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Crowley walks into the bookshop and encounters silence. No soft pom pom pom of the angel as he huffs to himself while he works. No muttering as he does his ledgers. No clatter from the backroom as he makes his tea even though Crowley has told him again and again he can just miracle the blessed stuff he doesn't need a kettle.
Crowley pauses on the rug as the door swings shut behind him. The bell tinkles and the beginnings of dread drip down his spine.
He doesn’t handle Aziraphale being gone very well. Not since his Armageddon discorporation. It’s unhealthy and he knows it. He could do something about how unhealthy it is, but he’s a demon, he’s not supposed to worry about things like mental health and attachment and the like. Maybe it would be easier if Aziraphale knew about his feelings, the icky, sticky gooey ones. He thinks maybe a confession would ease the way they sometimes stick in his throat, but he couldn’t say because it hasn’t come to that yet. He’s not sure when it will.
Like he’s a tree taking root, he takes a steadying breath and sends a thread of occult power down and out through the room. He’s looking for Aziraphale’s ethereal energy, that particular bright vanilla burst of flavor in the roof of his mouth that he could feel anywhere. That he doesn’t feel right now.
He’s just sent a question into the room: are you there? When he feels something snatch it. Something occult too, claws wrapping around the gentle push of his own power and ripping at him until he falls to his knees. His palms dig into the rough texture of Aziraphale’s rug and the world spins around him. It’s as if every tendon in his body is being pulled out through his ears.
Then it all snaps back.
“It's you,” an eerily familiar voice says, pleased and curling round him like wings mantling.
Crowley’s vision is still spinning but he has to look up because if he doesn’t look up he won’t know and he can’t confirm his worst fear and he’ll be stuck here in the unknown but bless it all, Crowley always has to know.
Aziraphale smiles at him from the center of light streaming in through the overhead windows. He is still blond. His waistcoat is still a soft velvety brown though it looks darker in Crowley’s swimming vision. He’s still wearing that bloody tartan bow tie. He blinks placidly at Crowley.
His eyes are black.
**
Crowley has had the same fear for centuries. It's an old fear, smooth as a worry stone in his pocket, well thumbed and worn down.
Aziraphale is never supposed to fall. He is an angel. Bastard though he may be, he is an angel down to his core. A believer in The Plan, in the Good of it all. His questions are small like what should we have for lunch and not the sort that get you booted from heaven, kicked down into the sulphur and the muck and the mire.
So staring at the being Crowley loves most in the universe, seeing shining black eyes where once there had been warm hazel, and feeling the cool pulse of occult power that matches his own is akin to being dropped into a nightmare.
He sucks in a breath.
"Aziraphale?"
The demon cocks his head and clucks his tongue. "No, I'm afraid not. Not anymore. Aamon, if you please."
Crowley lurches to unsteady feet.
"Oh, bother!" A sharp thump comes from the back room and Crowley's head snaps to the left at the new voice. He knows that voice. Ethereal power fills the shop, that vanilla taste on his tongue.
Aziraphale stumbles out from between the shelves and freezes at the sight of them. He clutches his chest in surprise. "Oh dear, that's no good. Aamon you weren't supposed to come through."
Aamon rolls his eyes. "Yes, but I was interested about meeting this Crowley of yours. A demon, you say?"
His hands come to rest behind his back and he leans forward slightly as if to let Crowley in on a secret. “Aziraphale mentioned you have a snake aspect. I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Crowley has never heard Aziraphale's voice dripping with such intent and it makes his head swim. He thinks this is exactly what Aziraphale would sound like at a seduction. Sultry, possessive, full of heat.
"Aamon!" Aziraphale snaps, stomping his foot. "Stop that at once. You are going home."
"Why is he here?” Crowley asks. “Who is he?"
Aziraphale winces and fixes the cuffs of his shirt even though they don't need fixing. "Yes. Well. This is-this is me from one dimension to the left. Apparently, I'm a demon in that dimension. You however are an angel."
"Delightfully bad at it," Aamon points out. "I like to remind you of that. Constantly."
"Why on earth were you dimension hopping?" Crowley demands, wanting to tear his hair out at the ridiculousness of it all.
"I didn't mean to!" Aziraphale protests.
Aamon chuckles and slips between them. “You two are very interesting. I’m quite glad I got to see this.”
He smiles at Crowley, eyes flashing like obsidian. “You’re very handsome. My Cassiel doesn’t wear his hair like that. Perhaps I could convince him to give it a try.”
He draws closer to Crowley and brushes his knuckles gently over his jaw. It’s absurd really, the way Crowley reacts to the touch. This is a demon and yet he has Aziraphale’s face.
"I think you'd like a kiss. I can tell, " Aamon says with that same polished intent, still touching Crowley's jaw. "My Cassiel loves kisses."
"Stop that this instant," Aziraphale says sharlpy.
