Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aziraphale is notoriously bad at giving gifts.

Throughout the years, Crowley had given Aziraphale many little trinkets either for Christmas, the anniversary of his shop opening, or, once he found out Aziraphale celebrated a made-up birthday, that.

Aziraphale, try as he might, could never match Crowley's energy. He tried to find randomly sentimental days to give Crowley adventure books or sleek new phones or flowering plants, but he never seemed too impressed. He would politely thank Aziraphale and then make up some excuse. "Oh, I’ve already read it." "I've got this model already." "Thanks Angel, but I've got allergies." (Demons don't get allergies, only particular preferences as to what plants they keep.)

Aziraphale eventually figured that Crowley, despite being a demon, wasn’t big on the whole material objects thing. So Aziraphale would have to find another avenue of affection.

Over the years Crowley had also rescued Aziraphale from danger. Time and time again. This arrangement made both parties very happy. Crowley would get a wonderful sense of doing good, and Aziraphale would get a wonderful sense of knowing that his demon was doing good—despite what he might claim.

But once again, Aziraphale reached a point where he felt the need to return the gesture. So he vowed that whenever Crowley was in danger, he'd be the one to save him.

Aziraphale’s first opportunity was when the demon was dead set on acquiring Holy Water. Clearly, Aziraphale couldn't give Crowley the Holy Water as it would kill him, so Aziraphale made it his duty to keep it away, keeping the demon safe. This ended up a failure.

Then another opportunity fell into Aziraphale’s lap: Armageddon. What a perfectly dangerous instance. For the most part, Aziraphale and Crowley worked together to save the world (and each other), but once Aziraphale found Agnes Nutter's prophetic book telling him where the Antichrist was, he found his chance to be the saviour. He thought he'd keep the information from Crowley, thinking it'd be a lovely surprise to him when Aziraphale saved the world. This too ended in failure.

It was becoming clear to Aziraphale that maybe he just wasn't that good at saving Crowley. At least, not without the assistance of said demon. Aziraphale started to get frustrated. His last attempt was solving the mystery of Gabriel and the jukebox on a lone road trip and well… he ended up giving away everything to Shax, putting Crowley, himself, the bookshop, and the residents of Whickber Street all in danger. Another failure.

Aziraphale was beginning to become frustrated. He was a Principality, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He knew who he was, and he knew that he was perfectly capable of saving the day, but it always seemed to end with him messing up and Crowley grappling their way to a solution.

So when the Metatron told Aziraphale about his promotion, he thought he had finally found it. The perfect opportunity to save Crowley. The perfect gift.

And it's arguable that this too ended in failure. The kiss, the tears, Crowley’s strong disapproval. But Aziraphale thought to himself, no. This time it would work. This time he could save the day.

As he rode up in the elevator alongside the Voice of God, he could feel himself ascending, literally and figuratively. Now he would have the chance to do good from the inside. To fix the Great Plan and ensure a safe and happy future for Earth. And after it was all done, of course he’d go back to Crowley.

Aziraphale was slightly hurt at Crowley’s inevitable rejection of Heaven, but he forgave him. Not because Aziraphale recognized all the reasons for Crowley's inhibitions (all the terrible things Heaven had done to both of them, for example), but because he simply wrote it off as demonic nature. Even if Crowley had been an angel once.

Whatever. Once Aziraphale saved the world, the two of them could figure it out. Crowley would see that Aziraphale had been right, and, as a plus, Aziraphale could prove he was capable of doing things on his own. He did not need Crowley to save the day this time.

“What are you thinking, Aziraphale?” The Metatron’s voice awoke Aziraphale from his thoughts.

“Oh… just brainstorming wonderful ideas for the Second Coming,” Aziraphale said. He forced the smile to stay on his face. He hoped he wasn’t overselling his eagerness. Aziraphale suddenly felt nervous. He couldn’t get in trouble for thinking about Crowley. Could he?

“Tell me, Aziraphale. You aren’t having doubts, are you?”

The Metatron spoke in such a sympathetic way that Aziraphale almost felt pressed to give up what he was feeling.

In complete honesty, Aziraphale didn't know what he was thinking. Maybe he wasn't cut out for saving the day. Was it getting hot in this lift?

“Of course not,” Aziraphale feigned. He knew he had hesitated too long in his answer.

Surprisingly, the Metatron laughed. “Well then, you really are stupid.”

Aziraphale felt his heart fall. “What?” He realised then that the lift had stopped. When had it stopped? He should’ve been paying better attention. 

The large button denoting Heaven was slightly lit up, but not all the way. As if they were on a lower level of the dominion.

The Metatron opened the doors to reveal a large void. The colour was nondescript, the depth was unknown. Aziraphale could see, however, that the space beyond where a small walking surface ended just a few steps away went down for a long time.

“I apologise for all the trouble,” The Metatron said quite unapologetically as Aziraphale started to shake with fear and realisation of what was about to come. He recognized how familiar this all felt. Another failure. “But we had to get you to a proper height, and we knew we could only convince you to come this far with salvation. It's good to know too that after your butchering of that conversation that your little demon won't go looking for you.”

And with that, Aziraphale was sucked over the edge. He hadn't even felt the Metatron push him. He had only let the situation set itself in his mind and suddenly found himself falling through space.

The Metatron only watched, his cold eyes staring into the even colder abyss. He’d seen too many fallen for it to affect him anymore. He only waited a moment, feeling the lack of remorse, and turned back into the elevator to go send a memo to Downstairs.

Chapter Text

Five years is a long time to think things over, but ultimately not long enough. There were some days when Crowley would feel as if everything was alright and Aziraphale would come back, do a little dance, and live out the rest of eternity with Crowley; other days, Crowley would find another detail of their failed relationship to dissect and would decide that he was never going to make it out of this torture.

Neither type of the days was quite healthy. There had been a period of two weeks where Crowley stayed frozen at the doorstep of the bookshop because surely Aziraphale would return in time for Christmas. He hadn’t, and Crowley only moved when it started to snow and he decided to give into Muriel’s insistent cries that he wake up. Contrastingly, he spent the rest of that winter drinking and loathing Aziraphale and all things happy.

Currently, Crowley was at a mental place between the two. Yes, his life was Hell (worse than it, actually, he could attest to that), but he’d be okay. He’d be okay counting the wooden beams on the ceiling of the bookshop and thinking about nothing else.

“Inventory done!” Muriel announced excitedly as they ran out into the middle of the room, holding up a wooden clipboard. “Did you time me, Crow— Crowley? Where’d you go?”

“Down here.” Muriel turned their gaze towards the sunny spot on the carpet where Crowley lay sprawled out with a glass of wine placed just within arms reach.

Crowley lazily checked the time on his once sleek and fancy, now scratched up watch. “Three hours and fourty-three minutes, Muriel. Record time.”

“Oh, yay!” Muriel placed their clipboard down and miracled up a glass of water to not-so-subtly place next to Crowley.

Crowley rolled his eyes at Muriel’s fruitless attempt to make him hydrate himself in a healthier way. He preferred the constant slight headache that his drinking habit brought. It kept him from thinking about other things. He snapped his fingers and the water transferred itself to a potted plant in a nearby shop.

Muriel filed away the inventory list into their desk. “The list is the same as it has been for the past five years,” they announced.

“Good,” stated Crowley.

“Although,” Muriel continued, “I did notice that somebody rearranged some titles so that the bold letters spelled out some inappropriate words. Care to say anything about that?”

“Nah…” Crowley answered, not even making an attempt to recall if that was something he had done. “Wasn't me. Can't find the demonic power in me to do it anyways.”

“I think it hardly takes demonic power to spell ‘WEENIE’ using old books.”

“It was some kid. I'm telling you.”

“So, erm…” Muriel cleared their throat. “Any plans today?”

Crowley shook his head. He was planning on just staring at the ceiling for a few more hours. He didn’t have the energy to think up plans.

“Nah,” he yawned.

“Oh, well…” Muriel started to stammer nervously. “Perhaps it’ll do you good to, I don’t know, do something today. Get out.”

Crowley shifted his position on the floor so that he could see Muriel and raised an eyebrow at them. “Are you trying to make me leave the shop?” he asked pointedly.

“Erm…” Muriel fumbled with their hands. It must be a basic angel-on-Earth thing to be so bad about lying, Crowley noted.

“I am,” they said. “Because well… because I’m trying to sell a book to a prospective customer.” 

“Sell a book?” Crowley asked. “Muriel, you know this place doesn’t sell books.”

“I really don’t understand, Crowley. I mean it’s a bookshop—”

“You don’t sell any books,” Crowley commanded. Muriel still couldn’t quite grasp how important these books are, but they always listened to Crowley. Only one book had been sold at their hands, five years ago, and Crowley shouted at them until they had it miracled back in perfect condition.

But now Crowley was thinking about the reason he couldn't part with those books, and the warm spot he had picked out on the floor suddenly began to feel cold.

To make things worse, the door burst open, and Crowley heard the shuffling of a hoard of people. Crowley awkwardly brought himself to his feet, prepared to scare off a batch of eccentric, free-thinking used-bookshop-visitors, but was instead greeted with the whole of the Whickber Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association, all of them grinning way too much for Crowley’s taste. Mr. Brown stood in the front holding a vanilla cake with the words “Happy 5 Years!” written in shimmery gold icing.

The residents of the street ran past Crowley and approached Muriel with a chorus of “Congratulations!” and other niceties. At first the angel smiled warmly at their neighbours. The years that they had been here on Earth, they had formed amazing relationships with the humans. Maggie and Nina were definitely the closest friends to Muriel, being the ones to take Muriel out to dinners and movies. Muriel had set up a nice arrangement with Justine, who gave Muriel free crepes every week in exchange for Muriel allowing her to borrow books. Crowley only allowed this because he didn’t want to think too much about the French restaurateur and her allegedly “sub-par crepes”. Mrs. Sandwich was also a dear friend of Muriel, often joining them for a late-night glass of wine. Muriel even got along with Mr. Brown, but no one can even begin to describe that friendship and how out-of-hand their conversations turned.

But even amongst all their friends, Muriel spared Crowley an apologetic glance. They knew the date. It had been five years exactly since Muriel took over the shop. It had also been five years exactly since… Of course, this was why Muriel had tried to get Crowley to leave. They didn’t want to remind Crowley.

Crowley himself had stopped counting the days long ago. At first he had counted the days—the hours even—obsessively, but had ultimately given up. That was when he had scratched his watch to such a poor state that one could only read the time if they really put effort into it.

The Whickber Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association started to cut slices out of the cake, and Muriel managed to escape to make their way to Crowley, who still stood apart from the group.

“Erm, right, I guess I forgot the date,” they said. “I didn’t think they’d all…”

Crowley nodded, but he knew they were lying. Muriel did their annual inventory, and they were very meticulous on doing things on time. He knew they hadn’t meant to bring up the memories though.

“S’alright,” Crowley murmured. He set the glass he hadn’t even been drinking down. He could feel a creeping feeling in his chest and really wanted to drown it with alcohol, but knew that would be too easy for him. It had been five years. Perhaps it was time he did a little reflecting. He didn't want Muriel to worry, so he feigned that he really was alright.

“Enjoy the party.” Crowley managed a polite smile. “I just need to go somewhere I can think.”

“You can stay upstairs,” Muriel insisted. Funny that they were now trying to get Crowley to stay when a moment ago they were trying to get him out of the shop.

Crowley sighed. He knew they got worried whenever he was out of their sight. When Crowley was alone it allowed him to drink dangerously large amounts of alcohol and become dangerously destructive.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll call on you tomorrow,” he reassured them. “We can go to the park.”

Muriel conceded to his decision.

As Crowley turned and made his way towards the door, he instinctively reached for his glasses on the table before realising that they were still on his eyes. In fact, he hadn’t taken off his shades in the shop since… For Crowley to reach for them was…

Crowley bit his tongue. To save himself from embarrassment, he grabbed a book from the table instead, pretending that was what he had meant to do in the first place.

The excitement in the bookshop persisted as Muriel watched Crowley drive away with worry. They knew what book he grabbed and prayed he wouldn't realise it.

Chapter Text

Eric sat by the pool, kicking his feet by the edge, humming a tune he had heard the last time he’d gone to Earth. This might be a weird thing for a demon to do (and it was), but it makes more sense if you remember that the pool is not one of water, but of boiling sulphur. Thus, it was a perfectly evil activity for a demon to have as a pastime.

Eric’s time in Hell was usually not, well, good. Of course, that kind of comes with the territory of being a demon, but Eric felt like he got the shortest stick out of all of them. However, Eric had finally gotten a good job. He’d been waiting for this for millions of years.

Five years ago, Eric was notified by an angelic entity that he was to deal with a new fallen angel. What was strange about this request however was the fact that it made Eric exempt from all his other demonic duties and that it came with a postscript that Eric was not to tell any authority figures in Hell. Perhaps Shax would question this request, but Eric was luckily so insignificant that him just chilling by the site of falling for five years was inconspicuous to the rulers of Hell. Maybe Eric was chosen for this task because he was the few demons literate enough to decipher the note... or maybe he was just chosen for his unimportance. 

Now, falling is an interesting process, and it is different for each individual being. For some it is quick. Those are the demons who don’t really care too much about falling (i.e. those who just sort of saunter vaguely downwards). The more you resist your fall, the longer it will take. Eric remembered that his fall took about an hour, while others’ had taken more. Eric, however, had never heard of a fall taking five years. Loyal angel it must’ve been. Evidently, not loyal enough.

Eric didn’t care too much about the fallen angel. All he knew was that he had gotten what might as well have been a five year vacation out of this job. And when the angel eventually landed in the pool, Eric would get to do the fun bits.

Another thing about falling is that it doesn’t make you a demon. It simply makes you not an angel. It’s the torture that comes afterwards that makes you a creepy, crawling, evil being.

Eric was especially excited to turn this new arrival into a demon. It had been centuries since he was last trusted with a torture device.

Eric turned his eyes to the cavernous opening above him. He could see a bright spot in the sky approaching him. It was almost time for the angel to finish falling.

Aziraphale had been screaming “Nooo!” for longer than he could fathom. The protest had first started against the Metatron after he had mercilessly thrown Aziraphale off the ledge. Then the No melded into one of disbelief that Heaven was doing this, and after everything he had done for them too, after he entrusted his faith in them for millions of years. Eventually, after the wind had whipped his face raw, and his voice grew hoarse, Aziraphale targeted the No at himself. No, how could you even think you could handle this?

So Aziraphale’s plan hadn’t worked. Perhaps he could’ve taken Heaven down from the inside, but he hadn’t even been given a chance due to his naivete. Figures.

But when Aziraphale’s voice eventually gave out and he stopped his screaming, he finally allowed himself to look down.

He knew he should’ve been able to see Earth at this altitude now, but his vision was too blurred to focus on anything. There was only a large array of blue hues.

There is no reason for Earth to be between Heaven and Hell. Earth is, after all, only a small insubstantial part of the universe. But when angels began to fall, someone had decided to place Hell on a plane below Earth which would be below Heaven. If Aziraphale thought hard enough he might just remember an angel claiming this to be “idiocy”. How big of an ego do you have to have in order to place yourself at the top of the universe, anyway?

Aziraphale’s eyes focused on something below him. He had gotten close enough to the Earth now to see a mark on the surface of the Earth like a blemish. He couldn’t tell where above Earth he was—geography was never a skill of Aziraphale although he had kept an impressive collection of maps in his shop. He could see, however, a frighteningly dark cave opening. At the base of the cave, he could see some sort of light source.

So this was it, Aziraphale realised. He was falling. He was going to be a demon.

There was a list of potential beings to blame for this, but it didn't really occur to Aziraphale. Surely it could be Heaven's fault for not seeing the good in what Aziraphale did. It could also very well have been Gabriel's fault for roping Aziraphale into the drama of his forbidden romance. And most fallen angels blame God for their fate, but Aziraphale would of course never.

Aziraphale did think for a bit to blame Crowley. After all, he was the evil one. And Crowley had spent almost all of their existence trying to tempt Aziraphale into things and convince him that a little bit of moral ambiguity didn't do an angel any harm.

But then Aziraphale realised he could never blame Crowley for anything. Any bad he ever did was strictly due to his demonic nature.

No, Aziraphale resolved, the only one to blame for this situation was himself. He was the one who lied to the angels in the Land of Uz, he was the one who agreed to avert the Apocalypse, he was the one who hid the Supreme Archangel against Heaven's wishes, and he was the one who thought he could undermine Heaven.

Aziraphale realised all of this as he approached that growing hole on the side of the Earth. He was close enough now to identify the light source as some sort of boiling liquid. Damn it, that was going to hurt.

And Aziraphale accepted this. So his plan was foiled, but that didn't mean he couldn't rebound. Because if there was anything Crowley had taught him, besides the fact that demons can be nice and that Aziraphale was sometimes helpless on his own, it was that there is always another way to approach an issue. There is always a way out.

So Aziraphale closed his eyes and braced for impact.

Chapter Text

Crowley did ultimately see the title of the book he grabbed. It was after he parked the Bentley, entered his flat, poured himself another glass of wine, and sat at his desk that he finally focused his eyes enough to read the words on the spine.

Now Crowley was gripping the untouched wine glass in one hand and a signed copy of Pride and Prejudice in the other.

Crowley was not a big fan of reading. He could read, of course—just not very well. He did take pride in the fact that he was the most literate in all of Hell, but compared to those of humans and angels, his skills with written languages were hopeless. Crowley found that print words were a bit difficult for his snake eyes to focus on, and only ever read when it was necessary for a demonic act. He had once said to A— a now unnamed angel that audiobooks were helpful to him, but the angel had claimed that digital books and the like were an insult to someone of his profession, never minding accessibility. So Crowley never really found himself to be able to read with the angel present.

However, some time in the last five years, Muriel started reading to Crowley, which was something he never expected. The two of them found it was a perfect pick-me-up.

It had started when Crowley had first gained the courage to enter the bookshop again after it all. He realised he hadn’t officially welcomed Muriel yet… and that he had left a pair of sunglasses in the shop.

Crowley entered the bookshop expecting it to be the final time, but Muriel convinced him to stay for a bit. They still needed help working out the kinks of their new position.

“It’s simple, really,” he explained. “Just don’t sell any books and pretend to be busy.”

Muriel smiled. “Oh yes, I’ve been doing that. But I don’t understand why I can’t sell books. You see, Maggie, the nice lady next door, told me I can’t do it either.”

Crowley made a mental note to thank Maggie later even if it did mean acknowledging that she had done something helpful to him.

“So she’s been coming over everyday to make sure I do just that.” Then Muriel’s face had turned mischievous, and they leaned in towards Crowley. “But do you wanna hear a secret?”

Crowley grew anxious. He knew from experience it was never good when angels got that look on their face. “What?”

“Maggie’s on vacation this week, and I sold my first book!” Muriel announced proudly.

Crowley did not share the reaction.

In fact, Crowley spent the next few hours yelling to Muriel about how they couldn’t sell the book. And then he spent the next few hours after that yelling about other things, things to do with the angel who made up the stupid rule in the first place. Muriel had stopped listening an hour in and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get the book back.

“Mr. Crowley!” they cried, holding the book up. “Mr. Crowley, please stop! I have the book right here, see?”

Crowley stopped yelling. He didn’t even know what he had been yelling about at that point. Something about dolphins. “Huh?”

