Chapter Text
The bright white lights shined throughout the elevator’s interior as it rolled down from the Heavens above. A soft whir of gears and cogs filled the small white room causing goosebumps to run across the once Supreme Archangel’s arms and neck. He could feel the air become less and less frigid, filling his once fear-engrossed mind with warmth and comfort. The thought of returning to the world he had grown to love filled him with glee. However, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sorrow flood through his mind. He had left his one and only friend behind, the one who stood by his side, who comforted him in ways no one else could. And to leave for the one place he could not follow? It felt damning, if truth be told. His lips still stung and craved the kiss of the demon he had known for oh so long like a sickening drug. His ears rang day in and day out of his words of admission, of longing, of clear desire, all to be pushed to the side for something that could never be achieved.
Not in Heaven’s current state, that is.
Each time Metatron mentioned the destruction of his true home, wars, and chaos ensuing on billions of innocent lives left defenseless, he wanted to vomit. The horrors he had endured during the First War against the rogue angels had scarred him, to say the least. Seeing their wings burn to a charred crisp, their bodies falling from the mix of red and blue hues of space down to the Earth’s core, the terrified screams of confusion and betrayal of those who had not done true wrongs. It had always haunted his mind for years and years. It had been the sole reason he had refused to ever even think of falling into the temptation of slumber, no matter how comforting and soothing the demon made it sound. All he would see was the Star Maker he had once known turn into an inferno of agony and neverending sorrow. Of course, He managed to convince Metatron along with the Archangels to extend the amount of time when the Second Coming should commence. After all, poorly planned events such as this would never succeed in one’s favor.
Just before he had left, he had made sure to use the last bit of his power to hide the Book of Life away. It would be somewhere safe, somewhere no one but Herself could reach. And he hoped it would remain that way for good. And as of now, Heaven’s eyes have turned from the plans of the Second Coming to reclaim the Book of Life into their greedy hands. It could take days, months, or years, but the angel did not care. Heaven was no longer his concern. He had better things to tend to.
The elevator made a sharp sound as it settled and paused, its lights flickered on and off for a brief moment before announcing, “ Arrived, ” in a cold, robotic voice. Once the doors opened, Aziraphale’s eyes squinted before he stepped out into the familiar world. The sun had just begun to set over the horizon, a few folks walked to and from place to place, and cars fussed by. It may have felt overwhelming to someone, but to him, it was home.
His true home.
He sighed as he stepped forward and turned to the elevator as it vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving him to sigh in relief. He could feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders as he made his way toward his beloved bookshop he had built for himself all those years ago. A closed sign sat neatly on the inside of the front door. A few lights softly shined through the blinds that shielded the windows. Pausing for a moment, Aziraphale could see a small crack in the bottom right corner of one of the windows, making his mind churn in worry. Nothing a miracle could fix, of course. But what had happened to cause such a thing?
It was a good thing he was an excellent detective. At least, in his mind.
Pulling out his keys from the pocket of his white and gold tailor coat, he pulled out a pair of keys and began to unlock the front door. His heart began to quicken, he could sense another angelic presence inside. “Hello?” he called out into the dim entrance. “Is anyone in here?”
Suddenly, a scurry of footsteps flooded Aziraphale’s ears as he braced himself. He looked to the bookshelves and could see a familiar face, causing his body to relax and settle. They walked quickly up to the angel, a mix of fear and worry plastered on their face as they began to shake ever so slightly. Aziraphale shut the door behind himself, locking it swiftly before the other angel spoke. “Supreme Archangel Aziraphale! I-I wasn’t expecting you to come here. Well, then again I never really expect anyone to come in. Not even the ‘customers’ themselves,” they chuckled before examining Aziraphale’s confused face. Clearing their throat, the other angel clasped their hands together, rubbing them to calm their nerves before asking, “I don’t mean to intrude but… Are you quite alright? You seem-”
“Lost?” Aziraphale said, cutting the angel off abruptly. He chuckled and shook his head before returning his keys to his pockets. “I’m more relieved, if I may be frank with you… Er, who are you again?”
The angel chuckled sadly before saying, “Muriel. 37th-degree recording Angel Scrivener. Or, you know, Muriel.” They shrugged and rubbed their arm nervously. “The Metatron assigned me here just as you left for Heaven, to watch over the bookshop?”
Aziraphale groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. He felt his face heat up in embarrassment and a slight annoyance. Not towards Muriel, of course, but to Metatron himself. How could he assign an inexperienced angel to stay put on Earth, assuring them that what they are doing is “important for the greater good”, only to be forgotten and never check on them again? Metatron promised him that he would occasionally check in on them with reports and such. But just as many things in Heaven, they were only empty promises.
The poor dear, Aziraphale thought somberly.
“I am so sorry, Muriel,” he said in earnest. “Heaven said they would keep you in check but they lied to me.”
“That’s alright, Supreme Archangel Azriaphale. It tends to happen to the best of us. I forget things all the time myself!”
