Chapter Text
It had been three months since they had saved the world.
Three whole months. Ninety days. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty hours and counting.
And he was counting. Minutes, seconds, days, weeks, it all bled into one as he waited for something to happen- because for some reason it didn't feel like they had saved the world at all.
There had been no joyous occasions, no fanfare or parade. No celebrations except their own minimal affair. Just the peaceful, quiet hum of life continuing on it's path, never knowing just how close they had come to seeing it all crumble around them.
Well that, and the score of snarling angels and demons on their tails.
He could almost understand the demons vicious rage, but the angels? His family? How could they so blindly follow old texts that no longer truly aligned with what the world and humanity had evolved into? How could they sit idly by and watch it all burn, content to fight in a war with no real meaning or end other than complete annihilation? Was the world that the Almighty had created, truly just collateral damage in the wider scheme of things? Did none of them see the contradictions? The hypocrisy? How did their faith override their reason so easily?
And beneath all the questions, all the unfulfilled answers, there was a deeper ache; yearning, cold and hollow. It stung deep in his chest, pulsing pitifully with every fluttering heartbeat- a dagger thrust there by those who should have understood him, should have stood beside him.
Instead, they had tried to kill him with hellfire.
All for choosing humanity over an unjustifiable war.
All for asking the questions no one else seemed to be asking.
...Had he been so wrong?
Aziraphale sat, lost in his own thoughts, his book forgotten on his lap. It threatened to slip off him onto the floor at a moment's notice that he wasn't even present enough to feel or hear happening. It had been three months. Three months and the only contact his brethren had had was to try and kill him. He'd hoped that it would all blow over, that they'd see the error in their ways and realise that he and Crowley had made the best decision for everyone.
It was wishful thinking, he knew that now.
Neither side would ever admit they were wrong, nor admit defeat. It wasn't in their nature.
A human hundreds of years ago had seen the truth, but it had taken watching his own body be dragged up to heaven for him to accept his fate.
Thankfully, he hadn't been himself then, nor had Crowley been soaked in holy water as the other side had decided. But there had been a hint of barely quelled fury in Crowley's eyes when he returned that let him know that it was not just the actions or hellfire that had spoken out loudly at that meeting. He knew Crowley would never tell him, he'd sugarcoat it or brush it off, but then again he didn't really need to know what had been said. The dagger in his heart still twisted at the implications regardless, that deep rooted sadness that refused to leave.
Aziraphale tried to shake himself in his seat, the thoughts a dark cloud that needed to be swatted away. He brushed at his chest subconsciously, as if there was a physical item embedded there that he could tug out and be done with. It didn't matter what had been said. They wanted him dead, plain and simple. And when that hadn't worked, they'd cut him off.
He hadn't realised until then what true freedom tasted like.
For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, his mind slipping to warmer thoughts. It had been blissful at first. He'd felt lighter, brighter, like a weight had lifted from him, chains that he hadn't even realised he was wearing crashing to the floor. He no longer had to hide himself, to dim his light to quell questions and curiosity at his actions. He no longer had to subject himself to their whims even when he disagreed, to bite his tongue and smile dutifully at every snide remark or reprimand. And best of all; he could go about his life in peace, spend his days with Crowley without fear of what management might say or think, because none of them had any right to say anything anymore. They may judge him, but without the fear of consequences looming above his head, what really was there to stop him from giving into temptations and living life, however he saw fit?
He was already dead to them, or he would be if they had gotten there way, so, what more could he really do to anger them more than they already were?
But then the doubts had spread.
It had started as a small voice, that hint of sadness, that he couldn't quite escape. And then like a creeping vine it had taken hold. It grew and grew, tendrils reaching into every crevice of his skull, strangling the happiness that he had thought he finally deserved.
Aziraphale swallowed, his eyes open and unseeing as his shoulders raised defensively around his neck. He hunched forward, arms gripping tight to his knees, a bid to protect himself as the cold seeped back through his lungs and the dagger pushed deeper still.
His family had deserted him.
