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The first time Aziraphale realized there was something wrong with him, was as he stood among his brethren watching the fallen being cast out of heaven. 

All around him, the other angels looked stoically on as one by one their former siblings were expelled from the only home they’d ever known, plunging dizzyingly toward an unknown fate, and he felt… something.  Something new.  His gut ached.  There was a sharp pain in his chest, a tightness behind his eyes, a feeling of absolute wrongness. 

He glanced quickly at the beautiful, passive faces surrounding him, and a tiny whisper of doubt wormed itself into his thoughts.  “I’m not like them”.   

He tried to shake the thought away, but it had taken hold. 

He looked back to where the last of the no-longer-angels were being herded toward the ragged edge, and he felt panic rising in him.  He wanted to do something.  He wanted to help them.  To stop… all this from happening.  But he didn’t.  He couldn’t. 

His heart told him it was wrong, but the other angels knew it was right.  Which meant the part that was wrong was inside himself.  How could he trust his feelings?  How could he trust his instincts when they were telling him that heaven itself was wrong? 

It had to be the shock of the introduction of the concept of rebellion that had him all turned around, because he still didn’t understand why any rational being would rebel against what was.  What had always been.  Especially, when the mere idea that there was any other way to be, or think, was unfathomable, or had been not so long ago. 

It worried him that he had learned so quickly to think critically of heaven, the angels and the Almighty.  It terrified him that his questions extended to the very nature of reality itself.  It scared him that he ached for the fallen, but it scared him much more that nobody else did. 

If they only knew… if they ever found out…

Aziraphale twisted his hands tightly in front of him and watched his family, his world, being ripped into pieces.  The pieces that would, from this moment on, be lost to him, and the pieces he was expected to stitch back together over the gaps, pretending there hadn’t ever been anything else there to begin with.  And there was one more piece, a piece he would bury deep inside himself where nobody would ever find it.  The knowledge that he didn’t belong here either. 

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The second time Aziraphale was forced to acknowledge that he was different, was the day he arrived in the garden. 

Ever since the Fall, he had carefully cultivated an aura of un-remarkability, making it his mission to not be noticed.  He had managed to lock his aberrant thoughts and feelings away so successfully that some days he even convinced himself that there was nothing more to him than any of the other angels placidly going about their duties. 

However, the new, multifaceted experience of stepping into a human-style corporation was enough to drive him into a panic as he felt his carefully laid web of self-control unraveling.  He felt sure, at any second, that he would give himself away.  Then, as if the corporation alone wasn’t enough, there was the sudden, overwhelmingly interactive input of sunlight, wind, smells, touch perception, and so many living, breathing colors.  It all proved to be so distracting, he would never know how he managed to hold himself together until his superiors left him alone in his small corner of Eden. 

Focusing all his self-control into ignoring the distractions that surrounded him, he gingerly, and oh so deliberately, found his way into a small clearing hidden on all sides by lush vegetation.  He was vaguely aware that he was trembling violently, barely managing to contain himself as he guiltily checked that the other three gate guardians were nowhere near.  Only then did he drop his guard and allow himself to be present, to embrace the depth of feelings that the flood of sensation created.  Walking the fine line between amazed and terrified, he took his first real breath and felt the air fill him so substantially, he couldn’t imagine ever needing anything more to sustain him. 

Slowly, he spread his hands, studying the tiny whorls across his fingertips, then ran them over his smooth cheeks, baffled as he tried to discern the sensation of giving and receiving touch simultaneously.  That proved to be too much too soon, so he transitioned to exploring his surroundings.  He gingerly laid his hands against the trunk of a nearby tree, feeling both the steady, patient life force within and the rough, solid exterior.  Similarly, he explored the flowers, grasses, rich loamy dirt and rocks, then dropped to his knees in thick, springy moss to dip his fingers reverently in the velvet waters of a rivulet that meandered through his sanctuary.  His bare feet sank into the earth as if he himself were growing roots, and every touch felt like a miracle.

From somewhere deep down, came the thought that he was falling helplessly and irrevocably in love with a life that had never been meant for an angel, a life that could never be his, and that thought broke the spell. 

Carefully, shakily, he drew his self-control around him like a mantle, piecing his façade back together like shards of glass, fragmented and cold.  He still felt, still wanted, but from a numbed distance that allowed him to deny the urge to spread his wings and shout as loudly as he could, a remoteness that drained away his wish to pull off the awkward robe that scratched his tender skin and spread out naked in the soft grass.  He detached himself enough to quench the confidence that encouraged him to hide nothing, not his new body or his old soul, from this miraculous world. 

Instead, he held himself very still, closing his eyes, and silently committed every detail to memory.  Stowing it carefully away in that secret part of himself that he knew he would have to lock back up before too long.     

He stood, and breathed, and denied, and ached, and the breeze against his cheeks was joined by quiet, rolling tears.

Chapter Text

The third time our angel felt the now almost familiar shock of his wrongness, followed soon upon the last. 

Aziraphale’s fear of being pulled out of this newfound paradise receded a little with each day that dawned and waned without a heavenly summons.  He found that the other guardians kept mostly to themselves, and their superiors apparently had more important things to do than keep tabs on the Almighty’s latest folly.  Aziraphale realized rather quickly that he didn’t want to waste any more time waiting for the proverbial axe to fall, and it wasn’t in his nature to waste the gift he’d been handed, so he resolved to enjoy himself while he may.  And to treasure every part of the adventure before him.    

As he inhabited his corporation and explored Eden, he decided, through careful, sensible reasoning, that sensation was something the Almighty had created on purpose.  All the creatures of the garden experienced it, including the young humans, and if the Almighty had meant it to be a part of this world, then there couldn’t possibly be anything shameful about celebrating it.  Therefore, he tried not to let it worry him too much that his stoicism was all pretense while the other gatekeepers didn’t seem to be affected in the least.  They were, as far as he could tell, completely unaffected by the beauty of the garden, or the excitement of the lives within, or the fact that certain parts of a human-ish body were both more sensitive, and more delightful to the touch than others. 

Aziraphale on the other hand, filed away every single detail of these discoveries with keen curiosity.  He shivered when the breeze stirred his curls against the nape of his neck.  The touch of a long fern against the insides of his wrists sent waves of warm, exciting sensation all the way through him.  His lower back, the crease where his thighs met his hips, the soles of his feet…

He hadn’t known, there, in the early days of the garden, that it was something to be especially ashamed of.  Perhaps he should have.  Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, he’d known this was just another part of his deviance and had blocked himself from looking at it too closely, but even the innocent animals sought each other out for the physical pleasure of shared touch which again reassured him that this sensation had been sanctioned by the Almighty. 

The concept of procreation had been included in their mission briefing, but Aziraphale discovered that the clinical explanation had missed out most, if not all of the details.  Because of this, it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize that the head butting, nose touching and complex tandem exercises with their intense urgency and abrupt termination that he witnessed throughout the garden, were in fact the reality of the concept.

Once he’d recovered from his embarrassment, Aziraphale was able to observe that many of the animals appeared to gain comfort from their closeness.  The one time he happened across Adam and Eve together, the depth of their passion for each other and the intimacy of their bond had made it very clear that they were experiencing something much more raw than the mental and spiritual satisfaction of preparing for their species’ future.  The quite obvious emotional and physical pleasure they were finding in each-other’s embrace had both fascinated and stirred him, awakening an understanding of not just his corporation’s but his soul’s similarity to theirs.  In the next moment, he had become painfully aware that he was witnessing a deeply private moment and had taken himself quietly elsewhere, pondering his awakening understanding. 

He wanted to ask the humans to explain.  He felt an endless well of curiosity about how they would articulate their experience.  Of course, he didn’t ask.  He was quite certain that would have been rude.  The thing he kept coming back to was that he never would have imagined something that seemed so exclusively tied to mortality, could have felt so sacred, and that sacredness encouraged him to revel in the joy he felt.  Even though he reveled alone, he thought at times that he would burst with the sheer pleasure of the sensation his body could experience.   Until one night, as he gazed up at the stars from a bed of moss, slowly tracing the outline of one ear with his soft fingertip, his body shifted with purposeful effort, adjusting subtly to his yearning for fulfillment.

It had been an intriguing and slightly intimidating experiment, but through it he had discovered a depth, a wildness in him that had taken him by surprise.  Luckily, the experience had also culminated in a moment so in line with all of creation, where he felt his being reach out to join with the earth beneath him, the vibrant paradise around him and the vastness of the universes above, that he knew deep within that this was definitely part of the Almighty’s ineffable plan.

The Eastern Gate lay unattended for some time as its guardian took up a different, self-appointed assignment, exploring his newfound capacity to harness the pleasure his corporation created and release it in primal waves that spread out into the realms of reality.  He discovered variations on the theme, his corporation adjusting accordingly depending on what type of sensation he found himself craving. 

It was miraculous.  It was powerful.  It was nothing he could have put into words, or even coherent thoughts.  Which was one of the things that made it such an amazing experience.  While joined in ecstasy to the core of creation, there was nothing for him to overthink, nothing to worry about, nothing to hide.

When he finally emerged, energized, content, and not just a little proud, from his exploration, he couldn’t wait to share what he’d learned with the other guardians.    

Aziraphale wondered if he was glowing more than usual as he descended to join the group clustered together at the Southern gate, feeling an unaccustomed confidence in his eagerness to share his discovery.

“They were doing what?” the angel of the Northern gate was asking blandly.

“Just like the animals.  You know.”  The angel of the Western gate mimicked an odd, sharp movement of their hips, eliciting an embarrassed little giggle from the guardian of the Northern gate.

“Rutting” the Angel of the Southern Gate announced arrogantly, keeping his eyes on the horizon.  “They were at it in my sector the other day, too.”

“What’s that?” Aziraphale asked brightly.

“Aziraphale, where have you been?” The Western angel didn’t wait for an answer before leaning in, eyes oddly bright. “Adam and Eve.  Haven’t you noticed?  They’re all over each other.  Like…” they wrinkled their nose, turning to the others for help.

“They’re just mating.” The guardian of the South drawled, hitching a wing with a hint of reproach in the Western angel’s direction, “for procreation.  It’s a necessary evil.  Just try to ignore it.”

Aziraphale nodded, a little confused.  “Um, yes, yes.” he agreed hesitantly, thrown for a loop by the other angels’ response to something so obviously beautiful.  “Part of the plan.  For creating offspring.  But…” his eagerness to share his discovery bubbled back up, and he plunged forward “well, I think I’ve discovered that it isn’t just for…”  

“No!” the Western angel interrupted excitedly, “This is different.  Not for procreation.” they glanced upward then lowered their voice to a whisper, “For… fun.”

The other angels, even the guardian of the South, turned to stare.

“Sometimes they spend hours just… touching… and… they even do it alone…” their voice cracked, and they swallowed, looking defensively around at the other angels.  “It’s true.  No mating.  Just…” they made a fiddling motion with their hand.

The guardian of the Southern Gate sniffed, a small frown creasing his brow.  “Carnal pleasure,” he shook his head disapprovingly.  “Shameful.” 

Aziraphale felt his face go pink, then red, and it felt like pins and needles were crawling across his skin.

“Shameful?” he asked in a small voice, his mind still filled with memories of the deeply personal, exquisite pleasure he’d discovered.

“Disgusting.” The angel of the Western gate agreed adamantly, rubbing sweaty palms against their robe.

The Northern angel looked contemplative.  “Huh,” she said. “I wouldn’t know.  Guess they know better than to try that kind of vulgarity around me”

“So gross!” The Western angel nodded distractedly, scanning the garden for signs of movement.

Aziraphale felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, and he turned his head so the others wouldn’t see the tears that blinded him.  How could he have forgotten?  How could he have thought he could trust himself to know right from wrong?

“What have you been up to?” the Northern angel’s voice sliced through his resurrected vulnerability, “Your hair… your robe…”

Aziraphale looked quickly down, relieved beyond measure to see that his corporation had reverted to its original, effortless form, but his clothing was covered in dirt and grass stains, and a trembling hand revealed that his hair was a tangled mess.

“Um…”  He willed his voice not to shake, “Darn silly sheep.”  He stretched his mouth into what he hoped looked like annoyance, “The little one got caught in the crevice again…” his voice drifted silent as he realized all three of the angels had lost interest already.

With a sigh of relief, he watched each of them take off, turning back to their own gates, and he followed suit, his heart pounding.

When he reached the Eastern gate, he did something he hadn’t done before.  He flew down to the rough sand of the world outside.  Settling down in the cold shadow of the wall of Eden, he pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around them, then cocooned himself in his wings for good measure, and let the tears fall. 

He cried out of anger at himself for being the way he was.  He cried out of shame, for still wanting the pleasure he’d awakened within himself.  He cried from a deep, dark ache, the breaking of a heart that would never relive the unfettered joy it had only just discovered.          

Chapter Text

The fourth time Aziraphale’s deviance threatened to give him away, was when he happened upon the Metatron berating Adam and Eve’s newfound fashion choices. 

It had been such a lovely morning, up until then.  He’d had a nice paddle in the pool beneath the smaller waterfall, and, having discovered that there were many much more satisfying things to ingest than air around the garden, he had been nibbling happily on a succulent pear. 

The first booming waves of the Metatron’s voice startled him so completely that he dropped the fruit core guiltily, trying to wipe the sticky juice from his face and hands at the same time and only managing to smear it further across his cheeks and up his arms.  In a rising panic, he looked around for the source of the voice, and only after blurting out a hurried, “Yes Lord?” did he realize that the Almighty’s representative wasn’t looking for him. 

Puzzled, he hurriedly washed up in the pool before following the disapproving tone of the Metatron’s voice, punctuated by Eve and Adam’s soft but firm responses and found himself looking at a most unexpected sight. 

The humans were standing hand in hand, facing a blazing Metatron who was now speaking with tightly focused anger about the ‘consequences of their actions’.  Adam and Eve had adorned themselves in the most ingenious collection of leaves and vines, and Aziraphale only had a moment to wonder why before he caught on to the situation.  A Serpent, an Apple, the Knowledge…

Aziraphale’s heart sank.  No, they wouldn’t have… why would they?...

But they had.  He could see it in their eyes.  In the defiant way they held their ground despite the fear he could feel radiating from them.  In that moment, they seemed so young, so confused, so betrayed.  They had been created in love, had grown in love, had known only love and beauty, and belonging, and now, because they had chosen to be true to themselves, to pursue a deeper knowledge, to evolve toward their potential…

Aziraphale slammed on the brakes on his train of thought, horrified. 

What was he thinking?  They had sinned against the Almighty.  They had done the one thing she had forbidden them to do.  They had taken all the gifts she gave them and ignored the one thing she’d asked for in return.

He knew which collection of thoughts were supposed to be right.  He knew which ones were supposed to be wrong, and he knew which ones felt true to him. 

He’d hoped that maybe that wrongness inside him would just go away with time, but here was just more proof that he was flawed.  He, like the humans before him, could never go back to the comforting bliss of unknowing, but they, unlike him, had acted on their knowledge.  They had boldly chosen to make themselves known as they really were. 

For the briefest moment, Aziraphale imagined what that would be like and was overwhelmed by the relief that filled him at the idea of not having to stay hidden, of having the freedom to respond naturally without double checking his reactions or responses, but the thought also filled him with dread, because for all their freedom and integrity and courage, they, not he, were being cast out of Her presence. 

Again. 

Cast out of the only home they’d ever know. 

