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I've walked too long in this lonely lane
I've had enough of this same old game
I'm a man of the world and they say that I'm strong
But my heart is heavy and my hope is gone
1991
If Freddie had known that every decision he ever made would lead him straight to Hell, maybe he would’ve done things different.
Okay, that was a complete lie. Hell wasn’t even that bad.
Really, Hell was actually kind of fun. He got to meet his idols, for one. He literally had tea and smoked with John Lennon on his first day there. He knew Hell was different to everybody, but being a world-famous rockstar had its perks.
Satan seemed to love music, and so did demons, so musicians had their special little place in Hell. They even had demons ready to do whatever they wanted! The worst part, if he had to choose any, was how awful were the methods of communicating with the alive.
His first day he had been excited by what John had told him. Just by simply filling form M119 he could get into the dreams of his loved ones and tell them whatever he wanted.
Form M119 was so long. So, so long. Was that how the producers felt when he first showed them Bohemian Rhapsody? Freddie wanted to bang his head over the table.
But he filled it, and he stood on his childhood home with his mother, telling her how much he loved her, asking her to not worry too much. She looked so peaceful and beautiful, Freddie felt incredibly sad at the prospect of not seeing her again after she died and went to her rightful place in Heaven.
Problem was, he found out, you needed to fill one for every time you wanted to do it. And wait between a month and seven to do it again. He didn’t have seven months, Brian was probably going to change the melody of at least two of the songs in the last album if he didn’t present himself in his dream and made him feel guilty. And, okay, maybe that sounds frivolous and even malicious, but it was the only way to save his babies! Deaky and Roger weren’t going to put up a fight if Brian made them sound nice enough. Besides, he had to talk to Jim too.
That’s how he found himself in an office, waiting for a bureaucratic demon to come back with the forms for him to sign, when Crowley appeared too.
Freddie knew Crowley. Way too much. He hadn’t known he was a demon, then, but he always suspected there was something outworldly in the man. If Brian knew Freddie had written Somebody to love and Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy for a demon he would explode on the spot.
Crowley seemed really sad –or as sad as a demon could look– to find Freddie in Hell, but he talked to him nonetheless.
And that’s how he ended up being able to leave Hell.
Crowley asked “Do you want to live in my car?” and Freddie thought that’s not the weirdest thing a man has asked me to do.
Consciousness was a funny thing, and souls too, Crowley taught him. His soul was still in Hell, would be until the universe ended, but he could project his consciousness wherever he wanted. And without any forms! The only condition Crowley had to teach him how to do it was to be his link to Hell, and keep him up on what was going on.
Crowley seemingly liked his musical taste, too, so Freddie changed the music and stations at his own liking.
Sometimes, he wished he’d said no.
1992
Now, Crowley was nice. Something he wouldn’t expect to say about a demon, but he had long decided that the red-haired creature went far beyond any type of comprehension Freddie had.
He had developed a sixth sense, like a bell ringing in his head telling him whenever Crowley was in the Bentley. Freddie was kind of in love with that car – God, please let Roger never hear those words coming out of my mouth –, so he enjoyed getting in it whenever he could.
Crowley liked to keep Freddie updated to whatever happened in the world. Sometimes.
One day, when Freddie’s consciousnesses materialised in the seat next to him, Crowley looked at him like he had grown a second head.
“Get in the back.”
Freddie frowned. “Do I look like someone who goes on the backseat?” his voice echoed from the stereo, silencing Elton John’s song.
“I’m having a guest over, get in the back or he’ll feel you.”
“A guest? Crowley!” he smirked. If he had a corporeal form he would have punched him in the arm in a friendly way. “You naughty boy, in the car?”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. He seemed puzzled by Freddie’s choice of words. “He’s a friend.”
Freddie jumped to the backseat. “Oh, I’ll keep that in mind.”
The car stopped in Soho, in a bookshop Freddie instantly recognised. He had gone there in the early days of Queen, looking for a book to gift Brian. He couldn’t remember buying anything, actually, but the man working there had offered him biscuits.
The man that got in the car was exactly the same one Freddie met more than twenty years ago. He was even wearing the same clothes, like a cartoon.
The puzzle pieces slotted together. He remembered late nights drinking with Crowley, hearing him talk about the love of his life. The kind man who was never going to return his feelings. Freddie couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want Crowley, after all, he had tried to flirt with him –back in 1975, when he was coming to terms with his sexuality and his flirting was embarrassing for everyone involved, but Crowley never picked up on it, thank God, or Satan– and backed off when he heard the blatant adoration in his voice whenever he talked about his angel.
The car started playing Love of my life. Crowley tensed on his seat.
