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If Aziraphale was being honest, he hated the atmosphere in Heaven. He hated the vast openness of it, where it felt like it was going to swallow him whole. He hated the bright, blinding lights. He hated the lack of familiar clutter. Currently, he was attending a mandatory meeting about the progress of the antichrist, and he hated that, too.
It was Gabriel who was the head of the meeting, like usual. Also like usual, he seemed to have no concept of personal space. Currently, he was leaning in so closely that Aziraphale was almost surprised that he wasn’t able to smell the archangel’s cologne. (He wasn’t wearing any, of course. There were no smells in Heaven. The lack of them was almost worse than the presence of a bad one would’ve been— although frankly, Aziraphale always found either extreme overwhelming).
“So, Aziraphale, we wanted to check in on your progress with the antichrist. Commendable, really, even if it’s doomed to fail….”
When he talked, it felt uncomfortably close, and uncomfortably loud, and all too much.
“…Look me in the eyes, Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake. I’m trying to give you a compliment. As I was saying….”
Aziraphale did, just as he had trained himself to do over the years, although it felt like being stared down whenever he did. Deep breaths. He wanted to be back in his bookshop.
“…and how old is the child now? Three? I’m assuming at this point he’s fully fluent in Latin…”
Aziraphale wasn’t listening. He had given up trying at the start of the meeting, when the words had turned into a loud, tangled mess in his mind. Instead, he imagined reading one of his favorite books, a cup of hot cocoa in his hands, listening to some nice classical music. His hands, which he had learned to clasp behind his back in Heaven over the years, now twitched.
Gabriel narrowed his cold, purple eyes, snapping Aziraphale out of his momentary escape.
“Fidgeting like that is hardly befitting behavior for an angel, Aziraphale. Behave a little more like the rest of us, alright? Now, back to the subject at hand…”
Aziraphale took a deep breath, held his hands still, and thought about Crowley. Crowley would show up at the door to the bookshop with wine or chocolate, and Aziraphale would welcome him inside. He’d make fun of the classical music, and Aziraphale would know that he secretly liked it. He tried to imagine Crowley’s voice over the harsh criticisms of Gabriel, but it didn’t work, because now Crowley’s voice was playing atop the ugly sentiments of Gabriel, and his own vicious inner monologue. The thought of Crowley telling him to behave more like the rest of us was almost too much to handle.
Heaven was supposed to be vast and pristine. He repeated this to himself as he tried not to hyperventilate. It didn’t feel pristine. It felt like sinking deeper and deeper in a cold, suffocating, infinitely large ocean. The lights were far too bright. All he wanted was to be back home.
“…In summary, Aziraphale, your work is coming along about as well as one could expect. In any case, just try to be a little more normal at the next meeting, okay? I think everyone here can agree with me when I tell you that your behavior today was a little distracting for all of us.”
And that was all that it took for Aziraphale to drown beneath the suffocating waves.
“Excuse me for a moment, I have to go,” he managed to say.
“Aziraphale, this is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about—”
But Aziraphale was gone. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand to be there any longer. He just knew he needed to get away, immediately.
A familiar tartan blanket caught his attention. He sighed in relief at the sight of it, and collapsed onto the sofa. He was shaking.
Aziraphale could hear Crowley from the entrance of the bookshop, barreling over to him. “Angel! Are you— I mean— what’s happened?”
Aziraphale didn’t respond. He wasn’t ready for this, not now. The sound of Crowley’s voice was, as far as he was concerned, one of the loveliest sounds in existence. But right now, it was too much. He wanted to tune out the whole world, to disappear into the couch beneath him.
“Okay, so approximately how many people are you currently being chased by, and do we have enough time to escape to Alpha Centauri before then?”
Aziraphale hugged the blanket close to his chest. “It’s not that,” he managed to respond.
Crowley let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Wasn’t ready to leave all this behind. Would’ve had to prep the Bentley, for one.” It was about then that he noticed that Aziraphale wasn’t really responding to anything he was saying, which made him tilt his head in concern. “If Heaven’s not after you, what’s going on? Something wrong?” (Something was very clearly wrong. But Crowley figured it was probably best to understate it.)
“I—“ Aziraphale’s voice wavered, and he hated that it wavered. He looked away from Crowley. He was mad, and embarrassed, and he wanted even more to disappear. “I need to be alone right now.”
Crowley didn’t understand what was happening, but he didn’t press. The last thing he wanted to do was make things even worse for him. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything, angel. Or want to talk. Whatever. I’ll just… I’ll be over in the other room. Moving around the books. Or, no, actually, I know you hate when I do that. I’ll just look at them. Okay? Okay.” Crowley was very used to having Aziraphale there to reply to what he was saying or to cut his ramblings off, and wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself when the angel wasn’t saying anything back to him.
Crowley left, and Aziraphale pulled the blanket over his head, covering his ears. This helped, somehow. He sat there for a while, in the warmth and darkness, as his breathing slowly returned to normal.
