Chapter Text
It took Aziraphale all of five minutes to regret his choice. His new office was just a white hallway, one stiff looking white chair, and a singular glass desk filled with paperwork. Crowley would certainly laugh if he were here to see it. “It’s not really you is it” he would say before undoubtably leaving to buy Aziraphale a new desk. Something dark and wooden with lots of little compartments for Aziraphale’s knick knacks.
He wasn’t allowed any Knick knacks now because they were all earthly items, something that was forbidden in heaven. “No one really checks though do they” Crowley’s voice whispered.
The urge to sneak in something was strong, there were quite literally thousands of things missing from his new office although the one item he felt the absence of most was a phone. He wanted to call Crowley and tell him all about heaven. He wanted to hear the demons teasing chuckle and perfectly timed exclamations. But most of all he wanted to beg him to reconsider.
But Crowley wouldn’t pick up even if he did call.
He still cannot believe it ended just like that. He had given Crowley an offering that no other being in existence had gotten and instead of agreeing to help Aziraphale he just walked away. Why! Crowley was never one to scoff at adventure and no one was more deserving or could be more helpful in heaven than Crowley.
He glanced around again as a cluster of bookshelves would have magically popped into existence simply because he wished it. No such luck.
“Maybe I made a mistake” he spoke gently into the empty expanse. There was no response, not even an echo.
He knew he should be grateful for this opportunity. He had been wanting to make changes to Heaven for ages, but the angels were rude, he received absolutely no respect, and, not that it mattered, but they still had not given him his upgraded power yet. All his new job consisted of sitting by himself doing monotonous and inconsequential paperwork. And the worst part of the monotony was it left plenty of time for his thoughts. Without a challenge (or even any excitement) in his work all he thought about was the last interaction he had with Crowley. And the more he thought through the conversation the more worried he was that they didn’t quite see eye to eye on more than he originally thought.
“Don’t bother”
“we could have be an us”
“you cant leave this bookshop”
Those statements uttered with such defeat rattled around incessantly in his head like beans in a maraca. In all his time on earth Aziraphale could not remember ever hearing Crowley sound so empty. He was always so expressive and colorful but the last time they spoke it was if all the color had drained away until he couldn’t even be described as blue. He was just grey.
It took a full week before he truly realized the error of his ways. He sat at that stupid glass desk and poured over their conversation until the pit of anxiety in his stomach, that had appeared the moment he stepped on the elevator, had grown into an all-consuming chasm. He couldn’t deny any longer that he may have said the wrong things.
They needed to talk again, properly this time because he couldn’t leave Crowley thinking he had just abandoned him.
Surely heaven could spare him for a moment. Heaven did not do weekends or PTO so he just simply declared a sort of….raincheck on his current stack of paperwork. Hopefully it wouldn’t pile up too quickly in his absence.
He hastened towards the elevator, not wanting to call too much attention to himself but it seemed he did a rather poor job because the one voice he did not want to hear called out directly behind him.
“Aziraphale! How are you finding the new role?” The Metatron beamed at him though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Aziraphale tried to match the expression as best he could as he replied
“Its very rewarding indeed, I cannot wait to hear more about those big plans though…. Although not at the moment I need to…ugh… stretch my legs.. so to speak. Obviously don’t need to in Heaven but old habits and all!”
He turned away but Metatron continued to reel him back into nonsense chats until Aziraphale finally managed to get rid of him by heading back towards his office and waiting until the Metatron disappeared.
As soon as the metatron blinked out of sight he abandoned all decorum, running towards the elevator and smashing his hand on the button for earth. He glanced around worried the Metatron would pop into assistance and drag him back. A silly thought, but relief still flooded through him when the doors slid shut.
The elevator doors opened up to reveal a dreary English day. Normally he would complain about this type of weather, but the overcast sky was a welcome relief from the stale bright light of heaven. He hurried through the rain and hailed a cab that just miraculously appeared. The first place he checked is of course Crowley’s flat, and when he couldn’t find him there he checked the pubs and then the Ritz. Finally he headed to St.James park and when Crowley was nowhere to be found Aziraphale dragged himself to their bench and hung his head in his hands.
“what have I done”
A few tears trickled down his cheek, but he quickly wiped them away as he hauled himself off the bench. He still had a job that he couldn’t neglect even if the idea of returning to the bright spacious office made him want to quit. The day wasn’t that awful the grey clouds only produced a light drizzle so he decided on a brisk walk to the bookshop. If he was going to be reprimanded for taking a trip downstairs, he was going to make every second count. At least he would get to pop in and see how Muriel was handling the shop.
The sound of the shop doors creaking open was the most beautiful sound but he was startled by a shrill ring when he entered. The new brassy bell waving back and forth mockingly above him was a subtle reminder that it was no longer HIS shop.
“Hello, hello, hello! Ohhh Mr. Fell! Shouldn’t you be up in Heaven?” Muriel appeared from behind a stack of books with the same beaming smile she always wore.
He wrung his hands in front of him. He couldn’t very well explain exactly why he was here to Muriel. “Well…yes_but you see I had a bit of unfinished business I need to take care of first. You haven’t seen Crowley have you?”