“It is not alright, Muriel!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You deserve to be treated with respect just as everyone else.” He sighed before shaking his head, swallowing before looking away. “And as for my title, you no longer need to call me that. I stepped down from my role and have returned. For good.”
Muriel’s face went white, their eyes widening in shock and disbelief. Their body began to tremble more than before as they stepped back, slowly shaking their head faster and faster. “No, no, no… You can’t be back yet.” Taking a few shallow breaths in through their nose and out their mouth, Muriel looked away from Aziraphale. “Crowley isn’t- he wouldn’t be able to take that very well.”
“We will figure it out together,” Aziraphale reassured. He approached Muriel slowly before asking in a soft voice, “Is he alright? Is he still on Earth?”
“Well,” Muriel stroked their now long, wavy locks with their hands gently, their body stilled slowly and breath evened out as best as they could. “He hasn’t been too great, truth be told. He hasn’t taken care of himself much and drinks off and on until he passes out. Even got an offer from Dagon back in Hell to become a Duke. But he turned it down. He hasn’t been the same since, well…” They shook their head. “Had to rely on the nice ladies you two tried to pair together for help. They taught me to live on earth like they do while helping Crowley as best as they could. But he isn’t the same. He’s so different now. And quiet, too! Freaks Nina out quite a bit.”
Aziraphale nodded. He knew Crowley would change just as many things did. But to be nothing more than a shell of his former self? To drink and let himself rot away? It was very unlike him. Aziraphale remembered the many times the demon loved the sin of vanity. He had spent one evening back before Christ had been born. Watching him cherish his long, silky red curly locks and even show it off to the angel made him more red than the fires of Hell. Crowley explained that he adored the feeling of being pampered and the idea of self-love. It was something he had picked up on while being a housewife in Egypt. Ever since, he used soothing oils on his skin and hair not to attract anyone, of course, but to make himself feel “pretty”.
But to the angel, Crowley had always been beautiful even after his fall from Heaven’s skies.
“I assume you will be wanting to report back to Heaven?” asked Aziraphale.
In an instant, Muriel shook their head, opening their mouth to say something before shutting it instantly. They shook their head again, closing their eyes and hiding their face with their hands that began to tremble once more. Aziraphale could sense the fear that radiated off of the other angel, their mind flooding with worry and rejection. In all fairness, Aziraphale didn’t blame them. Heaven wanted to execute all of the more “unimportant” angels to begin with only to send them to a place to live and be forgotten. Sending them back to Heaven would be a sentence to true despair and loneliness. He knew how that felt all too well.
He placed a hand on their shoulder only for them to shoot up from their position. Their body shook in place, eyes full of terror. “Please don’t send me back!” Muriel begged in a voice filled with grief. “They won’t… I’ll be-” Before saying another word, Aziraphale pulled them into an embrace. Muriel stood there for a moment, their breathing becoming more uneven and full of hitches. They suddenly began to wrap their arms around Aziraphale, their body settling once again into his warmth. Tears began to fill the corners of their eyes as they rested their head upon Aziraphale’s shoulder. “They hated me, Aziraphale. No matter how hard I tried to appease them, they always beat me down into nothing. I felt like I was nothing until I came to Soho.” Aziraphale rubbed their back gently as they breathed in slowly. “Can’t fly because of them. I want to stay on Earth.”
“You are more than welcome to stay here, Muriel,” Aziraphale said in a stern yet soothing voice. He pulled away and placed his hands on their arms, looking into their dewy eyes. “It is not your fault for how corrupt Heaven has become, nor did you deserve to be treated so terribly. Nor do the tens of thousands of other angels they fell to their hands. But I will promise you that you are safe here and cared for from what you have told me.” he sighed before caressing their cheek, a single tear dripping down their face. “And I commend you and thank you for looking after my bookshop and more importantly Crowley.”
Muriel nodded and giggled a little as their hand rose and touched Aziraphale’s, “Thank you.”
Once they had settled, Aziraphale offered to make Muriel a nice cup of tea and settle down for the evening. It would be nice to catch up on Soho’s happenings, after all. Of course, Muriel was more than pleased to talk all about the gossip that stirred over the past few years. Mutt and his partner had a baby girl a year ago, Mr. Brown and Mr. Arnold have begun to become ‘very well acquainted’ with each other, and Maggie and Nina were officially partners.
After their cups were long empty, Muriel fell asleep on the well-loved antique loveseat. Aziraphale smiled as they slept so peacefully, a habit Maggie and Crowley taught them, no doubt. After tucking them in with a warm blanket, Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder where exactly Crowley had been. Muriel seemed to not want to talk about his habits, understandably so. It made him unsettled to think of Crowley in such disarray. He took a breath, closing his eyes to focus in on finding Crowley only to be hit by a sudden wave of his presence. Eyes fluttering open in surprise, he looked to the ceiling before he recovered himself.
Crowley, the one he left behind for Heaven, was sleeping in the guest bedroom of the bookshop.