An hour later, Crowley sauntered through the doors to the bookshop, holding a brown paper bag. “I’m back. I stood in the other room for a while, but that got old quick, so I figured I’d pop out for a bit. Ready to talk now?”
“Yes. Yes, I do believe I am,” said Aziraphale, feeling significantly better after having the time to decompress. He then noticed the bag Crowley was holding, and squinted at it. “What’s that?”
Suddenly, Crowley looked a little embarrassed, and he quickly shoved it into Aziraphale’s hands. “Here you go. ‘S a muffin. I know you like that kind, and I didn’t have anything else to do, so I figured I’d go out and get one. Not the best presentation, but, you know… yeah. Here you go.”
Aziraphale, who had finally been prepared to communicate again, now felt once again like he was going to cry. Clearly this showed on his face, because Crowley raised his eyebrows in alarm.
“Is the presentation really that bad? Or was I wrong about the muffin? I can take it back if you don’t want it. It was a stupid idea anyway.”
“I love the muffin, Crowley. Thank you.” Aziraphale looked down at the muffin, fidgeting with the bag between his hands. “I truly apologize for how I was behaving earlier. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“But I—”
“Did you hear what I just said? You were clearly upset. Don’t have to apologize for that. I sure don’t, and when I’m mad, I make a Heaven of a bigger deal out of it than you ever do.”
Aziraphale wanted to express his gratitude, but he knew Crowley would hate that. Instead, he took a bite of the muffin, letting out a contented sigh when he did.
“This is fantastic. Thank you again for getting it for me— you know precisely what I like.”
“Well, you’re easy to shop for. You always get the same things.”
“If something already works, I hardly see the point in changing it. Besides, just imagine how dreadful it would be if I were to try out something new and it ended up being terrible.”
Crowley smirked. “That would be a disaster. A tragedy, really.”
“I get the sense that you’re joking, but I can assure you that I’m being sincere. Do you recall that incident in 1793 when I tried out those lemon crepes?”
“How could I forget? I still don’t see what’s the big deal about a little extra lemon zest, anyway…”
This sent Aziraphale on a speech about the many reasons it was a big deal to have a little extra lemon zest (including, but not limited to: overpowering all of the other flavors, being far too intense, and interfering with the texture). Crowley had known it would, and that was exactly why he had said it. It was all part of their usual bickering, and it was familiar and easy.
Aziraphale loved magic, books, food, wine, classical music, and anything that was old. Discussing these things could last hours, and they always put an excited glint in Aziraphale’s eyes. If he got enthused enough (and, for that matter, felt sufficiently comfortable with his surroundings), they even made him flap his hands excitedly. Crowley may not have always understood, but he liked seeing his angel so happy. Getting to see Aziraphale’s overjoyed expression always made Crowley want to bring up the angel’s interests as often as he could.
“…so, you see,” concluded Aziraphale after what had turned into a fifteen minute long back-and-forth, “that’s why there’s clearly one superior choice for the best variety of crepes.”
Crowley recalled back to the many times he’d seen Aziraphale order crepes, and remembered the angel’s usual standby instantly. “The ones with the strawberry slices inside and powdered sugar, right?”
Aziraphale’s face lit up to hear Crowley recite his crepe order flawlessly.
“Precisely!”
The angel’s joy was contagious like always, and it was difficult for Crowley to maintain his cool-and-collected demeanor in the presence of it. (he tried anyway, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances. If he went for too long of a time without being at least a little scowly, then Aziraphale, the neighbors, and potentially God Herself might start to get concerned.)
There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Crowley figured he should probably address the elephant in the room. Or, more specifically, the self-conscious angel in the room.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?“
Aziraphale’s excited demeanor instantly shifted back to embarrassment.
Crowley noticed Aziraphale shrinking back, and added, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. No pressure, or anything. If you do, though, I’m here to listen. I am a bit curious, honestly.”
“In truth, it wasn’t much. Heaven was checking up on the progress of the antichrist, and they were being rather harsh, and I simply… I couldn’t bear it.”
“Makes sense. They’re pricks, the lot of them.”
“Oh, Crowley. It’s miserable up there,” Aziraphale said, tensed shoulders relaxing as he did. From the safety and familiarity of the bookshop, he was able to look back on the experience much more calmly.
Crowley raised his eyebrows a bit, not used to hearing Aziraphale speak so openly about Heaven’s faults. He didn’t mention this aloud. Instead, there was another pause.
“There’s a bit more to it than what I told you,” Aziraphale said after a while. “It felt almost as though I was drowning, or that those enormous walls and ceilings were closing in on me. I needed to escape instantly, as if I physically couldn’t bring myself to function while I was there. That happens occasionally. Especially in large, uncomfortable environments like Heaven. It’s difficult to explain. I just get so overwhelmed.” He laughed nervously. Crowley didn’t.