Again. 

Punished for asking questions and seeking their own truth. 

Again. 

Standing side by side and facing the consequences of their choices together, but still cast out, cast down, cast away. 

Shrinking further and further within himself, Aziraphale wondered where that courage came from.  Where did the ability to believe you could survive exile come from?  How could any being see past the death that was banishment from everything that had gone before, and trust that things could be okay ever again?  He felt that he was failing.  Not only was there something wrong in him, he was also too much of a coward to admit it and claim the truth of who he was.

Aziraphale wrung his hands together as the Metatron faded from sight and Adam and Eve turned to each-other in stunned silence.  He found, in that moment, that he disliked being a coward slightly more than he feared being un-angelic, and without pausing to think, he walked out of the underbrush, calling his flaming sword to hand as he approached the humans. 

They turned to him, expressions wary, and he was deeply shaken to see that the Almighty’s response to their self-discovery had stolen their innocence.

Knowing it wasn’t enough, and also that it wasn’t anything a good angel should want so badly to do, he thrust the sword self-consciously toward them. 

“Here you go.”

The humans backed up a step, each spreading a protective hand over Eve’s swollen belly in a gesture that raised tears to the angel’s eyes.  Their love for each-other, for their unborn offspring, held a fierceness that seemed to challenge a world where creators turned their back on their creations.  Looking into Adam and Eve’s eyes, Aziraphale glimpsed a new world where children could be loved as they were, not abandoned and cast out.  In that moment Aziraphale saw the humans’ potential to create a better world, a world of acceptance, and tolerance, and unconditional love.  Wouldn’t the Almighty want that?  And therefore, wouldn’t she also want them to have a fighting chance? 

Swallowing, Aziraphale gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but it felt more like a conflicted grimace.  Gingerly, he angled the handle of the sword toward them as far as he could without catching himself on fire with the pointy end. “Flaming sword,” he clarified.

Adam reached hesitantly out, accepting his gift, and Aziraphale felt a little better and also, worse.

“Don’t thank me.” He said quickly, and then, feeling that he should make a better show of upholding the party line, added, “And don’t let the sun go down on you here.”

With one last, quizzical look, Adam and Eve turned and stepped together out into the wasteland of their future.

Aziraphale twisted his hands in front of him, wracked with guilt and doubt and from deep down, just a tiny, tiny bit of satisfaction. 

Chapter Text

The demon was a surprise.  Aziraphale had figured that the “serpent” had to have been one (a demon that is), but had also assumed that it would have made a hasty retreat back to hell once it had caused its mischief.

Realizing he was now standing within wingspan of a rapidly shape-changing demon, was something he wasn’t sure he could handle in his current state of turmoil.  On the other hand, he didn’t want to appear rude, so, when the creature with the stunning eyes and brilliant hair struck up a mystifyingly pleasant conversation, he felt compelled to respond.  In fact, he was surprised to discover that the confusion of conversing with a demon about recent events turned out to be a welcome distraction from his thoughts and from the life and death scene playing out before them in the desert.  That was how he found himself in the awkward situation of having told a demon he’d just met the secret he’d been planning on keeping from the Almighty herself. 

“I gave it away!” he repeated with all the defensiveness he could muster, and then, as if the admission had opened floodgates inside him, found himself explaining the whole thing, even looking for validation as if he’d forgotten that he was conversing with the enemy. “I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing”.

“Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

Aziraphale’s anxiety twitched, stumbled over its own feet, and fell flat on its face. 

The demon… Crawley?... was right.  He was an angel.  He was one of the shining host.  The Almighty had made him, had kept him.  Despite his secret doubts, despite whatever it was that was wrong with him, he was still an angel.  If the Almighty didn’t make mistakes, wouldn’t the thoughts and feelings he was having be part of her divine plan?  Her ineffable plan, even? 

“Oh, thank you!” Aziraphale blurted out gratefully from the bottom of his heart. “It’s been bothering me”.  

The moment of relief was very nice, but by the time Aziraphale closed his mouth it had already faded, shouldered out by the next invasive thought.  What if it was all a test?  To have that wrong thing inside you, but not act on it.  Like his own personal apple tree, meant to be left untouched and ignored.  Which would mean that giving away the sword had been bad after all… that he was only still an angel if he stayed strong in his resolve to ignore his corrupt instincts…

“I’ve been worrying too.” The demon had also become pensive, his gaze turning to the humans, “What if I did the right thing with the whole eat the apple… ?”

The demon kept talking, and Aziraphale, against all odds, and despite the dark cloud of anxiety filling him, found himself laughing along with a joke that he belatedly realized wasn’t funny at all.  For the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t feel a tightness in his chest when he breathed.  His shoulders had begun to relax, and for the briefest of moments, he felt like he wasn’t hiding anything.

Unease folded back over him as he realized he had never experienced the kind of kinship, or comraderie, or happiness, that he felt in Crawley’s presence.  He’d spent his entire existence feeling like he was stuck in a land where he didn’t speak the language, and now found himself understood before he even opened his mouth.  It felt breathtaking and incredibly dangerous.

When the rain started, and Crawley moved hopefully toward him, he spread his wing out over his new friend without thinking, and the gratitude in the demon’s shy sidewise glance warmed him from his heart to the tips of his everything.                      

That was the fifth time Aziraphale acknowledged that he was different, and the first time that he wondered if that might be okay, which scared him even more.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale put a trembling hand to his chest.  His breath was coming in short wheezing rushes, and his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would shatter his entire being. 

“You lied to the Almighty.”

He propped unsteady hands on equally uncooperative knees and bowed his head.  Were corporations supposed to feel woozy like this?

He’d straight-up lied to the Almighty about the flaming sword, and the response had been deafening, if silence could be deafening.  He could now attest that, yes, it could.

He had no idea why he’d lied.  He’d just opened his mouth, and the lie had come out.  Well, actually he did know why he’d lied.  He was afraid, afraid of being found out, of being cast out.  It was really the how he’d lied that was still a mystery. 

“Of all the stupid…” He had no idea what was going to happen now.  There was a ringing in his ears.  Was he Falling?  This was probably what Falling felt like.

He stumbled. “Oh dear,” he thought hazily.  “Maybe Crawley will catch me.”  And that was his last coherent thought before he performed a very graceful swoon, and promptly fainted.

Chapter Text

That was where Crawley found him, not too much later and, while both puzzled and relieved to see that no Fall had occurred, the demon found that he couldn’t just leave the unusually kind angel so exposed to the elements.  Settling down in the hot sand, he spread a wing out to shield Aziraphale from the glaring sun, and wondered how long he should wait, after the angel woke up, to tell him that he was madly in love with him. 

By the time said angel did wake up, the demon had talked himself out of ever saying anything that might lead to the kind of horrendously embarrassing scenes he had been picturing through the long hours he sat watch over Aziraphale. 

He had his reputation to consider after all: Great Tempter, Serpent of the Garden, and all that.  Plus, demons were unlovable, so why put either one of them through that kind of drama? 

Which was why, when the angel began to show signs of waking, Crawley slithered away into the lengthening shadows, leaving only a small indentation in the sand where he’d sat vigil and one smokey feather dropped unknowing in the sand by the angel’s head. 

Chapter Text

He had not fallen. 

The black feather in the sand had given him a brief moment of panic that had him spreading his wings and craning his neck to make sure they weren’t starting to Turn.  The lingering scent of apples and a smokey musk had sparked the understanding that Crawley must have passed that way, recently, which brought him back to the point at hand.  He hadn’t fallen, and he had absolutely no idea why not. 

He did, currently, have several theories. 

1: The Almighty really didn’t know that he had lied about the sword.  (This theory gave him the most hope but seemed absurdly unlikely.)

2: The Almighty had a special plan and needed him to carry it out.  (Which seemed slightly less unlikely than the first, but leaned heavily toward Pride.)

3: Giving the sword to the humans and lying to Her about it, was already part of Her plan and She’d already known it would happen before he did, so it wasn’t really wrong of him to want to do it because it was what She’d meant for him to do all along. (It turned out this was an even more comforting thought than idea #1, but took so much mental work to retrace each time he revisited it, he worried he was just talking himself into what he wanted to be true.)

4: The Almighty knew that he would do anything to make up for his mistakes. (Which was uncomfortably true).

… Or…

5: The Almighty was just biding her time, waiting to see if he would slip up again. 

That last theory was the most unpleasant and also the most prevalent in his mind as time went by. 

Every time Aziraphale questioned, every time an original thought came to him unbidden, every stolen pleasure, every tiny unguarded moment, would send a jolt of panic through him.  He would freeze, waiting to be struck down, knowing that this time would be the time.  This thing, this thought, this action, this feeling, would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.  He learned to doubt himself at every turn, to overthink every decision, to double check any action he might take, afflicted with a constant fear of being unmasked for all to see. 

In an attempt to reduce the kind of physical responses that would draw the Almighty’s attention, he tended toward fashions that used multiple layers of clothing, so that the sensations of the world couldn’t reach his skin. 

Likewise, he gave up on sleep, having found that when his subconscious took the reins, his rigid self-control had no jurisdiction.  More than once, he found himself waking from dreams of joining the currents of pleasure flowing through creation, only to find his shameless corporation trying to fulfill his desire.  Each time, the feelings of humiliation and loss redoubled, as did his pledge to himself, and to the Almighty, to forgo such base instincts.  He took to spending the nights when the humans slept in each-others’ arms, watching the stars, or studying whatever tablets, manuscripts or forms of writing were the current trend, carefully focusing his energy cerebrally, to remove himself from physical temptation.         

It would have seemed that the more time passed, the safer he would feel, but in fact, the opposite was true.  The longer he lasted without retaliation from heaven, the more rules he tentatively bent, the more times he almost trusted his instincts, the more scared he grew of discovery.

The demon was no help.  It seemed like every single time they met, he managed to tap straight in to what Aziraphale was really thinking, how he was really feeling and whatever doubts he had about heaven’s latest plan, or any of their plans in general. 

At first, Aziraphale thought it was a ploy, to expose him, to turn him, to show him up for the liar he was.  Over time though, Aziraphale began to see that the demon, Crawley (no it was Crowley, now) didn’t seem at all interested in turning him in, or seeing him fail or anything nefarious at all. 

In fact, the only benefit he seemed to be getting from their meetings was the same one Aziraphale felt every time he appeared unexpectedly, circling and pinning him with those rather attractive amber eyes: a deep, surprising relief, like taking off a pair of uncomfortable sandals at the end of a long day or climbing down off one of those blasted horses after a long ride. 

Crowley didn’t sneer when Aziraphale dripped honey on his shirt, or scoff when Aziraphale talked to animals, or get annoyed when Aziraphale wanted to wait to go inside until all the stars had appeared above them.  

He did challenge Aziraphale’s attempts to support heaven’s plans, especially when they didn’t make any sense or were downright cruel.  He called out hypocrisy at every turn, and had a very dirty mouth. 

But Aziraphale found himself looking forward to those meetings, craving, needing the space Crowley inexplicably offered him to be himself without fear of discovery, judgment, or ramifications. 

It was during one of these not-so-random meetings, that Aziraphale realized he was in more trouble than he’d thought.

They sat under an enormous oak tree, watching the sun set over the village below, Crowley half sprawled in the grass while Aziraphale sat leaning against the tree’s wide trunk, ankles crossed.  They’d polished off four bottles of the locals’ finest elderflower cordial, and Aziraphale had eaten an entire basket of fresh strawberries as they heatedly debated the religious politics of the day, eventually, unavoidably, coming around to accepting that they did, in fact, agree on all of the relevant points. 

There, in a moment of companionable, satisfied silence, full of permission to be himself, to not have all the answers, to have flaws, to be… free, it struck Aziraphale what being with Crowley felt like.  It felt like home in a way heaven never had, in a way the Earth alone never quite had, either.  With a feeling that was both giddy, and dread-filled, he knew deep down that of all the things he worried about giving away, this was the one thing that would definitely mean his downfall.  There wasn’t any version of the Almighty’s reality in which being in love with a demon would be forgiven.       

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After that, things got even more complicated in Aziraphale’s head, and… well, not just his head. 

Every time he and Crowley met, every time they spent time together, he became more and more self-conscious about the feelings he was having.  A simple brush of the fingertips, a reassuring pat on the shoulder, even just a meeting of gazes, would leave him blushing, stuttering and grasping for reasons to turn both their attentions elsewhere immediately.  He was so afraid the demon would be able to read his mind and see how, in his most unguarded moments, he imagined…

Well, what was it he imagined? 

Doing things with Crowley, mostly.  He really liked doing things with him.

Sometimes when he was sitting alone reading, or making tea, or traveling somewhere to perform a miracle, he would find himself wishing he could share the experience with the demon or talk to him about what he was seeing or thinking and hear what the demon thought about it.  He found that he enjoyed the experience of doing things, or not doing things for that matter, infinitely more when he was in the demon’s company.  If that wasn’t enough, there was the matter of his corporation. 

He had mostly gotten a handle on the day-to-day sensations his body experienced, able to bring himself back under control, even when surprised by intense feelings.  The deeper pleasure of fulfilling his body’s yearnings for transcendent ecstasy were, by now, a dull, tarnished memory, but inadvertent contact with the demon was a whole other thing.  Like the difference between a touch of static electricity and a desert sky full of lightening. 

The levels of physical pleasure he experienced from merely seeing the demon across a room were like nothing else in this world or the other: the quickening pulse, the flush, the giddy fire that spread from his chest to his extremities as, paradoxically, he stopped being able to feel his feet, hands, and ears.  He couldn’t stop his face from bursting into smiles whenever the demon showed up, and although he always managed to get himself quickly under control, it made him feel foolish and un-angelic. 

Every time Crowley turned those serpentine eyes his way, he felt another piece of him melt, and little things like the way the sun lit up a stray lock of hair or caught the angle of his jaw, filled Aziraphale with a painful level of yearning, for what, he couldn’t articulate. 

All he knew was that when Crowley appeared on the scene, wearing his slightly skewed version of the fashion of the day, looking more dashing and dangerous than any other person on the street, and paced a measured circle around him, Aziraphale would be left feeling as dizzy as one of the damsels in the romance novels of ancient Greece (which he had once glanced at in an attempt to understand the humans he served, and definitely had not kept a secret stash of… for history’s sake, of course). 

If he was being honest with himself, Aziraphale knew he was completely smitten, but he did his best to keep it to himself and so far, thank goodness, Crowley didn’t seem to suspect a thing. 

After all, they were adversaries.  They were an angel and a demon, just two agents of opposing factions creating a mutually beneficial working relationship.  Below the official line, Aziraphale was afraid that if Crowley knew how he felt, it would ruin everything.  It would make the demon uncomfortable, push him away because there wasn’t any way Crowley would feel the same.  Not for an angel like him, who was flawed.    

As hard as it was to smile and chat and sit primly on the other side of the bench, it would have been harder to be left alone in the world without Crowley.

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Aziraphale fought the urge to turn and see if Crowley was still there as he strode away across the squishy field.   Well, stumble-clanked away was more like it.  He muttered to himself as he struggled to make his movements look purposeful and indignant.  His squire hurried quietly after him with the obedient horse, too polite to draw attention to the fact that he was both incredibly clumsy and talking to himself. 

He was appalled.  Not because Crowley had suggested that they both just stop doing their jobs, go home, and lie to their superiors about it, but because he had been sorely tempted to do just that since he’d first set foot in Camelot.  Hearing the demon voice those thoughts so openly had made him very uncomfortable, to say the least. 

