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He wasn’t quite sure how he had made it back to the bookshop. He hadn’t been aware of what he was doing, not really, simply following his instincts back to the only place he'd ever called home.
The only place that wasn’t a person, at least.
His wings rested limply behind him, feathers torn and bloody from being dragged along the ground for so long. Not that it really mattered anymore; none of it did. He’d made sure of that when he chose Heaven over his only chance for happiness.
“Aziraphael?”
He closed his eyes, willing with every ounce of his being that he had simply conjured the voice from his imagination. He couldn’t face him, not now, and not ever.
What you can’t see can’t harm you, right?
“Angel? Angel are you in there?”
No, I don’t think I am, he thought brokenly, feeling all too little and all too much all at the same time. A small part of him wanted to lean into the voice; to fall into the other's embrace and pretend nothing had ever come between them. But then there was the other part; the part that wanted to duck for cover and never show his face again.
Like a coward.
“You came back…”
The demon was near him now. He could tell that even without being able to see. It was almost as if their very souls were entwined, locked in an eternal and utterly ineffable dance that never failed to pull them back into one another's orbit, even when something had tried so terribly to push them apart.
Something, that wore his face.
“I’m going to touch you now, ok angel?”
Soft palms caressed his cheek, tilting his chin upwards with a level of care that only the demon could seem to achieve. Tears fell down his cheeks at the contact, their warmth reminding him of just how cold he had been.
He never wanted it to end.
“Aziraphael- Angel, open your eyes…”
He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to break the illusion that everything was ok. He didn’t want to see the being that had once regarded him with such affection look at him in such disappointment.
He couldn’t face it, not again.
But deep down he knew the truth. He couldn’t keep running, not any more. His demon deserved better than that.
With no other choice, he finally opened his eyes, allowing the warm light of the bookshop to paint the picture that would finally damn him.
Crowley, his kind, beautiful Crowley, was standing in front of him, not a single trace of rage swirling amongst the endless constellations in his eyes.
“I forgive you”
His demon was looking at him, not with hatred, or despair, but with kindness, and for the first time since they’d parted, Aziraphael wanted to be seen.