The man didn’t seem to notice Freddie in the backseat, instead talking quite nervously. “Crowley! I’m not sure I’m dressed correctly.”
“It’s what you always wear, angel,” Crowley said, shrugging, “I don’t think anyone will care.”
“It’s quite definitely not my scene, Crowley, I want to make a good impression!”
Freddie saw Crowley smile from the rear view mirror. “It’s a concert, Aziraphale, who are you going to impress?”
The man, Aziraphale, sighed. “I had to impress the King of Prussia back in the…”
“Please don’t mention that time period in my presence.”
Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley with a smile. “Are you sure you want me to go?”
“Ngk,” Freddie wanted to kick Crowley’s seat, but, again, no corporeal form, “if you don’t want to…”
“Oh, no! It’s for a good cause!” Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. “It’s such a kind thing to put together, I’m sure he would love it, he seemed like a nice man.”
Freddie had no idea where they were going, but Aziraphale’s soft and careful tone made him think that it meant a lot to Crowley.
Crowley stopped the car before they even got to the end of the street. “Now that I think about it,” he said, almost pushing Aziraphale out of the Bentley, “you should get a water bottle.”
“We don’t get dehydrated?” Aziraphale managed to get out before Crowley closed the door.
“But there’s people that will! Don’t you want to help them?”
Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh, dear, you’re right! I’ll get them biscuits too.”
He disappeared into the store. Crowley turned to look at Freddie. “We’re going to a Tribute Concert your friends put up.”
Freddie tried to process the information in some way that didn’t involve trying to punch Crowley.
He couldn’t. His hand went through his face like nothing.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t know how.”
He was taken aback by Crowley’s sincere expression. Something that, again, he could never imagine a demon doing. But there he was, sorry and admitting to being in the wrong.
Freddie sighed. “I’m very mad.”
“You should be.”
“But you’ll take me there, right? I can – I can see what they do.”
Crowley nodded. “Of course, it’s for you after all.”
“It’s for me.” Freddie repeated, settling into the car seat.
When Aziraphale got back in the car, armed with a bag full of food they probably wouldn’t let him get in, the car was playing Friends will be friends.
1995
“Put it on! Put it on!”
Crowley didn’t have his glasses on, so Freddie could see his eyes rolling. He held the Made in Heaven cassette in his hands, and didn’t seem rushed. Freddie was dying from anticipation.
“You watched them make the album, how are you this excited?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I want to see what you think about it, of course.”
Freddie was so excited his consciousness was flickering, barely contained in the form he presented himself as.
Crowley sighed like Freddie was a little kid getting on his nerves. “You’ll make every light in the neighbourhood explode if you continue bouncing your energy around.”
“I can do that?”
“Yes. Please do.”
Freddie felt kind of bad for not letting Crowley get in his home before accosting him. But he had been waiting for this moment for a while, okay? He had written those songs years ago! He had sat in Brian and Deaky and Roger’s dreams patiently guiding them in the right direction, trying very hard to make them seem like normal dreams and not a message from the afterlife.
Crowley stared at the cassette box. “I can’t believe they named it Made in Heaven.”
Freddie smiled. His friends down below were still laughing about it. “Humans are delusional, darling, they probably think I’m up there partying with Jesus and Rosa Parks.”
“Don’t you want that?”
“A party with Rosa Parks?” Freddie laughed. “She seems good, but she’s definitely not my type.”
Crowley groaned. “Not the party,” he shook his head, “being in Heaven.”
Freddie wondered what went through his friend’s head. He seemed content with being a demon, but sometimes his face slipped and his hands shook and Freddie wanted to let him know that he understood, in his own way. He had left his name and family and traditions behind to go above and beyond, to become someone nobody who knew him could recognise. Someone he couldn’t recognise.
“I’ve thought about it, but…” Freddie clicked his tongue. “What fun would that be?”
“Is this” he waved his hand around “fun?”
“I like being with you, Crowley, I liked it before I even knew you were a demon.”
“If you knew what Heaven was like…”
“Full of pricks, probably,” Freddie shrugged, “I’d get lonely.”
“I doubt it.”
“Nobody who would understand me is up there.”
It was easier to say that than to say he was clinging to a demon who had a kind of unhealthy obsession with his music, spending more time with him than with the other humans that lived with him.
Or tell Crowley how much he missed Brian, Roger and Deaky. And his mum, his sister and Mary. And Jim.
God, he missed Jim so much.
“Let’s go to Aziraphale’s.”
Crowley looked at a Freddie like he’d gone crazy.
“Why?”
Freddie smiled. “He’ll like the album, I’m sure.”
And if the lights went out in Soho when an angel and a demon listened to Queen’s latest album in a complete and entranced silence… Well, Freddie had little to do with that.