The whole situation had been falling down around his ears since day one.  Babysitting a bunch of narcissistic, petty knights was not his idea of doing the Almighty’s work.  He knew he shouldn’t judge the great plan, but no matter how long he modeled patience, selflessness, kindness, and reverence for all life to these humans, they just weren’t picking up what he was laying down.  Knowing now that Crowley had been working against him the whole time, really just made him want to pack his bags and disappear to a quiet island where he could read his scrolls and eat coconuts all day in the sun. 

“If everything I’m doing isn’t making any difference, why do it?”  He muttered gloomily, trying to shrug himself some room underneath the layers of damp fur, metal and wool that pressed in against his skin. 

Actually, that was a really good question.  If what he was doing for Heaven, and what that blessed demon was doing for Hell weren’t making a difference either way, shouldn’t he try something new?  Maybe he should try something that would make a difference.

Both of them doing nothing would just produce the same results as all the hard work they had been doing: a draw and with nothing to show for it on either side.  Maybe there was something he could do that hadn’t been tried yet.

Encouraged by what seemed to be a more angelic motivation than laziness, Aziraphale pondered the problem the whole uncomfortable ride back to the castle and was still thinking about it when he retired to his drafty rooms that night after another fruitless evening of angelic influencing, hand holding and ego stroking. 

Doing no work at all still seemed like a bad idea, tempting, and therefore bad.  So, what about the opposite?  If he worked harder, he could get twice as much done as Crowley and, that way, get ahead of the game.

It didn’t work.  Crowley seemed to have come to the same realization at the same time, redoubling his efforts as Aziraphale did, and they very quickly found themselves right back where they had started, only more tired, discouraged and grumpy. 

A fortnight after their meeting in the mushy field, they met at a wayside tavern, minus the ridiculous armor, and settled in for a drink as the humans in the vicinity went an evening without angelic or demonic intervention.

They drank in silence for a time as travelers arrived, ate, took to their rooms or left.  As Aziraphale’s brain became fuzzy, he found himself staring disconsolately into his bottomless mug of blackberry-wine-that-had-started-the-evening-as-ale.

Across from him, Crowley raised his cup.

“Well, here’s to us.  Did our best didn’t we?  Or worst, I should say, in my case at least.”

Aziraphale looked across at the demon, lounging against the edge of the fireplace, the weary slump of his shoulders not even enough to erase the hint of mischief in his amber eyes. 

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it came out anyway.  He set his cup down with, he was proud to see, only the slightest wobble.  “I mean… it doesn’t upset you that I, you know, cancel out all your efforts?”

Crowley took a long swig of ale-that-hadn’t-been-turned-into-anything-else and shook his head, “Naaaah.”

“No?” Aziraphale prompted, surprised. 

“I mean, it’s all good fun isn’t it?” Crowley continued, stretching his graceful body with a yawn, and Aziraphale tried very hard to concentrate on what they were talking about and not the warmth rising through him. 

Oblivious of the picture he made in the languid firelight, hands clasped behind his head, feet stretched out on the bench, the demon continued, “You thwarting me, me thwarting you.  Not really about what the humans do, is it?  Just about us keeping each-other in check.”

Aziraphale felt himself puff up a little. “You mean to say, you think we’re just here to… to… balance each-other out?”  The idea started out insulting, but by the time it had made its way to the back of his brain to be filed away, it had started to feel like more of a relief. 

“In the grand scheme of things, yeah” Crowley turned the mug in his hands, his gaze focusing on Aziraphale in that way that made the angel feel like the demon could see more than he should be able to.  “Listen, the humans are going to do what they want whether you or I influence them one way or another.  Seems to me like you and me… well, we’re just a part of the show.”

“Show?” Aziraphale asked, taken aback, and starting to feel like he wasn’t keeping up.  Why did the demon always talk so much faster when they’d been drinking?

“The grand show, the Ineffable joke, whatever you want to call it.”

Aziraphale spluttered “The Almighty’s plans aren’t a joke!!!”

“You don’t think so?” Crowley asked thoughtfully, almost wistfully, and Aziraphale’s indignation softened. 

“I mean, my dear boy,” Aziraphale tried to gather some angelic composure through the soft haze of excellent wine.  “Everything happens for a reason.  She,” he indicated surreptitiously upward so as not to draw her attention, “knows what she’s doing…” He paused, contemplating the history of the world he’d witnessed so far, “…I, I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.  I mean, she’s the Almighty for heaven’s sake!”     

“Hmmm.” Crowley took another long swig from his mug, and Aziraphale, watching the firelight play across his bright hair, let out a sigh.

“Right.” Crowley leaned forward suddenly, and Aziraphale nearly tipped off his stool. “Here’s what I think…”

Aziraphale focused carefully on the demon, trying to ignore the enticing scent of autumn and orchards that encircled him. 

“What I think is…” Crowley put up a hand, “Throat’s dry.”  He took a long swallow of ale, and Aziraphale automatically fortified himself as well. “Okay.  What I think is that instead of putting all that work into thwarting each-other, what if we just agreed to keep the balance?  You know.  Together.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Together?”

“Yeah, you know, like a… a truce”

Aziraphale considered that. “But… I mean… how?”

“Well, we agree not to do more than the other one… you know.  Like a promise.”

“But,” Aziraphale spluttered. “But you’re a demon.  How do I know you’ll keep a promise?”

Crowley didn’t look hurt.  Well, he didn’t look too hurt.  Well, actually, he looked very hurt but only on the inside. 

Aziraphale struggled to think of something nice to say. “Because, you know, you’re so… bad”

Crowley inclined his head, saluting with his cup again. “Thanks Angel.”

“Don’t mention it,” Aziraphale said, relieved by the little quirk on Crowley’s lips.  “Okay, so we agree not to outperform each other, and then what?”

Crowley looked a little confused.  “What do you mean, then what?  We, well… we do our jobs.  Me with the temptings, you with the blessings.  We just… don’t do more than each other.”

“’Kay,” Aziraphale agreed, that sounded fair.  “But how do we know how much to… you know… bless or tempt?”

Crowley thought about it. “Don’t know.  Seems like won’t be too hard keeping an eye on each-other, yeah?  Heaven and Hell keep basically sending us to interfere with the same places… people…people in the same places.”

Aziraphale laughed a little giddily, and in the years to come blamed what came out of his mouth next on the ale/wine. “Be much easier if we just took turns”

“What?” Crowley asked

“You know…” Aziraphale felt himself mentally rolling downhill and didn’t know how to stop. “They send us both to the same place, me to bless a baby, you to tempt some…”

“Maiden to create another baby?” Crowley supplied helpfully.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale blushed.  “Well, I mean, what if just one of us went and took care of both?”

Crowley joined him in a long moment of silence. 

“Why not?” Crowley asked finally.

Aziraphale who had been trying to figure out if he’d actually said what he thought he’d just said, felt his ears go pink.  “It was a joke?” he protested lamely.

“No, no, it’s good!” Crowley wobbled himself onto his feet.  “An arrangement.  You, me, working together to fulfill our assignments.  Heaven and Hell stay happy.  We make sure neither one of us does more than the other ‘cause we’ll both be… balancing ourselves out. It’s perfect!”

Aziraphale tried to stand but his legs had a different idea, and he gave up after a second, landing heavily back on his bench. “Hang on now, I don’t know how to… do a tempting, anymore than you know how to perform a blessing”

Crowley looked at him oddly for a moment. “I was an angel once”

Aziraphale frowned down at his cup, knowing he’d hurt Crowley’s feelings again.

“So,” he tried a smile, “you can handle the blessings…” He took a healthy swallow of wine, feeling the warmth roll down his throat, and when he looked up, he was surprised to feel tears in his eyes, “I’m sorry Crowley, I’m sure you could handle the blessings.  The real problem is…” He was surprised at how safe he felt jumping off the precipice. “Well… I’m afraid that I like the idea of trying my hand at a temptation.”  There, he’d said it.  Now, Crowley knew that there was something wrong with him.  That he wasn’t a proper angel.

Crowley laughed, “Of course you do!”  He reached over and gave Aziraphale a hearty slap on the back that sent all kinds of waves of confusion through his corporation as he fought to stay upright. “You’ll turn out temptations so harmless they’ll end up being blessings in the end.  Stop me from really messing things up.  ‘Course, I can’t promise my blessings will be entirely… angelic.”  He grinned, flopping back down on his bench.

Aziraphale let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.  He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed that Crowley hadn’t understood what he meant, but both his secret and his burden were still intact.

He pulled a jovial smile out from somewhere deep inside. “It’s a deal.”  He offered his hand, and Crowley took it, his slim, long fingers squeezing Aziraphale’s hand, palm to palm. 

Aziraphale stopped counting how many times he’d been forced to face the fact that he wasn’t the kind of angel he was supposed to be.  

Chapter Text

“Angel?”

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale carefully kept his attention on the texture of the breadcrumbs between his fingertips, the sounds of the ducks as they scrabbled around his shoes.  He definitely did not focus on the warm rush of happiness that filled him every time Crowley called him ‘Angel’.  He definitely didn’t imagine that there was an implied ‘my’ before the word.  Wait, what was Crowley saying?

“… We have a lot in common, you and me.”

Aziraphale froze, wondering frantically how Crowley had found out that he was a bad angel who should have fallen with the rest of them.  He did what he always did when feeling on the verge of being found out:  shutter the windows and pretended no-one was at home.

“We may have both started out as angels, but YOU are fallen.” He winced inside.  That was unkind.

Crowley didn’t seem to take it personally this time, didn’t even take the bait to feign indignation.  Merely frowned distractedly behind his dark glasses, muttering something vague about sauntering, then his voice deepened, lowered.    

“I need a favor.”

Aziraphale wondered what it would be this time.  Tempting some fool to do something they would have done anyway?  Balancing out one of Crowley’s more diabolical assignments with a touch of angelic thwarting?  If he was being honest with himself, he hoped it was the later.  Not for any selfish wish to spend more time with the demon, of course, but because directly thwarting evil as it occurred was very rewarding work.  

Not wanting to appear too eager, Aziraphale kept his focus on his crumb-throwing technique. 

“We already have the agreement, Crowley. We stay out of each other’s way, lend a hand when needed…”

The breadcrumbs were almost gone, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he was going to distract himself from Crowley’s proximity after they ran out.

“This is something else.  For if it all goes pear-shaped.”

Aziraphale had a momentary flash-back to that fateful day in the garden. “I like pears,” he sighed with all the longing of an angel who hadn’t managed to eat another since that day without being filled with overwhelming guilt and a heart-sick sense of loss.  He’d never been able to fully shake the feeling that if he’d been paying more attention to his job, and not indulging in the pleasures of the garden, a certain serpent wouldn’t have been able to slither his way into Eve’s inner circle, and life in Eden could have gone on indefinitely.  

Crowley didn’t seem to notice any of what was going on in his head.  And that alone should have warned Aziraphale that something was up.  The demon always noticed everything and took every opportunity to get off the subject, but today he was making a beeline toward something Aziraphale couldn’t see.

 “If it all goes wrong.  I want insurance.”

Aziraphale shook the last of the breadcrumbs out of his hat, stalling for time.  Crowley was acting really strangely, and he didn’t think he liked where this conversation was going, but when the demon paused, indecision filling his tense posture, Aziraphale relented.

“…What?”

In an oddly furtive gesture, Crowley slipped him a scrap of paper, and Aziraphale almost giggled, feeling like a schoolboy who had been handed a secret note during class.  “I wrote it down.  Walls have ears.  Not walls.  Trees…”

Aziraphale only had a hazy impression of whatever else Crowley said (something absurd about ducks) because written on the tiny square of paper resting in his hand were two words.  Those two words froze his heart and sent such a flood of panic through him that he forgot to breathe for much longer than should have been possible. 

Why?  Why would Crowley ask this of him, and how could he think Aziraphale would do it?  Images, horrible images, crowded out his thoughts and ran on loops like a broken movie projector.  Death, obliteration, a world without Crowley.  Death, obliteration, a universe without Crowley.  Death, obliteration, an eternity without Crowley.

“Out of the question,” he blurted out, managing to sound angry instead of devastated. 

Through the years, as Aziraphale tried to understand what had happened that day in St James Park, he kept coming back to that as the moment the whole interaction went off the rails. 

Perhaps, if he’d allowed Crowley to see how he truly felt about the request…  His anger was really the fear of losing the only friend he’d ever had and the pain of realizing that, while Crowley made this world a place Aziraphale would do anything to stay in, Crowley, it turned out, preferred utter oblivion to the continued company of a defective angel.

Up until that moment, Aziraphale had held out the glimmer of a hope that Crowley might possibly feel even a hint of the sense of belonging he felt when they were together, but that hope had been snuffed out by two words scribbled hastily on a scrap of paper.

The rest of the conversation was a blur of suppressed words and emotion.  He remembered throwing the note into the pond like that could drown the request.  He remembered storming off like some absurd character in a pantomime, and he remembered sitting on the floor of the bookshop, pressed into a corner between two shelves, holding an untouched mug of hot chocolate between his hands as he wept. 

But most of all he remembered, with alarming clarity, the intensity of Crowley’s entire being as he repeated the word “Fraternizing”.  Try as he might, Aziraphale couldn’t understand why a demon with a death wish, who had summed up his lack of regard for the companion who had been with him since the beginning of time by asking him to break heavenly rules and risk discovery, to be the instrument of his complete and utter demise, would have a problem with a term that suggested they’d just been wasting each-other’s time for the last five thousand, eight hundred and fifty eight years.  Not that Aziraphale had been counting. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was surprised and secretly relieved when Crowley came to call at the bookshop the very next day, but unprepared to face him, Aziraphale had hidden in the back room pretending to be very busy with his accounts, and eventually, the knocking and calls of, “Come on, I know you’re in there Angel!” had died away. 

Aziraphale could hold a grudge until the cows came home, and he wasn’t ready to forgive Crowley for his deadly request, or for the comment about all the other people he had in his life, or for saying that he didn’t need him.  All this was just made worse by the fact that, for all his fiery retorts, Aziraphale really had nobody other than the demon to talk to. 

As the days went by, he felt more and more foolish hiding behind his books as red lettered calling cards slipped sinuously beneath his front door and Crowley’s penetrating voice rang persistently through the neighborhood.  Aziraphale had, in fact, made up his mind to relent and let the daft fellow in, if only to spare himself the shame of the neighbors’ gossip, when the daily tapping ceased.  Aziraphale huffed around the bookshop one very long, dreadfully quiet day before shrugging into his coat, pressing his top hat firmly down on his head and stepping resolutely out. 

Unfortunately, when he reached Crowley’s townhouse, there was a big ‘Gone to the Country’ sign on his front door, and loud snoring was coming from the upstairs chambers.  He knew all about Crowley’s naps.  They could last for weeks, months, years, even centuries. 

Aziraphale pouted and moped and felt sorry for himself.  He ate quite a lot of cake and even had some of the newfangled “chocolate bars” sent around, although he found he still preferred the drink.  He organized the books in his shop and then reorganized them again: by author, by subject, by date, by size, and then by color.

