Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Once upon a time, there was a little prince, and he was sorrowful. He had awoken and found himself far from home and had no way to return there.” 

“But then he made a friend, didn’t he, grandmother?” 

“Yes, he did, my darling. He certainly did.”

When Anthony Crowley turned ten years old, his father asked him if he would like to see the palace gardens. It had always been Anthony’s dream to see the gardens where his father worked, see the beautiful plants and flowers his father grew on behalf of the royal family, and he had ended up tripping over himself in his haste to get dressed that day. 

Anthony’s father had been the head gardener for the royal family long before Anthony had even been born and starting at a very young age, his father had begun to teach him everything that he knew about taking care of the flowers.

“I know you’re excited, but stay put until I get back,” His father instructed as they walked through the gates to the gardens and came to a stop just before the entrance to the palace. “I have to go inside for a moment.”

“Can’t I go with you?” 

“It’s only for a moment. When I return, I’ll show you around.” 

But Anthony was a curious child, a child full of wonder and countless questions, so when his father left him amongst the flourishing greenery of the gardens, it wasn’t long before he wandered off and lost himself in the beauty of it all. He touched his fingertips to the leaves of plants he had never seen, smelled the aroma of flowers he had only heard his father describe in stories, and the farther he wandered, the more he discovered. 

As Anthony explored the different areas of the garden, every nook and cranny as well as every flower and plant, he noticed a figure not too far off in the distance, walking the same path he was on. At a faraway glance, Anthony feared they were a grown-up, ready to catch him and scold him for wandering when his father had already warned him not to. But the closer the figure walked, the sooner Anthony realized that they weren’t a grown-up at all. They were a child, just like him, and upon closer inspection, they seemed to be a boy. 

Anthony didn’t have many friends at home. Most of the children who lived nearby were all much older than he was and it was harder to find common ground with them. But this boy looked very close to Anthony’s age. 

“Ah, hello!” Anthony called out, lifting a hand to wave in what he hoped looked like a friendly enough wave, but his greeting seemed to only startle the other boy. He dropped the book he’d been reading and dashed behind the nearby hedge to hide from view. Anthony dropped his hand in defeat, feeling a swirl of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He couldn’t even make friends properly. 

Anthony continued on his way down the path, only stopping once he stood in front of the abandoned book on the ground. He caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, heard a slight rustling of leaves, and turned his head just as a shadow disappeared to the other side of the hedge. 

“You’re not a guard.” A voice spoke out suddenly from behind the hedge and Anthony spun around completely to fix his gaze on the hedge. The boy’s voice was soft and he didn’t seem to be accusing him of anything but spoke more out of curiosity. “You looked taller when you were further away.”

“So did you,” Anthony offered carefully because he wasn’t sure if he was being accused of something or not. He wasn’t supposed to be wandering the gardens alone, but he was suddenly unsure if the other boy was allowed to be here either. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” 

“If you’re not a guard, then who are you?” The boy asked curiously and Crowley caught a glimpse of blonde hair as he peeked around the hedge. “I’ve never seen you before.” 

“My name is Anthony.” 

“Anthony?” 

“Yes. My father is the gardener here.” 

“Oh.” The boy falls silent for a moment, seeming to consider this information. It was possible his father had never talked about having a child while on the palace grounds, at least not to this boy, so it would come as a surprise. “Your father is very kind.”

“Thank you,” Anthony said. He wasn’t sure what else to say, so instead, he stooped down to scoop up the abandoned book from the path. He gave the book a once over, looking for any damage, before he gently brushed off a bit of dirt from the cover and extended his arm, holding it out for the boy to take. “You dropped your book.” 

He heard the boy giggle softly and watched as he came out from behind his hiding place behind the hedge. The other boy did have golden hair, curls, ones that adorned his head like a halo of light. When he stepped closer, Anthony also noticed that his eyes were the most vibrant blue he had ever seen. He was dressed far nicer than Anthony was, in creams and whites, but his smile was kind and even a bit shy. 

The other boy walked closer until he was within arm’s reach, and he took the book from Anthony’s hand, before hugging it close to his chest, his smile growing wider. “Thank you, Anthony.” 

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at him in return. “So, ah, d-does your father work at the palace, too? Or your mother?” he asked. 

The boy’s expression shifted into something more amused as if Anthony had told a particularly funny joke. “I suppose you could say they work here, yes.” he replied. 

“What do they do here? Something to do with the gardens?” Anthony asked next because he was so curious . He wanted to know everything about this mysterious boy, every detail he could manage. He gestured to the book in his arms. “Or books, perhaps?”

“Oh, nothing so exciting,” the boy answered with a laugh. 

“Is it cleaning? I don’t find cleaning very exciting,” Anthony admitted. This seemed to tickle the other boy even further, and his laugh became louder in the silence of the garden. “Did I say something?” 

“Not at all,” the boy told him as his laughter died down, but the mirth still danced about in his eyes, as if he were holding onto some kind of secret. “I’ve never had someone to talk to that was my age before. It’s nice, I think.” 

“It is nice.” Anthony couldn’t help but agree. It was not only easier to talk to someone around his age, but they already seemed to be getting along so well that he felt they would soon become friends. It was then that the thought struck him: he didn’t even know this boy’s name! 

“I think if we’re going to talk more, I should at least know what your name is.” 

The boy blinked in surprise before his joyful smile shifted into an embarrassed grimace. “Oh, I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. How silly,” he said with a sigh, then shook his head, his smile growing wide once more. “My name is--” 

“AZIRAPHALE?” 

The boy jumped in alarm, nearly sending the book flying from his arms once more. He arched up on his toes, scanning above the hedges before ducking back down again. “Oh, drat. They’ve found me.” 

“They?” Anthony repeated in confusion, arching up to look as well, only to be dragged back down by the boy’s sudden grip on his sleeve. “Found you?” 

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid so,” the boy groaned. “I only wanted to walk the gardens. I was hoping no one would notice.” 

“AZIRAPHALE!”

Anthony was still confused but kept low to the ground as the other boy was doing because it seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t know much of the royal family, but he at least knew all of their names and he knew that Aziraphale was the name of the youngest prince who resided at the palace. “I don’t understand. Why would they be looking for you? They’re looking for the prince, not--” 

The boy gave him a look, slowly raising an eyebrow, and it was that look that made everything click into place for Anthony. The fancy clothes, the proper speech, the familiarity with the royal gardens...

Oh.

“I suppose I’ve been found out,” the boy, no, prince , said with a sheepish smile. “Terribly sorry you had to find out this way. I did plan on telling you.” 

“No. You’re not--you can’t be--what?” Anthony stammered, knowing he looked like an absolute fool, mouth hanging open in shock. “You’re the prince. ”

“I hope that it doesn’t cause you to hold me in a different light,” Aziraphale continued as if Anthony hadn’t spoken at all. His voice had taken on a more hushed tone, intending to keep them undetected for as long as they could be. “It would be nice to have a friend.”

“A friend?” Anthony echoed in disbelief. “You? With me?”

“I would like that very much,” he confirmed, pausing as the sound of footsteps hurried past the hedge they had ducked behind and another call of the prince’s name rang out through the garden. "I have to go, but...I will see you again?” 

Anthony stared at the boy in absolute wonder and wondered if he were having some kind of very vivid dream. The youngest prince of Eden was extending a hand of friendship to him , a gardener’s son, a nobody. It must be some kind of trick. Upon closer examination of Aziraphale’s face, however, he noticed the hopeful smile was also hiding a wariness, a fear of being rejected, and Anthony realized that perhaps this young prince might have been just as young and alone as he was. 

“I can ask my father if I can come with him tomorrow?” Anthony suggested and watched as Aziraphale’s smile spread wider across his face, obviously thrilled with the idea.

“Tomorrow. Under the apple tree at the garden center. When the sun is at its highest.” Aziraphale told him, pointing off into the indicated direction. “I’ll meet you there?”

“I’ll bring lunch!” 

“Wonderful! Oh, Anthony, I--”

“AZIRAPHALE!” 

“I’m coming! ” Aziraphale called back, standing up with a huff. It was so odd to see the look of absolute annoyance on his face and Anthony had to fight off a giggle off his own. “Goodbye, Anthony!” 

“Goodbye,” Anthony replied and watched as the prince hurried out from their hiding place to reveal himself to the people who had been calling for him. He waited patiently for the voices and footsteps to fade off into the distance before he stood to start his trek back to where his father had originally left him. 

“Where have you been?” Anthony’s father asked when he’d finally made his way back. “I told you not to wander off.”

“I’m sorry, father,” Anthony said, but he wasn’t very sorry at all. He couldn’t feel sorry in the slightest after the experience he’d just had. “But I think I’ve made a friend today.”

The years ticked on and the unlikely friendship between Aziraphale and Anthony continued to grow. Every afternoon, after Anthony had done some work and Aziraphale had attended his lessons, they would meet for lunch in the gardens under the apple tree as they had since the beginning. Anthony would bring lunch, enough for the two of them to share, and Aziraphale would bring a book to read aloud once they’d caught up on conversation. 

If it seemed odd to the royal family that the youngest prince had befriended a gardener’s son, no one mentioned it. They were happy that the youngest member of the family had made a friend that brought him such joy, and while there were moments they did occasionally get into trouble together, it was only as much trouble as two children could get into. 

As they grew from children into young adults, their friendship became what would come to be described as an unbreakable bond. They confided in one another about every trouble, every little thought, and spoke of dreams that they wished would carry them far away from the lives they led. 

“Just grow better , you useless little bud!” Anthony hissed at the plant. At fourteen years of age, Anthony had become something of an apprentice under his father, learning his methods and techniques so that when his father finally decided to retire, his son would be able to take over on his behalf. He had heard recently that talking to one’s plants helped them grow and Anthony had been eager to put his own spin on the practice. 

“You do realize that shouting at your plants doesn’t make them grow, don’t you?” 

Anthony turned around to look at Aziraphale, who was seated on a stone bench under a nearby tree, a book open in his lap. As they’d gotten older, Anthony had to work more often, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale from joining him in the mid-afternoon like normal. If Anthony was unable to be pulled away from his work, Aziraphale would occupy himself with a book and occasionally indulge him in conversation. 

“Oi, who’s the palace gardener here?” 

“Your father.” 

“This is slander,” Anthony said, wagging his finger at him and Aziraphale laughed, lifting his book to hide his smile. “My best friend is questioning my gardening methods.” 

“It’s not a question. It’s merely an observation.” Aziraphale pointed out teasingly. 

“If you’re so busy observing, observe these. You won’t see any other flowers in Eden performing like this.” 

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Aziraphale agreed. “But I don’t think shouting at them is the reason behind it.” 

“Turning against me in my own garden,” Anthony grumbled, shaking his head, before returning to his work of pruning the flowers. He picked off the wilted leaves and flower buds, dropping them into the bucket he had nearby, and murmured a word of warning to the wilting blossom for it to start turning around if it knew what was good with it. “The ultimate betrayal.”

“Oh, honestly. You’ll be fine,” Aziraphale said with another laugh. Anthony turned around to face him, unable to resist a smile at the sight of his friend’s amusement, his earlier teasing forgotten. It was hard to be mad at Aziraphale for very long, especially when he was the target of that smile. He was still unable to believe they had been friends for so long. Aziraphale had somehow never gotten tired of his company and Anthony would certainly never tire of Aziraphale. “They’ll look perfectly fine for the celebration tomorrow. They always do.” 

The royal family was hosting a grand ball the following night, celebrating the family’s three-hundred-year long rule. Anthony’s father, as lead gardener, wanted the garden to look perfectly put together and had asked Anthony to comb through the major areas of the garden for any lingering imperfections. 

There weren’t many, but Anthony was very good at his job. 

“I’m not worried about them. I know they’ll get it together in time,” Anthony said with a shrug, moving along to another batch of flowers; peonies, blooming brilliantly in white. “I’ve heard your grandmother is coming to visit, all the way from London. Been a while since she’s been here.” 

“Not since my birthday, yes,” Aziraphale told him, a twinge of excitement in his tone. Aziraphale was very close to his grandmother and whenever she came to visit, Aziraphale was absolutely over the moon. Agnes had gotten Aziraphale interested in books at a very young age, instilling him with an undying love of the written word, and during her visits, they spent most of their time talking about their latest finds. “Father says she may be able to stay with us for a bit longer this time.” 

“That’s good news,” Anthony said honestly, having taken interest in one of the plants that were showing signs of rot in the roots. He would have to have someone dig up the entire plant before the ball, but they had plenty of time to do so. “I volunteered to work in the kitchens for the night, so I’m sure to see you.” 

“Oh, how lovely. Perhaps we’ll be able to enjoy one another’s company at some point,” Aziraphale said hopefully. Being the youngest child of the royal family, celebrations like these tended to be lost on Aziraphale. He was a bit shy, withdrawn, and he certainly didn’t enjoy dancing. “It would be nice to see a familiar face.” 

“Of course it will,” Anthony replied with ease. “Maybe I can finally encourage you to dance amongst the royals.” 

“I have two left feet, my dear. You know that would simply end in disaster.” 

“Do I know that?” Anthony mused, trimming the stem of a particularly beautiful peony and studying it for minor imperfections. “I know you’ve never tried.” 

“Oh, honestly--”

“Come now, your highness,” Anthony said, turning back towards his friend and crossing the distance between them. He extended the freshly trimmed peony towards him and Aziraphale’s annoyed expression softened, his cheeks going pink. “You’ve just entered your fourteenth year. It’s time to live a bit, don’t you think?” 

“There are many rules to follow as a prince,” Aziraphale reminded him, reaching out to take the flower from him and bringing it close to his nose so he could take a sniff. “I don’t believe ‘living a little’ is one of them.” 

“For Gabriel, maybe, but not for you,” Anthony scoffed and Aziraphale rolled his eyes, settling for tucking the flower behind his ear as he usually did with the flowers he was given. Anthony knew that at the end of the day, Aziraphale would press them into books to keep them forever, insisting that any flower from his best friend was something to treasure. “It’s a good color for you. All that white.” 

“What does it mean? The peony?” 

“They say it means nobility, which you are,” Anthony told him. His mother and father had taught him long ago about the language of the flowers, what each one meant in different situations. The color or type of flower always changed the meaning so Anthony had always made sure to be very careful when gifting flowers to his friend. “Suits you. It’ll look good with your little collection.” 

“You always know how to make me feel better, sweet Anthony. You and your flowers,” Aziraphale said with a fond sounding sigh and Anthony cleared his throat, hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Thank you.” 

“I know you’re worried about the ball, but it will be alright,” Anthony said reassuringly. “I’ll be there, your grandmother will be there. What could go wrong?” 

“What is this? A new book?” 

“I suppose you will have to open it and find out.” 

“There...appears to be a lock on it, grandmother.” 

“Locked to all but to those who have the key.” 

“A key?” 

“The ring I gave you. When you hold this ring, you hold the key.” 

“Oh...Oh! It’s our story! You made it into a book!” 

“That I did. So that when I’m in London, you will have a piece of me here with you.”

“Lucifer, how dare you return here.” 

“Ah, but my king, I am your confidant--” 

“You are nothing more than a traitor. Get. Out.” 

“You think that you can banish me? You have no idea who you speak to nor the powers that I possess!”  

“I place upon you a curse! Mark my words, you and your family will all die within a fortnight! I will not rest until I see the end of the entire Arch bloodline!” 

In the aftermath of Lucifer’s warning, the party had come to an abrupt end. Aziraphale’s father had instructed many of his knights to search far and wide for the sorcerer who had threatened his family so that once found, he would be put to death for his crimes. It was chaos, the way every adult was scrambling to make sense of what they had heard and seen.

Aziraphale had barely moved an inch since Lucifer had disappeared into the night, frozen near the throne and staring blankly ahead while his family conversed about their concerns of what to do next.

It was where Anthony found him when he finally managed to escape the kitchens and his father’s questions. 

“Aziraphale?” he called out hesitantly, stepping closer, but his friend didn’t respond. His arms had a death hold around a book Anthony had never seen before and his hands were fidgeting frantically with a ring around his finger, twisting it around and around again. Not one adult was watching, too wrapped up in their own distress and confusion, so Anthony walked closer until they were side by side and gently touched his friend’s arm. “Aziraphale.” 

The young prince jumped, obviously having been unaware of his presence until he’d felt his touch, and he turned his gaze towards him, wide eyes blue and teary. “Oh...O-Oh, I…” Aziraphale began, blinking rapidly and trying to smile, but it fell short before it fully formed. “Anthony, I…” 

“I know, I know.” Anthony soothed, tugging at his arm, pulling him away from the chaos and confusion. “Let’s leave the adults to do their talking, yeah? Come on.” 

Aziraphale came willingly, though he seemed in a bit of a daze, following Anthony without really registering where they were going. It wasn’t until they were at the door to his room that he realized anything at all. 

“Alright, go get out of these clothes. Get ready for bed,” Anthony instructed, very carefully taking the book out of Aziraphale’s arms. He let it go willingly, arm falling loosely at his sides, and Anthony smiled encouragingly. “Go on. I’m staying with you tonight.”

“Oh...Y-You don’t have to--” 

“I won’t leave you to deal with this on your own,” Anthony said firmly, waving a hand towards the bathroom. “Go on.” 

Aziraphale shuffled into the bathroom to change and Anthony set the book down onto the bedside table so that it could be easily found again before he began to get ready for bed himself. He washed his face in the basin at the mirror.  His hair, which had been pinned up and back neatly for the occasion, was released with the pull of a few pins, tumbling down to his shoulders in red waves. 

When Aziraphale finally exited the bathroom, he looked a bit less peaky. He’d washed his face and changed his clothes, looking more than ready to lay down. Anthony pulled down the covers on Aziraphale’s side of the bed and motioned towards the space. 

“Alright, in with you.” 

“Tucking me in, are you,” Aziraphale asked, a hint of amusement behind his tone as he trudged towards the bed and eventually sank into the mattress. “You don’t have to coddle me. I’m fourteen, you know.” 

“Perhaps you need a bit of coddling,” Anthony told him gently, waiting until he laid back before covering him with the blanket, tucking it in around the edges. Once Aziraphale was tucked in and snug, Anthony moved around to the other side of the bed and climbed under the covers as well, settling in with a heavy sigh. 

The candles that had been lit were low, giving off a dull glow in the darkness that made it seem not so suffocating. They lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe, staring up at the ceiling both of them still processing the night’s events and the ramblings of a madman. 

It was a long time before that silence was broken and Aziraphale finally spoke again.

“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quiet, barely higher than a whisper. 

"Who? 

"Lucifer,” Aziraphale said. “Do you think he would try to hurt us?”

"I think he's out of his mind, really," Anthony admitted, rolling onto his side to look at his friend. The light from the dying candle might have been dim, but the worry was clear on Aziraphale’s face, and his fingers twisted the ring that he wore on his finger anxiously. “Full of hot air, that one. Your father and the knights will find him before he does anything.”

Aziraphale hummed softly in agreement, but it was obvious to Anthony that he wasn't fully present. His eyes continued to stare straight up towards the ceiling and his mouth was turned downwards into a frown at the corners.  

"I don't think I've ever been so afraid," Aziraphale whispered. “What did we do to him? Why would he say such horrible things to us?”

Anthony hated seeing his friend in such a state. He knew any reassurance he attempted to make would fall on deaf ears. Aziraphale didn't need comfort, he needed a distraction.

"What've you got there?" he asked instead and Aziraphale blinked, finally turning his eyes from the ceiling to look at his friend in confusion. "That ring. You weren't wearing it before the party."

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, removing it from his finger and holding it out for Anthony to take. He took it gently between two fingers and held it up against the candle's flame, examining the finer details. It looked to be crafted from gold, round with a flat top, and imprinted with the face of a cherub with two wings. Oddly enough, the cherub looked a bit like Aziraphale. "It's from my grandmother." 

"It's beautiful," Anthony told him truthfully, holding the ring out and placing it back into Aziraphale's open palm. "Looks like you, I think." 

"Me?" Aziraphale asked in surprise and then he laughed, his first real laugh since Lucifer's warning earlier that evening. It had always been a nice sound, but the sound of it now easily took the tension from Anthony’s shoulders.  "Oh, I'm hardly an angel, Anthony."

"I beg to differ. All blonde curls and big cherub eyes. Wouldn't be surprised if you sprouted wings and took flight" Anthony teased and Aziraphale laughed again in delight. "Didn't think you were one for rings."

"Oh, I'm not, but it's not just a ring," Aziraphale told him. "It's a key."

Anthony looked at the ring in Aziraphale's palm for a long time before he looked back up at Aziraphale, squinting suspiciously. "It doesn't look like a key." 

"Perhaps because it doesn't fit an ordinary lock," Aziraphale said, throwing back the covers and pushing himself into a sitting position, leaning over to his bedside table to pick up the book Anthony had placed there earlier. "Here we are." 

"It's a book." 

"Very perceptive," Aziraphale teased and Anthony felt his face flush with heat. "Come, sit up. I'll show you."

He did as he was told, sitting up in the bed while Aziraphale fussed over lighting a new candle to bring more light into the room. The book was indeed beautifully made, bound in leather, letters glittering in the candlelight like stars. Wrapped around the book seemed to be another type of binding, looking similar to a ribbon, but Anthony knew it was much stronger for in the center of it was an odd-shaped hole in the center.

Once the candle was lit, Aziraphale once again removed the ring from his finger and held it out for Anthony to see once again. “This flat side with the angel? It fits into this little hole here,” he told him, the fingertips of his other hand tracing along the hole in the cover. “Lock and key.” 

“I see,” Anthony said with a nod of his head, though he certainly didn’t understand why a book would need such a thing as a lock. The title of the book was harder to read in the dim light, but maybe it wasn’t so much a book as it was a journal?  “Are there secrets inside?” 

“Would you like to see?” 

“You would share your secrets with me?” 

“Of course I would. You’re my dearest friend.” 

“I’m your only friend,” Anthony pointed out which earned him a light-hearted smack to his arm. “Ow, what? You’re my only friend too, you know!” 

“A certain friend is very close to not seeing my secrets,” Aziraphale warned, but there was no real anger there. In fact, Aziraphale's eyes were sparkling with amusement. 

"Fine, fine. I'll behave," Anthony said, crossing over his heart. "I promise. Now, show me your secret book."

Aziraphale hummed, adjusting the hold on the ring so that the flat end was face down. He lowered it closer to the lock until it slid into place, pressing down until they both heard the soft click. He replaced the ring on his finger, pulled the now freed binding off to the side, and then finally opened the cover to reveal the front page. 

"A storybook?" Anthony asked, his eyes glancing over the paper and the neatly written script. 

"Not just any storybook. It's the story my grandmother tells me whenever she comes to visit." Aziraphale pointed out, taking the page gently between his two fingers and flipping it to the next. "She had this made for me, our story, and it has beautiful pictures as well." 

“It is very beautiful,” he agreed. 

“Do you want to read it together?” the prince asked eagerly. “Or I could read it aloud to you?” 

Anthony hesitated. While Aziraphale reading aloud to him had been a favorite pastime of his for years, he was hesitant to indulge in it after the evening they had had. “You’ve had a long night,” he said carefully. “I don’t want you to overwork yourself.” 

“Oh, nonsense. If anything, this would take my mind off the entire situation,” Aziraphale said decisively, snuggling back down under the covers and bringing up his knees so he could prop the book up against them. He looked at Anthony expectantly. “Well? Shall we?” 

Anthony stared at him for a moment, at the space beside his friend and the welcoming smile he wore. The older they became, the harder it was to say no to that smile. 

“Alright,” he said at last. “Read on.”

Long after they had finished the book and blown out the candles, Anthony lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Aziraphale had long since gone quiet, breathing slow and even as he began to drift off, but Anthony just couldn’t sleep. Left to his thoughts, he began thinking of the threats Lucifer had shouted at the ball that night and how frightened all of the grown-ups had looked once he was gone. 

What if that man did come back to hurt the royal family? Hurt Aziraphale?

Anthony rolled onto his side, looking at his friend. The moon was bright and round, illuminating the room in a soft glow so that he could almost see the features of Aziraphale’s face in the darkness. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, but his breathing indicated that he was still stuck somewhere between awake and asleep. 

He didn’t know what he would do if anything happened to him.

“Aziraphale?”

“Mmhm?”

“You know that I would never let anything happen to you, right?” Anthony asked quietly. It felt silly to wake Aziraphale up in the middle of the night, but Anthony simply had to tell him. Did his friend even know the lengths he would go to to protect him from a hint of pain? “If that madman came back, I would protect you.” 

