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"Aziraphale. I found the book. Hurry up and get here. I've got a weird feeling. Eh. I'll keep an eye on it. I've sent you the address on that phone I got you. Second floor. Erm. Yeah."
Aziraphale appeared on grey marble floors. He'd taken the telephone lines; not his favourite method of travel, but the address was rather far away, and the message had been delivered 10 minutes prior.
"Crowley?" he called. "You still here?"
A stupid question, really. Of course he'd be there. Ever since they'd started talking again - Aziraphale had found out the world was supposed to end, again - they've been on the lookout for that pesky Book of Life.
They didn't talk much about... other subjects, but they did straighten some things out. Why he'd really left. Why Crowley had stayed. And they agreed to save humanity again. Together. And then... Then they could really talk.
"Crowley? I got your message." His voice echoed in the silent, empty building.
He had to be here. He wouldn't leave the Book, now that he'd found it. Well. Suppose he could've left with the Book, but-
Steps, getting closer. Aziraphale sighed, relieved, and hastened to meet Crowley in the middle.
Only when the person turned the corner, it wasn't Crowley.
The Metatron was wiping his hands on the sides of his trousers, and bore a strange look on his face.
"Aziraphale!" he greeted, and something about his voice was different too. If he didn't know better, he'd almost say there was a hint of fear. But surely, it couldn't be that.
"Metatron," Aziraphale chuckled innocently. "I don't suppose you've seen Crowley around?"
That was a definite hint of worry on his face. Aziraphale decided he'd better keep playing dumb.
"Only, we were supposed to meet for dinner. Told me he was round here."
"I, erm. Aziraphale. He... Attacked me?"
"What, Crowley?" he almost laughed.
The Metatron kept looking at him. His face was set in a grimace of regret. And still, under that. Fear. Of Crowley?
"Why?"
"Not a clue, I'm afraid"
"Well, where is he?"
"He's erm. He's gone, Aziraphale."
"Did you see where?"
The Metatron shifted uncomfortably.
"Aziraphale. He was... He was about to erase me. I had no choice."
He felt his stomach drop. This couldn't possibly... No, that was ridiculous. Not an option, no.
"Where's Crowley?" he demanded, feeling more and more nauseous by the second.
The Metatron ostensibly winced and gestured for him to come through. Aziraphale hurried past him into the adjoining room and-
Puddle. A black puddle, in the middle of the empty room. No, not empty. There was the Book, abandoned on the floor. Aziraphale didn't spare it a second glance. He stepped closer. The puddle was smoking lightly, like a hot pan hit with cold water. Funny he should think about pans now. He felt his head move from side to side, unwilling to believe. In the middle of the puddle, burnt and deformed but still recognisable, were a pair of sunglasses. Crowley's.
"You understand I had no choice."
Aziraphale ignored him. He stared at the puddle, unaware that he'd started shaking.
This wasn't happening. It was simply not happening. He didn't accept a reality where he was gone. No way.
"No." He took a shaky breath, and it only made him feel worse. "No, not... That's not him. Where is he?"
Silence.
He closed his eyes and searched for Crowley's presence. Nothing in the room. Nothing in the city. Nothing. Nothing.
Oh, God.
"Tell me that's not him."
"He's gone," came the answer. "He's dead."
Dead.
Aziraphale looked at the puddle. There wasn't anything else to look at, really. Not with the way the room was fading away, everything unfocused and dark. The sounds around had become muffled too. The only thing he could really hear was the drum of his heartbeat.
His legs took him closer and closer, right next to it, then simply gave out. He fell to his knees, reached out a hand and touched the thing with the very tip of his fingers. In another world, it would've been a caress. He felt the holiness inside. He felt the remnants of Crowley's presence.
It was him.
Aziraphale stared at the puddle, and he could almost see the universe, reflected on his face. His smile. A garden. Golden eyes.
Tears blurred his vision. But he could see him more clearly.
Crowley who saved those kids, who always helped him. Crowley who loved wine and silly comedies. Who saved that girl. Who rescued him so many times. Who burnt his feet for him.
Crowley was gone.
Aziraphale started breathing faster, even though he didn't need to. He cradled his hand to his chest as memories swirled in his head. Dinners in Rome and Paris and London during the blitz. Him, sprawled in the backroom of his bookshop, gesticulating wildly and talking about the oddest things. Feeding the ducks, and evening walks. His eyes, looking at him so softly after the world didn't end. His hand in his own. And he was dead.
His Crowley was dead.
