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It’s been three nights since the Armageddon’t and Crowley has barely slept. Just when he thinks he’s about to fall asleep, some wretched feeling starts creeping it’s way up his corporation. It starts low below his navel, climbing through his solar plexus, twisting it’s way through his esophagus, until he thinks he’s going to be sick. Imagine it as the most agonizing heartburn you’ve ever had, then multiply it by a million. If Crowley didn’t know better, he’d swear there was a literal ball of fire scorching him from the inside out.
To remedy this hotter-than-hell feeling, he’s tried everything he can think of: taking a cold shower, chugging glass after glass of ice water, and he’s even started popping ice cubes like pills, downing them by the dozen. Why not just miracle it away, you ask? He’s tried that too. Whatever this is is entirely untouchable by his demonic powers, and sometimes he’s certain it’s more intense than when he fell.
So yeah, you could say it’s interfering with his sleep.
Crowley is the kind of demon who can sleep anytime, anywhere. He’s slept for centuries at a time before and he can literally fall asleep standing up. Sleeping has always been enjoyable for him. He revels in the serenity and solitude of his dreams, so for him to not get any amount of rest for three days straight has him going pretty mad.
His inability to sleep would be just a tad more bearable if his waking hours were pain-free, though he would never be so lucky. During the day his head constantly feels like it’s being jackhammered with metal that was forged on the sun. Everywhere on his body completely and utterly burns and he can’t figure out where in Satan’s name it’s coming from.
The other peculiar thing worth mentioning is that this burning comes with some extremely vivid dreams. And even weirder still, he’s dreaming exclusively about Aziraphale. Of course, dreaming about Aziraphale isn’t entirely unusual. Over the millennia, Aziraphale has graced his dreams before, both sexually and platonically, but they’ve never been this persistent and realistic , let alone accompanied by lava coursing through his veins.
In the morning after the first night of this, Aziraphale calls him up to get together, but Crowley isn’t sure he can push through it enough to see him.
“Hello, my dear. Fancy a walk in the park today?”
Crowley stifles a groan.
“Sorry, angel. Not today. Feeling…under the weather. Probably just side effects from the body swap, but I need to stay in bed.”
“Oh.” He could hear Aziraphale pouting through the phone. “Well, do you want me to come over? I could make you soup and tea, if you’re too unwell to get up.”
Chills ravage their way through Crowley’s body and he feels like he’s been simultaneously dropped on the surface of the sun and plunged into an ice bath.
He manages to choke out, “No, just need to sleep it off,” before hanging up. He knows it’s a lie, but the pit forming in his stomach feels like it’s telling him to stay the heaven away from Aziraphale.
The second night is the same as the first and Aziraphale calls him again the next day to check in. Crowley is almost in too much pain to reach for his phone on the nightstand, but knows Aziraphale will spiral if he doesn’t answer. He mutters a strangled greeting.
“How are you feeling today? Any better?”
“About the same.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, dear. You said you needed to sleep it off. I’m surprised you’re not still asleep then.”
“You woke me.” Lie.
“You never answer on the first try when you’re in the middle of sleeping. I usually have to ring multiple times to get you to wake up,” Aziraphale said, sounding perplexed.
Shit.
“Uh, yeah… I haven’t been sleeping the greatest, actually.” And when I do, I dream of you and my chest goes up in flames.
“Oh, that must be awful,” Aziraphale tuts. “Please won’t you let me come over so I can take care of you? I know how dreadful you feel when you don’t get your proper rest. I can make you my special calming tea, and perhaps drawing you a warm bath would help –”
Fuck, he’s gonna be sick . The thought of Aziraphale being anywhere near him while he’s naked and in the bath has him reeling.
“Sorry, ‘Ziraphale, gotta go.”
He chucks his phone across the room before darting to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He tries to steady himself, grasping the sink so hard he nearly rips it out of the wall. The burning has totally consumed him and swears he can feel his brain melting out of his ears. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. When he opens them and looks in the mirror, there are flames dancing around his irises.
He grits his teeth and growls to himself, “Come on, Crowley, what the fuck is the matter with you?”
By the third night, he’s convinced himself that he’s being punished. Hell must have figured out that the body swap was a ruse and instead of destroying him, they’d rather exact carefully calculated revenge. It’s absolute torture.
Even his dream self is now feeling the somatic discomfort and is doing all that it can to cope, but it’s futile. It soon becomes too much for him to bear as he thrashes around on the bed, drenching his sheets in sweat. His dream self discorporates from the pain and for a moment he can only see colors. Flashing oranges and yellows and reds, kaleidoscopic visions that he can hear crashing through his skull, condensing into a singularity of cacophony and agony.
Suddenly, his mind goes black, and his dream drifts him up into the stars.