Aziraphale hummed in amusement, a hint of a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you so brave?” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “Far too brave for a simple gardener. Must be a knight.” 

“I mean it.” Anthony insisted. “I would do anything to keep you safe.” 

“I am so blessed, dear Anthony,” Aziraphale sighed sleepily and his hand inched across the bed until he could cover Anthony’s completely with his own, fingers squeezing gently. “To have such a friend like you...is truly the greatest gift I will ever know. I am...so glad I have you.” 

Anthony stared at their hands for a long time in the silence that followed. Aziraphale’s paler skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, a fair contrast to Anthony’s slightly darker tone, and when he turned his hand to link their fingers together, it felt like they were simply meant to fit together.

He never wanted to let go.

“Believe me,” Anthony whispered when at last Aziraphale’s breathing had evened out again and he could no longer hear his words. “I feel the same.”

It had been fourteen nights since Lucifer had infiltrated the palace, declaring death upon the entire royal family. Fourteen nights since Anthony had reassured his best friend that no harm would come to his family, that they were going to be just fine. 

He’d been wrong. He had been so wrong. 

It was as if it had happened overnight. One day, the people of Eden were happy, content, and the next they were at the gates of the palace, breaking them down. They had torches lit, weapons raised, and they marched upon the palace with a vengeance. 

When Anthony’s father had mentioned the uprising to his mother, both of them concerned for the royal family as much as their own safety, Anthony had taken off without another thought, running to the palace in hopes of finding Aziraphale before it ended up being too late.

The palace was in shambles by the time he reached the front doors, things broken and destroyed, people screaming and shouting in different directions. He could see from one of the great windows that the gardens were burning. Anthony tried not to take the time to mourn them and focused instead on where he could find his friend. 

If he were Aziraphale and he was frightened, he would hide in his chambers, but that was well on the other side of the palace and he would be bound to run into someone on his way there. On the few occasions he had assisted in the palace, one of the maids had told him of tunnels inside the walls and how the tunnel system had not only multiple entrances, but multiple exits as well. 

He remembered one of those entrances was in the main hall where he stood and Anthony nearly tripped over his own feet in order to get to the space of wall that would open into the tunnels. He managed to open the panel after a few moments of frantic scrambling and all but flung himself inside, racing down the tunnels in the direction of Aziraphale’s chambers. Even in the enclosed space, he could hear the gunshots, the screaming, the absolute chaos, and it only encouraged him to push forward and not stop for even a moment as his feet carried him to a new door.

He pressed his ear to the wall for a moment, listening for any signs of danger on the other side before slowly pushing it open. Anthony peeked his head out, glanced around the room, and was not only relieved to see he had in fact made it to Aziraphale’s room, but he had also found Aziraphale and his grandmother, Agnes. 

“Aziraphale!” he exclaimed in relief, leaving the shelter of the tunnel and fully entering the room. Aziraphale spun around to face him at the sound of his voice, a look of relief replacing the panic that had been there moments before. Anthony wanted to throw his arms around him, relish in the realization that his friend was safe, but they simply didn’t have the time. “You’re alright.” 

“Anthony!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his eyes filled with tears. Despite the events going on, the prince looked completely unharmed if not just shaken. His arms were wound around a book, holding it as close to his chest as he could while also   “Oh, Anthony, it’s terrible. There was so much shouting and--”

“You need to get out of here,” Anthony told him quickly, cutting him off. He put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders, giving his friend a small shake for emphasis. “Aziraphale, you’re in danger here. You have to go.” 

“But how?” Agnes asked and Anthony could see where the king got his strength. Despite the stress of the situation, the look on her face gave nothing away and her eyes were flickering around the room as if assessing potential escape routes. “There are no exits.” 

Anthony turned away from Aziraphale and pointed back towards the way he came. “There. It’s a tunnel system in the walls. Go straight down and take a right. It will take you to the back of the palace,” he instructed. “You’ll be able to get out that way.” 

“Young man, thank you,” Agnes said, relieved, and took long, quick strides across the room. She turned back to Aziraphale, holding out her hand. “Come quickly, my darling. We have to go.” 

“Ah, yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, hurrying after her, but tripped over his own feet in his haste. The book in his arms flew from his hold and skidded across the bedroom floor, disappearing into the shadows underneath a nearby dresser. He stopped and turned in the direction his book disappeared, but he didn’t get a chance to step forward before Anthony was hurrying up behind him, ushering him towards the tunnel. “Anthony, my book --” 

“Hush, I’ll get it for you, but you have to go,” Anthony urged. The sounds of shouting were only getting closer and they were running out of time. How had they so quickly run out of time?  “I’ll find you again, I swear I will, and I’ll give you back your book, but please go.”

Aziraphale’s expression shifted then at that moment, to something Anthony would describe as absolute horror as he realized Anthony would not be joining them during their escape. “No...No, you’re coming with us.” He insisted, his voice pitching up an octave as the fear finally settled in. “A-Aren’t you?”

“I’ll find you,” Anthony repeated firmly, trying to keep his own voice from trembling and he hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t call him out on his lie. It would take a miracle for Anthony to escape the palace alive and they both knew it, but if he saved Aziraphale’s life it would have been worth it. Agnes reappeared behind Aziraphale and reached out to take her grandson’s arm, pulling him away from the door so that Anthony could begin to close it. “I promise.”

“ Anthony, no--!”  

Anthony forced the door closed, cutting off Aziraphale’s cries of protest, and closed his eyes tightly, his forehead pressed against the wall. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, knowing full well that Aziraphale couldn’t hear him but somehow it made him feel better to apologize out loud. “Be safe.” 

The door to the bedroom burst open and Anthony spun around to face the soldiers who entered. They stood there, weapons raised, madness behind their eyes as they closed in on him and Anthony found himself pressed back flat against the wall, the only thing keeping them from finding the tunnel that the remainder of the royal family had escaped through. 

“Where are they, boy?” 

Anthony said nothing, merely spitting on the floor in their direction. He would rather die than give in to this madness. The royal family had done nothing wrong, Aziraphale had done nothing wrong, and he refused to believe that the people of Eden could think so. 

One of the soldiers snarled at him, disgusted with his refusal to cooperate, and raised the butt of his weapon. Anthony barely had time to react before it connected with the side of his head, sending him to the floor and spiraling into darkness. 

After that, he knew nothing more. 

“Keep up with me, darling! Keep up!” 

“I-I’m trying! I’m trying!” 

“Aziraphale, grab my hand!” 

“Grandma, don’t let go!” 

“I won’t, I won’t! Hurry!” 

“Ah!” 

“Aziraphale?! Aziraphale, no! ” 

In a hospital on the other side of the city, long into the night and far from the chaos that was the downfall of the royal family, a boy with no name and a terrible headache, was being talked to by a nurse. He’d recently been brought in from near the train station, having been found lying limp on the cobblestone, and a fresh bruise on his head. 

In the short amount of time he’d been there, he hadn’t said a single word. 

“It’s lucky they found you when they did, love. Head injuries can be so very fickle,” the nurse told him, but the boy said nothing in return, staring down silently at the ring on his finger, twisting it around and around. “Can you tell me what happened? How you got out onto that street in that mess?” 

Still, the boy said nothing. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He could only remember that maybe he’d been looking for someone, but who they were or where they’d gone was lost to him. The ring on his finger glitter in the dim candlelight.  It was all he had of who he was, but it told him nothing, gave no clues as to where he’d come from or where his family had gone. The gentle smile of the engraved angel felt almost mocking and the boy felt his lip tremble. 

“Perhaps a name, maybe?” the nurse tried again. “Do you remember your name?” 

The boy paused, seemed to deeply consider the question, and then opened his mouth to reply. “Az...ra,” he said slowly, but it felt wrong. His thoughts were sluggish amongst the throbbing behind his eyes and his tongue wouldn’t properly form the words he wanted to say. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and the nurse tutted sympathetically.

“Not much of a name, is it? Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure it’ll come back to you soon,” the nurse reassured him, but the boy didn’t seem too sure. “How about for now we just call you...Ezra? What do you think? Look a bit like an Ezra.”

The boy considered this decision for a long time before he slowly nodded his head. 

Ezra. He could be an Ezra. 

Chapter Text

“The boy asked, “Why are you wandering in the woods by yourself?” and the little prince tearfully replied, “I’m lost and I can’t find my way home. I’ll never be found!” But the boy merely smiled, held out his hand, and said, “Well, I’ve found you and I will help you find your way again.”

“But there was much danger on the road ahead, wasn’t there, grandmother?” 

“Indeed there was, my darling, but they believed they could conquer any danger as long as they had each other.”

Ezra’s earliest memory was of the day he’d been found at the train station. 

He remembered the absolute chaos, people running about and shouting as he sat on the dirty ground. He remembered the throbbing ache behind his eyes and the feel of warm blood running down the side of his face while the fingers of one hand twisted the ring around aimlessly on his finger. However, he couldn’t remember his name or where he’d been going or even who he’d been with. 

Had he been traveling? Was he going somewhere? Was he lost?

“Are you alright, laddie?” 

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, staring off into nothing, before a man appeared before him. 

“Quite a bump there. You doing alright?” 

It had been hard to find the words he’d needed to tell the man that he wasn’t alright, that he was lost, and had no idea who he even was. He had lifted his hand to the mentioned bump, winced at the sharp sting of pain, and the man waved his hands. 

“Don’t fuss with it now. Up you get, let’s get you looked at.”

His name was Shadwell and whether or not that was his first or last name, Ezra still wasn’t sure, but with a guiding hand on his shoulder, he walked him to the nearest hospital. Shadwell’s wife, Tracy, was a nurse and was quick to make sure he was seen, fussing over his head injury with great care, and talking to him with a gentle voice. 

“Do you remember your name?” 

“Az...ra.” 

“Not much of a name, is it? Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure it’ll come back to you soon. How about for now we just call you...Ezra? What do you think? Look a bit like an Ezra.” 

From that day forward, it didn’t matter who he used to be, because now he was Ezra and once he’d been released from the hospital, he spent the next ten years living with Tracy and Shadwell. 

Tracy and Shadwell had never had children of their own, perfectly content to live their lives as they were. Ezra always asked her why she’d decided to keep him around, Tracy insisted that Ezra was meant to stay with them, and that was that. She was the mother he couldn’t remember having and while Shadwell wasn’t exactly the most fatherly type, he still took the boy under his wing. 

The dreams began about a year after he’d been found. 

Sometimes they were just flashes of different places, featureless faces, and as time went on they developed sounds. Voices belonging to the faces he couldn't see clearly, but there were times when one voice stood out more than the others. A cruel voice with sinister laughter that rang in Ezra's ears long after he awoke, crying out for comfort from people he couldn't remember. 

As he grew older, the dreams became more and more frequent. Sometimes they would be more vivid; the faceless people would now have more defining features such as hair colors or certain types of clothing. 

"I think these dreams are telling me to go somewhere," Ezra told Tracy one afternoon, his fingers fidgeting with the long chain around his neck. As he’d grown, the ring he’d worn had gotten too small and Tracy’s solution had been to turn it into a sort of necklace so he could keep it close.  "To find...someone? I think?" 

"We always had a feeling this day would come," she replied gently. "These dreams may be your forgotten memories trying to make themselves known."

"What do you think I should do?" 

"I think you should listen to them."

It was snowing the morning Ezra had decided to leave the place he’d called home and Tracy had been a mess of worry in the days since he’d announced his decision. 

“Are you warm enough, love?” Tracy asked, tucking the scarf more snugly around his neck. “Don’t want  you to catch a chill.” 

“I’m plenty warm, Tracy, I promise,” Ezra told her with a laugh, waving her hands away. He was already wearing one of Shadwell’s old coats as well as one of his hats. Both articles of clothing were a bit large on him, nearly swallowing him completely, but he was warm and the scarf Tracy had knitted for him provided even more shelter from the cold. “Like a walking blanket.”

“Quit fussing over him, woman, let the boy breathe,” Shadwell grumbled and Tracy nodded, blinking rapidly as she finally withdrew her hands. “Got everything you need for the journey?”

“Yes, sir,” Ezra said, opening the bag hanging from his shoulder and digging through it to rattle off the different items. “Money, map, a few books to read, change of clothes, and...a pocket knife.” 

“Good lad,” Shadwell praised and Ezra couldn’t help but feel the swell of pride in his chest. Of all the years he’d lived with them, Shadwell was rare to give compliments that actually came off as sincere. “Now, you’ll take the main road until you hit the fork in the road. Take a left and follow that road until you get to Eden.”

“Left for Eden,” Ezra repeated. “I understand.” 

“There’s a train station in Eden, a ways into the city,” Tracy told him. “You’ll buy a one way ticket to London on the earliest train and you will write to us as soon as you can to let us know you’re alright. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra confirmed and Tracy cooed at him, reaching up to cup his face between her palms. Her eyes were bright with tears, but she was showing miraculous strength at holding them back. Ezra felt his own eyes burn, but when he tried to look away, she only held his face a bit tighter. “T-Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” 

“Be safe, love,” Tracy murmured, releasing his face in favor of pulling him into her arms one last time. Their embrace lasted a long time and when they finally pulled apart, both of them had tears on their cheeks. “Remember you can always come home if it doesn’t work out.” 

“I know.” 

“Off you get, lad, before it starts getting dark,” Shadwell interrupted and Ezra could see his hand moved to rest on Tracy’s back, giving her comfort. “Be here all day otherwise.” 

“Right, yes, absolutely,” Ezra said, wiping at the tears on his face and replacing the sadness with a bright smile. “I’ll be on my way and write to you as soon as I can.” 

“Be sure that you do!” Tracy called. “Don’t think I won’t come to London looking for you!” 

It had been the only home and only set of parents he could remember ever having, but as much as he knew they wanted him to stay, he also knew they wanted him to find his real family too and if he never did, he was always welcome to come back. Though, leaving it all behind was still difficult.

Ezra put on a brave smile, lifted his hand to wave goodbye one last time, and set off for Eden. 

The journey to Eden wasn't terribly long, even as the snow began to build up on the pathways. Ezra went left at the sign as he'd been told to do and found himself getting excited at the sight of the city. The streets were crowded, full of life, and Ezra found himself nearly stopping several times to admire the wares at different marketplace stalls but forced himself to continue on because he had a goal to achieve. He easily followed the sign postings in order to find his way to the train station. 

The train station was a bit harder to navigate with all of the people crowded around in one place. There were people hurrying towards the platforms, families gathered and discussing travel plans, and it took several moments of wandering before Ezra finally bumped into someone who could direct him to the ticket line.

He stepped into one of the lines, counted out the three people ahead of him, and began digging into his bag for the little pouch of money that Tracy had given him that morning. She had told him it should be more than enough to get him a ticket to London and with every step forward, he only got closer to achieving his goal. 

The line moved quickly enough and finally Ezra was approaching the window, offering the man behind the counter a smile. “Ah, hello, one ticket to London, please.”  

“Exit visa,” the man on the other side of the window said gruffly. 

“Exit visa?” Ezra echoed in surprise. He didn’t know that he’d needed anything but money in an attempt to travel out of Eden. Tracy and Shadwell hadn’t mentioned anything about an exit visa! “What in the world--?”

“No exit visa? No ticket!” the man exclaimed, slamming the teller window down with such force that the entire desk rattled. 

“How unbelievably rude!” Ezra exclaimed, then crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. Now what was he going to do? “How does one even obtain an exit visa?” 

“Psst.” There was a tug at the sleeve of his coat and Ezra turned around to see an older looking woman standing behind him. She was a bit hunched over, a hood pulled up to obscure most of her face from view, and she was looking around nervously as she motioned for him to lean in closer. Ezra glanced around once himself, then bent down a bit to hear her better. “Go see Crowley. He can help.” 

“Where can I find him?” Ezra whispered back.

“The old palace,” she told him, gesturing off into a particular direction. “But you didn’t hear it from me.” 

The woman hobbled off, going to stand in another teller line, and Ezra straightened up, staring ahead into the direction she’d pointed out to him. It would be a minor detour, but it would be one step closer to making his way to London. He adjusted the scarf around his neck and straightened his shoulders.

“Time to go find this Crowley.”

Eden Palace was hard to miss, even from a good distance away. It stood taller than any other building in the city with magnificent pillars with equally magnificent golden spires on the top. Ezra had once read that the palace had been built to resemble the heavens, decorated from top to bottom in whites and golds. 

Ezra stepped onto the palace grounds through an iron archway that was still standing despite the lack of maintenance, though beginning to show signs of rust and decay. A quick look around the area revealed many empty patches of soil, old dried up fountains, and the remains of what looked to be hedges. 

“This must have been a garden when the royal family still lived here,” Ezra murmured, following the path in order to make his way closer to the palace. “It’s such a shame. I’m sure it must have been beautiful.” 

The path twisted and turned, weaving between empty flower beds and benches, and soon he found himself a bit farther from the palace than he’d meant to go, his feet having carried him to a lone tree. On the ground beneath the tree, there appeared to be multiple apple cores which only told Ezra that during the summer seasons, this was an apple tree. 

“I’m sure you were quite the popular meeting area when you had people living here,” Ezra ran his hand along the bark of the tree and slowly walked around the base of the tree, staring up at the branches that were beginning to shed their leaves due to the change of seasons. It was odd, he realized, that the longer he stood at the base of the tree, the more he felt like he should be expecting something to happen, for someone to appear. “How many secret meetings did you host, I wonder.” 

Ezra leaned back against the tree, staring at the palace, the anticipation of someone’s arrival heavy in his stomach and he just couldn’t put his finger on why. “I hope that this was a good idea,” he said quietly. “I hope I’m not making a very big mistake by asking this Crowley fellow for help, but I simply don’t have any other choice.” 

He stood there for a long time, waiting for something that didn’t appear to be coming, and finally he sighed, pushing off the tree. “I suppose I should be brave, no turning back now,” he announced, patting the bark of the tree gently. It was an apple tree, only an apple tree, but somehow it still felt like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. “Thank you. Wish me luck.”

As he made his way towards the palace, Ezra began to notice that the building was in a great state of disrepair. Windows and doors were boarded up to prevent any intrusion, but also to cover up the broken glass and rotting wood. 

It didn’t appear that anyone had been here in a very long time.

“That woman from the station would have no reason to lead me astray…” Ezra murmured thoughtfully, touching his hand to one of the wooden planks covering one of the doorways. It was held in place with only a few rusted nails and probably wasn’t very strong. “Perhaps I can make my own entrance.” 

It took him some time to find the right placement of his hands, gaining a firm grip on the board before using all of his strength to pull. He pulled once, then twice, and stumbled back when the nails finally gave, fully ripping the board from where it was anchored. 

“There,” he said aloud, satisfied but a bit winded as he tossed the board onto the ground and wiped his hands free of grime. “One more board ought to do it.” 

Ezra spent the following minutes pulling another board from the doorway, making a big enough gap in the doorway that he could duck underneath the remaining parts of the barrier to walk inside. The halls were wide and empty, lit only by the light shining in through the windows, and completely void of any signs of life.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” he called out into the silence, listening as his voice echoed throughout the abandoned hall and reverberated back to him. “I’m looking for a Mister Crowley?” 

There was no answer, of course, save for the sound of his own voice, though Ezra supposed it was a big palace and if this Crowley character were here, he may be too far away to hear him. So he continued on, following halls or climbing stairs and continuously calling out for someone, anyone, to answer. 

As he wandered, Ezra couldn’t help but feel that there was something familiar about this place, though he was sure he had never been there before. He walked with a sense of purpose, as if his feet knew where to go without his head truly directing them, just as they had in the garden. Occasionally he would stop to admire some of the decor, hands always reaching, fingers always touching, and his mind always holding that faint spark of recognition.

“It’s like a memory from a dream…” 

His wandering finally led him to what appeared to once be a ballroom, oversized, cluttered, and plagued with endless dust. A quick glance about the room from the top of the staircase made it obvious that no one was in this room either, but just as Ezra turned to continue on his way, he paused, having come face to face with a large portrait of the royal family themselves. 

The portrait was beautifully painted and despite having been in the ruins of a palace for a little over ten years was perfectly untouched by time, showing no signs of decay. Ezra took his time studying the faces, absorbing the painted details as if it would tell him more about them. 

The king stood out to Ezra first, the hair on his head as dark as the hair on his face, causing the crown on his head to look exceptionally brighter. While his expression was more serious looking for the sake of the painting, Ezra could see a softness behind his dark eyes, a hidden warmth that Ezra was sure that his family frequently saw. At his side stood the queen, head held high with pride, blonde curls tucked up into an immaculate bun, and a small smile of amusement curling at the corner of her lips. 

His gaze drifted further down until they came to rest on the next two members of the royal family, two daughters standing side by side. They were all frills and lace, both with dark hair and tiny smiles on their faces, while beside them stood who looked to be the eldest son. He was probably the most serious looking of all the family, with dark hair like his father and his expression set into a thin line. His eyes were bright, almost violet-like in color, and Aziraphale couldn't help but feel like he had seen this boy before. 

Seen all of them before. 

"Now that's ridiculous," he murmured to himself. "How would you have even known them? They've been dead for ages now.”

Ezra forced his eyes from the likeness of the boy with violet eyes and finally moved along to the last child in the portrait. This child was significantly younger than the rest of the children, looking maybe seven or eight at the time it had been painted. He was the only child who resembled the queen with short blonde curls and wide blue eyes, staring ahead at the painter with a shy looking smile on his face. 

Tucked behind the child's ear was a flower and upon closer inspection he noticed it was a white peony, blooming beautifully and had perhaps been freshly cut from the garden. 

"Nobility is the meaning, isn’t it? How fitting," Ezra said quietly, his gaze still transfixed on the boy and his flower, but he had to look away when his head began to ache. He turned away from the beautiful family on the wall in favor of bringing his fingertips to his temple, hoping to chase off the headache before it fully formed. 

After a few moments, Ezra shook his head, chasing off muggy confusion that had begun to form there, and looked back to the ballroom. It was almost like moving through a fog as he descended the stairs, his hand gliding down the dust-covered rail. He imagined that there had once been magnificent parties held there with brilliant colors, dashing suits and dazzling gowns. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the music that had probably once played there. 

Ezra began to hum softly to himself, a tune he couldn’t quite place, and spread his arms in a way that one would hold their arms if they were waltzing, taking step after step to keep up with the song in his head. The people he imagined himself dancing with were very similar to the ones he’d seen in the portrait at the top of the stairs: a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, a man with dark hair and a beard to match.

He danced to music that he couldn’t remember hearing, took steps to a waltz he didn’t remember ever learning, and after much spinning, Ezra finally decided to open his eyes to face the ballroom again. He paused in mid-step, the song stuck in the back of his throat, as he stared at the vision of a boy before him. 

The boy looked to be about thirteen, maybe fourteen, with long red hair that was pulled back into a very messy bun. His smile was charming, warm, but his eyes...His eyes were obscured by shadows and Ezra was unable to see them clearly. It should have been frightening, should have chased Ezra off, or at the very least brought him back to reality, but somehow, he knew he could trust this boy. The boy bowed low at the waist, loose strands of hair falling over his shoulders before he straightened back up and offered Ezra his hand. 

Ezra stared at the boy for a long time, staring at his outstretched hand, and wondering who he was. He seemed so familiar and his presence alone made Ezra feel safe, but he couldn’t recall a name. He’d seen this boy before, in a dream he’d had, but even then he’d never been able to place him.

“I know you...don’t I?” he asked aloud. “Who are you?”

The boy said nothing, just continued to smile, his hand still reaching, and just as Ezra lifted his hand to take it--

“Oi!” A voice shouted out suddenly causing Ezra to nearly jump out of his shoes in alarm, jerking his hand back towards himself as the vision faded into nothing. He spun towards the sound of the voice just in time to see a red-haired man in black hurrying down the stairs towards him. “Who are you? You can’t be in here!”

“O-Oh! Well, I was just--!” Ezra waved his hands about as if that would offer some type of explanation, but knew by the agitated look on the man’s face as he approached that it was doing little to explain much of anything. His face was plenty expressive, even with the dark glasses that covered his eyes. “I was told to come here. To find a man named Crowley. I got a bit turned around, I’m afraid. Do you know who he is?" 

 "A bit turned around," the man repeated in disbelief with a shake of his head, then he heaved a heavy sigh and dragged a hand through his hair. "What do you need with Crowley?" 

