Chapter Text
Oh, dear, is Aziraphale’s first thought when he hears the flutter behind him, the slightest displacement of air.
He stiffly looks over his shoulder. Gabriel peers back at him disapprovingly, but disappointment is a familiar feeling by now. Aziraphale stands very slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the archangel for any sudden movements. Gabriel watches him stand from his favourite reading chair but doesn’t move otherwise.
“Gabriel,” Aziraphale says blandly. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Cut the crap, Aziraphale,” Gabriel says, annoyed. “This is a holy summons. You’re needed in Heaven.”
Aziraphale frowns, wondering if perhaps this is one of those ‘bad dreams’ Crowley spoke of. Surely none of this is real. He stretches his essence through the shop carefully, but there is no lingering touch of demonic presence. Crowley left twenty minutes ago for a joyride since it is rather a nice day outside, if not a bit breezy. Aziraphale declined to join him, caught up in a good book.
He’s alone in the shop with Gabriel.
“Ah,” he says, smiling nervously. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. You understand, of course.”
Gabriel frowns. “You can’t decline a holy summons, Aziraphale.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid I can. I quit, you see.”
“You’re an angel,” Gabriel says, irritation bleeding through his voice. “This is a holy summons. You don’t have a choice.”
Aziraphale spreads his empty palms. “Yet I am not being yanked to Heaven this very instant! It appears I do have a choice, and I choose to decline your… generous offer.”
In the past, he never would have thought to decline a summons. In the past, Gabriel’s disapproving frown would have been enough to keep him in line. But if he were to accept this summons, what would become of Crowley? What would happen when the demon comes home to find the bookshop empty? What if he goes to Heaven and is immediately flung into a spout of hellfire? Have they figured out what’s happened?
Crowley could be in danger.
The thought leaves a cold calm settling over him. Panic takes a back-seat as he waves his fingers ever-so-slightly, sending a text without pulling out his phone. Suddenly he is grateful Crowley forced the device on him.
He can only hope Crowley will heed his warning.
Gabriel steps forward. “I’m afraid I must insist, Aziraphale. You are needed in Heaven.”
“I’ve never been needed before,” Aziraphale says sharply, taking a quick step back to maintain the distance between them. “What’s the occasion now?”
“You’ll see, once you get there. Come with me, Aziraphale; this doesn’t need to get… violent.”
But the twist to the word leaves Aziraphale all too aware Gabriel wouldn’t mind if this were to get violent. He might even relish in it, and Aziraphale wouldn’t stand a chance against an archangel.
Oh, Crowley… A part of him wishes the demon were here. He feels rather more steady on his own two feet with the demon around, but it is a good thing Crowley is absent. He’d only be in danger too, which certainly won’t do. Not at all. It’s good he isn’t here and he needs to stay away. Please stay away, my dear.
“I’ve left you all alone,” Aziraphale says tightly. “Why can’t you do the same? I haven’t bothered anyone. I won’t bother anyone.”
“Come with me,” Gabriel says again, flatly.
Aziraphale exhales slowly. He doesn’t really have a choice. Gabriel is stronger than him in every conceivable way, and Aziraphale isn’t prepared to combat an archangel. He could miracle himself away, he supposes, but this is bookshop and he won’t abandon it. What would happen if Crowley comes here and Gabriel is there waiting for him?
Crowley…
Oh, what will the demon think when he finds the bookshop empty? Will he stay away as asked?
What if they go after Crowley next? Have they discovered what happened at the trials?
Aziraphale steels himself, widening his stance. “I’m afraid I really must insist on staying here,” he says firmly. “You are no longer my boss and I no longer follow your orders, or would you like a repeat of the hellfire incident?”
Gabriel’s eyes flash briefly—the faintest flicker of fear.
Aziraphale smiles grimly. So Gabriel doesn’t know about the swap; that’s good, that’s perfect. Maybe Crowley isn’t in danger after all. Still, Aziraphale doesn’t wish to return to Heaven for any reason, and while he knows a fight with Gabriel will ultimately end in disaster… he can’t bring himself to just accept this summons.
