Chapter Text
London, 2024
To some people, it was a nice day.
But not to Crowley.
"It's not my fault your son thinks he's hellspawn, Miss Keith. He might be, for all I know, but I didn't teach him that." Crowley tried to explain, as an angered mother demanded that she could drag her child out of daycare.
"Where else could he have learned it? I never say such things around my little angel." The mom cried.
Ahh, that word.
Angel.
It had actually been a nice day so far, he hadn't thought about... Him... In weeks and was living a nice human life as a nanny.
Now he was thinking about Him again.
All willingness to fight started to drain from Crowley's corporation.
"You know what? He's your kid, you can have him, I'll go get him. Didn't teach him the hellspawn stuff, though." He conceded, hands in the air as he walked away from the front desk.
He readjusted his ponytail as he pushed open the second door to the right with his hip.
"Alex's mom needs to take him home" He explained to one of the other nannies surrounded with kids, an elderly woman named Ester.
"That Karen again?" She asked.
"Mm" He agreed, crouching down next to Alex.
"Hey, man. Your mommy needs you to leave now, alright?" Crowley said to him.
The toddler made a discontented noise and hugged Crowley's leg.
"I don't want you to go, either, but you go be the little hellspawn I taught you to be, okay?" Crowley asked as he stood up, child still clinging to him.
" Hail Satan!" Alex yelled.
"Yes, hail Satan." He agreed, trying to waddle the kid towards the door.
When Mrs. Keith saw Alex, she swooped down to grab him and ran him out of the building.
Crowley flipped her the bird.
He returned to the room to join Ester, who was telling a story to the circle of children.
"So then the Snakey told Eve to eat the apple from the tree." She said, holding a doll next to a toy snake.
Crowley froze.
In the year following the... Event, he had tried everything to drown out his old life.
He had tried alcohol, and most every other unhealthy habit under the sun, he even tried to end it all a few times (he never went through with it, it just would have meant so much paperwork), but nothing really put a dent in the sadness.
But then, he found the daycare. He had remembered being nanny to Warlock, and he'd even enjoyed it, so he had went on the internet, searched up 'nanny jobs london' and had found the Happy Smiles Daycare.
At the time, they had been so short staffed that they hired him on the spot, but then had realized that Anthony J Crowley was the best thing to ever happen to the place.
They hadn't even minded that sometimes he would rather be called Miss or Mx, all they cared about was the fact that Crowley seemed to be a child whisperer that could take the most feral of toddlers.
Of course, his favorites had always seemed to mentally warp into hell-sprung mini demons, but that was beside the point.
Crowley had gotten very attached to the place, he'd become friends with all the other employees, and even helped paint the stars on the ceiling of the rooms.
He'd found a way to push all those sad thoughts to the back of his head, of Aziraphale, of Heaven and Hell, of the bookshop, and for the first time in a very long time, just happy.
As long as no one said things to remind him.
He felt a little tear slide off his eye, down his cheek, and onto his chin.
Now he was remembering again.
All those dinners at the Ritz with... Aziraphale.
Those three words, those three haunting words, those three forgiving words.
How could Aziraphale have thought he would leave it all for Heaven?
But most of all, he missed him.
Damn it, he'd been doing so well.
He turned on his heel and walked out the door, back into the hallway.
Opening the door to the little bathroom, he let the tears come down.
Crowley tried to comfort himself, telling himself how jealous He must be of how well he'd been getting on, telling himself that that was a different person, that he was Anthony Janthony now, not Crowley the demon.
He looked at himself in the big mirror above the sink.
What he saw was a person who was letting go and slowly trying to claw his way back. His hair has grown out past his shoulders from a year and a half of neglecting to trim it, but it was still tied up in a neat ponytail. He had even grown a beard, at one point, but had since shaven it off.
He tried making silly faces in the mirror. It helped.
Wiping his eyes with a sleeve, he returned to the room, where, thankfully, Ester had ceased her story of the Garden.
"Are you okay, dear?" She asked.
"Yeah, m'fine" He replied.
As a matter of fact, he was very much still not fine.
Aziraphale was also not having a good day.
"Aziraphale!" Michael said loudly.
He snapped back to reality.
"Yes?" He asked.
"Your plans?" She asked, leaning forward on her desk.
"My... Plans?" Aziraphale repeated.
"Your plans. For the second coming? That we all came here so you could tell us about?" Michael prodded, gesturing to all the other archangels.
Oh, those plans.
To be truthful, Aziraphale hadn't even thought even thought of them.
"Ahh, yes, those plans," He said, "I was thinking... We don't throw the Antichrist into the sulfur? He's actually a very nice boy, he eats all his vegetables!"
None of the other angels were impressed.
"But how are we going to prepare? How will we fight hell?" Uriel asked.
"Give me just one more day, please. By tomorrow, I will have a plan, I promise on my honor as Supreme Archangel." Aziraphale said, holding up one finger.
"But the Second Coming could be any day now!" Uriel tried to protest.
"I need more time!" He tried to explain.
"Fine, fine, one more day" Michael agreed, "But one, okay?"
"Promise." Aziraphale said.
Aziraphale walked away from the desk into the cold, open, blankness of Heaven.