2007
Talk of the Antichrist reached Freddie before he could warn Crowley.
He materialised in the car the day after. It was deadly silent in it, and it dawned on Freddie how serious the situation actually was.
“How is it? Downstairs?” Crowley asked, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Freddie grimaced. “There was a party last night, everyone was invited.”
Crowley let his head fall back, groaning. “What did they talk about?”
“Beelzebub gave a pretty good speech, and after that everybody got wasted, and they got Kurt and Elvis to play.”
“And you didn’t?”
“I was busy trying to get through you! Where were you?”
When Crowley didn’t answer him, Freddie rolled his eyes. “With Aziraphale.”
“I wasn’t that drunk since your birthday party.”
Freddie grimaced. “Ugh, don’t remind me, my head’s still hurting from that day.”
Silence reigned in the car, the only sound being Brian’s voice singing Driven By You. Freddie looked at the sky, the people going about their day. Nobody knew, the world was coming to an end and no one had any idea.
Crowley spoke at last. “Aziraphale and I decided to be the godfathers of the kid.”
Freddie almost sent himself back to Hell with surprise. “What? How? Why? ”
“Do you want the world to end?”
He huffed. “What – of course not! The people I love are here!”
“Aziraphale and I think that if he has enough heavenly and demonic influences, he’ll be normal.”
“Shouldn’t he be good? I mean – he wouldn’t want the world to end.”
“If he was good he’ll do what they ask, if he’s bad he’ll do it because he wants to, if he’s normal…”
Freddie whistled approvingly. “You two are a good team.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Why are you using that tone?”
Freddie raised his hands, smiling as innocent as he could manage. “What tone? I’m just stating the facts, darling.”
The radio started playing Las Palabras de Amor. Crowley’s stare burned even through his glasses. “It’s not funny.”
“You don’t want to hear the words of love?” Freddie gasped dramatically. “It’s one of the best from Hot Space! A masterpiece!”
“I’m an Under Pressure guy, myself, but Aziraphale likes that one.”
“Of course you are, of course he does.” Freddie was starting to think he knew more about Aziraphale than the angel himself. “Y’know what I think you should do?”
“No, but you’ll tell me anyway.”
Freddie tried to make his eyes roll far more than they would if he was alive. “You should go to the bookshop right now and tell Aziraphale,” he put his best Crowley voice, which meant high-pitched, completely whipped, “oh, Aziraphale, I can’t hide my feelings any longer! The world will end and I need to tell you that I love you!”
Crowley left the car just as Need Your Loving Tonight started playing.
Oh, well, what was he supposed to do? Tell Aziraphale himself? He had spent wonderful years with Jim, Crowley should follow his advice!
It was just a matter of time.
2013
“I was a godfather too, you know? Mary said I was born for that role.”
Freddie had spent the last month trying to convince Crowley to let him follow him to the house of the Dowlings. Crowley was adamant in his belief that the Antichrist would see him and freak out.
He also was still mad that Freddie laughed when Crowley got in the car dressed as a satanic Mary Poppins. But it just looked ridiculous, even if Freddie admired that Crowley needed to go the extra mile, just like him. He kind of reminded him of the look Deaky had in I want to break free, but that hurt too much to think about.
“If I have to tell you that you won’t go to that house one more time, I’ll vanish you to Hell forever, no more travel.”
Freddie pouted. “You can’t do that!” and, at Crowley’s raised eyebrow, he backtracked. “You wouldn’t do that! Who will keep you company?”
Aziraphale, probably, but who would keep Freddie company?
It was the worst timing for the Apocalypse, really, Crowley was too busy with having to care for young Warlock to give him the attention he needed. Since Jim had died and gone to Heaven, Freddie had felt so much more lonely than before. And maybe Roger had a chance to go there with him, but Deaky was too good and Brian, for all the cheating and drinking he’d done, had also turned his life around before it was too late. Was he going to be like John Lennon? Forever cursing his friends for leaving him? –the first conversation he had with his idol had actually ended when John said ‘That fucking son of a bitch, who made him all vegetarian and loving? He did it just to spite me. He better get down here with me or I’m going to do it myself. Fucking Saint Paul’ and Freddie decided feeling pity for his hero was probably the worst way to start living in Hell– He couldn’t just hang unto Crowley forever.
Well, forever wasn’t actually going to exist if the End of the World actually happened.
“I’m taking him to watch a movie,” Crowley said, after Freddie had stayed silent long enough, “you can come and sit in the back.”
“Really? The last movie I saw was…” his voice trailed off as his mind tried to supply him the answer. Was it Star Wars? No, no, that was too long ago. Highlander, they made the music for that movie… Or maybe Back to the Future II, or Dead Poets Society… Why couldn’t he remember?