He and Aziraphale are embodying their true forms, floating across the cosmos, and for the first time in 3 days, Crowley’s body is at peace. The soundless void of space between galaxies cools his body and quiets his mind. He catches a fleeting glimpse of what could have been when he asked Aziraphale to go off with him to Alpha Centauri. They are eternal and timeless and radiant. Forget whatever God said it was – this was heaven.
Aziraphale beside him begins to move stars and time, fusing hydrogen atoms through the fabric of reality. Gas clouds and dwarf stars and supernovas are forming right before him, molecules wisping across the sky. Crowley, once the famous star maker, knows deep his essence that Aziraphale is creating them for him. An expression of something for which there are no words. He recognizes the assembly of the familiar constellations but Aziraphale doesn’t stop there.
He continues to blend elements, painting together helium, carbon, and oxygen, until the sky erupts into the most euphoric shades of red he’s ever seen. Pouring into it his entire being, he wills a nebula into existence. Rose and ruby and crimson with hints of blackness and whiteness are brushing across the void. They swirl endlessly and inextricably, until he settles them into their final shape: a heart.
A chilling ecstasy shoots through him and before Crowley knows what’s happening, he’s violently sucked through a black hole. Rockets burst through his rib cage as he flies up in his bed, eyes wide and breathless. The culmination of eternity exploding through his chest.
Love.
Oh, fuck.
He loves Aziraphale. And it’s not a love like he loves getting lost in the lilting harmonies of The Velvet Underground or loves drinking alcohol until he can’t feel his extremities. No, this is an all-consuming love that burns ice in his veins and wants to destroy every cell of him right from the nucleus. He really, properly, loves Aziraphale. The gravity of this realization paralyzes him and he has no fucking clue what the Hell he’s supposed to do now.
After minutes of stunned silence, he lays back down and finds himself drifting back into the calming nothing of the universe.
The next morning, he wakes late to several missed calls and voicemails from Aziraphale telling him how worried he is and to please call him back immediately or he’ll be forced to do something drastic.
Crowley dials him and Aziraphale picks up on the first ring.
“I’m alive.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighs. “I cannot believe you, you had me worried sick! I was just about to come over.”
“Still not doing great, but better.” His stomach feels like it’s twisted in on itself but the burning in his chest is largely gone and left just a simmer. Before he can stop it from coming out, he promises, “I’ll be there soon.”
Crowley is hardly aware that he’s following the urge like a magnet until he’s already out the door of his flat and high-tailing it to Aziraphale’s. While driving would be quicker, he’s far too shaky to drive, and isn’t in the mood for the Bentley’s antics, so he walks to the bookshop muttering to himself the whole way:
Whatever you do, don’t say it, don’t say it. It’s just a thought, just a dream. It’s not real.
Well, even if it is real, you don’t need to tell him. Some things are best to keep secret. Besides, it’s not like it changes anything.
When he reaches the shop, he takes a second to gather his composure before opening the door. He tries his best to feign nonchalance despite every bone in his body jittering under his skin.
“Hiya, angel.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes and moves to greet him. “I’m so glad you’re here! How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”
“Alcohol?” Crowley laughs nervously, a pit forming in his stomach again. Because that will totally not make his chest burn.
“Of course.”
Aziraphale goes to pour him a glass of wine and Crowley takes his usual spot on the couch.
“I can’t tell you how worried I was about you. My mind was going to the absolute worst. Do you have any idea what was wrong or what caused it?”
You.
Crowley shrugs and mutters something incoherent.
“Despite being under the weather, I must say, you are looking rather lovely today. Though, you usually do,” Aziraphale beams and sits down beside him, handing him a glass.
Crowley shifts uncomfortably in his seat and his stomach starts to gurgle. Aziraphale senses the awkwardness and changes the subject.
“If you’re feeling up to it, I was hoping we could celebrate our success seeing that we haven’t had much of a chance since The Ritz. I know that the more recent times we’ve gotten take-away, it’s been from favorites of mine. I realize that’s been rather selfish of me, even though I know you don’t have nearly the appetite I do,” Aziraphale chuckles. “Regardless, I went across town to the little hole-in-the-wall ramen place you mentioned liking a few years back. I know you can’t stand inauthentic ramen.”
The sickness is creeping its way back into Crowley again, like there's a worm wrestling around in his gut. His throat works and he swallows compulsively to keep it down, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with each kind thing Aziraphale says. He takes a gulp of his wine. He can’t cope with this sober.
Aziraphale stares at him expectantly and Crowley thinks he looks like sunshine on legs. He imagines kissing the golden rays down his neck, licking the saccharine sweetness that drips from his pores.
“How does it taste?”
He nearly chokes.
“What?”
“The wine.”
“Oh, right. Good! Very good.”