Aziraphale’s expression grew more serious, and he reached for the muffin again just to have something to do with his hands. “The things that they were saying to me hardly helped. I couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed.”
This is when Crowley’s expression turned serious, dangerous even. “What were they saying to you?”
“Oh, it doesn’t really matter. Gabriel was just telling me that I needed to behave in a more angelic fashion. You know, that sort of thing. I’m certain I deserved it, anyway. I really ought to be more normal, like he said.”
Crowley’s gaze was cold, eyebrows locked in place. “I am going to kill him.”
“You can’t say that!”
“Why not? After all he said to you, seems fair to say whatever I want about him.”
“So you’re saying you don’t agree with what he told me?“
“When have that arsewipe and I ever agreed on anything? Of course I don’t agree with him.”
Aziraphale smiled a bit out of sheer relief, and his grip around the muffin loosened. “Oh, good. Truth be told, I had begun to get nervous up there, and my imagination got the better of me. Perhaps it was foolish, but I had feared you might share Gabriel’s sentiment.”
“Angel,” Crowley began, yellow eyes still widened and focused, “that’s the stupidest notion I’ve ever heard.”
“Why? I fear he may have a point. As he said, I’m far from normal. What with the hands, the eye contact, the swaying, the routines, and the dislike of new environments, not to mention all of the strong interests…” Once he started listing, he found himself unable to stop, and every new word made him more painfully aware of just how not normal he truly was.
Crowley cut him off. “Look, I’m not exactly normal either, am I?”
Aziraphale smiled for the first time since they started talking about what had happened. “Anybody could tell you that. The flaming red hair, sunglasses, and all black attire don’t exactly put forth an air of normalcy, my dear. Not to mention that you’re potentially the only angel-turned-serpent-turned-demon in existence.”
Crowley rolled his yellow eyes. “Yeah, but beyond that, I mean. I’m taking about behavior. Mine’s not what you’d call ‘normal’, either, is it?”
Aziraphale hadn’t really considered this before. Sure, Crowley had his own things, and Aziraphale was well aware of that. He liked to fidget and move around too, although he usually did it in the form of pacing and finding increasingly incorrect ways to sit in chairs rather than the hand thing that Aziraphale did. Aziraphale could excitedly talk for hours about the things he liked best, and Crowley had his own conversational quirks— mainly interrupting his own train of thought, getting distracted, and randomly changing the subject. And sure, he was impulsive in a way that sent Aziraphale’s routine-driven mind into panic mode.
Still, when Crowley showed these quirks, it was endearing. When Aziraphale showed his own, he felt ashamed.
“So when my behavior isn’t ‘normal’, you don’t hate me for that, right? You don’t think I’m wrong or embarrassing, do you?” He said it cooly and nonchalantly, though in truth a small part of him was worried that the angel actually might.
“Of course not,” said Aziraphale, with a confidence that instantly put Crowley’s fears to rest.
Crowley looked back at Aziraphale, expression still serious. “Well then, why do you think you’re wrong and embarrassing when you do them?”
Crowley probably had a point, and Aziraphale recognized this. Still, it was difficult to come to terms with these elements of himself, especially when they elicited such negative responses from people like Gabriel. He wished he could be more normal, and yet he also didn’t want to at all, because then he wouldn’t be himself. It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that both of these seemingly contradictory statements could co-exist. It was harder still to accept that perhaps these traits weren’t exclusively good or bad, and that they were just inextricable parts of who he was.
Shades of gray, as it were, never came easy to him.
After a while, Crowley spoke again. “Look, I don’t know if hearing any of this means anything to you. Comforting people isn’t really my thing. In any case, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. If it’s worth anything, I like that you’re not normal— you’d be far more boring if you were, I’ll tell you that.”
Aziraphale hated admitting when Crowley was right almost as much as Crowley loved hearing it, but in this case, he had to. “That… that means a lot. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me…” said Crowley, now looking slightly embarrassed himself.
Aziraphale grinned a little, looking back at him with a playful look in his eyes. “You’re right. I apologize. You’re a sly, wily serpent, who’s not nice at all and has never done a single good deed in his existence.”
Crowley smirked. “That’s more like it.”
Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to tell Crowley the true extent of his feelings. That would have to wait. Right now, the most he felt brave enough to do was silently admire his not-normal companion and the not-normal way he was sitting, and it filled him with joy, so he flapped his hands a little in a probably not-normal reaction. It didn’t matter. He was away from the suffocating vastness of Heaven, and back where he’d been wishing he had been all along. Here, next to his familiar stacks of paper, cozied up on the soft and worn-out couch, next to his favorite being in existence.
They were an angel and a demon, and yet they got along more with each other than they ever had with anyone else in the world. Nothing about them had ever been normal. If normal meant belonging up in Heaven, with the blinding bright lights and the vast, never-ending emptiness, then maybe he didn’t want to be normal at all.
All he knew was that here and now, he was happy. And maybe, normal or not, that was enough.