When he realized he hadn’t had a breath of fresh air or spoken to another living soul in a couple weeks, he told himself quite sternly that it was time to buck up.  He was an independent angel who definitely didn’t need a demon around to know what to do with himself, thank you very much.  Work was less rewarding was all, without the accustomed element of grappling with his archenemy.  He definitely didn’t miss performing the odd temptation, naughty enough to pass with hell but gentle enough to cause no real harm.  He most definitely didn’t miss watching the demon’s secret satisfaction with doing a mischievous but, at its heart, beautiful blessing.  He certainly didn’t find himself looking sadly at a delectable meal because he’d realized there was no-one to share it with or take up the habit of talking out loud to himself about the latest book he’d read or what had happened that day.

He began turning his attention to things that could get him out of the bookshop, and it wasn’t long before he ran across an advert for magic lessons which sounded like just the kind of thing to occupy him.  He was quite pleased with himself when the instructor explained about misdirection, distracting your audience from what was really going on by putting their attention elsewhere.  It certainly seemed a fitting exercise for his circumstances. 

The only problem was that he was quite clumsy at it. He tried not to take this as a metaphor for his current attempts to distract himself from a certain sleeping demon and unresolved quarrel.  Also, as he worked on perfecting a trick, he’d keep thinking how impressed Crowley would be when he finally got to show it to him.

Crowley slept on.

One evening, after magic lessons, Aziraphale found himself passing a gentlemen’s club in Portland Place.  It was cold out, and as he passed, a couple of well-dressed gallants were exiting.  Something about the way they stepped through the door together, light and music emanating around them as they fell into step, made Aziraphale wistful.  They looked like they belonged. 

He had never really felt like he belonged, except when he was with Crowley.

He glanced guiltily heavenward.  It was so much harder to believe in himself without the demon’s encouragement, and in his absence, Aziraphale’s earlier, guilt-ridden training stalked closer, taking advantage of his insecurity.

“You are an independent angel.” He repeated his mantra softly, shaking his head to clear it and, tipping his hat to the lads, found his way through the door.

It took a ridiculous amount of human currency to secure a membership, but it was worth it.  As soon as Aziraphale witnessed his first dance class, he knew he was smitten.  He had a feeling that this was just another one of his failings as an angel since he knew that, technically speaking, angels didn’t dance, but the heady joy of training his corporation to stretch and strengthen, to move with the music… It was like a shame-free shadow of the transcendent feelings he’d discovered in his body during the early days of the garden.  A hint of that connection between his entire being and the rest of creation.  It also felt as close to flying as he’d come in his human corporation.  It was exhilarating.  It took his full attention, and he did find that spending time at the club, if it didn’t erase the ache, was a better distraction than magic tricks.

The lads were boisterous and complex.  Some lived dramatic lives, sharing love affairs like candy.  Others were quieter, less sure, but no less colorful and kind.  Creative, bold, innovative thinkers, they were more in touch with themselves than the average human, more self-aware, perhaps more complete but living in a shadow world that weighed on their hearts.  As an angel, Aziraphale had always held the dubious honor of triggering the humans’ urges to confide and confess themselves, sharing things they wouldn’t normally.  He had never been completely comfortable with the situation but found that in this instance, he cherished the experience of being the safe place they brought their burdens to. 

The prejudices of human society, while the cause of troubles Aziraphale found himself working to heal over and over, had always seemed a very human problem, one step removed from his own experience and slightly out of his ability to comprehend.  Societal judgement, as horrific as its power might seem in a moment in time, in the long run, held little sway over the nature of reality.  Despite knowing this, Aziraphale found as he listened to innumerable stories of rejection, abuse, secret lives and struggles with shame and fear, that he couldn’t help seeing the parallels between the community’s self-doubt and his own. 

Except that, he knew there was nothing wrong with their characters, preferences or identities whereas he wasn’t anywhere near that sure about himself.  Identifying differently than the present, fickle human society had decided was ‘proper’ was much more easily explained than the un-angelic flaws he saw within himself.     

He found though that it still felt comforting to assuage the lads’ fears that came from such a similar feeling of being wrong.  Having been through all of human history, he was happy to explain and encourage where he could, citing the many cultures, species and times in which the character of these young people would be accepted as part of the norm or celebrated as a powerful gift.

Aziraphale was gratified when the lads started calling him Auntie, and whenever he felt lonely, he knew he could find pleasant company at the club. 

It wasn’t the same though.  He still missed Crowley. 

Chapter Text

One night, after a vigorous and thoroughly enjoyable dance practice, Aziraphale was pulling on his coat and scarf when a small voice spoke behind him.

“Um… Mr. Fell?”

Aziraphale turned to see young Oliver Thompson, the new boy who had just started coming to the club a month or so ago, nervously clutching his hat and gloves. 

“Yes, my dear fellow?” Aziraphale smiled encouragingly.  On the dance floor the young man shone with graceful confidence, but outside the studio, he was so shy and reticent.  He hadn’t said more than two words to anybody since joining the club.

Oliver cleared his throat, glancing around the quickly emptying entrance hall. “I was, well, I was wondering if perhaps you would take tea with me.”

Aziraphale couldn’t have said no if he’d wanted to.  The stricken, hopeful look in the boy’s eyes, as he glanced quickly up and then back down at his toes, pulled at the ache in his own heart.

“I’d be delighted,” Aziraphale assured him, eliciting a small, relieved smile from the human as he indicated the way to the lounge. 

The place was nearly empty at this hour, so they chose a table, and as Aziraphale could tell that the young man was preoccupied, he deftly ordered for them both before folding his hands in his lap and turning gentle eyes on the lad.

He talked happily about the weather, the club, the dancing.  Coaxing the boy out of his shell until the service arrived, and eventually, between sips of tea and tiny bites of cake, Oliver took a deep breath.  Aziraphale, recognizing the signs of a human preparing to plunge into the subject they needed to talk about, quietly settled in and smiled encouragingly. 

“Mr. Aziraphale, you… I’ve heard the… um… men talking about how you’ve spent some time with Morgan… um, Mr. Richardson?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Morgan?  Oh yes, what a lovely man.  Excellent eye for fashion.  He’s the reason for this decadent suit!” Aziraphale smile quirked frownward. “He also introduced me to absinthe.  Have you tried it?”

“Uh, no… no can’t say I have.” The boy murmured self-consciously.

“Oh, well, you’re lucky then!” Aziraphale winked and watched Oliver start to blush.

The poor child was so nervous; he looked like he was on the point of tears, and Aziraphale sobered. 

“What’s the matter, lad?” he asked gently.

“Are you…” Oliver glanced around and lowered his voice.  “I mean, are the two of you…together?”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize what he was asking.  Together like Adam and Eve.  Together like the humans ‘got’ together.  Carnal pleasure and all that.  It was Aziraphale’s turn to blush.

“Oh, goodness no,” he said quickly. “No, no, we’re not… together.”

Oliver’s relief was quickly drowned in a stricken expression, “I… you… I wasn’t assuming you… I mean… I thought…”

“It’s okay.” Aziraphale laid a steady hand on the boy’s shoulder and could feel that he was shaking.  “You’re safe here.”

Oliver searched his face for confirmation and, relaxing visibly, took a deep breath. “Do you think…” his voice broke a little, “That Mor… Mr Richardson would… I mean… should I ask him…?”

Aziraphale understood what he was trying to get out and saved him the trouble. “Yes.  Oh yes, my dear boy.  Mr. Richardson is also… safe. And,” he made a bit of a show of glancing around then lowered his voice. “From what I’ve heard, he would be very interested in being asked…  by you, that is,” he added just to make sure he was being very clear.

A beautiful smile broke across Oliver’s face and then crumpled into tears as his shoulders began to shake. 

Aziraphale used a small miracle to make their table unnoticeable to the rest of the room, scooted his chair closer, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulders, and made reassuring sounds as he waited for the storm to pass.  The human curled into his chest like a baby animal starved for warmth, and he imagined, as he had so many times through history, that he understood the fierce protectiveness Adam and Eve had shown for their unborn child, back in the garden.  

Where was that world he’d glimpsed the potential for that day?  Where was the world of acceptance, tolerance and unconditional love, the one where children would be loved as they were, not abandoned and cast away?  He felt a kind of despair welling up inside him but fought it off, reasserting the hope he would always carry that human potential would someday be realized.   

Eventually, Oliver’s sobs died down, and with a final pat on the shoulder, Aziraphale offered his pocket handkerchief.  The boy took it with a watery smile, blew his nose and glanced around with slight confusion at the other people in the room and their lack of notice. 

“Can they hear us?”

Aziraphale smiled and shook his head.  It only took a very small miracle for the boy to accept that without question.  His need to talk far outweighed his curiosity.

“I… I’ve always known there was something wrong with me… as far back as I can remember.”

He looked guiltily up at Aziraphale who shook his head emphatically.  “There’s nothing wrong with you, my dear boy.  She made you just the way she meant to.” A tiny voice in his head whispered, “Did she mean to make me like this?  Or is it different with angels?”

Oliver looked puzzled for a moment, “She…?”

Aziraphale waved his hand. “The Almighty.”

Oliver’s brows furrowed.  “If the way I am is the way I’m meant to be, then why did my father disown me?  Why does my mother tell her friends that I died?  Why do we have to hide in the shadows?  If there’s nothing wrong with us, shouldn’t we be free to be ourselves just like everyone else?”    

Behind closed eyes Aziraphale watched the fallen being cast down, watched Adam and Eve being cast out, watched the world flood, Sodom and Gomorrah burn.  Would it ever end?  Would any of them ever be free to be themselves?

“I don’t know,” the angel said truthfully and wished desperately that he did. 

“The more I try to ignore it, the worse it gets.” Oliver spoke quickly, frustrated.  “I can’t stop thinking about him, fantasizing about him,” Oliver emphasized, as if trying to prove his guilt or be sure Aziraphale didn’t absolve him without knowing the true depth of his sin.  “I fantasize about holding him… touching him, about what it would feel like to have him touch me.  To just know that he wants me the way I want him.  You know?”

Aziraphale nodded his head, realizing he rather did, and unsure if he was ready to acknowledge that. 

Aziraphale hadn’t realized his thoughts were so easily read on his face until he saw how completely Oliver’s attention was caught. “Do you… is there someone…for you?” the youth asked eagerly. 

Ready to shift the conversation back to Oliver’s predicament, Aziraphale was surprised to hear himself instead saying, “Well, yes, and no.”

He peered closer at the young man, wondering if he was using some kind of magic of his own, but Oliver just nodded with genuine concern. “Are they… married?” he asked sympathetically.

“No… it’s a very different…” Aziraphale hesitated, flustered.  What had he gotten himself into?  He was supposed to be supporting the human along his path, not the other way around, but there was something so authentic about the young man’s offer of support, that Aziraphale found he didn’t want to reject it.  If he was being honest, he really did want to talk about it.  “You see…” he paused, capturing the child’s gaze. “Are you sure you want to talk about me?”

Oliver nodded emphatically, “Please.”

Aziraphale struggled to put his situation into words that would make sense to a human.  “Well, you see, our families, they don’t exactly get along, and, well, we aren’t really supposed to even be talking to each-other.  And, well, we do.  Talk to each-other.  And spend time together.  And I feel better when I’m with him.  Like I can be myself.  Like he likes me the way I am.  And I like him the way he is.  And, well, I… I’ve been in love with him for a very long time.”

“Ooooohhhh!” Oliver’s dark eyes sparkled with romance.

Aziraphale glanced uneasily toward the ceiling, adding another protective layer around their privacy bubble.

“Does he, does he feel the same way?” Oliver asked hopefully.

“Well, I’ve never actually told him…” Aziraphale paused, his heart contracting painfully. “But I- There was a time when I thought, perhaps, he might… but now… I...”

Oliver looked on the point of tears again but blooming at the chance to be Aziraphale’s confidant.  He nodded encouragingly, offering a hand which Aziraphale took, squeezing it gratefully as he tried to smile reassuringly.  “I suppose, for all my supporting others, I’m not very good at… well… talking about my own…”.  Aziraphale looked down at where their hands rested on the tablecloth, then sheepishly up into the young man’s face. “We had a fight, you see, and I haven’t seen him since.  And.  Well.  I’m afraid I don’t know how to apologize for the things I said.”

Oliver nodded again, releasing Aziraphale’s hands to pour him some more tea.  “Do you want to?”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, accepting the cup with a smile that faded quickly. “Yes.”  Very much.  Very, very much. 

“Well,” Oliver picked up a scone, a shy hint of mischief lighting his eyes. “If you apologize to this ‘friend’ of yours, I’ll ask Morgan for a date.  Is it a deal?”

Aziraphale laughed softly, hesitating, but found he couldn’t say no to the open-hearted support the child offered.  He realized his accepting the human’s help had brought Oliver out of his shell just as much as his angelic guidance had.  Being wanted was important.  But being needed was even more so.       

“Okay,” he heard himself say.  “It’s a deal, my fine fellow”

They shared a smile, a handshake, and they companionably finished their tea, and both went home feeling better than they had in a very long time.

A year later, Aziraphale attended a secret wedding ceremony.  As the grooms kissed, holding each other tight, he felt an overwhelming impatience to be given the chance to uphold his end of the bargain, and he wished, in the most secret part of himself, that Crowley was there to hold his hand.

Chapter Text

Then came that fateful night in the church when Crowley literally danced back into his life, and, standing in the rubble, holding a bag of miraculously intact books, watching the receding back of the demon he loved against all reason, he finally understood why Crowley had been so angry. 

How could he have not seen it before?  How had he not sensed it? 

The demon loved him back. 

Really and truly loved him. 

Every choice, every gesture, every word, every look gave him away, but now that Aziraphale knew, he had absolutely no idea what to do about it.  

Chapter Text

…until he did.

It wasn’t perfect.  It didn’t say everything he wanted to because he didn’t even know himself what all he wanted to say or how to say it, but it was the most radical thing he could think of to do.  If nothing else, he knew the demon definitely appreciated radical.  It was an offering, an apology, an invitation, a gesture of trust.

He changed his mind a dozen times.  He poured out, refilled and thoroughly wiped down the flask at least as many times, burning through a couple clandestine miracles each time to make sure no moisture or hint of holiness remained on the outside.

Several times over the next few months, he almost offered Crowley the flask, and each time he walked away from their rendezvous with the thing still heavy in his pocket or hanging just on the other side of the ethereal plane.

Things were tentative between them.  They were a little more held back than before.  It was as though each of them was waiting for the other to point out the elephant in the room or hoping that the other had forgotten.  Then, one morning, circumstances came together to force his hand.

He was just sitting down to a beautiful stack of bacon and apple fritters when a displacement of air warned him of divine visitation.  His stomach clenched and he lowered his fork, quickly lifting his napkin to his mouth even though he hadn’t had so much as a bite yet.

“Aziraphale.”

He plastered on a welcoming smile before turning to face the archangel.

“Gabriel, always nice to see you.”

Gabriel grunted agreement and swayed slightly, showing off the cut of his new trousers.  “We have news of the demon, Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s stomach sank further.  “News?”

“Apparently he’s planning on robbing a church.”

Aziraphale’s legitimate confusion made him miss a beat, but luckily Gabriel had spotted his reflection in the diner’s mirrored wall and didn’t notice his hesitation.  Aziraphale swallowed, hoping he sounded convincingly in the know. “Oh, yes, that.  Silly prank the way I hear it… it’s… um… absolutely under control.  Nothing to worry about.”

“Hmm,” Gabriel mused, obviously annoyed that he hadn’t managed to catch the other angel shirking at his job.  “Glad to see you’re on top of things… but you should really include something like that in your reports.”

