should have known! Never trust a bloody angel! Where did you bring me?"
“What? What are you… Crowley? Are you all right?”
Aziraphale reached out, but Crowley stepped back and looked at him with hostility.
“You attacked me!” he spat.
Aziraphale lowered his hands, frowning, and hid his rising dread to answer as calmly as possible.
“My dear, I would never hurt you… did you hit your head?”
The angel seemed genuinely confused, and not aggressive. Crawly uncoiled a little.
“You attacked me” he repeated, in a lower tone, taking in his surroundings.
“Of course not. I pushed you away. That thing was dangerous.”
The angel tilted his head and squinted his eyes. Crawly felt his ethereal energy touching his demonic one. He jumped back.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to know if you are hurt.”
“I’m not hurt! Stay away, you freak!” the frightened demon aimlessly shot a wave of occult energy.
Aziraphale gasped and took a step back, his hand shooting to his throat. He looked at Crowley, scanning his face. This was not delirium. His friend’s eyes were darting left and right in a very familiar motion. Crowley wanted to escape. He wanted to escape from him.
“Crowley. Do you know who I am?”
“Stop calling me that. My name is Crawly, told you already. Are you deaf?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened.
“You… you think that your name… my dear, what year do you think we are?”
“Year? What do you mean, stupid?”
Aziraphale’s face crumbled, and he looked at the artifact with distress. Humanity had invented the concept of years, and time. Time before that just… passed. Nobody kept score on it.
“Oh God… Crowley, did that thing… erase all of your memories?”
4004 BC, Eden.
“So… you heard me talk with the other angels?”
“Yep, that’s it. Definitely. Heard them. There was...” Crowley racked his brain. There had been two woman-shaped angels, if he recalled correctly. One on the Northern Gate, the other on the Western one.
The third one, on the South, was a buff guy who probably was one of Gabriel’s BFF’s. Names… bless, he needed at least a name…
“Nedriel! That was her! Nedriel! Remember now! She called you by name, and I was… as a snake in the Garden, fomenting, you see. Heard it. That’s how I know!”
Aziraphale blinked. He seemed genuinely confused (probably trying to remember an occurrence where Nedriel actually talked to him, thought Crowley with a wince).
“Oh...” let out the angel in a soft voice. “Was it before they all… left?”
Crowley smiled madly.
“Yes, that’s it. Right before that. Exactly.”
“I see. Yes, they came to… talk to me. Did you...” the angel shot him a glance “did you hear what they said to me?”
“Nah. didn’t want to hang around. Four angels? A little too much for my taste.”
He felt a little bad for lying, but after all, he didn’t hear that conversation. Aziraphale had recounted it to him, thousands of years later.
The angel relaxed slightly.
“They… well, they wanted to... convince me to go back with them. To Heaven.”
Ha! Crowley tried to keep his best poker face. Convince. That was his angel all right, trying to find excuses for that lot of wankers. They’d bullied him into abandoning his post, and he’d declined, time and again. They talked to him for hours, because if one Principality remained to help Adam and Eve, then all of Heaven would look bad. Aziraphale hadn’t been posted on Earth, he simply refused to quit it. Angels had decided to turn their backs on humanity, that deceitful creation that angered God Herself, and Aziraphale was the only one to chose to stay back. A black sheep. Truth was, he’d been abandoned. Didn’t get his first real assignment from Gabriel before 3215 BC. Not a word before that.
“Shit” cursed Crowley under his breath. He felt bad enough for not having known at the time. Now he was facing his best friend and his tentative smile, shielding him (a strange demon) from the fucking rain, aware that the angel would be alone, watching after the first humans, for almost eight hundred years.
Crowley had decided to explore Earth as soon as he’s left Eden. Tempting only two people was annoying, he’d preferred to wait for them to grow and multiply. (Okay, he felt a little guilty about the apple thing and had decided to leave them alone for a while. He hadn’t imagined that “Fruit of Knowledge” thingy would go that far).
And apparently demonic influence wasn’t needed at all, since he received his first commendation for pushing a human to invent murder and fratricide.