As much as he disagreed with them, as much as he was glad to no longer be under their scrutiny, it still didn't feel quite right to be completely isolated from Heaven. To have their full and unabated disappointment echoing through the silence of a disconnected phone line.
Was this what it felt like to fall? The ache of loss that he couldn't control or reason away. Grieving over something he hadn't even truly wanted, but now that it was ripped entirely from his grasp, never to be his again...
The thought sent a shudder down his spine and he propelled himself from his seat without thought, giving into the need to move, to pace. The book crashed to the ground at his feet, to be stumbled upon and kicked away with little remorse. Shame and repulsion slid heavily into his gut; a meal he wished he hadn't eaten and put him off eating ever again, whilst guilt and fear fizzled through his extremities, tingling down his fingers to keep them restlessly twining together as he paced.
It was nauseating and disturbingly unfamiliar, as if a beast had taken up residence inside his core and refused to be abated until he begged for forgiveness for crimes he hadn't even committed.
It roared to life inside of him, it fed on the panic and the paranoia, the doubts and the disorientation. It didn't care who was right or who was wrong, only that he reach a resolution and fast. It whispered insidiously in his ear, voice shifting between Gabriel's and Her's until his heart was clattering against his ribs and beating in his throat, and no amount of reminding himself that he didn't need a heartbeat would halt it.
You need to fix this. You are the fault, the issue. Heaven's closed its gates to you, how long until that is irreversible? What do your opinions matter against that?
Your fall is imminent- that is, if it hasn't started already...
"Don't be ridiculous." The words ground out of him amidst gritted teeth and an uncooperative tongue. The voices hushed against the sound, the beast curious and patient at his interruption. The blood pumping through his ears receded as his own commanding voice took centre stage and pushed the fear back in its place, down to the depths where it belonged. Or perhaps it wasn't his own voice, perhaps it was the accompanying shocked hiss, a spark of gold in the darkness, that lit up his brain and soothed his racing heart.
We picked our side. We picked the human's side. We did the right thing. Heaven and Hell are against us, surely that's got to mean something?
"I'm not falling." Aziraphale stood up straight, closing his eyes for a second to take a deep breath before glaring out at the open air, as if his aggressors were there in the room with him. "I would know. Crowley refuses to talk about his fall, and I will be damned if we place this- this- tiff at the same level as his suffering."
It was abhorrent, disrespectful, that his mind would put the two anywhere near one another.
The beast was subdued for a moment, irritated but conceding. It shrunk in size and let him breathe easier as clarity and logic took over his thought patterns.
...The peace didn't last long.
Her voice, quiet and questioning, echoed past all the others. It created space where it needed, growing in form and consistency, engulfing him in its reverberations.
How would you know?
"I'm sorry?" The words stuttered out of him before he could stop them. A puff of irritation fizzled through his chest, his hands clenching into fists.
What was he doing apologising to an imaginary voice? It wasn't real. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.
She wasn't here. She wasn't talking to him.
And if She was, he hoped that he would have enough in him not to shrink at Her presence, that he could ask all the questions that, over the years of silence, had begun to sit and multiply at the back of his throat every time he thought of Her.
His resolve didn't stop the flow of the voice though. The one that slid across the surface of his brain and mingled with his own thoughts until he wasn't sure if it was Her or him that spoke them into reality.
It was pervasive, humoured by his ignorance and strengthened by his doubts.
How would you know what falling feels like?
Aziraphale swallowed past the lump in his throat. A strangely hysterical part of his mind was proud of himself for having the foresight to close the shop early that day. Humans weren't all that fond of people having fights with themselves nor imaginary people. "I don't... I've seen it, heard about it. The Fall. They fell from- it wasn't a slow process. It's never been a slow process. There was never any doubt that they had fallen."
Well, that was then. No one's fallen in millennia. There was also never any doubt that they had lost sight, that they had lost faith. They fell for their reasons, you're falling for yours.
A sharper voice grated through, Her voice opening up the floodgates for it to return from the depths he'd cast it to. It was darker, less hypothetical, and more disparaging as it snarled at him.