He frowned over Aziraphale’s head at the mirror, twitched a stray hair out of his eyes, then smiled at his reflection in a way Aziraphale had only ever seen the most dedicated lovers look at each other.

Then, his gaze moved back to Aziraphale, and his frown descended. “Save me the trouble.” He gestured as if to encapsulate all the trouble he’d gone through to bring Aziraphale the news.

“Yes, of course…  will do.” Aziraphale nodded vigorously, hoping Gabriel would leave.

Thankfully, he did, and Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to recover from the visitation and also digest the information. It was, in fact, complete news to him, that his nemesis was setting up a church heist.  Now, why, in the Almighty’s name, would he do that?

Aziraphale unconsciously reached for his fork, using a minor miracle to rewarm the items on his plate and took a bite.  He always thought better with something to ground his physical sensations.

If there was something in a church, Crowley would, of course, be wisest to pay someone to get it for him.  As adorable as he’d been, in hindsight, dancing down the aisle to Aziraphale’s rescue, he knew it wasn’t a performance the demon would care to repeat. 

Then, it hit him.  The way Crowley had looked at the font of holy water, musing about how it didn’t have guards.  The fool was hiring thugs to steal him holy water!  Thugs who would have no idea that the tiniest drop would destroy their employer.  Thugs who might use that knowledge against him if they knew…      

Aziraphale stood up abruptly, and leaving his mostly-untouched food and a generous tip, he hurried back to the bookshop, prying up the loose floorboard in the corner and pulling out the flask.  It looked so harmless, so mundane, but the gentle slosh as he stood up felt more ominous than anything ever had.  Gingerly, he set it on the counter, settling into the stool behind, and stared at it as if he could, through sheer force of will, compel it to tell him that it would never, under any circumstances, end up being the cause of a certain precious demon’s demise.

Chapter Text

“What?” Crowley sounded annoyed.  Maybe he’d had a bad day.  Maybe Aziraphale should come back later.

No, no he couldn’t come back another day.  He needed to do this now because there was no way he was going to be able to get up the courage to try this again, and even if he did, it could be too late.

The blood thumped in his ears.  “I live in Soho; I hear things…” he sort-of lied, without really lying.  He did live in Soho, and had also heard things.  “I hear you’re setting up a… caper… to rob a church.”

He realized if Crowley interrupted him, he probably wouldn’t be able to continue, so he dove on, trying one last ditch effort to make the flask that lay heavy against his ribs unnecessary. “Crowley, it’s too dangerous.  Holy water won’t just kill your body, it will destroy you completely.”

Crowley did get a word in, and it almost unraveled his plans. “You told me what you think, a hundred and five years ago”

Aziraphale sucked in air and barreled on. “And I haven’t changed my mind!”  Not about it being too dangerous, or being upset that you might consider leaving me in this world alone, but maybe changed my mind about being angry at you for asking.  “But I can’t let you risk your life.  Even for something dangerous.  So…”

Screwing his courage up as far as he ever had before, he pulled the flask from under his coat.  He was afraid to look Crowley in the eye, afraid of what he might see.  What if he didn’t accept the apology?  Or what if he thought Aziraphale was giving it to him because he didn’t care about his safety after all?

“Don’t go unscrewing the cap.” It was meant as a joke but came out too heartfelt and nervous to be interpreted as anything other than fear.

He couldn’t look.  He couldn’t breathe. 

“After everything you said?” Crowley didn’t sound mad, just surprised and gentle.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Uh…Should I say thank you?” He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Crowley sound so serious, and it helped a little.

“Better not,” he quipped, suddenly afraid that the demon could see all the love he was hiding so badly.

“Well…” Crowley paused significantly.  “Can I drop you anywhere?”

“No.” Aziraphale replied quickly, too quickly as evidenced by the demon’s expression.     

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed.” Aziraphale tried for casual and felt pretty confident that it was working. “Maybe some time we can… I don’t know… Go for a picnic.  Dine at the Ritz…”  That was good.  Very good.  It may have sounded a little specific but nothing that would give away how much or long he spent thinking about all the things he’d like to do with the demon.

Crowley just watched him steadily through those darn sunglasses, and when he spoke, his voice was even softer and full of hope.  “I’ll give you a lift.  Anywhere you want to go.”

That’s when Aziraphale realized what Crowley was offering.  Against all odds, against all his fears, Crowley was offering to be his, to be whatever Aziraphale wanted him to be.  Yes, Aziraphale could now see that Crowley loved him, but there were infinite forms that love could take.  Was Crowley offering to be what Aziraphale wanted for Aziraphale’s sake?  Or was it what he wanted, as well?   

Did it really matter?  Yes.  Yes, it did.  Because it wouldn’t ever be real if this wasn’t also what Crowley wanted for himself.  Aziraphale knew all he had to do was ask, but the thought paralyzed him because hearing Crowley say ‘no’, would break him.  At the same time, he felt desperate to make sure the demon knew that he understood what was being offered.  Understood, and, yes, for his part, wanted.  At some point.  If that’s really where this was going.  For both of them.  Someday.  When he’d had plenty of time to sort out all the feelings and thoughts crowding his brain into panicky numbness.  And talk it all through.  A lot.

So, instead of making a joke or disarming the demon by pretending he didn’t understand, he breathed deeply and shakily into the reality of the moment, and, choosing his words very carefully, he made eye contact and slowly, deliberately said, “You go too fast for me Crowley.”

Chapter Text

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Crowley pounded a hand into the steering wheel. 

He’d taken it slow (very, very slow), and now they had run out of time. 

Fine.  Fine.  He could handle disaster.  He was a demon, after all.  First things first.  Get the baby to the nuns.  Check.  Call Aziraphale, from a disgusting road-side payphone because his brilliant prank with the mobile phone network had come back to bite him in the ass.  Check.  Now, he just had to convince the angel to work with him to thwart heaven and hell and probably the Almighty. 

How in the nine realms was he going to do that?  

No idea, but food would probably be involved, along with copious amounts of alcohol.

If he played this right, they might still have a chance.

Chapter Text

Brother Francis straightened up, gingerly stretching his back as he soaked in the sunshine.  Surrounded by plants, puttering around the gardens all day, Aziraphale could almost believe he was back in Eden. 

The outfit was a nuisance, and he would have preferred to go barefoot, but it was worth it to spend the days with, or at least near, Crowley. 

Influencing the child toward the light was a rewarding job, but Aziraphale found that watching him grow into the unique person he would become was even better.  He’d cared for children before, but never been a constant part of their development over the years, and he found himself fascinated by the process of watching the small (mostly) human’s personality rise to the surface. 

Sharing the experience with Crowley turned out to be one of the best and most baffling things Aziraphale could remember having ever done.  It seemed like a hundred times a day the angel and demon would catch each other’s gaze, sharing the same thought: You told him what?!! Followed by a quick back and forth of That wasn’t me, and I certainly didn’t teach him that, ending in an impressed so he just came up with that on his own?!        

Along with, or perhaps because of the curious company and idyllic setting, Aziraphale had landed on the amazing realization that acknowledging how much joy he felt didn’t actually bring any more guilt than denying it did, and he felt a little appalled that he hadn’t thought to try that before.     

Aziraphale shaded his eyes with one gloved hand that smelled of rosemary and sage, turning until he spotted two figures at the other side of the lawns.  He squinted back up at the sun.  Better see what they were up to.  Maybe he could draw the boy away from his nanny’s influence for an hour or two of wholesome learning.

When Aziraphale drew near his nemesis and their shared charge, he could see and hear that the antichrist was, at that moment, trying to catch a grasshopper.  What he was planning on doing with it once he caught it was anybody’s guess.  Aziraphale could only hope he would talk nicely to it, as he’d taught him, then set if free again, but it was just as likely the hapless creature would end up in somebody’s bed or shoe.

Miss Ashtoreth sat on a blanket, her head tilted back to catch the rays of the afternoon sun, a black lace parasol laying abandoned beside her.  She was watching Warlock with a contemplative expression, and Aziraphale had trouble tearing his eyes away from the easy relaxation that softened her angles.  It was a softness she rarely allowed herself in the form he knew her better in, and it intrigued him.  As if she felt his gaze, Crowley looked up, and Aziraphale raised a hand in a self-conscious wave, quickly turning his attention to their young charge.  The child hopped, rolled, then slid along the ground working grass and dirt stains into his clothing.  He earned a smile from both of them at that, from Aziraphale for valuing his goal more than appearances, and from his nanny for ruining another new pair of slacks.   

“Well, what have we here?” Aziraphale called as he neared the two.  Warlock squealed, running to meet him with a hug that was, in the fashion of five-year-olds, as much a tackle as a show of affection. 

“Easy now,” Aziraphale laughed, steadying the child then releasing him as he ricocheted off in a new direction.

“Brother Francis, I saw a bird today, and it was eating a worm, and Nanny said that was okay.  Daddy was shouting, so we’re having a picnic because Nanny says he needs a grownup time-out.  And worms poop dirt!!!”

“Oh my!” Aziraphale wracked his brain to think of a positive lesson in those randomized observations, but the child had only stopped for breath.  

“Okay.  You can help us catch bugs.  Nanny said in-sects make good snacks, and if I catch one, she’ll fry it up for me.”

Aziraphale shot an appalled look at Crowley who smiled back, unperturbed. 

“I’m going to look over here.  You look over there!” Warlock pointed behind him as he marched purposefully to an unmolested spot of grass.

“You didn’t,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley as he settled down beside her on the blanket.

“I did...” Crowley yawned, returning his horrified look with a lazy grin, “…tell him he could eat an insect if he caught one.”  She made a small flicking motion with her finger, and Warlock made a disappointed noise.

“Uggggg, I almost had that one!”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded understanding, a small smile creeping into his face. “I see.”

“Brother Francis!” Warlock’s petulant voice called out. “You aren’t even trying.  I said you look over there!”

“Oh, I will my dear boy.” Aziraphale nodded.  “Just resting my legs for a minute.”

Warlock hmphed his way back to the blanket and sprawled out on it.  “Me too.”

“You must be getting hungry.” Crowley offered Warlock one of those horrible bright plastic plates Americans insisted on giving their children.  “You barely touched your sandwich.”

“Don’t want a sandwich,” Warlock pouted. “Want bugs.”

“Well, maybe Brother Francis would like your lunch then.” She moved to offer the tooth-marked meal to Aziraphale, and he let his eyes go big.

“Oh boy, can I?”  He grinned, “I’ve been wanting a… half chewed-on sandwich, all day.  What’s it got in it?”

“Worms” said Warlock with a pout.

Aziraphale put a hand to his heart, feigning horror. “Worms?!!!” Warlock giggled a little despite himself.  “But, I heard that worms poop dirt.”

“Not these ones,” Warlock corrected him seriously. “These ones poop cheese.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then.” Aziraphale graciously took the plate from Crowley while Warlock suppressed another giggle.

“Oh, this sure does look like a lovely sandwich” Aziraphale turned the plate this way and that, as if admiring a piece of fine art.  “Are you sure I can have it?”

“Yes!” Warlock shouted, kicking his feet in the random flailing motions of a small person who doesn’t have full control over their limbs yet.

“Well, okay then…” Aziraphale pulled his work gloves off, dusted his hands on his shirt and reached slowly for the food.

“Wait! No!  Don’t eat it!!!” Warlock screeched as if they hadn’t played this game a million times before.

Aziraphale looked up, surprised.  “Why ever not?”

“Because I want it.” Warlock glared at him, putting his hands out for the plate.

Aziraphale looked wistfully at the mangled meal. “Well… I mean if you really want it…”

“I do, I do!”

“Okay, fine.” He made a show of reluctantly handing the plate over to the child, and he and Crowley exchanged a wink.

As the child pulled the insides out of his sandwich, chewing on them with gusto and squeezing the bread into dense balls in his grubby fists, Aziraphale laid a hand on the blanket next to Crowley’s, and she shifted so their little fingers touched.

Five years down, six still to go. 

They exchanged a glance, sharing the same thought.  Was it working?  The boy seemed normal.  He had friends, played with dinosaurs and other plastic toys, tried to get away with things he knew he wasn’t supposed to and spent too much time watching the television.  He also had an affinity for disturbing nursery rhymes, and he could quote the entirety of Winnie the Pooh.  For all his trying to capture hapless bugs for dessert, he had, so far, never hurt a living thing in his life.  That is, unless you counted his hitting phase, which was most definitely a normal step in every child’s development, even for those not raised by and angel and demon.     

“Brother Francis, look!” Warlock shouted, pointing at his hand, and he self-consciously shifted his finger away from Crowley’s.  

“A Bug!” Warlock shouted again, gesticulating with a decimated bread crust.

Aziraphale looked down to see a caterpillar crawling across his hand and brought the critter up for a closer look.

“Can I… have it?” Warlock asked, transfixed.

Aziraphale hesitated a moment, unsure what the outcome would be, but then offered his hand, letting the little thing inch its way onto the boys outstretched fingers.

 Warlock held his entire arm rigidly out, staring in fascination as the caterpillar scrunched its way slowly across his palm. 

“What is it?” he asked, entranced.

“It’s a caterpillar.  One day, it’ll make itself a cocoon and turn into a butterfly.  Isn’t that beautiful?” Aziraphale told him, watching the boy watch the inchworm.

Warlock slowly nodded his head, then his eyes unexpectedly filled with tears, and his lower lip began to quiver.

“Nanny?”

“What is it Hellspawn?” Crowley straightened up like a snake coiling to spring.

“I want it to turn into a butterfly.  I… I don’t want to eat it.” The caterpillar fell off Warlock’s hand and started another arduous journey along a blade of grass.  Warlock looked up at Crowley with what could only be expressed as a cringe.  “Are you mad?”

Crowley’s own eyes widened behind the dark glasses. “Mad?”

“Because you were going to cook me up a bug, and I was going to eat it.  But I changed my mind.  I don’t want to.”

Aziraphale folded his hands and hid a satisfied smile.

“No, dear.” Crowley’s voice was gentle. “I’m not mad at you.  I’m proud of you.”

“Why?” Warlock sniffed, a tear breaking free of each eye and rolling down his cheeks.

“Because you asked questions, and you made your own choice.” She opened her arms in invitation, and Warlock tumbled into them, sniffling.

“Okay.  It’s okay.” She rocked him gently. “I got you.”

As Warlock turned his tear streaked face up to the only real mother he knew, Aziraphale felt a gut -wrenching grief for every child who was afraid they could lose their mother’s love, for everyone who had ever had to chose between living an authentic life and living a safe one.  He mourned the ripple effect, passed down the centuries, that forged an innate fear, even in the smallest child, of being rejected for being themselves. 

In a moment of clarity, he found it not at all strange that it was one of the Fallen who now gave a scared child her unconditional love. 

Crowley and Aziraphale’s eyes met over the child’s head, and the angel wondered if the demon could see his thoughts.  At that moment, he was grappling with the disturbing fact that the Demon Crowley, Great Tempter of Eden, appeared to be a better mother than the Almighty herself. 

Chapter Text

“Wrong boy.”

Aziraphale felt like he’d been hit over the head and wondered how he was still conscious and sitting upright.  His face was sticky with cake residue, and his upper lip was starting to itch from the eyeliner he’d used to draw his magician’s mustachio.

He felt… unimaginably old, and tired, and sick to his stomach.