Their eyes lit up “Ohhh yes! He’s in Heaven!”
Aziraphale’s head which had been turned to examine the rare collections bookshelf, whipped around so fast that he was certain if he was human it would have dislocated a vertebrae.
“He’s what! Did he change his mind?”
Ohhh he knew Crowley wouldn’t leave him!
He turned towards the door ready to leave but stopped in his tracks as Muriel continued.
“He didn’t look too pleased to be going.”
She was wringing her hands, face pouting, as if she was scared to disappoint him. Before Aziraphale can ask she continued rambling
“I’m not sure though! all I saw was Mr. Crowley being pushed into the elevators by two angels. I would have told you but I’m supposed to man the book shop. Ohh if you have a moment I do have some questions…..”
Aziraphale couldn’t hear her over the sound of his corporation’s heartbeat. Ignoring her questions he dashed across the street and straight into the elevator. As it ascended his mind started to race. This was not good. He wasn’t sure what the Metatron was planning but it was crystal clear that Crowley saying no was never an option.
The elevator ride felt like hours, and he was ready to break down the walls and fly the old-fashioned way but, thankfully, before he resorted to property damage the elevator opened with a ding that was far too happy for the situation.
He rushed off the elevator and….froze.
He had no idea where to go. Heaven didn’t have a prison (he would know after all, they had tied him to a chair when he was a criminal). And a chair could be anywhere. It could take him weeks to find Crowley. The white expanse of heaven was suddenly a desert, where there was only one oasis, no map, and endless possible directions of which to waste his energy. While heaven’s corridors stretched forward infinitely, he himself felt like he was being crushed. Like his body was trying to branch into every direction and when it failed it instead decided to curl up in the tightest ball inside his chest. He believed the humans called these panic attacks. Valid since he had ohh so much to panic about!
They could be torturing him, what if they decided to try holy water again.
He could not afford to panic, for Crowley’s sake, so with more will power than he believed he possessed he took a deep breath. He remembered some “customer” that had been perusing his shop had had a panic attack while with a friend. What had she said to do? Something about the senses. It was a vague recollection but he was going to have to try.
A sound: his breathing. Easy
Feeling: the vintage tartan on his coat.
Sight: well not much to focus on but endless white. White as far as the eye can see………
He gulped in another deep breath. Not helping.
Listen: His breathing (much quicker now)
Feel: soft fuzz of his hair.
See: the brown of his shoes.
Repeat:
Listen: breathing (slower now)
Feel: the sweat on his palms.
See:……also the sweat on his palms
His mind was still racing but he could tell it was slowing down, but still no epiphany. What could he do! After 6000 years it couldn’t end this way. He just needed to think.
He took another deep breath.
“that’s it angel. In and Out”
It was not his own voice in his head this time. It was a low rumble that was both patient and lightly jesting. It was Crowley.
His breath rushed out in a stuttering huff.
"No, No, No, None of that angel, deep breath and happy thoughts.” The last words lilted into his signature sarcasm.
Aziraphale huffed out little laugh at that.
“ANGEL!”
Ok Alright, alright. Really! there was no need for attitude (even if it was only his own mind)
Happy thoughts. He could do this.
Breathe: It came easier this time. Easy as breathing in the fresh air of St. James Park on a dewy morning.
See: He caught the glimmer of his golden cuff links. The ones shaped like little books that Crowley had given him when he first opened his bookshop in 1800.
Feel: squeezing in his ribs, eyes stinging.
“No angel, save all that for my apology dance”
Ok Ok. He shook himself, cleared his mind and finally his head stopped ringing.
Feeling: He felt warm tingling against his skin, seeping into his very being. It felt warm, and sharp. It felt like……
He gasped. “Crowley!”
The feeling was love. More specifically Crowley’s love. He would recognize it anywhere; it was the same love than flowed through him like wild rapids when he kissed him. At the time it had frightened him. What a sad excuse for an angel he was, being frightened of love. He wasn’t afraid of it anymore. Now he was more fearful than he has ever been before that the demon that he ….that he LOVED was going to disappear.
He pulled at the warm ribbon in the air around him. It was like a warm mist, humming with energy. As he pulled, it sang out a sharp note. He couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it before.
He didn’t realize he was sprinting until he almost ran directly into a column. He did a rather graceful spin worthy of the ballets on the west end and kept running. Even when he had almost given up hope, Crowley had left a river behind to lead him to the oasis. It was amazing he didn’t feel it before. It’s almost concerning how little love there was to muddle up Crowley’s trail. Heaven was devoid, barren of its core value. How had he ever been afraid to lose Heaven’s love when the only love that had ever mattered was Crowley’s….and his own.
He ran faster than he ever had before. He was pretty sure he could best even Gabriel in a race at the moment. The feeling of love was getting stronger. Finally, the trail veered towards the left and Aziraphale’s heavy breathing stopped short in exchange for a deep gasp, not from exhaustion but of all consuming dread.
No!
He heard the beat of his wings as the appendages burst into the heavenly plane before he was rocketing through the halls, knocking one or two angels out of the way as he went.
Because there was only one thing kept in that sector of heaven. The book of life.