Work Text:
Sussex, Three Years after the Second Coming
Aziraphale gazed out of the cottage window, where ominous dark gray clouds hung heavily, and a cold wind howled. The dark mass loomed so low that its moisture-swollen belly nearly brushed against the trees. The sun hadn’t shown itself for three days, and the blue sky… he couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen it.
Hadn’t seen the sky... Angel smirked bitterly at his own choice of words.
He hadn’t seen Heaven in three years. He would never see it again. Never again would he watch Earth from Heaven´s sunlit halls and corridors, never again marvel at that blue-green miracle and all its wonders from Heaven’s terrace. He would never return to Heaven, never even glimpse it again. Heaven was forever forbidden to him.
„Three cheers for that,“ Crowley would undoubtedly have said. And probably popped open a bottle of champagne.
And he’d be right, but Aziraphale… Aziraphale couldn’t quite agree. Heaven had been his home for thousands of years; he was an angel, after all, but now... What was he now? Was he still an angel, if he was banished from Heaven, had no angelic duties, and no one to report them to? Or was he not? If he was no longer an angel, neither a man... then what was he? What was the reason for his existence? Did he even have the right to exist?
„What's wrong?“ came a melodious voice from the doorway. „Autumn crisis?“ The next thing he knew, two slender but strong arms were wrapped around the Angel, pulling him into a tight embrace. With a soft sigh, he rested his head on Crowley's shoulder and allowed himself to be enveloped in a familiar scent. The most wonderful scent in the universe. The scent of safety, the scent of home. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
„I just...“ he spoke after a few minutes had passed. „I don't know... what I am now, Crowley? What's left of me? Am I still an angel?“
Crowley kissed his hair. „Does it matter? Do we have to fret about labels?“
„Yes, it does!“ Aziraphale pulled out of the embrace and turned so they were face to face. „I've been an angel all my life! Being an angel defines me - it has, since the very beginning of creation - and now -“
„So what about me, then?“ Crowley cut him off. „How would you label me? Am I still a demon? No more errands for Hell, no more diabolical deeds, I can’t go to Hell, Hell can’t come here... Am I still a proper demon like I used to be?“
Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably.
„Well?“
„But...“
„Am I?“
„That’s not...“
„Out with it.“
„It's just that you're... you're... I mean... I think you've never sort of… really been a proper demon.“ Aziraphale raised his eyes to meet the demon's very reluctantly.
Crowley didn't frown though, didn't protest vehemently as he had done for centuries, just raised an eyebrow in a sort of amused way. „Oh?“
You have never done much real harm. And you were never really evil. Or malicious. Maybe... a bit mischievous. And that’s something quite different from a true demon like… Ligur or Hastur.“
„So what was I then?“
„Well... you were... Crowley, is this really necessary?“
„Clearly, yes.“
„I don't know what you were! But not a demon. Not a true one. You were a fallen angel who never stopped believing, who never stopped being good at heart, who never stopped caring about injustice. You were called a demon, but you were still better than all the angels put together!“
A few years ago, Crowley would have slammed him against the wall for saying something like that ( in fact, he had done just that) and hissed terrible things at him, but now he just curled the corners of his lips into a slight smile.
„You're not going to protest and argue with me?“ Aziraphale asked incredulously.
„No. As much as I hate to admit it, sometimes... sometimes you're a bloody clever man. Angel. Entity.“
This time they both smiled.
„I have no idea what I am,“ Crowley continued. „A former fallen angel. A former demon. Both. Neither. Something in between. Take your pick.“
„So... am I a former angel?“ Sadness flickered in the blue eyes.
„You are an angel who defied God's command as early as the Garden of Eden, Aziraphale. An angel who has defied it again and again. An angel who embraced gluttony and laziness, who fell in love with humans and made a pact with a demon. An angel who stood up to Heaven and Hell and averted Armageddon. With the aforementioned demon. And then helped to thwart the entire divine plan, turning the Second Coming into a light speed Second Departure, and sealing the Earth so it would forever remain out of reach of both Heaven and Hell. Does that sound like Employee of the Month to you?“
Aziraphale smirked ever so slightly, with the grace only he could muster.
„If I was never a proper demon, then you, I'm sorry to say, were never a proper angel.“
„Perhaps.“ The blue eyes grew sadder.
„Definitely. Thankfully. Just imagine if you’d been as much of an asshole as Gabriel or Michael! Is that what you'd want?“
Aziraphale shook his head. „When you put it like that...“
„Exactly. I don’t know what I am, and I don’t know what you are, because Heaven´s and Hell’s black-and-white boxes don´t fit us. They never have. And I've come to terms with that long ago.“ With that, he took the angel's hand and led him into the living room, where a fire was crackling in the fireplace and a pot of hot chocolate and two cups had miraculously appeared on the table. They sat down on the couch, Crowley pouring each of them a cup and pulling Aziraphale into his arms.
„Maybe it's time you came to terms with it, too,“ he murmured into his hair. „Maybe you're just Aziraphale. A category of your own. An extraordinarily kind, loving, clever being with terrible taste in clothes and great taste in food. And demons.“ He kissed his blond curls. „You're stubborn and headstrong, sometimes naive, but you've never lost the determination to fight for what you believe is right. Against anyone. And everyone. You're brilliant and infuriating, and you're everything I've ever wanted in this world - and in the worlds above and below as well.“
Tears welled up in Aziraphale’s blue eyes.
„Is that really such a horrible prospect? To be just Aziraphale?“ Crowley asked gently, wiping them away with his thumb.
„No, it's not,“ whispered the Angel (or former Angel, or something like that, or something else entirely) as he took that sharply defined, beautiful face in his hands, pulled it close and kissed it with all the fervour of the love that had been bubbling inside him for six thousand years.
*
When, hours later, he looked up at the window, the storm had passed and the autumn sun was shining through the blue sky, illuminating the gold and red leaves on the nearby trees. The soft covers were warm and cosy, the logs in the fireplace were crackling, the air was filled with the scent of cocoa, cinnamon and old books, and Aziraphale's arms were filled with a naked, warm, blissfully relaxed demon. A demon (or former demon, or fallen angel, or something in between, or something entirely different) who had loved him since the beginning of time, who had managed to open up to him despite his deeply ingrained fears, so that his thousand-year-old wounds were slowly beginning to heal. One day they would heal completely... And eventually they would also figure out who they were. Together. There was no need to rush. After all, they'd got forever.
Heaven is not forever forbidden to me, Aziraphale realised as his eyes slowly wandered over the cosy room, the garden outside and steadily breathing Crowley in his arms.
Heaven I have finally reached.