Heaven has never cared for him; he can realise this now. For millennia he gave into their whims and demands. You’re doing too many miracles, Aziraphale. So he stopped doing ‘frivolous miracles’. Be more active, so he blessed as many people as possible. Be less active, humans need to learn to do things themselves, so he cut back on his aid once again. Every little thing they asked of him, he did.
And they never appreciated it, not once. Well, he’s not aligned with them anymore and they cannot treat him this way! He suffered under their rule for so very long and now… now he has everything he’s ever wanted.
He’s not alone. Crowley lives here, in the bookshop, with him. They’re allowed to be friends or whatever they are to each other. Everything is wonderful at the moment, and now… now Gabriel is here.
Summoning him.
“Leave,” intones a cold voice.
Gabriel flinches, unaware of the seething demonic presence until then. Aziraphale blinks, looking over Gabriel’s shoulder at the familiar demon behind him, fear churning in his stomach.
Oh, Crowley, I told you to stay away from here! What is the demon doing here?
Apparently, radiating enough sullen menace that the archangel Gabriel flinches away from him, nose wrinkling in distaste. Crowley’s presence has never felt threatening to Aziraphale, but even he can admit the air feels a little thick, like it could snuff out the light so very easily, and suffocate them both. A shiver slips down his spine; he can see the infernal glow to those unholy eyes even behind those dark glasses.
“The demon Crowley,” Gabriel sniffs, turning to eye him warily. “I should have known you’d be here.” A pause. “Good lord, Aziraphale, don’t tell me he actually lives here.”
“That would be lying,” Aziraphale replies blandly.
Gabriel splutters. Azirpahale drinks in the sight, aware he shouldn’t feel this sense of smug approval flitting through him, but it is nice to see his former boss so off-kilter.
Crowley snarls.
“I said leave,” he hisses darkly, stepping forward despite the fact he must know he hasn’t the slightest chance against an archangel.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says worriedly, stepping forward as well even though he wants more than anything to be further away from Gabriel, not closer.
To Gabriel, this must look like a very different scenario. He’s suddenly boxed in on both sides, with both of them stepping toward him rather aggressively.
Gabriel sneers, looking from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again, keeping his attention mostly focused on the demon even as he speaks to Aziraphale. “This isn’t over,” he vows, before snapping his fingers.
The archangel vanishes from the bookshop, and the room is suddenly very, very quiet. The eerie hush settles in the air before Aziraphale sucks in a ragged, shaky breath, the weight of what happened slamming into him.
“Oh, dear,” he breathes, staggering toward his chair. His legs feel shaky, unwilling to hold him much longer. “Oh, dear.”
This could have gone so very badly, he knows. Gabriel could have fought. This could have turned violent. Crowley could have been hurt.
Hands snag at his clothing. Shove him into the recliner but don’t release him afterward; instead they linger, pawing at him as some frantic energy floods the air around them. Aziraphale blinks at the tight expression on Crowley’s face as the demon hovers over him, seemingly patting him down in search of injury.
“I’m… I’m alright, Crowley,” he says, once he manages to find his voice.
Crowley bares his teeth and doesn’t stop his frantic searching. The dark swell of frenetic energy leaves Aziraphale swallowing a quick gulp of air as the sensation threatens to suffocate him.
He reaches up and snags Crowley’s hands, entwining their fingers. “Crowley,” he says, somewhat sharply, and Crowley’s gaze snaps toward him, still glowing behind his sunglasses. “I am alright.”
Crowley’s teeth gnash together audible, a muscle twitching in his jaw, but he seemingly holds Aziraphale’s gaze for a long, long moment. His fingers curl around Aziraphale’s in a grip too tight, the swirl of tension oozing off of him in potent waves. A panicking demon is, perhaps, one of the worst things in existence. Mostly because Crowley should never panic like this.
Aziraphale shouldn’t cause him such worry.
