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Crowley leant his forehead against the steering wheel and sighed deeply. The silence was pressing on his eardrums, not even the everyday sounds of Soho managed to push past it. His thoughts, on the other hand, were a maelstrom, a cacophony. He had thought Aziraphale finally understood it. Even after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, he’d thought Aziraphale had left all notions of sides behind. Crowley supposed he was blessed, as it were, with the unique perspective of having witnessed both Heaven and Hell from the inside, but Aziraphale had been there. Even if he hadn’t experienced Hell the way Crowley had, he sure as fuck knew what Heaven was like at this point. At least, that’s what Crowley had assumed. And maybe Heaven would be better with Aziraphale at the helm. Except, he had to shake his head at the idea. Aziraphale wouldn’t be at the helm, of course. He’d be just as much of a pawn of the Ineffable Plan as he had been when he was a mere principality. Cogs in the great blasted plan, that’s what they all were. He lifted his head and started emptily at the little bookshop. ”Nothing lasts forever.” Crowley knew as well as anybody that nothing lasted forever, of course. But he couldn’t shake the sense that what he had with Aziraphale hadn’t even started, not really. Nina and Maggie had been right - they never talked, not about the important things. They’d been dancing around each other for six millennia. If they’d talked - properly talked - perhaps Crowley could have known Aziraphale’s misguided faith in Heaven earlier. And Aziraphale could have known Crowley’s perspective.
He pulled his glasses off, chucked them in the passenger seat and dragged his hands across his face. When he looked back at the shop, Muriel was standing in the door, turning the perpetual closed sign to open. Nothing lasts forever. Crowley sniffled and then startled at the sudden sound. A tear trickled down one cheek and he reflexively brushed it away. He wanted to inform his traitorous tear ducts that demons didn’t cry, but apparently they did because the tears wouldn’t stop coming.
”Shit,” he muttered to himself, and his voice sounded foreign and thick to his own ears. He angled the rearview mirror because he needed to make sure that he was, indeed, still he. Tears were brimming his eyes, magnifying the yellow of them, and spilling over the edge in a rapid stream. His eyes were still his, albeit red-rimmed and wet. His nose was the same, his cheeks, his hair. His lips… He was almost startled to see that they also looked the same, despite it all. He would have been sure his corporation would have altered them to signal to the world that they had touched the lips of Aziraphale. That his feelings would be visible, somehow. What he felt for the angel was surely too big to contain in one single, feeble corporation? He suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of himself, couldn’t stand the sound of his own sobs. He pressed the glasses back on and got out of the Bentley. He couldn’t go to his flat because it hadn’t truly been his home in years. He couldn’t stay in the car because, as Aziraphale had correctly identified, it now was an our instead of a mine. It, much like Crowley’s heart, had shaped to fit Aziraphale, and although it visibly looked like the same car, Crowley could feel the change in every fiber of it. He looked at the bookshop again. A customer walked in and he mused over how dismayed Aziraphale would be before he could catch himself. None of these places were home anymore. The bookshop was the closest thing he’d had but now it was little more than a building full of books. He wiped at his eyes under his glasses, radiating fury at any passers-by who looked at him with pity. It was Aziraphale. It had always been Aziraphale. He was home.
—
Aziraphale had only spent 4 minutes and 2 seconds back in Heaven before he started regretting his decision. Correction, he had already started regretting his decision when he had come to realise how vehemently Crowley opposed it. He had rather thought Crowley would jump at the idea. After all, he had had such a marvellous time as an angel. No conflict between them, no two sides trying to tear them apart. And after years of being influenced by Crowley’s way of doing things, Aziraphale was convinced that Heaven could be a great deal more lenient to those asking questions. In fact, when the Metatron offered him the position, the first thing to come to Aziraphale’s mind was Crowley, and all the structures Aziraphale could implement to make sure that Heaven didn’t mete out such harsh punishments for those who simply wanted Heaven to be the best it could be. So when Crowley had reacted so passionately, Aziraphale didn’t know what to think. Sure, Heaven could be a tad sanctimonious, and too severe at times, but that was what Aziraphale now had the power to improve! At its core, Heaven was a force for good! At least, that’s what Aziraphale had always been told. And when juxtaposed with Hell, anyone could see it to be true! He bit the corner of his nail as the Metatron showed him to his new position. They didn’t have desks as such, of course, so it was more of a place to… stand around and look important, just like Gabriel had always done.