How long had he been dead?
Crowley got him out of his own thoughts. “It’s alright, I can’t remember what was the last Shakespeare play Aziraphale made me watch.”
Freddie smiled. He wondered if he was easy to read or if his connection to the Bentley was also a connection to Crowley where he could read his mind. “What are you watching?”
Crowley made a gagging sound. “This movie about two princesses that have to save their kingdom or something – Warlock says every kid on his class saw it already.”
“It’s a kid’s movie, are you sure it will help you with the whole demonic influence thing?”
Which was a dumb thing to ask. He had to be blind to not see Crowley had no intention of actually planting the seed of darkness in this child. Freddie had seen his phone, and the photos of the little Antichrist feeding a sheep at a petting zoo would make even Wagner’s cold, dark heart melt.
“It’s from Disney, I’m not sure there’s something more demonic than their merchandise.”
Freddie chuckled, amused at Crowley’s efforts to seem completely frivolous. Years of sitting in his car could prove him otherwise.
Crowley fiddled with his Nanny Hat. “Anyways, I’m thinking of cutting my hair – when I’m not in Nanny form, that is.”
Freddie made the motion of stretching his hand to touch the hair, but he got it back to himself when his mind reminding him he couldn’t actually do that. “It’s getting long, you look like...”
“I don’t want to know, actually, you sound like Aziraphale.”
“I’m as wise as an angel, good to know.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t exactly call you wise.”
Freddie gasped as loud as he could, putting a hand over his heart. “Okay, rude, I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”
“Making me late to pick up Warlock, perhaps?”
The car started, at the same time as Crowley stopped looking like himself and turned into the Nanny of his nightmares. Freddie let out a laugh, the radio immediately turning on to play Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
“Get out of my car!”
2018
“You don’t even hear Velvet Underground.”
Crowley grit his teeth. “Maybe I do when you are not here.”
Freddie scoffed, staring out of the window. Yeah, right. “He looked pretty nervous.”
“The world is almost ending, I think that qualifies as something to be nervous about.”
He frowned, not convinced at all. “You should keep an eye on him.”
“What are you talking about?” the car stopped so suddenly Freddie would have gone through the window if he had been corporeal. Crowley looked mad. “You think I can’t trust my only friend?”
Well, Freddie was also mad. “I’m your friend too.”
“You’re dead.” Crowley growled. “You wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t helped you.”
“That’s not –”
“Leave me alone, I don’t want you here.”
Freddie shook his head. “You don’t –”
The car trembled. Crowley’s grip on the steering wheel was turning his knuckles a sickly kind of white. “Stop thinking you know me, you don’t know me at all.”
“You are really throwing me out because I told you to not trust in an angel?” Freddie spat, his own consciousness flickering at the edges. “He’s hiding something from you! He’s on his side –”
Crowley was almost shouting. “He’s on our side! It’s always been him and me against the world!”
“But does he know it?” Freddie tried to get on the same tone as Crowley. “That’s just you and him? You haven’t said anything to him!”
“Go away.”
“Y’know what I think? I think you’re afraid.” Crowley growled, but Freddie continued. The car was practically screaming at him to get out. “You’re afraid that he’s going to leave you alone, that Earth will be destroyed and you’ll have nothing.” Freddie felt himself fading, like his connection with Crowley was fizzling out. “Guess what, darling, I already lost everything, and you’ll end up like me if you don’t grow some –”
“GO. AWAY.”
Freddie was thrown back to Hell just in time to see Mozart win a chess match against Jimi Hendrix.
The day of Armageddon, they put two demons Freddie had never seen to guard him. Whoever decided We Are The Champions needed to be choreographed to be performed by thousands of hundreds of demons when they defeated the angels had a vendetta against him. He would’ve never thought Queen was such a hit in Hell, maybe MTV was right when they shut down I want to break free.
He was getting tired of clapping and clapping and clapping. And he needed to see Crowley, even if the demon had become unreachable. The world was ending and he was stuck in Hell teaching a legion of smelly demons to sing along to a song most of them hadn’t been around to hear.
He turned to look at one of his guards, who had his face covered with moths. “I have to talk to someone.”
The demon growled in response. Freddie pressed again. “It’s not like it’ll get any better than this.”
He could still hear at least twenty hands clapping at a different rhythm. Brian would rip his ears out if he heard them.
The demon shrugged. That was easy.
Scriabin was still sulking when Freddie entered the common musician area. “Oh, look,” he said turning to Wagner with a scowl, “the Козёл is back! Everybody, let’s hear what the musical genius has to say!”
