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Raphael was overwhelmed by horror when he realised half of himself was being pulled away. He was supposed to fall, and he couldn’t comprehend why he wasn’t. This is all wrong, he thought to himself. He squinted down against the harsh burning air and saw a head of fiery red hair, slightly more vibrant than his own, rushing up and the originally white wings burning black, golden edges melted into the flow of hot air and vanished.
He felt familiar. Deep down, he knew it was him, but something about the being was different. He couldn’t get a clear glance of the being, everything was blurry. But the facial figures were shaper than he remembered himself to be, and a lot sadder. The brows are tangled and thin lips turned downwards. He wished he can see clearer, for some reasons he didn’t understand. He shouldn’t want to look at a fallen angel. He shouldn’t want to look at the bad part of himself that was being torn out from his chest.
Every part of his being hurt. Badly. But what followed was worse. After the painful horror started to fade, he was washed over by pure terror of not ever being whole ever again.
For eternity, he would be missing part of himself.
Another part of him died for this part to stay alive.
Aziraphale woke up screaming from the vivid pain in his dream only to find worried golden eyes staring at him and slender long arms pulling him into a protective embrace. His sweat-covered back was starting to feel chilly when Crowley pulled the blanket a bit higher to cocoon them in the comforting warmth.
He began to settle. They didn’t speak for a while. Enjoying the comfort of quiet cuddling. It should be the middle of the night and Aziraphale didn’t think either of them has the mental capacity to deal with his dream anyway. He was still shaken up by the pain and Crowley has always been terrible at waking up, especially without sunlight stinging into his eyes. (Aziraphale sometimes tears open the heavy curtain on purpose, when he really needs Crowley to get out of bed.)
Besides, he did not know what to say. He didn’t even know how much Crowley remembered from before his Fall. He was not even sure how much of the dream is real and how much comes from his imagination and thinking hard into the time before the Fall. Everything was rather blurry. It was a long time ago. And the subject isn’t popular in both Heaven and Hell. (It was popular among humans, but Aziraphale wouldn’t count on them to provide the accurate account of the events.)
It wasn’t until he curled up into Crowley’s side and felt the cool spot of tear stain on Crowley’s pajama, did he realise he has been crying. Crowley tucked Aziraphale’s face into the hollow of his neck and rested his own chin on the blonde curls. “Angel, you need to breathe.” Crowley whispered against his skull, “it should be easier this way. Not suffocating in tear-soaked cloth.” A small chuck vibrated from his chest and soothed Aziraphale’s core.
He wondered has he been crying in his dream. Has Crowley noticed? Did Crowley know what the dream was about? Dozens of questions raced across his mind and his thoughts became tangled again. And it settled a bit again when he felt a gentle movement from Crowley.
It’s a nod. “Been a while.” Crowley confirmed. His voice soft and filled with sorrow. “Don’t worry, angel. ’M here.” He cooed, one arm circling around Arizaphale’s round body while one patting in comforting rhythm on the angel’s shoulder.
Their connection has become stronger since the world-didn’t-end. Sometimes it works like this. When he thinks too loudly.
To be fair, Crowley is better at this than he is. Aziraphale can sense questions or emotions, but Crowley gets everything. He understands Aziraphale’s fear, wants and any subtle feelings before he even speaks about them. And he addresses them in the most gentle way possible before the angel sinks himself in anxiety.
Aziraphale appreciates that. He wasn’t really good at sharing emotions verbally. Sometimes he panicked and words come out the wrong way. But Crowley understands. He always does. He rested somewhere with warmth and waited. Until Aziraphale’s emotions shifts from aggressive to anxious, he approaches him and sooths him with tender petting on the broad back of the angel, near the spot where his wings are. And they stayed like that until the angel is ready to restart the conversation that they abandoned.
Can Crowley also feel his dream? Unsettling feelings rose in his chest again and he snuggled closer to Crowley. He shouldn’t remember this. No one in hell remembers the Fall. The hellfire should have erase all traces of heaven. Or so he was told. Well, but then Heaven talking points weren’t always true were they? Especially when it comes to the demon beside him. His serpent, he thought and relaxed a bit. But, then perhaps he remembers?
He anxiety burst and his body started trembling again.
Cool slender limbs wrapped tighter in attempt to ground the angel but Aziraphale was pulled back to the painful image again. “Shh… Angel, it’s alright. It’s all in the past.” The demon soothed with only a hint of sadness in his voice, but Azriaphale picked up on it and he cannot hold it in anymore. Crowley remembers and did not say a word for millennia. “I can still feel the pain of you being…” The angel broke into sobs against the demon’s chest. His entire body shaking.