You never could do anything right. Why would this be any different?
He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe, the need for oxygen to unnecessary lungs somehow desperate and required. The room was closing in on him, shrinking into a suffocating prison built purposefully for him. Each book, each shadow, opened another set of eyes that dispassionately watched his descent, judging him for every little action, every thought, every word, every minuscule movement-
Her voice slipped through the soft breeze, sending goosebumps trailing across his flesh and the hairs raising on the back of his neck.
Perhaps every day you make the choice to fall just that little bit further...
A soft clatter dragged some of his awareness back into the room. His eyes focused in and out on a small button rolling across the floor away from him with no recognition or recollection of where it had come from.
It wasn't until there was the remains of a bow tie held too tightly in his hand that he realised he'd been tugging at his collar in an effort to get his breathing under control.
And one day you'll realise with a shock that you haven't been an angel for a very long time.
"Stop it."
The cacophony of voices abruptly left him, like he had snapped the lid shut on whatever horrific chest they had manifested from.
Aziraphale stood in the deserted silence, breathing hitching and twisting as the shift took him by surprise and left him hollow, his own voice the only one now flying around his head in a wisp of fear and paranoia born from no one but himself.
He wasn't sure if he had accidentally miracled the others away or if this was some new harsh punishment set out by his old management.
At least, when the voices hadn't been his own he could pretend that this wasn't all his own doing.
Your choice, your choice- your fault. Can't blame anyone else for this. You stepped over the edge, you made the choice, no one else.
"This is... absurd." He swallowed, his patience and practicality paper thin and fragile against the onslaught, but still there, a thread of sanity in a tumultuous sea. "Utterly ridiculous." Every word added a layer, a knot, another steadying, gratifying breath to his heaving lungs. "You're fine, for Go- goodness- for goodness sake."
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
"We did the right thing."
Silence rang back at him across the empty room, disapproval and condemnation cloying the air like a stagnant smell that refused to budge. It didn't matter if they could hear him, not really, not when the answer would always be the same.
So many eyes upon him but so desperately alone.
"We did." If only he could believe it himself without a shadow of a doubt- without thinking about how many of his compatriots disagreed, how much pain they were happy to put him through because of his decision- perhaps then the dam would break and the fear of holy retribution would finally leave him. "It was the right thing to do."
The silence remained. His new unwanted companion. How many times had he wished for freedom from their scrutiny? Yet now as the feeling of being watched dissipated into the ether, he couldn't help but feel that every utterance from his mouth turned another spectator away from him, taking a piece of his grace with them.
Turning their backs, one by one. He didn't want their forgiveness- but he needed it all the same.
"It has to be."
Whether or not he wanted it, he was alone. No longer watched, no longer listened to.
He could do as he pleased.
As long as he was happy to fall for it.
Aziraphale moved. He wasn't sure where or what he was doing at first, just that there was a sharp need at his core to do something. His common sense and logical approach just weren't cutting it today. No amount of philosophical reading or prayer could fix the anxious storm that brewed inside his skull. He'd been able to tamper it down before, even forget its existence when in the company of a rather distracting friend, but it had always returned when he was alone, always bubbled back up, thick and oozing through every pore as if to suffocate him.
So now it was time for another approach.
Before he knew it, he found himself in front of a mirror, one that he wasn't even sure had been there before this very moment, though he didn't have the mental resources to really think that through at present. It was also rather reminiscent to one he had seen in someone else's apartment, but again- now was not the time to think of such things. Instead he found himself staring at his reflection, inspecting it, almost as if he would be able to see the difference his actions had caused. As if he would see some kind of blemish that would prove his fears correct, or crush them to non-existence with little fanfare, if only he could prove to himself that all was as it should be.
A rather optimistic and unrealistic notion perhaps, but one that he couldn't help but hold onto.
In reality, he wasn't really sure what he was looking for.
He was unkempt that was for sure.
