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“You do not, in any shape or form, communicate with the angel again.”
The figure in front of them did not move, bent double in agony, as the blood pooled from his back onto the putrid, uncleaned floor of hell’s offices.
“I SAID, NO TALKING TO THE ANGEL. DO YOU HEAR ME?” Beelzebub grew impatient, their fingers around the barbed whip tensing up.
Silence resumed.
With effort Beelzebub dragged the whip, already coated with the blood of many uncooperative demons, and lashed it at him again. He did not cry out, only trembling and quietly grunting as pain gnawed at him. His breath quickened as the pain came again and again, sharp splices up his back and arms. He had no idea how long he could stand this. Black spots flashed in his vision, the green flickering lights of hell seemed to fade into the background…
“Bring him back to where he came from. He’s useless here.”
The guards hesitated, reluctant to handle the bloody mess.
“I SAID NOW- WHEN DID YOU THINK I WANTED THIS DONE, AFTER A MILLENNIA?” Beelzebub screamed, turning away from them. Enough of this nonsense, they thought, as if keeping him here for a couple of months to be tortured, was not difficult enough.
***
Book crashed onto the carpet as it was followed by a dramatic yelp.
“No no no no- not the Jane Eyre!” Aziraphale whined, arms full of stacked books. He tottered to the nearest table, hastily placing the piles of books on it, immediately rushing back to the mound of fallen books. He moaned in dismay as he rifled through them, many dog-eared and scuffed as a result of the fall.
“Rrrrring! Rrrring!”
“Not now…” Aziraphale said, stomping to the door, while in his mind conjuring up a hundred different reasons why he wasn’t open.
“What?” He snapped, yanking the door open.
“Telegram for you, sir.”
“Fine- thanks.” Aziraphale muttered, shutting the door with his foot.
Impatiently, he opened the telegram, eyes skimming through the message. It didn’t take him long, for it was only a few words.
“St. James Park. 4 o’clock TODAY.”
There was no need for further pondering. It was definitely him. Aziraphale’s heart throbbed- it had been so long, he thought he’d been sent back to hell for some job or another. But the hope that they would meet again was always there.
Excitedly, Aziraphale dashed to change into his best suit, already forgetting about the damaged books.
***
It was a nice day so a stroll was the optimal choice for getting to St. James Park. Donning his best suit, Aziraphale swanned through the streets of Victorian England, smiling benevolently at those who brushed past him. The park was filled - couples walked along the winding paths, children shoving past dresses and coattails, procuring exclamations and curses from the crowd. Aziraphale craned his neck in search of Crowley- he must be somewhere near the river, he thought, recalling Crowley’s fondness for ducks from many instances.
Lost in his own thoughts, Aziraphale almost walked past Crowley without noticing him. Clothed in black velvet, complete with top hat was Crowley, brooding by the riverside, arms enfolded around an elegant cane topped with a serpentine head. He didn’t seem to acknowledge Aziraphale until he spoke.
“It’s been a while.” Aziraphale started, hesitantly as he tried to read Crowley’s expression through the lens of his dark glasses.
“I need your help.” Crowley murmured, rigidly staring into the expanse of the pond.
“We have the agreement-“
“I wrote it down.”
Aziraphale stared at the piece of paper Crowley held at his fingertips. His eyes wandered to the crevice of skin between Crowley’s glove and shirt- maybe it was his eyesight, that made it seem a bluish-black. Just the light, he mused, and gave it no more thought. He took the scrap of paper, slowly easing out the fold.
No. No. It can’t be. Aziraphale looked again; but the words stayed the same.
“Crowley- why would you want that?”
“Just as a precaution.”
“I’m not giving you that.”
“Please- angel-“
“DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME ANGEL WHEN YOU WANT SOMETHING TO KILL YOURSELF WITH-“ Aziraphale yelled at him, feeling the bubbling sensation of anger and fear overflowing. Feeling the sensation of tears quickly invading his eyesight, he hastily turned away from Crowley, determinedly trudging away from the riverside.
“Azirapha-“ Crowley suddenly felt the sear of his wounds grow fierce and agonising, pulling the breath out of him. Not now- not now- he cursed, as he felt a dizzying sensation toppling him- hands blindly gripping at the fence- before blackness invaded his eyesight.
***
Regret gnawed at Aziraphale as he glanced at couples affectionately sat on benches, flashing each other nervous looks of adoration. Why did he always have to be so- impulsive? He replayed Crowley’s forlorn stare over and over in his mind. Crowley wouldn’t have asked for holy water randomly, only for a reason. But why? He could have stolen it, tempted a priest for it, bought it… the list went on. Why didn’t he ask further- why, why? He paused suddenly- sighed- he always was the one to give in. Always. But that’s how it was. With another deep sigh, Aziraphale turned back and headed for the riverside reluctantly.
