Work Text:
“It burned down.” the voice says. It seems almost too far away for Crowley to hear it. “Remember?”
The room begins to become more clear, and Crowley soon realizes he was asleep. Well, not asleep, exactly. Out.
What on Earth happened?
“What on Earth happened?” he says.
“You passed out, dear. Don’t you remember?”
Dear? Who was he…?
“Crowley?”
Crowley finally looks at his side, following the voice that seemed so faded before. He remembered who it belonged to before even seeing him.
“Angel.”
“Yes, darling, it’s me. Did you hit your head? Oh, dear, I hope you didn’t break anything. I know you simply fell, but theses human bodies can be so sensible at times…”
“Angel.” he repeats, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“Yes, Crowley, it’s me. Are you alright? Oh, my, you hit your head too hard didn’t you? I keep telling you to be careful, but you never listen…”
Crowley’s vision was still blurry, but he slowly started to make out the room around him. The bookshop. But not as he remembered it, exactly. There were books in the wrong places, pictures that weren’t there before, his armchair was in the right place, which
was odd, considering Aziraphale always moved it whenever he left.
“Angel, what’s happening?”
“Oh, you fell.”
Crowley felt his pressure rise up. He had heard that before.
“You fell down the stairs. God, you must have hit your head hard if you can’t remember it. Just a minute, let me take a look at it.”
Crowley didn’t say anything, and Aziraphale started examining his head, looking for injuries.
“Well, I don’t see anything, but a small miracle couldn’t hurt, anyway.”
Crowley felt a wave of health wash up over him, healing whatever injuries he didn’t have. He felt lighter, but that didn’t erase the feeling of oddness he had. Something felt very wrong.
“But… But I thought.” he started, not knowing what to say next.
“You thought what, darling?”
“I thought you… Went to heaven.”
“Heaven?” Aziraphale chuckled lightly, as if it were so silly of Crowley to say that. “I haven’t been to Heaven in ages, darling, you know that.”
Crowley couldn’t stop hearing it in his head. Darling, darling… How many times had he said it now? Two? Three? It was more than he… than he was supposed to.
“Yes, you did.” Crowley said, remembering it. He felt his entire being hurt with the memory. “You went to Heaven. You left me, and you went to Heaven, and you said nothing lasted forever, and you… You…”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale seemed quite serious now. “What on Earth are you talking about?”
Crowley wasn’t sure. He knew, deep down, that the memory he had wasn’t fake. It couldn’t be. He felt it too much to be fake. So what was happening? Why didn’t Aziraphale remember it too? He felt he had asked himself the question way too many times
already in the past few minutes, but what on Earth had happened?
With the more rational part of his brain he remembered something Aziraphale had said just now.
“What burned down?” he asked.
“What?” Aziraphale answered airily, looking at Crowley’s head again, checking to see if he had missed any injuries.
“You said something burned down.” Crowley repeated. “Remember?”
Aziraphale looked at him, serious, seeming like he was trying to remember but didn’t seem to be able to.
“No.” he opened a smile. “What are you talking about, dear? Oh, honestly, you don’t seem well at all. Hold on, I’ll make you some tea, that ought to make you feel better.”
Aziraphale got up and away from Crowley, heading to the kitchen. Crowley raised his hand toward him.
“Wait, Angel…”
But it was too late. He was gone.
Crowley felt himself be swallowed whole, squirming into a worm of himself and have the air be taken from him. Everything turned dark, and then it turned red. Very red.
“Angel!” he screamed, trying to find Aziraphale in the mess. “Angel!”
As the ambient finished shifting, he realized why it was red. It was on fire.
He felt the heat in every inch of his skin before he saw the flames, and he felt the smoke in his lungs before he felt it burn his eyes. He remembered it. Or at least he thought he did. He remembered… Something. It was like his mind didn’t remember, but
everything else did. His body reacted before his head. His skin felt as if it were burning itself from the inside out, and he knew it wasn’t because of the flames. His eyes wanted to close themselves and never open again, but they couldn’t, staying open wide without even blinking. He felt as if he could die if he showed one bit of weakness. He felt as if he were already dead. Can demons die? They’re dead already, aren’t they? Crowley didn’t remember. All he felt was his heart beating way too strong for his body to keep up. That’s what he felt the most right then – his heart.
“Angel…” he said, weaklier now. Was he crying? It seemed like it. The funny thing is, he didn’t even know why. Did it have something to do with the fire? He felt his memory drifting away more and more, every second he was further away from himself and closer
to emptiness.
“Angel…?” he said again, not even knowing why. His memory drifted again. He didn’t know what was happening. He felt the fire embrace him.
He was back at the bookshop.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, staring at him with a cup of tea in his hands, with his worried face on. “Crowley, are you alright?”
“Angel.” Crowley said, not knowing why again. It just seemed important. “Angel.” He didn’t really know what else to say. “Angel.”
“I’m here, I’m here, Crowley. Crowley, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing lasts forever;” Crowley said. He didn’t know why. Why did he say that? What did that mean? What…?
But Aziraphale’s face changed at that. He went from lovingly concerned to realizing something, Crowley could see it in his face. He was drifting away.
“We could have been…”
“Angel.” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked at him. He seemed different, his gaze was painful. But soon it changed again, going back to the gleeful lightness that he was before.
“Oh, what are you talking about, Crowley, dear? The things that come to your mind… Just drink the tea I made you.”
“You dropped it.” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked down, at the shattered teacup.
“Oh. I hadn’t noticed.” he paused, still looking at the teacup on the floor. “Oh, well, no worth crying about it. I’ll just get you some more tea.”
He tried going back to the kitchen, but Crowley held his sleeve. He looked back.
“Don’t go. Stay here. It’s okay, don’t worry about the tea. Just stay here.”
Aziraphale smiled, and his eyes became small against his cheeks. Crowley smiled back.
“Well, alright then.”
He stayed, and he sat down on the chair next to Crowley, taking his hand. He stared at him joyfully, still smiling, and Crowley got closer to his face, starting to feel his breath. He smiled without even realizing it, closing his eyes and opening his lips. He got
closer.
“It burned down, remember?”
Crowley opened his eyes. He wasn’t at the bookshop anymore. Well, he was, but it seemed different. It wasn’t nighttime, as he could see by the sunlight coming through the windows. The books weren’t arranged in the same way and his armchair wasn’t in the
same place. But mostly, Aziraphale wasn’t at his side anymore, and he couldn’t feel his breath anymore. He was standing in front of him, and his face wasn’t warm and welcoming as it was before.
“What did?”
“You.” he said. “When you fell.”
Crowley felt himself get thrown up.
He wasn’t at the bookshop. He wasn’t on Earth. He was in Hell.
There was fire everywhere, and everything burned, everything hurt. It wasn’t just fire, the air there seemed to burn. He felt as if he was breathing acid. He felt wax in his wings, and he didn’t have to turn around to know they were black.
“You fell like Icarus.” a voice said. It was God. “Getting too close to the Sun.”
He wasn’t in Hell, he was falling, and there was black wax burning his back, and he could feel the feathers in his wings spread themselves in the air. It was hot.
“Nothing lasts forever..”
He wasn’t falling, he was at the bookshop, and Aziraphale was there too, and his lips were against Crowley’s, but Crowley didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel good like it did earlier. It felt like dying.
“I forgive you.”
And Crowley wasn’t in Hell, and Crowley wasn’t falling, and Crowley wasn’t in the bookshop. Crowley was in his car and it was playing “A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”, and it was wrong, it was all wrong.
But it wasn’t wrong was it?
Crowley closed his eyes. He let them stay there for a while.
Crowley turned on the car and started driving.