”We could have been us.” Aziraphale hardly listened as Michael did a sweeping motion over the globe that represented Earth. The Metatron said something and they both laughed, so Aziraphale morphed his face into something he hoped resembled a smile. Yes, us, Crowley had always preferred it being them against the world, them against Heaven and Hell. But what if they didn’t have to fight? What if it could be us and still with Heaven? They could do so much good. Aziraphale needed Crowley. He needed him like humans needed oxygen, like his bookshop needed books, like he needed… love. But it was so complicated with Crowley, not at all like oxygen or books. He loved Crowley, of course he did, he loved all of Her creations. But at some point - exactly when, he wasn’t sure - he’d realised that Crowley wanted something more. Before he’d really gotten to know Crowley, Aziraphale would have said that demons weren’t capable of love. But after getting to know Crowley, he knew that that notion was completely ridiculous. Crowley, for all his grumbling and attempts at misanthropy, loved Earth the same way Aziraphale did. What he had come to realise was that Crowley also loved him. In a much more personal, intimate way than Aziraphale was used to. And although Aziraphale knew that love usually was a force for good… well, accepting love from a demon, even loving a demon back… But he still needed Crowley. When the Metatron had asked him to take over as Supreme Archangel, when Aziraphale had accepted, his plans had always involved Crowley. Now, despite being in Heaven, the place where he should feel most at home, he felt unmoored. Empty. What was Crowley doing now? Had he already forgotten about him? He had his old flat back, maybe he would return to his plants, return to driving around London at breakneck speed, return to drinking champagne at the Ritz. Return to their life, but without Aziraphale. Everyday life with Crowley had been a blessing Aziraphale hadn’t known what to do with, especially with the forces of Heaven and Hell looming. And even though Aziraphale had told him that nothing lasts forever, it cut him to his very core that he was the one to break it.
”Everything alright, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale?” The Metatron asked. The other angels looked at him expectantly and he realised he had probably been asked a question.
”Yes, it’s all… tickety-boo. It’s just so much to take in.”
”Well, I’m sure Michael will help you get settled right in, Aziraphale.” The Metatron smiled at him and then turned to Michael. ”Oh, and don’t forget to fill him in on our plans for the Second Coming.”
”Certainly,” Michael responded, a touch coolly. The Metatron turned back to Aziraphale.
”I expect you’ll have your hands full with that, to start,” he chuckled.
”Oh, but I wanted to suggest some reforms to-”
”Aziraphale,” the Metatron tutted and shook his head. ”The Second Coming is part of the Ineffable Plan. You wouldn’t want to neglect the Ineffable Plan for less important matters, would you?”
Aziraphale looked at Michael, Uriel, and Saraqael. They all looked very unimpressed. He turned back to the Metatron.
”Of course not,” he replied, sighing inwardly.
”Great!” The Metatron exclaimed and clapped his hands together. ”If there are no further questions, I’ll return to my post. If you need anything else, just talk to Michael,” he said and quickly disappeared towards the elevators. Aziraphale wanted to go home.
—-
Crowley had waited with bated breath for… something to happen. Heaven had seemed in such high spirits when they’d managed to get their hands on Aziraphale that Crowley had been sure they had something in the works. He had, at last, gotten back into the Bentley (it was, after all, the only thing he had left that felt even a little bit like home) and driven around Britain for the better part of a year. He hadn’t stayed anywhere for very long, he had just needed to get away. In a few weak moments, he’d called Aziraphale’s shop. The first time he did it, two months after he had left London, Muriel answered and he had hung up straight away. After that, whenever he called, he hung up before anyone could answer. He just needed the comfort, to feel like Aziraphale could answer. In hindsight, he supposed he had acted a bit like he was fleeing something, but there was nothing - good or bad - waiting for him when he finally returned to London after eleven months away. London was the same as it had always been, although it had lost some of its magic. It was early summer and the streets were crowded as people prepared for holidays abroad. As if by a magnetic pull, Crowley found himself violently parking the Bentley outside A.Z. Fell and Co. He stayed in the car, eyeing the door. The sign was flipped to closed, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He waited there for two hours before feeling absolutely ridiculous and getting out. There was the familiar bell on the door as he entered the shop, at least the door hadn’t been locked. It was still there, in all its comfortably musty glory. Books lined the walls just as they had done eleven months before. Motes of dust danced in the light from the windows in the same hypnotic way they’d always done. There was nary a customer in sight, just how Aziraphale liked it. Crowley took off his sunglasses in the gloom of it, and took a few careful steps inside. His steps seemed to echo from the portentous occasion. He peered around a bookshelf but there was no sign of movement anywhere. Right. Here goes.
”Hello?” He spoke, not daring to call out for ’Aziraphale’. He didn’t want to let himself hope. A few more steps into the shop and he realised he was on his way towards the backroom where he and Aziraphale had spent many a day and many a night talking, laughing, drinking, lounging.
”Hello? Is anyone in?” He spoke, a bit louder. There was a shuffling movement behind a shelf and…
”Crowley? My goodness, is that really you?” As if conjured by miracle, Aziraphale appeared from behind the shelf, book in hand. It was as if he’d never left. Crowley wanted to throw dignity and past mistakes to the wind and hug him, but the memory of how Aziraphale had acted when he kissed him was still fresh and still stung.
”It’s me,” Crowley confirmed, and Aziraphale, as if he hadn’t truly believed his own eyes before hearing Crowley speak, smiled, radiant like the sun. He looked the same, even wore the same worn-out waistcoat. But he also looked slightly more worn-out than he had when Crowley had last seen him. He took a few steps towards Crowley and stopped. The air between them was charged, like any of them could spook and run away at any moment.