Aziraphale stared into his own almost unseeing eyes, filled with a strange sheen of dread that he wasn't used to seeing. His chest was rising and falling in sharp bursts, his breathing still quickening under the stress he'd managed to put himself under. He tried to brush past the fear, ignore it for the time being, and instead stare deep and wide eyed into his own gaze for a hint of- something. Something new, something wrong, something- well, different.
The watery gleam to his expression may not be familiar, nor the pasty pallor of his skin, but it was still undeniably him.
He gave a soft, long, exhale, some modicum of certainty seeping into his system.
As much as he had a soft spot for a certain serpent's eyes... they were hardly subtle.
If he really were changing, he would expect a rather more dramatic change in his appearance, something that would say 'beware of me!' to humans.
If anything his reflection looked rather more human than it had any right to. With it's soft tremors and heavy breathing, hair wild and matted from fingers he didn't recall running through locks. With his shoulders hunched defensively around his ears as if to weather any storms thrown at him from the outside world.
Not to mention his suit.
A soft noise of distaste clicked across his tongue as his crumpled suit finally made it's way into his vision, taking his attention gladly from rather more important matters. He tried to straighten himself out; dusting off his shoulders, brushing down his sleeves and tugging at the hem. It was a frustrating task, one that usually took only moments, but for some reason was proving rather futile as he twisted and tugged to get his appearance back in order.
It was only when he gave up with a soft huff and went to the final task of straightening his collar, that he finally noted the distinct lack of a familiar bow tie, fingers flitting over non-existent material without thought.
He shook himself, ignoring the drop in his stomach at not noticing a rather vital part of his outward appearance. Pushed down the clamouring voices to check- check again, check everything, you missed something, you're wrong. He didn't need his bow tie, he wasn't going anywhere. Aziraphale continued his ministrations around his collar as nonchalantly as possible, as if he hadn't noticed anything amiss at all. All he had to do was fasten his top button and he'd be able to look at his reflection again and all would be well-
Oh.
His top button was missing.
His fingertips ran over the yielding fabric, thumbing the hole on one side and pulling perplexedly at the few stray threads on the other where a button had once been.
When had that- oh. Oh, he remembered now.
Aziraphale swallowed, closing his eyes. He felt his adam's apple bob against his knuckles as he tried to think straight. He'd read about this, hadn't he? Humans had all kinds of words for these situations. Where panic made the mind go blank to the outside world. When just being inside a struggling body was hard enough to cope with, let alone spending energy and effort on anything else.
The only thing was- he'd never heard of an angel suffering similarly.
Then again, he'd never heard of a demon being afflicted either.
Having said that, though... He wasn't sure he'd heard of any angels or demons going against the grain quite like they had, at least not since the Fall.
He found himself laughing without intention, a mildly hysterical chuckle that rattled through him until he wasn't sure if they were morphing into sobs.
Who was he fooling? No one had ever done what he and Crowley had done before. No one had attempted the things they had achieved. Why on Earth did he think that anything that happened next would have any semblance to what had come before?
All the research, and all the time in the world, would never be able to prepare them for whatever came next.
Because no one had any inclining as to what would come next.
They were all completely in the dark and there was no light coming.
They had to make their own way from now on, their own choices- and whether they liked it or not, the other angels and demons were in the same boat as him and Crowley.
Just like the humans.
Aziraphale blinked, his eyes finding his own reflection once more, not even comprehending the moisture clinging to his eyelashes and leaving glistening marks down his cheeks.
Just like humanity.
His laughter bubbled up again, this time hollow but accepting. Humanity had dealt with this for as long as they could remember. Faith and belief only got you so far, the rest was a choice you made every day. To be good, to do good- there was nothing stopping them, not really, only their own thoughts and feelings and those around them.
Every day they dealt with the knowledge that they truthfully- knew nothing at all.
And that was OK.
It had to be OK for them.
And now, it had to be OK for everyone else as well.
None of them had ever known Her plan. Not really.
They'd hoped they understood, they'd hoped She wasn't setting them up for failure.
Because why would She?
Her and Her plan- they were ineffable. That's all there was to it.