Nothing was going right.  First his magic show was a flop, and now this! 

Eleven years, gone.  All their hard work, gone.  Their chance to stop Armageddon…  All gone?  Just like that?  Maybe there was still hope.  Perhaps, if they could find the real antichrist… they could…  

Crowley’s words echoed in his frozen brain, “I’m saying you could kill him.”

But he couldn’t.  He knew he couldn’t.  There had to be another way.

Then, he shuddered as another realization dawned.  Warlock wasn’t the antichrist.  If he had been a proper angel, if he had been willing to take one life in exchange for saving everything else… he would now have the blood of an innocent human child on his hands, an innocent human child who they both loved and had raised as their own.  It didn’t matter that they both knew Warlock’s existence would carry on.  It didn’t matter that he knew that Crowley had known he wouldn’t do it, any more than either of them believed the demon was capable of raising a hand to the child. 

He felt suddenly very stupid and out of his depth.  Maybe this was his punishment for thinking he could bend the Ineffable Plan to his wishes.  He should have known better than to think they could change the course of reality or to think that anything they did mattered in the grand scheme of things. 

Heaven hadn’t ever indicated that they knew he and Crowley were working together so, he had likewise assumed that either the Almighty didn’t know either, or She approved and was keeping it to Herself.  Was it possible that She had been laughing at them the whole time?  Was She letting them think they were making a difference, changing the course of history, because She knew in the end, it didn’t matter?  Knew that they didn’t matter?

That awakened a rebellious vein in him, and he felt even more determined.  If the Almighty wanted him doing, or not doing something, why didn’t She just tell him?  Or smite him?  Or respond in any way that would give him a clue toward what She wanted from him?  Why leave him in the dark?       

He looked over at the demon who still stared out the windshield of the Bentley, hands slack on the wheel, and he felt as if they were afloat in an ocean of uncertainty, and the only thing he could rely on was the tiny raft of their common goal. 

Crowley turned his head to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, and he looked as exhausted as Aziraphale felt.

“Wrong boy,” he confirmed.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale hadn’t felt this optimistic in days.  He was pretty sure the pink cake had something to do with that.

Strangely, the more discouraged Crowley became, the more Aziraphale found himself coming up with what seemed like some jolly good ideas.

Visiting the former convent had turned out to be bust, but he felt that his theory was still sound, and he was rather pleased that he was the one who had thought of it.  They knew where the antichrist child had started his journey.  If it hadn’t ended up with the Dowlings, then it had to have ended up somewhere else.  It seemed like two supernatural beings should be able to follow that trail before the end of the world began, and the cake really was very good. 

As he popped another bite into his mouth, dabbing his lips delicately, he couldn’t help feeling a little smug. 

The Almighty couldn’t really want the world to end.  He’d been thinking about it quite a lot lately, as he paced the bookshop, feeling oddly alone after so many years spent with Nanny Ashtoreth and Warlock. 

He loved the world, all of it.  He loved the plants and animals, the stars and waterfalls, fireflies, rivers, music, art, the people with their diverse cultures and traditions, their stories, their food, their books.  For all his doubt, he had to believe that She cared for these things at least as much as he did.  It followed that if he, a mere mal-formed angel, could appreciate the myriad creations here on Earth so deeply, could in fact care so much for them that the thought of ending one human life caused him so much pain, then how much more would the Almighty care for them?  How much harder would it be for the Almighty to end everything? 

He took another bite of cake, savoring the delectable texture against his tongue.  Yes, he felt certain that everything was going to work out just fine.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale realized he was still staring at the telephone and slowly closed his mouth. 

He’d found the Antichrist.  Just like that.  As much as he’d hoped the book would help them with their current situation, he’d never imagined it actually would. 

Now what?  He was certainly unequal to the task of eliminating the boy, and he suspected Crowley was as well.  On top of which, if the demon did find it in him to do the deed, Crowley would have a lot of explaining to do with his people.  It was one thing for an angel to kill the antichrist.  It seemed a pretty reasonable move if said angel wasn’t soft and weak, but for a demon to do so… the jig would be up.  Everyone would know that Crowley was playing for his own team, but…. a thought floated tantalizingly just out of reach, and he closed his eyes, trying to sidle up to it before it disappeared.  Soft.  He was soft.  But the other angels weren’t.  His eyes flew open.  Gabriel, Michael, they wouldn’t hesitate!  Sandalphon.  He shuddered.  Saldalphon would enjoy it.

No, he would request to talk to Gabriel, specifically, but how would he convince him to take out the antichrist?  He wouldn’t care about saving the world, but if he could win the war with one fell stroke, losing none of the heavenly host to the battle.  Would that appeal to him? 

Possibly.  He was going to need a lot of practice on this one.

When it was all over, he would be able to call Crowley and tell him that everything had been taken care of, and they could go back to living their insignificant, beautiful lives. 

Chapter Text

Well, that had failed miserably. 

He’d asked for Gabriel to meet with him, but had arrived to find Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon waiting as well.  He’d taken one look at them all, arrayed before him like judges, and he’d forgotten all his carefully rehearsed speech. 

More than that, as he heard himself babbling uncontrollably, something had told him, in no uncertain terms, not to trust them, and he was sick with knowing that he hadn’t and didn’t.

It didn’t seem to him that there should have to be a war, if it could be prevented, and he didn’t understand their insistence or their casual dismissal.  Their dismissal of him, yes, he understood that.  They had always dismissed him, and fair enough, he knew he wasn’t the smartest, or bravest, or most impressive angel.  But they dismissed the world and all life on it, just as easily.  Almost eagerly. 

He stared morosely into his cup of cocoa and slid farther down into his chair.

So, what now?  Come up with a new plan?  Continue to fight?  Pick his favorite book, bar the windows and wait for the end?

Perhaps this was a test.  The Almighty could be testing him to see if he trusted her.  The scary thing was, he didn’t know if he did.         

He set the cocoa aside, straightened his bowtie and, with a quick glance upward, closed his eyes.

“Um,” he faltered. “God?  Are you there?” 

He didn’t really expect a response.  He always hoped but never expected. 

He listened, waited, but only the comforting silence of the bookshop met his call.  Nevertheless, he continued doggedly.

“I… I know I haven’t been the best of angels.  And maybe haven’t done the best job down here on Earth.  But please don’t punish the humans for my mistakes.  You… you could punish me if you like.  I’m not a proper angel, I have thoughts and feelings I know I shouldn’t.  I… indulge too much in the pleasures of your world, and I love where I’m meant to condemn.  I try so hard not to question you, or speculate about your plans, but sometimes I can’t help myself.  Honestly, I don’t really understand how I’m still here.  But I do know that I love them,” his voice faltered as his breath hitched. “-All of them.  It.  Your creation.  And if you’ve been paying attention, you know how amazing it is too.  And if you put me here for a reason, and I have to believe that you did, then wouldn’t it be so that I could act as a witness, or advocate, or…” Aziraphale squeezed his eyes tight. “Please…. I know your plans are ineffable, and I’m not asking to understand them.  Just please if you can hear me…  Don’t let this happen.”    

Chapter Text

Aziraphale walked.  He’d been walking all night, through every corner of the park and back again.  Finding his way blindly through the shadows, he thought.  He thought about Crowley, and Armageddon.  He thought about life and death, and Crowley.  He thought about choices and Crowley.  He thought about heaven and hell, the great plan, and his ineffable roll in all this… but mostly he thought about Crowley. 

He frowned in frustration.  He felt sure that if he could just concentrate, he’d be able to figure it all out.  The apocalypse, the antichrist child… his fight with Crowley. 

No.  Concentrate!  First avert the impending war and complete annihilation of the world, then sort out whatever it was that had happened in the bandstand. 

As a whole, it was all a blur, but within the whirlwind were a million moments of intense clarity that haunted his steps, replaying over and over.  At the center of the storm, was Crowley offering a way out for them both, together. 

“We’re on our side!”

Yes, yes they were, had been, weren’t anymore.  Aziraphale shook his head, willing the tears to be done and hearing his own voice repeating: “It’s over.”

It couldn’t be over, none of it. 

He couldn’t shake the look on Crowley’s face, or the wounded sound he’d made as he turned his back and walked away.  Aziraphale had wanted to run after him, blurting out everything he was hiding: confessing that he did in fact know exactly where the antichrist was, and could probably find out his shoe size by morning.  He rewrote the scene in his head, telling Crowley that he had a plan and he just had to trust him to take care of things.  He saw himself explaining how he was trying to protect Crowley by keeping him out of it, and admitting that he couldn’t risk losing Crowley.

Had he lost Crowley?  Was that the price he would have to pay to save him, because he would if that’s what it took.  He’d sacrifice everything he’d ever wanted and needed if it would ensure the demon’s safety.  He wanted to believe that the Almighty wasn’t that cruel, but after six thousand years on Earth and Her continued silence, he couldn’t be sure.

The sound of the wind in the treetops pulled his gaze up, and he watched the push and pull through the leaves.

Balance, Crowley had said years ago that they balanced each other out.  What if it was all about balance?  Day, night, life, death, Heaven, Hell, demons, angels… Maybe neither heaven nor hell were meant to win.  Maybe they were just meant to balance each other out, like he and Crowley had learned to do.  Another tear crept down his cheek, and he wiped it away with his pocket square, blowing his nose softly as dawn approached. 

For what it was worth, he’d really wanted to.  Go with Crowley that is, to Alpha-Centauri, or anywhere really. 

He could tell himself that he had pushed Crowley away to protect him, to keep him safe until this whole Armageddon thing had been taken care of, but the truth was, he’d gotten scared, had ruined everything, and now there was no time.  There was no time to tell Crowley how he felt, and what he wanted.  There would be no time to fix it, unless he could convince heaven to leave off their ridiculous vendetta.

He was going to have to do something drastic.

Chapter Text

The Metatron glowered down at Aziraphale like a disgruntled schoolteacher, and Aziraphale gave it a tiny, encouraging nod.  His words, “We can save everyone” lingered in the air of the bookshop, and his relief was so intoxicating he felt light headed. 

He had done it! 

He had gathered the information, thought it all through, come up with a plan, trusted his instincts, contacted the highest authority, and now everything was going to be okay. 

Tea shops and symphonies and trees and whales and books and children could live on, never knowing how close they had come to going up in flames.  In a couple hours, he and Crowley would be laughing about this whole thing over a bottle of fine wine and nibbles, intellectually circling each-other like two comfortably orbiting planets, and they’d never again have to give another moment’s thought to how close they came to losing everything.

In that moment, Aziraphale felt sure of himself.  For maybe the first time since the Fall, he didn’t question what he’d done or who he was.  He knew, without a doubt, that he had conducted himself in a fashion worthy of an angel.  More importantly, it felt right.  It felt like he was being true to himself.  He didn’t feel wrong or deviant or like an imposter. 

He knew that saving the world was right, and since it was his love of the world and all its complexities that prompted him to protect it, that meant that that love was also right, likewise stopping the war was right.  So, not wanting to see his fellow angels go up against their former siblings was also right, therefore feeling pain and remorse for their Fall had also been right to begin with. 

The Almighty might be ineffable, but this was the proof that She did care, that no matter how things had looked through history, She wasn’t cruel. 

When Michael, Sandalphon, and Uriel had crowded him against the side of the restaurant, taunting, threatening and hurting him, he’d been shocked and upset, but it had also broken an assumption he’d held for too long: that the other angels were normal and he was the one who was wrong. 

Bullying and belittling were undeniably bad, and if the angels he’d been comparing himself to this whole time were wrong, then it wasn’t him that was a deviation.  It followed that all the self-doubt and worry had been for nothing, and he wasn’t the bad angel, after all.   

“The point isn’t to avoid the war.  The point is to win it.”

Riding high on his newly found self-confidence, it took a moment for Aziraphale to process the meaning of the Metatron’s words, but as that meaning sunk in like drops of ice-cold rain, Aziraphale miraculously found that he didn’t feel guilty, or bad, or wrong.  Not anymore. 

Instead, he felt overwhelmingly disappointed.  He felt like a child grown to adulthood, realizing that what their family had been asking of them had been wrong all along and that the reality their parents had created was twisted.  He understood that no matter what he had done to please, how hard he tried to fulfill expectations, it would never be enough because the goal was false, the reward nonexistent and the destination a hollow façade.    

He felt betrayed and angry, and it was as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  He realized with amazement that he no longer cared what heaven, the archangels or even the Almighty thought of him.

There was, however, someone in his life whose opinion he did care about, someone who had always supported him, always encouraged him to think for himself, always accepted him as he was.  Someone who had figured out much sooner than he had, that the game was rigged, and to whom he owed a really big apology.

“What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?” Aziraphale hoped his expression didn’t give away his thoughts, trying to sound uninterested and speculative while his brain raced ahead.  He just had to get as much information as possible, then call Crowley.  He’d know what to do.  He’d have a plan, as long as he hadn’t left for Alpha-Centauri yet.  

There’d be a proper time and place to apologize for being so blind for so long, but the demon would probably be willing to leave that for after they averted the apocalypse, if that was even possible now…    

Nuclear Armageddon.  Well, that wasn’t much of a surprise.  It certainly would take care of the “destroying Earth” portion of the apocalypse without heaven or hell having to divert any power in that direction.

Aziraphale realized he was rambling, and he hoped it wasn’t too obvious that he was trying to get rid of the Metatron.  After what seemed like an intolerably long back and forth, the giant floating head finally disappeared, leaving a disturbing glow and a chastising “Do not dawdle,” in its wake. 

Aziraphale felt his nostrils flare and with some effort, ungritted his teeth, took in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and marched with purpose to the phone. 

Chapter Text

There was a blinding moment of freezing pain and then nothing.  It felt as if he was floating in a void.  It was peaceful.  He couldn’t quite remember what had happened, but it couldn’t have been bad if he felt so safe.

And then he was stumbling into heaven, oddly numb and jarringly cut off from his surroundings. 

Oh, he could have done something very un-angelic to that d…arn witch finder.  Now, he was going to have to figure out a way to get them to send him back, even just for a couple minutes…

“Didn’t meant to be here. Yet.  Still sorting things out…” he tried hopefully as he hobbled past the softly spinning globe, feeling suddenly very protective.

The quartermaster ignored him, staring officiously at his clipboard, and Aziraphale found himself drawn into a tedious, time-wasting conversation.

“A flaming sword, I know.” he blurted out, disoriented.  It was hard to keep his thoughts in order, as if his mind had become porous.  There definitely was something he was supposed to be doing.  “…she was having a very bad day, and-” why did he feel so empty?

“You were issued with a body.  Where is it?”

Aziraphale looked down at himself, confused, and then realization dawned, and he suddenly understood why he couldn’t smell the sterile air of heaven, couldn’t get his balance, couldn’t feel the weight of the uniform in his arms.  He looked at, that is to say through, the facsimile of a hand his mind had recreated and wondered what the angel before him would do if he got sick all over his polished dress shoes.  That is if one could get sick without a corporation. 

He knew, in some hidden corner of his soul, that he would grieve the loss of the corporation he’d called home for the last six thousand years, but now wasn’t that time.  He had more important things to do. 

Plan A had failed: Contacting the Metatron had gotten him nowhere. 

Plan B had failed:  Crowley hadn’t stayed on the phone long enough for him to explain the situation.   Furthermore, it was hurting Aziraphale’s brain trying to figure out who Crowley’s “old friend” could be and how he could think chatting with them was more important than Aziraphale’s confession that he knew where the antichrist was.  (If Aziraphale’s brain had been working at a more reasonable capacity, he might have remembered that “Got an old friend here” was a code they’d set up years ago to warn each other off if their side was present.) 

