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It had been seven months since Aziraphale had left.
Crowley had gotten his flat back. Had gone on a month long bender that would have killed a mortal being. Had cried more than he’d like to admit to. Had driven up to Scotland and then walked into the forest and turned into a giant snake for a month.
Eventually, he returned to London. It had been home for two centuries, the longest he’d ever settled in one spot. So, for lack of anywhere else to go, he returned to Mayfair.
Shax had cleared out of his old flat, and so, bitter and lonely but most of all exhausted, Crowley started piecing his life back together.
He slept. He drank. He checked in with Nina and Maggie, and Muriel. He threatened to sell the Bentley for scraps when she wouldn’t stop playing love songs.
The days had settled into some sort of routine.
Life moved on, the world kept spinning, and Crowley managed to drag himself alongside with it.
*
Crowley was misting the plants, wishing he had the heart for chewing them out, but he didn’t. He grumbled at them, plucked a few wilting leaves off, and didn’t even mention the garbage disposal. He really was letting himself go.
His phone vibrated from where he’d abandoned it on the table. Glancing at it, his heart stopped for a moment when he saw “The Bookshop” appear on the caller ID.
He’d never put the angel’s name in his phone. Seemed a bit too incriminating, back then. And now, well, the bookshop was under different management.
It shouldn’t have stirred up as many emotions as it did, just seeing that name again.
Crowley answered the phone with a sharp “What?”
“Oh thank God - Mr. Crowley, you said I could call you if I was ever in trouble, right?” Muriel’s tearful and panic-stricken voice came through the phone, words spilling out in a rush.
The maudlin heartbreak he was feeling fled him, replaced by something much more urgent. “What’s going on? Are you in danger?” Crowley asked, images of burning bookshops and vengeful demons coming to mind.
“No – no, Mr. Crowley, its just that – well, Mr. Fell’s here and he’s hurt, and now I’m being re-called to Heaven and I d-don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t just leave him here alone. I know you aren’t speaking to him anymore, but he’s really, really hurt and I don’t know what to do -”
“Muriel,” Crowley cut off their panicked rush of words. “Fuck – alright. Okay. I’m on my way, just stay by him until I get there, alright? I’ll be there quick, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Muriel said with overwhelming relief.
*
Crowley ended the call and rushed out of his flat. As he drove well above the legal limit towards Soho, Crowley’s thoughts raced. Why was Aziraphale hurt? Why was he back on Earth? Had Heaven turned on him? Had Hell tried their luck at discorporating the Supreme Archangel? Why was he the one who had to go help? This should not be his fucking problem anymore. Aziraphale had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with Crowley. If the angel got himself in trouble then it was his own damn fault and Crowley should just leave him to it for once.
Aziraphale could not just show up out of the blue, and expect Crowley to help him.
Crowley was, of course, doing just that. He tried to tell himself it was because he had made a promise to Muriel. He was a demon, he could lie to himself if he felt like it.
So, Crowley was going to go to the bookshop, calm Muriel down, make sure Aziraphale was not about to discorporate, and then Crowley would leave and Aziraphale could sort out whatever mess he was in by himself.
The Bentley screeched to a stop in front of the bookshop, and Crowley pushed his way into the shop. He’d only been back once, since that disastrous day. After his little stint as a snake, he had come to check on Muriel. The poor kid barely had any knowledge of Earth, it had seemed shitty to just leave them to their own devices without any help. So he’d given them the bare bones rundown of how (not) to run a bookshop, introduced them to Nina and Maggie and given them his phone number for emergencies only. Then he’d gone home and gotten black out drunk and sworn never to return.
Yet here he was, back in the familiar crowded space that smelled of old paper and leather. It looked much the same, until he turned the corner and saw the scene unfold in front of him, like something pulled from his worse nightmares.
Aziraphale was crumbled on the ground, curled in on himself as he shook. He was covered in ash and blood, his usually meticulously maintained clothes torn and dirtied. His wings were out, massive and barely fitting between the shelves, but they weren’t white anymore. They were blackened and charred, chunks of feathers missing, leaving bloody and raw patches of skin exposed. His left wing was twisted at an angle that made Crowley nauseous to look at, clearly broken.
Muriel was kneeling besides Aziraphale, tears streaking down their face, hands hovering above him but scared to touch.