Aamon gives him a flat look that Crowley recognizes as one Aziraphale gives him every time Crowley wins at Scrabble. "You should really try your hand at the pleasures of the flesh, my dear Aziraphale. If you're anything like me, you're remarkably good at it."
Crowley stumbles over a question he feels he has to ask. It singes it's way out of his mouth. "Do you and your...Cassiel...do you…"
"Oh, yes," Aamon says with a flash of teeth. "Since Eden. He was quite shy but so curious by nature. I proposed we try out all those things we saw Adam and Eve getting up to and he was more than amenable."
Crowley wishes he'd never stood up from the rug in the entryway.
"Aamon," Aziraphale says, voice gone even thinner. "I do think it's time for you to go."
Aziraphale comes up beside his double, his demon, and takes his arm, leading him deeper into the bookshop. "The portal is still opened at the moment and you've had your fill of Crowley-"
"Hardly my fill."
"And I think your Cassiel must be worried," Aziraphale says with finality, the sort of steel in his voice Crowley so rarely hears.
Aamon lets himself be led and Crowley follows after, shocked to see these two almost identical beings move in tandem. Apparently, Aziraphale as a demon still favors browns and blues if slightly darker shades. Still favors comfort.
They come to a stop before the back room where Aziraphale fixes up books and there in the corner is a sort of crack in the air where the light shifts. Crowley would never call it a portal but if that's what it is then he can't argue.
"In you go," Aziraphale says with a shooing motion.
"You're no fun," Aamon says with a huff. "I can tell you're both virgins. Which, Crowley, really I’m very disappointed in you, a demon who hasnt had any sex? How did you get any of your assignments done? It’s one of the better demonic methods."
"And you know all about it, do you?” Crowley says, not liking the implication. “How does Cassiel feel about you sleeping with all these people?"
Aamon blinks at the accusation. "He doesn't care. We both…"
"I'd talk to him about that," Crowley says harshly and he shouldn't be jealous on behalfof his counterpart and yet he is as he plants his hands on Aamon’s chest and shoves him through the portal.
Aziraphale says something quick in Latin and there's a loud cracking sound just as the fissure disappears.
"What the heaven were you doing," Crowley hisses, rounding on the angel, "messing with reality?"
"I was trying to see if there were any ways to protect us and the tear happened on accident!" Aziraphale says, defenses immediately up.
Crowley frowns. "Heaven and hell aren't bothering us."
"Yes but for how long?" Aziraphale says plaintively and that shuts Crowley right up. They stare at each other before Aziraphale turns away with a sigh. "I need a drink."
He disappears into the back room to retrieve some wine, leaving Crowley to think about what just happened.
Aamon wasn't secretive about his interest in Crowley or in Aziraphale for that matter but that isn't the interesting thing. The interesting thing is that apparently in an alternate universe they are still friends, they are still...well, it sounds like they are more.
Aziraphale returns and hands him a glass, refusing to meet his eye.
"So you went to this other dimension then?"
Aziraphale makes a slight grunt of affirmation as he lowers himself into his desk chair. It’s like that then. Back to the usual. Crowley sprawls onto the sofa and pretends not to be disappointed.
"Did you meet me? This Cassiel?"
Aziraphale glances away, confirmation enough.
"What was I like?"
"Much the same," Aziraphale says, staring into his wine glass as he swirls the liquid gently. "Perhaps a bit softer about the edges."
"Are you saying I'm hard, angel?" Crowley says with a teasing curl of his tongue.
"Now you're sounding like Aamon."
"We're both demons. Maybe all we think about is sex,” Crowley tosses out blithely. Maybe he is tired. Maybe he wants Aziraphale to take the bait.
"Except he said you don't. That you haven't-"
"Just because I haven't, doesn't mean I don't think about it."
"Oh." Aziraphale's eyes flick up, shining and hopeful.
Crowley swallows hard around the sticking feeling in his throat. He can do this. "Wasn't much interested in anyone but you."
"Oh," Aziraphale says again, his whole body relaxing as he smiles in relief. "I'd like that too."
"Yeah?" Crowley asks, his own smile tugging at his mouth.
"Very much."
Then Aziraphale joins him on the couch and it is the easiest thing to turn his head and cup his angel's cheek to guide him into a kiss. There is the promise of more of course but not tonight. Tonight Crowley wants to enjoy the fact that one day there will be more. When they separate, he simply holds Aziraphale against him and feels the up and down rhythm of his breath. They stay like that for a long moment before Crowley brings up another thing that has been bothering him.
"What was your demon aspect then?" Crowley asks. "The black eyes and all."
Aziraphale glances away and nudges his elbow into Crowley’s side. "It's embarrassing."
"C'mon. Tell me."
He wrings his hands and prevaricates for a moment before the answer spills out. "A duck."
Crowley laughs until he chokes.