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… He was going to Heaven. Crowley (beloved, sweetheart, darling, everything) was going… to Heaven. Why was he going to Heaven again, why hadn’t he been listening? Did it matter why, ultimately? Did anything else ultimately ever matter -
“… Angel?”
He wrangled his thoughts through utter panic, wildly trying to play them back, to pick up on what he’d missed as his hands wrung desperately – Gabriel, wasn’t it? They needed to know what was wrong with Gabriel , yes – that must be it –
“Angel.”
Hands came to his shaking shoulders, a soft, gentle hold of reassurance, and Aziraphale looked anywhere but those precious eyes. Plenty of books to affix his gaze to, yes…
“I’m going to be alright,” Crowley told him quietly. “You know that, don’t you? I need you to know that.”
… Damn him. That was that, immediately. Wasn’t he supposed to be the strong one? The floodgates breached, the walls fell.
“No, Crowley,” he spat, half-laughing in utter misery, incredulity burned across his features. “No I do not know that, how could I possibly know that -”
“You do, because I need you to. Come on now, look at me…”
Frantic blue finally met softened yellow, sunshine in a sky rapidly gathering thunderclouds.
“… Why not send me?” Aziraphale whispered, choked.
“Because they want you dead, in case you’d forgotten.”
“Oh, because I’m sure they’ll just wrap you in a blanket, perhaps sing you a lullaby -”
“They don’t remember me, Aziraphale – they’re all thick,” Crowley pointed out, frame stiffening with tension. He was close, the angel knew, to letting go; to flailing his arms, to losing his limited patience, which would lead them to both an utter impasse and an ice-cold shouting match, and he would not let that happen. Not now, not on the cusp of -
“As long as I’m careful, and you know me, Mister Caution -” the demon threw him a lopsided grin that didn’t quite fully reach his eyes “- I’ll be juuuust fine. Look, I’ve got a disguise and everything! Picture of… piety.”
He hissed the word as though it was causing him physical pain – it probably was, Aziraphale’s treacle-dipped mind thought as it caught him up.
“I…” he had no real arguments, and although selfishness was by no means beyond him, he laughed helplessly instead. The sound was too high, accompanying by a wracked shudder and the threat of something deep within his essence fracturing as if new-spun glass. “Crowley, I – I can’t -”
His cheek was cupped, a caress he automatically nuzzled into as he took a deep, anguished breath. The vague scent of sulfur; the true meaning of home.
“I know, Angel. Trust me, I know.” Agony flashed in yellow eyes, a broken, desolate thing for a half-moment. “You’ve never lost me, and you aren’t about to now. Tell me you know that.”
Aziraphale’s eyes fell closed for a brief moment, squeezing hard, his beloved’s words encouraging defiance against the fear. He was of the Eastern Gate, he was immutable (he was lost, for so long. So very alone. No more, dearest, please -)
“I – I know it,” he murmured, barely audible. “I know it, because you wouldn’t leave me. You wouldn’t allow me to l-lose what I’ve only just found.”
He felt arms curl around him, and he leaned forward as his own hands reached up to caress Crowley’s cheeks, foreheads resting together in a gesture of intimate trust. This was his eternity, he knew as dread crawled up his corporation’s spine. This was his happily ever after potentially slipping through his fingers as though holy water – why hadn’t he told him earlier, why had he been so obstinant – they could have had more time , more love, more understanding and joy and -
It didn’t matter. Crowley would come home, or he would burn Heaven to ashes personally.
He shivered, knowing with all his soul how deeply he meant it.
“I love you, my dear,” he vowed, trembling thumbs slipping down the demon’s jawline.
“Oh hey, now – almost sounds like you’re saying goodbye, Ange -”
“Say it,” Aziraphale pleaded through a sob, eyes aflame with despair upon his forever. “Please, Crowley, just – just say it.”
Brow crinkled with concern, Crowley’s gaze softly beseeched him. “I love you too,” he said simply, demonic essence wincing at the words; he gritted teeth, and repeated it. “I love you, with all I am, for six thousand infernal bloody years, and I will be back, Aziraphale. I promise you that.”
Aziraphale took a sharp, urgent breath, and nodded.
“Good,” he replied, tremulous. “The Ritz are expecting us, darling.”
Untangling himself from his angel, Crowley pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and was gone on a snap of his fingers, the whisper of a vow and a mock-cheerful wink.
Aziraphale closed his eyes, inhaling his lingering scent, tampering down his own profound terror.
… Everything would be fine. Crowley had promised, after all.