Chapter Text
He's thinking through everything all over again. Crowley can't believe it took two mortals to tell him that's he's in love for him to figure out that, well... he's in love.
And not just with any specifically naive, much too caring, and awfully wonderful angel — no, he's in love with Aziraphale. And it was so painfully obvious, he wonders why he never thought it through before.
Maybe Crowley was already ok with everything. After all, the two spent their time together quite a lot. But there was always something missing, and now, Crowley knows what that 'something' is.
So, Crowley is pacing. He's not even sure of what to say. And he's certainly not sure of what to do...
Somebody enters the bookshop.
It's Aziraphale.
Of course it's Aziraphale.
Aziraphale lights up when he spots Crowley in the bookshop. He's wearing a splendid smile on his face, eyes aglow with joy.
Crowley clears his throat and turns around, a slight bit nervous, from the looks of it. "Look, I suppose, um... I've got something to say."
Aziraphale gets ready to interrupt, but Crowley ravages on.
"I know we ought to be talking about... It's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, alright?" Crowley gives an affirmative nod, almost to himself. "Yes, so-"
"What's that lovely human expression?" Aziraphale interrupts brightly, rather jolly, his cheeks (Crowley notices) tinted pink with the emotion bubbling from his ever quick-to-be-ecstatic personality. "Oh, yes! 'Hold that thought.'" He points a finger as he remembers the human expression.
Aziraphale laughs a tiny bit breathlessly, halting the words that were about to spill from Crowley's mouth, in whatever scattered mess they were to be spoken in. Crowley gives him a look, brows furrowed and a tad irritated to have been interrupted. He had nearly conjured up the courage to say the words now pushed back down his throat.
"You see, I..." Aziraphale is still grinning from ear to ear, and he sucks in another breathy sigh, "I have some incredibly good news to give you."
Crowley twitches his eyebrows up slightly. "Really?"
"I... um..." Aziraphale laughs again, almost shyly. "So, um..." he collects himself, "the Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad as a fellow—" Aziraphale cuts himself off, before restarting again. "Well, I think I might've misjudged him."
Crowley stands there, bursting with everything he wants to say, yet at the same time in wonder of what Aziraphale was so worked up about. And, slightly incredulous.
"You see, I— Well, he said, um," Aziraphale stutters, back and forth, and once more, "that Gabriel," his hands flap around in fast gestures as he talks, "obviously hadn't worked out..." he gives another jittery short laugh, "as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone." Aziraphale continues breathlessly, enunciating some words and pauses. "And I said..."
* Minutes Ago *
"Michael?"
"Oh, don't be silly! No, no, no, no, no. There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense."
Aziraphale looks at Metatron expectantly...
"And that's you."
... yet never expects that.
* Back to Present *
"And I said, "Me?"" Aziraphale laughs as if he still can't believe it himself. "And he said..."
* Minutes Ago, again *
"Well, yes. You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine."
Aziraphale feels an overwhelming sense wash over him.
"There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them."
Aziraphale blinks. Something awful seems to be crawling in his belly.
"You are just the angel for the job."
He stutters in response. "I- I don't want to go back to Heaven." He looks around, still shocked. "Where would I get my coffee?" He jokes, but worry creases the lines on his face.
"You know, as Supreme Archangel, you would be able to decide who to work with."
Aziraphale tilts his head then. Surely... Metatron isn't suggesting what he thinks he's going to say?
"I've been looking back over a number of your... previous exploits, and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon Crowley." Metatron thins his lips. Aziraphale swallows.
"Now, if you wanted to work with him again, that might be considered irregular, but it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend, Crowley, to full angelic status."
* Back to Present *
Crowley blinks at Aziraphale, in shock. "He said what?"
Aziraphale smiles in glee, obviously seeing this as a positive. "He said I could appoint you to be an angel." His voice sounds distant, as if still stuck in the awe of it all. "You could come back to Heaven and... and everything," he motions with his hands, the gesture a bit like painting a rainbow over a harsh rain for Crowley, "like the old times." Aziraphale smiles, so hopeful, so joyous, so wrong he doesn't even know. "Only, even nicer." His voice is sweet with the hope Crowley can see beaming from his eyes.
Crowley nods, just once, eyes wide. "Right." He nods again, voice rough and teeth gritted when he says, "and you told him just where he could stick it, then?"
Aziraphale's smile wavers. "... Not at all."
Crowley inhales irritably. "Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, Angel!" He stalks forward. "You don't need them. I certainly don't need them!" He turns his back on Aziraphale for a second. "Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no, I'm not gonna be joining their team! Neither should you." Crowley's expression speaks of disgust itself, completely clear about how he felt.