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed as he observed the growing throng of people near the riverside. Odd, he thought, to gather around the river, unless communal duck-feeding had suddenly became all the rage in England. He approached the group, hoping to make sense of the commotion.
Aziraphale felt a lurch in his stomach. Sprawled on the ground, seemingly unconscious- was Crowley- it can’t have been- he pushed through the crowd- “Let me in, please, PLEASE!”
“Crowley- Crowley- oh god-“ The words spilled out, his hands trembling as he shook Crowley’s shoulder- “Crowley- I’m so sorry- I’m so sorry-“ Aziraphale pressed his forehead against his, tears dripping onto Crowley’s pallid cheeks.
He felt a hand weakly brush against his arm. Gasping in relief, he removed Crowley’s dark glasses, to show slits of amber iris flickering at the sunlight.
“Ange-“ Crowley muttered weakly.
“Shhhh…” Aziraphale shakily said, “Don’t talk.. don’t talk... we’re going back to the bookstore, alrigh…”
Crowley struggled to hold back against the agonising pain that struck his whole body, hearing Aziraphale’s words slowly fade into silence…
***
Aziraphale panted, a sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead as he finally settled Crowley into his own bed, which was nestled between crates of unshelved books in the backrooms of the bookstore.
Sitting down at the side of his bed, Aziraphale studied Crowley’s face, pain etched into his brows more deeply than ever before. It was as if he had grown older, more serious after their last meeting. No traces of his smirk, not smiling eyes remained. No, he was not the same Crowley that asked him to give a poor girl ninety guineas to “be good” anymore.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale whispered, rubbing his arm gently. He stirred, eyes fluttered open, the anxious yellow irises fully expanding, Aziraphale observing that he was immensely stressed.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. Is it- you’re hurting- has someone hurt you?”
Crowley shook his head feverishly.
“Tell me the truth.” Aziraphale softened, knowing that he was lying.
Crowley closed his eyes. He stayed silent, almost defiant.
Slowly, Aziraphale began to ease Crowley’s overcoat off him. Crowley fought back, his hand weakly pushing Aziraphale away from him.
“Trust me.” Aziraphale said.
Carefully, Aziraphale took off Crowley’s garments one by one. As he reached the last layer of translucent silk, it failed to hide the mangled flesh underneath.
“It’s okay… trust me…” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s face gently, wiping away the beads of sweat on his temples. “I’m not going to hurt you…”
Aziraphale closed his eyes, his hands hovering over Crowley. Heal this body…rid it of scars and pain… he chanted internally, focussing on the strands of pain slowly being pulled from Crowley.
Opening his eyes, Aziraphale’s hands trembled from the immense channeling of power. He felt a hand snake its way into his, their fingers interlocking.
“Aziraphale… I don’t feel it anymore…”
“Yes… that was a very powerful miracle… it ought to have worked.. are you really feeling better?”
“Yes. Much better.”
“Well then… I should leave you to rest then… shall I…I’ll just close the blinds… and get back to work…” Aziraphale said clumsily, the intense intimacy of the moment only occurring to him now.
“Can… you… you..” Crowley began, clasping Aziraphale’s hand tighter, “Can you stay… please… please, Angel…” He pleaded, the vulnerability in his voice startling Aziraphale.
“I… could… yes, well… I mean… of course… if you want me to…”
“Come into bed.”
“I’m sorry?”
Crowley gently tilted his head to the empty side of the bed next to him.
“I-“ Aziraphale froze, his heart racing in his chest. “I- don’t think- that’s very appropriate… considering that we’re on opposite sides… I don’t think above or below would like that very much… maybe not…” He inched away from the bed, almost tripping over from the tower of books behind him.
“What about you, angel? What do you think? They don’t matter- they’re not here now, are they?” Crowley said, “You keep telling me… I’m safe… but so are you… it’s okay… angel… come here.”
He extended a sinewy arm towards Aziraphale as he approached. Aziraphale dove into his arms, gently nuzzling Crowley’s face. Their breath intermingled as they laid there, slowly pulling each other closer into a tight embrace. Aziraphale looked at Crowley through the fading afternoon glow, his eyes absorbing ethereal light. And at that moment they somehow knew. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s face gently as he went in for a kiss, again and again, tenderly, until they both breathlessly pulled back. Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut, as he nestled back into the warm cocoon of Aziraphale’s body, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
***
Crowley woke with a start- panicking as he felt linen crinkle under him- where was he? Floundering between the sheets, he turned his head frantically to figure out where he- pain shot up his back, white-hot pain that seared and numbed, gasping as he tried to cope with the pain that made his head throb dizzyingly.