He wasn’t even on the same continent. Bloody humans.
Aziraphale shuffled a little besides him. He blinked, trying to remember the conversation. Messing with past was not a good idea. He’d watched Back to the Future often enough to know that.
“Sooo… you’re staying here? Doing… good?”
“Well… yes, of course. This is my purpose. I will watch after Humanity. I am a Principality.”
Replaying the past was one thing, feeling the same another entirely.
“That you are.” he was supposed to be sarcastic, but couldn’t bring himself to fake that. Anyway, Aziraphale didn’t understand sarcasm in Eden. Took him a while to get the hang of it. A long while.
“And you… will you stay here too? Doing evil, I imagine?” the angel tried to sound censuring, but his hopeful face ruined it.
“Yep. Staying too. Indefinitely. You’re stuck with me, apparently.”
He wasn’t supposed to say that, but Aziraphale’s delighted expression was worth it. At least the angel would know he wasn’t the only immortal being stationed on Earth. Maybe it would help him a little. Maybe.
Watching two silhouettes disappear in the desert, the flicker of the sword’s Holy Fire almost impossible to see in the distance, Crowley let silence surround them, like it had at the beginning of time.
His mind, however, was far from silent.
What can I do? What happened? Freaking artifact, that’s why! I don’t have it here to reverse the spell, it doesn’t even exist yet! I can’t stay here! It’s boring here, I already did it once, thank you very much! There are no towns, there’s no alcohol, there’s no Bentley! I want my couch and my cappuccino!
Aziraphale will go mental. He will freak out!
Oh, bless! Aziraphale! What happened to him? Was he trapped in another time too?
No, couldn’t be. Out of the question. Crowley was the only one to touch the thing, right?
The angel had to be still in Middle East, with the object. Aziraphale was a bright guy. The brightest, no contest. He would find a way to bring him back. Nothing would stop him from bringing Crowley back from the past.
He just had to wait.
2020, Middle East.
Aziraphale was Very Worried. Crowley didn’t remember him at all, and apparently, he’d forgotten the last six thousand years or so. And he didn’t even trust him enough to let him check on his mind!
“Cro… Crawly?”
The demon shot him a suspicious glare. He was sitting at the far side of the room, and Aziraphale knew he was still here only because the angel was too close to the door to attempt an exit.
“Could you please at least… let me see if you are hurt. Your memory is deficient, I have to see if it had been sealed or… or… stolen.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say destroyed. Couldn’t even think about it. It wasn’t lost, they would find a way.
“Try a more convincing lie, angel. Your story is stupid.”
Aziraphale pinched his lips at the venom in his dear friend’s voice. The name ‘angel’ had never hurt like that before. It was supposed to be a nice name, a caring one.
“If you don’t believe my words… maybe I can prove I bear you no ill will with actions.”
Aziraphale opened his arms and reached inside of himself, shuffling his Grace, unfolding his ethereal form, deploying his wings to access his core, the weak spot every immortal possessed and hid under layers upon layers of protections and shields.
Back at the beginning, before the War, angels didn’t bother to protect their core. They didn’t even trust each other, trust hadn’t been a concept back then, since distrust didn’t exist. They were simply existing, with no fear of dying. That was not the case anymore. No angel, no demon would ever bare their core within another’s reach. At least, not the ones with a little self-preservation. It was like exposing your jugular artery to a raging mad serial killer.
Crawly scrambled to his feet, gaping.
“F… FUCK! What are you DOING? Stop that!”
“I do not want to harm you, Crawly.”
“I could kill you, stupid! Are you insane? Stop it!”
The angel smiled.
“I know you would never do it. I trust you. This is not a trap, Crawly. I want to help you.”
“YES, yes okay, got it! Stop the Heaven what you’re doing!”
Aziraphale slowly folded his angelic form into his corporation again, hiding his core out of reach and out of sight.
“Do you believe me?”
Crawly let out a shaky breath. He was pressing himself against the wall like he wanted it to swallow him.