“Mr. Crowley, I’m sorry, but I got the book back.” Muriel was shaking—from fear of Crowley smiting them or fear of Crowley exploding in rage again, he couldn’t tell.

Muriel then spoke rapidly in apology. “I'm so so sorry. I didn’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. I just didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I mean, the Metatron told me to watch after the bookshop so of course I thought that meant I needed to sell them, but I guess I was wrong.”

Crowley watched Muriel grow more and more nervous. They seemed to make themself smaller, hiding their face behind the book in their hands.

“Honestly, I think a lot of the things I do are wrong. I have no idea how to live life here on Earth. I mean, Maggie and her friend Nina have been nice to me, but they can’t know I’m an angel. Although, I’m sure they know at this point by now…”

Muriel continued to ramble on about their time here on Earth, and Crowley felt a twinge of guilt. There was a new angel on the planet, a sweet, helpless, naive angel, and it had never even occurred to Crowley to help them. Not that it was ever Crowley’s job to welcome angels, especially as a demon, but still, he felt in some way obligated.

Crowley grabbed Muriel’s hand, snapping their attention back to him. They looked frightened for a moment, then embarrassed. “Sorry. I hadn’t meant to bother you, Mr. Crowley. It’s just been hard. And I know you miss your friend too, so I was scared to reach out.”

Crowley ignored Muriel’s last statement. “Hey, don’t be afraid to ask me about human stuff, okay? I’ve been on this Earth for a long time.” Crowley realised then that at that moment he was the one on this planet who had been there the longest.

“Oh…” Muriel allowed a slight smile to spread across their face, but they still seemed worried.

“I’m going to show you a human thing,” Crowley told them. “I think you’ll like this one.”

He then wrapped his arms around the angel in an embrace. At first, Muriel stood there confused, but after a moment they realised that they were supposed to return the gesture.

“What’s this?” they mumbled into Crowley’s jacket.

“A hug.”

“Oh… I like this,” they resolved. “It’s strange, I had no idea what this was a second ago, but it almost felt as if… I needed it.”

“I know what you mean.” Knowing him for millions of years, Crowley had shared physically intimate moments with the other angel over the years, even if they had been only subtle and brief. It was just something that happened after being around someone for so long. Whenever they shared a handshake or their fingers grazed the other's or one of them got so drunk that the other had to assist their walking, Crowley had noticed that it was the angel who took the most joy out of their shared contact. At first he had thought it was weird—suspicious, in fact—that an angel should be so comfortable with a demon, but then Crowley remembered the infinite vastness of Heaven, and how one could fly for millions of lightyears before meeting another soul. Then he didn’t mind it as much.

Muriel, on the other hand, had been working as a lowly scrivener for the millenia, and Crowley knew they had no one to talk to. The least he could do at this point was be kind to Muriel. Be a friend.

“This is very nice, Mr. Crowley. Thank you.”

Crowley sneered at the notion of being nice and finally let go of Muriel. “Just Crowley is fine, if you please.”

Muriel awkwardly looked down at the book they were still holding. “Okay. How are you doing, Crowley?”

Crowley started to turn towards the door. That was his cue to leave.

“Wait,” Muriel called after him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up—I was trying to—Oh, won’t you stay, Crowley?”

Crowley felt himself stop in his tracks. He could admit that being in the bookshop hadn’t caused him to discorporate like he had expected, but it was still unbearable. For everything to be so much like it had always been when so much had changed. For there to still be a grey sweater draped over a chair in the back. For there to be an angel… an angel so much like him standing in his place. Maybe Crowley had gone too fast thinking he could handle this.

“I’ll read to you!” Muriel suggested. And before Crowley could protest, they pulled him over to a chair to sit.

Crowley peered at his usual spot and realised he was too tired to put up with this. “Okay… but I think I’d rather lay on the ground.”

“Oh, is that also a normal thing to do?”

Crowley lowered himself to the floor and stretched out his limbs. “I mean, sorta. It’s kind of a thing humans do when they’re exhausted.”

“Exhausted?” Muriel said quickly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been exhausted.”

“Clearly.”

Muriel got to reading the book that they had accidentally sold. It was an acclaimed translation of The Odyssey, and as Muriel spoke, Crowley felt himself being transported into the story. Perhaps because he had been there all those years ago.

Nevertheless, as Crowley allowed himself to be taken into the story, he did feel better. He had been crying and worrying and all other things for months now at this point, but giving himself into a story made him feel like that was all in the background.

This spawned a new tradition between Muriel and Crowley. Every chance they got, Muriel would read a new book to Crowley (he especially liked the science-fiction ones). With each new book, Crowley felt more and more okay with his state on Earth, even if some weeks he did get bad again.

Crowley and Muriel formed a fond friendship, where Crowley would come to the bookshop almost everyday he felt up to it—though he was sure to be quick with his visits and to never stay the night. An angel could still get into a lot of trouble for being seen with a demon.

Over the course of the years, Crowley and Muriel made their way through the stock of the bookshop, going from science-fiction to biographies to fantasies and more. But the tradition suddenly ended when Muriel grabbed an infamous romance book to read.

“You’ll like this one,” they had said proudly. “It has a sin in the title. Very demonic.”

Crowley lay on what he had now claimed as his spot on the floor as he listened to Muriel read. But there was something that irked him this time. Something about the fancy talk and the oh so familiar plot.

“Muriel?” he asked just as Mr. Darcy was confessing his ardent admiration. “What did you say was the title of this one?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

“Jane Austen, yes,” Crowley finished, eyes wide. He got up and dusted himself off. “I think I should go.”

Muriel put the book down confused. “Is there something wrong?”

Crowley grunted in reply. “Just old memories.”

He had left after that, gone on a weekend bender, and walked around the park for days until Maggie and Nina dragged him back to the bookshop. Muriel was apologetic about offending Crowley, but they hadn’t read him another book since then.

Now Crowley sat with the book in front of him. He had gotten somewhat into it. He could recall a line about all women being in want of a husband, which would have been a problematic line to anyone who wasn’t familiar with Jane’s sense of humour. Crowley also knew the general atmosphere of the story. Something about balls and falling in love with someone you hadn’t realised you had liked. Maybe Crowley was more familiar with the plot than he liked to believe.

What Crowley was sure of though was that this book was a favourite of that angel. So much so that he had tried to woo him in perfectly old-fashioned romance novel style.

Given that, Crowley should not have read the book. But it had been five years, and Crowley was starting to grow apathetic. He would’ve been fine with an absence of emotion any other time, but this was different. He needed to ache, and he knew Jane Austen could give that to him.

Crowley opened the book.

Chapter Text

The 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery had been a smashing success. Crowley, who hated writing almost as much as he hated reading, gladly fabled the genius and the craftsmanship of the heist in his latest memo. He, of course, accredited it all to himself for business purposes, but could not have been in more awe of the true mastermind behind it all. Years from now, when no one knew who Jane Austen was, he would be sure to tell everyone that it had been her all along.

Crowley was elated to be able to work with such a woman and to have received a letter to assist with her 1812 Robbery.

“Janie!” he called as he climbed the stairs of the address he had been given. He was proud that Jane had been able to secure an inside meeting place. When he helped her with her last robbery, they had discussed their plans in back alleyways and carriages. She must’ve been using her profits from last time well.

“Janie!” Crowley called again. He opened the door to a room where Jane was standing at the end of a table. He smiled widely at her.

“Mr. Crowley,” she said in reply. Crowley first raised an eyebrow at her oddly cordial greeting but then followed Jane’s frantic eyes to the side of the table.

Ah, they weren’t alone.

To the left of Jane sat three large, burly men, each with a mean glint in their eyes. They all wore grey suits with a moderate level of decoration. They were the kind of suits that said “my boss makes more money than you”, giving others the impression that they were well paid but still answered to the Man. These particular suits and particularly scary expressions made Crowley think that he wouldn’t want to meet that Man.

“Fellas. Miss Austen,” Crowley said quietly, forgetting, as he often did, that he was the strongest in the room.

Jane conducted the meeting with her usual impressive poise, but Crowley still didn't understand why the men, who Jane introduced as Mr. Lowe, Mr. Bailey, and Mr. O'Connor, were here.

Crowley realised he must've shown up late because Jane was already in the midst of explaining the plan.

"The place we are targeting is not under much security, but through observation we have found that the owner is there at almost all times. Therefore, men," she addressed the three of them, "You will be on the intimidation factor."

They nodded their heads in a way to say "by any means necessary".

"Mr. Crowley…"

Crowley gave her a thumbs up.

"You'll be with me as we collect the merchandise."

"Yes, and… this merchandise is to be what now?"

"Books," Jane answered plainly.

Crowley made a face. Why would anyone want books? More so, why would Jane want books? Crowley knew her fairly well and could say with confidence that Jane Austen was not a book gal.

"Valuable books too," Jane continued. "Apparently this place has scripts dating back to before Christ. There's to be stone tablets, misprints of the Bible, and an impressive number of first editions."

At first Crowley disregarded the strange infatuation with books, but then the description of the inventory sounded familiar. Perhaps because he was there last time it was taken.

"Erm, this… place we're going to? It doesn't happen to be…" Crowley spoke carefully. Of course he knew the name of the bookshop, but he had a reputation to preserve. "That new place on Whickber Street?"

"The shop's been there for more than a decade, Mr. Crowley."

Ah yes, Crowley forgot that humans perceive time differently.

"But yes. It's AZ Fell on Whickber Street."

Oh. Great.

Crowley eyed the three men. They eyed him back. "Er, J– Miss Austen? Could I speak to you in private?"

Jane led Crowley out until the hall. As soon as the door shut behind them, her face lit up. "Oh, I do so hope I'm doing a good job. I've never led such a big team before."

"Yeah, great," Crowley said quickly. "Erm, Jane. Just a few questions. Who are those men in there?"

"Well, thanks to you bragging about our previous exploits, I've got a position at an agency now."

"Agency? You're telling me they make agencies for stealing?" Crowley was not at the top of his game as a demon.

Jane shook her head. "For espionage, and I suppose if you want to refer to intelligence collection as stealing, then yes."

"And you're collecting intelligence… in the form of books? Isn't there a better use of resources?" Crowley asked, trying to sway Jane.

"The agency specifically requested that we raid this collection. Crowley, there's all sorts of texts in there. One of a kind texts that can't be found anywhere else. What we could do with that information…"

Crowley cursed Aziraphale. How that angel thought he could just put a boatload of valuable information in the middle of the city with no security was lost on him. But now it was up to him to ensure that said angel remained safe.

"Look, Jane. How about we… don't rob the bookshop?"

Jane made a face. "Crowley, I don't have a choice. I told you, I'm under commission now."

"And good for you," Crowley prefaced. "But don't you think that's weird? I mean, what happened to the Jane that just did heists for the thrill of it? We used to have so much fun. Now it's…" Crowley thought back to the three burly men behind the door. "Now it's serious."

"It's always been serious for me, Crowley. And I was hoping you'd be proud of how I am doing."

Crowley hated how humans thought a little promotion fixed everything. Then again, they haven't been working for literal corporate Hell forever.

“Can you just not rob this particular bookshop?” Crowley asked again, his voice softening.

Jane sighed. “You know, I was quite nervous for this job. It’s my first time working for an actual agency, and I really wanted your help with it.” She crossed her arms, almost childishly. “But if you’re not going to help, then you’re off the job. Good day, Mr. Crowley.”

“Really, Jane? You won’t even listen to what I have to say. Look, I’m actually concerned that this heist might end dangerously for you lot.”

Jane ignored Crowley and opened the door to return back to her team.

Crowley sighed. Okay, he’d have to take care of this another way. “Right, well, good luck, Jane. Fellas.” Crowley smiled at the men. They glared back.

Crowley turned down the hall to leave. He was going to have to pay that bookshop a visit, bless his reputation.

Aziraphale, as always, beamed as he opened the door for Crowley. “Oh, my dear! You know I told you there’s no need to knock. Please, come in.”

Crowley was uncomfortably ushered into the bookshop. Aziraphale had had the shop for close to a decade now and was treating it as his personal home. He was also treating it as a place for Crowley and him to meet up. Crowley didn’t know what to make of that. For millennia the two of them would meet in crowded squares or empty fields or noisy pubs. Basically anywhere that Heaven and Hell wouldn’t see them. But now, Aziraphale seemed perfectly okay with inviting Crowley into his Heavenly embassy, and not even to do business, just to chat.

Yes, Crowley could admit he enjoyed the chatting and the like, but this was still going to take some getting used to.

“So what can I do you for?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smirked. “Oh, you know. I’m actually looking for a book. Several books actually. Looking for something to read and annotate and get my grubby fingers all ov—”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I know you make fun of me for not wanting to sell my books, but it’s a perfectly respectable thing to upkeep a collection.”

“And put it on public display? Where anyone can see it?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale made a face. “I don’t see why not. I trust the fine people who visit my establishment enough to treat my books with respect.” Aziraphale would not be saying that in a few years when he found one of his copies with crinkled edges. But if Crowley could help it, he wouldn’t stop saying it anytime soon for any robbery related reasons.

“Nah,” Crowley continued. “I’m just here to…” He tried to think of a mild way to say see you.

It seemed like Aziraphale got that message, though, because he smiled widely. “Well, I appreciate your company.”

Crowley thought to take off his glasses but didn’t. “Ngk.”

“And you can help me organise!” Aziraphale beamed.

Ah yes, that was the other reason Crowley tried to avoid the bookshop. Chores. 

Out of nowhere, Aziraphale arrived with a large stack of books and pushed them onto Crowley. “I received a shipment of this new book. It’s quite a wonderful read.”

Crowley lifted up a book to his face and squinted at the title. Sense and Sensibility. He refrained from saying it out loud. Too many S’s.

"Who' wrote it?" Crowley asked before opening the cover to see the author noted as 'A Lady'. "Ooh,  mysterious," Crowley said sarcastically.

Crowley then spent the next few hours shelving and reshelving as Aziraphale blathered on about plots and devices and other literary terms that Crowley could not define. Crowley grumbled, trying to show that he thought this was grueling work, but he knew deep down that he didn’t really mind it too much.

Crowley awoke the next morning to find himself lying on a couch with a blanket over him. At first, he was perfectly comfortable lying here, but then he realised the blanket was tartan coloured and he did not have a couch.  He'd never gone home.

Crowley jumped out of the blanket like it was on fire and ended up falling to the floor.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Crowley heard Aziraphale say from somewhere in the shop.

Crowley rubbed his eyes and realised he must’ve lost his glasses. He eyed them on a table and grabbed them while scrambling to his feet.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” What would Hell think of a demon sleeping over with an angel like this? What would Heaven think? What did Aziraphale think? Surely he would ask Crowley to leave now.

But instead Aziraphale just said, "Thank you so much for helping me last night, dear."

"Oh, erm." Crowley was surprised. He had expected some sort of angelic disapproval.

"Although I must admit it was a bit strange how you fell asleep standing up. Is that a demon thing?"

Crowley blushed. He must've dozed off in the middle of working. Then, Aziraphale must've tucked him in on the couch. The thought was more than embarrassing.

"I was thinking of getting breakfast at the market down the street, would you care to join me?" Aziraphale asked innocently.

Actually, Crowley wanted nothing more than to book it out the door and avoid the angel for a month, but he remembered he had a job to do here and had to stay. "Nah, you go ahead. I'll stay here and, er, watch the shop."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a grateful smile before rushing out. Crowley ought to have ruined one of Aziraphale’s books so the angel quit trusting him in here, but he didn't like the thought of doing something to the books that he held so dearly.

Crowley sat back down and looked outside. It was early morning, the sun hadn't even come up yet. In fact, Crowley was sure that the market wasn't open yet. Aziraphale must've charmed the farmers into letting him purchase some food before opening.

A scratching sound came from the back door alerting Crowley. He heard the door open and deep voices shush each other. Specifically three deep voices. Ah, that must be them.

Crowley ducked behind the couch as he heard them enter the main room.

"I don't see why we had to wait, boss. I thought we were supposed to intimidate the owner," one of the men said disappointed.

"Less work is less work," another grumbled.

"So what are we looking for again?" the third asked. Crowley heard him grab a book and cringed at the sound of him scraping it carelessly across the wooden bookshelf. " Sense and Sensibility?"

"No," Jane answered quickly. "The valuable stuff in the side rooms."

As the four made their way towards the adjacent rooms with their backs turned, Crowley stalked behind them.

Each man took a door while Jane stood back to watch them. With a snap, Crowley shut tight each door, locking the men inside.

"What the—" Jane whirled her head around. "Crowley?!"

"Told you you shouldn't take this job," he shrugged.

The men started banging on the doors, demanding to be let out.

"And I told you not to cross me," Jane said threateningly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I don't think you did."

Jane sighed. "Well, I did tell you I need those men to respect me. So can you just help me out and… let them go?"

"Yeah… no can do."

"Then, Crowley, I'm sorry but I can't promise your safety."

Crowley frowned. He would've hated to be on Jane's bad side if he were mortal. Being a demon, he just paused Jane in space-time with a little regret.

"Now to take care of these guys." Crowley snapped and the three doors opened dramatically to reveal the three now considerably angrier men.

One of them was revealed to be holding an ancient looking tome. "Hey, put that down!" Crowley took a step towards him before the other two rushed at him.

This was Crowley’s mistake. He could've easily taken each man down individually, but opening up all doors at once gave them a chance to team up against him.

The two grabbed him by the hands and pinned him to the floor. His face pressed into the carpet, Crowley was too stunned to fight back. One of the men held his arms behind his back, stopping Crowley from even being able to conjure up a miracle. He felt the cool metal of a pistol pressed behind his ear.

“Any last words, Mr. Crawley?” the man asked.

“Yeah, it’s Crowley,” he muttered into the carpet. He wasn’t scared. There wasn’t much some half-witted mobsters could do to a demon, even with weapons. Besides, any second now…

Crowley heard the bell ring alerting that the front door had been opened. He then heard a gasp and what sounded like a bag of food falling to the floor. “What in Heaven’s name is going on here?” the angel asked in a high voice.

The man holding Crowley’s arms was distracted for just enough time for Crowley to wriggle his hands out. With a snap, he made the gun disappear.

“What the—” Before the man could voice his confusion, Crowley jumped up and clocked him in the jaw with inhuman strength. As the other men came at him, Crowley pinned one against a bookshelf while holding the other back with his free hand. They could’ve definitely fought back and gained the advantage (Crowley was, after all, pulling his punches, not wanting to get any blood on the hardwood floors), but there was something about being in the presence of an angel that kept humans from finding the will to fight.

“Get out now,” Crowley growled at the three men, two of them in his arms, the other clutching his bruising jaw.

The men nodded quickly and simultaneously and scrambled out the door as soon as Crowley let go.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said testily. “What on Earth was that?”

Crowley stretched his knuckles. “Some idiots tried to rob you, so I took care of it.”

He expected a little more gratitude or adoration from Aziraphale, but he didn’t look pleased. “My dear, that’s dangerous. You should’ve waited for me to get back.”

“What would you have done? Talked them out of it? Shown them the error of their ways?”

Aziraphale huffed, exasperated. Crowley watched as his eyes fanned the bookshop and landed on the still frozen Jane. “Crowley, free that poor woman!”

Crowley almost laughed at the calling of Jane Austen a poor woman but did as he was told.