“I told you to run,” Aziraphale says quietly.
Crowley bares his teeth once more. He says nothing.
Just tightens his death grip.
Bones fracture, but the pain is, at the very least, rather grounding. Aziraphale sinks into the cushions, relief flooding through him. Gabriel is really gone. They both got through whatever that was. Crowley is safe, at least for the time being.
“He’ll be back,” he says softly. “He said it was… a holy summons.”
“I’ll kill him,” Crowley seethes, teeth still bared. “I will fucking destroy him—”
“That would be unwise, my dear,” Aziraphale cuts in, and twitches his hands in Crowley’s grasp, hinting at his desire to be free.
Crowley hesitates for exactly three seconds before he wrenches his hands away and staggers back a step, giving Aziraphale breathing space. His potent aura is still threatening to drown him in darkness, but at least now his hands can heal. He needs them for reading his books, after all.
“I told you to run,” he says again, eying his demon warily.
“I wouldn’t leave you,” Crowley snaps back.
“He could have hurt you,” Aziraphale murmurs. I don’t want you hurt because of me.
“He tried to kill you,” Crowley reminds him sharply. The demon springs into movement, prowling just in front of the recliner, back and forth in quick steps. “What the fuck is a holy summons, anyway?”
Aziraphale frowns. “Oh. Yes. You wouldn’t be aware of… I mean, it’s more like a formal summons. For the betterment of Heaven. As it concerns Heaven, you aren’t… I mean, no one would disobey.”
Until now, of course.
“You said no,” Crowley says, still pacing. “Didn’t you?”
“Of course I said no,” Aziraphale sniffs, almost offended. “I cut ties with them, didn’t I?”
“And he tried to make you…”
It’s not a question, which means an answer isn’t expected. Aziraphale remains silent.
Crowley prowls.
“Wards,” the demon mutters. Then, louder: “You need to ward this place against them.”
“Kind of difficult to do, my dear,” Aziraphale reminds him warily, “when I’m an angel myself. And how do you expect me to keep out an archangel? He is much more powerful than—”
“Bullssshit,” is the hissed response.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’re a cherub,” Crowley bites back. “You could hold your own against Gabriel.”
“Oh, my dear. I really couldn’t.”
Crowley’s perception is all wrong, Aziraphale thinks. Certainly, he is more powerful than a mere principality, but being a cherub doesn’t mean he’s on par with an archangel of all things. Not to mention Gabriel has been the leader in Heaven for such a long, long time now… There is no way Aziraphale would stand a chance against him.
“Just try it,” Crowley says. “The wards. To keep them out.”
Aziraphale grimaces. Oh, that’s going to be a rather exhaustive process. Tricky, too, on some level; bleeding his grace into the wards will be problematic on its own without accidentally banishing himself in the process, or injuring Crowley with his holy energy.
Crowley.
“I won’t do it while you’re here, my dear. It could hurt you.”
“Well, I’m not leaving you here alone,” Crowley hisses back.
No, he wouldn’t leave him alone, would he?
I told you to run. The words flit through his mind once again. Crowley should have turned tail and ran, saved himself. Aziraphale wanted him to save himself.
Crowley stops in front of him, peering down at him. He holds out a hand. “C’mon, angel. Try the wards. I’ll… let you know if it starts to hurt.”
Aziraphale exhales slowly through his nose. Crowley’s essence is still thick in the air, but not as oppressive as before. Creating wards seems to have given him a spark of hope, not that Crowley would ever admit to such a thing, and would probably be offended if Aziraphale brought it up.
He can’t stop Gabriel, but he can at least try.
There is no harm in trying, after all. And if he fails…
Hmm…
A back-up plan will need to be devised, he thinks. For if it all goes pear-shaped.
Because the one thing he knows with absolutely certainly is that he will not allow harm to befall Crowley because of him or his attachments to Heaven.
“I will try,” he vows quietly, and accepts Crowley’s outstretched hand.
The demon drags him to his feet. “Right. Where do you want to start?”