Wagner patted Scriabin’s shoulder, giving Freddie a stare that maybe was the epitome of hate in the 19th century. Scriabin had tried to make a song that would bring the Apocalypse in the Himalaya, but died before he could finish it, demons teased him so much about it nobody thought he ever had a chance to doing the soundtrack to actual Armageddon. Except Scriabin, of course. Well, and Wagner, but that’s just because he was racist.
Kurt flicked a used cigarette his way. “Shut up, Alex, your music was shit.”
Freddie let them squabble all they liked, leaving the demons behind to talk to John, who was sitting away from everybody, writing. He was always writing.
“I need a favour.”
John looked at him from behind his glasses, raising an eyebrow. “I’m busy.”
“The world is ending.”
“So I’ve heard,” he turned back to the paper in front of him, “it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“I need you to distract the legions of the damned.”
John scoffed. “Doing what? Singing Imagine ? They still don’t forgive for that one.”
It was a very well-known fact that demons hated John’s guts, and it started not only because he wrote the peace hymn, but also because he refused to sing anything they asked. He was stuck there sulking for eternity, writing songs that would never see the light of day and smoking like a madman.
“You can sing whatever you want and they still would eat it up,” Freddie shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, “you haven’t sung for what? Forty years? It may be your last chance.”
John sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m not interested in singing anymore.”
“Yeah, and I’m Jesus.”
“Really funny.”
Oh, right, that was why he was in Hell in the first place. He vaguely remembered John telling him that Paulie was, probably, going to Heaven even though he found the whole Jesus thing hilarious.
“I’ll teach you –“ Freddie lowered his voice “I’ll teach you to go up without any forms.”
“Is that where you’ve been going?” his eyes narrowed.
“Yes, and you can too! Pop in to say hello to Yoko and the children, check out what Ringo’s doing, haunt Paul’s dreams.”
John seemed to consider it for a minute. Then he shook his head. “The world is ending.”
“It won’t, I know Cr– I know someone will stop it.”
“You better be right.” John left the pen and paper on the coffee table. A guitar appeared next to him, he picked it up and sighed one last time. “I’ll do it, you can teach me later.”
“Thank you.”
For the first time in the almost thirty years Freddie had known him, John smiled. He seemed younger, brighter. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The demons cheered when John got on stage and Freddie stayed behind. “Good evening, Hell!”
“JESUS! JESUS! JESUS”
John gripped the guitar like he was about to slam it on their heads. “Yeah, yeah, this is my treat for the Apocalypse!”
“YESTERDAY! YESTERDAY! YESTERDAY!”
“That’s a Paul song! For fuck’s sake –“
Freddie wasn’t there to see if John actually sang Yesterday.
The Bentley was on fire.
Literally on fire.
“WHAT IS GOING ON?”
Crowley looked crazy. Freddie would’ve feared for his life if he wasn’t already dead.
I’m in love with my car was making the car shake even more than the fire.
Crowley chuckled. “You ever heard of Tadfield, Fred?”
Freddie gulped. “The Antichrist is in Tadfield?”
“Oooh, yeah, change the song for me.”
Bohemian Rhapsody started playing. Crowley started singing at the top of his lungs. If he even had lungs.
Freddie thought about the movie that was supposed to come out in a few months. Couldn’t the Apocalypse wait a little longer?
“Oh my God, you’ve completely lost it.” Freddie stared at him in disbelief.
“My car isn’t on fire!” Crowley’s grip on the steering wheel begged to differ. “Now, where do I have to turn?”
The Bentley was making Freddie’s insides burn. He vaguely asked himself if his soul was capable of dying by fire. But instead, he asked Crowley “How will you stop the Apocalypse?”
Which, really, was just asking if Crowley’s state of mind hadn’t been permanently ruined yet.
“Aziraphale’s going to kill the Antichrist!”
“Oh, so we’re completely fucked then.”
Freddie wanted to say he'd help but, honestly, what good would a ghost be against the fucking son of Satan?
Crowley laughed like he was the witch from Snow White. “Good talk, now, go back.”
“I just got here!”
“And now it’s time to go! The Show Must Go On, and if anyone sees you with me, your soul will be tortured forever.”
“But –“
“No buts!” Freddie’s form wavered. “Thank you for all you’ve done, see you on the other side!”
“Crowley – !”
John was shaking his soul back in Hell.
Freddie blinked, steadying himself. John let him go. “What the Hell!”
What the Hell, indeed.
Armageddon never came. Freddie was so happy he felt like hugging Scriabin, or Beelzebub.
He waited until the waters were relatively calm before getting out of Hell again. It was depressing, really, he almost felt pity for the demons.
For the first time in their friendship, Freddie materialised in Crowley’s apartment, next to some plants.
“Darling, what are you doing in this apartment?” Freddie shouted, trying to get his attention. “You should live in a mansion! These plants deserve a big, luscious –“ he turned when he heard a noise.