As soon as Jane came to, she shot Crowley a glare. “Why you—”

“Miss Austen, I would like to apologise for my friend here. I am so very sorry,” Aziraphale said, cutting her off. He approached Jane who looked confused as to how Aziraphale knew her name.

“Erm…” She glanced at Crowley.

“I must say, I am a huge fan,” Aziraphale continued. “Would you mind signing something of mine?”

Crowley and Jane looked at each other. How Aziraphale knew Jane was famous among the dark circles of London was a mystery to them.

Aziraphale rushed off and grabbed a book from the shelf. He called Jane over to his desk to sign it. Crowley and Jane followed apprehensively. Crowley was mostly confused as to why Aziraphale needed a book signed.

“Right here, dear.” Aziraphale pointed to a spot on the page where Jane hesitantly signed her name. Crowley watched as she scribbled something in a smaller font below.

“Erm, thank you,” she said pleasantly to Aziraphale. “I’ll– I’ll go now.”

Aziraphale watched with a smile as Crowley led her to the door.

“I don’t get it,” she said once they were outside. “How did he know I was a—”

“A master thief?” Crowley finished. “Not sure. Not sure why he would applaud that either.”

“No, I mean— the book…” Crowley looked at her confused. “Oh, never mind. Look, I’m sorry I tried to rob your friend. I wasn’t aware.”

“S’alright.” Crowley shrugged. “Just stop hanging around those idiots from the agency. You’re better than them.”

Jane gave a polite nod. “Right. Well, thank you, Crowley.”

“Ciao,” Crowley said as she made her way down the steps. He turned back to the bookshop and gave it some thought. He guessed it was going to be his job to protect it now.

Back in his flat, Crowley inspected the inside cover of Pride and Prejudice. It had seemed that the angel had somehow tracked down Jane Austin again to get her to sign this one. "It was lovely to see you and Mr. Crowley again -Jane Austen" it said. Crowley wondered what she had written in her other novel years ago.

He knew Muriel would be preoccupied, and he had already borrowed one volume from the shop today so what was one more. Against his better judgement, he shut his eyes, snapped his hands, and opened his eyes to see the lady's first published novel in front of him.

He quickly opened the cover to read what Jane Austen had signed. Her name, of course, but below it, in such fine cursive that Crowley had to squint to read it, was signed:

I don’t know how you know who I am. Nor do I know what just occurred here in your shop. But I know your friend here cares for you and will do anything to protect it.

Crowley remembered then the confusion the two of them had caught Jane up in. Just another human in the midst of their celestial business. Crowley also remembered the promise he made when he realised the bookshop was under threat. That he’d protect it. For ever. Satan, he didn't even like the bookshop. He wasn't even supposed to be in there, but he would have been glad to stay there if it meant something to A—

Crowley sighed.

The angel never understood that, did he?

Chapter Text

Aziraphale anticipated the pain. After all, he had been meeting with a demon for thousands of years now and recognized that something painful and terrible must’ve happened between his angelic years and demonic years—even if he wouldn’t reveal one iota of it.

Falling. It was what every angel feared more than anything. Not only was it being cast out by God from everything that was familiar to you, but it was also understood to be the most physically agonizing torture that one could suffer.

Aziraphale thought about what he had already gone through: he had been betrayed by the Metatron, he had fallen from Grace, and worst of all, he had realized he was wrong about Crowley and was forced to leave him on Earth. He had gone through enough pain already. What more could the landing do?

So once Aziraphale plunged into the boiling sulphur, a substance that was as unbearably hot as it was unbearably cold, he was able to shut out the pain and swim to the shore. The swim felt like another eternity. The liquid felt heavy, but Aziraphale moved with determination. With each stroke Aziraphale could feel another piece of his angelic status being ripped away as if he was committing an atrocious sin by making it through.

Eventually, Aziraphale reached out an aching arm to feel the sharp, coldness of the rocky shore. Or at least, it was cold compared to the sulphur, Aziraphale thought. He realised he was having a difficult time discerning sensations aside from just pain as he dragged himself out of the sulphur.

Aziraphale shut his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He started to allow himself to acknowledge the terrible, achy, sick feeling he had all over. Was this how demons felt all the time? Was this how Crowley felt all the time? Or was it because he was fresh in Hell? Or because his plan had taken a disappointing turn?

Aziraphale suddenly felt a pain in his side. He thought this was part of the general demonic pain, but opened his eyes to realise there was a demon kicking him.

“Excuse me?” he asked as politely as he could muster. It did not come out polite.

“Oh, erm, sorry,” the demon said, sounding a tad ashamed. “I just thought I’d push you back in because… well, I’ve never heard of someone spending so little time in the sulphur. Most demons don’t swim out.”

“Yes, well, I took lessons on Earth.” Aziraphale sat up to get a better look at the demon. He didn’t look as malicious as most of the demons he’d seen in his day. In fact, his nervous stance, wide eyes, and overly-broody clothes gave the impression this demon was completely incapable and most likely harmless. At least one thing could go right for Aziraphale. He started to formulate a plan.

Step 1: He would trick the demon into allowing him to go back to Earth.

Step 2: He would return to his bookshop and do all the research on the Second Coming.

Step 3: With the information he would stop Heaven. Somehow.

Step 4: After, and only after, all that, he would reconcile with Crowley.

“Let me guess, you’re to be my guide?”

“Yep!” The demon sat down beside Aziraphale and held out his hand. “Hello. I am the demon Eric of a miserably low order. I’ll be your guide in Hell today.”

Aziraphale looked down at the hand wearily, confused as to why the demon was being friendly. “Eric? That’s not a very demonic name.”

Eric retracted his hand and crossed his arms. “And who are you to say what a demonic name is? Spend a lot of time with demons, have you?”

“Erm…”

Eric’s eyes went wide and he leaned in uncomfortably close to Aziraphale. “Hey, wait a second. I know you.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I can assure you, you don’t.”

“No, no, I do.” Eric smiled, glad he was able to place a recognition. “I was at your execution, remember?”

“Execution?”

“In Heaven. For all your crimes against them. Averting Armageddon and all. We had another one down here for your partner, or so I heard.”

Aziraphale knotted his brow. “He never told me it was an execution…”

“Oh yes, terrible one too, wasn’t it? I mean, the way the angels spoke to you as if you were nothing… Oof. And I’ll tell you what, I’m probably, like, the fifth most hated demon down here. Everyone kind of treats me like shit. But I remember thinking ‘Oh thank Satan I’m not tied up in that chair!’”

Aziraphale sat silently, taking all this in. Execution. Terrible. Nothing. Chair. If the trial was so terrible, why hadn’t Crowley told him about it? Did he… did he think he couldn’t handle it? Who was he to try and shelter Aziraphale? In fact, if Aziraphale had been given that information before perhaps he wouldn’t have been tricked to fall.

“Oh, yeah. It’s definitely you alright. I’ll remember that look for all eternity,” Eric said, breaking him from his thoughts.

“What look?” Aziraphale asked, sounding irritated.

“That scary, mean, angry face you got. I remember it sent chills down my spine up in Heaven.”

Aziraphale unclenched his jaw, unaware that he had been scowling. “I am not angry,” he said, standing up. “I’m just…”

“Well, you’d be the first. Most demons are right furious after they fall.” Eric stood up. “Come on, don’t you want to curse God and break some stuff? We have a place where you can let out steam and torture the Damned.”

Aziraphale grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was curse God… or whatever that other thing was. “No. In fact, I don’t plan on staying here, so if you could just take me to the exit that would be greatly appreciated—”

“Er, no. I’m supposed to keep you here. In fact, I’ve got explicit directions to not take you to Earth.” Eric pulled a crumpled sheet of paper out of his jacket and squinted at it. “At least, I’m pretty sure. And I’m pretty well read, I mean. I’m usually in charge of reading the memos from—”

Aziraphale grabbed the paper, interrupting Eric’s rambling, and read it for himself. It was a direct message from Heaven. Aziraphale was to be taken quietly by Eric and kept locked up in an office without the knowledge of administration. He was not to be taken to Earth under any circumstances.

Aziraphale knew the demon would be easily tricked, and thought up some lies he could tell him. He could say that Eric had misread the note, or he could ask Eric to tell him the way out just so he could be extra sure not to take it, but then he remembered a trick Crowley had played on him. “But are you supposed to do what it says? I mean, this is a message from Heaven, and you’re a demon. Isn’t it against your whole being to follow what Heaven says?”

Eric blinked. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But why would they make that so confusing? I mean—”

“Because they’re trying to play tricks on you, but you won’t let them, will you?” Aziraphale tried his hardest to seep temptation into his voice, and found it was actually quite easy.

“No… I guess I won’t,” Eric concluded, much to Aziraphale’s delight. “So I will… er, what was I not supposed to do again?”

“Take me to Earth,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Yes,” Eric continued. “I’ll take you to Earth.” He paused. “But wait, it’s just that I don’t think my boss will be too happy with that either.”

Aziraphale had to make this work, so he mustered up his best Crowley impression, grabbed Eric by the front of the jacket, and gave the demon the glare that was sure to send chills down his spine. “But I want you to take me to Earth, and if you don’t, then I won’t be too happy with you.”

Eric took a step back. He looked shocked, almost as shocked at Aziraphale as he was at himself. “Yeah, sure, sure. Just go easy on the jacket, man. It’s not as disposable as I am.”

Muriel was at their desk, discreetly reading the latest stack of papers they received from Heaven as Maggie and Nina finished up the wine and cake on the couch.

Even though Muriel wasn’t too interested in the actually angelic part of their job, they still tried their best to stay on top of the paperwork, not wanting any repercussions. The most difficult bit was they had to find a way to juggle the angelic business with the bookshop and their relationships. Obviously, Muriel could never do work while Crowley was in the shop. That would be much too emotional for him. Typically, Muriel wouldn’t do any work if there were humans present, but they were reaching a deadline, and Maggie and Nina just wouldn’t seem to leave.

“And you remember when we all thought Crowley was one of Mrs. Sandwich’s, don’t you?” Nina asked. Muriel could hear the two of them laughing from the front room. 

“Yes, and for a second there we thought sweet Muriel was one too. Muriel, did you know that?”

“That’s nice,” Muriel called back in reply, too busy to think about those implications. They were struggling to read the ink Heaven had started using. It was a shimmery silver ink that hardly contrasted enough with the crisp white paper to be read. Muriel didn’t realise why they had made this change until they had accidentally left some memo about Heaven cancelling their annual golf trip for the five hundredth year in a row out of the desk, and Crowley came across it. Muriel then realized that the new ink was an anti-demon measure (as if the poor things didn’t already have a hard enough time with literacy anyways). Muriel wasn’t sure why Heaven felt the need, though. They hardly ever sent Muriel anything confidential, and Crowley wouldn’t care either way.

Maybe Muriel could request a conversation with the angelic host, but that would mean talking to the new Archangel, and that would mean betrayal to Crowley. Muriel found they could be almost as angry at Aziraphale as Crowley was, especially if he was up there making decisions on what type of ink Heaven uses.

The paper Muriel was reading currently, however, did pique their interest. It was a general memo about the behaviour of humans, but one of the lines alluded to something deeper. Something that reminded Muriel of a conversation they had heard five years ago.

Muriel looked up to check that Maggie and Nina weren’t looking. The coast was clear, so they opened up a small drawer in their desk—a drawer that held other suspicious slips of paper—and threw the newest sheet in.

“Muriel, won’t you come out and join us?” Maggie called. “Please, you’ve been working all day.”

Muriel closed the desk drawer. “Oh, alright.” There was no use in worrying about that now. And what with the inventory and all the worrying about Crowley, they could use a drink to look at.

Muriel sat down in a chair across from where Nina and Maggie sat, Maggie’s hand subtly resting on Nina’s leg. “I really appreciate the party.”

“Sure, it was an important milestone for you. And the Association,” Maggie said, smiling. “It’s a shame Crowley had to leave so soon.”

“Well, I think today was an important milestone for him too.” Nina sipped from their glass solemnly. “Five years since the strange fruitcake left him.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Maggie gasped. “God, five years and he’s still moping. The poor thing.”

“I still don’t understand how close they must’ve been for it to hurt this much. I mean we still don’t know how they met or how long they’d been friends or…”

As Nina and Maggie discussed Crowley and Aziraphale, Muriel sat silently. Obviously they couldn’t say that the two had been close for millenia without blowing their cover. (Although, if Muriel cared to notice, they’d know that Maggie and Nina were well aware the three of them were celestial beings and just liked to let Muriel and Crowley have their fun.)

“We should take Crowley out to brunch this week,” Maggie suggested. “A pick-me-up.”

“Yeah, and maybe we can remind him that it’s over. Doesn’t he know Mr. Fell is never going to come back?”

Suddenly, there came a knock at the door. Muriel rolled their eyes as they stood up. And just as they were getting into looking at their glass of wine. “Really? I’ve been closed all day. And who comes to a bookshop at this time of day anyway?” Still, Muriel made their way to the door in order to politely tell the humans that they were closed and to please go away because my demon friend will smite me if I sell you any books (of course leaving out the important bits).

“Hello, I’m sorry to tell you but we’re closed—” As Muriel was opening the door, they were cut off when someone passed them, pushing them to the side.

“Hey, you can’t be in here!” Muriel said, their pitch rising with urgency. They started to chase after the someone who disappeared down one of the rows of books.

“Truth be told, I don’t know why he wanted to come in here.” Muriel turned back towards the door where an unknown voice spoke up. They noticed an almost unnoticeable being waiting beyond the doorway. Muriel took note of his black and torn clothes, dark painted eyes, and unique hairstyle.

Muriel took a step forward. Maggie and Nina could deal with the other one, they decided. 

“Erm, hello. Sorry, it’s just that we’re closed…” Muriel said, finding themself unable to break their gaze from the man’s large, dark eyes and also unable to form their sentences very well.

“Yes, but I was wondering if I could just get an invitation inside? I’m supposed to watch after him, you see.”

Muriel almost nodded eagerly. In fact, they almost invited the man in for a cupperty, but they realised that he wasn’t asking for the sake of being polite. He needed an invitation. 

He was a demon.

Muriel’s eyes went wide, and they stepped back, randomly reaching for any heavy object to defend themself. They had seen demons before, of course ( real demons, not including Crowley), but had never had to encounter them face-to-face. And Muriel wasn’t sure if they were here to smite them or to kill them… or to steal the books!

“Be– begone foul demons!” Muriel commanded, the words sounding uncomfortably assertive in their mouth. They silently scolded themself for not doing more than skimming the demon fighting instructions Heaven had sent down.

Muriel held up an antique pair of scissors that had been left on a nearby table. The handles were metal with ornate carvings. Muriel felt the weight of it in their hand. It would make a fine enough weapon.

Yes, Muriel could do this. They had read hundreds of books where the characters would get into fights. Muriel would just have to hold their ground if the demons came at them.

But after a few moments of standing with the scissors slightly raised, Muriel noticed the demon wasn’t moving. “Erm… aren’t you going to fight me?” they asked.

The demon stared back blankly. If anything, he looked more exhausted than hostile to Muriel. Instead of thinking of the many ways he could harm (or at the least inconvenience the angel) he was thinking about all the jobs he still had to do today. “Huh? Oh… no. I’m actually not supposed to be here.”

“Oh…” Muriel lowered their scissors, feeling a little disappointed that they weren’t going to get to use them. “Wait… if you’re a demon and can’t get in… how did—”

“Well, speak of the devil!” Muriel heard Maggie cheerfully exclaim from inside. “Mr. Fell!”

Muriel ran inside to see who it was that had run inside. Surely it couldn’t be—

“Mr. Aziraphale!” They placed one hand over their mouth in surprise and the other on a bookshelf to steady themself. It was a shock to see the old angel. He was supposed to be up in Heaven. Planning plans and making decisions on paperwork fonts. But it was Aziraphale alright. Even though his clothes were worn almost to a point beyond recognition, and his usual smile was replaced with an exhausted frown, it was Aziraphale.

“Mr. Fell? Where on Earth have you been?” Nina asked, sounding a tad angry. Even if she didn’t know why his absence had left such a bad mark on Crowley, she didn’t appreciate it one bit.

“Not Earth, dear,” Aziraphale said absentmindedly as he grabbed a book and squinted at the title. “Hell and back, actually.”

Maggie laughed. “Hell and back? Now that’ll give us a good story. Why don’t you join us for a glass of wine, and we’ll catch up.”

Aziraphale returned the book to the shelf and gave Maggie and Nina a glare that stopped them in their tracks. They realised simultaneously that something was wrong. The normal Mr. Fell would never give them a look like that.

“Erm, Muriel, I think we’re going to leave,” Maggie muttered.

“Right, yeah,” Nina said in agreement. “Happy– happy five years.”

The two of them hurried towards the door but stopped when Aziraphale called “Wait.”

They turned back towards him.

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” he commanded, taking up an authority that had been absent from this shop for five years. After he was sure that Maggie and Nina would not give away his position, he turned back towards the book, leaving them to make their exit.

“Mr. Aziraphale.” Muriel walked towards him with their hands on their hips. “What is going on? Why’d you treat them like that?”

Aziraphale didn’t turn his gaze from the shelf. “Just a little preoccupied at the moment, Muriel. If you don’t mind.”

Muriel sighed and crossed their arms. For millions of years they got used to higher ranking angels not giving them the time of day, but they never expected the curtness from Aziraphale. “I do mind. What are you doing in the bookshop? Why can’t Crowley know you’re here?”

Aziraphale turned his face completely away from Muriel. “Just— would you please give me some time alone?”

Muriel was still angry. They weren’t sure who Aziraphale thought he was, coming in here like this and not telling anyone what was happening, but they could tell something serious had happened to the angel. “Fine,” they said. They walked towards their desk and grabbed the keys to the front door. “But good luck dealing with whatever this is on your own.” If there was anything living on Earth and spending time with Crowley had taught them, it was that people needed to learn to ask for help for problems. And when they didn’t, it pissed Muriel off.

“Oh, and I hope you realise the state you left everything in.” Muriel turned back to grab their glass of wine left on the table and took a swig of it. They tried not to show how their face twisted. They really didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol, but they had seen Crowley leave a room dramatically like that and wanted to try it out too. Hopefully it made Aziraphale feel foolish.

As Muriel left the shop and locked up the doors, the demon spoke up. Ah, they’d forgotten he was out here.

“You’re just going to leave him in there?”

Muriel shrugged. “It’s what he wants.”

The demon pulled at a loose string on his gloves. “So… what am I supposed to do then?”

Muriel looked the demon up and down and calculated the risks. “You can take me to the park.” They walked down the steps and led the way, having no doubt that the demon was stalking behind them.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had only pretended to be busy so that he could get everyone out of the shop as quickly as possible. After everything that had happened, he had needed a moment. So as soon as the bell sounded and the door slammed, signalling Muriel’s leave, Aziraphale dropped the book he was holding. He couldn’t even read the book if he tried. He was far to worried to focus at the moment.

Aziraphale stood there for a few moments, eyes trained on nothing. He just straight ahead into the packed shelf until he remembered himself. “Oh dear,” he mumbled absentmindedly, crouching down to pick up the dropped literature.

As Aziraphale descended, passing across progressively dustier rows, he thought of the descent he had taken to Hell, and as Aziraphale found himself close to the floor, his mind reminded him that there was only a thin layer of Earth separating him and Hell.

