Chapter Text
“The garden looks positively beautiful Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured as he wrapped his arms around the demon’s waist from behind.
Crowley eyed the plants sharply. “They wouldn’t dare be anything else,” he huffed, leaning back into the angel’s hold.
It had been a few months since the pair moved into their South Downs Cottage together and it was truly starting to feel like home now. Crowley’s plant hobby had spread to the entire garden instead of just one room and Aziraphale liked to gently tease him about the demon creating their own Eden. The angel still had his bookshop but most of his treasured books had been moved to the little library in the cottage.
The books were kept well away from any fireplace and Crowley had banned candles so he wasn’t as twitchy about it anymore.
Aziraphale knew that he still had nightmares about the fire. Moving out of the bookshop did seem to have helped that a bit though.
They had their own space now, untainted by negative memories and holding only bright opportunities for the future. The peace was unusual but a welcomed change after all these years.
“I can still hardly believe it,” Aziraphale whispered, staring out at the lush greenery that Crowley had coaxed from the originally barren garden.
He’d never understood why the other angels seemed so sure that demons only brought death wherever they went. Ever since meeting Crowley, all those centuries ago on the wall of Eden, Aziraphale had seen how the plants tried to impress the demon as he went by. He’d noticed how they grew more vibrant when Crowley would stop and take notice of a particular one, even if his words were cruel.
Over the many years of friendship with the demon, Aziraphale had learnt to listen for the intention under the demon’s words.
As a demon, he couldn’t be kind. He couldn’t be gentle or soft to the plants and coax them to life. So he hid it all under threats and sharp words.
It had been too dangerous for him otherwise. It would have been a weakness to any demon who saw.
In the end, everyone viewed his habit of shouting at his plants as an odd quirk. Nothing to be concerned about. Everyone except Aziraphale. He’d seen the care and heard the worry in the demon’s voice when he would yell at a particularly sickly plant. He could hear the soft relief when he’d huff and tell a plant that they’d improved from a dreadful state but that they needed to do better.
He’d long since noticed as the threats and insults turned more into misdirected self-loathing rants and he’d felt helpless to do anything about it.
Things were different now but some habits were hard to break. Crowley still couldn’t bring himself to drop the aggressive behaviour during gardening.
The same way that Aziraphale still found himself overthinking any miracles he’d use for mundane things, worrying about Gabriel coming to lecture him again.
It always took him a moment to remember that Gabriel was apparently in trouble with Michael and Uriel the same way Crowley suddenly cut off in a rant against his plants when he remembered that it didn’t matter if anyone saw him being kind.
They were free but some things took a while.
The couple stood there for a moment, just enjoying the quiet and peaceful atmosphere. A gentle breeze blew through the air, ruffling the leaves of the trees and bringing the scent of flowers towards them.
“Sometimes I think that you should open a nursery,” Aziraphale mused into the silence.
He felt more than saw Crowley startle.
“What?” The demon sounded perplexed.
“The things you can do with plants are amazing dear. I’m always in awe of what you can achieve. I never had much luck with growing anything.”
He chuckled as Crowley muttered something incoherent and probably not even close to actual words. He was still working on getting the demon to accept genuine compliments.
“It looks like it’s going to be a delightful night,” Aziraphale continued, glancing up at the cloudless sky, the sun setting in a blaze of colour. “What do you say to an evening picnic? We can watch the stars come out.”
His demon was always a softie when it came to the stars. He didn’t talk about them much or stargaze with company very often, but Aziraphale could understand why.
He didn’t know much about Crowley’s time as an angel, Crowley didn’t even know thanks to that pesky side-effect of the Fall being that everyone lost most of their memories of the Fallen, but the few memories that Crowley did have he treasured in private.
And the stars were one of them.
Aziraphale still wondered sometimes what his demon had been like Before. Did he have the same tendency towards mischief? The same smile and kindness as he coaxed stars into being the same way he coaxed the plants to breath-taking beauty?
What did the Fall change, if anything?
“That sounds nice,” Crowley murmured, his gaze sweeping up from the garden to the slowly darkening sky. “We can see if you remember any of their names this time.”
Aziraphale pouted and he didn’t have to look to know that Crowley was grinning. “It’s not my fault that humans have come up with the most difficult names for them.”
“You remember almost every author and their books but not the stars?” Crowley teased.
“Oh hush,” the angel stepped away and turned to head inside so he could gather what they’d need for the picnic.
Crowley followed close on his heels. “Aw don’t pout Angel,” he chuckled. “No surprise you don’t know their names. Your nose is stuck in a book too often.”
From there they fell into their usual banter easily as they moved around each other to gather up the picnic supplies. Aziraphale took a moment to just enjoy how at peace Crowley seemed.
They were both tentatively starting to hope that Heaven and Hell would really leave them alone now.
Later, when the stars had fully filled the night sky above them and the couple were comfortably snuggled up together on a blanket, wine glasses in hand, Crowley would murmur the names of the stars into his angel’s ear.
Aziraphale listened of course, but he was more interested in the fond and achingly longing tone in the demon’s voice as he spoke about the different sparks of light above them.