"Oh, you do know him! How wonderful!" Ezra said happily, clapping his hands together excitedly. "I need an exit visa and a very helpful woman at the station told me Crowley would be able to help me. Though I’m afraid I’m unable to tell you who told me that.” 

"Right," the man said slowly, giving him a once over. "Look, I don't think--" 

"Oi, Crowley! Did you find out who broke in?" A second voice called out from the upper staircase and Ezra glanced upwards to see a new person leaning over the edge to look at him, a young man with messy brown hair and glasses. It was then that Ezra realized who he was talking to and spun back around to face the man in black.

“So you’re Crowley,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Were you planning on lying to me, Mister Crowley?” 

“Me? Lie to you? A complete stranger? Of course not,” Crowley told him, motioning for Ezra to follow as they walked towards the staircase, ascending the steps in order to meet the young man waiting there. “Do you always break into abandoned places to have a dance around, Mister…?” 

“Ezra. And no, I don’t make a habit of it at all,” Crowley stood just a head taller than himself, Ezra realized. He wore all black, from the tips of his boots to the black glasses he wore on his face, but his hair was red, bright like a flame. He wasn’t dressed like a man who participated in illegal activities, but more like a man who had a sense of style. It made even Ezra feel a bit underdressed, though he couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley felt the chill of Eden’s winter at the cost of his style. “Do you think you can help me?”

“Of course. Anything to help an innocent civilian in need,” Crowley replied easily, nodding his head towards his companion. “This is my associate, Newton.”

“Newt is fine,” the younger man said dismissively and held out his hand. Ezra took it, gave it a polite shake, before releasing it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Ezra said politely. “Now, Mister Crowley, about an exit visa--”

“Well, we do offer exit visas for those unwilling to go through the regular channels,” Crowley said. “Though we do have some fees that need to be paid in full before services can be provided.” 

Ezra sighed, removing his hat from the top of his head so he could run a hand through his hair. He didn’t think that asking for help from this man would end up costing him money , but he supposed if he wanted to make his way to London he would have to make sacrifices. “I don’t have much, but I suppose I could--” he stopped in mid-sentence when he looked back to Crowley. The other man was staring at him in a way that Ezra would describe as gobsmacked, his eyebrows raised high and his mouth slightly agape. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Crowley closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again. He seemed to be struggling to find the words he wanted to say as he stared at Ezra, looking just behind him to the painting on the wall and back again. “What...What did you say your name was again?” he asked, reaching out to grasp Newton by the arm and tug him over. “Anson?”

“Ezra,” he replied, trying not to show his irritation at the fact his name had already been forgotten. Newton and Crowley were both staring at him with mouths hanging open, Newton’s eyes wide behind his glasses, and the longer they stared, the more uncomfortable he became. 

“Last name?”

“Just Ezra,” Ezra glanced down at his hands as they twisted his hat about. He wondered if his lack of last name would conflict with obtaining his exit visa and decided to be forthcoming with the reasoning. “This is going to sound odd, but I don’t know my last name. I don’t have a lot of memories about my past.”

“Not at all?” 

“I understand that it’s strange, but I just don’t remember,” Ezra said simply. “My only real clue to finding answers is in London.”

“London?” Crowley asked next. “Why London?” 

“When I was found at the train station, I couldn’t remember anything about who I was or where my family was,” Ezra explained, then sighed. “When the nurse who treated me asked where I’d been going, all I could remember was London. I...I think my family is there.” 

“Well, we would be more than happy to get you what you need to get to London,” Newt said with a small smile in his direction. “Family should be together, shouldn’t they? We just have to sort out our fees--”

“No,” Crowley said suddenly, startling both Ezra and Newt. “No fees.” 

“N-No fees?” Newt sputtered. “But Crowley, we always charge for services.” 

Crowley ignored him completely, gesturing for Ezra to turn around. He did, though it was done with hesitance, and turned until he was face to face with the large portrait of the royal family that he’d been examining earlier. “What do you know about the Arch family, Ezra?” 

Ezra frowned, staring at the painting carefully as if it would give him some insight. “Ah...I know that they all died in an attack on the palace. Their family bloodline had ruled in Eden for nearly three-hundred years at the time of their deaths,” He said thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders, turning to look back at Crowley, surprised to see him already starting back. “Why?” 

“Did you know that not all of them were said to have died that night? That one member of the family may still be alive?” 

Ezra scoffed. “Do you mean Prince Aziraphale?” he asked. He had been hearing the rumors around the city for years about the young prince who had by some sort of miracle avoided the massacre that had befallen the other members of his family. He’d always thought it had been some sort of tall tale created by the people of Eden to cope with the tragedy of reality. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those believers, Mister Crowley?” 

“As a matter of fact, young Newton and I here are searching for the missing prince,” Crowley told him, looking back to the painting. “To reunite him with his grandmother.” 

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Ezra said gently because despite how he didn’t believe it for a moment, he wouldn’t stand there and tell Crowley otherwise, not when he was looking at the portrait in such a way. While Ezra couldn’t see his eyes, his expression seemed to have softened and his lips had curled up into a small smile. “What does this have to do with me?” 

“Well,” Newt said when Crowley didn’t immediately respond. “You do look a bit like him.”

“The same blue eyes,” Crowley said quietly. 

“Queen Francis’s eyes.” 

“King Raphael’s smile.” 

"I hope you two aren't implying what I think you're implying," Ezra said, a sound close to hysteria bubbling up in his chest. “That you think I’m Prince Aziraphale.” 

Newt and Crowley looked at one another, then shrugged their shoulders, causing Ezra to laugh, waving his hand in dismissal. “I thought you were a bit odd in the beginning, but now I think you’re both absolutely mad,” he said, turning away from the portrait with every intention of leaving. “Good day.” 

“Why is it so hard to believe?” Crowley asked, causing Ezra to stop midstep. Crowley’s voice had taken on a different tone, sounding a tad more desperate to Ezra’s ears. Why was this man so concerned with the missing prince, he wondered. “You don’t know what happened to you.” 

“No one knows what happened to him,” Newt added. 

“You’re looking for your family in London.” 

“And his only family is in London.” 

“You’ve never considered the possibility?” Crowley inquired, stepping around Ezra so they could look at one another face to face. “That you might have come from something more?” 

“I mean, sure, but royalty? ” Ezra scoffed. 

“Why not?” 

Ezra frowned, turning back toward the portrait. The boy did resemble him in a way as much as he didn't want to admit it and Crowley seemed very confident in his decision. Who was Ezra to say whether or not he was the missing prince anyway? If anything, this would just be a foot in the door to achieving his goal. “How will we know for sure?” 

"We'd take you to the one person who would know," Crowley explained.  "His grandmother, Agnes."

"And if we're wrong?" 

"Then you'll already be in London and can begin your search anew."

Ezra mulled the thought over in his head for some time, weighing the benefits and any potential consequences of agreeing to Crowley’s outrageous theory. If it didn’t work out, he would be in London and it would be easier to find his family, but if it did work out…

”I don’t see why it isn’t worth a try,” he said, at last, turning back to look at Crowley with a smile and held out his hand. “You have yourself a deal, Mister Crowley.” 

Crowley was clearly surprised that he’d agreed, but the surprise quickly morphed into a wide smile as he reached out to take Ezra’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Newt, let’s gather our things,” he announced. “We have a train to catch.” 

“Did you hear that, Hastur? He thinks Aziraphale is alive.” 

“Well, he’s a fool. Aziraphale is dead. All of the Arches are. Lucifer saw to that.” 

“Cost him his own life in the process.”

“Strange. This relic Lucifer left behind seems to have awoken.” 

“Oh, come now. Am I supposed to believe this thing has woken up after all these years because some guy said Aziraphale might be alive?” 

“If that thing has come back to life, Ligur, then it can only mean one thing...”

“Prince Aziraphale is alive.” 

“And it appears we’re being summoned.”

“Crowley, are you sure about this?” 

“About what?”

“That Ezra is...you know. Him.”

“I have a good feeling about it.”

“And you’re not going to tell me what this feeling is?” 

“...Not yet. Just trust me on this one.” 

It felt like before Ezra had really even wrapped his head around the reality that he was going to London, he was boarding a train with Crowley and Newt. He’d never been on a train before, not that he could remember anyway, and the entire experience was rather thrilling. They had their own compartment, just the three of them, and the seats were nicely padded, meant for long term travel. 

Once they were settled in their seats, Crowley dug through one of his bags and pulled out a large book that he held out towards Ezra. “Here, look through this on the way,” he instructed. “Lots of pictures in there, portraits of Aziraphale. It’ll help you get more familiar with him.”

“Oh, I do love books,” Ezra said with an excited smile, taking the book from Crowley and opening it in his lap. It was some kind of scrapbook with photographs neatly arranged on each page and as Crowley said, they were all pictures of members of the royal family. “These are wonderful. How did you manage to get all of these?” 

“I’m a man of many secrets,” Crowley told him and Ezra watched him get up from his seat. He stretched his arms over his head and then made his way to the door. “I’m going to take a walk around. Find out where the dining car is.” 

“Mind how you go,” Ezra told him cheerfully, looking back down at the photographs in the book and not looking up when the compartment door slid closed. He and Newt sat in silence, occupied with their own things, and it wasn’t until Ezra had gotten halfway through the book that he began to notice a trend in several photos as the young prince got older.

“Did Aziraphale like flowers?” Ezra asked as he flipped to the next page in the book, examining the pictures more closely. “He seems to always have a flower somewhere on his person in all of the portraits and photographs he’s in after the age of ten.”

“It was said the young prince spent a majority of his time in the royal gardens,” Newt told him, pushing his glasses further up his nose but not looking up from his work. “Though it was never clearly documented why. Most historians assumed that he simply enjoyed the flowers, but others aren’t so sure.” 

“What other reason could there be?”

“Flowers have many different meanings and each flower in every portrait or photograph he was in corresponded with the event that was occurring at the time they were taken,” Newt explained. “For example, the white peony in the family portrait at the palace represented nobility.”

“Yes, I know,” Ezra replied. “But is it so strange that he had a knack for the flower language?” 

“I suppose it was thought of as strange because no one was sure where he would have learned it. It’s not as if it were taught in his lessons and none of the documented books in the royal library were written on the subject.” 

“I see,” Ezra murmured, flipping to the next page in the album. In these photographs, Aziraphale looked a bit older and the date scribbled underneath one of them was dated just ten days before the attack on the royal family. The young prince was smiling at whoever was taking the picture, a book open in his lap, and tucked in the crease of the book was a small bunch of white flowers. “What kind of flowers are these?” 

“Oh, don’t ask me,” Newt said with a chuckle, holding up his hands. “Ask Crowley when he gets back. He knows all there is to know about flowers.” 

It surprised Ezra to learn that Crowley had an abundance of knowledge about flowers and their meanings. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to take plant care very seriously, but he supposed that looks could be deceiving. He remembered his arrival at the old palace, the flowers he’d seen growing there, and wondered if Crowley had been the one growing them.

It took some time for Crowley to return from his trip to the dining car, his hands full of neatly wrapped snacks. He gave several of them to Newt, who thanked him in earnest, and once he was seated, he held out one of the remaining packages to Ezra.

"Brought you something," Crowley said and Ezra reached out to take it from him, surprised he’d been thought of at all. He carefully undid the wrapping until he could see what was inside and ended up being absolutely delighted when he saw the iced breading of a pastry. "Thought you could use a bite."

"Oh, Mister Crowley, this is wonderful," Ezra told him sincerely and Crowley's face seemed to redden with embarrassment. "Thank you."

"S'nothing."

“It smells divine,” He continued, tearing off a piece and placing it into his mouth. The sweetness exploded across his taste buds and he was unable to hold back a wiggle of delight as he chewed. “A wonderful flavor, but then again I have quite the sweet tooth.” 

“I know,” Crowley said, his voice softer than it had been before, and when Ezra looked at him in surprise, Crowley’s face only flushed a deeper shade of red as he sputtered out another response. “I-I mean, you just seem like you would enjoy the finer kinds of foods. Rich taste. That’s all.”

Newt snorted and muttered something about needing to stretch his legs before he headed out of the compartment, leaving Crowley and Ezra alone for the first time all day. Ezra continued to pick at his pastry, careful not to drop any crumbs on the book as he continued to look at the photographs. Once he had finished eating, he was reminded of the questions he had and was quick to focus his attention on Crowley again.

“Oh, Mister Crowley, I was hoping to ask you something,” Ezra said eagerly, scooting across the seat towards the other man. One of Crowley’s eyebrows rose curiously as Ezra held open the book to the page he’d been looking at and tapped the photograph. “These flowers here. Do you know what they are?” 

Something changed in Crowley’s expression when his gaze fell on the picture and if Ezra hadn’t been watching his face, he was sure he would have missed it altogether: the way his eyebrows pinched together, how his lips tugged down at the corners just a fraction, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough, pained. “They’re white heather.” 

“What do they mean?”

Crowley sighed and it came out sounding absolutely defeated. “Protection.” 

“Someone wanted to keep him safe.” Ezra mused, pulling the book back towards himself. The boy in the photograph looked so happy, completely unaware of what was about to befall him and his family in the coming weeks, and it made Ezra’s heart ache. If this were in fact himself, how could he forget something so terrible? “Someone cared about him very much.” 

“He was cherished by all who knew him.”

“He must have been such a lovely person,” Ezra said. “Did Aziraphale have many friends?”

“Not many, no,” Crowley said quietly and when Aziraphale looked towards him, he saw Crowley was instead looking out the window, watching the world pass by. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyebrows still pinched. “Some would say he only had one.”

“Just one friend?” 

“It was all he needed. One good friend.” 

“You seem to know a lot about him. Prince Aziraphale, I mean,” Ezra said carefully. “Things that aren’t in books or journals. Things that even Newton doesn’t know.”

Crowley said nothing for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that the silence that followed was nearly suffocating. His expression never changed, somehow managing to stay neutral despite how Ezra knew something wasn’t right. Somehow this conversation had upset him. “I make it my business to know. That’s all.” 

Ezra watched him, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, what he’d said that had put Crowley into such a state. Usually, Crowley was a rush of energy and conversation, but now he seemed rather melancholy. If Crowley had dedicated his life to reuniting the lost prince with his family, why would the subject upset him so? 

They sat together in silence, watching the scenery pass, and Ezra felt that if he didn’t somehow change the subject, this silence would never resolve itself. “Ah, Mister Crowley--”

“Stop calling me that.” 

“Stop calling you what? Your name?” 

“The mister part,” Crowley told him. “Mister Crowley was my father. It’s just Crowley.” 

“Was?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, still not looking in his direction, and Ezra wondered if he had only made his mood worse. “He passed a few years back. Mum too.”

“Oh dear,” Ezra said quietly and despite how he probably shouldn’t have, he found himself reaching across the small amount of space to place his hand on Crowley’s arm in a comforting gesture. The touch clearly surprised Crowley because his head immediately snapped to look at him, gaze fixed on the hand on his arm. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Crowley continued to stare at the spot on his arm, even long after Ezra withdrew his hand. “Thanks,” he said. “They were both very good people.” 

“I’d always wondered if Crowley was your first or last name,” Ezra admitted thoughtfully. “If your father was Mister Crowley, that implies it’s your last name.” 

“Spot on.”

“So?” Ezra pressed.

“So what?” 

“So, what’s your first name?” 

“I don’t use my first name, not anymore,” Crowley said simply. “No one’s called me by my first name since my parents passed and even then nobody else had since--” He stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut with a click, as if he’d been about to say something he shouldn’t. 

“Nobody else since...what, Crowley?” Or who, he wondered. 

“Nothing,” Crowley mumbled, slumping back against the window. “Forget it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating and Ezra knew that the conversation was beyond saving. It seemed like any direction he tried to take, Crowley was intent on not giving him any information about himself or his past. As Ezra couldn’t remember any of his past, he really had nothing to offer except for what he did know. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been on a train before today,” Ezra said casually, looking out the window as well. “The day I was found I was at a train station, but...I don’t think I’d gotten off of a train. I think I was trying to get on.” 

“You think?” Crowley asked, not moving from his position against the window, though his tone indicated he was curious. 

“I woke up on the ground. Everyone was...shouting and my head was just aching,” Ezra told him. “I’d fallen down and hit my head, but...all I could think of was that I needed to find someone. I’ve always felt like I was looking for someone.” 

“Can’t imagine how hard it must be for you. Forgetting everything like that,” Crowley offered sympathetically. “You’ve really never remembered anything about your past?”

Ezra shook his head. “Not...remembered exactly , but sometimes I have dreams,” he admitted. “People I’ve never met before, voices I’ve never heard. Sometimes I get flashes when I’m awake, certain smells, sounds, all kinds of things trigger them, but nothing seems to stay.”

Crowley said nothing for a few moments while both of them stared out the window, watching the scenery pass. Ezra had just begun to think that the conversation had come to a complete end, the gentle motion of the train starting to rock him off to sleep, when Crowley finally spoke again. “I think you’ll find who you’re looking for. Memories or not,” he said quietly. “Someone must be out there looking for you too.” 

“I hope so,” Ezra sighed, closing his eyes. “I certainly hope so.”

“It appears they’re taking a train, my lord. 

“A train, hm? Well, it would be terrible if something were to interrupt this happy little journey, wouldn’t it?”

“We...may have a bit of a problem.” 

“And that problem would be?” 

“The ink on the travel papers. Red.” 

“Red?”

“Red.”

“As in the opposite of blue.” 

“I suggest we move to the baggage car before someone realizes we don’t belong here.”

“Grab the bags. I’ll wake Ezra.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just a few cars over.” 

“Why?” 

“Do we need a reason?” Crowley asked, opening the door to the baggage car and motioning inside. Ezra stepped inside, quickly followed by Crowley and Newt, but Ezra was far from letting this conversation go. Something was wrong. 

“There wouldn’t happen to be something wrong with our travel papers, would there, Crowley?” Ezra asked, eyebrow raised as he wrapped his arms around himself, barely suppressing a shiver.

“Of course not,” Crowley said, smiling in a way that Ezra had begun to associate with lying. “I just thought you’d enjoy a change of scenery.” 

“Do you really think we’ll be able to avoid being found out in the baggage car?” Newt asked curiously, peeking out the window of the car to ensure that they hadn’t been followed by anyone. “The moment we arrive we’ll probably be arrested.” 

“Well, we have plenty of time to discuss it before--” 

There was a sudden bang followed by the train car lurching forward and the three of them all cried out in alarm as they were sent flying to the floor. Crowley sat up with a groan as Newt scrambled to his feet and hurried to the car door. “What in the hell was that?” 

“I don’t know,” Newt said weakly. “But there goes the rest of the train.” 

“The rest of the train?!” Ezra echoed in alarm, shakily getting to his feet, assisted by Crowley’s hand on his elbow. Newt hurried past them to the other car door to peek through the window. “Are we going to crash?” 

“Of course not,” Crowley replied soothingly, calm and collected as ever in the face of chaos. “A minor malfunction disconnected the train, but we have the end with the conductor so we’ll be just fine.”

“Ah, Crowley?” Newt called. 

“Newton?” 

“I-I believe someone has set our engine on fire.” 

“Fire?!” Ezra squeaked.

“For hell’s sake,” Crowley said under his breath and Ezra watched as he crossed the distance to Newt. They murmured to one another for a moment, so quietly that Ezra couldn’t hear, before Crowley pulled open the car door and disappeared outside. 

“Where is he going?” Ezra asked nervously, fingers going to the chain around his neck and dragging out the ring he had hidden beneath his shirt. He dragged his thumb over the imprint of the angel’s wings, trying to soothe his nerves.

“He’s going to have a word with the conductor,” Newt told him, heading back across the length of the train car to look out the other window again. “He’ll be back in a moment.”

Upon Crowley’s return, however, the situation had only escalated from there. He’d discovered that there was no one actually driving the train and announced they were officially on a runaway train to nowhere. Chaos followed as the three of them scrambled to get their car disconnected from the engine in hopes of ‘coasting to a stop’ as Crowley had explained, but just as they'd managed to accomplish the task at hand, they watched in horror as the bridge they were fast approaching burst apart and what emerged from the wreckage was a horrific looking green demon that disappeared in the blink of an eye. 

“D-Did you see that?” Newt stammered. “Tell me I wasn’t the only one who saw that?” 

“Big giant green demon creature breaking apart the bridge we’re about to fly off of? Yeah, I saw it.” Crowley replied, sounding a bit annoyed as he walked back to the other end of the train, tapping his foot against the floor.

“What do we do?” Ezra asked nervously, coming to stand beside him. “I’m afraid we’re running out of options.”

Crowley looked over the edge of the train, observed the destruction they were leaving behind before glancing behind them at the end they were fast approaching. “We’re going to have to jump.”

“Did you say jump?!” Ezra asked in alarm, already taking a step back and away from the edge of the train car. He would rather stay in place on a runaway train car than jump off of it into a snowy abyss. “Crowley, I don’t think--” 

“If we don’t jump, we are going to die. Newt, bags,” Crowley instructed and Newt began his scramble to gather their things. Ezra looked out the other end of the train car at their fast approaching demise on the broken bridge and felt a nervous lump begin to form in his throat. Before he could manage to continue his protests, Crowley was there, blocking his view with his body. “Hey, no, no, look at me.” 

Ezra couldn't breathe, but forced himself to look up at Crowley. Somehow, Crowley looked completely calm, but he had a feeling that if he could see Crowley’s eyes, he would look just as frazzled as he felt. “I-I…” 

“Everything will be fine . You need to trust me,” Crowley insisted, placing his hands on Ezra’s shoulders and giving him a firm shake. “I told you I would get you to London to find your family and I am not going to let this keep me from keeping that promise.” 

Ezra swallowed, staring up at Crowley with wide eyes. He wanted to refuse, to say he'd rather die on the train, but they'd already come so far and besides, Crowley promised everything would be alright. 

"Alright," Ezra whispered and Crowley released his shoulders in favor of holding out a hand for him to take. Ezra took it immediately and squeezed, trying to keep his fingers from trembling. "Remember, you promised."

"I've never broken a promise," Crowley told him seriously, Ezra's hand held in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He walked them to the edge of the train car where Newt was already waiting for them, arms full of luggage. "On the count of three."

Ezra held tight to Crowley's hand as he stared down at the snow below them. Snow was soft, it might be a bit of a rough tumble, but they should come out of it mostly uninjured. 

"One!"

No, not should , they would . 

"Two!"

Crowley promised . 

"Three!"

They jumped. 

Ezra didn't remember hitting the snow or the moment Crowley's hand left his own, but he had a vague recollection of rolling down the massive hill of snow until he hit the bottom. The sound of the train car, shrieking as it plowed down the remainder of the track, gradually faded into nothing as it toppled to its end and left the world with only silence. 

As he lay there in the snow, he mentally assessed himself. He didn't appear to be hurt in any way, everything moved as it should and nothing ached, but he felt incredibly shaken by the entire ordeal. They jumped out of a train , a derailed train for that matter, and despite how Crowley's quick thinking had saved their lives--oh!

"Crowley?" Ezra asked aloud, lifting his head off of the snow covered ground to look around. He'd nearly forgotten about his companions and their well-being. He didn't see them immediately which made his stomach twist uncomfortably and he pushed himself up into a sitting position to get a better look. "N-Newton? Crowley !"

“Ezra?!” Crowley's voice answered and Ezra felt relief wash over him as Crowley suddenly appeared, trudging over the tall hill of snow to get to him. " There you are! Oi, Newt, I found him!"

Crowley slid down the hill with a surprising amount of skill until he was standing at Ezra's side, kneeling down so they were eye to eye. Ezra took the opportunity to look him over, checking for any injury. His hair was a mess, sticking out at all angles, even his glasses were a bit askew, but otherwise he seemed unharmed. "You're alright," he said. "Thank goodness."

While Ezra had been looking him over, Crowley had apparently been doing the same, reaching out with gentle hands to poke and prod in search of anything off. "Scared the life out of us. We sat up and you were just gone, thought you’d been buried- " he grumbled, then shook his head, hands still probing. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

“No, not at all,” Ezra told him truthfully because he knew he hadn't been hurt in the tumble. Though the longer he sat on the snowy ground, the colder he felt and his teeth had begun to chatter as a response. “Just a bit cold, I think.” 