He was no longer an angel, he reminded himself. He now had ties to Hell, and so when he got closer to the ground, he realised the worse he felt. There must have been some effect of a demon’s proximity to Hell. That explained why Crowley favored sitting on the backs of arm chairs and ceilings.

Aziraphale, however, did not have the foresight to stay as far away from Hell as possible. When he got near the worn wooden floor of the shop, he was overcome with a terribly grim feeling, so foreign and so overwhelming, he fell to the floor.

“What– what is happ—”

He was in his bookshop. He was supposed to feel safe. This was always the one place he felt safe, but all that was gone now. This was an angelic embassy, and Aziraphale was a demon. Even his home was hostile to him now.

Aziraphale’s corporation started to shake, and he gripped his arms, feeling the threadbare fabric of his shirt. He needed something—anything to calm him. To remind him that he was Aziraphale. And this was his bookshop. His home. He had to figure this out.

But his trusty pocket watch adorned with bells had been lost in the fall along with his jacket and tie. He hardly felt like the angel he used to be in worn attire that smelled like smoke.

He had to snap out of this, Aziraphale told himself. Had he heard Nina mention something about it being five years since Muriel had taken over the shop? God, that meant he had been gone for five years. That meant Heaven had been working on the Second Coming for all that time. If this wasn’t an urgent situation, Aziraphale wasn’t sure what was.

But each time he tried to steady himself and get to work, he found he couldn’t. He was petrified on the floor, forced to keep his eyes trained downward, lest he wanted to look up and see the bookshelves caving in on him.

Aziraphale was just on the brink of finally giving into tears when he heard the door unlock itself.

The bell rang, and Aziraphale heard the familiar grumbling of the one who would always enter the shop that way.

Aziraphale gasped. Five years had gone by, and Crowley still came to the bookshop! That meant… Well, that had to mean something.

Aziraphale was so moved he almost stood up and went to see Crowley on the other side of the bookshelf. It could be just like old times. But then Aziraphale remembered the state he had left Crowley in and his own resolve to not bring Crowley into this plot of his.  He had to stay put. He was only able to listen to his dear friend.

“Muriel?” Crowley called out. “Hey, Muriel, I’m sorry I left so quickly like that. Also sorry I took this book from your display.”

A book taken from his shop? Aziraphale almost wanted to scold Crowley.

Aziraphale heard Crowley sigh. “Yeah, I know. I know. Jesus Christ, it’s almost like I can feel your disapproval.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth. If Crowley could sense he was here, he was in big trouble.

“I must be going crazy,” Crowley muttered. “Five years, and I still can’t get you off my mind.”

Aziraphale realised Crowley was talking to him, even if he wasn’t aware of his presence.

“I read your book, though. The one by Jane Austen with the balls and the dancing and the… confessions. I can tell why she kept this a secret. I would’ve mocked the Heaven out of this.”

Aziraphale heard the chair sag with the weight of a demon and a hardcover novel.

“‘Least I would’ve back then. Now… Well, the book was good. Good writer she was… She…”

Crowley was catching on his words now, holding back tears.

“She got it right, you know. The whole… the whole icky feeling of this… thing.”

Love, Aziraphale thought, filling in the gap for him.

“And I know I should feel comforted that another human understands the feeling, but for five years I’ve had people being all nice and all sympathetic towards me, and I don’t feel one bit better. Because they can’t actually understand. Not really.

“All I ever wanted was for us to be our own side. We’d protect Earth.”

You’d protect me.

“We didn’t need Heaven.”

Crowley gave a very emotional sigh. It was not at all a sound one you'd expect from a desperately nonchalant demon. The raw emotion shocked even Aziraphale.

“Guess I was wrong. I guess you did. Dunno if that was oversight on my part, or just… you being an idiot.”

Aziraphale let out a breath. He knew he had made the wrong move, he’d seen it now, but he didn’t want Crowley telling him so.

Aziraphale heard the nervous tapping of shoes on the floor. “God, I’m really in it now. I can feel you all over.”

Aziraphale tried his best to stay still and silence his thoughts, but it’s particularly hard to do that after one has just fallen for five years and then is ten metres away from the demon they have a complicated pash on.

Crowley groaned, “It’s okay… you’ll be okay.”

Crowley said it for himself, of course, but Aziraphale found that the words did calm him down a little bit. The room stopped spinning and it no longer seemed entirely detrimental that Crowley was so close to him.

Soon he would figure this all out, and then, he could see Crowley again and explain everything.

You’ll be okay.

Chapter Text

Muriel rushed South to the park, taking wide strides in order to keep a decent distance between them and the demon. They could hear him panting behind them but paid no attention. If they could only get a moment to themself to think of how to deal with the suddenly present Aziraphale and this new demon.

So, Aziraphale was back in the bookshop. Back on Earth. Now that's okay. Muriel would've had to deal with him eventually. And he had brought a demon. Also fine. Muriel had seen demons before. But he didn't want to talk to Crowley? Why?

"Hey!" The demon suddenly appeared in front of Muriel, breaking them from their thoughts.

Before Muriel could tell the demon off for performing a miracle in the street, somebody crashed into them from behind.

"Ugh, sorry. You're just, like, really fast." Muriel turned around to see a duplicate version of the demon.

"Wha— How did you—"

"Oh, little trick of mine. It comes in handy sometimes when I have multiple duties in Hell," one demon said as the other caught his breath.

Muriel wanted to express their interest and even ask a few questions. Could he feel both corporations simultaneously? Did he have four-eyed vision? If one corporation was hit by Holy Water, would the other die as well? But Muriel knew better than to show weakness to a true demon so they kept quiet.

"Well, you might want to put one of those away," they said, trying to sound careless while they were actually quite proud to be the one offering advice. "The humans can grow suspicious."

"Right." The demon became one and started to follow Muriel as they continued down the sidewalk at a slower pace.

"It's, erm, not that I don't like it," Muriel found themself saying, not wanting to sadden the demon. "Or, well, you are a demon so I guess I shouldn't… but it's a nice trick."

"Oh… thank you?" The demon looked confused. He was awkwardly silent for a few minutes.

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind me following you. It's just that you aren't exactly what I expected from an angel. You're actually quite nice. I thought you guys would, like, smite me immediately or something."

"I'm not—" Muriel caught themself. A bad habit they had picked up from Crowley, who never wanted to be called nice by people he didn't trust. "Well, of course I'm nice. I'm an angel."

"I don't see the correlation."

Muriel thought back to their lonely time in Heaven and knew what he meant.

"Well, I guess you're not what I expected from a demon. I mean, I've known Crowley for some time, but he doesn't really count does he?"

“Our lot don’t count him anymore so…” The demon shrugged. “But, yeah, I suppose I’m not very good of a demon. That’s why they made me Eric, Disposable Demon of miserably low class.”

Muriel perked up. “Oh, well, I’m Muriel, Scrivener of 37th Class.” They couldn’t explain it, but they almost felt excited to have someone to relate to, even if it was a demon.

“So… Eric? Why are you here?”

“Your boss dragged me along. Y’know, the more I think about it, the more I think he tricked me into bringing him to Earth. I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

Muriel nodded, remembering how Crowley tricked them into bringing him to Heaven years ago. “What was Aziraphale doing with you in the first place?”

“I was the demon assigned to be his guide when he fell.”

Muriel stopped in their tracks. “Mr. Aziraphale fell?”

Eric looked back at them solemnly.

“How could he fall? He was supposed to be the next Supreme Archangel!”

Eric put his hands up defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me. The falling decisions… that’s all Upstairs. Your lot.”

Muriel resumed walking, getting ahead of Eric in a hurry. “Yeah, duh. Of course. My lot.”

Eric ran to catch up with Muriel. "Hang on, why'd you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you don't want to be on their side. Satan, does every angel or demon who comes to Earth turn against their si-"

"I'm not turning against Heaven," Muriel interrupted quickly, more so to assure themself (and anyone listing) than to assure Eric.

"I won't judge. I turned against them, like, millions of years ago."

"I know!" Muriel shouted suddenly. "You did and now look at you. And look at Mr. Aziraphale." They had reached the park now, and Muriel plopped down on the bench dramatically—also a bad habit they picked up from Crowley. “I mean, Heaven is supposed to be the nicest people in the universe!”

Eric sat down beside Muriel. Muriel tried to scoot away, but Eric gave them a look that made them stop. He looked kind of… sad? But the same kind of sad look Crowley gave whenever Muriel said something about Heaven. The same kind of sad look a friend would give whenever it was a particularly busy week on Whickber street and Muriel assured them that they were fine and totally not tired.

Muriel toyed with a thought. “You’re not here to hurt me?”

Eric shook his head. “I’m just here ‘cuz your boss told me to be. And I’m not exactly excited to go back to Hell. My time on Earth is always cut too short.”

Muriel decided they could put some trust in him. “I’m not exactly excited to go back to Heaven. Whenever that may be. It’s just that for the past few years I’ve been learning so many great things about the Earth, and it all makes me more and more sad that Heaven wants to end it all. I know Eternity is supposed to be good and all, but I’m afraid it’s all going to be lonely again.” Muriel remembered how they and Crowley discussed what they heard in Heaven years ago. “And they won’t have any books or cupperties!”

Eric made a face, unsure what a cupperty or even a book was.

“And learning that Mr. Aziraphale fell was kind of the last straw. That’s what humans say when they are done with something,” Muriel explained.

“Only, it’s not that I’m done with Heaven or being an angel… I’m just done with working for the bad stuff. I don’t want to work for the side that kills all the humans.” Muriel watched thoughtfully as a couple walked by with a pack of kids. As soon as the noisy kids left, a mother duck and a few chicks appeared from underneath the bench. “And all the rest of God’s creatures.”

Eric followed Muriel’s gaze to the ducks and miracled a brown paper bag into his lap. Muriel watched apprehensively as he dug a gloved hand into the bag, expecting duck poison or worse: bread crumbs.

But Muriel was presently surprised as Eric laid out a handful of frozen vegetables for the ducks.

“How’d you know to do that?” they asked. Crowley had once angrily explained how not even humans knew to feed ducks vegetables.

“I’m usually the one to read the memos the demon Crowley sends down. I remember one gave a detailed explanation as to how humans harm animals through ignorance. I just didn’t want to, like, hurt the baby ducks.”

Muriel blinked. They wanted to remark on Eric’s surprising kindness but latched onto another bit of information. “You read?”

Eric gave a suave smile. “Yep! And I’m one of the few demons to do it too. Although the only things I ever really read are paperwork and instruction manuals. I enjoy Crowley’s memos though because they give me a glimpse of some other world. Some of them I’ve had to edit. Made it sound like Crowley was causing evil deeds when all he did was describe something terrible a human did. I’ve also had to abridge some of the more flowy writing. I swear, like, half of them are written in a completely different tone. Like some smart fella wrote it or something.”

Muriel was still shocked that Eric could read. And write! In their excitement they forgot that they were supposed to be enemies and that a confused supposed-to-be-archangel was back at their bookshop. “I read too! Only I like books, which are long form stories or other detailed tellings. They’ve taught me so much about Earth. I’m really the only angel that reads—besides Azirapahle, of course. It’s not that we can’t read. It’s just that angels... Well, have better things to do, I suppose.”

Muriel became quiet and thought back to what Eric had said. “I think things would be a lot better if angels read. Maybe they're only harming humans through their ignorance.”

Eric stared at Muriel. “Wow, that’s deep. Books really do that much?”

Muriel smiled. “Of course! I’m not supposed to make books sound good—it’s technically my job to dissuade people from buying books, but I want to show you some. I—”

Muriel realised they were about to say they trust Eric, but caught themself. “Come on, let’s go back to the shop.”

Aziraphale would hopefully be ready to talk now, and Muriel could finally talk about literature with someone a little more like minded.

Chapter Text

The Metatron peered into the grey-blue abyss of the globe of Earth. How glad he was to soon be rid of this useless, messy planet. It was ruining his perfect layout of Heaven.

Everything was ready to be set into motion. The Metatron didn’t need a new Supreme Archangel in order to bring about the new end of the world. In fact, the vacancy led to a lot of petty infighting between the archangels, which then made it easier for the Metatron to slip questionable requests onto their desks and receive approval with no questions asked.

After five years, he had stripped Earth of all of its connections with Heaven. Took away every blessing, every bit of God-given protection to humanity. There wasn’t really going to be a Second Coming. There most definitely was not going to be anyone saved. God knows Heaven doesn’t have the budget for that. The Metatron opted that Heaven just wipe out Earth entirely. In one long, painful stroke.

Of course, the other archangels would have disagreed with this plan. Regrettably, there were “rules” in place. If Heaven or Hell wanted to bring about the end of the world, they had to put it down in writing and have a specific countdown to when it would happen, but the Metatron thought that was overly complicated. Besides, it would give Hell too much time to prepare their dwindling army. And the Metatron preferred to deal with the plan himself since relying on fickle humans to mark the start of Armageddon allowed for treacherous angels and demons to go on and mess things up.

The Metatron was ready to just begin Eternity. He already had battalions of lower ranking angels lined up for war. Once things began, the archangels would have to get with it, or fall just like that stupid principality.

Oh, how much fun the Metatron had pushing that one off the ledge. It reminded him of the better days during the Great War.

The Metatron turned away from the Earth and made his way towards where his desk suddenly appeared. A single black desktop phone sat in the middle of it. It had only one connection to one specific place. The Metatron stared at it, not expecting it to ring.

After all, it did not really matter whether or not Hell informed him of Aziraphale’s arrival. He would find out soon enough. They all would.

Muriel had been doing more than reading, socialising, and playing therapist to a depressed demon. They had also been plotting.

They had first heard of the second plan for Armageddon when Crowley had opened Gabriel’s file in Heaven. While Crowley seemed more concerned with what that meant for them in the moment, Muriel—ever the scrivener—filed away the threat of Armageddon in their mind.

Since then, Muriel had been gathering intelligence on Armageddon. Unlike their desk job in Heaven, nothing in this great big well of resources disguised as a bookshop was off limits for Muriel, so they read everything they could find on the end of the world. The bookshop had an almost complete stock of all the prophetic books, noted by Aziraphale which ones were real. Muriel also collected memos from Heaven that vaguely hinted to a time after Eternity. 

Unfortunately, Muriel wasn’t getting anywhere with this. If it had felt more urgent they might have thought to ask Crowley, but he seemed to have enough on his mind.

However, now that Muriel knew there wasn’t a benevolent angel leading Heaven, Muriel’s worries of Armageddon grew. At least now they had a seemingly trustworthy demon to talk to.

Muriel opened the door to the bookshop and stopped in the middle of a sentence about the great plays of Shakespeare when they noticed someone asleep on the couch.

“Oh dear, Crowley’s here,” Muriel sighed as they ushered Eric in. They realised that they now technically had three demons in the shop. That should be a threat of some sort. “Where did Mr. Aziraphale go?”

Muriel’s and Eric’s attention were caught by a shushing from behind the bookshop. There Aziraphale was, crouching on the floor, hiding behind the dusty wood. Of course he hadn’t told Crowley he was here.

“Erm, Crowley?” Muriel spoke up loudly. Surely he should know about Aziraphale.

Crowley stirred awake, and the Jane Austen book dropped to the floor. Muriel watched as Aziraphale’s face filled with dread. “Hide Eric!” he hissed.

Muriel didn’t see the need to hide Eric from Crowley, but Eric quickly did as Aziraphale requested. “Erm…” He looked around the shop for a place to run but only had time to turn around before Crowley woke up.

“His horns,” Aziraphale pointed out.

Just as Crowley was beginning to sit up and rub his eyes, Muriel grabbed the tattered, grey scarf around Eric’s neck and wrapped it around his head to cover his horns. As Eric looked down at Muriel with his big eyes, Muriel thought of an image of a bunny wrapped in a blanket. They quickly purged the thought from their mind. Demon, remember?!

“There you are, Muriel. I was waiting for you. I thought we’d go to the—” Crowley yawned before dropping his voice. “Who’s that?”

Muriel peeked out from behind Eric's tall figure. Part of them was hoping they could stay hidden from Crowley as well. “Oh, just…” Muriel searched for an excuse but found they couldn’t easily come up with a lie, so they just gave vague details. “Somebody.” Okay, maybe their answer should be slightly less vague. “Somebody I went to the park with.”

Crowley seemed about to go into a Crowley-trademarked “neighbourly” spiel of welcoming Muriel’s new friend before Aziraphale intervened.

“Tell him it was a date,” Aziraphale whispered. He was close enough to Muriel and Eric that only they could hear him.

Muriel gave Eric a frightened look, which he returned only with confusion. Of course, he didn’t know what a date was. Muriel hardly knew what a date was. They had spent two years thinking it only referred to a spot on the calendar, then another year as only a type of fruit. Aziraphale’s collection of modern romance books was quite lacking. To think of going on a date with anyone, especially a demon, especially a nice and almost-cute demon, made Muriel flustered, but they relented to do as Aziraphale suggested.

“I— I was on a date… with him.”

Crowley closed his mouth and suddenly gave Muriel a very concerned look. “A date?”

“Make him leave,” Aziraphale pleaded. “You know what to do.”

Muriel took a breath. “Yes, a date. And… we’re going to do, erm, the date stuff now so… you should probably leave.” They couldn’t believe the words were coming out of their mouth, but they knew the suggestion would make Crowley uncomfortable enough to leave.

“Right.” Crowley stood up, avoiding looking at Muriel or the mysterious visitor who faced away from him. “Erm… be safe?” He left, rubbing his head. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, but Muriel seemed to be just fine.

As soon as the door shut, Muriel turned to Aziraphale. “Mr. Aziraphale, I can’t believe you made me do that.”

“We both know it was the quickest way to get Crowley out of the shop.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he brought himself to stand up. “A demon and he can’t even wrap his head around sexual relations.”

“Hold on, sexual relations?” Eric asked. “Is that what we were talking about?”

Aziraphale reshelved a book and muttered, “Great, they’re all stupid.”

Muriel put their hands on their hips, reminding themself that this was their bookshop. They had spent hours changing the insurance papers to their name after all. Aziraphale had to answer to them. “Mr. Aziraphale, why are you here? Eric told me that you fell, but why? And why won’t you talk to Crowley? Why are you acting so weird?”

Aziraphale gave Muriel a look that reminded them that not too long ago this was his bookshop. They had to answer to him. Bugger all long insurance company calls. “I’ll talk to Crowley soon enough. Just not… now. And forgive me if my attitude is a tad off putting right now, Muriel. Falling for five years can have that effect.”

“You fell for five years? This whole time?” Muriel gasped. “But that means that Heaven didn’t even give you a cha—”

“I didn’t even get a chance,” Aziraphale said sourly. “No, I did not. But, I assure you, I’ve got the situation under control now. If you could leave me to do my research, I would appreciate it.”

Muriel watched as Aziraphale turned back to the shelf. It hit them that Aziraphale’s attitude was rubbing them the wrong way. The angel who had seemed so nice and welcoming the first time they met him, the angel who sounded so nice in all of Crowley’s rambling stories was now acting like a total asshole. He wasn’t even being demonic, just a jerk. Just like all the other angels in Heaven who only ever treated Muriel like a cog in the bureaucratic machine.

“Fine,” Muriel huffed. They knew that what Aziraphale was working on was probably the very same thing they had been researching for the past five years. And they knew that if they put their heads together on the issue, they could better outsmart Heaven. But Muriel knew how to hold a grudge—they hadn’t even needed Crowley to teach them that one—so they had no issue leaving Aziraphale in his chosen solitude. “Let’s leave him, Eric. I’ll show you those books I was talking about.”