“You’re insane. Any demon would have destroyed you.”
“You did not. Now, can I check on you? Please?”
It was difficult to say no to these pleading eyes. Crawly walked reluctantly towards the freak. He was either stupid or… or he was telling the truth, and someone had stolen six thousand freaking years from his mind. He didn’t like any of these theories. The angel seemed… all right. Giving his sword and all that. Shielding him with his wing... Difficult to hate him now... Would be a shame if he’d been insane.
And a stolen memory? That was scary. He made a mental note to send the idea Down There. They would love it.
Thing was, Crawly didn’t like thinking he’d lost something. And that angel… he’d just placed his life into Crowley’s hands. No one would do that just to lead a demon into a trap.
“All right. Go on. Hurry up.”
The angel raised a hand slowly, and reached out for his mind. He delicately explored Crawly’s memories, brushing gently against them without the slightest attempt to pry. Crawly relaxed a little. It seemed like he could… not trust, of course, he was a demon, he trusted no one. But at least… rely on him, a little.
Aziraphale reached the end of the way. The last memory was there. He fought the urge to open it and see what it was, see if it was something, anything having happened lately. But even his concern couldn’t make him do that. These were not his to watch.
“It stops here. This is your last memory.”
Crawly reached for the spot the angel indicated and looked at it.
“Yeah. The water falling from the sky. You stopped it with your wing.”
“The first rain,” murmured the angel absent-mindedly, exploring around, trying to find more… anything more.
“It stops here. There is nothing else. Nothing.”
“Well, yeah. You said I lost it. Why are you so surprised?”
Crawly didn’t like the angel’s expression. He first looked scared, then sad, and he buried his face in his hands for a few seconds. That didn’t bode well. When Aziraphale spoke, it was in a painful whisper.
“There isn’t any empty space. Nothing has been stolen, or sealed, or even destroyed. There is no void.”
Crawly shrugged.
“So there’s no missing memories, right? Told ya. I’m fine.”
Aziraphale let his hands drop and stared at the demon before him, his face suddenly blank, his eyes shining and cold.
“Yes. You are fine.”
He looked at the artifact, still glowing merrily on the stone.
“And you are not Crowley.” he added softly.
Crawly didn’t hear him, looking around, whistling as he took in one object after the other. He seemed to have overcome his fright and had apparently decided to have fun, now he knew that nothing bad had happened to him.
“Humans really invented all this?”
“Yes. So you believe me now?”
“Course. Why not? I want to see it. Show me Humanity, angel.”
“Do not call me that. And no, you will stay here. I have a lot of work, and you will not leave my sight.”
Crawly smiled. Aziraphale knew that smile way too well.
“Oh yeah? Wanna order me? That’s cute. I’m out of here. I’m sure I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“No! You can’t go, you don’t understand! Crowley… I mean, older you, is trapped somewhere, probably in your place! We have to bring him back!”
But the demon chuckled and sauntered towards the door.
“Let him be, he’s fine. And I think I’ll like it here.”
Aziraphale appeared in front of him, blocking the way out, hands raised and face imploring.
“It will be stealing someone else’s life, Crawly! You cannot want that!”
“It’s not stealing if it’s my life. It’s me you’re talking about. Be a good angel and step away, will you? I won’t meddle with your blessings, don’t worry. Earth is big enough for the two of us.”
He raised his hand to pat the angel on the shoulder patronizingly, but his hand was slapped away. The angel showed no sign of hesitation any more.
“You will not stay here, Crawly. I will send you back, and in the meantime you will go nowhere!”
Crawly snarled.
“Really? You think you’re intimidating? Two minutes ago you were begging for me to kill you, angel!”
“Well maybe you should have seized the opportunity. Do you want to try it now?”
The demon looked into the ice blue eyes and took a step back, frowning.
“I thought you said we were friends.”
“I was wrong. You are not my friend. And if you do not intend to help me bring him back, I will treat you as an enemy.”