Crowley was standing in the hallway, a cup of tea in his hands. He looked at Freddie like he had seen a ghost, which was, well, rude.
“Wha – ?”
It was there, in the way he stood and the way he held the cup.
Freddie stepped back. “You’re not Crowley.”
Oh, God, what did Hell do? They were so fucked.
The man wearing Crowley’s skin shook his head. “You’re Freddie Mercury.”
Freddie tried to put on his best showman smile. Maybe he wasn’t going to burn for eternity. “In the flesh – well, not really.”
The man didn’t find that amusing at all. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Did Hell send you?”
“Oh, no, they’re too busy sobbing over not being able to start the Apocalypse.” Freddie shrugged. “But at least my movie is safe, God knows I’ve been waiting years to see what they do with it!”
There, a completely selfish excuse to not want Armageddon to succeed, in case he was a demon taking over Crowley.
The man’s nose twitched. Freddie gasped, even though he really didn’t need air at all. Of fucking course. “Aziraphale?”
It was weird, the way his grimace was so similar to Crowley and yet it looked nothing like him. “Am I that obvious?”
Crowley would never hold a mug like that, but Freddie supposed no one except Aziraphale and him could see it. “Not to someone who doesn’t know Crowley.”
Aziraphale seemed to calm at that. Well, as much as an extremely nervous angel could. “How do you know him?”
“We met when I was – when I was alive, and then I found him in Hell, and – well, he showed me how to travel without forms.”
“Oh, that’s very useful.” Aziraphale nodded, then waved at him to follow him. “He’s extremely kind, even if he doesn’t want me to say that.”
Aziraphale-as-Crowley sat on Crowley’s sofa, making a conscious effort of looking like Crowley did. Freddie was actually quite impressed.
“He has that Mr. Bad Guy image to keep.” Freddie said, also sitting down. Or, well, however that worked, he wasn’t sure.
To his surprise, Aziraphale got the reference, and chuckled. “Indeed! It’s been more than 6000 years and he still hasn’t changed one bit.”
“That’s an awfully long time to know another person.” Freddie raised an eyebrow, like he didn’t know already most of the ups and downs of their relationship. Maybe he should have studied Psychology instead of Graphic Design, at least Crowley would have paid him.
“I guess in human time it’s quite a lot,” Aziraphale sipped his tea, “but keep in mind we sometimes went decades without seeing each other! He’s very good at not being found.”
Freddie smiled. “And yet you did.”
Aziraphale tried very hard to not let himself smile. “And yet I did. Don’t know how, really.”
“Oh, darling, you don’t need to have reservations with me,” Freddie waved his hand nonchalantly, “I have seen you two together, and I may be dead, but I’m not blind.”
He was pretty sure Aziraphale would have blushed if he wasn’t in Crowley’s cold-blooded body. “Why – why do you say that?”
Oh, Freddie had no idea how he ended up witnessing the greatest and most infuriating love story ever. “Listen, Aziraphale, I don’t know what you’re planning to do with –” he pointed to Crowley’s body “that, but if it works, you two should own up to what you feel.”
Bluntness, Freddie found out in his short time on Earth, usually worked better than tiptoeing around the subject. At Aziraphale’s embarrassed silence, Freddie continued. “I spent a lot of time in my life trying to bury who I was, even if I sound like the epitome of self-confidence, and I understand how – how scary giving yourself to the person you love is.”
“But I – we’re not – I mean – he’s –” Aziraphale was speechless, which, if he was to believe Crowley’s word, was almost impossible. Freddie wanted to pat the angel’s knee or something.
“It’s worth it, every bit of it, I spent the most wonderful years with Jim, and I would give anything to go back and do it again, to spend even one day, one minute with him again.”
Aziraphale looked sadly at his cup. “ One year of love.”
Freddie blinked. “What?”
“It’s my – it’s my favourite song – from you, I mean.”
Oh, now he was surprised. One year of love wasn’t a very well-known song, buried underneath the fame of the other album’s hits, like Who Wants to Live Forever and A Kind of Magic. Aziraphale smiled sheepishly.
“Curiosity is a wonderful thing, really, I couldn’t not hear your music after seeing how attached to it Crowley was.”
“It’s true,” Freddie said, feeling strangely choked up, “one year of love is better than a lifetime alone.”
In the silence of the room, Freddie could see how Crowley’s face gave away Aziraphale’s doubt, his fear. It was nice to think an ethereal being was so similar to humans, really. He realised how wrong he was, in telling Crowley not to trust him, even if he thought it to be right at the moment. It was so clear to him that Aziraphale loved Crowley as much as Crowley loved Aziraphale.