He said nothing to Crowley either. He let him bear the pain all alone. All for his sake. The angel was so frustrated. He should have known. He should have recognised the fiery mane that flow in the breeze on the wall of Eden. He should have recognised the sorrowful eyes. The tender and familiar gaze. The pain seemed more real than ever. And Crowley had taken it all. For him to live.
“Shhh… it’s okay,” Crowley held him closer to his slender body, trying to contain the shivering that was worsening as the sobbing intensified. “You lived and I lived. Couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome, yeah?” He can feel the sadness pouring out of Aziraphale and it is breaking his heart. The angel should not have to bear this. He should have taken all the unpleasantness with him the day he Fell. He cursed himself silently again, for how many times he cannot count anymore. Every time he sensed Aziraphale remembering the Fall, the separation of himself, he cursed himself. He wasn’t strong enough to take all the punishment, and the angel had to suffer the memories of pain. He would take all the curse and damnation with him if that means Aziraphale can be free of fear and worries.
But it is not that simple. He always tried to contain his mind around Aziraphale, worrying letting out something unpleasant about the Fall or Hell and it’ll trigger Aziraphale’s painful memories. But it’s been more difficult these days. The more times they spent together, the more difficult it is to tell where he ends and where the angel starts. Sometimes he was too relaxed, or when the angel ambushed him when he is deep in his thoughts, he lets out a bit too much. It is supposed to be this way though, he guess, given that they were one. When everything was still fine, and everything was still complete.
The sobbing did not stop, and Crowley was pulled back to reality. Aziraphale’s face was scrunched as if in pain and Crowley felt his heart ached. He tried to push waves of love and comfort into Aziraphale through where his palm sitting on his shoulder blade. It is the place where their wings are and where the ethereal connection is the strongest.
He hadn’t done this in a long time. A bit out of practice, but he hoped it would work. He waited patiently, trying to guide the energy into Aziraphale’s core. Then he saw the pale blue eyes shot up at him with sorrow, but also with wonder and love.
He knew Aziraphale would understand.
As Aziraphale felt Crowley’s love for him flowed around them and warmed the room slightly he started to calm. But, soon Aziraphale was confused when he realised the flow of energy was part angelic. There shouldn’t be another angel to here. His brows knitted together worrying that other Angels might have come back for him. He closed his eyed to focus on finding the source, but he couldn’t recognise it. It’s the softest and warmest feeling he’s ever experienced. It’s not stiff and harsh like the feeling he always get from his trip to the Head Office. It’s also not burning with glorious Grace like the old days when the Almighty still showered him directly with Her Grace. But it’s familiar nonetheless.
Then he understood. It was Crowley. Aziraphale recognised the spiced scent, just not as dark and heavy. He did not understand how, but Crowley found a way back to his angelic power source.
“How did you…” Aziraphale lifted his head and gasped softly towards the sight of Crowley. Still fiery red hair with golden eyes, but everything is softer. It was almost like how he remembered himself to look like in the old time, before the Fall. Golden hair with a hint of ginger, soft gazes and curvy lips. He lost all his words and just stared. Crowley’s golden eyes gazed back into his pale blue eyes.
They just looked into each other’s soul in the dark until their supernatural senses tell them that this is too long, by any standard. So, Aziraphale spoke. “You have access to the power? dear boy?” He cupped Crowley’s now softened but still angular face with his plump hand and Crowley nodded and smiled. “Since I have you. Not sure how much is different though,” he nuzzled at Aziraphale’s temple, feeling the soft hair against his skin. “My miracles are still demonic.” The angel can feel the mischievous smirk in his voice. His serpent. His wily serpent, he smiled.
They stayed still for a few more moments, until Aziraphale broke the silence again. “Why didn’t…” He worried his bottom lip for a second, trying to make the question to sound less like an accusation, but he couldn’t. All this time, he thought Crowley did not know. No word can capture his sadness and relief of finally reuniting with his other half. The part of himself that was taken away from him.
Emotions wash over Aziraphale again and he found his trembling fingertips held by cool and slender hands. “I didn’t want you to remember anything about the Fall.” He heard Crowley said. “I wanted you to be carefree. That was what I Fell for. To keep you safe and happy.”
“Now, hush and go back to sleep,” Crowley said in his soothing voice, if Aziraphale didn’t know better, it almost sounded like a temptation. Crowley wouldn’t. He knows that and he trusts that. “We can have this conversation some other time if you like, preferably not in the middle of the night.”
Aziraphale snorted softly and felt tears running down his cheek. He’s still sad but perhaps it’s fine. He’s here with Crowley. With the half of himself he’s been kept apart from for millennia.
They would be fine.
They would be complete, together.