His angel looks pleased. “I should hope so. That’s the vintage Pinot Gris I’ve been saving for a few decades, the one that you’ve been bothering me to open. Your favorite to, you know, go with the ramen.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.
Crowley’s never clenched his jaw so hard before he’s pretty sure one of his molars just cracked. Why did Aziraphale have to be so bloody wonderful? This would be so much easier if he wasn’t a goddamn perfect angel.
“I know that we just went to The Ritz a few days ago, but with our respective Head Offices officially off our backs I figured why can’t we let loose a little more--”
Crowley, you halfwit. You just stopped the world from ending. You even stopped time. You can stop 3 fucking words from coming out of your mouth. Get your shit together.
He’s trying. Honestly, he’s trying, but with every lovely thing that comes out of his angel’s mouth he feels the walls closing in and the words catching in his throat. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on.
“-- especially since you seem to be feeling better today. And if you start to feel ill, I tidied up the bedroom upstairs so if you need to lie down at any point –”
Fuck.
“-- and you’re more than welcome to stay over if you –”
“I love you.”
As soon as it comes out of his mouth, he wishes he could take it back and violently flies his hand up to cover his mouth. The world starts to crumble around him. Shit, shit, shit . He totally just went and fucked everything up. The one being in his life who actually gave a damn about him, and he just ruined everything.
Aziraphale’s eyes go wide as the moon as he sits breathless, all air sucked from his lungs.
“What?”
Crowley is certain he has never been more petrified in his life. In all of his 6000 years on the planet, no demon, angel, or other immortal being has scared him even half as much as this. Color drains from his cheeks and he sits frozen in place, unable to move, blink, or think anything other than an infinite string of profanities.
The burning in his chest was gone now, so why didn’t he feel better? Why didn’t he feel like he could breathe again? He’s not sure how long he sat there terrified and suffocating. It felt like hours. It was really only a few seconds.
“Crowley, are you alright?” Aziraphale’s brow furrows.
His ears ring deafeningly like someone just shattered his ear drums and he is everywhere and nowhere all at once. He’s sure he’s been discorporated and, if he hasn’t, he’d rather be. Hell, he’d rather be diving into a pool of boiling sulfur again. Anything – anything would be better than this.
After an eternity, Crowley slowly removes his hand from his mouth, revealing it agape. Aziraphale was becoming visibly uncomfortable, fidgeting his hands in front of him trying to keep himself together.
“Crowley, speak to me.” Aziraphale reaches for his hand across the sofa.
Crowley flinches and quickly retreats. He stands, searching for his voice but doesn't know how to find it, and barely manages to croak, “I… I have to go.”
He spins and runs to the front door, but before he can make it out, Aziraphale snaps his finger, miracling an impenetrable lock on the door. Fuck. He’s trapped. He’s totally trapped. He’s totally trapped and on the verge of combusting.
Aziraphale, as soft as ever murmurs, “Don’t. Crowley, please. Don’t do this. Don’t run away like you usually do.”
Pressing his whole body against it, hoping he could melt into the cool of the glass, Crowley bangs his forehead repetitively on the door. Maybe if he knocks himself unconscious, he’ll wake up from this horrendous nightmare. Resigned, he allows his body to go limp, letting out a full body sigh and turns back around to face his fate. He can’t bear to look his angel in the eyes after such humiliation, so he stares pathetically at the ground.
“Now,” Aziraphale stands and prompts gently, “tell me again what you just said.”
Crowley whispers, “Don’t make me repeat it, Aziraphale.”
“I want to hear you say it,” he says, firm and pleading.
“Angel –”
“Please.”
“Why?” Crowley snaps his head up to glare at him, his eyes turning dark. “So you can tell me I’m some pathetic fool? Or a blasted demon incapable of love?” Angry, he raises his voice with each question. “Or maybe so you can let me down gently and tell me that I’ve sadly misunderstood – that we were only ever friends?”
He remembers the park, the bandstand, and his final attempt to get Aziraphale to run off with him. He remembers every time Aziraphale reminded him that he was a demon and fallen , and that no matter what they would always be diametrically opposed. Opposite sides. If Aziraphale is love and light and all that is good in the world then what did that make him? What’s a black hole to the entire universe?
“I’m pitiful, Aziraphale, I know. Unlovable . It’s what I am. And I don’t need you trapping me in here to humiliate me as if I don’t already know that!”
Crowley glared at him for a moment, tears pricking his eyes, then lowered them and his voice again, defeated.
“Can you just let me go? Please. I don’t—”
“Is that what you think you are?” Aziraphale breathed, bewildered.
“Don’t toy with me, Aziraphale. I know what –”
“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale sternly interjected but without bitterness. “I won’t stand here and listen to this horrific self-deprecation for another moment!” His eyes softened. “In all your selfishness, did you ever bother to think for one second that maybe, just maybe, whatever you’re feeling would be reciprocated?”
