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Wasn’t Heaven supposed to be love? Wasn’t it supposed to hold him tight and tell him it will all be ok; everything will turn out alright.
Heaven’s a dull place. The desks all separate, the floors and walls one single white. Aziraphale couldn’t find comfort in the smell of dust even if he wanted to because there was no dust in Heaven. There were no annoying pests or those human lines or questions that could get someone down the wrong path. It was pure Heaven.
“Aziraphale? Aziraphale, are you listening?” The Metatron asked.
“Hm? Oh, oh yes. I’m listening.” Aziraphale straightened up in his seat.
“Good, now I understand this is a lot. So, take your time in telling the other angels, we don’t need to rush the Second Coming, but it’s on its way and we need to be ready.” The Metatron had a smile with an icy look about his eyes that Aziraphale tried to ignore.
“I’ll get on it as soon as possible.”
“Great! I can’t wait to see where you will go with this.”
Before the beginning Aziraphale had always trusted in Heaven’s ways, but through each year that passed he felt his own trust in Heaven waver. Sometimes he wondered if it was Crowley’s influence, Crowley who only ever asked questions, and look what Heaven did to him.
Aziraphale only ever wanted to do his very best for Heaven, but it never seemed enough. It was never fully pleased at his accomplishments when he thought it would be, when he went one way Heaven went another. It was almost hell to give his all to Heaven when Heaven never seemed to accept his all.
The fake image of the marble desk almost felt real beneath his fingertips, almost.
Being with Crowley, joining with him, being on their own side was something better than Heaven. And he hated himself for that. Heaven was supposed to be better, it was Heaven! But sometimes he wondered if it really was just a pure looking, plaster version of hell. Sometimes he wondered why he tried so hard to please Heaven, when he knew deep down it would never be pleased.
There were times every so often that Azriaphale envied Crowley. Envied the way Crowley was able to tear away from this godforsaken place. Envied the way Crowley showed no remorse or feelings, other than hatred, towards Heaven. Azriaphale couldn’t do that. He thought about it, and he tried. Oh, he tried as hard as he could. But Heaven always came to his door and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he always lets it in.
“Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah,” said Micheal.
Azriaphale didn’t have it in him to focus on them. He couldn’t focus on the papers scattered on his desk and the floor. Ignored the tear stains on the false papers, the real tears.
“Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah?”
Aziraphale nodded his head in response. Micheal frowned and shook their head before leaving, muttering something Aziraphale didn’t care to hear.
After some time, the silence began to grow uncomfortable, and he needed to do something. He lifted himself from the chair and kneeled onto the white floor, picking up the papers one by one. Some were crumpled with dried tear stains while others were perfectly untouched. The floor was cold, enough that he could feel it through his clothed knees. It was too cold. Not warm like his bookshop. Not warm like Crowley. Heaven was never warm. Not in the beginning and he doubted it would be warm in the end.
The papers were forgotten. His hands shook and his chest ached. Choking on a sob, he laid on the ground and curled in on himself trying to become so small in a way that Heaven couldn’t find him. His face covered in tears and snot, barely able to breath, a simple thing he didn’t even need to do. A gasp here and a choked cry there was all he could manage.
Aziraphale didn’t want Heaven. He didn’t want Heaven to keep its claws into him and force him to do its will. What Aziraphale wanted was Crowley. He wanted Crowley’s arms around him. Wanted to feel the cloth of the leather jacket and see the glow of those yellow eyes. But Crowley wasn’t here. Crowley probably hates him now and Azriaphale wouldn’t blame him.
It was just him. The Supreme Archangel, his desk, and his tears. He curled in tighter and couldn't think of the idea of leaving the floor now. Not like he could have moved if he wanted to. Right now, he wanted to cry. He wanted to ugly cry for all the things he did and didn’t do because of Heaven’s hold on him. The tears stained his cheeks, and his eyes were puffy and red.
Heaven had him now. It was home. It was home. It was the only home he had in the beginning, and without Crowley, it’s the only home he has now. And he hated it. He hated Heaven, but he could never leave.