Aziraphale looked to the clock in the wall. “That was a nice little chat,” he got up, “but I have to meet Crowley – well, Aziraphale, in St. James Park.”
Freddie laughed. “It sounds a bit like you want to escape.”
“Oh, very much so,” Aziraphale admitted, and his beaming smile looked out of place on Crowley’s face, “but that would be an awfully rude thing to say to a new acquaintance.”
“Of course.”
Aziraphale nodded. “Goodbye, Freddie, I hope next time we meet I look like myself.”
Freddie waved. “It suits you, really.”
“Thank you? I’m not sure that was a compliment, actually.”
“I’m not sure either.”
Aziraphale let out a chuckle. He sobered up, giving him a cautious smile. “And I’ll think about what you said.”
Freddie waited for him to get out of the apartment before leaving, humming One year of love.
He stood in the crowd, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. The demons next to him were cheering, and a few other souls were discussing what Crowley did.
Except Freddie knew he wasn’t. He was pleasantly surprised to see how easily Aziraphale fit the role of the demon under pressure. But Crowley had said they watched all of Shakespeare’s plays together, so maybe Aziraphale was a natural actor.
Aziraphale-as-Crowley threw holy water at the demons, and Freddie had to hold his laughter in. A ghost next to him didn’t hold, chuckling to himself. Freddie turned to see him.
“Oscar Wilde?”
The soul in question turned to look at him, a pleased expression on his face. He was even taller than Freddie imagined, but he looked just like those photos of him, covered in fur.
“I don’t think we were ever introduced.”
Freddie kind of couldn’t believe he was shaking hands with Oscar Wilde. He supposed writers were in Hell too, he was sure he saw Hemingway roaming years ago.
“Freddie Mercury.”
“Oh, I thought so! Mr. Wells likes to keep me company by telling me all the people he knows are here.”
“H.G. Wells?”
Oscar Wilde nodded. “Yes, yes, he was the one that made me come here, really, said he wanted to see when all Hell broke loose.” he looked at ‘Crowley’, who was asking for a towel, with a fond expression. “But I would recognise him anywhere, so I stayed.”
Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Crowley?”
Crowley had never mentioned Oscar Wilde. Freddie even remembered him saying he slept most of the late Victorian period away, and woke up when the Second World War was about to start.
Oscar Wilde smiled, amused. “Yes, Crowley.”
Beelzebub started shouting at the last remaining demons to leave, Freddie threw Aziraphale one last look before moving along, and Oscar Wilde did the same.
“I thought I’d never see him again.”
Freddie got the feeling that Oscar wasn’t talking about Crowley. “Weird to see him in Hell.”
“Oh, he was an angel, truly,” he sighed, “took care of me even when I had lost everything. When he told me what he was, a few days before I… left, I had no trouble believing him.”
After a fleeting moment with him, hours ago, Freddie understood what was that made Crowley and, now, Oscar Wilde, like the angel so much. The world had been so awful to them both, and Aziraphale seemed to sweat pure, unadulterated kindness and love. Like he had a never-ending supply of them to give to whoever needed it. And Freddie got it, because it was Jim’s heart that had gotten him through the hard times.
“He helped save the world from Armageddon.” Freddie said, as if everybody in Hell didn’t know it yet.
“He loved the world too much, even more than I ever could.”
They stayed silent for a while. Just walking through Hell’s corridors towards their respective places.
“I just hope his heart is alright.” Oscar said, suddenly, smoothing his hair back.
Freddie smiled, thinking of Aziraphale saying he would think about what he told him, of his smile when he thought about Crowley’s kindness. “It will be.”
2020
“What a dreadful thing to happen to humanity!”
Crowley hummed, punching Aziraphale’s old TV. “At least everyone can catch up with their sinning.”
Oscar Wilde stared at Crowley with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t work for Hell anymore.”
“Oh, I don’t,” he huffed, “but it fills me with joy to think about all that gluttony and sloth!”
Freddie threw his head back and laughed. Aziraphale clicked his tongue, serving Crowley some tea. “I won’t make you more cakes if you continue talking like that.”
Crowley threw himself on the couch quite dramatically, his head landing on Aziraphale’s lap. “Oh, whatever shall I do.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes, turning to Freddie. “Adam sent Crowley the cutest video! Sheep coming down from the hills to invade a Welsh town!” Freddie chuckled at Aziraphale’s fascinated expression. “Did I tell you of the time I invented Welsh? Crowley was supposed to do it, but I got a bit carried away.”
“Lennon must me be really sad he isn’t here to hear this exciting talk about Welsh.” Crowley muttered under his breath, but the three of them heard him.