Plan C had failed before it had even started:  That old witch finder had barged in with his odd accusations and deadly timing before Aziraphale could get two steps toward the door to go track Crowley down in person.

And so, here he was.  Discorporated, stuck in heaven, with an armful of pointless uniform and a militant angel with a personal space problem. 

Time for Plan D:  Whatever that might be.

Being called a “pathetic excuse for an angel” in front of an entire corridor full of other angels, would normally have made Aziraphale cringe all the way to the core of his being.  He was still a little amazed to discover that he just didn’t care anymore. 

“Well I suppose I am, really.” He accepted the challenge, rebellion bubbling up from a deep and very old well of frustration.  If angels acted like this, lining eagerly up to kill their former siblings...  If angels bullied and terrorized each other…  If angels followed the orders of a higher power that would kill an entire planet full of innocent creatures just to show how powerful She was… Then he didn’t want to be any kind of angel.  “I mean, I have no intention of fighting in any war,” he continued, dropping the uniform.

The quartermaster barked out the word coward as if it was an ace up his sleeve, and Aziraphale almost felt sorry for the angel who had never been anywhere outside of heaven and wanted so badly to look good in front of the soldiers. 

Aziraphale had survived through Earth’s entire history.  There had been beauty, yes, but also unspeakable atrocities. Aziraphale had never looked away from them.  He had always tried to dissuade the disturbing cruelty of a human mind corrupted with malice or greed or disease.  He had borne witness to the courage of the human beings who suffered for their convictions.  He had supported along their journeys, those who sacrificed themselves for a better future.  He had given comfort to the children and uncountable innocents who survived pain and hardship no ethereal being could ever understand.  No ethereal being that is, except the angel who had witnessed it and the demon who had worked by his side. 

No, he was no coward.  Aziraphale, emboldened by the knowledge that he was, in fact, much stronger than the angel in front of him, found himself demanding to be returned to Earth.

“Without a body, that’s ridiculous”

But was it?  Aziraphale’s mind was working furiously.  There were plenty of bodies on earth… All he needed was to find a receptive one, and his time on Earth had given him a good understanding of what to look for.  Humans were fascinated by the occult… right now there would be any number of them trying to “make themselves a bridge to the other side”, or “inviting the ancestors to join them in the circle”, or “calling on the holy spirit to possess them”.  They might not all know what exactly they could be getting themselves into, but all he needed was one willing participant to loan him some space for a little while.     

Before he could think too hard, he poked a finger at the gently swirling map of the planet, and as he made contact, felt himself pulled as if a great vacuum were sucking him out of heaven.  He only had time for one last glance at the startled angels and his old home that he was sure, one way or another, he’d probably never see again, and then he was rushing back toward the unknown, holding one thought firmly in his mind.  Somewhere down there was a demon he desperately needed to find because the only side he could picture himself on now, was the one Crowley had offered him, standing beside his best friend, a demon he had more in common with than all the angels in heaven.

Chapter Text

Crowley was drunk, that much was obvious.  Aziraphale squinted through the ether trying to make out his surroundings.  It was like trying to see the shore while underwater. 

“Can you hear me?” He called, exerting all the willpower he had to keep from being pulled away in the eddies of energy swirling around him.

“Course I can hear you.” Crowley’s sweet, rough voice filled him with overwhelming relief. 

You were right the whole time.  Heaven, the angels and possibly God, are all wankers and I can’t believe it took me this long to see it.  I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you.  I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you.  I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.  I’m sorry I abandoned you and told you there wasn’t an ‘our’ side anymore… I had a really bad role model.  I’m just really, really sorry!   Is what he wanted to say. 

With Crowley’s dear face wavering before him, all that came out was: “Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things…”

He paused, trying to screw up enough courage to confess that not only had he rejected and abandoned his friend, he’d also been holding out on him this whole time, with the antichrist’s name and address in his pocket, playing God with his plans to get heaven to take the whole thing off of their plates. 

He had meant well, really.  Neither one of them wanted to kill the child, and if he had succeeded with heaven, he and Crowley could have gone back to their lives as if nothing had happened. 

But he knew now how his naiveté had nearly cost them both everything, and while he was disappointed with God, he was even more disappointed with himself.  How could someone as clever as you be so stupid.  Oh, how he wished he could go back to that moment, tell Crowley what he knew and come up with a plan together…

He took a deep breath and found himself stalling.  “Did you go to Alpha-Centauri?”

“Naaaaah…” Aziraphale wished he could see the demon more clearly.  He sounded on the point of tears. “…Changed my mind.  Stuff happened…I lost my best friend.” Aziraphale’s heart stopped.  The pain in Crowley’s voice said more than either one of them had ever not said to each other.  Love, there was so much love; plus, miraculously, Crowley didn’t sound mad at him.

“So sorry to hear it.” Aziraphale couldn’t keep all of the gratification he felt from slipping into his voice.  Best friend, Crowley had called him his best friend.  Crowley was sad because he was gone.  Crowley hadn’t left him behind.  Crowley hadn’t given up on him.

With great difficulty, he pulled himself back to the job at hand.  “Listen.  Back in my bookshop, there’s a book I need you to get.”           

Crowley suddenly sounded even sadder if that was possible. “… isn’t there anymore”

“Oh?” Aziraphale managed, uncomprehending. 

“I’m really sorry, it burned down.”

Aziraphale hadn’t thought anything would feel as bad as Crowley walking away from him at the bandstand, but this was even worse than losing his corporation.  It was just too much.  His dusty, jumbled, cozy home, his irreplaceable manuscript collection immortalizing the best of humanity from the beginning of time, the cave-like sanctuary where they had found comfort in each-others’ company time out of mind…  Gone?    

“All of it?” His voice sounded small in the vacuum.

Crowley fought to get the words out. “…yeah.  What was the book?”

Oh no.  The book.  Without the book, without all his notes… how were they supposed to… “The one the young woman with the bicycle left behind.” He choked out, feeling more numb by the second. “The Nice and Accurate Prophesies of…”

Crowley interrupted him.  Through the void, Aziraphale could just make out his movement as he held the book up triumphantly, and in that moment, Aziraphale knew that if he’d still been able, he would have kissed the bastard until they both gave up the need to breathe.

“... look inside.  I made notes… I worked it all out.” Looking at reality as he was now, it seemed so absurd that he hadn’t told Crowley what he’d found the moment he’d found it.  In fact, if he had it to do again, he would have invited him into the bookshop that night, made them both a cup of cocoa (never mind that Crowley would have instantly changed his into something stronger) and together they would have poured over the fantastic book together, figuring out the puzzle in half the time. They’d have been in Tadfield days ago.  Together, as a team.

“Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you.  Where are you?”

Aziraphale’s memory of a heart simultaneously clenched and revved up.  Crowley wasn’t mad.  He wasn’t mad at all… he hadn’t missed a beat… they were still a team…  Aziraphale wasn’t alone.

“I’m not really anywhere…” he explained quickly, feeling the currents around him pulling stronger.  He really did have to find a body to inhabit and fast.  It really was a pity he couldn’t just ride along with Crowley.  The thought brought all kinds of warm, tingly, fuzzy feelings that he vowed to look at closer someday, but for now he realized he was babbling and stopped. 

“Tadfield, airbase!” He called, feeling the urgency in the stream tugging him away.  The last thing he heard was Crowley taking a crack at him, and he smiled.  His demon was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

They stood in a place outside of time, a time outside of space. 

Aziraphale stretched his wings, dissipating the kinks, and gently fanned the air around them.  It smelled like the garden, like leaves and grass and rain and apples. 

Oh, it felt good to be back in his own body.  His time co-habitating with Madame Tracy was an experience he wasn’t likely to forget, and he would be forever grateful for the woman’s courage in allowing him to share her personal space and for her wisdom in thwarting his desperate attempt to kill the anti-christ child.  Still, he preferred the privacy of his own, well-loved corporation, and he couldn’t quite believe his good luck that the child had given it so easily back to him.

He breathed it in, closing his eyes, and felt the walls crumble around him, and as they did, he felt himself coalescing, like stars rushing to fill a vacuum.  All the parts of him that he’d tried to hide, or bury, or tear out and throw aside were returning.  He acknowledged each one, amazed and relieved beyond measure to find that nothing had been lost.  Even the most discarded parts of himself seemed to hold no grudge and rushed to be reunited in him.  Some parts fitted more easily than others.  Some, he knew, would need more than just this moment to fully settle within him, but he welcomed them all, and he knew who he was.  

He was Aziraphale, former Angel-of-the-Eastern-gate, champion of the dispossessed, experiencer of life, witness to the world, collector of the great and small writings of human civilization.  He was Aziraphale, defier of chaos, appreciator of fine food and music, lover of life, drinker of cocoa and soul-mate of the Demon Crowley, the former-Great-Tempter-of-the-Garden-of-Eden. 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt whole.  He was simply everything he was, no denying, no striving to be better, no trying to fit in or live up to expectations.  An incredible peace descended into him, and he opened his eyes.

The child waited for guidance. 

The demon drew his power around him like a mantle. 

The flaming sword felt good in his hand, like a homecoming.    

This was it.  He wasn’t going to stand by anymore, wasn’t going to hold back.  He was finally ready to commit everything to this cause because he was done with being safe, done with being alone.  If there was to be a reckoning, then he would be judged along with his companions.

Either this worked, or it didn’t.  Either way, he’d be by Crowley’s side, and that didn’t seem like a bad way to end… if this was to be their end.

Chapter Text

But it wasn’t the end, it was the beginning, a whole new beginning. 

Sitting on the bench, the chill of the night seeping through the seat of his trousers, Aziraphale took another swallow of wine, then passed the bottle back to Crowley.  Normally, the mere thought of drinking straight from a bottle by the side of the road would have scandalized him, but he just couldn’t manage to dredge up enough energy to feel even mildly appalled.  He was too contented, and tired, and happy.

He wasn’t sure what to think about any of it.  Maybe the Almighty had planned things to happen exactly as they had from beginning to end, or everything had been a haphazard experiment that involved winding up billions of beings with free will and letting them loose for a couple millennia, or perhaps their happy ending was merely the result of a lucky supernatural roll of the dice.  Maybe he wouldn’t ever know, and maybe he was okay with that.  Maybe he preferred not to know. 

Her plans were, after all, Ineffable, and despite everything, he felt deep down that She cared.  Maybe not the way he cared, or the way Crowley cared, or the way the humans cared, but more like the way the nature of the world she’d created cared.  The way Nature had an unfathomable knowledge that disaster and death, chaos and pain were all just a part of the cycle of remaking, that nothing was ever lost, just rearranged.  What could look like callousness was really just a deeper understanding of a bigger picture, too big for anyone except the artist to see.

Aziraphale nodded to himself, accepting the bottle back from Crowley.  Best not to speculate.  He felt more hopeful now than he had in a really long time.  There was a very good chance they were going to survive this, and if not, well, they had managed to save the world, and they’d done it together.       

Chapter Text

The countryside slid past outside the bus windows, sleepy and silent, as if an eleven year old boy hadn’t faced down the devil himself, and remade reality, mere hours ago. 

The seat was hard, and the vehicle’s movements jarring, but Aziraphale hadn’t noticed because from the moment Crowley had grabbed his hand and pulled him down at his side, he’d been too giddy to notice anything else.  Sitting side by side, even on a dark, empty bus was decadence on its own, but with his hand tucked tightly into Crowley’s, he felt so happy he thought he might burst.

He caught Crowley’s eyes for just a moment, and they exchanged tired, contented smiles.  Then, he let his gaze drift down to their hands, nestled so naturally together, and Aziraphale could almost believe they’d been holding hands and riding on buses together since the beginning of time.   

Aziraphale woke up from a light doze to find that the bus had stopped in front of Crowley’s building, at a convenient definitely-not-a-bus-stop by the door.  As they disembarked, he used the hand not clasped snuggly in Crowley’s to send a quick, sleepy miracle the driver’s way… something involving a promotion and an eager spouse waiting at home. 

Walking hand in hand with Crowley into the lobby, Aziraphale registered the receptionist’s friendly greeting which turned quickly into concern as she got a better look at them. 

“Mr. Crowley, are you quite alright?”

Crowley looked down at himself as if seeing the soot and ash for the first time.

“Oh, yes.  Yes, everything’s fine.” He looked over at Aziraphale and smiled broadly. 

Aziraphale had seen him smile many times. 

He knew Crowley’s I’m-so-clever-look-what-I-did smile, the let’s-show-them-who-they’re-messing-with smile.  Even the I’m-smiling-to-hide-how-hurt-I-am smile. 

But he realized now that he’d never seen Crowley’s real smile.  Unmastered, unforced, unmitigated, this smile simply said I’m happy. 

Aziraphale found himself grinning back, and then they were moving toward the lift, leaving the night-clerk making little indulgent sounds of approval as the doors slid shut behind them.      

Once inside the flat, they stood inside the front door, hand in hand, not awkwardly, just in the way two occult beings who have been through a lot, and then polished off a bottle of wine, might take a moment to adjust to something as normal as coming home. 

“Sit?” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale gave his hand a squeeze. 

“Yes.  Yes, that sounds good.”

Never letting go of his hand, Crowley led the way.  The lights were dim and Aziraphale had the vague impression of luxurious plants and a sleek couch tucked up against a corner.  He sat down gratefully next to Crowley but grunted as his spine hit the stiff cushions.

Crowley grunted back, and with a quick snap transformed the couch into a rather good facsimile of the one at the bookshop. 

In his exhaustion, he didn’t even register that there was no longer a couch or a bookshop.  He couldn’t comprehend what dangers they might still face, couldn’t imagine what Agnes Nutter’s final prophecy could mean or what would happen once heaven and hell came looking for revenge.

All he knew is that they had saved the world and they were together, and that was enough.  

Angel and demon sighed in unison, leaned back and promptly fell asleep, shoulder to shoulder, fingers still entwined.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale waited, his heart in his throat.  Well, technically Crowley’s heart in Crowley’s throat.  He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the slats of the bench dug into his bony backside. 

“Poor Crowley.” He thought. “No wonder he never sits up properly.”  Aziraphale tried another little wiggle, hoping to relieve the tension of skin-tight leather, then gave up with a sigh.  The whole situation was a little ridiculous.  He couldn’t even take a breath without eliciting a squeak from the silly trousers. 

At least the sun was warm.  He couldn’t remember ever feeling as cold as it was inside Crowley’s corporation.   He took a deep breath, focusing on the bright sunlight, and tried very hard not to add tension to his borrowed body, but he couldn’t relax, not really, not until Crowley returned. 

He’d been livid when he realized hell had planned on using holy water on his demon, and then had come the utter satisfaction of seeing the confusion and terror, not only on the other demons’ faces, but on Michael’s as well.  He just hoped that Crowley had met with equal luck in heaven.        