Muriel hoped Eric’s soot-covered gloves would dirty some of Mr. Aziraphale’s precious books.

Chapter Text

The pain of having your Heavenly ties stripped from you at light speed is not unlike the pain of being left by a lover and is not unlike the feeling Crowley had been soaking in for the past five years. Crowley, however, had the luxury of time, obscene volumes of alcohol, and—when he permitted—friends by his side. Aziraphale, unfortunately, had other matters to attend to that did not allow him to address the hollowness in his chest, the burning behind his eyes, or the guilt and shame he felt dragging down on his spine.

Aziraphale ignored all of this the entire week he spent researching Armageddon.

Muriel had not given Aziraphale his desk back. While they never outright refused him taking it, each time he'd try to bring a stack of books to the familiar wooden surface, they would swoop in and start shuffling around some papers. Aziraphale figured it was for the best that he relocated to the small desk in the upstairs flat. That way no human or demonic visitors would see him. And that way he could have time to think without the distraction of Muriel and Eric's constant chattering.

The two had hit it off immediately. Eric's curiosity coupled nicely with Muriel's excitement about Earth. Aziraphale wondered if all angels and demons were capable of forming friendships, and if he was just inexplicably hesitant to accept Crowley for millennia.

Aziraphale wasn't completely free of distractions. In fact, he spent more time staring in the yellow walls than working on a plan. He kept thinking about Crowley, despite how angry he was at him. To think that he and Crowley were on the same plane again, and that Crowley could sense him, and yet that they still could not talk to each other. Aziraphale kept telling himself that he would fix it all later. That he would make himself worthy of being able to talk to Crowley. But he knew how much better everything would be if Crowley was just here to help him.

No, he told himself. You have to save the day this time.

Aziraphale also could not shake the terrible feeling he had felt since falling. He, of course, still felt strong resentment to the angels who claimed they were carrying out God's will, but he was also pained physically. Although he was sure the sulphur dive hadn't left him quite as bad as most demons, he still felt a burning sensation in his joints each time he moved. And he couldn't read for too long without his head wanting to split open.

Aziraphale was in the middle of trying to stave off a headache when a mug was placed beside him. Ceramic wings faced him tauntingly.

It was Muriel who had brought up the tea, and he thanked them indifferently.

Muriel stood at the side of the desk for a few moments, staring at the former angel. "You don't look any different."

Aziraphale was glad he could retain as much of his corporeal appearance as he could. Although his favourite suit had been stripped away to nothing, he was still quite the man-shaped being he had always been. Just not as put together as he liked to be. He had unfortunately had to switch out his familiar outfit for something else he had hanging in the closet: Khaki slacks, a white shirt, and a drab grey sweater. He also didn't have any of the extra accessories he was so fond of. But Aziraphale was here to work, not to look good. He didn't have anyone to impress, at that.

"But you're acting differently." Muriel continued their observation.

Aziraphale avoided their judging gaze and twisted his face. "How so?"

"You've been working all week and won't even stop for a cupperty. You won't even talk to me."

"Ah well, you're busy entertaining Eric. And I'm busy with this." Aziraphale picked up a pen to seem occupied. "Muriel, you don't happen to have misplaced a certain book, have you? Cooper's The Many Different Ways the Earth can End ? It's hardly prophetic but I think it could be of some use."

So Aziraphale was working to prevent the end of the world. And he was thinking he could do it all by himself. Muriel wondered if he even thought to ask them what information they could give him.

Muriel indeed knew where the book was. It was on their desk downstairs with an impressive amount of notes taken on it. But Aziraphale's disposition only made Muriel sympathise more with Crowley, and they decided they wouldn't give him the book.

"Maybe I sold it."

Aziraphale sighed. He recognized that Muriel was only being difficult. He knew they would never dare to sell a book. At least… he hoped.

“Mr. Aziraphale, we need to talk about it,” Muriel said seriously.

“About what?”

“It. You know, you being a demon.”

Aziraphale suddenly slammed his hand against the face of the desk loudly. He hadn’t even meant to do it, but after he had, it had felt right. “I am not a demon!” he growled.

Muriel’s eyes were wide. “But you fell!”

Aziraphale looked away angrily. “Maybe I did, but I assure you I am not one of Hell’s.”

“You’re not one of Heaven’s anymore, though, are you?”

“No. Definitely not.” Aziraphale could say that with full confidence now. “I suppose I’m just on my own side now.”

“Not your own, you got—”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Muriel was going to say themself or Crowley or even Eric, but he cut them off. He was done having other people undermine his plans or save the day for him. “No, I’m on my own for this.”

Muriel looked angry, clutching the ends of their white sweater. “Right, I’ll leave you alone then, Mr. Aziraphale.”

They stomped off, rather childishly thought Aziraphale.

When Muriel returned back to the ground floor, they found Eric laying on the couch, feet in the air, reading a book. He was almost as quick a reader as Muriel, already having sped through twenty novels in a week.

"Are you enjoying it?" Muriel asked, standing a safe distance from the couch.

Eric looked up and nodded gleefully. To that, Muriel gave a quick smile before turning away to tend to the shop.

"Hey, wait! Wait." Muriel turned back to see Eric sitting up, patting the spot beside him.

Muriel sat down hesitantly.

"Erm…" Eric fidgeting with his gloves, tugging at an annoyingly hanging thread. "I just wanted to let you know, don't worry about your friend. It just seems that you're kinda, like, pissed at him."

"He's not talking to Crowley, and he's not talking to me. He wants to be left alone," Muriel explained with a huff.

“Yeah, well, that’s the uzhe with demons. We go through unspeakable trauma, and then, well, I mean, it’s unspeakable.”

Eric stared off into the distance, perhaps thinking of those unspeakable horrors himself, and Muriel thought to themself how strange it was to see a demon almost showcase emotion. Crowley didn’t count. They could always easily forget he was a demon.

“You really don’t have anyone to talk to?” Muriel asked solemnly.

“What? You think we have therapy sessions down in literal Hell?”

“No,” Muriel said, feeling foolish. “We don’t even have them in literal Heaven.”

“I think both sides are equally messed up,” Eric said, and Muriel was surprised to find themself in agreement.

“It’s just that I don’t know where to start with talking to Aziraphale.”

“You don’t have to talk to him,” Eric pointed out. He sounded a bit confused at the notion that one would talk to someone after they go through something traumatic. Thousands of years in Hell and no one ever thought of doing that.

“Crowley would know where to start,” Muriel realised. “But Aziraphale doesn’t want to talk to him. And I don’t think Crowley would be too happy about the situation either.” The demon was hardly happy, but knowing how Aziraphale had been on Earth without him knowing would really make his day.

“That’s nice.”

“Eric…” Muriel started slowly. “Do you have anyone to talk to?”

Eric startled a little. “I—” He looked confused. “Well, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Right.” Muriel looked down at their hands. “Well, if you wanted to… you could talk to someone. Someone like me.”

Eric was silent, but Muriel knew he was processing what they were saying about as well as a demon could.

“Can I show you something?”

“Another book?” Eric asked excitedly.

Muriel giggled. “Well, erm, I suppose it is. Yes.”

They led him to their desk and opened a drawer. They grabbed the resources they had been studying, the Heavenly files they had saved, and a stack of notes and splayed them out on the desk to see. They hadn’t trusted anyone with knowing they were plotting against Heaven, but Muriel felt like they could tell Eric.

“Crowley and I heard about the plans for Armageddon a few years ago, and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since. When I started I thought I’d just do it because I wanted to know what was going on, but as time went on, I started to think that maybe I could do something about it. I guess it’s naive, but—”

“No, no,” Eric interrupted. “You’re doing good.”

Muriel smiled at the recognition.

Eric grazed a finger over some of Muriel’s notes, and Muriel suddenly got very nervous that someone was finding out about their plans. “Is Crowley planning too? I won’t tell, I promise, it’s just that I think I should know if he’s being, like, treacherous again.”

“We haven’t discussed anything, and I’ve been afraid to bring this up with him. I think Crowley might be too preoccupied with his, erm, feelings to care about the end of the world right now.” Although Muriel knew Crowley could always come up with a plan quickly once real danger struck. He was smarter than them in that sense.

“Wouldn’t Az…”

“You don’t have to try and say his name,” Muriel interrupted, seeing Eric was struggling with the long angelic name.

“Thank you. Wouldn’t your friend benefit from this information? It’s to my understanding he’s trying to stop the end of the world too.”

Muriel sighed. “Yes, but he thinks he can do it all by himself, and he’s being rude about it.” Muriel shook their head at their own stubbornness. “No, I know it’s silly of me, but it’s also so silly of him, so I suppose it’s fair. And I’ll talk to him once things cool down some more.”

Eric picked up one of the books on the desk. It was an ancient leather-bound prophetic text. “Why do you guys want to stop the end of the world? I mean, I’m sorry, it’s just that I don’t quite get it.”

Muriel nodded. “I didn’t really get it either. I know it’s our duty to go ahead with the Great War, but I found out what it would mean for the humans.”

Eric blinked. He had only been here for a few days and had met hardly any humans.

“Well, er, we wouldn’t have any books anymore.” Muriel grabbed the book Eric had and held it up.

Eric’s face lit up with understanding. “Oh! Yes, I suppose that would be bad.”

A moment passed where Eric stared pensively at the objects on the desk. “Do you want help?”

Now it was Muriel’s turn to be confused. “You want to help… me?”

“Well, of course!” Eric said brightly. “I mean, I don’t have anything better to do. I think if I go down to Hell, I’ll get in trouble for losing Az— that other one. And, I mean, you look like you wouldn’t mind the help.”
“I wouldn’t!”

“Cool… I mean, I can really come in handy if we have to fight anyone. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been called to Earth to battle before.”

“Yes, and you can do that fun thing with the duplication.”

Eric smiled. No one had ever been so excited that he was there. “What? You mean this thing?” Eric copied himself so that two versions of him stood on each side of Muriel, who started laughing.

Just as Muriel was starting to feel uplifted, the door to the bookshop opened, bringing in an aura of despair.

Muriel gasped. “Oh dear, it’s Crowley!”

Chapter Text

Muriel pushed the Erics out of Crowley's view and told them to go through a door on the side that would take them to Maggie’s shop. 

The Erics morphed back into one before protesting. “But—”

“Just hide,” Muriel whispered before shoving him through the door and closing it. Ah, his horns. That must’ve been what he was trying to tell them. Oh well. He would figure it out, or Maggie wouldn’t care. He could help her run the shop for a bit and maybe even listen to some music. In the meantime, Muriel had bigger fish to feed… or whatever the human saying was.

“Wha-t were you laughing ‘bout?” Muriel noted the slur in Crowley’s words and cursed themself for not checking in on him sooner.

“Erm, a book?” They really had to stop using books as an excuse for everything. Muriel had more personality than that.

“Books are not funny,” Crowley scoffed, waltzing over to a shelf. “In fact, books are completely… un-funny.” Crowley grabbed a book and glared at it. Muriel was scared he would start yelling at it.

He did indeed start yelling at it. “You’re stupid, and yir not funny, and you make people feel things that they don’t wantto feel!”

Crowley slumped against the bookshelf, slid to the floor, and started thumping the hardcover against his forehead. Muriel rushed to his side and grabbed the book.

“Hey, don’t take it out on… Romeo and Juliet. They didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“No,” Crowley said sourly. “They didn’t.”

Muriel returned the book to its place and sat down beside their hurt friend, their skirt splaying over their legs. “What’s wrong, Crowley?”

Crowley started thumping his head against the back of the shelf, and Muriel wondered if they were going to have to take that away too. After several beats of thumps, Crowley finally admitted in a quiet voice, “I miss him.”

Muriel nodded. They watched Crowley’s face. He seemed completely still but Muriel wondered if behind those shades his eyes were moving frantically. Or if he was at least tearing up.

“I’m sorry I didn’t check on you. I know you haven’t been doing well this week.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Crowley ran a hand through his hair. He had it down, and Muriel could see how long it had grown in the five years. “It’s not your job.”

“Yes, but I just think someone should look after you because—”

“Because I’ve got no one?” Crowley snarled, interrupting Muriel. “Because the one person who did care for me up and left? So now you have to pick up the broken pieces?”

“That’s not true,” Muriel said sternly. “You do have people. Me and Maggie and Nina. And we do it because we're your friends and we genuinely care about you, Crowley.”

Crowley didn’t respond to that. He usually didn’t do too well with direct announcements of affections. “It’s okay,” he finally said. “I don’t mind having no one. In fact, I would be perfectly okay alone.”

Muriel highly doubted that.

“Why do you do that?” Muriel pondered.

“Do huh?”

“Do that?” They noticed that both Crowley and now Aziraphale had the resolve to deal with things on their own. “Why do you think you’re better off alone? Crowley, I've been alone for thousands of years, and I don’t ever want to do that again.”

Crowley looked off into the distance. At least now he would talk. Muriel knew he would never pass up a chance to educate a new angel. “Sorry, Muriel. I don't mean— S'different, okay? I s’pose it’s easier that way. So’s I don’t… I don’t reveal any feelings.”

“But what’s the harm in revealing feelings?”

“Well… Hell sure wouldn’t like it.”

“But you don’t answer to Hell anymore,” Muriel pointed out confidently.

“No… I don’t…” Crowley trailed off, deep in thought. “Look, Muriel, I ‘preciate your concern. I just don’t think I can organise all the…” Crowley made an incomprehensible noise, “M’feeling.”

“Try me?”

Crowley turned back towards Muriel. “Yeah, alright. I know it’s been… five years, and that’s time to move on by human terms. I mean, I dunno what’s normal moping time for demons and angels. Not really any precedent for that, y’know.”

Muriel nodded.

“But I know I probably shouldn’t be still so sad.” Crowley slowed down, elongating his S’s. “And right now, I can feel him. Just…” Crowley waved his hands around helplessly. “All over the shop, ‘specially. But everywhere. The park. My flat. In the Bentley. If I had the energy I’d drive out of the city, see if I could feel it then, but… I know it wouldn’t be any use. I can’t leave anyway.”

Muriel looked upward and saw Aziraphale peering down from the upper story. He disappeared as soon as he made eye contact with Muriel.

“S’prob’ly just in my head,” Crowley muttered.

Muriel returned their gaze back to him. “No, it— I don’t think it is.” They wanted to tell Crowley that the reason he felt that way was because Aziraphale was here in the shop, but they knew it wasn’t up to them. Hopefully Aziraphale would see the pain he was causing and fess up.

“D’you think I was too much?” Crowley slumped his head against Muriel’s shoulder.

“Erm…” Muriel really had no clue if Crowley was too much or not.

“Cuz I’ve been thinking about it, and I think maybe he just hated me and how I was always so…” Crowley took a long pause and seemed to lose his thought. “So maybe he just really needed that out.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Crowley,” Muriel said softly.

“Hmm… Do you wanna hear a story?”

Crowley would sometimes tell stories about his time with Aziraphale. Sometimes it was greatly therapeutic, and Muriel didn’t feel guilty indulging in a good story. Other times, it was painful to watch Crowley recount better times. Right now they were worried if Crowley was in the right headspace to talk about him, but they figured in the end that it would do him good to let out whatever was on his mind. “Sure.”

“Okay…” Crowley started slowly, transporting himself back into a time when he wasn’t alone on this wretched Earth. “It takes place in America, 1870.”

The American West. A lawless land, a patchwork of the many inhabitants, a frontier of freedom. It was the perfect place for a demon, and Hell agreed.

Lord Beelzebub themself sent Crowley there on his parole after his recent infraction. He had performed a good dead (while not in his best judgement), and got sentenced to decades of what was probably the worst torture a demon could suffer this side of the sulphur pool. He had escaped once, of course; he didn't want to be one to go quietly. However, it ended up not going well. He was sent right back to the spot he was before. That is, until Beelzebub gave him an offer. Merzzy they called it.

“I'll be kind enough to send you back to your position, Crawley, but I want you making trouble. Proper trouble.”

Crowley only had enough energy (and faith that he’d be safe enough from Hell) to make a quick stop in London to see a certain angel and convince him to give him some Holy Water. Great waste of effort that was.

So now Crowley was stuck here for the rest of the century, dodging bullets and standing helpless amidst the genocide of a people. It was almost as bad as the torture down in Hell.

The West wasn't all bad, though. You could get a decently strong drink in most towns, and it was full of Crowley's kind of people: those who just wanted to get into trouble for the fun of it.

But the best thing about the West was their churches, which is not something expected himself to be saying. While most frontiersmen were focused on building up homes, hunting, or evading the law, the clergymen wanted to bring faith into one of the least controlled corners of the world.

What Crowley liked was that the churches they built up stayed more or less empty. Not many people cared about God when living in Godless territory, so it wasn't unusual for a church to be completely vacant for the better six days of the week. This meant business for Crowley.

Crowley approached the white, stucco building on the outskirts of town at a mule's pace. The structure of the town was not what he was used to. Most cities were built up with a place of worship at their centre. Here, in the Wild West, it seemed like towns were built up around a saloon. Although, Crowley figured they could be another place of worship depending on who you asked.

He had decided riding a mule would be the best choice. They were much less insufferable than Godforsaken horses, and Crowley definitely wasn't going to be practising extraneous transportation methods any time soon until he rehabilitated from his time in Hell. Mules also were good for carrying cargo, and Crowley needed a secure way to transport what he was searching for.

Crowley tied up the mule on a low hanging branch on a tree a sizable distance from the door of the church. He took each step slowly, still getting used to the gaudy leather boots he wore.

When Crowley got to the wooden steps he took a tentative step forward. His boot made contact with the wood, and he pulled his foot back, hissing. So it was true, he couldn't step on consecrated ground without immense pain. At least he knew the church was really holy.

Crowley took another step forward and bit his tongue in order to bear the pain. Slowly, he reached for the doorknob, scared as to how the brass ordained with a cross would leave the palm of his hand.

He didn't have to find out, however, because the door opened, and Crowley had to jump back to narrowly avoid the consecrated wood hitting him in the face. Caught off guard, he stumbled in the loose sand and fell backwards.

“I appreciate your visit, Sheriff. I don’t get many folks coming out here on weekdays,” Crowley heard the priest say to whoever was stupidly devoted enough to visit a church on a Wednesday afternoon.

Crowley brushed off the dirt on his hands. Great, just his luck that the church was occupied the one day he decided to rob it. Next time he’d be sure to scope out the scene a little longer.

“Of course, I think it’s important to check on our members of the cloth. You’re really doing God’s work out here,” an insufferably polite British voice responded. Crowley recognized that voice anywhere.

“Oh dear, it looks like you hit someone,” Aziraphale said, worried. As Crowley glared into the ground, a white hand with a glinting, gold ring reached to help him up.

Crowley snapped his head up and hissed at Aziraphale. What was he doing here? Foiling his plans like usual.

Aziraphale stepped back and recoiled his hand as if he had seen a snake. Perhaps he kind of had. Crowley watched as his expression turned from worry to fear to disappointment. If Crowley wasn’t already sweating in a thick black poncho under the hot American sun, he definitely was now.

“What are you doing here? And did you really just hiss at me?” Aziraphale asked in a huffy voice, seemingly forgetting that the priest was still present.