Crowley let out a breath of relief and his hands stopped their searching to rest on his forearms, fingers curling before beginning to urge Ezra up onto his feet with a squeeze. "I can fix that," he told him, releasing Ezra's arms in favor of unwinding the scarf from around his neck and placing it around Ezra's instead. "Bundle up with this for now."

“B-But you’ll freeze!” Ezra protested, fussing as Crowley began to wind the scarf around his neck. It was still warm from when it had been snug around Crowley's throat and carried a scent that Ezra could now identify as Crowley's. "I can't accept this!"

"Well, next time we jump from a moving train, make sure you make time to unpack your winter attire first," Crowley replied with a teasing smile and Ezra would have rolled his eyes if he hadn’t been distracted by the warmth pooling in his stomach at the sight of that smile. He settled for a half-hearted glare instead and Crowley sighed. "Nevermind me, alright? I'll be just fine."

Crowley said those words a lot: everything will be fine. Ezra wondered how he could feel so confident about saying things like that, after all they’d just jumped out of a runaway train, but Crowley was already moving onto the next step. It was a very admirable trait and Ezra wished he could be so strong.

“All warmed up?” Crowley asked after a moment and Ezra could only nod, his face buried in the warmth his scarf provided. Crowley placed a hand on the center of his back, motioning to the snow hill that he’d climbed over. “Good, now come on. Newt managed to grab our things, but we’ll need to walk to our next destination from here.”

“Are we taking another train?” 

“Absolutely not .”

“How could they let him escape?!”

“Perhaps some calming breaths, my lord--”

“I sold my soul for this! My very existence depends on this!” 

“If only we were able to take care of him for you, my lord. We would never fail you in such a way.”

“Patience, patience, dear Ligur. I have an idea.” 

“An idea?” 

“Yes, yes. Something particularly...cruel.”

Chapter Text

“And they walked. They walked through sun, storm, and snow. They fought great evils, terrifying beasts, and powerful magics. All through these trials, they stayed at one another’s sides, keeping one another safe, and more than determined to return the lost prince to his home.” 

“I could never be so brave, grandmother. The prince and his friend go through so much without an ounce of fear.” 

“But you are brave, my little one. One day you will face your own trials and the bravery you have in your heart will help you overcome them.”

After the incident on the train, they’d all agreed to swear off trains as a means of transportation for the rest of their trip. Unfortunately, with the change in plan, that meant they needed to take multiple methods of transportation to get where they needed to go. Already they’d walked for so long, abandoning the train wreckage, and filling the silence with mindless conversation but the farther they walked, the more questions Ezra had.

“Are we going to walk to London?” 

“No, we’re taking a boat to London.” 

“Ah, so we’re walking to the boat?” 

Crowley sighed. “No, Ezra, we’re taking a bus.” 

“A bus,” Ezra repeated. “How lovely. We’re never getting to London, are we?” 

“We will get to London. It’s just a bit more complicated than it used to be,” Crowley said defensively. “Have I ever lied to you before?”

“Not on purpose.” 

“Right, so just have a little faith and we’ll be arriving in the next town in...How long would you say, Newton?”

Newt, who hadn’t said much of anything since they began walking towards their next destination, merely hummed wistfully in reply. When Ezra and Crowley turned to look at him, they saw Newt holding a photograph in his hand, gazing adoringly down at the person pictured there.

“Newt? Hello?” 

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t stop thinking about my Anathema,” Newt sighed dreamily. “Every step closer to London is a step closer to her.”

“Anathema?” Ezra asked curiously, smiling in amusement at the completely smitten look on Newt’s face. “That’s a new name. Who is Anathema? Your lady love?”

“Only the smartest, wisest, most amazing woman in the entire world,” Newt continued on with a happy sigh. “The queen dowager’s beautiful cousin.” 

“Her...cousin?” Ezra looked from Newt to Crowley, who was running a hand over his face and glaring at Newt. “I thought we were going to see Agnes. Why are we going to see her cousin?” 

“Well…” 

“Crowley?” 

“Well, no one can actually meet Agnes unless they gain the approval of Anathema,” Crowley explained and Ezra could only imagine what his face looked like when he saw the look of panic on Crowley’s. “Listen, this is not a big deal--” 

“You didn’t tell me anything about having to meet her cousin!” 

“Ezra-” 

“Crowley, I don’t even know who I am! How can I possibly convince someone I’ve never met that I’m someone I may not even be?” Ezra asked desperately and Crowley lifted his hands in a placating way before placing them on his arms. “Show up? Absolutely. Dress nicely? Of course. But lie?”

“Hey, hey, take a deep breath,” Crowley soothed and Ezra sucked in a deep breath, his hands trembling. “You have nothing to worry about, alright? Getting past Anathema will be no problem.” 

“How can you be so certain?” 

“Because Newt and I are experts on the royal family and we are going to teach you everything you need to know,” Crowley assured him, that easy smile slipping into place. It was a smile that Ezra usually found comfort in, but now it did little for his nerves and Crowley seemed to be able to tell because it faded as easily as it formed. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“You always say that. But how do you know ?"

“Because I just know,” Crowley said confidently, squeezing his arms. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? You just have to trust me.” 

It wasn't that Ezra didn't trust Crowley. So far, Crowley had done more than enough to prove himself as trustworthy, but Ezra was having more trouble trusting himself. He didn't want to make it all the way to London only to fail. 

"I do. Trust you, that is," Ezra admitted and he saw Crowley's eyebrows lift in surprise. If he refused to meet this Anathema, he would never find out if he really belonged with Agnes and he would be right where he was before he met Crowley. "I suppose we won't really know unless we try, right?" 

"That's the spirit!"

“Well, if we want you to be able to convince Anathema to let you see Agnes, you’re going to have to study the history of the royals,” Newt announced, opening another suitcase and pulling out a book, one that Ezra had never seen before. It was larger than the one Ezra had while they were on the train, clearly packed full of not only photographs, but a collection of other papers as well. “We’ll have to go into more detail about Aziraphale’s immediate family and work our way backwards.” 

“This book is...enormous,” Ezra said, taking the book from Newt and laying it in his lap. “How will I possibly memorize it all?”

“You have us as your teachers,” Crowley told him reassuringly, patting his shoulder. “You won’t have a problem at all.” 

Ezra looked at Crowley, shoulder warmed under his touch, and felt a small burst of confidence from the gesture of kindness. “Alright, gentlemen, start your teaching.”

“King Raphael and Queen Francis had four children at the time of their deaths,” Newt began, pointing to each individual in the photograph as he named them. “There was the eldest son, Gabriel, two daughters, Michael and Uriel, and of course, Aziraphale.” 

“Yes, yes, I know of them,” Ezra said with a chuckle, flipping through the pages of the book until he came across a small stack of loose photographs that hadn’t made it into the book. He picked up the photographs and began shuffling through them, most of them of the most recent generation of the family. “All very angelic names.” 

“Ran in the family on the king's side,” Crowley pointed out. “Starting with King Jophiel and all the way down to King Raphael.” 

“The Arch family had a very long line,” Newt explained. “So we have a lot to go over.”

“I can only imagine,” Ezra replied, continuing to shuffle through the photographs until one gave him pause. It was King Raphael standing next to a man that Ezra was certain was not a member of the Arch family. The man’s hair was dark, long, and his beard was even longer, but it wasn’t his hair that caught his attention: It was the eyes. There was nothing particularly strange about the man’s eyes, but they reminded him of something. “Who...Who is this? An uncle?" 

Something...unsettling. 

“Oh. Lucifer. Former advisor to King Raphael,” Newt explained. “He was said to be some kind of religious fanatic, but it was also said that he practiced dark magic, if you can believe that.” 

“Dark magic?” Ezra asked, his eyes still fixated on the picture he was holding. He simply couldn’t look away and he felt the dull ache of an oncoming headache behind his eyes. “Is there such a thing?”

“Of course there is,” Crowley chimed in and Newt rolled his eyes. 

“ Crowley thinks that Lucifer was the reason the Arch family met their end.”

"Don't start with me," Crowley warned him, in a way that told Ezra this discussion had been had many times before. “I don’t think, I know.”

Please, don’t let go!

“I thought the people had an uprising,” Ezra said softly, squeezing his eyes closed. The world had begun to spin as the faceless voices echoed around in his head, but all he could see behind his closed lids was the photograph of that man.

I’ll find you, I promise!

"They did , but Crowley insists it was magic related."

"An entire city doesn't turn on the royal family overnight. Those people were perfectly content and happy one day, tearing down the gates the next!"

"You do realize how crazy that sounds, right?" Newt asked. "Magic is just a fairy-tale!"

You and your family will be dead within a fortnight! 

He knew those eyes…

I will not rest until I see the end of the entire bloodline! 

Ezra shoved the book out of his lap with such force that he sent it flying to the floor, pictures and papers spilling out. He heard Newt curse under his breath, saw the movement out of the corner of his eye as he hurried to pick up the mess before anything was lost, but any words that were being said after that point were completely gone to him. 

All he could hear was laughter, crazed and loud, and all he could see was those eyes. 

Ezra couldn’t breathe, his heart racing in his chest. Who did those voices belong to? He was sure he’d never heard them before, but how else would he have known them? Those words? Had he been threatened? Had someone tried to hurt him? Had it been this lucifer character? 

“Ezra?” A new voice, a familiar voice broke through the jumble of thoughts, and Ezra slowly became aware of how warm his hands had become, the slow movement of a thumb across his knuckles, centering him. “Ezra, can you hear me?” 

“C-Crowley?”

“There you are, you’re alright,” Crowley murmured, squeezing his hands gently and Ezra felt his lip tremble. How long had he been spiraling? How long had Crowley been calling his name? “Ezra, what happened?” 

“I...I-I don’t know…” Ezra admitted. He blinked, once, twice, then slowly moved his gaze to look at Crowley’s face, away from the mess he’d made. “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to drop the book, but that photograph…"

“Forget the book,” he interrupted. "Which photograph?"

"That man. Lucifer," Ezra shook his head, an unsettling chill running down his spine as tears burned behind his eyes. He felt ridiculous. He’d been so terrified of a picture of a man that he’d never met that he was breaking down right in front of Crowley. "I-I’m so sorry. There's...There's just something about him, I…"

Crowley's frown deepened and he looked over his shoulder at Newt. "Get rid of that picture," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Don't know why we have a picture of him anyway, the bloody lunatic."

Ezra kept looking at Crowley, squeezing his hands so tightly that he was sure it must hurt, but Crowley didn't move to pull away. His hands were warm with long fingers that wrapped around Ezra's and enveloped them completely. "Did you know him?" he asked quietly. "Lucifer?" 

"I knew of him,” Crowley replied and there was something hidden beneath his tone, some kind of upset that Ezra couldn’t place. “Out of his mind.”

“Is he dead?” 

“What?”

“Please tell me that man isn’t still alive,” he said quietly. "That he isn't out there still." 

Crowley stared at him for a long time, his thumb still running soothingly across his knuckles as he nodded. “That’s what they say, yeah,” he said carefully. “After what happened to the royal family, he was never seen again.” 

Ezra nodded slowly, feeling oddly reassured about the death of a man he had never met before. “Good, that’s...good,” he said, looking down at their hands and realizing just how tightly he was squeezing Crowley’s hands. “Oh, Crowley! I must be hurting you!”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” Crowley said reassuringly as Ezra released his hands, cradling them carefully to look them over for any damage. He saw the pale imprints in the shape of his own fingers there and cooed sympathetically, gently rubbing life back into them. “I’m more worried about you.”

“You're worried about...me?” Ezra asked, looking up from their hands to instead look at his face. Crowley’s expression was unreadable, but his cheeks held a tint of pink to them. This man had dropped everything to take him halfway across the country to help him find his family, saved his life on a runaway train, and even now was talking to him calmly through a panic attack after he’d nearly broken his hands. “Oh, Crowley…”

“Sorry to interrupt, but should we keep going with family history?” Newt asked, holding up the newly constructed book. “No more lunatic pictures in here, I promise.” 

“Up to you, Ezra,” Crowley told him, slowly withdrawing his hands from his hold and Ezra immediately began to mourn the loss of the warmth. “What do you think? Do you need a break?”

“No, I think I’m ready,” Ezra said after a moment, holding out his now empty hands for the book. “Who’s next in the family line?”

“It’s strange.” 

“What’s strange?” 

“Ezra talked about King Sandalphon today. Recalled details about his personal life.”

“Is that so strange?” 

“We never had the chance to tell him about it. He knew it without us telling him.” 

“Maybe he’d read about it somewhere?” 

“Yeah...maybe.”

“I’ve never been on a boat before,” Ezra said as he stepped down the steps of the bus onto solid ground. He stared up at their newest method of transportation, a massive ship that would carry them across the remaining distance to London. “Or a ship. Or any type of machine that floats on water.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Crowley teased. 

“I am not nervous,” Ezra said defensively. “I’m just fondly remembering the last time you took me on a method of transportation that I’d never taken before.” 

“The ship will not be anything like the train,” Newt said, coming up beside him. “The skies are clear, the seas are calm, and they say ships are one of our safer methods of transportation.” 

“Who says that?” Ezra asked suspiciously. 

“Well--”

“Everything will be fine ,” Crowley emphasized, nudging Newt away. “No need to be nervous. Newt and I will be there the whole time, it’s only for one day, and then we’ll be in London.” 

“I don’t know if that makes me feel any better,” Ezra admitted. The closer they got to London, the more real it all became, and he still wasn’t sure if he was ready. “Though having the two of you there will help, I’m sure.” 

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Crowley told him reassuringly, motioning up the gangplank. “Now, up you go, we’re setting sail soon and we need to get settled in.”

The ship itself wasn’t much to look at even once they’d boarded. The deck was nice and spacious, but the halls were narrow and the rooms were even smaller than the compartments on the train with all of the furniture set up inside. 

“Ezra, wait.” 

Ezra paused at the door and turned to face Crowley, looking at him curiously. “Crowley,” he inquired. “Is something wrong?”

“I have something for you,” Crowley told him, holding out a small, rectangular box with a neat bow wrapped around it towards him. “Something to, ah..spruce up your outfits a bit.” 

“You didn’t have to spend your money on me,” Ezra said, looking down at the deep blue box with the golden ribbon and feeling the smile curling at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He pulled at the end of the ribbon until the bow came undone, unwound it from around the box, and slowly opened the lid. Nestled in the center of the box was a neatly folded bowtie, decorated with a brilliant tartan pattern made up of creams and blues. “Oh, Crowley…it’s lovely.”

“I noticed you had a few bowties in your luggage, but they were a little worn,” Crowley offered, his face pink and seemingly looking anywhere but at Ezra. “Thought you could wear it when we visit Anathema.” 

“Oh, of course, I would love to,” Ezra said, replacing the lid on the box and smiling widely in Crowley’s direction. “Thank you. This was incredibly kind and thoughtful of you.” 

“Yeah, well, ah...try it on, see how it feels. I-If you want,” Crowley told him, gesturing behind him towards the stairs awkwardly and already beginning to take several steps backwards. “And meet us up on deck when you’re ready.” 

“Alright then,” Ezra said, watching him leave until long after he had disappeared up the stairs. His stomach was in knots, like it was filled with butterflies, and he wasn’t able to put a finger on what this feeling was. Crowley had given him a gift, something he’d thought he’d like, and it made his chest feel so warm. He looked back down at the box in his hands and took a deep breath. “Right, then.” 

It took little to no time at all for Ezra to change his clothes, easily finding an assortment of colors that went well with the tartan pattern adorning his bowtie. So easily, in fact, that it quickly became obvious to Ezra that Crowley must have been paying close attention to the clothes and colors he typically wore. The bowtie sat at the base of his throat, displayed with pride, and Ezra was unable to contain the pleased wiggle that rocked through him at the thought of showing off his latest acquired piece.

When he ascended the stairs to the deck and glanced around, he noticed that the space was empty aside from the presence of himself, Crowley, and Newt. He raised a hand in greeting when Newt waved him over and watched as Crowley turned his attention towards him, not looking away even when he stopped in front of them.

“I went through my things and found something to match,” Ezra said, showing off the tartan bow tie and his ensemble with a flourish. “What do you think?” 

Crowley said nothing, only continuing to stare, mouth half ajar until Newt elbowed him in the side to give him a jolt to reality. “Oh! Ah, you look...nice,” he stammered and Ezra was unable to keep himself smiling in delight. “Very nice. Tartan is nice on you.”

“Thank you. That's very kind of you to notice,” Ezra said with a hint of warmth to his face, then gestured across the empty deck. “What are we doing up here this evening?” 

“Waltz practice,” Newt announced with a grin. 

“Waltz practice?” Ezra echoed. “And why is that needed?” 

“Every royal knows how to waltz. What if Anathema asks?” 

“Then I’m afraid she’ll have to be disappointed,” Ezra said with a laugh. “I’ve never danced before.” 

“You were dancing the day we met.” Crowley pointed out.

“Yes, poorly. I know you're wearing sunglasses, dear, but they can't possibly obscure your vision that much," Ezra pointed out with a laugh. "I have two left feet when it comes to dancing.”

Crowley stared at him for a long, long time. It was the way he had frequently taken to staring at him lately, Ezra noticed, like he wasn't really seeing him but maybe seeing someone else. The way that made Ezra wish to see the eyes hidden behind the glasses to maybe get an idea as to what he was thinking. 

"Crowley?" Newt called out, trying to draw him out of wherever he had gone. It seemed to work because Crowley took a deep breath and shook himself out before looking away from Ezra to instead look over in Newt’s direction. 

"What?"

"You alright, mate?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," Crowley said dismissively. "Anyway, waltzing. Easy stuff."

" You've waltzed before?" Ezra asked in surprise. “Where did you learn to waltz?

"With an old friend. Several times. Awful dancer. Give me your hands," Crowley held up his hands and Aziraphale did the same, allowing the other man to arrange him as he saw fit: one hand on his shoulder, the other enveloped in Crowley's. "There. And I'll put my other hand on your waist like this.” 

Crowley placed his hand on the curve of Ezra’s hip, urging him to take a step closer. Ezra did so, having to tilt his head up a bit so that he could see himself in the reflection of Crowley’s glasses. He hoped he didn’t look as nervous to Crowley as he did to himself.

“So Ezra, you’re going to let Crowley lead,” Newt instructed. “As impossible as it is to believe that Crowley can waltz--” 

“Watch it.” 

“He knows what he’s doing, so you can trust him.” 

“Yes, I know,” Ezra said softly. “And I do.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley and Ezra could swear he could see the faint hint of pink on Crowley’s face. When he smiled up at him, Crowley cleared his throat, shook himself, and straightened up again. "Right, anyway, waltzing is very simple. Just follow my steps, look down if you need to.”

It took some time and a lot of feet watching before Ezra managed to grasp the steps, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face as the excitement settled in. He followed the steps, finding it easier to do so each time, until he was barely watching Crowley’s feet at all. “I can’t believe I’m actually waltzing .” 

“Not quite,” Crowley told him. “Isn’t a waltz unless you look at your dance partner, you know.”

“You’re certainly right,” Ezra agreed, lifting his gaze completely from their feet to finally look at Crowley’s face. They continued their dance, taking each step completely in sync, their eyes completely fixed on each other. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Crowley replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “I think you’ve done this before.”

“Can’t imagine where,” he replied with a snort. “It’s not like Tracy or Mister Shadwell ever took me aside to teach me how to waltz.” 

“Well, maybe someone taught you before you met them,” Crowley suggested. “Perhaps a long forgotten friend? Or a tutor?” 

“I still think this Aziraphale theory you have is completely outrageous,” Ezra pointed out. “But I suppose you may be right. Someone must have taught me once.”

They continued to dance together, taking step after step, turn after turn, and the longer it went on, the more it felt like the world had melted away and there was only Crowley. It was the warmth of the hand on his waist, the gentle hold that guided him through the motions, and the smile that was curling up at the corner of Crowley’s lips that kept him so engaged.

“I’m feeling a little dizzy, I think,” Ezra said softly even as his feet continued to move through the motions of the dance. He didn’t want to stop dancing, didn’t want to stop being so close to Crowley, but he was getting a bit dizzy and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the dancing or if it was because of the intensity he imagined Crowley staring at him from behind his glasses. 

“Probably from all of the spinning,” Crowley replied slowly. Midway through the next rotation, they slowed to a stop, but their hands were still clasped and their eyes were still fixed on one another. “Maybe we should stop.” 

“We have stopped,” Ezra whispered. When had they gotten so close? What had they started to lean in? Ezra had never been kissed before, not once, but he certainly knew what it looked like when one was about to happen, knew for a fact that Crowley was about to kiss him, and knew that he was not going to do a thing to stop him. In fact, as they both leaned in closer, Ezra’s eyes began to close, ready to welcome whatever came of this moment between them. “Crowley, I--”

Before their lips could meet, however, a loud sneeze broke the silence and the two of them jerked apart. They both turned their gazes to Newt, who was already wiping at his nose with a handkerchief. 

"Sorry, sorry," Newt called out apologetically, waving them on, but the moment had been shattered. Ezra supposed he should feel grateful for it; what had he been thinking? He’d been about to kiss Crowley, surely he must be out of his mind. 

Ezra turned his attention back to Crowley as the red-haired man withdrew his hands and stepped away, clearing his throat. “We have a long trip ahead of us,” Crowley began. “That was good practice. I think you’re going to do just fine.”

Ezra wasn’t sure why it was so hard watching Crowley turn and walk away from him. Somehow the dynamic between them had shifted without him being completely aware of it and it had completely taken him off guard.

He was falling for Crowley.

Their cabin wasn’t really meant to house three people, but they were making it work to the best of their ability. Crowley had volunteered to take the floor, starting to arrange himself a bed made of various blankets and pillows from the linen closet as well as a dusty mattress before either Newt or Ezra could offer a word of protest. 

Ezra had been a bit weary of taking the top bunk of the provided bunk-beds, so Newt had agreed to occupy the top for the night so Ezra could sleep on the bottom. In the time it had taken Ezra to slip into their shared bathroom to change into something more comfortable for sleep, Crowley had already climbed under the covers on his mattress and fallen asleep, unbothered by the suddenly unsteady rocking of the ship. 

“Why is the ship rocking like this?” Ezra aske, keeping his voice low so as not wanting to disturb Crowley while he slept. Though if the rocking hadn’t woken him by now nothing would. “It came on so suddenly.” 

“Looks like we were due for a storm after all,” Newt told him, looking a bit pale and even a bit green in the face. He had propped himself up against the wall of their cabin, seated on the hard floor, and his eyes were tightly closed as if he were in pain. “A horrible miscalculation on my part.” 

Ezra sat down on the floor across from him, studying him with concern. “Do you get seasick?”

“Only with rough weather like this,” Newt admitted. “As long as I fall asleep, I can usually sleep through it, but it’s the falling asleep part that’s the hardest.” 

“Oh, you poor thing.” Ezra cooed sympathetically. “I’m surprised Crowley isn’t affected by any of this.”

“Crowley could sleep through a war,” Newt said with a snort, pulling himself up to his feet by using the nightstand as a crutch. He discarded his glasses with ease and began his ascension of the small ladder at the edge of the bed to the top bunk. “I get seasick and he sleeps peacefully. It just isn’t fair.”

“Some of us were blessed with different skills,” Ezra said with an amused smile. “You were given the skill of remarkable scrapbooking and Crowley was given the ability to sleep through a war.” 

“Hilarious,” Newt said, tucking himself under the blankets with a yawn. The ship rocked to the side sharply causing most of their belongings to shift as well. Crowley’s bag tipped over and a book slipped out, sliding across the floor until it hit Ezra’s foot. “I’ll never get any sleep with all this rocking .” 

“What’s this?” Ezra wondered aloud, picking up the book from the floor. It fit perfectly in his hold with a sense of familiarity he couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t think Crowley had an interest in books.”

“A beautiful book, isn’t it?” Newt mused. “He’s had that book as long as I’ve known him, but I’ve never seen him read it.”

“Are you sure it’s just a book?” he inquired, fingers running over the cover of the book, touching the binding that seemed to hold it closed. There was a hole in the binding, oddly shaped, as if for some kind of key. “Can you unlock it?”

“I’ve never seen him open it. I don’t think he has the key, really.” 

“I wonder what could be in here,” Ezra said thoughtfully. “Something more than a simple book, do you think?”

“What else could it be?” Newt asked curiously. 

“Oh, I don’t know, just...something else,” Aziraphale mused, tilting the book at different angles to try and get a peek at the inside. The binding was too snug, making it impossible to do so, which made it even more fascinating. What could it possibly be hiding? “Something special...Something to do with a secret. Is that possible?” 