He felt his panic spiral into shock as he turned to look at the duvet- covered in smears of blood. Stumbling out of the bed, he headed for the door- he had to leave- toppling as his leg collided against a stack of books… and he faded into unconsciousness.
“Thump-“
Aziraphale’s head immediately jerked towards the sound, and before he knew it he was sprinting towards his bedroom.
“Crow-“ Aziraphale abruptly stopped as he took in the blood-soiled bed and the slumped figure of Crowley on the floor, barely breathing.
“Crowley…” Aziraphale shook him gently, but no movement came. “Crowley!” He said again, a bit firmer now, worry spreading inside of him. The blood on his back had sped up its flow, now already starting to drip onto the floorboards, his face pallid from the lack of blood, breathing shallowly.
“Rap-rap-rap-rap-rap-rap-rap!” Seven brisk knocks were sounded on the door of the bookstore.
Oh no- no not now- why did they always have to get in the way- Aziraphale panicked, reluctant to leave the vulnerable figure of Crowley alone, but knew that if he did not answer the door- well- he would have more things to answer to.
“I’m busy!” Aziraphale moaned at the three angels stood on his doorstep, interrogatively glaring at him as they stood in their mismatched Victorian garb.
“Well, we wouldn’t be bothering you if you DIDN’T do a 100 lazarii miracle,” Michael said, “100 lazarii, Aziraphale! You know better than to raise suspicion- and what was it again this time- stolen sheep?”
“You know I didn’t mean to that time-“
Aziraphale snapped, already backing into the bookstore, “It was-“ He paused as he frantically thought of a reason- “This family- they were dying of cholera- I couldn’t resist-“
“100 lazarii to save a handful of humans.”
“Y-yes… they didn’t deserve to- die- they were very, very devout Catholics- God can’t have his children dying all over the place, surely-“
A hoarse cry curdled the air.
Aziraphale tried to hold in the rising panic in his chest.
“What was that?” Michael asked sternly, sensing the fear in Aziraphale’s widened eyes.
“Nothing- nothing!” Aziraphale winced as he heard Crowley scream in agony again.
Michael slammed Aziraphale against the door, hand clasped around his neck. “We have given you a chance to confess, and yet you refuse. You tell us what is happening, and Gabriel will not hear a single word of this.”
Aziraphale rasped as he struggled to breathe, tensing up as Crowley raggedly screamed his name.
“You-“ Michael started, but failed to finish her sentence before a milky glow illuminated the three of them.
“You’ll answer for this, Aziraphale, you WILL-“ She screeched as they faded from earth.
Aziraphale dropped to the ground, panting and coughing as he tried to regain his breath. Desperate not to waste more time, he slammed the door shut, stumbling through the bookstore to reach Crowley who writhed on the floor, now already pooling with blood, hair plastered to his face with sweat.
“Crowley- I’m so sorry-“
“GET AWAY FROM ME-“ He hissed, his pupils constructing.
“Crowley- it’s just me-“ Aziraphale rasped.
Aziraphale shakily grasped Crowley’s hands that clawed at the empty air, kissing them as Crowley panted, too exhausted to resist.
“It’s me… It’s just me…”
“You’re not… not Michael…” Crowley said, disoriented.
“No… no… oh- you thought I was Michael- no… just me… it’s fine now… they’ve gone…”
“Don’t leave me…”
“I won’t. I won’t.” Aziraphale answered firmly, gently wrapping Crowley in a blanket and scooping him up into an armchair. Placing his fingers gingerly on Crowley’s temples, he sent him into a deep sleep.
***
Crowley stirred to the sound of books being stacked and rifled through, a tune being hummed quietly. His fingers ran through bandages and fabric wrapped around his chest, sighing comfortably as he no longer felt the agonising pain that had plagued him for days.
A stack of books was placed hastily on the table, shoes shuffling towards him.
“Hello.” Aziraphale whispered, crouching down beside him.
“Ngk.” Crowley responded, struggling to find the energy to form words. “H-how long has it been…”
“Ten days,” Aziraphale said. “I thought that was enough time for me to bandage you up and let you heal naturally.” He said as he affectionately tucked in the tartan blanket that was wrapped around Crowley.
“Thank you.” Crowley said quietly.
Tentatively, they looked at each other, locking eyes. Aziraphale leaned in, head tilted, tenderly kissing him.
Nothing was heard in the bookstore other than the sound of gentle murmurs as they passionately kissed each other again and again.
And outside, perched on a tree, a nightingale sang.