"But... Well, obviously you said no to Hell, they're the bad guys." Aziraphale's still speaking in stuttered breaths, yet now he's unsure of things, now that he's staring into Crowley's eyes, knowing something was going to start, whether it be another fire or another fight. "But Heaven..."
Crowley's jaw is dropped in disbelief at Aziraphale and what he was thinking.
"Well, it's the side of truth, of light, of good," Aziraphale stammers, brows furrowed now, confused as to why Crowley didn't want this.
Tension sits between them now, waiting for the breaking point that is sure to come.
"When Heaven ends life here on Earth," Crowley bites out, "it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it."
All of the words Aziraphale had in his mind flew away, leaving him speechless. All that he can see is Crowley — Crowley there whenever he needed, Crowley there whenever he wanted, Crowley there because Crowley was and there needn't be a reason for it... and suddenly, Aziraphale's very, very afraid of losing it all.
"Tell me you said no."
Aziraphale can't meet his eyes. He looks to the space by the side of Crowley's head, then away.
Crowley moves closer in an effort to get Aziraphale looking at him again, to look him in the eye and tell him... "Tell me you said no." This time, it's quieter, less of rage but more of desperation, knowing the truth but wishing so much it wasn't true.
Aziraphale doesn't answer straight away. "If I'm in charge..." he takes a breath, nodding as if to vanish away Crowley's obvious 'no,' trying to send across his meaning, trying to make Crowley understand, "I could make a difference."
"Oh." Crowley looks up to the ceiling and circles around once again, in a pacing movement not dissimilar to what he was doing before Aziraphale had entered and pulled down everything he wanted to say. "Oh, God. Right, okay. I didn't get a chance to say what I was gonna say. I think I'd better say it now. Right. Okay. Yes. So."
Crowley stops his pacing. Takes a deep breath and sighs. "We've known each other for a long time."
Aziraphale gives him a questioning look as Crowley continues. "We've been on this planet for a long time. I mean, you and me. I could always rely on you." Crowley sways a little, a nervous movement Aziraphale would hardly ever expect from the one-of-a-kind demon. "You could always rely on me. We're a team- a group- of the two of us, and we spent our existence pretending that we aren't."
Aziraphale isn't breathing — he's fairly sure he can't be. Crowley swallows audibly. He continues further. "I mean, the last few years, not really," he stops, mouth open, feeling breathless now too, "and I would like to spend hmm." Crowley looks away, then seizes his courage once more. "I mean if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can!"
Aziraphale's eyes soften.
"Just the two of us." Crowley scrunches up his face, emotion bearing his expression. "We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic! We need to get away from them, just be an us." Aziraphale begins to shake his head, though hesitant. "You and me, what d'you say?"
"Come with me," Aziraphale expresses, "to Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference."
Crowley gazes at Aziraphale, sees the pain and knows it's reflected on his own face. "You can't leave this bookshop." You can't leave me.
"Oh Crowley," and Aziraphale's voice sounds like its at the brink of breaking, "nothing lasts forever." But can't we?
Silence echoes throughout the bookshop. Crowley's face is deterred of emotion, as if it's holding back on something greater.
"Now. Now, that's what it does." Crowley puts back on his sunglasses, an expression of neutrality on his face, of an acceptance he doesn't want to have to accept. "Good luck."
Aziraphale's smile vanishes completely. He turns as he watches Crowley go to leave, a heavy rock forming in his stomach. "Good luck?" He says in disbelief. "Crowley! Crowley, come back!" His voice breaks, just a bit, just enough for Crowley to pause in his tracks. "To Heaven... work with me! We can be together!" And oh, there's so much desperation, so much of him to lose if his other half goes. Crowley barely glances his way.
"A-an... I need you!" It's breaking now, Aziraphale knows. He knows he can't hold it together.
Crowley still doesn't look at him. And he still has those stupid glasses on, the ones Aziraphale wishes weren't there so he could just see if... so he could just see. "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."
Crowley shoots him an unimpressed look. "I understand." He pauses. "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."
Tears collect in Aziraphale's eyes. "Well. Then there's nothing more to say." The bitter taste of his words are fresh on his tongue, and oh, this was not meant to happen, and what can he do.
"Listen," Crowley says, pointing a finger up. "Do you hear that?"
Aziraphale looks up, lets silence take over for possibly two seconds, then just shakes his head in frustration. "I don't hear anything."
"That's the point." Crowley drops his hand. "No nightingales."
Aziraphale lets his gaze linger on Crowley's beneath the demon's shades.
"You idiot," Crowley chokes out, "we could have been us."