Aziraphale was not just hurt. He had Fallen. Crowley was going to be sick.
“Muriel, you have to leave,” Crowley said, unable to look away from Aziraphale’s shaking figure. He couldn’t see the angel’s face, curled up like he was, with his back to Crowley.
“I can’t just leave him,” Muriel said.
“Yes, you can – I’m here now, that’s what you called me for, yes? Heaven is calling you, you need to go. You always listen to Heaven, right?”
“Surely, they’d understand, under the circumstances -” Muriel started.
“Muriel, please,” Crowley said, because Heaven would not understand, because Aziraphale was Fallen and that meant Muriel could not help, not without risking trouble, and Crowley had quite enough to manage right now without another angel Falling.
Muriel wiped their face quickly, pulling themselves to their feet. “Y-you’re right. You’ll take care of him, though?”
“I will. Promise,” Crowley said, moving around Aziraphale to kneel where Muriel had. Muriel apologized again and then disappeared, Crowley not paying much attention to them. His attention was drawn to Aziraphale instead.
He was crying, eyes shut, trembling with pain.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, softly. Hesitantly, he stroked Aziraphale’s hair. He was practically radiating heat, his curls damp with sweat. Aziraphale did not react. Crowley wasn’t sure he was even conscious.
Crowley certainly hadn’t been lucid for a while after his own Fall. His memories of dragging himself out of the sulfur pit and laying on the ground for days afterwards are foggy, to say the least.
He’d been furious with Aziraphale, but he would not wish this on him, not in a million years, not even if Aziraphale broke his heart a hundred times.
“Aziraphale, if you can hear me, I’m here. You’re not alone.”
He wanted to move the angel to somewhere more comfortable, but until Aziraphale was conscious enough to put away his wings, Crowley would not be able to move him through the crowded bookshop or up the narrow stairs.
Crowley snapped his fingers, summoning the cushions and knit blankets from the backroom of the shop. Very carefully, he lifted Aziraphale’s head enough to put the cushion beneath it, pulling a small whimper from him as he did.
Crowley tucked the blankets over Aziraphale’s form – for all that he felt warm to the touch, Crowley remembered how cold he had felt after the burning was over. Like his grace had been the only thing keeping him warm and now it was gone.
He looked at Aziraphale’s wings and felt sick all over again. “Bastards, the lot of them,” he said quietly, voice seething with hatred. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to take a look at your wings, alright?”
He knew realistically he would not be able to heal them. They were holy wounds, and only time would heal them. The raw patches would scab over and scar, the feathers would grow back in black and sleek. It would take a very long time, and there was not much Crowley could do to help in the meantime.
“Sorry in advance, angel, this might hurt,” said Crowley, placing one hand gingerly on the joint of the broken wing.
He poured as much healing as he could into Aziraphale’s wings, but he could feel the miracles slide off, like water off a raincoat.
The bones, however, he could heal. After all, that injury wasn’t holy in nature, just the result of gravity and falling into a hard surface at high speed.
The sound of the bone snapping back into place was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet shop.
Aziraphale jolted and screamed, curling in on himself even more. “P-please. Please,” he sobbed.
“Hey, hey – the worse is over,” said Crowley, his voice breaking because hehad done that to Aziraphale and it was the worst thing he’d ever done in his life. “Its going to be alright. I’ve got you.”
There was only heavy breathing for a moment, as Crowley shuffled back to be facing Aziraphale. The angel’s eyes were unfocused and confused, still bright with tears.
“...Crowley?”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley swallowed hard. He wondered if the angel was happy to see him. Any port in a storm, right?
Aziraphale moved one trembling hand across the floor towards Crowley. Without hesitation, Crowley took his hand.
The angel squeezed his hand tight, curling in on himself and drawing their joint hands towards his chest.
“Hey – hey, everything’s going to be alright,” Crowley tried to keep his voice steady for Aziraphale’s sake.
Aziraphale sobbed. “This isn’t real.”
Crowley couldn’t speak past the tightness in his throat. It was real, and it was terrible and cruel and Crowley wanted to tear the world apart.
“You aren’t really here,” Aziraphale said, almost inaudible.
“I am here – I am,” Crowley said, but Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear him. Crowley did not let go of his hand, using the other hand to bull the blankets higher over him.