Crowley sneered up at Aziraphale and responded in his best American accent. “What? Not gonna help me up now that you’ve recognized me? Don’t want to be seen fraternising with my kind. That’s it, right?”

Aziraphale looked shocked but steeled his face back into a glare as Crowley struggled to get up. “Anyway,” he said once he was back on the painful heels of his boots. “What are you doing here, Angel?”

“Work!” Aziraphale said defensively. “And that’s Sheriff to you.”

“A man of the law? How fitting,” Crowley said sarcastically. He wasn’t sure what had sent Aziraphale onto this recent phase of following rules. Crowley could cite thousands of infractions the angel committed over the years, heavenly or otherwise.

“Do you know this man, Sherriff?" Both Aziraphale and Crowley turned to the priest as they had forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, Sheriff, how long has it been?” Crowley asked, his tone lacking the regular tease to it that would have made this conversation anything other than uncomfortable.

Aziraphale just glared back. They both knew how long it had been. The last time they had seen each other. The park.

The priest kept talking. "Perhaps he would like to come inside. He seems…"

What? thought Crowley. Nice? Tired? Hot? Sinister? Like he was still dealing with critical pain levels from Hell's torture? Like he could use a nice warm cup of religious indoctrination? No thank you. "I'm fine."

"No, father. My… acquaintance here won't be bothering you. He's not too big on church." Crowley wasn't sure if Aziraphale was saying that for Crowley's safety or for his demise. Either way, he noted the way in which he tinted the word acquaintance. As if they weren't acquaintances after all. As if they were enemies. As if Aziraphale would rather be caught burning down said church than to be seen with his willy adversary.

To Crowley's surprise, the priest smiled. "See, Sheriff, now that's more like it! You just keep practising this demeanour and the folks in town'll stop giving you trouble. You boys have a safe trip into town now."

As soon as the priest shut the door, Crowley looked at Aziraphale. "What was that about?"

Aziraphale pushed past Crowley, red in the face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Crowley took notes of Aziraphale's sheriff get-up. It was hardly your typical western garb. He wore a beige, broad-brimmed hat with a turquoise ribbon tied around it and a suede buckskin. On that tan waistcoat which Crowley saw Aziraphale kept (he swore to Satan that if that angel wore that coat any longer, it'd fall apart) was pinned the star badge denoting Aziraphale's position. Though everything else about him screamed Not Sheriff Material.

"Is the priest teaching how to be more macho?"

Aziraphale turned back towards Crowley. "Excuse me, I am plenty, er, macho."

Crowley blinked. Aziraphale may have been an overly powerful member of the angelic host, but that didn't mean he wasn't much more comfortable reading in the safety of his bookshop as opposed to catching outlaws in the Wild West.

"Yuh-huh, sure." Crowley was willing to put aside his recent feud with Aziraphale if it meant making fun of him. "How'd you get here? I didn't see a horse outside."

Aziraphale, not sparing a glance at Crowley, put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. Crowley heard the galloping of hooves, and over the hill a large white horse appeared. It stopped at the edge of the fence and allowed Aziraphale to pet it. The sight was almost too majestic for Crowley to behold. "I prefer to let her roam freely whenever I don't need her. You should probably check on your steed, however. He looks like he's about to start eating the tree."

Crowley turned to see his mule who was attempting to gnaw at the bark. Embarrassed, Crowley rushed to its side and grabbed a handful of haw to feed it while he untied the rope. "Just ignore him," he whispered to it. "You're just as good as any horse. In fact, you're better."

Crowley turned back to Aziraphale atop his horse. "Welp, Sheriff, why don't we mosey on into town-"

"Please drop the accent, Crowley. No one talks like that."

Crowley frowned. He thought he did a perfectly fine job of imitating a cowboy. "Well, Angel, why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

"Oh, aren't you too busy drinking Holy Water?"

Crowley grumbled, "Well, certainly not anymore, thanks to you."

"I won't let you get your hands on that stuff, Crowley. It's too dangerous." As Aziraphale was worried about Crowley killing himself with the substance, Crowley was wondering why in Heaven the angel wouldn't give him a weapon against Hell. It wasn’t like Aziraphale was completely clueless as to where he had been for the worse part of the century. From his perspective, Aziraphale was fine with a little bit of correspondence but would leave Crowley high and dry once they were found out.

"And besides," Aziraphale continued. "We aren't friends, and I'm working. I'm afraid I can't entertain you with your drink offer."

Crowley jumped atop his mule awkwardly. "Yeah, and how's work going for you, Sheriff? Why'd Heaven send you out to this wasteland anyways?"

"They think someone ought to be watching the growth of the country for a little while. Make sure everything is up to shape. And I'm fine, thank you," Aziraphale said stiffly.

"Mm-hmm." Crowley knew this town. He had already spent a few months avoiding contact with the violent cowboys and the less violent, but considerably grumpier, townsfolk. He knew they wouldn't be giving much respect to a dainty bookseller who carried himself on a snow white mare. Crowley even saw that the horse had bows in its hair. Satan, if the angel was having trouble commanding the town, he was asking for it at this point.

“Also, who tries to rob a church in broad daylight?” Aziraphale asked, giving Crowley a look from the side of his face.

“Erm…” Crowley did not have time to process what should have been the most obvious flaw in his plan before Aziraphale rode off. It wasn't until the dust trail behind his horse dissipated that Crowley realised Aziraphale really was mad at him.

They of course had had disagreements over the past millennia, but Crowley realised why this particular one rubbed him the wrong way. Previously Crowley only got upset with Aziraphale for his inherent annoying angelicness. Now, he was upset with Aziraphale for being Aziraphale. For being the fussy bastard that he had grown to be. This wasn't like their normal trivial disagreements. This was for real.

Crowley didn’t want to think about why he expected friendliness from the angel, so he adjusted his hat to block out the sun and, all by his lonesome, rode over to a vegetated plot of land where he would spend the night.

Crowley awoke to the stamping of hooves. He sat up just to catch a family of buffalo galloping over the terrain. The mule braced excitedly amid the commotion, and Crowley smiled at seeing the majestic creatures out and about.

He jumped down from the branch he'd been laying on and saddled up his mule to head into town. He didn't stop to consider why the buffalo had been running.

As Crowley neared town and began to pass other folks embarking on the road, he thought about how much he wanted that drink.

Crowley had spent the past fortnight sleeping out in the boondocks and stalking the church. It was almost a vacation from the irritating population of the town. He didn’t even know Aziraphale was the new sheriff.  

Arriving at the saloon, Crowley tied up his mule. A group of headstrong teenage boys rode by on their young horses and laughed. Crowley ignored them. So what if he couldn't ride a horse?

Crowley entered through the double doors and walked past the noisy tables. Old men were playing cards, boys were showing off their guns, ranch hands were just trying to find some energy in a drink, and women were fanning themselves trying to catch the attention of said ranch hands.

Crowley sat down at the bar and asked for whatever whiskey they had on hand.

"Ugh, get me my tab, Sal," a man groaned beside him. "Don't wanna be anywhere near this freak."

Crowley turned to notice an old, grizzled man with ginger hair and an overly large moustache stained grey with age. It was just Crowley's luck that he would enter the saloon with Old Robbie Dayton on the far side of the counter.

Dayton ran a large portion of farmland outside of town, and acted like he owned the place just because he was one of the first to settle after the town was founded. Crowley only knew about him because his boys were notorious in town, constantly getting themselves nightly stays in the jailhouse for harassment of the ‘lesser’ town folks. Crowley began to keep tabs on the Dayton family in order to stay out of their way.

He figured that Dayton couldn't do much damage drunk in a bar at 10 AM, however, so Crowley stayed put.

"Where your boys at, Mr. Dayton. Usually we can all hear them from a mile away."

"My boys' whereabouts are none of your business," Dayton said defensively. "But I'll have you know that they makin' me proud out there today. Performin' a civic duty, in fact. Today my boys are goin' buffalo hunting."

Crowley groaned. He'd had enough of the buffalo killing. These cowboys thought they were so big once they took down one of those beasts. They didn't even care to think about the loss of a life or the effect the hunting had on the Native Americans. Actually, Crowley thought morosely, they did know the effect and carried it out deliberately.

“Sonuvabitch sheriff rode after them, though. If he gives my boys any trouble then—”

“We’re gon’ have ourselves a hanging!” Everyone’s attention was drawn to the young boy who ran into the saloon to deliver the news. Quickly, the saloon patrons got out of their seats and rushed outside in order to catch the exciting event. Crowley had no choice but to chug down his drink and follow in order to see who the poor soul was.

As he made his way through the crowd, he was reminded of Hell. Here he was surrounded by people wanting to catch a glimpse of the torture. Perhaps this was his punishment. Hell was showing Crowley that humans didn’t deserve his sympathy.

Crowley pushed past a group of way too excited farmers to get to the front of the crowd and looked up. The man on the platform had a noose around his neck and a burlap sack over his head, but Crowley recognized the nervous demeanour of the rest of the body and the suede jacket it filled.

“Shit.”

The oldest of the Dayton boys stood beside Aziraphale and whipped off the sack, revealing a very annoyed angel.

“Folks!” The boy addressed the crowd. He had a raspy voice, but was loud enough to demand people’s attention. “For two weeks we’ve had to deal with this pansy of the sheriff. He’s gained a reputation for failing to help us with our problems and for sticking his nose in what he ain’t s'posed to.”

Aziraphale made a sorrowful face. “Well, I have been trying my best to—”

“Shut up!” The Dayton boy cut Aziraphale off. “This morning me and my brothers went out to hunt buffalo, and Sheriff Fell went out following us. And you know what he told us once we killed a family of buffalo? That we should take the carcasses to the Indian village."

A collective gasp emerged from the crowd. The killing of buffalo was meant to hurt the Natives. Crowley knew how the awful townsfolk thought of the original inhabitants of the land. Aziraphale’s suggestion of friendliness would not land well.

The crowd erupted in shouts to proceed with the hanging while the Dayton boy continued to insult Aziraphale. Surprisingly, Aziraphale did not look too worried, only mildly annoyed. Crowley, on the other hand, felt true fear. His only friend on Earth was about to be hanged at the hands of violent cowboys. He would not stand for it.

Crowley was forbidden from performing miracles during his probation, but that didn't mean he couldn't still play hero. Just as the Dayton boy was about to kick out the stool under Aziraphale's white leather boots (seriously Angel?), Crowley jumped up onto the platform and pushed the Dayton boy onto the ground.

He turned towards Aziraphale and started to loosen the rope.

"Wha— Crowley!" Aziraphale pushed him away angrily and took the noose off himself.

As Aziraphale freed himself, the Dayton boy recuperated and stood up. He started furiously towards Aziraphale and Crowley. "Why you—"

Crowley watched anxiously as he reached for his gun.

"Quickly, Angel." Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hand which was still trying to fix his bow tie and dragged him down from the platform. They weaved through the horde of people towards the saloon where Crowley's mule stood parked.

Crowley jumped atop it and pulled Aziraphale to sit behind him. "Hold on," he said as he whipped the reins.

"I am not holding onto you!" Aziraphale claimed stubbornly, but as soon as the mule took off at a surprising fast speed for having two beings on its back, Aziraphale had no choice but to wrap his arms around Crowley's waist.

Crowley looked back to see people chasing them on foot while some of the more aggressive cowboys grabbed their horses. All of them who were armed had their guns cocked and ready.

Three of the Dayton boys rode ahead of the crowd and started to shoot once they reached the edge of town. With each poorly aimed bullet, the mule jumped in fear and the Dayton boys began to gain on them.

Crowley tried to whistle to summon Aziraphale's horse but couldn't figure out how to get his mouth to work under the pressure of an active shooting and the strangely intimate contact with Aziraphale. "Satan, Angel! Where's your blasted horse?"

Aziraphale whistled and in a second the stunning white mare appeared. "See, Crowley? I was perfectly prepared to make my escape quietly, but then you had to go and call attention to us."

"Why are you mad at me?" Crowley shouted to beat out the sound of the three shots that were just fired in unison. "I saved your ass!"

"I had it under control!"

Crowley rode closer to the horse so Aziraphale could mount it. "Looked to me like you were in deep trouble."

Amidst the gunfire, Aziraphale grabbed ahold of the reins of his horse and put his foot into the stirrup. Crowley watched impressed as he pulled himself up to the saddle. Aziraphale hardly looked phased at the dangerous situation and glared down at Crowley. "We don't need to breathe, anyway. No cowboy with a noose and poor grammar poses any threat to me."

"One with a gun does!" Crowley retorted as a bullet whizzed past his ear.

"Thanks to you!" Once they reached open land, Aziraphale's horse began to break into a full speed gallop. Crowley's mule couldn't keep up.

Crowley looked back to the Dayton boys who were right on his tail. They began shooting at him again, narrowly missing his face. "Aziraphale!" Crowley called to the angel who was far ahead of him now.

Aziraphale looked back and rolled his eyes. Reluctantly he snapped his fingers, transporting Crowley behind him. Crowley heard a braying and found his mule strapped to the back of the horse as well, looking almost as terrified as Crowley was.

“Feel free to help out too,” Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley almost had the mind to tell him off, but the horse sped up and Crowley instinctively held onto Aziraphale. He watched as the Dayton boys struggled to keep up, but they wouldn't stop shooting.

"How do we get them to stop?" Crowley asked.

"I don't know. Why don't you shoot back?"

"What?!" Crowley was astounded by the suggestion coming out so nonchalantly from the angel's mouth.

"Yes! You're the bad one. Shoot at them!"

Crowley didn't know how to tell Aziraphale he didn't have a gun let alone know how to use one. If Crowley did have one, he wasn't even sure if he'd take his hands away from Aziraphale's waist to use it.

Eventually Aziraphale grew impatient and reached into his holster. Crowley watched in surprise as Aziraphale aimed back and shot a single bullet. It went squarely through the closest Dayton boy's hat, knocking it to the ground. The Dayton boys stopped there.

"I told you, I have everything under control," Aziraphale reiterated, tucking his pistol away.

Crowley realised his mouth was hanging open and closed it. "Yeah, sure, sure. I see that now."

They rode for a few more minutes until a pile of brown fur appeared on the horizon. Aziraphale's face grew somber, and he slowed down.

"Four of them," Crowley whispered as he counted the bodies.

"A family," Aziraphale added. Crowley could see that there were indeed two calves.

They stopped a few metres from the buffalo. Aziraphale slipped down from the horse as Crowley unstrapped his poor mule. It grunted angrily and wandered off to eat some grass. 

Crowley slowly approached Aziraphale's side and was relieved when he didn't shoo him away.

"I'm sorry… about the buffalo. And about the townspeople trying to kill you."

Aziraphale kept his eyes trained on the buffalo. "But not about interfering?"

"Someone had to save you—"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Crowley! I really wish you'd stop painting me as helpless."

"Angel, I know you're not helpless. But, well, we're here on this Earth together, and we ought to be looking out for each other."

"We aren't together!" Aziraphale shouted, his voice echoing on the hills. He looked down and became quiet again. "We can't keep doing this, Crowley."

What Aziraphale said hurt, but Crowley pushed on. "Let me help you…"

"But you'll get in trouble. Again."

Crowley blinked. So that's why Aziraphale was avoiding him. He may not have known exactly what happened down in Hell, but watching Crowley get sucked down into the Earth must've been scary for him. But Aziraphale didn't understand, however, that Crowley would stand through all of Hell's torture for him.

"Just leave me be, Crowley. Please."

Instead of following Aziraphale's request, Crowley crouched down and pet the hide of one of the calves. "I'm not supposed to do miracles right now, but…" He breathed life back into the animal and then did the same to its sibling.

Aziraphale gasped as the two calves stood up. They looked thankfully up to Crowley but then down at the still bodies of their parents and began to cry.

"I'm sorry," Crowley said, to both the baby buffalo and Aziraphale. "I can't do anything about the adults."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said worriedly. "Won't Hell find out?"

"I'll be fine," Crowley assured. "They can't send me to a place worse than this. I'll take care of the kids. You'll take care of the adults?"

"Erm…" Aziraphale broke his eye contact with Crowley and focused back to the matter at hand. "Yes, I'll miracle up a cart and bring the bodies to the nearest Apache village. They won't be happy, but at least they can get some use out of the poor buffalo."

Crowley gently guided the calves away. He would find a safe, grassy field for them. Maybe they could join a larger herd.

"Will I see you soon?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smirked. "Planning on fraternising with me?"

Aziraphale looked apologetic. "Crowley, I—"

"Nah, I reckon you'll be going back to England, and I'm gonna be stuck on this continent for a while, so…"

"Oh." Crowley was surprised that Aziraphale sounded crestfallen.

"I'll find you when I'm back East. We can get that drink I offered."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile. "Okay."

"'Til then…” Crowley removed his hat and tipped it with a Western flourish. “Try to stay out of trouble, partna’."

Aziraphale looked annoyed but nodded. Crowley thought he saw him almost smile. He hadn't seen him smile in a while. "You too, Crowley."

As Crowley led the baby buffalo away, an undeniably nice thing, he knew he would definitely be in trouble. But then again, it kind of was worth it if he kept being able to make the angel happy.

Back in the bookshop, Muriel held Crowley's hand to help him hold onto his composure so that he could finish the story.

"So, yeah," he concluded. "Just something I've been thinking about lately…"

Muriel sat silently, taking it in. They had a number of questions including what a buffalo is. Instead, they asked Crowley, "But why was Aziraphale mad at you?"

"A few years before I did this whole thing with laudanum and dead bodies. It's a long story, but basically I saved this poor girl's life while also kind of changing his whole world views. But I got in trouble for that with Hell so I asked him for some Holy Water."

"Holy Water?" Muriel gasped. "But Crowley, that'll kill you!"

"Yes, yes," Crowley groaned. "I'm well aware. I just needed it in case I needed to fight any demons who came after us."

Crowley looked straight ahead again, his mouth pressed in a line. "Because, y'know, I was thinking about our future. Meanwhile, he loathed being in the same vicinity of someone like me."

Muriel tried to say words of encouragement. "Crowley, I don't think that's tru—"

"No," Crowley said sternly. "It makes perfect sense. And this whole time I've been working on us. Saving him, saving the world, planning our escape plan to the stars, and I never bothered to notice how much he hates it."

"Crowley, that can't be true. Aziraphale— he—"

"He hated me, Muriel!" Crowley pushed the angel off of him and stood up. "He hated me and was oh so relieved to go back to Heaven. "

Muriel scrambled to their feet to follow Crowley as he paced around the room. "But maybe he didn't leave to get away from you. Maybe he left just because he wanted to save the world."

"He doesn't even know about the plans for Armageddon. He did it to get away from me, the ultimate negative influence."

"Crowley!" Muriel put their hands on their hips. Crowley's negative thinking was really getting out of hand. "If he really hates you so much then why'd he ask you to come with him?"

Crowley spun around on his heels to face Muriel. He waved a wane finger in their face. "He didn't ask me. He asked some watered-down, fantasy, angelic version of me. That's who he wanted. A demon like me isn't worthy enough to save the world."

Muriel didn't know what to say. They heard over and over how that day in the bookshop went. They knew how painful Aziraphale's words were to Crowley. They knew there wasn't anything they could say to make those words hurt less. That was Aziraphale's responsibility.

Crowley sighed and leaned against a shelf, exhausted. "Look, I'm sorry I'm bringing all this up. Trust me, if I could, I'd forget all about Aziraphale."