Okay, he’d give it another five minutes, and then he and this gangly body would storm heaven and…

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turning to look, saw himself entering the park.  It was quite unnerving, really, and it was also the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

He unfolded himself, a little wobbly on his borrowed legs, and waved enthusiastically at the demon inside his corporation.  Crowley’s answering grin and nonchalant swagger told Aziraphale everything he needed to know, and he sank carefully back down onto the bench, overwhelmed with relief.  He was so relieved in fact, that he couldn’t even bring himself to be scandalized by the sinuous way Crowley maneuvered his body across the grass (not along the walk, of course).  Crowley took the phrase “Please refrain from walking on the grass” as a challenge, not a request.  Despite the giddy haze filling him, Aziraphale couldn’t help glancing down at his favorite shoes, hoping that this grass wasn’t too wet.

Aziraphale giggled rather hysterically.  To hell with the shoes, he could get another pair because the world was still here!  Everything he loved was still here.  His gaze followed Crowley’s approach.  Everything.         

And they were free, really, truly free.  He knew it would take time for him to fully digest what that meant but he felt lighter, cleaner, clear of the restraint of trying to be something he wasn’t.  He was starting to realize what it could feel like to be free from guilt and fear and expectation.  He found himself eager to explore what it meant to just be himself, no strings attached.  It wouldn’t happen all at once, he knew, and there would be so much to process, but he felt like he’d reached the light at the end of the tunnel and stood blinking in the brightness, dazzled by the infinite space beyond.     

Crowley sat Aziraphale’s corporation down on the other side of the bench, and they shared a smile that progressed from disbelief to relief to an exhilarated pride.

Chapter Text

Crowley was frustrated, very frustrated. 

They’d survived Armageddon.  They’d survived their punishments (well, each other’s punishments really).   They’d gotten the better of both heaven and hell, and time stretched before them, offering possibilities and chances hitherto unimaginable… and apparently, also unattainable.

Crowley had tried everything: Long walks on the beach, lavish dinners, romantic candle-light, poetry, music, expensive chocolates... 

When his more subtle attempts had failed, he’d stepped up to more obvious ones:  provocative looks, suggestive language, languid poses. 

Once, at a secluded waterfall, he’d thrown caution to the wind and stripped completely naked.  Leaping up onto the biggest rock available, he’d pinned the angel with the most meaningful stare he could muster.  All he’d gotten for his trouble was a very cold swim and a very pink faced angel who had been unable to look him in the eye for the whole rest of the day.

So, he mused on the car ride home, that was that.  He’d obviously mis-read the situation, but Aziraphale hadn’t gotten mad, hadn’t stormed off, and while he was still sitting even more primly than usual in the passenger seat, he seemed to have moved on from the whole incident, prattling on about some book he’d just read and planning their next adventure. 

And Crowley was okay with that.  He’d hoped; he’d dreamed of exploring that one untouched horizon with his lifelong friend, but if that wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted, then neither did he.  Whether Aziraphale was to be his lover or a platonic life partner, he didn’t really care, as long as they were together.   

Chapter Text

Aziraphale lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.  He didn’t normally sleep but he’d thought it might help, tonight. 

It wasn’t helping. 

Whether he closed his eyes or kept them open, all he could see was Crowley’s exquisite body, stark naked, practically glowing in the sunlight, Crowley’s mischievous smile, the proud toss of his head, his hair glowing crimson as he disappeared beneath the surface of the pool, those eyes, that smile, the curves of his body….

Aziraphale’s stomach contracted with shame, hurriedly curbing the shift that had started to happen within his nether region.  It wasn’t right for him to be thinking about Crowley this way, to be committing his naked image to memory.

Like witnessing Adam and Eve in the garden, Aziraphale felt that he was intruding. 

Crowley’s body was his own; Crowley’s pleasure was his own.  Aziraphale hadn’t been invited to the party, and he would continue to respect that boundary. 

His corporation wished otherwise though, as did his heart and every other part of him.

Maybe he should just tell Crowley how he felt, no expectation, no pressure…

Aziraphale stood on the wall of Eden again.

“Carnal pleasure….”

“Shameful….”

“Disgusting…”

“Gross.”

His blood pressure skyrocketed as the voices of his long-ago comrades echoed through him. 

There was just too much to lose.  What if Crowley was offended, or repulsed, or angry?

Aziraphale shook his head against the pillow.  No, Crowley would be kind and gentle, and make a joke out of it, or misunderstand completely and say he loved him too, and then things would go back to normal.

Aziraphale felt dizzy.  His thoughts battled back and forth between what he was afraid of and what he knew to be true.  He was simultaneously desperate for Crowley to know and accept every part of him, and at the same time, terrified Crowley would discover his fatal flaw.  Part of him understood that Crowley would accept everything he was, and another part was afraid that there was still wrongness inside him that would eventually ruin everything.

Safer to just leave things as they were but… Aziraphale felt somehow duplicitous not admitting to Crowley how he was feeling (especially if Crowley planned to make a habit of naked swimming escapades), and he was feeling, a lot. 

With nothing but the ticking of a clock in the dark and the images of a very naked, very beautiful demon haunting him, there was no way around it.  He loved Crowley.  He wanted Crowley, in every way possible, and imagining what it could be like to explore all the mysteries of existence together filled him with a soul-deep yearning.  

Not that picnics and dinners and outings weren’t wonderful, or that reading by candlelight while the demon snored gently with his feet in Aziraphale’s lap wasn’t fulfilling.  He was lucky to have Crowley in his life, and he was perfectly content for things to remain the way they were, if that was all Crowley wanted.    

By the morning, Aziraphale wasn’t any closer to deciding what to do, and sleep never came.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale lay on his back watching apple blossoms float lazily down around them.  The grass was soft beneath him, and the air smelled sweet and green.

 Crowley leaned against a nearby tree, basking in the afternoon sun.  His eyes were closed, head tilted back, and his breathing was slow and even. 

Aziraphale should have been relaxed, dreamy, calm, but he wasn’t.  His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice.  He had to say something; he wanted to say something; he needed to say something, but he was so scared.

He pulled in a breath past the pounding in his chest.  This was ridiculous, if he waited any longer, he’d pass out.

“Crowley?” He started tentatively.

“Yes, Angel?” The demon’s response was lazy but lucid.  His eyes remained closed, but he hadn’t been sleeping.

“I… I’ve been thinking…”

Crowley waited, and Aziraphale took another breath, wondering if he was in fact going to faint.

“I’ve been thinking about the humans.”

“Mmmm.” Crowley resettled his shoulders against the tree trunk with a non-committal sound that nonetheless was meant to convey that he was listening. “What about them?”

“Well… just that they, how they choose someone to share their life with… and they get to do things together, get to be together, their whole life… and be there for each other… and share… you know… everything.”

Aziraphale glanced back over and saw that Crowley had opened his eyes, two bright golden orbs fixed on him.  Quickly, he looked back up at the blossoms overhead.

“I mean, it seems nice…  Like a nice thing…”

Crowley was silent. 

“For the humans, I mean.” Oh, he was making a mess of the whole thing.  He couldn’t even say what he was trying to say.  He felt his cheeks going pink, and the tree branch above him began to blur into the sky.

“Yes.” Crowley’s voice was quiet, but Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to look.

Silence stretched out between them, and it was an intensely alive silence.

“It does seem like a nice thing.” Crowley said at last, the sound of his voice steadying.  

“Like… like Adam and Eve.” Aziraphale screwed up his courage and turned to meet Crowley’s gaze, simultaneously wanting and not wanting him to understand.  “I mean, they shared… everything.  Even…” Aziraphale’s checks burned, but he had started now.  “The other angels said it was disgusting.  Shameful.  But I thought it was… well… beautiful.” His eyes pleaded with Crowley to understand, to not make him say it.

Crowley’s pupils seemed to be expanding, but he answered in the same careful tone, “You mean… Intimacy?”

Aziraphale nodded gratefully.

“Yes…” Crowley agreed carefully “Yes, it is… beautiful.”

Aziraphale was so relieved he forgot his embarrassment.  “You… you know about… that?”

“Of course!” It was Crowley’s turn to flush, and without his sunglasses, he seemed suddenly very young,  vulnerable even.  “I mean, not with… just something I discovered for myself… back in the Garden…”

Aziraphale stared in amazement. “You… you did?”

Crowley shrugged self-consciously. “I mean, yeah.  Of course.”

Aziraphale felt the cracks forming in the floodgates and realized he couldn’t do anything about it. “You… Of course?...” He started to laugh, then burst into tears.

Crowley froze, trying to process what was happening, but when Aziraphale didn’t yell at him, or tell him to go away, or even say anything at all, he maneuvered himself a little closer, reaching tentatively out to pat the angel’s arm.  When that didn’t elicit a negative response, he scooted a little closer, so he could wrap an arm around the angel’s shoulders.  Aziraphale didn’t push him away; he leaned into his side, and Crowley realized he’d been waiting for the angel to do that since that day outside of Eden when he’d sat shading Aziraphale from the sun.  A million thoughts from that day were rekindled.  Crowley was finally in a position to acknowledge that he'd been kidding himself when he’d decided that his own unlovability as a demon could ever dampen his desire for the angel to know how he felt.  

He waited though, holding the weeping angel in his arms.  It didn’t seem like this was the appropriate time for a love confession, not with Aziraphale in the middle of an important breakdown, or breakthrough, or whatever was going on here.  He did, however, also have thoughts of his own around the current subject of discussion, thoughts and feelings he hadn’t ever shared with anyone else.  As Aziraphale’s sobs became sniffles and Crowley loosened his hold to let the angel blow his nose, he felt like maybe a revelation of his own would help put the angel at ease, sort of even the playing field.    

Curling his shoulders a little, Crowley hunched his wings in the other dimension then cleared his throat,  “I didn’t ever even talk about it with anyone,” he murmured, his voice softening the silence as Aziraphale pulled himself together, “because, well, the other demons wouldn’t have understood.  See, it was the closest I ever got to feeling the way I did before the Fall.  You know… whole, a part of something bigger...”     

Aziraphale was overwhelmed by the protectiveness that flooded him at the demon’s shy confession, and he laid a tentative hand on Crowley’s narrow shoulder. “Thank you” he whispered, wiping his cheeks, “-for sharing that with me.  I always thought… I thought I was the only one, that there was something wrong with me.”

“Angel, this is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s a perfectly healthy and natural…” Crowley choked on his own vehemence, then started rolling his sleeves up. “You know what, I have a mind to march on back up to heaven and kick those smug, holier-than-thou arses, right now.  Give me names, angel, and let me at them!”

Aziraphale giggled. “I think maybe not.” Crowley quirked an eyebrow, and Aziraphale leaned in conspiratorially. “But I’ll let you know if I change my mind”

“Whatever you say, angel.” Crowley smiled, making a show of flexing a rather more sinuous than brawny bicep before rolling his shirt sleeves back down. 

They sat quietly for a moment, Aziraphale watching Crowley out of the corner of his eye.  He seemed so composed, so self-possessed, but then Crowley glanced sideways at him, and they both blushed as he caught Aziraphale staring. 

Aziraphale looked down at the handkerchief in his hands, but Crowley broke the silence, his voice cautious.      

“Did you ever, I mean… was there ever anyone you shared that with?”

Aziraphale wound the delicate pocket square around first one finger then another.  “No.  I… it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to share with anybody except… well… maybe the right… um… being.”

Crowley nodded slowly, and while his next words were still quiet, they were full of an intensity that defied any misunderstanding. “Did you ever think that maybe I…”

“Yes!” Aziraphale breathed with all the relief in his being, finally looking up to meet Crowley’s gaze.  “Yes.  All the time!”

Crowley stared into his eyes as if seeking the truth, and then it was his turn to laugh.  He laughed until he was gasping for air.

“Angel,” He managed to squeeze out. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t think you would feel the same way…” Aziraphale felt like his heart had somehow migrated to his head and was trying to pound its way out of his skull.  Was this good?  Was it bad?  Was everything broken now? “…and I didn’t want to… ruin anything.”

Crowley wiped his eyes. “Angel, I’ve loved you since the moment you told me you’d given those poor humans your flaming sword!”        

“But…” Aziraphale digested that and felt the last piece of a puzzle fall into place.  From his new perspective, free from the toxic environment of heaven, he couldn’t believe it had taken them this long to have this conversation.  A part of him ached for the time they could have enjoyed sharing fully with each other, ached for all the times he’d held back over the last six thousand years, but another part of him knew that the only reason they were able to have this conversation now was because of everything that had come before.    

Hesitantly, he folded up his handkerchief, tucking it away, and shifted so they could meet eye to eye.

“Crowley, I’m afraid I have a lot of… baggage to work through around this.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow. “I might have a couple issues to work through myself around the topic of trust and intimacy.”

Aziraphale lowered his eyes, swallowing hard. “Yes.  I… I’m very sorry for everything I said in the bandstand…  that I ever led you to believe that I didn’t…”

Crowley’s wry laugh surprised him, and he looked up into a face that was incredulous, not angry.

“Angel, I didn’t mean you.  I never really believed that you didn’t… I mean… maybe I did for a little bit.  But that’s not the point.  Demon, remember?” He indicated himself. “Fallen, outcast, thrown out of heaven… by the Almighty herself… who made us….” He glanced up through the drifting petals, his expression wistful.  “Makes trusting a little hard, I guess.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying to rearrange his thoughts. 

“You don’t have to apologize for that either, angel.” Crowley beat him to the punch. “I know.  Don’t look so surprised.  I know you feel bad about the Fall, and I know you wish you could have done something to help.”

“I should have,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“You did…” Crowley grinned, “In the end”

Aziraphale smiled hesitantly back. “I supposed I did.”

“Anyway, fair is fair.  We both bring plenty of baggage to this…” Crowley waved his hand, “…thing.  It isn’t fair.  We shouldn’t have had to carry any of it in the first place, but I can be okay with the idea that it’ll probably take the rest of eternity to work through.  As long as we can do it together…?”

There was so much awkward hope in Crowley’s expression, Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Yes!” Relief flooded through him, “Yes.  That’s what I want too.”

“Okay, then.” Crowley’s shoulders relaxed as he grinned back at Aziraphale, offering his hands.

Aziraphale pulled himself up onto his knees, meeting Crowley’s loving gaze, and placed his hands into Crowley’s waiting ones. 

A delicious little shiver ran through him as Crowley wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s, but he also felt suddenly nervous.  Very, very nervous.

“What if we try… um… intimacy… and we don’t like it?” He asked, his voice giving away the anxious tension that filled him. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley’s familiar voice soothed him. “You are everything to me, and you always will be.  No matter what form our relationship takes, we’ll always be together.”

Aziraphale nodded with overwhelming relief. “I feel the same way.”

Crowley smiled, gently brushing a wisp of hair away from the angel’s forehead, and his touch rippled through, not just Aziraphale’s corporation, but all levels of his being.

With a shiver, Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley’s chest, where he could feel his heartbeat.  “I can’t say I know how to… pursue this,” he admitted.

“How about we figure it out together?” Crowley’s hand slid around to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, and his hand was trembling.  “I love you,” he whispered, “and I want to explore every possible way there is for us to be together.  No pressure, no expectations.”

The last barrier, one Aziraphale hadn’t even realized was still there, lifted.  Not dramatically, or explosively, but like mist in the sunlight.  Aziraphale lowered his forehead to Crowley’s, feeling the warmth of his breath against his cheek.  He felt safe and ready… to love, to be loved… to accept that he was worthy of what Crowley offered, and he was eager to spend the rest of his life showing Crowley that he also deserved to be safe and whole and loved.        

“Well then, yes, please.” Aziraphale pulled back just enough to smile into the demon’s golden eyes, “I’d like very much to explore every possibility with you.  For the rest of eternity.”

*The End*