Crowley started to talk – he talked about anything and nothing at all – about places they’d been together, and places Crowley had gone alone, people they met ages ago, things and places lost to time. He talked as the sun dipped low and bathed the shop in red light. Aziraphale occasionally made noises of pain, sometimes opened his eyes but never seemed to be able to really focus on Crowley.
Crowley kept talking because even if Aziraphale was only half-conscious, even if he didn’t seem to really recognize Crowley – well, at least he would know he was not alone, and someone was there to hold his hand through it all.
The sun set and rose again, and Crowley didn’t move from where he knelt on the floor.
*
It was mid afternoon before Aziraphale’s voice cut through Crowley’s monologue about the new fiddle leaf fig he’d gotten a week ago.
“...Its really you,” Aziraphale said hoarsely.
Crowley stopped mid sentence. Aziraphale looked at him with exhausted but clear eyes.
“Really me, yeah,” Crowley said, suddenly at a loss for words. Their joint hands were still pressed up against Aziraphale’s chest. There was still something broken between them, that left Crowley feeling unsteady and awkward in a way he hadn’t felt around the angel in millennia.
Crowley decided it wasn’t important for now.
“Put your wings away, if you can,” said Crowley quietly. “Then we can get you cleaned up and in a proper bed. It’s gonna take a few more days before you feel...functional.”
Aziraphale turned his head to look at his burnt wings with empty eyes. For a long moment he just stared at them, as though looking right through them. Then he blinked, and suddenly the wings had dematerialized to another plane. Aziraphale let his head fall back onto the cushion, and seemed to register its presence, as well as the presence of the blankets. With the hand that wasn’t clutching Crowley’s, he touched them and something flickered in his eyes. Whatever emotion it was, it drained out of him just as quickly as it had arrived.
“I don’t think you’re ready to stand just yet, so I’m going to pick you up, alright?” Crowley said. Aziraphale nodded. Crowley let go of his hand to gather him up in his arms, bridal style. He felt Aziraphale’s sharp inhale of breath and the sound of pain he tried to bite off as Crowley jostled him.
“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled. This might be the most they’ve ever touched, Crowley thought, as he carried him up the stairs. Aziraphale was warm and heavy in his arms, still shaking but – but he was alive. He was alive and Crowley released some of the fear that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
The bathroom upstairs was rarely used and hadn’t been renovated since the 70s, but it did have a large tub.
Crowley sat Aziraphale on the edge of it. Aziraphale clutched at him for balance. “I’m gonna have to undress you,” Crowley said bluntly.
Aziraphale nodded. “T-the help would be appreciated.”
Aziraphale braced himself on Crowley’s shoulders while Crowley unbuttoned his shirt and eased it off his shoulders. There was no visible damage to his corporation. Falling didn’t leave those kinds of marks, not on physical bodies anyways. The damage was deeper, in Aziraphale’s celestial – well, occult now – form. It would feel like crushed bones and stiff muscles all the same.
Crowley had to crouch down to pull off his shoes, socks, and pants. Crowley helped him get in the tub, miracled the water to the right temperature, then went to get soap out of the cabinet.
When he turned back to the tub, Aziraphale was leaning forward, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes still vacant.
“Here – let me,” said Crowley, and he gently used a facecloth to wash the grime off the angel’s face, off his back and arms. He very carefully poured water over Aziraphale’s head, helping him lean his head back, washing it with all the care he could.
He loved him. He had spent 6000 years loving him and taking care of him, and he didn’t know how to stop. He didn’t want to stop, really.
He rinsed the last of the soap out of Aziraphale’s hair.
A muffled sob startled him out of his thoughts.
“Why are you doing this?” Aziraphale curled back in on himself, head resting against his knees as his shoulders shook. “Why are you being so kind to me? Its all my fault anyways. I was so stupid to go back there. You tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen. I left. I left you – how can you even bear to be near me?”
Crowley moved so he was no longer behind Aziraphale, and knelt beside to tub. Aziraphale did not lift his head.
“Things are...fucked, between us, at the moment,” Crowley acknowledged. “But, I mean, 6000 years of having each other’s backs, that has to count for something, right? I wouldn’t – you know I’d never leave you to suffer on your own like this.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale said. “I had to try to fix it. If there was even a small chance that I could save us all, I had to try. But it was all for nothing. I hurt you so badly, and I missed you so much, and I’m sorry.”