He made his way towards his office.
His office was, undoubtedly, the most interesting room in Heaven.
As Supreme Archangel, he had arranged to have walls built into his space, to give the illusion of a house. The rooms were filled with furniture and books. It made Aziraphale feel safer.
Upon entering, he let out a massive sigh.
This job was not as easy as it looked.
Aziraphale looked at himself in the full mirror that sat propped near the door.
He hardly looked anything like he did a year ago.
His blonde curls were meticulously gelled to create a neater fluff around his head.
He had stopped bothering to miracle away his facial hair, resulting in a fluffy white beard, which masked half of his face.
The waistcoat he had grown to love was currently folded up in a drawer replaced by pure white white suits.
The only familiar thing was his tartan socks, hidden under his pants legs.
Every now and then, he would go back to his old styles, don the waistcoat and comb out his hair, but it felt painful now.
It all reminded him of Crowley. It reminded him of that day, all the things Crowley had said, all the things he himself had said, of the kiss, and that sad walk to the elevator.
Sometimes he blamed Crowley, all he had had to do was say yes, then they could have been happy, but other times he blamed himself, after all, how could he have expected Crowley to come back to Heaven, of all places?
The same place that threw him out for asking questions, the same people that hadn't batted an eye at sending Crowley to Hell, how could Crowley go back?
But still, they could have made heaven better together, right?
"Hey Newt? Has Aziraphale called yet this year?" Anathema asked.
She leaned over to see what appliance she would have to repurchase next.
Newt looked up from his dismantled microwave.
"Don't think so, why?" He said, furrowing his brow.
"He usually calls around now. Something feels wrong." She explained.
"Huh," said Newt, " I don't remember him calling last year, either."
"Maybe he just got a new number." Anathema said, leaving Newt to his tinkering.
She made her way to the kitchen to make some tea.
Sipping it, she thought about it.
Aziraphale couldn't be dead, right? Angels don't... Die?
He had visited occasionally since the ApocaNope, so he did know their address and had Anathema's number.
Could angels get sick? Maybe he was very ill and unable to reach out, but it didn't seem likely that angels would be able to get very sick, either.
Was he busy? With what? Aziraphale always had had free time before...
She drained her cup, then turned it three times.
Taking a look at the remains of the tea leaves, she saw lots of little dark clouds.
Typically, Anathema wasn't really one to randomly look at tea leaves, but these leaves spelled out something bad.
That something coming very soon.
Crowley's phone buzzed as he left the daycare.
He picked it up to see multiple unseen messages from Muriel. It looked something like this
Mister Crowley
It's me inspector constable
I saw a bunch of humans today!!!
One of them was wearing a funny hat
It was glittery
I didn't sell any books today!
I arranged them all in alphabetical order
I have a meeting in heaven tomorrow
So I'm going to heaven
It was followed by a very long string of emojis.
Crowley typed a very quick hello.
Nice human spotting!
Have fun in heaven
Slowly, he made his way towards the Bentley (which now was mostly black with yellow details), which has been parked a few blocks away.
Swinging the door open, he got in.
For a moment, Crowley paused to find one of the new CDs he'd bought, then remembered that it had been over a fortnight since he'd bought them, and the Abba album he'd been looking forward to was now a Best of Queen.
Nonetheless, a CD was jammed into the player, and Freddie Mercury's voice streamed out.
It was, however, the exactly wrong song for the day.
I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things.
We can do the tango just for two.
Crowley slammed his head onto the Bentley's steering wheel.
It was the wrong time for the song Freddie wrote for Crowley, specifically about Aziraphale.
"Why, God?" He muttered.
Ooh, Love, Ooh Lover Boy.
This was the first time, Crowley realized, he'd ever disliked it.
May 23 1977, Bristol Hippodrome
"She's a killer queen," The crowd sang along, Crowley included, "Gunpowder and gelatin, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind."
Crowley looked up at the stage, where his only human friends were.
As the song ended, Crowley made himself a little bit taller, so they could see him.
He saw Freddie search the audience for him, and smile as he found him.
Crowley held a thumbs up and smiled back.
This was, probably, the tenth time Crowley had come to one of Queen's performances, but it was by far one of the most fun. Everyone in the audience was enjoying themselves, Freddie sounded amazing, and Crowley was having the time of his corporation.
Freddie began another song, one Crowley wasn't familiar with.
I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things
We can do the tango just for two
I can serenade and gently play on your heart strings, be your Valentino just for you.
It was oddly familiar and comforting.
He noticed that every now and then, Freddie would take a glance at him.
When I'm not with you, think of you all ways
When I'm not with you, think of me always, love you, love you
Whatever this was, he decided, was a good song.
Dining at the Ritz, we'll meet at nine
One two three four five six seven eight nine o'clock precisely
I'll pay the bill you taste the wine
Crowley realized why the song was so comforting and familiar.
It was about Aziraphale. All of the things that Crowley'd told Freddie about over the years. In a song.
Crowley smiled and just enjoyed the rest of the song.
It was a good song, too.
Afterwards, when Crowley had asked Freddie about it, he'd smiled and asked if he'd liked it.
All Crowley could think of saying was that he couldn't imagine not loving it.
And oh, how times had changed.