“Anything is possible, I suppose,” Newt yawned as he pulled up the covers to his chin. Ezra gently tucked the book back into Crowley’s bag and set it back upright where it belonged before he moved to settle in his own bunk. Despite how it was now out of sight, Ezra couldn’t stop thinking about that book and what potential secrets it held tucked between its pages. “Try to get some sleep.”

“I will,” Ezra replied, closing his eyes. “Sleep well.” 

“There he is, my Lord, sound asleep in his bed.” 

“And pleasant dreams to you, little prince. Now I will get into your mind where you can’t escape me…”

Ezra opened his eyes and found himself in a garden he couldn’t remember arriving at, wearing clothes that weren’t ones he remembered putting on let alone owning. The sun was bright and warm against his skin, the scent of flowers so fragrant and sweet, and before he could stop to admire them, he saw movement from the corner of his eyes. 

“Hey!” He spun to face the source of the voice and was surprised to see that it was another person; a boy with red hair and his eyes were bright, almost golden in color. The boy waved at him with a cheerful grin, so cheerful in fact that Ezra couldn’t help waving back at him, delighted at the sight of him. “Come on!” 

The boy started off in a different direction and Ezra was helpless not to follow after him. It was so wonderful to feel the soft grass under his bare feet that he couldn’t bring himself to wonder when he’d removed his socks and shoes. The boy led him through the garden, past hundreds of beautiful flowers and even one particularly gorgeous apple tree, before they arrived at what looked like a cliff. When Ezra stopped to listen, he could hear the gentle roar of the ocean and the laughter of multiple people down below. 

“Come on, come on!” The boy called out again, heading to the edge of the cliff and looking over. He pointed down, looking at Ezra excitedly. “Look!” 

Ezra approached the edge of the cliff as well, standing beside the boy with red hair as he looked over the edge. Down below, there were four people already in the water; an older man with dark hair and a beard to match, a younger man with similar hair but lighter colored eyes, and two young women with identical smiles. 

“Hello up there!” the older man called. 

“Oh, hello!” Ezra called back down to him.

“Jump in!” the man called out with a wide grin and the red haired boy let out a laugh, jumping off the edge into the water below with a great splash, much to the delight of those already there as well as Ezra himself. “Come on!” 

Ezra stared down at the group in the water as they stared up at him expectantly, cheering him on, encouraging him to jump in with them. He wasn’t much of a fan of heights and despite how the others had jumped in without much issue, he still wasn’t too sure, but the people below were so warm and welcoming. How could he say no? 

“Come on, sunshine!” 

Ezra?! 

Ezra took a deep breath, flexed his knees, prepared himself to jump--

Ezra!  

And...someone was...calling to him. 

Ezra turned around to look behind him, searching for the source of the voice calling out to him, but saw nothing. “That’s...strange,” he murmured, turning back to the gathering of people down below. They were staring back at him expectantly, their smiles still in place, and the bearded man down below beckoned to him again. 

“Come on, jump!” 

Ezra stuck his foot out over the edge of the cliff, prepared to jump, but it was the way the family below watched him, their eyes fixated on his every movement that gave him pause. Something in Ezra’s stomach twisted uneasily and he brought his foot back in, meeting eyes with the red-haired boy. 

Ezra, no!

He knew him. He’d seen this same boy when he’d gone to the palace in Eden. The same red-haired boy who had smiled so gently at him, offered him his hand, was now below him with a menacing grin twisting across his features. 

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he murmured in confusion, the fog beginning to clear from his head. Something wasn’t right here, something was very wrong. “Why are you trying to hurt me?” 

“Jump,” The red-haired boy reached out a hand, beckoned to him, that sick grin still plastered on his face, and Ezra took a step back away from the ledge uneasily. With that step back, the atmosphere went from joyful to something completely different. “ Jump !”

The faces down below with their frozen smiles, began to shift and transform. Their skin turned from the normal pale shade to a sickly green, their eyes yellowing and pupils becoming slits as they sprouted wings. The peaceful spring environment melted away, replaced with dead ground and a blood red sky, while the air was filled with only the sounds of the haunting laughter that Ezra had heard that day he saw that photograph of Lucifer. 

“The Arch curse will be fulfilled!”

The demons flew around him, pulling at his arms, trying to pull him off the cliff, and Ezra swatted at them, flailing his arms and kicking his legs to chase them off. One of them seized him around the waist, holding him in a tight, vice-like hold, and pulled with such intensity that Ezra nearly lost his balance.  

“No, no! Let me go!” Ezra cried out as the demon pulled on his waist, trying to pull him over the edge. He kicked, punched, slapped, anything that he could to escape, but once the demon scooped him up into its horrifying arms, he knew it was hopeless.

Ezra! Ezra, stop! 

“No, please!” 

“Ezra, wake up! It’s a dream!”

Ezra’s eyes snapped open as he jolted into a new state of awareness. Crowley was standing in front of him, his hands gripping his shoulders, and as Ezra looked around frantically, he saw that he was no longer on that terrifying cliff surrounded by demons, but instead on the deck of the ship in the near aftermath of a terrible storm. The two of them were completely soaked through, but Ezra couldn’t even begin to wonder how they’d gotten there when his thoughts were racing from the adrenaline of his nightmare.

“C-Crowley?” 

“Ezra, what in the hell--”

"Crowley, t-the Arch curse!" 

"Curse? What--"

"It’s a curse!" Ezra choked out, the tears that had been building behind his eyes finally slipping down his face and mingling with the rainwater that dripped from his hair. Crowley looked at him, his expression completely bewildered, but Ezra needed him to understand. He curled his fingers into the fabric of Crowley’s sleep shirt and gave him a shake. "Crowley, he…!"

"Shh, what are you talking about?" Crowley asked, but Ezra couldn't explain it. The visions in the dream were already fading, but he was still incredibly frightened by what he’d seen and felt while he’d been there. “Talk to me.” 

"I keep seeing faces," Ezra sobbed, leaning forward until he could press his face against Crowley's chest. After a moment, Crowley placed his hand on the back of Ezra’s head, further smoothing down his curls in favor of cradling him close. "Just so many faces…"

"Alright, alright," Crowley said soothingly, his tone so gentle, and it only made Ezra cry harder. Ezra felt it when Crowley’s cheek came to rest on the top of his head, his arm snug around his lower back as he rocked them back and forth. "It was just a nightmare. Everything's alright now. I'm here."

It wasn’t the most ideal circumstance to be comforted in. While the storm had finally calmed, they were both still soaked through to the bone and the longer they stood there, the more the cold began to seep into his bones He burrowed further into the warmth of Crowley’s chest, taking deep breaths until he was able to come down from his hysteria, and settled right into exhaustion.

“Alright, then?” Crowley asked at last, loosening his hold and easing Ezra away from him with gentle hands on his shoulders. Ezra sniffed, nodded, and Crowley grinned. "Had to go take a walk in the middle of a storm, did you?" 

Ezra laughed shakily. "J-Just needed some air, I think,” he said, wiping at his eyes. He felt embarrassed by the night’s events, how he’d nearly managed to sleepwalk himself off the edge of the ship, and probably took years off of Crowley’s life from the stress. “Crowley, I am so-- ” 

“Don’t. You were sleepwalking and last time I checked that was something out of your control,” Crowley said firmly, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “We’ll just have to...barricade the door or something.”

It was at that moment that Ezra realized that the sunglasses Crowley usually wore were not even there and for the first time, he was seeing Crowley’s face in its entirety. “You’re not wearing your glasses,” Ezra said quietly, staring up into those newly revealed eyes, bright almost like gold. They were...oddly familiar. “I’ve never seen you without them before.” 

“Yeah, well, you were taking a midnight stroll off the edge of a ship. Some things take less priority,” Crowley told him and Ezra couldn’t help the amused noise that left his lips. “They don’t...bother you, do they?” 

“No, of course not,” Ezra said quickly. “Is that why you wear those glasses? To hide them?” 

“It’s complicated,” he replied simply. “A story for another time, I think.” 

“But--”

“It’s the middle of the night and you must be freezing,” Crowley said suddenly, placing a warm hand on the small of his back and starting to guide him back towards the stairs. “Let’s get you back inside.” 

Somehow, Newt was still asleep when they returned, only rolling over with a grumble once the door shut behind them. Ezra heard the click of the lock which took the tension from his shoulders, chasing off the anxiety that he could somehow wander out of their cabin again in the middle of the night. 

“Get changed into something dry,” Crowley instructed, waving him off toward his suitcase. “You can use the bathroom, I’ll change in here.”

“Yes, yes,” Ezra hummed, opening his suitcase and digging through to find something warm to wear for bed. He was grateful to be back inside, sheltered from the elements, and to also have Crowley nearby to look out for him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Upon his return from the bathroom, dry and warm once again, Ezra saw that Crowley had already changed his clothes and was in the process of dragging his mattress across the room in order to lay it in front of the door exiting their cabin. A pair of golden eyes fixed their sights on him when he entered and a gentle smile spread slowly across Crowley’s face. 

“There you are,” Crowley said. “Feeling better?” 

“Much better,” Ezra agreed, motioning to the mattress. “Redecorating?” 

“Barricading,” he replied, gathering the remaining pillows and blankets from where they’d been discarded on the floor before tossing them onto the mattress. “Not sure if this sleepwalking thing is a phase or not, but I won’t have you nearly walking off the side of the ship again.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done any sleepwalking before,” Ezra explained, watching Crowley as he walked to the bunks where Newt, miraculously, continued to slumber on. Crowley began to busy himself with straightening out the pillows on Ezra’s bunk and folded down the covers neatly. “I was having the strangest dream…” 

“A dream?”

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, wishing he could remember the details, but found himself unable to recall any of them. “I don’t quite remember what happened in it, maybe a face or two, but I do remember being very frightened at the end of it.” 

“Dreams can be like that sometimes,” Crowley sympathized, motioning to the turned down bed. “Come on, into bed.”

“And what’s this?” he asked, approaching the bed and sitting down on the edge of the mattress. “Are you tucking me in?”

“You’ve had a rough night,” Crowley said with a shrug of his shoulders as if that explained everything. “Doing what I can.”

“You don’t need to coddle me,” he said, the words oddly familiar on his tongue as he laid back against the pillows. “I’m well into my twenties.” 

“Even people well into their twenties need a bit of coddling,” Crowley told him, his tone oddly soft as Ezra laid back on the bed. Crowley pulled the covers up, tucked them snugly around Ezra’s body, and then gave him a tight smile. “Nice and snug. No more sleepwalking, alright?” 

“Alright,” It felt so familiar, being cared for like this, and Ezra felt that it wasn’t the first time that someone had done this for him or said those exact words. He wished he could remember who it was that he was trying to remember. “What if I do sleepwalk again?” 

“I’ve moved my bed in front of the door,” Crowley reminded him. “If you try to leave, you’ll have to get through me which will not happen.”

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise. ” Crowley said firmly. “And even if you somehow manage to climb over me, I’ll bring you right back.”

You’re so brave. Have you considered a knighthood? 

The words echoed around in his head, so familiar, but Ezra wasn’t sure what had triggered them. The night’s events had taken so much out of him already that he could barely wrap his head around what was awakening some long forgotten memory. 

Me? A knight? Far too gangly for that. 

“It’s funny…” Ezra murmured, his gaze fixed on Crowley’s face and his so familiar eyes. As the ship rocked him back and forth, his eyelids got heavier, but he just couldn’t stop looking at him. He’d seen those eyes before.  

“What’s funny?”

"There was someone in my dream that reminded me of you." 

“That so,” The corners of Crowley's mouth pulled downwards and for a moment, he looked very troubled. "I would never lure you off a ship to your death."

"I know that, of course," he said reassuringly before letting out a yawn. "You'd never hurt me. That's why I realized something wasn't right."

"I'd never let anything happen to you. Not if I could help it."

“I feel so safe with you,” Ezra sighed and finally allowed his eyes to fall shut, the image of golden eyes still visible in his mind alongside a strikingly familiar smile. “Ever since we met. Like...Like I’ve known you for such a long time, maybe my entire life.” 

Crowley said nothing for a very long time and Ezra vaguely wondered if he had even heard him. He lay there in the silence, welcoming the comforting embrace of sleep, and just before he drifted off completely, he felt the faint brush of something against his hair and finally heard a whisper of a response.

“Sweet dreams, Ezra.” 

Chapter Text

“What did you say your name was again? Anson?” 

“Ezra. My name is Ezra.”

Sleep didn’t come easily for Crowley following the sleepwalking ordeal. While Ezra had been recovered safely and tucked snugly under the covers, Crowley sat on his mattress, back pressed up against the door, and unable to fathom the idea of sleep with all of the adrenaline running through his veins. 

Waking up to find Ezra’s bed empty and the door to their room flung open wide had caused Crowley’s heart to plummet, not even hesitating as he flung himself out of his makeshift bed and scrambled up to the deck. Discovering Ezra teetering on the edge of the railing over the open ocean had probably taken years off of his life. 

Crowley ran a hand over his face, giving himself a little shake in an attempt to chase off the image of Ezra’s foot outstretched over the edge, the deliriously happy smile on his sleeping face as he unknowingly danced with death. 

If he had been only a minute later…

“You’re going to put me into an early grave, I swear,” Crowley grumbled to himself, looking back at Ezra’s sleeping face. He seemed so peaceful now, his face relaxed while the small curve of a smile toyed at the corner of his lips. “I’m over here having a crisis and you’re having nice dreams.”

There was no heat behind his words, of course. How could he ever be angry with Ezra, especially when the matter in question hadn’t even been his fault? Sleepwalking wasn’t exactly common, but it wasn’t unheard of and whatever dream Ezra had been having must have taken him on quite the adventure that left Crowley feeling uneasy. 

Crowley, the Arch curse! 

Curse? What--

It’s a curse! Crowley, he--!

Crowley could remember the night Lucifer had come to Eden Palace like it had happened that day. He remembered how Lucifer had cursed the family of his best friend loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear before disappearing before the guards could seize him. He knew this, of course, because he’d been there when it happened. 

Ezra, on the other hand, had not been there. 

At least, he shouldn’t have been.

Ever since they’d left Eden with Ezra, Crowley had been having some suspicions about his true identity and the longer he spent time in Ezra’s company, the more similarities he saw between him and Aziraphale. They were similar in appearance, certain mannerisms, and parts of Ezra’s history lined up near perfectly to the time of the attack on the palace that results in Aziraphale’s disappearance. 

It could be considered a simple coincidence, but then again, there were moments that Ezra would say or do certain things that were so impossibly Aziraphale that Crowley found himself having to do a double take. Some of them were brief, like when Ezra mentioned how much he enjoyed reading or his desire for baked goods, but there were several more prominent ones such as Ezra’s adverse reaction to a photograph of Lucifer, a man he shouldn’t have recognized, or coming out of a dead sleep in hysterics about the curse on the Arch family, an event he hadn’t been present for. 

As much as he’d once believed he would be able to recognize Aziraphale anywhere, Crowley simply wasn’t sure when it came down to whether or not Ezra was the long lost prince. He could say that he was absolutely sure, but what if he was wrong? What if it had been just him projecting his own loss onto this poor, confused man? 

These flowers here. Do you know what they are?

They’re white heather.

He’d once told Aziraphale he would protect him, that he would keep him safe from any harm, including the lunacy of Lucifer Morningstar, and he’d failed. Aziraphale had still gone missing despite his best efforts and ten years later, in his place, was Ezra. They were only days away from meeting Agnes, days away from finding out the truth, but even if Ezra didn’t end up being Aziraphale, Crowley didn’t think he would be able to say goodbye and maybe that was the sign that he should finally let Aziraphale go, start over. 

As his father had once said, Aziraphale wouldn’t have wanted him to throw his life away like this, hoping for the impossible and never moving forward, especially if he’d found someone he would want to spend his life with. But how could Crowley just be one of the many who had thought Aziraphale was never going to come home?

“I don’t know what to do anymore, angel,” he murmured, turning his gaze upwards to look at the ceiling. It had been ten long years of searching, waiting, and he had nothing to show for it except for a man with no memories. A man who may not even be the one he’d been searching for. “I’m so tired.” 

His plea was met with silence, a silence that was only disrupted by Ezra rolling over in his bunk, humming sleepily as he resettled under the blankets, and Crowley once again found himself staring at his peaceful expression, unable to look away. 

Remember, you promised.

I’ve never broken a promise.

Crowley closed his aching eyes, still propped up against the door, and tried to settle his thoughts for what little remained of the night. Maybe after some sleep he would be able to think with a clearer head and approach these thoughts at another time. 

For now, he just had to get Ezra to Agnes. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Agnes. I truly thought that he was the real one.” 

“Hm.” 

“But don’t you worry. I’ll think of harder questions next time.” 

“No, no more. I will no longer see any more people who are pretending to be my grandson.” 

“But--”

“I’ve had enough, Anathema. I want his memory to rest in peace. No. More.”

“I believe I’ve had a bout of clarity, Ligur.” 

“My lord?” 

“I’ll just have to kill him myself.”

“Do you mean in-person? Physically?”

“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” 

“But...going topside, my lord?”

“London is wonderful at this time of year and it will be incredibly delicious to kill the last Arch with my own hands.” 

Normally, Anathema lived in a cozy little cottage several hours outside of London, but she also owned a flat inside the city on the occasion she would interview the next potential Aziraphale who'd found their way to her door. The flat itself was hardly intimidating in any way from the exterior, but as they walked the path closer to the building, it seemed to loom more over them in an ominous way which put a sudden falter to Ezra’s steps. 

“Crowley,” Ezra stopped walking completely and Crowley came to a stop as well, turning to face him with confusion. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

“Why not? We’ve come so far,” Crowley said carefully and waved Newt along. “Your key to meeting Agnes is right behind that door.” 

“What if I fail?” Ezra asked, his hands smoothing out the wrinkles from his waistcoat before raising to fiddle with his bowtie. The bowtie had been tied perfectly straight, but with his fiddling, now rested crooked at the base of his throat. “What if I don’t meet Agnes and all of this was for not?” 

“Don’t say that,” Crowley replied, swatting at his fidgeting hands. Very carefully, he undid the bowtie and took the necessary measures to tie it into a proper bow once again. “Don’t even think that, alright? She’d be a fool to not see what I see.” 

“And what do you see?”

Crowley wished he could tell him the truth, tell him why he believed he just might be the missing prince and confess every secret he’d been keeping since the moment they met, but now just wasn’t the time. “I see you,” he said simply. “As I always have.” 

“Oh, honestly,” Ezra sighed with a roll of his eyes, though he didn't look annoyed so much as fond, maybe a bit flushed on top of it. “Anathema isn’t interested in looking at me .”

“And miss out on this delightful tartan bow tie?” Ezra swatted at his arm and Crowley laughed out loud. “I know you’re nervous, but everything will be just fine. You know what to say and you have the look. There’s nothing to worry about.” 

Ezra looked towards the front door of the flat uneasily and Crowley watched as he smoothed out the wrinkles in his waistcoat once again before he straightened his posture. “Yes, right,” he said decisively. “Let’s get this done then, shall we?” 

“Let’s,” Crowley agreed, motioning ahead to Newt who rang the bell as they approached. He kept his hand on the center of Ezra’s back, guiding him along as he took painfully slow steps. “Just breathe. I’ll be right beside you the entire time.” 

It didn’t take long for the door to open following the ringing of the bell and Newt immediately began to fawn over the woman who appeared in the doorway, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of her hand. Crowley had only met Anathema once in the time he had known Newt and there hadn’t been a single thing about her that had changed in the time since. Behind a pair of round, thick-rimmed glasses was a pair of calculating brown eyes that were very similar to the shade of the endless waves of hair she had on the top of her head. 

“Please, come inside,” Anathema said, pulling Newt into the flat with a tug of the hand while the rest of them followed. “Mister Crowley, how lovely to see you again and...who’s this you brought with you?” 

“May I introduce,” Crowley began, nudging Ezra forward. “The crown prince of Eden: Aziraphale Arch.”

“I see. He certainly looks like Aziraphale, doesn’t he?” Anathema mused, walking circles slowly around Ezra, who tried to follow her with his eyes. “Unfortunately, it isn’t all about looks. Have a seat if you would be so kind.” 

Anathema motioned to a chair that stood in the middle of the room and when Ezra looked back to him with uncertainty, Crowley merely nodded in encouragement. “I’ll be with you the whole time.” 

“Mister Crowley, you’re welcome to have a seat as well,” Anathema told him as Ezra moved into the sitting room and settled into the chair. At some point, he’d drawn out the long golden chain he wore around his neck and was now running his thumb over the bobble at the end of it. “Or you’re welcome to stand?” 

Anathema and Newt had taken their places on the small sofa that faced Ezra, but Crowley didn’t think that could possibly sit still with the adrenaline that was running through his veins. “I’ll stand, thanks,” he replied with a wave of his hand, crossing to the other side of the room toward the fireplace until he was standing a short distance behind Ezra himself. “Carry on.” 

“Where were you born?” Anathema asked first. Crowley and Newt both gave audible sighs of relief; an easy question, one they’d covered and discussed many times. 

“In Eden Palace,” Ezra replied. “During the summer season.”

“Well done,” Anathema said. “How does Prince Aziraphale take his tea?” 

“Oh, I’m not much of a fan of tea,” Ezra said enthusiastically. “But I do enjoy a nice cup of hot chocolate, especially when it rains.” 

The questioning went on for an agonizingly long time and Crowley chewed anxiously on his thumb nail throughout the process. Ezra’s memory was impeccable, recalling the details of Aziraphale’s life like he hadn’t just learned it all within the last week. Anathema’s face remained passive whenever he answered correctly, but there was something in the way she held herself that implied she was pleased with how it was going. 

“This may be a bit of an odd question, but indulge me,” Anathema said at last, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “How did you escape the siege on the palace?” 

Crowley resisted the desire to groan out loud in frustration as he buried his face into his hands. They’d never covered that question, not once, and no one but the real Aziraphale would even know the answer. The silence that followed the question was suffocating and Crowley knew that whatever answer Ezra gave would automatically unqualify him from having a chance at meeting Agnes because it would be wrong.

"There was a boy, I think, a boy who...worked in the palace," Ezra’s voice was soft, thoughtful, when he finally spoke again. "He opened a wall."

Crowley lifted his head from where it had sunk down into the pillow of his arms, turning his gaze to stare at the back of Ezra’s head and he could only imagine how dumbstruck his expression looked in that moment.  Ezra was talking about a boy he’d met in the palace, a boy who saved his life by opening a wall, a boy he couldn’t remember completely but enough that he’d managed to recall a fraction of a memory. 

Oh.

"I'm terribly sorry that must sound so ridiculous…"

Ezra was talking about him . 

"Walls opening, can you even imagine?" 

It was like all of the air had been sucked out of the room, like the world had completely tilted on its axis. Crowley honestly believed that if he weren't leaning against the fireplace, he would have collapsed as the weight of reality settled on his shoulders because after all of the years he’d been searching, it had finally paid off.

Ezra was Aziraphale, and had been the entire time. 

Aziraphale was alive and Crowley had found him.

The conversation carried on around him, but Crowley couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears, his gaze still fixed on Ezra as he moved about the room. Newt was smiling, hugging Ezra tightly, talking in a highly animated way before he moved to sweep Anathema into his embrace as well, but Crowley felt frozen in place, like his feet had been nailed to the floor.

“And I’ll be meeting her tonight?”

“During intermission, there’ll be an opening for you to come into our private box.”

Crowley swayed unsteadily on his feet and began to make his way toward the back door, needing to breathe in some fresh air while the others celebrated in the parlor. His thoughts were going a mile a minute and everything he’d thought he’d known had suddenly turned upside down.

Aziraphale was alive and would be meeting Agnes that very night. Once he met Agnes, she would clearly realize that Ezra was in fact her missing grandson, and would welcome him with open arms...

And Crowley would say goodbye. 

It had been a long time since Crowley had last had a drink and when he walked out of Anathema’s flat into the open air of London, he wished he had one. 

While he had always clung to the hope that his best friend had managed to survive the attack on the palace after Crowley had helped him escape, it seemed too unreal to wrap his head around. 

Crowley had done his best not to get attached to him throughout their journey, but it hadn’t proved an easy feat. Ezra reminded him so much of Aziraphale that Crowley had been drawn towards him like there had been an invisible force pulling him closer. 