Crawly cocked his head. He was torn. On one hand, there was an angel ready to fight, and he doubted Aziraphale could bring himself to kill or discorporate him. Not if he cared that much about future him. He was good at judging these kinds of things, and he was fairly certain that angel would never hurt him seriously, even to save his supposed friend. It could be amusing to fight. He could even win, maybe, and discorporating an angel would definitely earn him a commendation.
On the other hand… that angel was a big softie (he gave his sword, for Satan’s sake!) and apparently a real bastard too, turning on him, his future friend, and declaring he would consider him an enemy if he didn’t help. That was ruthless. He could admire that.
Crawly felt oddly proud of future him. He was certain no one would really notice if he never made it back to Eden. It was… nice, to know someone cared about him. Would care. Whatever.
He shrugged.
“All right. I’ll stay for now. What will you do?”
Aziraphale blinked, and his eyes turned back to their usual blue grey.
“You will? Really?”
“Yeah. At least for a while. Don’t sweat.”
The angel beamed.
“Oh, thank you!”
“Shut up. I’m not helping you. Just staying around. And I’ll go if I’m bored, so hurry up, stupid.”
“I will! Thank you so much!”
4004 BC, Eden.
The rain had stopped, and Aziraphale shook his wings before folding them. Crowley felt sick. This was the moment when they’d parted. He was supposed to turn into a snake and crawl away in the desert.
No. Way.
He had to stay here. That’s where he’d landed, and he probably should wait in this spot. Thing was… thing was it was the angel’s post. And he was pretty sure Aziraphale had told him God was going to pop in in only a few hours. He so did not want to be there to see that.
Oh, hi, Almighty. How are you today? Me? Nah, I’m nothing, just wasted Humanity with an apple and made you very angry.
God would see he was coming from the future, right? Was six thousand years considered a safe statute of limitations?
Yes, of course it was. Not like the Almighty could be vindictive.
Oh, bless… he had to get out of here. Or should he say “to get out of now”?
Aziraphale, do something!
And just like that, something happened.
2020, 11h59 PM, Middle East / 2020, 3h00 PM, London (same day).
Aziraphale had spent hours bent over his books. He sat on the museum’s dusty floor, leaning back on a wall, while Crawly napped inside a sarcophagus.
Thank God he had brought every book about Sumer and magic he had in his shop. He was starting to have a good understanding of the writings engraved on the box. He just missed two, that had almost completely faded away… if only he could…
//Something happened. Only God felt it.//
...His book wasn’t in his hands anymore. He blinked owlishly.
“Angel?” asked Crawly’s voice.
“Mmm?”
He looked around, searching for the book… something was odd. He wasn’t sitting on the floor any more… it was… this place was… his booksh...
“Oh, thank G… Sa… you did it!”
Aziraphale’s head snapped up. He looked at Crawly, who was jumping from the couch, and those eyes… there were a lot of emotions in those eyes.
“Crowley! You’re back!”
The angel was able to move very fast when needed, and in less than a second he was on his feet and rushing to his friend, grabbing his shoulders and looking at him in equal amount of relief and concern.
“Are you all right? Are you fine? Where were you?”
“I was in Eden. It was so strange, like… did you get back to the bookshop to bring me back?”
Aziraphale frowned, and finally looked around him.
It was the bookshop. He’d realised he was in the bookshop, of course, but Crowley’s return had been the more pressing information for his brain to process. The artifact was nowhere to be seen. A rush of angelic Grace tingled at his senses, and he watched as a golden envelope landed on his desk. He took it with trembling fingers, opened it.
Crowley sighed.
“Raphael’s letter?”
Aziraphale nodded. “Raphael’s letter.”
“So we are back at this morning.”
“We are back at this morning.”
The two friends exchanged a look. Crowley’s expression was “inwardly terrified but trying to appear casually bored”. Aziraphale’s was “flabbergasted, trending towards irate.”
Crowley shut his eyes like a child wishing very hard that reality would obey and be different once he opened them again.
“No, not a Time Loop. I hate Time Loops. I said I didn’t want any Time Loop ever again. Didn’t I say it?”
He opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling.
“DIDN’T I?”