Oscar Wilde chuckled. “You scared him away with that movie you made us watch the last time, he’s probably writing a song about it.” John was still moaning about how much he hated Yesterday, both the song and the movie. He was probably busy haunting Paul’s dreams for ever coming up with that idea.
Aziraphale sighed. “It wasn’t that bad, I liked the music.”
“Angel, I really don’t understand how you judge books and theatre but enjoy every movie we watch.” Crowley sounded exasperated. Which meant it was one of the things he loved about Aziraphale.
“Movies are for shutting the brain off, dear! It’s not really art .”
Crowley opened his mouth to discuss that – after all, he had invented the Academy, so he knew a thing about movies, but Freddie interrupted him. They weren’t going to watch anything if they started bickering. “What are we watching now, anyway?”
“I’m trying to see if I can make Oscar run away screaming too.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley.”
Crowley threw his hands in the air. “It’s a joke!”
Oscar shrugged. “If that movie about Dorian Grey didn’t make me run away, I’m not sure anything will make me do it.”
“Oh, but this movie is about you,” Crowley wiggled his eyebrows, “and it’s full of sex.”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale screeched.
“Just like my life, then!” Oscar grinned.
“Oscar!”
“Don’t fret, Aziraphale, Crowley can cover your angelic eyes whenever there’s any perversion happening.” Freddie wiggled his fingers at the angel.
Aziraphale sighed. “I just hope it’s better than that atrocity you made me watch last year.”
“That’s the only time he got mad at a movie,” Crowley told Freddie, proud smile on his face, “Anonymous was a masterpiece of bad cinema.”
“And historical inaccuracies! Oh, Oscar, you can’t possibly imagine how absolutely awful that movie was, I almost cried! Of rage!”
Freddie groaned as loud as he could. “Can we watch the movie? Next time I choose!”
Crowley flicked a piece of cookie at him. The cookie went through his body. “Nope, don’t think so, I won’t watch Bohemian Rhapsody for the fifth time.”
Aziraphale didn’t comment on that. Freddie knew that if it were up to him they’d be seeing Dead Poets Society or Mamma Mia again. “It’s a shame we’re in quarantine, Adam has very good taste in movies.”
“I have good taste in movies too!” Crowley exclaimed, faking offence. “He’s going through his Sherlock phase, he would make us watch it again,” he reminded him, grimacing, “and I’m still planning vengeance on the demon that made the creators give it that ending.”
Aziraphale sighed. “It can’t be worse than that time he stopped time so we could watch every episode of Doctor Who.”
“I like Doctor Who!”
Oscar gave Freddie an exasperated look, but it was more fond than anything. They watched movies almost every day since Crowley “broke” quarantine to stay at Aziraphale’s. Oscar and him were already familiar with the hour-long wait before they could begin to watch anything.
Crowley waved his hand and turned the TV on. “Okay, so, a movie about Oscar, full of faces Aziraphale and I will recognise, maybe Freddie,” he turned to Oscar, “is it better to go in blind?”
Oscar still found movies to be an unknown variable, and had voiced his belief that plays were better. Aziraphale was enthusiastic in his nodding whenever he said it, and Crowley went out of his way to say how much he liked movies. As if the three of them didn’t know he loved musical theatre more than anything humans ever created.
Freddie just enjoyed the social aspect of film watching. Sitting around a TV, commenting on it, the movie forgotten whenever one of them had a particularly funny comment.
“By the end of this quarantine I expect to know every actor Britain ever made.” Oscar said. “I quite liked that man, Anthony Hopkins, was it? His acting in that movie we saw… Sublime.”
Crowley nudged Aziraphale with his elbow. “Maybe I can finally convince Aziraphale to watch 1917 then.”
“No war movies!” Aziraphale gave Crowley a stern stare. Crowley didn’t stop smiling.
Freddie cleared his throat. “The movie.”
“Oh, right.”
Freddie would have never thought he’d end up sitting in the couch of an angel, watching a movie about a dead writer that was right next to him, having long discussions about which one of his lovers was more attractive –
“I couldn’t possibly say, I loved Robbie and Bosie too much.”
“It’s Robbie.”
“Crowley, you didn’t even meet them! They didn’t look like they do in the movie!”
“Wow, are looks all that matter to you, angel?”
“We’re talking about who’s more attractive!”
“But his personality is also important! Bosie was a –“
“I’d say Robbie but his moustache at the end reminded me too much of myself, so I’m going for Bosie.”
“Isn’t it disrespectful to do that if they’re not here?”
“Aziraphale, if they were here, they’d be the ones encouraging it.”
– but he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his evening.
If Freddie had known that every decision he ever made would lead him straight to Hell… He wouldn’t have done things any different.
There were worse things than Hell, like being alone. And, for the first time in almost thirty years, he felt home.