"But you can't do that," Muriel said softly. "You've been trying for five years, and you still can't."

Crowley turned away to wipe his eyes. Muriel wished Aziraphale would come downstairs and see what a mess he left.

Their optimistic side told them that there was a reason for all of this. There was a reason that Aziraphale had returned back to Earth and a reason that Crowley was still hung up on him. Whether or not their reunion was a part of God's plan or some beautiful new thing that sprouted up on Earth where everyone, even angels and demons, had free will. In the end, they knew it was meant to be okay, because if it weren't, there'd be no point in trying to stop Armageddon, and everything Crowley, Aziraphale, and Muriel had gone through would have been for nothing.

But things sure would take a lot longer to right themselves if Aziraphale would continue being so stubborn. Muriel was close to charging upstairs and dragging Aziraphale down to talk to Crowley, but they knew they couldn't do that. It had to be Aziraphale's choice to fix things.

"I'm sorry, Crowley," was all Muriel could say. "I'm sorry, but I do truly think things will get better."

They tried to instill in their words reassurance. It'll be okay. I can't tell you how I know, but it'll be okay.

If Crowley got the message or not, he didn't show it. Instead, he took a deep breath, clapped his hands, and said in a fake cheery voice "Sure! Well, Muriel this has been fun, but I'll leave you be."

Crowley started towards the door, but Muriel caught him by the shoulder. "Wait, Crowley! You can stay."

Crowley shuddered. "Not today, sorry. I don't know why but… I can't really stand being in the shop right now."

Muriel glanced at the reflection in the window of the upper story. They could make out the closed door to the room where Aziraphale was. Crowley didn't even know Aziraphale was back, but Muriel was sure he could sense him.

"Probably just old memories," muttered Crowley.

"Yeah…" Muriel gave him a reassuring smile. "Memories."

Crowley left, and Muriel watched him walk away. He hadn't driven, they noted. At least he was getting some fresh air.

Once he had disappeared down the street, Muriel turned around and practically charged up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Muriel slammed open the door and was astounded to find Aziraphale sitting at his desk as if nothing happened. "Did you hear anything he said?" they asked desperately.

Aziraphale straightened a stack of papers. "Of course. This building was built over two hundred years ago, and I'm afraid the walls just aren't that thick."

"Do you care?"

Aziraphale put down the stack of papers and looked thoughtfully into the wall. "Yes."

Muriel was confused. If Aziraphale heard it, if he cared, then why didn't he show it? How could he stay so calm and pretend like nothing was wrong?

"I'm terribly sorry about how I left things. I see how I poorly communicated my wants to Crowley. All I can do now is deal with the problem at hand and hope that Crowley will have me back when it all is over."

Muriel went over to the desk and threw their palms down on the wood. "No! What you can do now is talk to him."

"I—" Aziraphale hesitated, and Muriel realised that he was nervous about what he had done, even if he was trying not to show it. "I don't think either of us are ready for that… at the moment."

"There isn't going to be a moment if you wait for the end of the world."

"That's sound logic, Muriel. And that is why I really need to return to averting Armageddon."

Muriel could tell Aziraphale was trying to get them to go away, but they weren't going to oblige. "You can't avert Armageddon by yourself. Let Crowley help you. Let me help—"

"I can handle it." Aziraphale looked angry now. "Did you not hear anything Crowley said? He's been saving me time and time again over the years. It's become a bit tiresome for us both."

"Not for him! Aziraphale, Crowley would do anything for you. Even now. You don't have to be sc—"

"I'm not scared," Aziraphale said, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "But I am tired of him saving me each time. I need to prove— I need to do this myself."

"You don't need to prove anything, Aziraphale." Aziraphale turned away but Muriel just shuffled over to the other side of the desk so Aziraphale was forced to look at them. "I don't think you understand, but people like Crowley and I are lonely. We don't see anything wrong with relying on other people. In fact, we enjoy it."

Aziraphale finally met Muriel's eyes. "You're right, I don't understand it. I've never been lonely. I've always had Heaven behind me."

Aziraphale knew it was a lie as soon as he said it. Over the millennia of his loyalty, Heaven never had his back. In fact, Aziraphale knew well that his dedication to being the Good Guys was only in longing for Heaven's love. 

"Even if you did, you don’t anymore," Muriel said solemnly.

"Maybe not," Aziraphale conceded. "So what do we do? We adapt. I'll show those ba— I will show Heaven that they are wrong, and I'll save Earth in the process."

"But you'll do it by yourself," Muriel noted, disappointed.

"It's nothing against you, Muriel. You understand?"

"Yes." Muriel turned back to leave. They understood. Aziraphale didn't. "Good luck."

They closed the door behind them to leave Aziraphale.

What do they know? Aziraphale wondered. He didn’t mean to be rude to Muriel, he really didn’t want to. He was grateful that Crowley had a friend to rely on in this trying time, he just wished Muriel wasn’t guilting him into abandoning his plans. As if Aziraphale didn’t feel enough guilt already.

Do you even care?  Of course Aziraphale cared! He cared more than Crowley did. Aziraphale had listened to the story, and he did remember their encounter in the West. Crowley was the careless one.

Aziraphale wasn’t clueless. He knew where Crowley had been the decades prior. He knew what got him in trouble. Crowley was hurt and vulnerable, and mostly, he had made it clear to Aziraphale that would get in trouble again if it meant helping him. But Aziraphale hadn’t wanted that. He wanted to be independent. He didn’t want the Arrangement. He wanted to play by the rules. He wanted Crowley to be safe. Above all else, he wanted Crowley to be safe.

You idiot. Aziraphale couldn’t let it happen again. He couldn’t give in to the sweet temptation of their Arrangement—conspiracy and treason wrapped in the pleasant package of a friendship. Aziraphale didn’t regret the Arrangement. He hoped neither Crowley nor Muriel thought that. No, he regretted how he could let himself be so stupid. He was foolish to think Heaven would let it slide or that he and Crowley could escape unscathed.

He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Chapter Text

Crowley sat on the floor of the nursery, rubbing his fingers over a plant leaf. He currently didn’t have the energy to administer his usual botanical care.

Truthfully, Crowley hadn’t had the energy to yell at his plants in a long time. Last time he had was five years ago when he had first gotten his plants resituated in his flat. He had yelled for hours and hours until the plants began to realise that Crowley’s outburst wasn’t really about them this time and his throat had gone out. Afterwards, he grabbed a bottle of wine and fell asleep with it in his arms in the middle of the nursery. Ever since, he only had to hiss a half-hearted threat to the plants, and they did his bidding. Crowley wouldn’t admit that it was because they pitied him. The plants wouldn't admit that they missed the old Crowley.

The plant that was currently trying its hardest to look perfect as Crowley examined it was a bird of paradise. Not that you would’ve been able to tell since Crowley never let it flower.

Crowley felt drawn to this particular plant today because it reminded him of many things. First, it reminded him that A— someone was in paradise currently, living their best life without Crowley. Good for them, you know. Wahoo.

It also reminded him of the original Paradise. They had birds of paradise at Eden, didn’t they? It didn’t matter to Crowley, anyway. It wasn’t the plants at Eden that mattered the most to him, they had only been his job.

It also brought up some old sappy memories. More Godforsaken (and now angelforsaken memories) memories. Crowley was on a roll with the mopey reminiscing today. Must be something in the air.

The current past-dwelling was about a little place called Paradise Bar, a hub for queer nightlife in 1960’s Houston, Texas. There—

A ringing from the buzzer startled Crowley from his thoughts and nearly caused him to break off the stem of the leaf he was holding. “Crowley!” a voice called from the speaker. He had finally decided to stop disabling it years ago when Maggie and Nina convinced him that they needed to know he was safe.

Ah, that’s right. He was supposed to meet the girls for dinner today.

Crowley stood up from the floor and left the nursery, causing the plants to sigh in relief. He grabbed his glasses from the counter and opened the door, leaning against the frame as he did.

“Hiya, ladies,” he greeted Maggie and Nina who stood in the hallway, looking a tad disappointed in their friend’s tardiness. “Look, it’s not a good time, maybe we can do this next week?”

“Nope!” Nina said, marching her way into Crowley’s flat. Crowley defeatedly shut the door as Maggie followed her. “We were gonna meet in Soho, but we just figured here would be easier."

"With everything going down at Muriel's shop," Maggie added.

Crowley noticed Nina gave Maggie a look of shut up. "What's happening at the shop?"

Maggie and Nina looked at each other.

"Come on, I was just there. There isn't anything strange." Beside the usual strangeness of an ancient shop that refuses to sell books.

"Oh, you were there?" Maggie asked nervously. "So, erm, you saw him, I take it? You seem… okay?"

"Who?" Crowley's question was greeted with matching looks of fear on Maggie's and Nina's faces. "Oh, I don't care about Muriel's new friend."

"Oh, that's right!" Nina said quickly, her face breaking out into a grin. Too relieved of a grin. "Muriel's new friend."

“Yeah, and that's why Muriel can't join us. They're entertaining their new, erm, fling? Had the pleasure of meeting him today,” Maggie said, nodding aggressively.

Crowley wasn't sure why the two were acting so strange about him. Or why they were worried how Crowley would react.

In fact, Crowley could be very amiable to whoever he was. Maybe Crowley ought to introduce himself soon. Make himself known.

“Yeah, sure. Sweet kid,” Nina agreed quickly. “Anyway, Crowley, unfortunately you’re stuck with us today.”

Crowley groaned. That’s right, he didn’t have a cute date to get him out of dinner. Thanks for the reminder, ladies. “You never let me get out of these things easily, do you?” he asked.

“I don’t know why you’d want to get out of it,” Maggie smiled. “It’s such a nice day.”

Nina smiled at her counterpart sweetly. Yes, the two of them had eventually gotten together a few years ago. They put a whole lot of effort into not being too showy about it in front of Crowley, not wanting to make him feel like a third-wheel or not wanting him to be reminded of… whatever. Crowley really didn’t mind though. He was truly happy for them. After all, their relationship was the last thing that he and— Well, it was the last thing he worked on before it all went to shit.

“I know it’s nice,” Crowley concurred. “Spent the morning at the bookshop trying not to put my head through a wall.”

Nina’s face fell. “Is everything alright? If you really don’t want to go out—”

“No, no! I’m fine! It was just… something I picked up over at the shop. Something I was reading. Made me… feel things, I guess.” Crowley lied. He obviously couldn’t tell them that he had been thinking about that damned Angel again or reminiscing about all the times they’d had together. Then, Nina would've recommended her therapist to him again. Or worse, Nina and Maggie would try to talk to him about his feelings. Ugh.

“Reading what?” Maggie asked, clearly seeing through his lie.

“A book,” Crowley said quickly. Oh yeah, that part was obvious. Great thinking, Crowley.

Then Crowley remembered the half finished thought he’d just had about the Paradise Bar and a magic show and a long walk home. Crowley really didn’t like to talk about his feelings. It made him feel vulnerable. But sometimes—a lot recently, actually—he just needed to vent. Muriel was always open to talk, the absolute sweetheart, but he couldn't exactly tell humans about his past without them realising it's a tad bit longer than it should be. But, ever the demon, Crowley knew how to hide behind lies and fiction so that the listeners were none the wiser.

“It was about a gay bar in the ‘60s. Wanna hear about it?”

Nina and Maggie perked up. Of course they did.

Crowley led them over to his seating area where he laid out on the couch, and they sat together on a loveseat with their fingers subtly intertwined.

“You sure you don’t want me to get you anything?” he asked, hoping for a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Get on with the story, Crowley,” Maggie insisted.

Crowley turned and looked up at the ceiling. “Right. Well, er, so the story starts with this lady named… Tonya.”  Yes, very creative. “And she’d gone to America, classic America, like Texas—she’s from here, London, by the way, sort of—to, well, first of all, do some jobs that her business is making her do, but also to have fun.”

Crowley sighed and thought back to how he’d been feeling all those years ago. “Because, you see, she had this argument with… a friend, her name is… Ava. And Ava had basically told her that she was too spontaneous for her. So, obviously, Tonya thinks, I’ll just show her how much more spontaneous I can be and go to America!”

Maggie and Nina seemed to be listening intently since they weren’t saying anything. Usually, they’d have lots of little comments for Crowley.

“But, you see, Tonya and Ava kinda have this…” Crowley mashed his hands together, trying to think of a way to describe whatever it was in human terms. “Tonya’s got sort of a sense for Ava. They have some sort of bond. So when years later, Anna shows up in a bar—”

“Oh my god, and the lesbian romance ensues!” Maggie finally interjected.

Crowley sat up. “What? No, they aren’t lesbians.” Well that much was definitely true. “Well, they aren’t in love. Like, at all. They’re hardly even friends at this point.”

“Ohhh, okay,” Nina nodded, giving Crowley a knowing wink.

“What does that wink mean?” Crowley asked, suddenly feeling very insecure. There was no way they knew what he was really talking about, right?

“Never mind, just get on with the story.”

“Okay… well, Ava—”

“Is it Ava or Anna?” Nina asked.

“Huh?”

“Well, you keep switching the name. Is it Ava or Anna?”

Shit, had he? “Look, it doesn't matter. A-whatserface shows up to this place called Paradise Bar as a performer—”

“Ooh, what kind of performer?” Maggie interrupted again.

Crowley growled. “Not that kind of performer. She was a magician!”

Maggie looked disappointed. As if that prudish angel would ever…

“Can I please get on with the story?” Crowley asked, growing irritated.

“Yes, we won’t interrupt,” Nina promised.

“Cool.. thanks.” Crowley laid back down and closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back in time.

Crowley sat in the first row of seats at the Paradise Bar, sipping her cocktail. She had never been too big on stage performances (nothing could ever beat Shakespeare’s comedies at the Globe), but she found she did quite enjoy what was coming out of the queer scene in America. People dressing up in different ways that pleased themselves? Even angels couldn’t have dreamt up a more amazing thing. Whatever would these humans come up with next?

Currently, between performances, a butch was trying to flirt with Crowley. She was sweet, but Crowley decided after a while that she couldn’t let her on and instead directed her to a lady at the bar who was looking to meet someone new.

Crowley rolled her eyes, half glad to see the two hit it off, but half laughing at the humans’ eagerness. See, now this was moving fast. If the humans go and meet someone and then hours later do whatever it was humans did in bed then no one in this bar batted an eye. It was nothing compared to the waiting Crowley had done to even suggest a drive with Aziraphale. That was not moving fast, let alone ‘too fast’.

Crowley took another sip of her drink. She had come to America on her own accords this time, to forget about the angel. She wasn't here to dwell on their last conversation.

It seemed like she wouldn’t be able to do that, however, because the owner came out a moment later to announce the next performance. The next performance turned out to be “all the way from London, the Marvellous Magician Fell!”

Crowley spat out her drink. What the bloody Hell is he doing here? she thought, finding her face turning hot and presumably a very embarrassing shade of red.

As Crowley stared at the ice at the bottom of her glass, she heard steps on the stage. Heels. Well, at least the angel had an assistant this time and wouldn’t be needing Crowley’s help. Still, Crowley felt a twinge of jealousy at the thought of a human helping with Aziraphale’s act.

Crowley finally brought herself to look up, expecting the plump figure of a man and his cheeky little smile. What Crowley saw was quite different.

It was still Aziraphale, of course, but there was no human woman in sight. The heels had turned out to be Aziraphale’s. Crowley blinked. There was Aziraphale. In heels. And a dress. And shoulder length hair. And makeup. Okay… the makeup wasn’t new. But everything else was.

Relatively new, that is. Aziraphale, even when finally trying out a new style, could never be up to date. She was currently wearing an outfit very akin to the flapper style of the 1920s, with a curly bob and a short dress that hugged her curves. She had thankfully dropped that comical magician’s cape but had replaced it with a bright blue feather boa.

Crowley, who had spent perhaps too long of a time admiring the getup, finally met Aziraphale’s eyes. Ah, she had recognized her in the crowd. How great.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick smile and a wink (A wink? Did she just wink at me?) and then moved onto her act. “Ladies and gentleman and other attendees!” she called out proudly. “Tonight I will entertain you with magnificent feats of magic and other jiggery pokery!”

No one in the audience seemed too excited. Magic shows weren’t exactly the typical thing you’d see at this bar. Aziraphale would have to do something to make this interesting.

“For my first trick I’m going to turn this common turnip into a flower. Just to make sure the magic is working tonight.” Crowley hid her smile behind her drink. The angel could never be original.

Most people had stopped watching to refill their drinks, but the few still in the audience showed mild interest as Aziraphale turned the turnip into a violet in the blink of an eye. Crowley knew it was just a cheap miracle however, but she was glad Aziraphale was getting some positive recognition.

“Wow, she’s so pretty,” Crowley heard someone whisper beside her. She discreetly looked through her peripheral vision where a younger woman sat in the row behind her.

Pretty? Crowley thought. She turned back to the stage where Aziraphale was tucking the violet behind her ear. Her messy blonde curls bouncing at the graze of a finger. Crowley had never thought of her that way before. She had thought a lot of things about Aziraphale but never pretty.

“For my next trick, I’m going to need a volunteer.” Crowley noticed the angel was doing something with her voice. Making it sound sweeter or something. She wasn’t quite sure. But she did know she didn’t like it, or at least didn’t appreciate the way it made her feel. In the chest. Ugh.

The woman behind Crowley gasped. “Oh, me!” She practically shot out of her seat, raising her hand.

Crowley didn’t even realise until afterwards that she had instinctively raised her hand too. She wasn’t too sure what compelled her. She guessed she just didn’t trust the other woman to help with the act. That was Crowley’s responsibility.

Crowley became self-conscious of her raised hand as Aziraphale noticed it. Ah, she mouthed, a smile twinging at her lips.

“My dear red-head in the first row, would you like to join me?”

Crowley got up and made her way to the stage, but not before giving the girl who had sat beside her a triumphant glare. Oh Satan, what was she doing? She hadn’t seen Aziraphale in years, and that meeting had basically proven that Aziraphale wasn’t ready for a relationship with Crowley. Now here she was, wearing a risque dress (by angel standards) in a gay bar and basically making heart eyes into the audience. If Crowley was ‘too fast’, then Aziraphale was something else entirely.

“What are you doing, Angel?” Crowley whispered as she arrived next to Aziraphale. She was digging in her bag for something.

“A magic show!” Aziraphale answered cheerfully. Crowley realised what the angel was doing was lost on her. She didn’t even realise the young woman was basically drooling over her in the audience. Crowley was glad she didn’t, however. She wasn’t sure how that would make her feel.

“You do realise it’s 1969, yes?” Crowley commented on Aziraphale's outfit. “Nice dress, though.”

Aziraphale turned back to Crowley looking sour. “And you think you’re the pinnacle of style?”

Crowley looked down at her bell-bottomed jeans and loose red shirt. “Yes?” she answered honestly.

Aziraphale walked upstage past Crowley to announce the next trick. “My lovely assistant and I…”

Crowley picked up the purposeful tonal inflection in the word lovely. So the angel did know what she was doing. Crowley wasn’t sure if it was because the flirting added an extra layer of pizazz that her act so desperately needed or because it made Crowley wildly uncomfortable.

“Do you want to throw or me?”

Aziraphale’s question broke Crowley from her thoughts. She had missed the explanation of the trick and now looked confused as Aziraphale held out a handful of throwing knives. Actual real throwing knives. Sharpened and everything.