Grief overtook his whole being, and he screamed. He held his hand even closer, digging his fingers into the skin. He screamed to keep from drowning in whatever was bubbling in his chest. He screamed to keep at least a part of his soul alive. It hurt so terribly, the pain so all-consuming, this was the only explanation. Something inside him must have been dying.
He screamed until he couldn't breathe and still, he kept screaming.
When he remembered who was still in the room, he spread his fingers. He hadn't thought about his sword in a long time, but it appeared in his hand as quickly as though it was a part of him.
His eyes were burning when he turned to face the Metatron.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous."
"Bring him back."
"You know I-"
Aziraphale advanced and the Metatron backed away. He knew why he had seemed afraid, now.
"Put that thing away, will you?"
And he should be. Not of Crowley, oh no.
Of him .
"Bring him BACK." His teeth gritted, his sword pointed towards an ever retreating Metatron. Like a rat, scuttling on the bottom of a barrel.
"I... Can't. You know, he attacked-"
"Bring him back!" he threatened, losing every ounce of composure. "I WANT HIM BACK, BRING HIM BACK!"
"He was destroyed, Aziraphale."
Aziraphale wasn't listening. The only three words in his mind, the only three words in existence, repeated themselves over and over again:
"Bring. Him. Back."
He pinned the Metatron to the wall, pressing the sword so close to his neck it scorched him.
"Bring him-"
His voice finally cracked, and for a couple seconds he moved his lips without making a sound.
The Metatron shook his head.
"Anything..." Aziraphale pleaded, ignoring the pain in his throat. "I'll do anything. Just bring him back."
He seemed to consider it.
"I would. But he's gone."
Aziraphale's shoulders dropped and, taking advantage of the moment of distraction, the Metatron disappeared.
There was silence for a while. The only sound the angel could hear was his own heavy breathing. He turned around, slowly facing the puddle again. The sword slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground.
He kneeled again, this time with more reverence, before the horrible remains of his friend. Oh God... His Crowley.
He reached for the glasses and slowly extracted them. All that was left of him. His hands trembled as he held them- gingerly, as if they were the most precious thing in existence. Because they were.
Then, holding them as if there was still a face between them, he slowly pressed the glasses to his forehead and, all fight going out of him, he cried.
He cried until he ran out of tears.
Then he just sat there, staring blankly at the cold, dark puddle.
Shadows moved on the floor as the sun went on with his business. Everything else was still.
Eventually, he numbly thought that he should do something. But he couldn't move. He wasn't even sure he'd blinked at all these past... However long he'd been sitting there.
Slow steps echoed behind him. Maybe the Metatron was back. Back to kill him, too. He couldn't bring himself to care much. He should fight back. Or run. The humans needed him. But he would have to move. He'd have to leave Crowley, and he couldn't leave him. He just couldn't.
"Sorry about that, angel."
Aziraphale blinked.
"I was only trying to make him think I was dead. Figured he'd try to kill me, so I did something clever. I even stashed a spare body somewhere, just in case."
He slowly turned around, not daring to hope. Dark clothes. Red hair. Sunglasses, and when he took them off… Golden eyes.
"I came back as soon as I could. Had to ward myself against him, too."
Aziraphale let go of the glasses and stood up, legs wobbling precariously under him.
"Crowley..."
"Yeah. Oh... Your voice, angel. What did you do?"
Aziraphale stared at the demon.
"You're real?"
"Y-yeah. Oh, angel... Come here."
He stretched out a hand and Aziraphale stepped closer. He reached out, unsure, afraid that the illusion would evaporate if-
The tips of their fingers touched.
"See?"
Aziraphale wrapped his whole hand around the other's - not quite a handshake, not quite hand-holding. Felt its familiar shape in his own.
It was Crowley.
He laughed, once, and pulled him into a hug with such desperate strength it would've made a human's arm pop out of its socket.
He kissed his temple, his cheek, his shoulder. His hands stroked Crowley's back, almost possessively, his fingers tangling in his hair, desperate to feel that he was actually there. Alive. With him.
"Easyy. Easy, angel." Crowley pulled back and cupped his cheek with a hand. "I'm here, Aziraphale. I'm right here."
Aziraphale returned the gesture with both hands. He pressed their foreheads together. Closed his eyes, to feel his cheekbones better under his palms. To feel Crowley's breath on his face. So very close. Alive.
"Let me look at you," he said after a while and pulled back.
He wasn't hurt, of course. New body, though you couldn't tell. He must've just copied it, maybe even within days. He took his hands in his own and looked at them, barely resisting the urge to bring them up to his lips and cover every callus in kisses.