“And Alpha Centauri of course,” Crowley pointed at the bright stars.
“That one I remember,” Aziraphale smiled softly. “You said it was your favourite.”
“It is,” the demon leaned his head on the angel’s shoulder and Aziraphale pressed a kiss into that soft, vibrant red hair.
“Why?”
“Hmm?”
“Why is that one your favourite?”
Crowley was silent for a long moment.
“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, prompting Aziraphale to frown. “I can’t remember. I just know it’s my favourite.”
A wave of sadness hit Aziraphale at the admission. He lifted his arm to wrap around the demon and pull him a little tighter against his side.
“You really don’t remember much from Before, do you?” he asked in a quiet voice.
Crowley shook his head, not lifting it from Aziraphale’s shoulder. “None of us do. It varies a bit, how much demons remember. But it’s never very much. Some demons remember specific angels and some remember barely anything. There're only a few constants. We don’t remember our Name and we remember what it was like to have her Love and how it felt to lose it. And then we remember the Fall. The rest varies. Lucifer was the only one that got to keep his Name.”
“What do you remember?” Aziraphale asked, voice gentle. “If you don’t mind telling me.”
Crowley seemed to hesitate a moment before deciding. “I remember the stars,” he whispered. “I remember making them and setting them in the sky. They were so beautiful Angel.”
Aziraphale’s heart hurt at the ache he could hear in the demon’s voice.
“They’re so small from here. You lose all the detail, you can’t see what they truly are. You can only see that from Heaven.”
That had been one of the things Aziraphale had loved about visiting Heaven. The stars were so much… more there.
You could feel the love that went into their creation. He didn’t doubt that that love came from the once-angel currently in his arms.
“They’re what I remember the clearest. Alpha Centauri is the most vivid. I know I was particularly proud of that one. But I don’t know why. The rest is kind of… fuzzy,” he admitted. “Whites and greys. Asking questions. I’ve got this blurry memory of a room splattered with golden blood. Nothing much else.”
He fell silent again and Aziraphale thought he might be finished. He was just about to say something when Crowley spoke again.
“I remember agony in my wings,” he said so softly Aziraphale had to strain to hear him. “Can’t place exactly where or when. But I remember that they… hurt. They fucking hurt.”
Aziraphale frowned. “From the Fall?”
Crowley shook his head minutely. “They hurt during the Fall. But they burned then. This… was something else. I think? I could just be getting the vague impressions mixed up. Who knows? Maybe my wings burst into fire before the Fall. Would have been pretty dramatic.”
Aziraphale rested his chin on the demon’s hair. “I wish you didn’t have to go through that,” he murmured. He knew from the little bits that Crowley had mentioned before that the Fall had been both traumatic and unbearably painful. He’d never truly explained the entire thing. He’d only dropped small mentions of it in an off-handed manner, like now.
“It’s in the past. Can’t do anything about it.” Crowley shifted so that he was pressed closer to the angel. It could have been from the nighttime chill or from being uncomfortable with the topic. Possibly both.
Aziraphale decided to change the focus of the conversation a bit.
“The angels remember even less,” he admitted. “The names of the Fallen were lost from memory and I believe only a handful of angels have even a blurry memory of anyone who Fell. I know that I remember nothing,” he sighed. “It’s quite the taboo topic in Heaven.”
Crowley snorted. “I can imagine,” he muttered. He hesitated a moment. “Even the Archangels?”
Aziraphale smiled. Ever the curious serpent.
“Even them. Gabriel always said that it was because those angels were dead and gone, murdered by the demons they became. Michael never said much about the topic.” He hesitated a moment. “Uriel… rumour is she never agreed.”
Now Crowley moved so that he could look at Aziraphale in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“It’s only rumours,” Aziraphale admitted. "They never spoke about it in public and angels are just as likely to gossip as humans are. But supposedly, the Archangels remember something from Before. Not clearly but something that they actually argue over.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “That’s surprising. I wonder if it’s a power thing? That only Archangels or Fallen Archangels remember more? Lucifer is the only demon who remembered more than a few fuzzy memories.”
“It’s possible,” Aziraphale mused.
Their thoughts were interrupted when the phone in Crowley’s pocket went off. Since Aziraphale had a habit of putting it down somewhere and forgetting it, Crowley had taken to carrying the phone from Tony around.
The demon sat up fully and pulled it out with a curious expression. Tony had called a few times, sometimes just to talk and other times with some crazy question for a crazy plan. They were always fun conversations.
It wasn’t Tony’s voice that came through the phone though.
“Please,” they hadn’t heard Friday this upset and scared before. “I didn’t know who to call. Boss… Boss is in trouble. I think he’s hurt. And I lost contact with him.”
Moments later the garden was empty, except for a blanket spread out and weighed down by a basket of food while overturned wine glasses spilled onto the grass.
The stars continued to shine.
The Great Plan had ground to a halt when Armageddon was prevented.
But the Ineffable Plan?
Now, that was something entirely different.
It began in a garden. And now, it continued in one.