Aziraphale can't take it. Because of that, he turns his head, just to look away, but...
Crowley can't tolerate Aziraphale turning away.
In three quick strides, Crowley gets to Aziraphale, grabs him by the coat, and roughly pulls them together in one swift motion.
Then their lips meet, and everything, everything, falls into place.
Suddenly, it's them over and over again, from since the beginning till then.
Before Earth, among the constellations. Crowley's feathered wing over Aziraphale.
The Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve, Crowley as the snake, then Aziraphale's wing over Crowley.
In Mesopotamia, Noah's Ark, and the two of them simply watching, questioning, together.
Golgotha, when Crawley became Crowley, but nothing changed, if only bringing them closer.
Ancient Rome.
Wessex and knights and rule breaking.
Shakespeare's Globe Theatre and too many miracles meant to be done the other way around.
The French Revolution and Paris, where Aziraphale doesn't lose his head (thank goodness, because think of the paperwork) because of Crowley.
Victorian London. Holy water.
WWII London. A bomb to a church, but a miracle that saved them, and thanks to Crowley, Aziraphale's books as well.
And then Soho London. Crowley going too fast for Aziraphale...
They pull away, Aziraphale faster than Crowley, but not with rejection. He doesn't even know why he's pulled away, until he realises there should be a reason, somewhere, but it's certainly not one he can think about now. Not when Crowley is staring at him, expecting something, and Aziraphale doesn't know what he can say to make this right.
So, he forgives Crowley. Then he tells his inner monologue to shut up, stills the stuttering mess that is himself, and pulls the demon forwards once again.
Crowley makes a startled noise, alike the one Aziraphale had made just before, until they both settle into it. It's comfortable, as if they know how to do it and as if they had done it many times before.
It's also unfamiliar... but oh, it's also so right.
When they pull away this time, it's slower, at a pace they can both reciprocate happily.
Aziraphale isn't sure what to say.
It seems Crowley isn't sure either.
Luckily, they don't have to figure out how to fill in the silence for too long, because Metatron walks into the bookshop.
"Well! Ready to go, Aziraphale?" Metatron smiles, then looks between the angel and demon curiously.
But Crowley barely spares Metatron a glance. His gaze is stuck to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale doesn't know what to tell Metatron.
Crowley had kissed Aziraphale as a last resort to convince the angel with all that Earth offered them. Stay with me. Aziraphale couldn't just walk away after that.
"Well?" Metatron repeats.
Aziraphale clears his throat, eyes still clearly glossy with tears, and chuckles awkwardly. "I- uh." He keeps glancing over at Crowley. "I... Crowley wouldn't like to go back to Heaven, nor... anything else of the sort."
"Oh. How unfortunate. Well then, we'd better get going." Metatron seems to take it as the end of their conversation, turning away with the expectance of Aziraphale following behind him.
"Um, what about the bookshop? I can't leave the bookshop," Aziraphale stumbles out nervously. Crowley cocks an eyebrow.
Metatron turns back around, looking at Aziraphale thoughtfully. "That's no problem. Muriel can look after it."
"Oh. Right." He swallows. "I..."
Metatron blinks. "Is there something wrong, Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale goes to speak, eyes lingering on Crowley and taking his breath away, before he soldiers on. "I think... I'm not right for the job."
Metatron's brows shoot upwards. "I beg your pardon? Why ever not?"
"I just, I honestly, I don't..." Aziraphale stops. He looks over at Crowley again, and despite the sunglasses, he can see the hope clear in Crowley's features.
"I can't. I won't. I want to stay here, on Earth."
That's when Crowley finally moves his gaze to Metatron, the edges of his lips twitching up and leaving Aziraphale only more fond of the demon he had befriended so long ago.
Metatron doesn't say anything, but he doesn't look surprised either. "Well, if that's what you want, then of course. I'll see what I can do about Heaven, then. So, you are to be staying on Earth? With the demon Crowley, I imagine?"
Aziraphale pinks and avoids eye contact. "Um, yes. Terribly sorry about... that, and all the trouble."
"Don't be." Metatron frowns then and turns to Crowley. "Well done. It seems you've won him over." And he begins to exit the bookshop, slowly but surely.
Crowley doesn't acknowledge Metatron any further. He does smirk, though. Cheekily, and obviously far too happy with himself. He looks over at Aziraphale again, and the angel gives his shoulder a little slap too soft to be purposefully painful.
"Oh shut up."
Crowley grins, takes Aziraphale by the hand, and wonders out loud, "So, where does this leave us, exactly?"
Neither of them know. They just know they can't leave each other — not now, and honestly, not ever.