The same calluses, too.
He brushed some infinitesimal speck of dust off his jacket, then reached out to check the metaphysical plane. He was fine, if a bit frazzled. Like a lizard after escaping without its tail.
Satisfied, Aziraphale smiled at his demon. A red lock of hair had fallen across a beautiful golden eye. Aziraphale slowly tucked it away, making most of the opportunity to caress his face, too.
"My Crowley," he whispered. "My love."
Eyebrows shot up and a smile ghosted on the demon's lips. The golden eyes went infinitely softer.
"Angel..." His voice was shaky, as if he didn't quite believe he'd heard him right.
"I do love you. I never said. I love you, Crowley. I love you. So very much."
The ghost returned as the biggest, stupidest smile he'd ever seen on that face.
"I love you too, angel."
"Oh, I know. I know... Oh. Just... Let me hold you."
"Course."
He wrapped his arms around him in a more careful embrace. He kissed his hair, then buried his face in the crook of his neck.
Thin arms settled on his back too, as their owner spoke softly into his ear, "You can hold me all you want, angel. I'm all yours."
Aziraphale sighed, breathing in Crowley's familiar scent. He felt a miracle wash over him, as Crowley healed what those screams had damaged. He held him close, occasionally moving his hands across his back. His heartbeat had slowed to a normal pace, and his brain had just accepted that Crowley was, indeed, safe, when he remembered something.
He shot back, making the demon almost lose his balance, looked behind and gasped.
"Oh, the Book! Oh goodness, he- he took it. I forgot all about- we're gonna-" he snapped back to grab Crowley's arms, as if he could keep him from simply disappearing. "I just- Oh I'm so sorry! He's gonna erase us, he- why are you smiling?"
Crowley squirmed out of his grip. "It's alright," he said and squeezed his shoulder as he walked past him.
Aziraphale watched him pick up the burnt glasses.
"Figured if something happened..." Crowley gulped, thumb stroking a dark lens. "If something happened to me, I knew you'd keep them. Safe."
He shot him a shy smile. Aziraphale gaped.
"You..." He snapped his fingers, and the burnt glasses metamorphosed to their original appearance. Aziraphale started quite a few words, before finally settling on, "You fiend!"
Crowley grinned, and with another snap disguised the Book of Life again. This time, a rudimentary necklace with only one tiny, pale blue stone dangling from it. He held it out to Aziraphale.
"You keep it, dear." Crowley shot him a confused look. "You already warded yourself against him, it'll be safer with you. Besides..." Aziraphale closed the distance between them and hugged his demon. "I trust you. Sometimes more than I do myself."
Crowley tutted and combed his hand through Aziraphale's hair. The angel didn't see his eyes fill with tears, nor the wobbly smile on his face. They held each other. The demon didn't notice Aziraphale's tears, either. Not until a soft, muffled sob escaped him.
"Angel?"
He pulled back and settled a hand on the angel's cheek. Aziraphale covered it with his own.
"That felt..." he started. "I never... I thought you were gone, Crowley. And I felt... Like everything... Oh, how do I put it?"
"Like everything that ever mattered was gone?" Crowley asked with a self-deprecating chuckle. "Like there wasn't any point to... Anything anymore?"
Aziraphale sniffed. "Exactly that."
"Oh..." Crowley's eyes found a very interesting spot on the floor. He whispered, "Really?"
"Really. How did you know?"
Crowley kept examining the floor.
"It's how I felt. When. Y'know."
"I. I don't."
The demon's free hand fiddled with the necklace.
"When... the bookshop. Burned. Thought it was hellfire. Thought you were dead. Like, really gone. Couldn't... feel you. Anywhere."
"Oh. Oh, Crowley."
He finally looked up and met the angel's soft gaze.
"You never... I did assume I was the best friend in question but… You never said ."
"Yeah. I know."
Aziraphale sighed and hugged Crowley again.
"You silly serpent. You should have told me."
"Never a right time. And anyway, I told you now. Listen, we'd better go. I really don't want him to find us here, if he comes back."
Aziraphale nodded against his shoulder.
"Quite right. Only... I don't think I'm quite ready to let you go yet."
"You could hold my hand. If you'd like."
Aziraphale considered it. Then, without lifting his palms from Crowley's form, he found his hand and held it like a lifeline.
"Alright?" Crowley squeezed his hand reassuringly. Aziraphale nodded. "Alright. Let's get out of here, angel."