And on top of that, he’d gone and fallen in love with him. 

How had he fallen in love with him? When? 

How could he possibly let him go now?  

"I can't believe we did it!" Newt exclaimed as he walked outside. His face was split into a wide grin, looking happier than Crowley had probably ever seen him, and he only wished he could take part in a similar enthusiasm. "We really did it! Ezra will see Agnes herself tonight!"

"Yeah, that's...that's great."

Newt's excitement faded, looking more concerned at the lack of Crowley's joy. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Aren't you happy? Ezra passed the test. He convinced Anathema and all he has to do is do the same with Agnes--"

"And he will," Crowley cut in. "Because Ezra is Aziraphale."

"Right, of course he is--"

"No, I mean he really is," Crowley stressed, looking back towards the door to check if Ezra was within hearing range before running a hand over his face. " I was the boy in the palace. I was the one who opened the wall. Ezra didn’t just make that up.”

Newt blinked, seemingly stunned by his confession. Crowley could physically see Newt trying to wrap his head around it all, mouth opening and closing as the thoughts tried to escape, but he made no audible sound. In the end, all he could manage was, “What?” 

“It’s true. Oh, hell , it’s so true,” Crowley told him. It felt like a dam splitting apart; he’d been holding his secrets in for so long and now that he’d finally told someone the truth, he simply couldn’t stop himself from spilling them all. “I’d known Aziraphale since I was ten years old, Newt. He was my best friend for five years.” 

“You knew him?” Newt asked, bewildered. “You actually knew him? And the royal family?”

“I knew all of them,” Crowley said with a short bout of hysterical laughter. “I spent so much time with him that his family practically considered me family.”

“That’s how you knew so much about him, about all of them,” his friend replied in wonder. “The photographs, the history, all of those little details--Crowley, you saved his life.”

“And he’s here,” Crowley said shakily, his lip trembling while his vision began to blur. He pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, took a deep, trembling breath, and shook his head. “I was hoping he’d made it, that he would come back to the palace, so I waited --” 

“Crowley--” 

“He’s here, Newt,” he repeated helplessly. “He’s alive and he’s right there in that house.” 

“You have to tell him,” Newt told him seriously. “Crowley, if he knew--” 

“ There you two are! Anathema said she would take us shopping for the theater tonight!” Ezra’s excitement visibly dulled when he got a closer look at their faces and Crowley was quick to avoid his gaze, rapidly blinking away the tears that had gathered there. “Is...something wrong?” 

Newt gave Crowley a look of warning and Crowley pointedly ignored it with a sniff. “Wrong? No, nothing’s wrong,” he said and it wasn’t a lie. Nothing was technically wrong, if anything, everything was finally going right. “You said shopping, yeah?” 

Ezra’s expression softened, the curve of a smile returning to his face. “Yes, Anathema said we should leave soon,” he told him, though there was still that flicker of doubt behind his eyes. “Are you sure everything is alright?” 

“Everything is perfectly fine. Don’t you worry,” Crowley told him, managing his best, most convincing smile. “The only thing you need to worry about is what you’re going to wear tonight.” 

“Oh, well, I do have some ideas…”

“Crowley, may I tuck my flower into your lapel?” 

“Ah, yeah, sure.”

“There we are. It looks rather nice against your hair, I think.” 

“You just gave me a rose.” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“Do you know what roses mean, Ezra?”

“I do. Do you?”

"You've been in a mood all evening," Newt pointed out that night while they stood at the foot of the stairs to the theater. Aziraphale and Anathema had needed more time to prepare, so they sent Newt ahead with Crowley. "Thinking hard about what you're going to tell Ezra?"

“I don’t think this is the right time,” Crowley insisted. “He’s going to go in there, meet Agnes, and she’s going to know him immediately. Why does it have to be me?” 

“Because at some point he’s going to know who he really is and he’ll find out you knew the whole time,” Newt countered. “You... were going to tell him that you knew him, weren’t you?” 

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t...remember me. He may never remember me,” he said after a few minutes. “I don’t want to put him in that position.” 

“I think he’d want you to be honest with him and tell him,” Newt pointed out. “Crowley, you were his best friend and now you might be even more than that to him. Do you really think he wouldn’t need you when he’s thrown back into a life he doesn’t know?”

Crowley said nothing for a long time. He wanted to insist that Ezra would be fine without him, that he would fall right back into the cushion of a royal life, but he couldn’t help thinking back to a time he met a boy in a garden and how that boy had wanted nothing more than his friendship. 

“I can’t offer him anything more than what I am.” 

“Wasn’t that always enough for him?” Newt asked and for once, Crowley had nothing to say. “Crowley, you have to tell him--” 

“Tell me what?” 

Crowley spun around, plastering a smile onto his face which dropped completely the moment he laid eyes on the man before him. It had been one thing to see it on the mannequin, but to see the outfit Ezra had chosen actually on him was breathtaking. He’d chosen a cream colored jacket with matching pants, his normal brown waistcoat had been replaced with one in a deep blue that made his eyes simply shine. At the base of his throat still sat the bowtie Crowley had gifted him earlier in their journey. 

He was absolutely stunning. 

“How...incredible you look,” Crowley told him and Ezra smiled shyly, looking down at his hands. He barely registered Newt and Anathema leaving them at the base of the stairs to head inside. “Creams and blues, proper angel you are.”

“Thank you,” Ezra replied. “You look very nice as well. I’d never imagined you in a suit before.” 

“Well, it’s not every night you get to see Hamlet in a place like this,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Thought I’d dress up a little.” 

“Well, I applaud your efforts,” Ezra looked up the stairway to the entrance of the theater and took a deep breath. “Shall we go inside and take our seats?” 

Before Ezra could ascend the stairs and follow him, however, Crowley reached out to grab his hand, tugging him back towards him. When Ezra turned towards him, looking a bit bewildered, Crowley could only offer him a weak smile as he took each of his hands in his own. 

It was now or never.

"Ezra, I need to tell you something," Crowley told him, looking down at their hands, at the way Ezra held onto him with trust despite not knowing what was about to come. "Something important."

"Of course," Ezra agreed, his eyes so soft, so bright , and his smile gentle. "Is everything alright?" 

"Everything is fine. Everything is... perfect , really,” Crowley told him and it was the truth. Aziraphale was alive, right there in front of him, smiling at him like he always used to do when they were children. “Ezra, I--” 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you for all you’ve done for me,” Ezra said suddenly, squeezing Crowley’s hands between his own. “I don’t think I would ever have made it to London without you.” 

“You might have, but perhaps with a bit less peril involved,” Crowley admitted causing Ezra to laugh. He even laughed the same way; how didn’t he notice it before? “I’m happy to help, you know. Anything you need, I’m here.” 

“You’re terribly kind, Crowley, and--”

“Anthony.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You once asked me what my name was,” Crowley explained. “My name is Anthony. Anthony J. Crowley.” 

There was a flicker of recognition in Ezra’s eyes, something that recognized his name even just for a moment, before it disappeared with the furrow of his eyebrows along with the hope Crowley had built in his chest. “Anthony,” he repeated slowly, seemingly testing the name on his tongue. “That’s...interesting.” 

“Is it?”

“Yes, you just...seem like an Anthony, I think,” Ezra admitted with a small shrug of his shoulders. ‘What does the ‘J’ stand for?” 

“James. After my father,” Crowley said, hoping he could continue on and trigger some kind of memory. “He was a gardener.”

“A gardener? Is that where you inherited your green thumb?” 

“Yes,” he replied. “He grew so many beautiful flowers. Got me started when I was ten years old.”

“I’m sure you’ve grown so many beautiful flowers yourself,” Ezra said with a wistful sigh and Crowley found himself nodding in agreement because yes , he had grown so many beautiful things and he’d grown them all for Aziraphale. “I wish I could have seen them.” 

“What if I told you that you already have?” Crowley asked in a rush, his heart pounding. “What if I told you--” 

“Crowley, Ezra! Performance is starting soon!” Anathema called and Crowley winced internally when Ezra turned his attention to look at her. He was losing his chance; he would never be able to tell him the truth before he spoke to Agnes. 

“Be there in a moment!” he called, then turned back to Crowley. “We should go. Perhaps after all of this Agnes business, we can talk about what you wanted to tell me?” 

“Ezra--” 

“I promise,” Ezra said softly. “Tonight.” 

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, wishing he could find the courage to tell Ezra the truth, but he just couldn’t. He’d lost his edge, but the longer he thought about it, the more he felt convinced that this wasn’t the right moment. Aziraphale, no, Ezra deserved to find out the truth in a better way. 

“Remember, you promised,” he murmured, lifting Ezra’s hand until he could brush his lips against his knuckles. Ezra’s face flushed a dark color, reminiscent of the one that would fill Aziraphale’s face whenever he presented him with a flower in their younger years. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

The play was well done, as far as Crowley was concerned. He never really preferred the depressing plays after the life he’d led, always favoring the funnier ones, but it was still a nice performance. 

Hamlet was one of the most depressing ones there was, but it didn’t keep the theater from being packed to capacity nor did it fail to hold Ezra’s attention through a majority of the first act. Crowley spent more time watching Ezra’s face than he spent watching the actual performance, watched each different emotion cross his features: the wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows, the look of surprise, and the way he clasped his hands over his chest during Hamlet’s monologues. 

As the act began to come to a close, Ezra’s attention seemed to drift from the show and focus more heavily on his inner thoughts, hands working around his program until it became an assortment of pieces in his lap, only stopping when Crowley slid his hand into his hold instead. He laced their fingers together and gently squeezed which Ezra quickly returned . 

“Everything is going to be alright,” Crowley promised him softly and Ezra gave him a trembling smile. The audience applauded as the actor exited the stage and the curtain came down. The lights rose, signaling the intermission and their departure. “Come on, it’s time.” 

It was easy enough to weave through the crowd of individuals who had gathered in the hall for intermission. Crowley kept a firm hold on Ezra’s hand as he led him through the crowd, and only slowed to a step when they arrived at the door of Agnes’s box. 

“So, this is it,” Crowley announced, motioning to the door. “You wait here. I’ll announce you and I’ll come back for you.” 

“Alright,” Ezra said softly, his hands wringing together anxiously in front of him. “I’ll wait right here, you’ll come get me, and then I’ll meet Agnes.” 

“Ezra--” 

“Yes?” 

“I... I just wanted to say…” 

“Yes?” Ezra pressed and Crowley resisted the desire to groan. The way those eyelashes fluttered, the way those pale cheeks grew rosy before his very eyes. “Crowley, what is it?” 

Crowley wanted to say so many things, do so many things. He wanted to gather Ezra into his arms, kiss him, and tell him how he really felt, but he couldn’t be so selfish. Ezra needed to go home, to be with his family, and that was that. “N-Nothing. It's nothing. I’ll be back.”

He tried not to think too hard about the look of disappointment on Ezra’s face as he turned away, but Crowley had come there for a reason and he would not be hindered any longer. He opened the door to Agnes’s private box and slipped inside. 

“I’ve come to see her majesty with news of Prince Aziraphale,” he announced to Anathema, who had been waiting for him outside the curtain.

“I am so sorry, young man,” Anathema told him with a wink, motioning him through the curtain. Crowley stepped through, adjusting his jacket when his eyes fell on Agnes. She looked a great deal older than the last time he’d seen her, but after ten years, he supposed that shouldn’t have been so shocking. “Her majesty will see no one.”

“You can tell that young man I have seen enough Prince Aziraphale’s to last me a lifetime,” Agnes called over her shoulder, but didn’t even bother glancing back at him. Instead, she only acknowledged him with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Allow me to finish out the remainder of my lonely life in peace.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” Anathema said, placing a hand on his arm and starting to tug him back behind the curtain. “You’d better go.” 

Crowley hadn’t anticipated being turned away at the door. He’d anticipated being turned away after he’d made his appeal for Agnes to meet Ezra, but not before , and if he walked away now, he would be breaking every promise he’d ever made to Aziraphale. He couldn’t let him down, not when he was counting on him. 

Crowley turned on heel and made his way back behind the curtain. 

“Your majesty, I assure you I mean you no harm,” Crowley said before he had even processed the words and slipped into a seat at Agnes’s side. Agnes fixed her startled gaze on him and Crowley knew right away she didn’t recognize him, too appalled at his behavior to process her grandson’s long lost friend. “My name is Crowley. My family and I used to work in Eden Palace.” 

Agnes scoffed as she rose to her feet. “Well, that’s certainly one I’ve never heard before,” she told him simply, making her way around the collection of seats until she came to a long rope that hung near the entryway. She pulled it twice, a bell in the distance rang, and Crowley slowly rose to his feet as well. “Are there any lengths you people won’t go to?”

“Your majesty--”

“Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here,” Agnes continued on. “And quite frankly, I don’t care. No matter how much you’ve made him look like him, act like him, sound like him, it’s never him.”

“But this time it is him!”

“I’ve heard of you. Crowley, the man in Eden who made a business for himself trying to find my grandson,” Agnes said accusingly. “Several young men found their way to my door at your recommendation. I assume you had only sent them in hopes of claiming the reward money.” 

“That is not--” 

“I’ve heard enough!” Agnes said sharply, waving her hand in dismissal. “Guards, get him out of my sight!” 

“No, Agnes, please you have to listen!” Crowley pleaded as two arms linked with his own and began to drag him backwards and away from Agnes. Immediately, Crowley began to fight back, kicking his legs and struggling against the guards. “It’s really him! You have to talk to him!” 

Agnes said nothing as he was dragged away and when the door to the box opened, he was tossed out which caused him to fall to the floor at the feet of someone with very familiar shoes. Crowley’s gaze slowly followed those feet up the length of the body before him until his eyes fell on Ezra’s face which was hosting a very wounded expression. 

It was then that Crowley had realized he’d heard the entire thing; accusations and all. 

Crowley was quick to scramble to his feet. “Ezra, it’s not what you think--”

“You used me?” Ezra asked, his voice hoarse and full of hurt. “You used me to hurt that poor old woman and make some money?”

“ No!”

“The other men, Crowley? How many others of ‘me’ did you even find?” Ezra demanded. “Tell me the truth!” 

“Okay, yes, I found several others that I thought might be Aziraphale, but I just wasn’t completely sure so I sent them to Agnes,” Crowley explained quickly. “You were different, that’s why I came with you!”

“How? How was I so different?”

“Because you are Aziraphale!” 

“Enough,” Ezra told him, glancing around at the people who were now giving them their attention. “No more lies , Crowley.” 

“It’s not a lie!” Crowley exclaimed. “Ezra, what you said about the escape from the palace, about the boy opening the wall, that was--” 

“Just stop it!” Ezra snapped, slapping his hand away before it could reach out to touch him. His eyes were bright with tears and Crowley could only stare at him in horror at the realization that he’d made him cry while wondering where he’d gone so wrong. “I want you to leave me alone!”

Ezra turned on heel to begin his march down the stairs of the theater and Crowley stepped forward in an attempt to go after him, but a hand on his shoulder held him in place. 

"Easy there, lad'" a man told him. "Give the man some room, yeah? Bit too much to drink?" 

Some of the theater attendees had assumed he was harassing Ezra and maybe he did look like an absolute lunatic harassing an innocent theater goer, but he had to tell Ezra. 

“Ezra, please , you have to know the truth!” 

But the only people who heard his words were the attendees of the performance. 

Ezra was already long gone. 

In the five years that Crowley had known Aziraphale, he had gotten himself into a lot of trouble as a result of ensuring his friend’s happiness and safety. When they were eleven, Crowley had snuck into the kitchen while his mother had been baking and stolen several of her pastries in order to bring Aziraphale a snack. When he was thirteen, he’d nearly broken his arm falling out of a tree in an attempt to reach an apple growing at the top. When he was fifteen, he’d faced down a handful of madmen with guns empty handed in order to save Aziraphale’s life.

After that night, he would probably be facing charges of kidnapping and grand theft auto. 

It wasn’t a very well thought out plan, but as he climbed into the front seat of Agnes’s car in place of her usual driver and pressed his foot down on the gas, he found that he really didn’t care as long as he accomplished his goal. 

“Erik, slow down!” Agnes exclaimed from the backseat. 

“I’m not Erik,” Crowley shot back. “And I won’t slow down. Not until you listen.” 

“ You ,” Agnes said accusingly. “Stop this car at once! Stop. This. Car.”

Crowley continued to drive despite her protests, not slowing down but instead speeding up, weaving through lanes of traffic without any hesitation. He didn’t know what he would say upon their arrival, how he would possibly convince Agnes to walk up the stairs to talk to Ezra, but he had to try. Ezra was angry with him, probably wouldn’t want to see him let alone speak to him, but damn it, he had made a promise. 

The car finally came to a stop in front of the flat they’d rented out for the night and Crowley knew that Ezra was inside by the evidence of the light from the window upstairs. He seized his back from the passenger seat, got out of the car and marched his way around to the backseat, pulling open the door to finally come face to face with Agnes. 

“You have to talk to him,” he told her firmly without a moment’s hesitation. “Just for a minute. Just look at him.” 

‘I won’t be badgered by you for a moment more,” Agnes said stubbornly, turning her face away from him. “Take me back to my driver and leave me in peace!”

Crowley sank down beside the seat with a sigh that took every ounce of energy from his body. Losing Aziraphale had taken so much from him as a friend, but he couldn’t imagine how hard it had been on his last living family member. He reached into his bag, withdrew the storybook Aziraphale left behind during the siege on the palace, and set it in Agnes’s lap. “Do you recognize this?” 

Agnes turned her gaze toward the book and her mouth fell open in surprise as she ran her fingertips over the cover with all of the love that Aziraphale used to shower upon the very same book. “ Where did you get this?” she whispered, her voice wavering. 

“I know that you’ve been hurting,” Crowley told her quietly when she lifted her gaze to look at him once again. “Believe me, I know , but I also know that he’s been just as lost and alone as you have.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” Agnes looked at the book again, still running her fingertips along the cover of the book fondly, a certain wistfulness behind her eyes. “You’ll stop at nothing, will you?” 

“For him, I would do anything.” 

Agnes pursed her lips together, deep in thought for some time, before she finally nodded.

“Very well, Mister Crowley,” she said at last. “I will see this mysterious man of yours.” 

Chapter Text

“The two friends continued on their journey, their hearts strong and their bond unbreakable, but that did not mean that their friendship would not face the trials of those who wished to destroy it. Horrifically jealous of the bond the two had formed, the darkness that had followed them was intent on breaking it apart.”

“I don’t like this part of the story, grandmother. Do you have to read it?” 

“Ah, yes, but I must. Even the strongest of friendships face hardships, my darling.” 

The ride back from the theater had been more or less a blur for Ezra, who sat in the back of the taxi, scrubbing at his damp eyes and wondering how he could have been so stupid as to fall for Anthony Crowley’s lies. While he had kept his promise and delivered him to London, Ezra hadn’t realized that in the end Crowley was only in it for the money and not only that but had found men prior to Ezra that he had sent along on the same foolish quest. 

He didn’t quite understand why the latter was so upsetting to him, at first. The cab had nearly returned him to their place of residence before he realized that maybe it stemmed from the open wound that was his loss of trust in Crowley. He’d wanted to believe him, to believe in him, but Ezra had only been easy money to him, easily replaced, and nothing special like Crowley had led him to believe. 

Ezra didn’t remember getting out of the cab or the walk up the stairs to the flat. He barely realized he had even made it to his room until his back was pressed up against the door and he found himself slowly sliding to the floor, burying his face in his hands. All that time, he’d thought his dreams had been leading him toward something, but maybe they had really been just trying to warn him to stay away. 

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, smothering his grief into his hands, but when he looked up again, Ezra felt determined. “That’s it, I’m leaving,” he said decisively, getting to his feet and marching toward the wardrobe. He grabbed his suitcase before dragging it toward the bed. “I’m going home.” 

A more rational part of his mind was telling him to simply stop being so rash, to talk to Crowley, and get this whole thing sorted out. The less rational part of him was too angry to listen while his body moved on autopilot, grabbing his things and tossing them into the empty suitcase.

“I never should have come here,” he said to himself, removing the hangers from the closet and tossing the shirts onto the bed. He picked up one discarded shirt, wrestled the hanger out from the holes, and then folded it up with sharp motions until he dropped it into his suitcase.  “I should have stayed in Eden with Tracy and Shadwell. How could I have been so stupid ?”

There was a soft knock at the door to his bedroom and Ezra stubbornly ignored it, continuing to pack his things. If Anthony Crowley had come to apologize, he was simply wasting his time; Ezra wasn’t interested in hearing whatever new lie he’d come up with to save his skin. The knock sounded out again, a bit louder, a bit more insistent, and Ezra groaned out loud. 

“Go away , Crowley. I don’t want to see you,” he snapped over his shoulder, stubbornly continuing to pack his things. Ezra could hear the door open behind him with a soft creak, registered the sound of footsteps stepping inside his room, and when he spun around to tell Crowley exactly what he thought of him, the words died in his throat. There was a woman in the doorway, dressed elegantly with a glittering crown upon her head. She was older, hair long gone grey, but her eyes were sharp and calculating as they stared at him. Immediately, he felt his face flush with heat, embarrassed to have lashed out at a stranger, a royal at that. “Oh, I-I’m terribly sorry. I thought you were--”

“I know very well who you thought I was,” the woman said simply and Ezra’s mouth snapped closed. Ezra recognized her voice, the voice of the woman that Crowley had spoken to while they’d been at the theater, and he wondered why, despite her refusal to meet him before, she had come all this way now. “You know who I am, but who are you ?” 

Ezra blinked. He had pictured his scenario in his head countless times since he’d left Eden, but now all coherent thought had abandoned him as he finally faced the potential missing link to his childhood memories. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “I was found in Eden with no memory of who I was or where I’d come from.” 

“Is that so?” Agnes mused, sounding incredibly unimpressed by his story. He could hardly blame her; he doubted this was the first time she had ever heard something like this. “And why are you here?” 

“I just want to know if I belong to a family,” he told her. His eyes followed her as she walked past him, looking over his packed suitcase briefly before going to stand at the window, peeking out of the curtains and downwards toward the street. “ Your family, that is.” 

Agnes stared at him for a long time, looking him over. Her eyes seemed to linger on his face the longest, searching for something he hoped she would find, before finally shaking her head in disappointment. “Young man, I’m old and I don’t care to be tricked.” 

“I never wanted to trick you,” Ezra emphasized. “I swear to you, I had no idea about those other men or the money. Crowley never mentioned any of those things when we met.” 

“And where did you meet him?” 

“In Eden,” he replied. “I’d gone to Eden Palace because someone had told me to look for him there and when I’d arrived everything looked so familiar and--”

Agnes waved her hand and Ezra once again fell silent. “You’re a very good actor,” she said at last and Ezra’s heart plummeted. “But I’ve had enough of this.” 

Ezra tried very hard not to let his disappointment show, but he could only do so by bowing his head to hide the stinging buildup behind his eyes as she passed him by on her way to the door. He’d failed; Crowley had been wrong. He wasn’t Aziraphale after all. He took in a slow deep breath, then paused as a familiar scent tickled his nose. 

“Cocoa?” he asked aloud in his confusion.

“Yes,” Agnes said, uninterested. “Much better than tea, especially on nights like this.”

Ezra remembered cool winter nights, cozied up by a fire, and a woman placing a warm mug into his hands while the scent of hot chocolate wafted up to greet him. He remembered feeling safe, happy even, as the woman ran a gentle hand through his curls and read words aloud from the pages of a book. 

Careful, my darling. Don’t spill. 

“Yes,” he murmured thoughtfully. “You would always bring me some when you would visit. We’d split what you’d brought between two cups and you would read to me from any book I chose.” 

He saw Agnes turn to him from his peripheral vision, but he could hardly bring himself to fully look at her. Ezra’s head gave a dull throb and he lifted a hand to his temple, frowning thoughtfully as the memory carried on. 

“I was always so sad when you had to leave,” Ezra said, surprising himself at how mournful the statement felt as if he truly felt what he said. He finally lifted his gaze to look at Agnes, who looked as stunned as he felt. “I’d sit in the library and read to myself for hours because I felt like it would keep you close to me while you were home. In London.” 

Agnes motioned to the bench at the end of the bed and Ezra obediently took a seat, fingers drawing out his necklace from underneath his shirt and fiddling with the ring attached to it. She lowered herself onto the bench beside him, staring silently, but he offered nothing else as the images began to fade. “That was...strange, wasn’t it?” 