Crowley had not been apologized to in any real way in a very, very long time and found that he didn’t know what to do with it.
Crowley very gently put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “...Come on, angel. Lets get you to bed.”
He helped Aziraphale out of the tub, and miracled him into some pyjamas. Crowley once again picked him up, and carried him to the bedroom.
It took two minor miracles to clear the disused bedroom of books and dust, before he could set Aziraphale down on the bed.
“Get some sleep. It’ll help,” Crowley said softly.
He saw Aziraphale make an aborted movement to reach out before he caught himself and stopped, guilt and uncertainty flashing through his eyes. Aziraphale wouldn’t ask him to stay, Crowley knew, not when things were still so sore between them.
Crowley took off his shoes and climbed into the bed on the other side of the angel, slipping under the covers. “...Can I?” He asked, motioning towards Aziraphale.
Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley pulled him into his arms, tucking Aziraphale’s head right below his chin. Something about the act of asking for permission sparked guilt in Crowley’s heart.
“Y’know, I’m sorry too. Should have asked you before I kissed you,” Crowley said. “Shouldn’t have done it like that, all angry and...I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
Aziraphale slid one arm over Crowley’s waist and pressed him closer. “It’s alright, dear. I just...I wish things could have been different.”
“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
*
Crowley woke up the next morning to the sight of Aziraphale sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to him. His shirt was sleep rumbled and crooked, his curls mussed from the pillows.
“Feeling a bit better?” Crowley asked, gazing critically at Aziraphale’s form. He was sitting up on his own, that was a good start. But he was also braced with his hands on the mattress, and it seemed to take all his willpower not to topple over.
“A bit better, yes,” Aziraphale said softly. “My wings still hurt, in the other plane.”
“Yeah, um, well – sorry to say, but that pain will linger for a long time. Months, maybe years,” said Crowley.
Aziraphale nodded, not turning around. “Crowley, I have to confess something. Something that might – re-contextualize, so to say, what happened. You’ve been so kind, but I fear you have the wrong idea, and I would not want to – to take advantage.”
“The wrong idea?” Crowley frowned, sitting up in the bed.
“I – I chose to Fall. So you see, all of this, all that’s happened – its just the consequences of my choice. It’s my fault. So you don’t need to feel bad for me.”
“Angel, what are you talking about?” Crowley climbed out of the blankets to sit besides Aziraphale on the edge of the bed. “Just because you knew you were going to be cast out for whatever thing you did up there, doesn’t mean you deserved -”
“You misunderstand,” said Aziraphale. “I asked to be cast out.”
Crowley froze.
“They wouldn’t let me leave, you know? Really, within a couple of weeks I knew that nothing was going to change up there. I was just there for show. I learned as much as I could about their plans, and then I tried to quit. But they wouldn’t let me. They said if I left so soon after Gabriel, that it would look like there was an institutional problem. I had to stay in Heaven, to placate the other angels, keep the peace. When I tried to leave anyways, I found that I couldn’t get on the elevators or the stairs anymore. I was trapped. So I thought – I thought the only option left would be to speak to God directly, and so I did.”
“You what?”
Aziraphale chuckled, a weak sound that nonetheless soothed something in Crowley. “It wasn’t nearly so simple as I make it sound. It took me months to figure it out. But I was able to speak to her directly, and I...I asked her to make me Fall.”
Crowley couldn’t speak, stunned.
“I knew it was the only way I’d ever see the Earth again,” said Aziraphale. “I knew otherwise I’d be under their thumb for the rest of existence and that – that just wasn’t acceptable to me. She was very kind about it all, really. She asked me if I understood what this choice would cost me. I said yes. She asked me if I understood that there was no going back from this. I said I knew. She said that she suspected I might leave the Host one day. She’d created me to protect humanity, after all, so how could she hate me for doing what I was made to do?”
Aziraphale took a shaking breath. His arms seemed to strain to hold him upright. He tilted sideways slightly and Crowley shuffled closer so that Aziraphale could lean against him.