Crowley is frozen once again.
“Crowley, look at me.”
Aziraphale moves to close the space between them, reaching up to cradle his cheek and brush his thumb softly against the smoldering skin. Crowley drags his eyes up from the floor to meet Aziraphale’s, and his heart nearly explodes.
“The love of my life, the brightest star in my sky – you really thought I couldn’t tell? You know I can sense love, my dear boy. Well, I mean I couldn’t always sense yours. But I became acutely aware of it when you saved the books for me,” Aziraphale flashes a soft smile. “After that, it was impossible to ignore.”
Hot tears flood Crowley’s eyes, and it takes nearly all the strength he has left to not completely collapse under Aziraphale’s soothing thumb rhythmically stroking his cheek.
“You – you knew? Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I had faith that you would tell me when you were ready. Besides, it’s not like we could have done anything about it...opposite sides and everything.”
Crowley’s head was suddenly swimming. “But, Alpha Centauri?”
Centuries of regret and heartache flash in Aziraphale’s eyes.
“I know. It broke me. I wanted to go with you more than anything. Telling you that our friendship was over was the most atrocious thing I’ve ever done. I was a blubbering mess the rest of the way home. Pedestrians were looking at me like I was deranged,” he laughed wetly. “But I was only trying to protect you. I know what my side, well, what used to be my side, is capable of. And I know that a few million light years isn’t enough to stop them. I couldn’t bear the thought of them coming after you because we were together. I would have rather died in the flames of Armageddon if it meant that you were safe from them.”
Crowley brought his hand to cover Aziraphale’s on his cheek and leaned into it.
“If you knew, why make me repeat myself?”
Aziraphale blushed and admitted sheepishly, “I’ve waited so long to hear you say it. Just wanted to savor the moment, I suppose.”
Crowley smiled and muttered, “Bastard.”
“I will say, I always anticipated it happening during a more romantic or intimate moment, like at The Ritz. Certainly not from a rather innocuous gesture,” Aziraphale chuckled.
“I wouldn’t call inviting me to spend the night “innocuous”. Seems like you had a pretty clear agenda from the beginning,” Crowley teased, feeling his muscles relax and the pressure in his head starting to release.
“I just wanted to take care of you.”
Crowley hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He didn’t know how much he needed Aziraphale’s caring embrace until this moment, and now that he was relishing in it, he was sure he could never live without it.
“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me the last few days – why you’ve been so sick?”
“I’m a demon, I’m not supposed to remember what love is. I don’t know why I do. Suppose I always have, though, you know...felt it. For centuries...millennia, even. Just wouldn’t dare let myself think that word . But now it won’t leave me alone,” he shudders at the memory. “I could feel everything and I was constantly on fire. It was the most excruciating thing, and that’s a lot coming from me. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t miracle it away. It just gnawed at me. I thought hell was punishing me.”
Aziraphale nods in understanding. “These human bodies are fickle. The minds even more so. Sometimes they’re just bombarded with these thoughts and feelings and they won’t leave you alone until you get them out. It can be rather tortuous. Maybe now that you said it out loud, you won’t be so tormented by it.”
“I still feel a bit weird, but like I’m buzzing now instead of burning. And my stomach is all in knots. Do you get like that too?”
“Almost exclusively when I’m around you,” he smiles. “I love you, Crowley. We’re finally free.”
They stand there for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. In Aziraphale’s crystalline blue, Crowley touches a glimpse of what he felt in the dream: he and Aziraphale intertwined in bliss spreading love across the stars. Heaven was real, yet it existed not in the ether, but in the simple presence of his angel.
“Now, let’s hurry up and eat before your ramen gets cold,” Aziraphale says, breaking their moment. “I went to all this trouble to get it for you. I had to wait in this monstrous line forever, then when I went to order the cashier was really rather rude, so I’m not going to let this all go to --”
Crowley grabs Aziraphale by the back of the neck and surges his lips forward. The kiss is cooling and tender yet frantic and heated. Their lips meld together, igniting a glow within each of them that neither thought was possible. Aziraphale’s tongue darts out, sparking Crowley’s lips alive. Crowley licks a trail of fire against Aziraphale’s bottom lip which tastes of sweet smoke. The paradox of a tranquil fire is not lost on him, but he should have known that kissing Aziraphale would be like striking flint to steel.
Crowley breaks the kiss and presses his forehead against Aziraphale’s, leaving both of them panting. Aziraphale wraps his arms around him and he relaxes into the embrace.
“Better?” Aziraphale traces circles on the small of his back.
“Much better,” Crowley smiles.
And for the first time since before he fell, Crowley is entirely weightless.