“Very strange,” she agreed, tilting her head to the side while his thumb rubbed unconsciously at the ring he held. “What’s that you have there?” 

“Oh, my ring? I’ve always had this, as long as I can remember,” Ezra told her, still rubbing it between his fingers. Even now, the familiar weight in his hands lessened his anxieties. “It’s a bit small on me now, but I just couldn’t get rid of it. If I had it with me, I knew it had to be important.” 

Agnes had gone strangely pale as she stared, fixated, at the ring in his hands. “May I?” she inquired, holding out her hand and Ezra lifted the chain over his head before placing it in her open palm. She cradled the ring as if it were something precious, studying each detail until at last, she seemed to be blinking away tears. “I gave this to my grandson when he was just a boy as a gift.”

“A gift,” Ezra repeated, taking back the necklace when she held it out to him. His head felt a little fuzzy as a memory came forward; a feeling of elation at receiving a gift from someone he loved so dearly. 

“Yes, two gifts actually,” she continued, placing the bag she’d been carrying with her into her lap and slowly removing a large, beautiful book from inside. Ezra recognized it immediately, holding out his hands with the excitement of a young child as she handed it over to him. 

“The storybook,” Ezra said in wonder as he looked it over. It looked as it did when he’d found it in Crowley’s things, but looking at it now Ezra realized that it had never been Crowley’s book at all. He’d been drawn to this book from the moment he’d laid eyes on it and now he finally understood why. “This is my book.”

Agnes watched in silence as he ran his hands along the cover, taking in every design, and admiring how it looked like it hadn’t aged a day in the time it had been since he’d lost it. He touched the binding on the book, fingers tracing the hole of the lock, the one that held it so stubbornly closed, hiding its words from the world, and he smiled thoughtfully. “You gave me two gifts,” he said, at last, looking up to meet Agnes’s gaze and was surprised to find there were tears running down her face, but he just couldn’t stop now that he’d gotten started. “The second was the key.” 

Once upon a time, there was a little prince…

“Once upon a time, there was a little prince,” Ezra recited in time with the memory as he lifted his necklace over his head and gained a light drip on the ring he’d been cradling not moments earlier. He adjusted his grip and maneuvered the ring until the angel’s face aligned perfectly with the lock. “He had awoken and found himself far from home, with no way to return.” 

He pressed the key down. 

The lock clicked. 

“But he found a friend,” Ezra looked at Agnes again, smiling in delight while his vision steadily began to blur. He knew her; he remembered. “Didn’t he, grandmother?”

“Yes, he did,” Agnes choked out, the tears still flowing as she held out her arms towards him. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders before dragging him forward into her all too familiar embrace and Ezra choked on a sob of his own as he returned it, holding her so tightly he was sure it was painful, but he couldn't let go. “My darling . My Aziraphale.” 

He was home.

Ezra had no idea how long he sat there, wrapped up in his grandmother's arms while the two of them wept out their happiness into one another's shoulders. Though he did know that when he finally pulled away, his tears had long since dried up, and he was at his happiest while also at his most exhausted. 

“I can’t believe I finally found you,” Ezra sniffed, wiping at his eyes. “After all of this time, I’m finally back where I belong.” 

“Yes, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I have you at my side again,” Agnes cooed, dabbing at her own eyes with her handkerchief. “I held so desperately onto the hope you were still alive, but I have to admit that I had my doubts every now and then.” 

“I heard you tell Crowley that you didn’t want to see me,” he said. “What made you change your mind?” 

“Well, he is a very stubborn one that boy. Impersonated my driver and drove me here against my will,” Agnes said thoughtfully, much to Ezra’s horror. “I was still set on not seeing you until he handed me that book and I knew that there had to be something different about both of you.” 

“I still can’t believe he found my book,” Ezra told her, looking back down at the cover. “I remember that I dropped it the night we escaped, I was so distraught.”

“And he kept it in very good condition all this time,” Agnes observed while Ezra flipped from page to page. The edges of the pages were worn from exposure to the elements, but the pictures were still just as beautiful as he remembered, the script still clear and readable. “He must have known how important it was to you.”

“There’s something stuck between the pages here,” Ezra murmured, noticing the bump between the pages near the center of the book. He skipped the pages that separated himself from the bump in the middle and found himself surprised by what he found there. “It’s a flower.”

“Yes, you would always press flowers into your books,” Agnes informed him, seeing what must be a puzzled look on his face. “You would get them from the gardens and would always say you wanted to keep them forever. I’m sure you had an entire garden pressed between all of those pages.” 

Ezra touched the dried, somewhat wilted petals of the flower, and listened to the soft crinkle as it gave under his touch. He could remember pressing flowers into his books, a smile on his face, and the feeling of absolute giddiness as he added another flower to his collection. 

Oh, it’s so beautiful. This is for me? 

Aren’t they always? 

That voice again, the one he heard the night he began sleepwalking, the one that had been whispering to him in his dreams for as long as he could remember. Had this voice given him this flower?

You’re so kind. What kind of flower is this? 

It’s a windflower. 

And what does it mean? 

It’ll protect you from evil. 

Oh, Anthony…

Anthony? Why did that name sound so familiar? 

You once asked me what my name was. It’s Anthony.

Anthony, Anthony, his Anthony. He remembered Anthony; the day they met in the gardens of Eden Palace, the flowers he’d given him over the years, and just how much he had cherished his friendship with the other boy. He remembered long days in the garden and even longer nights, sneaking out of the palace to look at the stars. 

“Anthony gave me this,” he said aloud, more to himself, but Agnes hummed thoughtfully. 

“Ah, yes, that would make sense,” she agreed. “The gardener’s son. You two were very close. Quite inseparable.”

Ezra barely heard her over the roaring in his ears, overcome with emotion and flickers of memory from a time not so long ago. All of this time, Crowley had been trying to tell him his secret, dropping hints of his true identity at every little turn, and Ezra hadn’t been able to put all of the pieces together until now. Crowley had known him, had known Aziraphale so well because they had been such close friends. 

Crowley, Anthony, had stopped at nothing to find him.

No one’s called me by my first name since my parents passed.

It was all he needed. One good friend.

I would do anything to keep you safe...

Ezra faded back in from the memory when something wet landed on his hand and with a slow blink, he looked down to see a clear drop of water as it rolled down his skin. In his confusion, he found himself looking up towards the ceiling, searching for some kind of leak, but unable to find one.

“Oh, my darling, whatever is the matter?” Agnes asked in concern and Ezra lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, surprised to find the water there as well. 

When had he started crying?

“The man who brought you here,” Ezra began quietly, scrubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Is he still downstairs?” 

Crowley had been telling the truth; oh God, what had he done? He’d been telling Ezra the truth and he’d chased him off, hadn’t believed him. He had to talk to Crowley, he needed to know everything. 

“I can’t say I’m certain,” his grandmother told him carefully as he rose from the bench, the book still held tightly against his chest. “Where are you going?” 

“Forgive me, just a moment, I’ll be right back!” 

Ezra had hurried down the stairs in a rush, nearly losing his footing several times, but not letting that deter him from his mission. He refused to falter until he made it outside the front door, practically throwing himself out onto the sidewalk and into the cool evening air. A bit winded from his race down the stairs, he looked up and down the street, seeing Agnes’s abandoned car, yet no sign of Crowley. 

Crowley was gone.

He blinked away the sting that built up behind his eyes once again, hugging the book close to his chest and wondering if he ever would in fact be able to see his long-lost friend again to apologize for every cruel word he’d shouted at him. Ezra turned to go back inside the flat, glancing over his shoulder once more hopefully before walking inside. 

Maybe a night apart wouldn’t be so terrible. 

After some discussion, Ezra decided that he wanted to spend the rest of the night with Agnes at her residence. After so long of the two of them being apart, he found he didn’t want to be far from her side in case anything else ever tried to separate them. Ezra packed his things, left a note for Newt and Crowley, and climbed into a cab with his grandmother, leaving the night of bad memories behind them.

The evening itself wasn’t anything too exciting, simply a night shared between grandmother and grandson, reminiscing about old times while digging through old boxes of photographs. She had many photographs as well as many little trinkets for them to look through, from short stories he’d written as a young boy to pictures his siblings had drawn as they’d grown up.

The people in the photographs were familiar enough; he recognized his father, his mother, his brother, and his sisters. However, it was strange, he realized later as he stared at the different photographs, to recognize himself but have no clear memory of when it had been taken. The young boy with golden curls in the photographs was clearly himself, but it was still almost as if he were looking at a stranger. 

“It’s all starting to come back to me. Slowly, but it’s there,” Ezra said thoughtfully, setting aside an old photograph the family had taken in the garden. “Some things are still a bit fuzzy, like the night we escaped from Eden, but most of it is clearer than it used to be.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear that. I wouldn’t worry too much about remembering that terrible night,” Agnes replied with a gentle smile, shuffling through her photographs once again before picking out another and holding it out to him. “Ah, here’s a familiar face.” 

Ezra took the photograph from her and his smile slowly faded when he laid eyes on the two people in it. It was himself as a child, smiling brightly at the photographer, standing beside a red-haired boy with golden eyes, who appeared to be a bit shyer about being faced with the camera. Yet, despite their opposite reactions, they looked comfortable together, happy even, and Ezra had to swallow the lump that began to form in his throat. 

“Is that--” 

“Your Anthony, yes,” Agnes told him. “Looks quite a bit different now that he’s grown, though I suppose not too many people have those peculiar eyes of his.” 

“I do believe they’re one of a kind,” Ezra agreed quietly, his thumb stroking the faded, off-color image of Crowley’s face. “I...used to dream about his face, before we even met. I dreamed about everyone, of course, but Anthony was a constant.” 

“You two were joined at the hip,” she said. “Raphael would always mention the two of you in his letters. His youngest son and the son of the gardener, always getting into different kinds of mischief.”

“I don’t want to believe that he would do anything to hurt me,” Ezra admitted to her after a moment. “I don’t want to think that he brought me here because he was interested in money. I think he brought me here because he genuinely wanted to help me.” 

“Perhaps you could ask him when you see him next,” she suggested gently. “Even if you had a disagreement, I don’t think he would want to leave this unsettled.” 

“I was so angry with him,” he told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been angry at anyone like that in my entire life.” 

“Even the closest of friends have disagreements, my darling,” Agnes said, leaning over to pat his hand. “I would very much like to apologize for treating him harshly as well and thank him for bringing you back to me.” 

Ezra wanted to thank him too, he also wanted answers. There were still some gaps left in his memory that he wanted to fill and Crowley seemed to be the one who held all of the answers. “I hope that I didn’t chase him off.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be back, darling,” Agnes reassured him. “I can’t see how he could stay away.”

“I remember you, Anthony Crowley. The young man from the garden that saved our lives the night of the attack on the palace.”

“Your grace--” 

“You are also the young man my grandson considered a very close friend.” 

“Yes, your grace.” 

“And you risked everything to bring him back to me.” 

“I just wanted Aziraphale to find his way home.”

“You don’t have to go. Stay.” 

“I don’t have a place here, Newt. Aziraphale--” 

“Would be heartbroken if you left. Don’t do that to him. You can have a life with him here.” 

“Princes don’t marry gardeners.”

“Can’t they?”

Crowley was avoiding him, that much was obvious. Following the night at the theater, Ezra found that despite his best efforts, Crowley was simply nowhere to be found. There was a part of Ezra that was still angry with how the truth had come out between them, but he also wanted to make amends. Whether he liked it or not, Crowley was still the entire reason he had found his family and Ezra still found himself thinking of him often. 

There was set to be a celebration, one to announce him to the world and confirm that he still lived. Ezra would be presented to the masses as Aziraphale the crown prince of Eden, ready to take over where his parents had left off before they died, but even though that was in fact who he was, Ezra felt no real connection to his duties and responsibilities. 

Of course, he never voiced those concerns, especially not to his grandmother, who was so completely over the moon that he was alive that she very rarely left his side, commenting on how much he looked like his father and mother. Even after several days of being exposed to the constant reminder that he was his parent’s child, it still felt as if he were a stranger and despite being surrounded by people, he still felt incredibly alone. 

The night of the celebration found Ezra dressed in deep blues accented with golden buttons and trimmings. Despite his request for more neutral cream colors, his grandmother had been insistent that he wear the family colors to carry them with him through the evening. Atop his head lay the weight of an entire nation, the crown that his father had worn before him, the crown that his brother had been meant to inherit. It felt large and out of place on his head like it wasn’t really his, but he’d been unable to convince anyone that he shouldn’t wear it. 

The guests began to trickle in, beginning with those of most importance on the invitation list. Ezra watched quietly from a gap in the curtain, set up to add more mystery to the reveal of the crown prince of Eden, searching the crowd for a familiar redhead, but finding no such luck. It had begun to look hopeless until Ezra caught sight of Newt walking in amongst the crowd. 

“Newt? Newton!” he called out, hurrying across the room to the other man. Newt was dressed properly for the event, his tie complementing the dress that Ezra had seen Anathema wearing earlier in the evening, but now, he was alone, and never had Ezra seen him by himself since they’d met one another. Newt turned toward the sound of his voice and smiled in delight at the sight of him. 

“Ezra--I mean, Aziraphale--I mean, I suppose I should say your highness, shouldn’t I?” Newt said thoughtfully, making to bow, but Ezra quickly held up his hands. 

“That isn’t necessary,” Ezra told him. “You’re my friend. You have no need to bow to me or use such formalities. I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.”

“Well, if you’re certain--” 

“I’m terribly sorry, Newton, but have you seen Crowley?” Ezra cut in, looking around at the faces in the crowd, scanning for that familiar head of red hair. “Is he with you?” 

Newt blinked, almost as if he were surprised, then slowly shook his head. “No, he’s going back to Eden,” he said carefully. “Didn’t he tell you?” 

“What? No, he...he didn’t say anything. I thought…” Ezra shook his head, heart sinking. “Has he left already?” 

“Yes, he left not too long ago for the train station,” Newt replied, his expression becoming one of sorrow as the realization settled in. “I told him to tell you. I told him not to leave.” 

“I suppose he really didn’t want to stay,” Ezra said simply, trying not to show his disappointment. 

“That’s not true,” Newt insisted. “He wanted to stay.”

“Then why isn’t he here?” 

Newt opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it, slowly shaking his head. “It’s not my place to say,” he told him apologetically. Ezra knew that Newt wanted to tell him, but he also understood the reservations he had on the matter. Newt believed that Crowley should be the one to tell him and Ezra, despite it all, wished Crowley would have told him as well. “I’m sorry.” 

Ezra managed a smile, one he knew fell a bit short, and shook his head. “It’s quite alright,” he replied. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault either, you know,” Newt told him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring pat. “What happened between the two of you--”

“Your highness, my apologies, but your grandmother is requesting your presence before the celebration starts,” a voice said from beside him and Ezra turned toward the guard, who bowed before him respectfully. 

Ezra heaved a sigh and nodded in reply. “Yes, thank you, I’ll be there in a moment,” he said, glancing at Newt, smile back in place. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, my friend. Please enjoy your evening.” 

With that, he followed the guard out of the growing crowd and back behind the curtain, trying not to let his heavy heart drag down his mood any further that evening.

Every tick of the clock felt suffocating as more and more people gathered in the grand hall and Ezra placed his hand over his stomach as if that would settle it, taking deep breaths. The time drew closer and closer; soon, he would no longer be Ezra, but once again Aziraphale, only this time he would be going forward as the crown prince and Crowley wouldn’t be there at his side. 

“He’s not out there,” Agnes said from behind him, a knowing inflection to her tone. Her hand touched the small of his back, a gesture of comfort, but it brought him none. 

“I know he isn’t,” Ezra began, then caught himself. Was he truly being so obvious that she noticed his longing? He was never good at these big social gatherings and he found himself falling back on the reflex of looking for Crowley as he once did in these situations. “I mean, who do you mean, grandmother?” 

“You know who I mean,” Agnes said with a sigh as she laid her hand on his shoulder and urged him to turn around to face her. She smiled at him, so gently, with so much understanding that it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to hear her next words. “Darling, I know this isn’t what you want.” 

Ezra laughed shakily. “Of course it is, don’t be silly,” he said dismissively. “I’m with you , where I belong. I’ve worked my entire life to find my way back here.” 

“And yet, you’re still longing for something else,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Perhaps...some one else?”

Ezra’s cheeks flushed, looking away from her knowing gaze. “Grandmother...I…” 

“I remember when you were just a boy and I’d come to visit,” Agnes carried on, ignoring his reaction. “You told me of a boy you met in the garden and how this boy was now your best friend. In the entire world, might I add?”

Ezra blinked, staring at her in wonder. “Anthony, you mean.” 

“I do,” she replied simply, raising her hand to brush the hair from his forehead gently. “You were so smitten with that boy, darling. You’d go on and on about him to anyone who would listen.” 

“Yes, but--” 

“I always thought, as you got older, something more would bloom from the friendship the two of you shared,” Agnes sighed, still playing with his hair. “I do believe all of us thought so at one point or another.” 

“I was a child then,” Ezra insisted, waving her hands away. He was feeling a bit flustered by the conversation. How could she imply that he would rather leave her behind for Crowley after everything he’d done to get back to her?  “I have different responsibilities now. Everything is so much different than it used to be.” 

“It’s alright to love him, darling.” 

Ezra took a step back, the words striking a nerve somewhere deep within his chest and causing a sudden burning sensation to occur behind his eyes. He knew he had foolishly fallen in love with Crowley, but that was before he’d remembered who he was and the responsibilities that lay upon his shoulders. It wasn’t enough now. “He went back to Eden, grandmother,” he choked out at last. “He didn’t want to stay here.”

He didn’t want me , he didn’t say, but even his unspoken words seemed loud and obvious in the silence that followed. 

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Agnes replied and her smile was gentle. “I think that he, like you, is trying to do what you both believe is the right thing when neither of you has to.”

“This is absurd,” Ezra said with a tad of hysteria. “You’re telling me to leave you, after all of this time.” 

“I will still be here,” she replied simply. “No matter how far away you are, I will always be here.” 

Someone behind him cleared their throat, Agnes glanced over his shoulder and Ezra spun around, surprised to see Crowley standing there. He was dressed in his usual ensemble, hands shoved deep into his pockets and near the door, Ezra could see a suitcase. It took everything within himself not to rush forward, to throw himself into Crowley’s arms because he was so relieved to see him. 

“Your grace, your highness,” Crowley said politely, though his eyes were downcast. “I apologize for intruding on your night.” 

“Nonsense, you were invited,” Agnes said with a wave of her hand. “If anything, I am the one intruding. I think you two have much to discuss.” 

"Grandmother--"

"Take your time," Agnes interjected, patting his arm. "I will see you shortly."

With that, Agnes departed, disappearing behind the curtain and leaving Ezra alone with Crowley for the first time in days. They both stood there for a long time, exchanging no words, only sidelong glances every now and then. Ezra could hear his heart pounding in his ears, palms sweating while he wrung his hands together in front of him. 

Crowley was here; he'd come back and Ezra couldn’t even come up with anything clever to say.

“You didn’t get on the train,” It had been the first thing that had come to his mind and as much as he’d wanted to sound angry, Ezra found that he simply couldn’t stay upset with Crowley. “Why?” 

“I couldn’t,” Crowley told him with a simple shrug of his shoulders. His eyes were exposed, not covered by his glasses for the first time since the night on the boat, but he still wouldn’t look at him, instead keeping his eyes downcast towards the ground. “I bought the ticket, I was waiting in line, and I reached into my pocket, found the rose you gave me our first night in London. I realized I couldn’t go.”

“I don’t understand,” Ezra told him, though he had a small inkling that he did know what he was talking about, yet forced himself not to hold onto the hope that Crowley had come back for him. 

“I lost you once, angel,” Crowley said and the sound of his childhood nickname caused Ezra’s heart to lurch in his chest. He felt like he was ten years old again, faced with golden eyes and a term of endearment. “I’m not going to do it again.”

“Oh, Crowley…” Ezra sighed, then paused, lifting his hand to his lips in surprise. “Or I suppose I should say Anthony?” 

Crowley winced, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, and rubbing it with a long-suffering sigh. “I’d have to get used to hearing it again, but sure. If you’d like,” he said. “Should I go back to calling you Aziraphale?” 

Now it was Ezra’s turn to wince, though he tried to hide it by looking down at his hands. Despite several days of being called by his real name by his grandmother and the people around them, it still didn’t quite feel like his name. “Would you be angry if I said that I wasn’t ready yet?” 

“No,” Crowley told him with a simple shrug of his shoulders. If his response had bothered him, it didn’t show on Crowley’s face and part of Ezra was unbearably relieved. Even after all of this time, Crowley was still one of the people who understood him the most. “I can keep calling you Ezra if that’s what you want.” 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Ezra replied. “I would appreciate it. For now.

“Of course.” 

The party beyond the curtain began to come to life, the voices rising over the music, and Ezra looked back at the curtain with uncertainty. He’d nearly forgotten all about the party, the one being thrown to celebrate his return, but the longer he stood there in Crowley’s presence, the more he realized he didn’t want anything to do with that life anymore. 

Had he ever really wanted what this life had laid out for him?

“They’re waiting for you,” Crowley told him gently and Ezra looked back at him, eyes wide. Crowley was smiling, but it didn’t meet his eyes. It was a look he’d been giving Ezra since the moment they’d met in Eden, the one he gave when he wasn’t saying what he wanted to say. “You should go. We can always talk later.”

Ezra remembered the last time they said they’d talk about things at a later time and how it resulted in him not only gaining back his family but also briefly losing Crowley. How did he know he wouldn’t end up losing him again? “You could come with me?” he suggested. “No one would object to you being here.” 

Crowley looked behind Ezra to the curtain that obscured them from view, the hesitance clear on his face. “I don’t belong there,” he said after a moment. “This world was never meant to be mine. It was always yours.” 

Ezra couldn’t say he didn’t understand. Ever since he’d been thrown back into his old life, he couldn’t say he felt like he belonged there either. “Then perhaps you’d like to take a walk with me?” he suggested. “I’ve heard the gardens are absolutely beautiful at night.”

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again, frowning. “What about the party?” 

“The party will be here whenever I return,” Ezra said with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. “Besides, I’m long overdue for a walk in the gardens with you.”

Crowley visibly swallowed before nodding his head. He straightened his coat, offered his arm, and smiled in that crooked fashion that had always set Ezra’s heart aflutter. “Of course,” he agreed. “As you like, your highness.” 

“Oh, please never call me that,” Ezra groaned, slipping his hand into the crook of Crowley’s arm and allowing him to lead them from the room. “ Anything but that.” 

“I’ll just settle for angel then, I think,” Crowley agreed and Ezra smiled, comforted by the familiar way they walked and talked together as if the ten-year-long gap in their relationship had never occurred. They left the building, stepped out into the garden, and were greeted by the fresh floral smell of flowers while the moonlight lit the path ahead.

“How’s your memory coming along?” 

“It’s better,” Ezra admitted. “Some things are still a bit fuzzy, but grandmother seems to think they’ll all come back to me with time.” 

“That’s wonderful news.” 

“Yes, it is,” Ezra said and they continued their walk. They passed by different types of flowers, different trees, and shrubs, and each one caught Crowley’s eye in one way or another, Ezra noticed. Crowley still seemed to have an affection for gardening and it made his heart ache to know it was yet another thing that he’d given up in his search for him. “Do you still shout at your plants?” 

“When I have them, yeah,” Crowley replied and glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “And don’t give me that look because it works .” 

“Oh, yes, of course it does,” Ezra said, amused, and Crowley sputtered in mock outrage similar to the way he did when they were children. 

“It does !” he exclaimed. “Look around, angel, honestly. These flowers are nothing like the ones back home and you know it. That’s all me. I grew those and I shouted at them all.”

“They were beautiful flowers. Especially the ones you gave to me,” Ezra said softly, tugging on Crowley’s arm to pull him to a stop. He stared up at his face for a moment, trying to meet those covered eyes, but Crowley seemed hesitant to look back. “Crowley, why didn’t you tell me?” 

Crowley didn’t say anything for a long time, staring off to the side in what appeared to be deep thought, and just as Ezra began to pull his arm out of his hold to step away, Crowley’s arm tightened its hold around his hand to prevent him from doing so. 

“I was afraid,” Crowley admitted at last. “It had been ten years since you disappeared and I’d seen dozens of people who looked like you, acted like you, but were never actually you. I’d all but given up by the time you came along.” 