“I asked her why I hadn’t Fallen yet. I confessed everything – the Arrangement, and Job’s children, giving away the sword. She said that despite all of it, I had never lost faith in Her, and so that’s why I had been able to hold onto my Grace. She could take it away from me, of course, if that’s what I wanted. I had free will, and it was my choice. But all choices have costs, and this one would hurt worse than anything I’d ever experienced. I accepted it. I f-felt the moment She took my Grace from me. It was – it was…”
Crowley remembered the moment his Grace was taken, the feeling of something vital being ripped away. Like a human who’d gotten the wind knocked out of them, only there was no way to catch your breath ever again. How violent and painful it had been, how terrifying and then – the falling, the burning, the impact of landing -
“I know,” Crowley said, voice tight, when it was clear Aziraphale could not find the words to describe it.
“I’m the one who summoned Muriel back to Heaven,” said Aziraphale. “I’d arranged for it before my chat with God. I knew I would land in the bookshop and I didn’t want them to get in trouble for helping me. I wasn’t – I wasn’t trying to get you to come rescue me, Crowley, please believe me. Not this time. I never thought that Muriel would call you, let alone that you would come. I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me.”
“...Angel. Let me get this straight. You chose to Fall, fully believing that you were going to crash land into an empty bookshop and just – just – lay there and suffer, in pain, for days, alone?”
Aziraphale nodded.
“Aziraphale, that’s…”
“What else could I do? Stay up there, useless as anything, watch as they destroyed the world, watch as you -” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “- as you got hurt or killed in the crossfire? Never speak to you again, not for the rest of eternity? Never get the chance to apologize, to tell you that I – I love you, even though I’m probably too late. You’ve given me second and third and infinite chances and I feel like I’ve squandered them all. It’d be no less than I deserved if you’ve given up. I knew that was a very likely possibility when I chose to Fall. But what else could I do? There was nothing left in Heaven for me. And what’s Grace, really, compared to the hope of a life with you?”
Crowley pulled Aziraphale into his arms properly as tears ran down his face. Aziraphale let Crowley take on his weight, arms reaching up to clutch as Crowley’s back like he was scared to he would disappear. Crowley buried his face in his hair, crying because – Aziraphale loved him. Loved him truly and wholly and thought that was worth more than his very Grace, and Crowley wasn’t sure he agreed, but…
“Angel, I am in your bed, holding you in my arms, what about that makes you think I’ve given up?” Crowley asked, voice hoarse with tears.
Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath.
“I haven’t given up, and I won’t ever give up on us,” said Crowley. “I’ve loved you since Eden, I’ll love you until the end of the world, and beyond that too if I get any say in it.”
“I owe you an apology dance,” Aziraphale said with a wet laugh.
“Eh – well, maybe,” said Crowley. “But. You said you found out what they were planning before you quit?”
“As much as I could, yes.”
“Then maybe it wasn’t all for nothing. Maybe we can stop them. Together.”
“Together,” Aziraphale agreed. “Not – not today, though, if its all the same to you.”
“No, I think not for another week at least,” said Crowley. He pulled back slightly so that he could look at him properly, and scraping together what courage he had left, he asked :“Can I kiss you? Properly this time?”
Instead of answering, Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft, gentle, and unhurried – everything their first kiss had not been.
When they broke apart, Crowley felt a bit dazed. From the look on Aziraphale’s face, he felt the same.
“I hope you know that I am never letting you go, now that I have you,” Aziraphale said, breathless but fierce.
“Oh – uh, good. That’s good. Great even,” Crowley said, his last brain cell having up and quit. He could not muster up a single other thought other than Aziraphale kissed me.
“Yes, great indeed,” Aziraphale said with smile that meant he was laughing at Crowley just a bit. “Now, dear, and I mean this in the least sexy way possible – take me to bed? Before I fall over?”
Crowley let out a laugh. “’Course.”
He helped Aziraphale get back under the covers, before joining him too. This time, Aziraphale was the one who pulled him into his arms, letting Crowley rest his head on his chest.
There were still long days of recovery ahead, another apocalypse to avert, the forces of Heaven to face.
For the moment, however, the world narrowed down to their bed. To Aziraphale’s hands on his back, the weight of the blankets covering them, as though to hide them from the world, to Aziraphale’s heartbeat, steady under Crowley’s ear. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. For a moment, they got to rest.