”I’m…,” Aziraphale began, then stopped. ”What-” he stopped again, seeming to choose his words very carefully. ”You have no idea how happy I am to see you again,” he settled on. Crowley felt a smile play on his own lips despite himself.
”I’m happy to see you too, angel,” he said, and then stopped. Even the usual term of endearment now felt clunky and misplaced in his mouth. ”Or is it Supreme Archangel?” He asked and wasn’t able to keep the venom out of his words, try as he might. Aziraphale’s face fell and Crowley immediately regretted being the source of it.
”No, I gave up the post. Crowley, you must know that I regretted my decision from the first day back in Heaven, but…,” he looked away, not meeting Crowley’s eyes. ”I really thought I could make a difference. I thought if I could only reform Heaven from the inside… but you were right, of course, it’s the whole institution of it that’s the problem. It’s all… part of the Ineffable Plan.” Crowley had never heard Aziraphale talk about the Ineffable Plan without deep reverence before. Now, he just sounded tired. ”So I left after six months, and I returned back here. I wanted to see you but you weren’t at your flat and I couldn’t reach your phone. I… also wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.”
”I’m so sorry, angel,” he said, taking a few more steps towards him. He couldn’t believe Aziraphale had been in the bookshop all those months when Crowley had been frantically travelling Britain.
”No, Crowley, why are you sorry? You were right! I should have listened to you,” Aziraphale said and looked back into Crowley’s eyes. To his horror, Crowley saw that the angel’s eyes were filled with tears. Crowley really said ’fuck it’ to caution then and was at Aziraphale’s side in a moment. He thought about reaching out, brushing the tears from his angel’s cheeks, but held back.
”Aziraphale,” he said, and his voice came out thick and broken, ”You are so good. You believe in humanity, in goodness, even in Heaven, to a degree no other being is capable of.”
”I’m naive,” Aziraphale spat. In the face of that horrific self-hatred, Crowley couldn’t keep his hand from flying up and cupping the angel’s cheek.
”You are not naive, angel. You want to see good in everyone, in everything. Who knows where I’d be if you hadn’t seen good in me? I understand what you wanted to do, why you thought I’d wanted to be an angel.” He rubbed away one of Aziraphale’s tears with his thumb. ”And I’m sorry Heaven wasn’t as fundamentally good as you’d wanted it to be.” Aziraphale’s shoulders shook as a sob wracked through his body, but he suppressed it to speak.
”I should have realised so long ago. You were only ever asking questions. You also just wanted Heaven to be good. And they cast you down to Hell for it!” At this, Aziraphale sank down to his knees. Crowley followed, sitting opposite him. ”How could I believe in the goodness of an institution that would do something like that to you?”
”It’s not your fault, angel. I believed in it at some point. And when I was thrown into Hell, I believed what Hell was saying about Heaven. It’s all we’ve ever known, it’s all we’ve ever been told. It’s quite frankly a miracle that anyone sees through it. That we see through it.”
”You tried telling me, when you spoke about our side.”
Crowley smiled. It was bittersweet.
”You know, when Nina and Maggie came to talk to me, eleven months ago, they made me realise that you and I never really talked. Not about important things. I just repeated our side, our side, to you, thinking you knew what I meant even when we’d never truly talked about it. It’s terrifying, laying your heart out and knowing that it’s not part of any plan, there’s nothing to keep you safe other than the trust you have for other people.”
Aziraphale put his hand over Crowley’s, stroking the skin of his knuckles with his thumb.
”I want you to be able to trust me with your heart. As… as I trust you with mine.” His angel said.
”I trust you,” Crowley smiled, and Aziraphale surged forward to press their lips together. This time, there was no hesitation between them, no desperation. His angel’s lips were warm against his, slightly salty from the tears. Aziraphale snaked a hand around to Crowley’s back, pressing them closer together. Crowley tried his utmost to convey to Aziraphale how much he trusted him, how much he loved him, and his heart skipped a beat when he felt the same in return. After a moment, they broke apart.
”I love you,” Crowley surprised himself by saying. It was true, of course it was, but he’d never thought he’d be able to actually speak the words without bursting into flames. Aziraphale’s eyes softened impossibly further.
”I love you too,” he said and pressed a kiss to the side of Crowley’s hand. Crowley almost didn’t want to remove it from Aziraphale’s cheek, but they both had a lot of talking to do.
”Want a hand?” He asked and helped pulling Aziraphale to his feet. He couldn’t walk far from him, it was like Aziraphale was the sun and he was a planet hopelessly caught in its orbit.
”I’ll make us both a cuppa and then we’ll really talk. About all the important things,” Aziraphale said even as he looked just as reluctant to leave Crowley’s side.
”A cuppa sounds nice,” Crowley admitted and went to sit on the sofa. Aziraphale hummed to himself as he prepared the mugs. He pressed one of them into Crowley’s hands.
”I’m glad you’re home.”