“Did you know?” Ezra asked. “When you saw me, did you know?” 

“Not right away, no.” 

“Then when?” 

“I’d had my suspicions before then, but it hit me when we were in London,” Crowley explained. “You told Anathema about a boy that opened a wall and I realized that the only people in the world that would have known about that would have been the three people that were there.” 

“So, it was you,” Ezra said, eyes widening. He couldn’t remember the night exactly the way it had happened. His grandmother had told him that Crowley had been the one to save them, but Ezra hadn’t really believed her until that moment. “The boy who opened the wall. You saved my life that night. You saved my book.” 

“I promised I would find you and give it back to you,” Crowley told him firmly. Ezra closed his eyes tightly, willing away the sting, but he only felt like weeping. What had he done to deserve such friendship, such love , from this man? “I’ve never broken a promise.”

“You waited for me. For all of those years, you waited, ” Ezra choked out. Crowley had been waiting for him, looking for him, since the moment he’d gone missing. “That’s why you were at the palace in Eden, wasn’t it? You were waiting for me to come back.” 

“I knew you would, one day,” Crowley told him. “I knew if you were still out there, the first place you would go was home, so I waited for you.” 

“Ten years , Anthony,” Ezra said, his voice cracking on the word. “You wasted ten years of your life looking for me.” 

“And I found you.” 

It was a hard thing to wrap his head around, really. Crowley had spent ten years searching, never once giving up on the idea that Ezra could still be alive somewhere, and had done everything in his power to bring him home. 

“It must have been so hard for you,” Ezra whispered sympathetically, hands reaching out to touch him, but stopping just short of doing so with hesitation. “To go through so much on your own. You saved my life, but at what cost to you?” 

“I’d do it all over again if it meant you were safe and sound,” Crowley said firmly and his own hands closed the distance between them, clasping Ezra's hands between his own. “Azira-- Ezra , I--”

“Isn’t this heartwarming?” a voice called out and Ezra jerked away from Crowley in alarm. A man was approaching them from across the bridge, a man with dark hair and crazed eyes, a swagger to his step as if he were the most carefree man in the world. “So much love and devotion. Doesn’t it make you feel sick ?” 

Crowley’s arm moved in front of Ezra, easing him back until he was positioned behind him. Ezra peeked over Crowley’s shoulder at the man approaching them, curling his fingers into the fabric at Crowley’s back. “You,” he hissed accusingly. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

“Ah, well, I was,” the man replied, stopping a few short feet away. “But I had some unfinished business to take care of, so I simply decided to come take care of it myself.” 

“The hell you are,” Crowley spat. “You keep away from him.”

Ezra’s head was spinning. He could feel the threat from this crazed man and even with Crowley standing between them, he found himself only more suffocated by fear. 

“Aziraphale Arch, the last of his bloodline,” the man announced with his manic grin, bowing low to him in mockery. “At last, we meet again.”

The sound of his real name coming from this man’s mouth sent an unsettled chill down Ezra’s spine and he only pressed closer to Crowley out of reflex. He knew this man, deep down within himself, he knew who he truly was. He recognized that grin, that voice, those eyes...

“It’s you,” Ezra whispered. “Lucifer Morningstar.”

Chapter Text

“The prince and his friend, reunited once again, continued on their way back to the castle. They vowed to never let anything truly come between their friendship ever again. However, when they finally arrived--” 

“There was the bad man. The one who made the prince go away.” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

"It's you," Ezra whispered. "Lucifer Morningstar."

"In the flesh," Lucifer announced, then looked down at himself, wrinkled his nose, and then plucked at the remains of his clothing. "Well, what's left of it."

“I thought you were dead,” Ezra continued on, eyes wide. “Why aren’t you dead?” 

“Well, I am in a way. Simply a rotting corpse wandering aimlessly through the world, trying to complete his one piece of unfinished business,” Lucifer spat, taking a step closer to the two of them and Crowley immediately crowded Ezra back a step out of reflex, the only piece of protection between him and the manic man before them. “And the day has finally come.”

“You’re not completing that unfinished business today or any day in the near future,” Crowley snapped. “Go back to Hell where you belong.”

Lucifer laughed, clapping his hands together and hunched over at the waist, wheezing, as if Crowley had told him a very funny joke. He pretended to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes and slowly straightened up. 

“And I suppose you’re going to try to stop me, Anthony Crowley, just as you did all of those years ago?” 

“You’re damn right.” 

“I see.” The amusement faded from his features, and as if on cue, the sky began to darken. The once cloudless night sky was now dark in a much more sinister way, the clouds hiding the stars turning a deep red. Ezra tightened his hold on the back of Crowley’s jacket as if somehow his grip would protect him, and pressed himself closer against his back. “Then I’ll just have to be rid of you first.” 

Lucifer raised his hand which began to glow with a threatening green aura and Ezra cried out in alarm as two green-winged demon-like creatures swooped in from the sidelines, seizing Crowley by the arms and lifting him into the air. “Stop it! Let him go!” 

“Take him away!” Lucifer ordered. Crowley kicked and struggled against the hold on him even as they ascended higher into the air, the demons shrieking and chittering as they began to carry Crowley away from the encounter and back into the garden, which was now stirring ominously with life. 

“Bring him back this instant!” Ezra exclaimed frantically, beginning to make his way back toward the opening in the hedges to follow. However, as he drew closer, the hedges began to glow as well and snapped together, preventing his entry. “Crowley!” 

"Oh, little Aziraphale," Lucifer crooned, stepping closer when Ezra spun to face him. His hands dripped with the green, ghoulish, and menacing magic, and Ezra matched every one of Lucifer's steps forward with a backward one of his own until his back collided with the towering hedge behind him. "All alone again and this time, no one will be able to save you."

“Why are you doing this?” Ezra asked him. “We did nothing to you and even if you and my father had a disagreement, the rest of us did nothing --” 

“Maybe you didn’t, but the sins of your father were much too great,” Lucifer replied, snapping his fingers and Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the vines of the hedge behind him begin to move and shift with life. “His entire family must pay the debt with their own blood and you are the final piece.” 

“ No--” The vines wound their way around Ezra’s neck, trapping the words in his throat as well as his next breath. His fingers scrambled up to his throat, fumbling for purchase on the vines but unable to gain a grip due to just how tight they were holding him. Tears sprang to his eyes as he kicked his legs, Lucifer’s manic laughter ringing in his ears. “ P-Please--!”

Just as the darkness began to fade into his vision, Ezra barely registered the blur of a figure charging in from off to the side, colliding with Lucifer and knocking him to the ground. With his focus broken, the vines around Ezra’s throat loosened and he desperately sucked in a breath of air. 

“Angel!” Crowley’s face came into view, eyes wide behind his sunglasses as he ripped the rest of the vines from around Ezra’s neck. Ezra continued to cough, sucking in breath after breath as Crowley held him by the forearms, seemingly looking him over for further injuries. “Are you alright?” 

Crowley looked a mess, his clothes torn from his tussle with the little green demons, his hair in a state of disarray, and the lenses of his sunglasses were cracked. Ezra choked out a sob, tightening his hold on Crowley’s forearms. “Oh, Crowley-- ” 

“Hastur! Ligur!” Lucifer shrieked, pointing in their direction with a menacing finger as he clambered back to his feet. “Get rid of that red-haired menace!” 

Before the two of them could even consider who Hastur and Ligur were, Ezra found a strong force dragging Crowley from his arms, once again leaving him alone and exposed to Lucifer’s wrath. Ezra watched helplessly as Crowley was dragged to the other side of the clearing by two figures, one taller with the features of a frog and the other shorter with the features of a chameleon. 

“We have him, my lord, we have him!” the frog demon shrieked in delight, holding Crowley back as he struggled with little effort at all. 

“Finish the job, my lord!” the chameleon demon called out. “The moment you have waited for!” 

“Ezra, run!” Crowley shouted, struggling against the two holding his arms frantically. “Go, get out of here!” 

Ezra wanted to run, wanted to hide, but he couldn’t leave Crowley behind. Not again, not like last time. He straightened his shoulders, tried to hold himself in a more brave sort of stance even though his entire body shook with fear. 

“Please, just leave us alone .” Ezra pleaded as Lucifer approached him again, raised his hand, and flicked his wrist. The stone beneath Ezra’s feet began to rumble and crack, giving way underneath his feet, and sent Ezra downwards toward the river below with a scream. His hands reached, grabbing onto the first thing he managed to see which just so happened to be one of the metal supports from the inside of the bridge. It creaked and groaned under the sudden arrival of his weight, but it held and Ezra hung there, suspended over the water, merely feet from his death. 

“ Ezra?!” 

“And here we are,” Lucifer began, the metal bar screeching again as Ezra struggled to reach out for the blocks of stone that were far more sturdy. If he could just grab onto those, he could climb his way back up, but every reach was too short, his fingers just barely brushing the stone. “I will watch you finally fall from grace just as your father did with me and I will finally know peace.”

The bridge continued to crumble as Lucifer spoke but Ezra continued to reach for the stability of the stones before him, arms trembling from the exertion, yet he was still too stubborn to die. He didn’t come this far in order to die here, he didn’t finally find his family and remember who he was to just give up now. 

He would not die here. 

Ezra’s fingers found purchase on the stone. 

The metal bar snapped. 

“Yes! At last! Long live the Arches!”

“No! Ezra! Let. Me. Go!”

“Ouch! He struck me! Ligur, that human struck me!” 

“My lord, the human is free! ” 

“Useless! I’ll take care of him myself!” 

Ezra claimed his way back up, gripping the crumbling remains of the sidewalk until he managed to get himself back onto even ground. Somehow, he’d managed to find a stable grip on the stone before the metal had given out and in that short amount of time, Lucifer had thought he’d perished. Now, Lucifer had turned his rage toward Crowley and Ezra couldn’t let him hurt him. 

"Crowley!" 

Crowley turned his gaze to Ezra, the anger that had been directed at Lucifer slowly morphing into relief, having clearly thought that Ezra had met his end in the river below. Lucifer, however, spun around and sputtered in outrage. “ You, ” he sneered. “What do I have to do to make you stay dead?”

"A lot more than that," Ezra replied breathlessly, lunging out of the way as a blast of green power shot past him. He stumbled to regain his footing and turned his gaze to look back at Lucifer, eyes focusing on the glowing object that dangled from his hand. The object glowed an ugly green, much like the magic that Lucifer had cast, and suddenly, Ezra was aware that Lucifer could indeed be stopped. "Crowley, the artifact!"

"What?!"

"The source of power in his hand!" Ezra shouted, pointing to Lucifer and the object in question. "We have to destroy it!"

Crowley collided with Lucifer without hesitation, knocking him to the ground where they wrestled over the glowing object in Lucifer’s grasp. Lucifer was quite literally falling apart at the seams, unable to fight back in a way that would subdue Crowley, and it took little time for Crowley to wrench the artifact from his hold. 

Crowley looked up to meet Ezra’s eyes. Something passed between them, a moment of understanding before Crowley threw it in his direction. The artifact fell short in its journey, clattering onto the cobblestone yet not showing a single sign of a scratch. Ezra stared at it and without hesitation began to close the distance between himself and the item with hurried steps.

“ No! ” Lucifer snarled and shoved Crowley away from him, sending out an angry shockwave of green energy that knocked him clear across the garden. Ezra watched in horror as Crowley hit the ground, sunglasses flying from his face, and felt the rage bubble up within him as he approached the artifact, covering it with the heel of his foot. “Don’t you dare --”

“Oh, I think I will, ” Ezra snapped, pressing his weight down onto the artifact and hearing the sound of the cracking glass with satisfaction. Lucifer cried out in unison with the cracking glass, falling to his knees before Ezra, and reaching out with trembling hands to grasp Ezra’s leg, trying to dislodge him. It was then that Ezra realized that in order to truly defeat Lucifer, he would have to destroy this thing. “This is for everyone you have ever hurt.” 

“ Stop it! ” 

“This is for Anthony .” 

Crack.

“This is for my family.”

Crack.

“And this? This is for you. ”

“No!” 

“Go back to the pit you crawled out of!” Ezra exclaimed, pushing the rest of his weight down until he felt the glass completely give underneath him. The glass shattered and Ezra was thrown back from the force of the magic inside being released to the sounds of Lucifer’s outraged screams. The force of contact his body made against the ground knocked the wind from his lungs, caused his head to spin, but as Ezra gathered his thoughts and pushed himself into a sitting position, he watched as the ground broke apart before him. 

Several large, green demons flew out of the pit, shrieking menacingly as they chased down Lucifer, who was doing his best to flee the situation. They wasted no time seizing him by the arms and dragging him back toward the pit, practically lifting him off the ground as he kicked and screamed in protest. 

“No, no , let me go!” Lucifer cried, but his efforts were useless, for the demons vastly overpowered him. Ezra watched, horrified, as a mass of green-clawed hands rose up from the pit, ready to receive the offering that the demons dangled above the pit. Two hands grabbed onto Lucifer’s ankles and began to pull downwards into the hole with incredible strength. Ezra met Lucifer’s eyes one more time before he was dragged out of his view, the hole closing up, and then it was quiet. 

The world around him slowly returned to normal. Things that had been broken or altered by Lucifer’s magic were restored to their normal state, the sky faded from red to black, once again illuminated by the streetlights and decorated by the pinpoints of stars. The only evidence that anything had even happened were the tears in Ezra’s clothes and Crowley, lying unconscious a few feet away

“Crowley!” Ezra called, scrambling to his feet and hurrying to his side. He fell to his knees, hands hovering helplessly, afraid to touch him before he knew if Crowley had any threatening injuries. He didn’t see any blood, he didn’t think anything was broken, so Ezra took the risk to lay a land on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“Crowley?” Ezra whispered, shaking his shoulder gently, but Crowley didn’t stir. In fact, Crowley hadn’t moved once since he’d been hit by Lucifer’s magic, merely laying so incredibly still against the cobblestone. “Crowley, wake up.” 

“You know that I would never let anything happen to you, right? If that madman came back, I would protect you.” 

It was like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. Ezra could never recall seeing Crowley so still, so lifeless, and he was unable to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes at the thought that Crowley may never actually wake up again. “This isn’t funny,” Ezra choked out, giving him another gentle shake that became slightly more urgent as his pleas went unanswered. “Wake up this instant.” 

“Aren’t you so brave? Far too brave for a simple gardener, must be a knight.” 

Crowley didn’t wake up despite his demands and the lump in his throat gave as he swallowed, allowing the tears he’d been fighting to spill down his cheeks. His fingers shook as they touched Crowley’s hair, his cheeks; he looked so peaceful and Ezra selfishly wished he didn’t. He wished Crowley would open his eyes and look at him, just the way he always did.

“I mean it. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

“Oh, Anthony ,” Ezra bent at the waist, overcome by his grief as his forehead came to rest against Crowley’s chest. His shoulders shook silently as he wept for the loss of his best friend and the man he loved so dearly. It simply wasn’t fair; how many more lives had to be lost because of the Arch name? Because of him? “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry .”

He sobbed into Crowley’s chest, wishing they could have done it all again but differently the second time around. If he had just taken Crowley with them when they fled the palace, maybe there would have had a different outcome. They would have had more time. 

Ezra barely registered the feeling of movement beside him until it came to rest on his back, the feel of fingers gently stroking soothingly along his spine. Ezra jerked up and away, startled yet thrilled to see a pair of golden eyes staring at him through partially open eyelids accompanied by a tired-looking smirk. 

“Worried about me, were you?” Crowley murmured in amusement. His voice was rough, pained, and Ezra knew he was brushing off his own needs for his benefit. He watched through blurry eyes as Crowley eased himself into a sitting position with an agonized groan. “Just a knock to the head.”

“Oh, you terrible man,” Ezra sobbed, lunging forward to throw his arms around Crowley’s neck, holding him so close, so fiercely. He was alive . “Oh, Anthony--!”

“Ouch, ouch, be careful,” Crowley complained, but as Ezra began to withdraw, an apology half-formed on his lips, an arm wound around his waist and pulled him close again. More tears spilled down Ezra’s face, soaking into the fabric of Crowley’s jacket where he was pressed against his shoulder, and Crowley’s face found a place tucked against the area between Ezra’s neck and shoulder. “No need for tears, angel. I’m right here.”

Despite the reassurances, Ezra couldn’t stop himself from crying, clinging to Crowley with all of his strength. His fingers were fisting Crowley’s jacket in his grip, sucking in breath after breath as he tried to calm himself but found it difficult to do with the fear of almost losing Crowley still so fresh. “Oh, Oh God , I-I thought you were...I thought …” 

“Never,” Crowley promised fiercely. “You’re stuck with me until the end of the world. No madman with magic will change that.” 

They sat like that for a very long time until Ezra’s knees began to ache from how they’d been resting on the stone, but he refused to be the one to pull away first. Crowley ended up giving in, withdrawing his arm and using his own hand to urge Ezra away. Ezra went reluctantly, his hands sliding across Crowley’s back until they came to rest on his shoulders. Crowley tutted sympathetically when he saw his face, raising a hand to cup Ezra’s cheek and gently thumb away the tears. 

Ezra allowed the touch to linger for some time, tilting his cheek into the gentle touch before once again withdrawing with a sniff.

“Come, let me help you up,” he said, hands moving until Crowley’s fingers were intertwined with his own. Slowly, he raised himself fully onto his own feet, and never once did he let go. “Take it slowly.”

“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley insisted but did in fact take it slow as Ezra carefully pulled him to his feet. He stood there for a moment, swaying a bit unsteadily, but Ezra moved to hold him by his arms again, steadying him. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you ,” Ezra told him. “How many times during that ordeal did you save my life?” 

“I would have done it no matter what,” Crowley reminded him, his voice gentle. “You don’t need to thank me.” 

Ezra merely found himself staring up at Crowley in wonder. Without his sunglasses, he could see Crowley’s eyes and wondered just how long he had been staring at Ezra the way he was at that moment. They stared into one another’s eyes, blue into gold, and ever so slowly, they began to lean in.

Ezra stepped forward, to help ease it along, and his foot tapped against something hard and metal causing them to both look down. The crown that had been knocked from Ezra’s head lay at his feet, having been completely forgotten in the heat of the moment, and Crowley heaved a heavy sigh of defeat before bending down to pick it up.

The moment was shattered yet again.

“Well, your highness, your curse is lifted,” Crowley told him quietly, placing the crown into his hands. The warmth that had been in Crowley’s eyes had faded now, leaving him with a sadness that caused Ezra’s heart to ache with sympathy. “We should get you back.” 

Ezra looked down at the crown, considered the literal and metaphorical weight it carried. It had been his entire goal to get back to the life of royalty he’d left behind but now that he had it, he didn’t want it anymore. “I don’t think I want to go back,” he admitted, looking up to see Crowley’s surprise. “I don’t belong there.” 

“Of course you do,” he admonished. “It’s all you’ve wanted, it’s why we came! Agnes is your family and you fought so hard to get back to her--” 

“Yes and I’ve found her,” Ezra said easily. He recalled the conversation they’d had earlier that evening. Agnes knew he wouldn’t be happy there and she had given her blessing for him to chase his dreams. “She would want me to be happy, darling, and taking the throne would not make me happy. She knows that.” 

Crowley looked perplexed, having been thrown by Ezra’s admission. It was obviously something he hadn’t expected, yet he didn’t push it. "I don’t understand. If the throne wouldn't make you happy," Crowley began. "Then what would?" 

"I'd quite like to travel, see a few new places," Ezra mused, cheeks growing warm as he looked down again. "Perhaps see some flowers, a garden. Have someone to share it with."

Crowley said nothing for a very long time and Ezra didn't dare look up to see the expression on his face. A warm hand covered the back of his neck, drew him in close, and Ezra felt a pair of lips on the top of his head, lingering there.

"And that's what you want?" 

"More than anything," Ezra admitted. He didn’t know how he was still standing, being in such close proximity to Crowley - feeling his lips in his hair, the warmth of his hand on the back of his neck, both making him feel weak in the knees. "I know I wanted to find my family, but...I think I was looking for you too." 

"Ezra--"

"I don't remember much about who I was before I met you in that garden, but I remember being lonely," Ezra told him. "I remember spending a lot of days alone, reading books, and then came this red-haired boy who smiled at me like I was a person instead of a prince. He still treats me that way, you know. Like a person." 

"Does he now?" Crowley murmured. 

"And even now, even after everything, he can still look at me and love me unconditionally just as he always has," Ezra said, lip trembling, thankful Crowley was unable to see his face. "Even if I've caused him nothing but grief for ten years."

"Angel." 

“Crowley, Anthony , I wish we could have grown up together and not lost so much time,” he admitted sadly. “But now, we may have been given a second chance and I don’t want to throw it away for a crown I don’t even want.” 

Crowley said nothing for a long time and Ezra’s vision began to blur, his gaze still fixated on the crown in his hands. Perhaps Crowley wouldn’t want the same thing as he did, perhaps Ezra was simply hoping too much, but when Crowley pulled away, his fingers finding their way under his chin and tilting his head back, Ezra only saw the warmth of his smile.

"So you want to travel," Crowley said and it was so insanely casual that it startled a laugh out of Ezra, the tears slipping free from his eyes and down his cheeks. Gentle fingers thumbed them away almost absentmindedly, golden eyes still fixated on his face. "We can do that."

"W-We can?"

"Anywhere you want to go, angel. Just say the word."

Dearest Tracy, 

Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I want you to know that I’ve made it to London and found exactly what I’ve been searching for all these years.

I’ll be back in Eden soon to tell you everything. 

Love, 

Ezra

Dearest Grandmother, 

You were right. I wanted something different.

I had to follow my heart but I promise: we will be together in London again soon.

All my love, 

Ezra Crowley

“They’ve eloped! Well, isn’t that romantic?” 

“It certainly is, my dear Anathema.”

“What shall we tell all of the people who came to see him?” 

“Tell them it was a mistake. The young man we found wasn’t my grandson and I’m officially giving up my search for him.” 

“Oh?” 

“I found him, Anathema. That’s all I needed. Now he deserves the chance to live the life he’s always wanted.” 

“So, Mister Crowley,” Crowley began as he waltzed across the boat deck with Ezra in his arms. Ezra giggled in delight as Crowley dipped him back, glimpsing the world for only a moment upside-down before Crowley brought him back up. “Where shall we head on our next grand adventure?” 

“Well, Mister Crowley,” Ezra replied with a grin. He hadn’t been able to stop smiling after they’d dropped the crown off at his grandmother’s residence, his fingers intertwined with Crowley’s and a spring in his step the entire way to the shipyard. They’d boarded the boat without a moment’s hesitation and without even much of a discussion of where they were going, but they were together. In the end, that was all that really mattered. “Tracy won’t be expecting us for some time, so I do believe a trip to Paris is in order before we make our way to Eden.” 

“Oh, you do, do you?” Crowley inquired, his lips curled up at the corners. They were certainly a sight to behold, dancing with the giddiness of young lovers, dressed in clothes that were torn and dirtied, and yet they still only had eyes for one another. “Paris first, then onward to Eden?” 

“Absolutely,” he answered. “Paris, I hear, has the most delightful crepes.” 

“Loads of fancy gardens too, so I’ve heard,” Crowley added, continuing to lead them in a slow dance across the deck, never missing a beat to the music only he could hear. Ezra was still a horrible dancer, he knew that, but Crowley didn’t seem to mind or even notice any clumsy steps he took. “Paris it is.” 

They continued their dance until Ezra eased them to a stop, releasing Crowley’s hands in favor of winding his arms around his neck. They swayed together in one place. Crowley smiled down at him and Ezra was unable to smile back, leaning up until he could bump their foreheads together. 

“Crowley, darling?” 

“Yeah, angel?” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

It was still so new to hear those words from Crowley’s mouth, just like it was so new for him to say them out loud, and perhaps it should have been more terrifying but the smile that spread across Crowley’s face made it feel not so terrifying at all. This time when they leaned in, there was nothing to stop them, and finally, finally , their lips met for the first time. 

As the ship carried them far from London and onto a new adventure, Ezra knew he was more than ready to face it as long as he had Crowley by his side. 

“With the evil finally defeated, the little prince and his companion finally returned home to where they belonged. They remained together for many, many years, and as the saying goes, they lived happily ever after.” 

“I wish I had a friend like the prince had in the story, grandmother. Someone who loved me so dearly.” 

“Perhaps you will one day.” 

“Will you read it to me again?” 

“Of course, my darling. Of course.”

Edit by Obliquity