But then on the other hand- they were ineffable.
How on Earth could they ever live up to a plan that they had no way of comprehending? How could they follow those distinct orders without knowing why, or how, or even whether they were following them correctly?
Maybe She hadn't set them up to fail, but at the same time, She had doomed them to failure.
They would forever fall short of Her expectations. Because none of them knew what Her expectations were.
Perhaps, they weren't all that different from humanity, after all.
"Different..."
The word left him in an almost reverent hush.
There was one rather glaring difference.
Between humans, angels and demons.
He just wasn't sure he was ready to visualise the outcome of his transgressions.
"Stop being ridiculous." He growled, his teeth clamping together as his watery gaze hardened to ice. Self-loathing was bubbling up thick and fast, eclipsing all other thoughts and feelings as it heaved and seethed throughout his frame, it twisted his earlier tremors into something almost unrecognisable, more forceful, sharper in his twitching muscles.
No other angel or demon would have this much trouble looking at themselves in a mirror.
Not unless they had something to hide.
And he didn't. He didn't-
A soft low swish muffled and dampened the electric air around him. Warmth encircled his frame, his wings unfurling from the ether to rest either side of him, downy and light against the fabric of his suit. Feathers brushed against his neck as, just for a moment, he let himself be cocooned in their embrace, soothed by his own heavenly essence when no one else would embrace him or remind him that he wasn't alone.
Aziraphale let himself stand in that tranquil darkness for a few moments. Let himself breathe in the subtle smell that lingered from the ether they were kept in. He hardly ever got them out and the brush of nostalgia that the sensations brought forth was sustaining him in that instance, reminding him of all the good that he had done, all the times from long before when it had been the norm to wander with them proudly visible. That is, before the humans came along and didn't understand, needed answers to questions they couldn't give and they had begun to hide amongst them instead.
But this wouldn't do.
This wasn't what he had come here to do.
He took a deep inhale, holding his breath for a few more seconds before he unfurled his wings on the exhale. He gave them a cursory glance in the mirror, scrunching up his face in mild contempt at the sorry state they were in, dusty from their containment.
"I'm glad it's only me here right now. The higher ups would have a fit." The words came out in a soft grumble, a half relieved sigh at the notion that he was alone slipping past the pit of loneliness that had been consuming him.
He really was such a contrary being. One moment he hated it, the next he rejoiced it.
He ignored the hissing notions that still wormed their way into his head, instead turning away from the mirror to find a suitable place to groom himself. His fingers had already started before he had found a place to sit, twisting and tugging at itching feathers that were making themselves known the longer he had them out in the open. "When was the last time I did this? Too long ago. That's for sure."
He continued to tut and tsk at himself as he plopped himself down, focusing on one wing and then the other. It was an arduous task, one filled with somehow knotted together feathers and tweaking unruly down until it lay flat and in position like it should. There were a few that came away altogether but he ignored them as they fell, knowing in the way they dropped off into his hands and fluttered to the ground, that they should have been gone a long time ago if he'd thought to check on them. There were a few difficult spots, frustrating, irritating tangles that he couldn't help but curse and bemoan at, all the while ignoring his heart, threatening to beat out of his chest, every time a stubborn piece of dirt took longer than it should to leave his white shimmering wings.
It wasn't until he finished, back in front of the mirror, fiddling with the hardest to reach feathers on his back that he realised they were all the spotless white they had always been.
There were no darkening stains, no grey spaces or sparse black feathers leaking through like ink on gleaming snow.
Fear and paranoia shed from his back like another layer of itching feathers, his shoulders falling as the weight on them lifted.
"See?" The word left him in a puff of air, misting up his reflection in one relaxing exhale.
He continued to fiddle with some feathers, pushing and pulling them to make sure they stayed in position, ever the perfectionist now that he had a task before him. "I really should do this more often."
He dropped his hands, letting his wings relax before miracling his collar back to how it should be, running a quick hand through his hair to tame his wayward locks.
"Absolutely nothing to worry about."