“I’m sorry, what now?”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “I’ll do it, dear girl.”

“What?” Crowley asked again. Somehow the angel had raised the stakes from the Bullet Catch.

“Now, my dear.” Aziraphale had put back on her performance voice. “Please stand very still against that board there.” She pointed to a board of wood marked with a bullseye.

“You— you’re throwing knives at me?” Crowley really wished she hadn’t volunteered now. “Please tell me you’re going to use your miracles.”

Aziraphale shushed Crowley and ushered her over to the board.

“Now,” Aziraphale announced to the audience. “I’m going to throw these knives at my lovely lady assistant here and manage to not hit her.”

“Miraculously not hit me, right?” Crowley squirmed as Aziraphale closed a hinge that cuffed Crowley's arms to the board.

“This feat is going to be based on my skill alone.” That was a no.

Crowley sighed and defeatedly leaned against the board. She guessed she was fine with this. All she had to do was let Aziraphale throw some knives at her and not get killed. Then maybe afterwards the two of them could get a drink. Talk about what Aziraphale was doing here and where on Earth she got that ancient dress.

“Ready?” Aziraphale asked, holding up the first knife.

Crowley grunted in reply, though the question was more so for the audience.

Crowley heard the knife whizz by, making contact with the edge of the board far from Crowley's face. Either Aziraphale’s aim was worse than she thought or she was really trying to not hit Crowley. Crowley didn’t really favour either option.

“Now to up the stakes.”

Crowley squinted at this and turned her attention to the angel. Her stomach plummeted as she watched Aziraphale tie a black sash around her eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she growled. She tried to move from the board but found she was bolted in by her wrists.

A man in the audience laughed at Crowley’s reaction. It seemed like more people were sitting down, though. At least Crowley could discorporate knowing Aziraphale was getting the much needed validation from Houston bar goers. Crowley closed her eyes.

The second knife struck the board with a satisfying thump right next to Crowley's ear. She swore she could hear suspenseful music. Had she discorportated and made a wrong turn towards Heaven or had Aziraphale hired an accompanying musician?

Another knife hit somewhere by Crowley's hip. So far so good.

"My final throw will be performed… backwards," announced Aziraphale excitedly. The audience applauded, very impressed at the amateur magician while Crowley groaned and thumped her head against the board.

After a few seconds of tension, Crowley heard the final knife whizz through the air. It was coming right for her nose. Crowley yelped and yanked her neck to the side. The knife narrowly missed her face but cut off a few locks of hair.

The audience broke out into applause as Aziraphale curtsied. She was still turned away and hadn't seen how close she'd come to hitting Crowley. For some reason, Crowley wanted her to look back. She longed for it, actually. Didn't the angel want to know she was safe?

Crowley shook off her feelings. She tried to call for the angel's attention to please unlock her out of this Godforsaken contraption but was cut off. The door of the bar opened forcefully, sending a plume of dust into the bar and sending everything into chaos.

"Police! Everyone out!" A horde of officers flooded into the bar as patrons leapt from their seats in a panic.

People ran towards the exit. Some would be lucky enough to make an escape, others would be immediately arrested by the police waiting outside. Either option was better than facing the backlash for staying inside.

“Shit. Hey, Angel! A little help?”

Aziraphale looked back at Crowley with wide eyes. She snapped her fingers and Crowley found herself free from the board as Aziraphale rushed to her side.

"Crowley, what do we do?" Aziraphale looked up to Crowley with worried eyes. Amidst all the chaos, Crowley was glad that after everything that had happened, Aziraphale was ready to be a team again.

"Okay…" Crowley looked around. "There's a door to an alleyway backstage. There may be cops waiting on the other side, but I think it's our best bet."

Aziraphale gave Crowley an astounded look. "Crowley, I didn't mean to leave! I mean what are we going to do about the humans?"

Crowley looked back out into the crowd and grimaced. She felt sorry but there just wasn't anything she could do, especially when she already had to save herself and Aziraphale. "Look, Angel, I'm sorry. But this sort of thing happens all the time. It's not fair, but we can't do anything about it. We just need to take care of ourselves."

Suddenly, a sharp, shrill scream pierced the air. Crowley and Aziraphale both turned towards the audience and saw the girl, the same one who had made goo-goo eyes at Aziraphale, being pulled forcefully upwards. She had refused to move from her seat.

"Crowley, do something!" Crowley was met with Aziraphale's pleading eyes, but found she couldn't get herself to do anything. She had just gotten her semi-freedom from Hell back. She had just gotten Aziraphale back. She couldn't risk that.

After a moment, Aziraphale rolled her eyes. She pushed past Crowley while muttering, "So unlike you," and made her way to the throwing board.

With impressive strength, Aziraphale pried a knife from the board, turned back toward the bar, and threw it. It struck the officer square in the foot.

"Gah!" The man flailed back, letting go of the girl. He looked down at his injured foot then up to Aziraphale. "You'll pay for that!"

Crowley watched with fear as he reached in his holster. Crowley suddenly snapped out of her stupor and went to miracle his gun into a water pistol, but she realised that someone had already made the gun disappear. Actually, someone had made all the guns on the block disappear.

Aziraphale stepped down from the stage and made her way to the officer who was holding out his empty hands as if holding a gun. He looked terrified while she kept a completely cool, completely terrifying composure.

"You will leave these good people alone," she commanded. "You will let them continue their fun in peace."

The cop was clearly struggling to choose his next move, but he decided to heed the angel's warning and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he whispered before limping away and communicating the need to leave to the rest of his team.

Slowly, the cops let go of the patrons and started to leave. Perhaps they would've put up more of a fight if the bar had not been shrouded in angelic energy. A few people stayed to collect themselves, but most people left. There wasn't anything fun to do anymore tonight.

"Angel," Crowley made her way to Aziraphale but was cut off by the young girl running into Aziraphale's arms.

"Thank you!" she cried. "Thank you, I was so scared."

"It's alright, my dear. You're safe now," Aziraphale assured, hugging her back.

The girl broke the embrace and stepped back, still holding onto Aziraphale's shockingly bare arms. "You're so pretty," she whispered in awe.

Crowley made herself known over Aziraphale's shoulder. "Hi." She flashed a smile to the girl. " What's your name?"

"Erm… Ariana." She spared a quick glance at Crowley before turning her full attention back to Aziraphale. "Can I buy you a drink? Please? It's the least I can do for you saving my life."

"Barman's gone home," explained Crowley quickly. She didn't like the way Ariana was still hugging onto Aziraphale. "They're probably about to close up the place. Nice meeting you, though. Hope you enjoyed the show."

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and began to drag her towards the exit, but Aziraphale pulled her arm back. "Crowley! Have you no manners?"

Crowley scoffed. "Er, no?"

"My dear," Aziraphale turned back towards Ariana. "Do you have anyone to walk you home?"

"Um," Ariana looked around the dwindling crowd. "I came in with a group, but I think they've all left. I live nearby, though."

"Ah, that settles it then," Aziraphale said cheerfully. "Crowley, we're taking this young girl home."

Crowley wanted to protest. No way was she and Aziraphale going to walk this complete stranger home. She could be an undercover cop. She could be a teenage serial killer of middle aged women. She could be a very well disguised agent of Hell. She could flirt with Aziraphale!

To Crowley's demise, Ariana was already expressing her deep gratitude as Aziraphale led her to the door. Crowley had no choice but to follow along. 

As soon as they left the bar, Crowley shivered. The Houston streets retained little heat from the autumnal day before, creating a refreshing atmosphere. The city was almost empty now as people went off to bed. The soothing sound of crickets and the occasional car was only broken by Ariana's persistent questions.

"I know it must've been sleight of hand, but how on Earth did you hide that turnip? You don't even have any sleeves."

Crowley watched Aziraphale's warm smile in the moonlight. "A magician never tells her secrets."

"What about you?" Ariana suddenly turned around to Crowley who was trailing behind the two thinking it wouldn't be too bad if the ground opened up and brought her to Hell. That torture would sure beat whatever this was.

"What about me?"

"Well, I know usually the magician picks a volunteer from the audience that they already know so that they can help with the trick."

"We don't know each other," said Crowley quickly, beating Aziraphale to the point. She always made sure to really hone it into any snooping humans that she and Crowley were not acquainted with each other whatsoever.

Aziraphale turned back and gave Crowley a confused look. "My dear, whatever are you talking about? Don't worry about her, Ariana, she's being silly. We go way back."

Now it was Crowley's turn to be confused. She was being silly? Here the angel was proclaiming to a human that she knew Crowley, in a friendly sort of way at that, while Heaven could be listening, and she didn't even bat an eye. Aziraphale had never been so reckless.

"I can tell you, though, that Crowley was not aware I was going to be working tonight. So she had no idea," Aziraphale continued.

"No idea? No idea?" Crowley said loudly. "You bet Satan I had no idea. I mean what were you even thinking?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Just having a bit of fun. You live down here, dear?"

Ariana led the way, turning left into a recess.

"And which one's your flat?" Aziraphale asked, looking around.

"Flat?"

"Apartment," Crowley corrected lazily, leaning against a gutter.

Ariana led Aziraphale up a set of stairs to her door. Crowley watched the young girl once again hug the angel. As soon as she went through the door, Aziraphale snapped her fingers. Ariana would dream well tonight.

Aziraphale skipped down the steps, her skirt flapping over her knees. She eagerly rushed to stand beside Crowley, who was deep in thought.

"Well, that was an eventful night," Aziraphale commented.

"Hmm." Crowley didn't move from her cozy spot by the gutter.

"Should we… see what else there is to do?"

Crowley was made uncomfortable by the suggestion. Why did the angel suddenly want to hang out with her? She thought of something cleverly rude to say. Sorry angel, but this is going too fast for me sounded like a good option.

Before she could voice her disapproval, however, someone in the complex opened their window and began to whistle.

"Ooh-ooh, pretty flapper," a deep gruff voice rang out in the square. "Why don't you come up here, and we'll make some magic?"

Before Aziraphale could even get a chance to react, Crowley leapt from her post and shot a miracle right into the man's apartment. She'd turned him into a skunk. He wouldn't be able to get his own stench out of his sheets for weeks.

"Blessed catcallers," Crowley grumbled. "Come on, Angel. Let's get out of here."

Crowley left the square, heading in no direction in particular. Aziraphale ran to catch up with her. "Thank you, Crowley. I appreciated that one."

Crowley shrugged. "Don't know what he was seeing in you, anyway."

Aziraphale stopped in her tracks and gasped. "Oh, please tell me you don't mean that," she whined. "You don't think I look nice?"

Crowley scoffed. "What? It's not about that. It's about…" She looked back and was met with Aziraphale's big pouty eyes. "I mean, err…"

"I put a lot of effort into looking cute in my ensemble, you know." Aziraphale twirled her dress for extra effect.

Crowley blushed. So everything had been purposeful. The slim dress, the batting eyelashes, the sweet honey-like voice.

"No, no," Crowley corrected herself, suddenly feeling the need to validate Aziraphale's efforts. "You do look, er, good. Ngk. Cute, I mean, if you like."

Aziraphale smiled. She'd gotten what she wanted, and now Crowley was a red mess. Crowley continued down the sidewalk.

"I am a bit cold, though," Aziraphale said, an expecting whine in her voice.

Crowley sighed, miracling up a beige shawl for the angel. "There."

"Ah, thank you, dear," Aziraphale said, hugging it over her arms. She was fine with the gesture only because she had prompted it. What if Crowley had given Aziraphale her jacket? Or would that be too much?

"You've changed, Angel," Crowley pointed out after a few moments of silence.

"Changed?"

"I mean, you're different."

"Keen observation, Crowley. I'm glad you can tell the difference between men and women," Aziraphale deadpanned.

"I don't mean that," Crowley said, exasperated. " I mean… you just… you threw a knife at a police officer."

"That poor girl was in trouble. I had to do something."

"No, I mean…" Crowley searched for a way to explain it. "You threw a knife at me. Several, actually. And you ruined my hair."

Aziraphale looked back to Crowley who was holding the chopped part of her bob like it was a fresh wound. "Oh, don't worry about that," she laughed, snapping her fingers.

Crowley's hair grew back with a few extra changes.

"Angel!" Crowley gasped. "Change it back!"

"Oh, but I do prefer you with your curly hair."

Aziraphale had miracled Crowley's hair to its natural waviness and grew it out to reach just below her shoulders.

Crowley growled. "Why are you doing this?"

Aziraphale laughed. "Oh, I'm just having some fun."

"Exactly!" Crowley shouted. "You don't have 'fun'. Your idea of fun is doing good deeds and reading old books.

"An angel can switch things up from time to time."

"No," Crowley stated. "They can't."

The two walked in silence for a few minutes.

"You knew I was here, didn't you?" Crowley asked.

"Well, I did have to look for a bit, but I found you," Aziraphale confessed. "I'm sorry about what I said to you during our last meeting. I want you to come back to London."

Crowley looked up from the ground, surprised. "You want… me?" Had the whole magic act been for her?

"Well, yes. I'm worried about you, Crowley." Aziraphale fidgeted with her hands. "You've just been acting so strange ever since you disappeared in Scotland, and I can't keep up with your changes all the time, but—"

"What do you mean I've been acting strange?" Crowley questioned, brushing over the fact that Aziraphale just told her that she's worried about her.

"I don't know," Aziraphale huffed. "You're just… flighty. One moment you're being secretive, acting like we're in trouble. The next you're trying too hard to help me when you know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And, well, you're nervous. All the time! I mean, you used to be one of… er, well, you used to be what I would call nice.”

Crowley hissed.

“Oh, don’t be like that! You are a nice demon, and we both know it! But now it feels as if you are only thinking of yourself. Those innocent people you recruited in your heist plan—"

"Those were robbers, Aziraphale. Not exactly your kind of people."

"That has nothing to do with it! And you didn’t even jump to save the poor people in the bar tonight!”

Crowley shrugged. "I’m a demon. I’m selfissh."

“No. You aren't.”

“Who are you to say otherwise?”

" Crowley, who hurt you?"

Crowley was silent, keeping her eyes trained on the sidewalk before her. 

"Come on, Crowley. I'm not an idiot. I know you're hiding from something."

I'm hiding from a lot of things, Crowley thought. I'm hiding from Hell. I'm hiding from Heaven. I’m hiding from the ever-nearing end of the world. I'm hiding from… you.

"It's unlike you to be caring about me so much all of a sudden."

"You know that's not true. It's the Arrangement we came to, anyway. Crowley, we may still be enemies, but…"

"But what?" Crowley pressed. Whatever she said next was either going to be overly sweet or hurtful.

"Well, I need someone to be part of my magic act."

Crowley frowned. "I'm not helping you with that, Angel. Come on."

Aziraphale sighed. "You know what I mean."

And Crowley did. Aziraphale needed someone she could trust. Someone to have fun with. But that couldn't be Crowley. It was like Aziraphale said, she was flighty, all over the place. They may have a few more decades left on this planet, but for Crowley, it felt as if her time was already up. She was under Hell’s overbearing thumb again. Any minute, Hell could drag her down, and Aziraphale would be left alone.

"Can you come back to London, please?"

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale regretted that night in the Bentley. Maybe she actually did want to entertain whatever this was. Maybe Crowley’s half-realised plan involving Holy Water and an escape route to Alpha Centauri wasn’t entirely trashed. Or maybe she was just kidding herself.

“As soon as you finish up your work here?”

Crowley smirked. She knew the angel would get a kick out of this. "Oh, I'm done. I wasn't here for Hell anyway."

"What were you here for then?" Aziraphale asked, confused.

Crowley stopped Aziraphale by grabbing her arm and pointed up to what had been acting as their light source all night.

Aziraphale gasped. "Oh, Crowley, that was you?"

"Well… you know, I was just kind of there. In the background. It was mostly the work of the engineers and technical people. Still, it was nice to be a part of something so great."

Crowley smiled. She meant, of course, it was great to work alongside the humans. To serve as a part in their journey to the moon and beyond.

"I know what you mean," Aziraphale said sweetly. Crowley wondered if she did. The angel had always been a bit more detached from the humans, but she wouldn't be surprised now if she'd turned over a new leaf.

Crowley made her decision then. She had Holy Water now, and it seemed that she and Aziraphale actually started to understand each other. This could work. The two of them. "I'll come back, Angel."

Chapter Text

Maggie and Nina sat aghast as Crowley finished his story. In the time it took him to explain the tumultuous relationship between Tonya and the many name variations of Ava, the hours had passed what would have been an acceptable time to leave for dinner.

"Wow, that was lovely, Crowley," Maggie said slowly.

Nina hummed. She refrained from pointing out how Crowley had just wasted their time with a long and complicated story with no point. Or that Tonya and Ava were inexplicably magical. Or that Crowley kept mixing up the names.

Crowley broke his focus from the ceiling he had been staring at for the past many hours. "Oh, you guys are still here?"

Nina could sense that her girlfriend was about to give Crowley some sappy talk about how everything is going to work out, so she quickly grabbed her hand and dragged her upwards.

"Well, Crowley, this has been fun, but, y’know, way past our bedtimes, so…" She led Maggie out the front door and into the hall, leaving Crowley alone on his couch.

As soon as they were presumably out of earshot, Nina turned to Maggie. "What the Hell was that?" she asked, astounded.

"Clearly a poorly disguised story about him and Aziraphale. Do you think he realises that we know about him being magic?"

"Maggie, I don't think he's realising a lot of things right now.

Maggie nodded. "For instance, the elephant in the room. Or bookshop, rather."

Nina sighed. "I just don't get it. It's been years."

"Not to them. Or, well, I guess it has been but it's not the same. They process things differently than we do," Maggie assured Nina. “Is Crowley’s first name Tonya?”

“Regardless of them being immortal or whatever, it still has been a long time for Crowley. And a terrible time. Look, we’ve done everything, and it’s clear that he will not be able to move on with only our help. As his friends, there’s only one rational thing left for us to do.”

“You know we can’t. Gosh, could you imagine the reaction the both of them would have?”

Nina groaned, very annoyed at this point. "I can imagine, actually. At least it would be a change of pace from what we’ve seen for the past five years. I think we should tell him that Aziraphale is back in the bookshop."

Suddenly, the door opened to reveal a fuming demon. "What did you say?"

Nina's face dropped, suddenly second-guessing her decision. “I would've thought this door was sound-proof.”

 With impressive speed, Crowley pushed the women out of the way and ran down the hall, forgoing the lift and instead taking the emergency stairs.

“Oh, bugger,” Maggie sighed. “That is not going to end well. We weren't talking too loud, were we?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I want to see it,” Nina said, grabbing her girlfriend's hand and starting towards the stairs.

After rushing down several flights of stairs, Maggie and Nina were just able to catch Crowley in the nick of time. And if they hadn’t, Nina would have gladly jumped in front of his car to prevent him from going any further.

“Wait for us,” Maggie gasped as she opened the door and climbed into the back seat.

“Oy! Who said you guys were coming?” Crowley snapped from the driver’s seat.

“We did. Besides, I think it’s in your civic duty to drive two old women home after you just talked our ears off for hours,” stated Maggie. “Now, Crowley, can we just pause to think about this for a moment. Do you really think it’s the best idea to rush into this?”

Crowley took his hands off the ignition, and said with extreme sarcasm, “Hmm, yes, allow me to think about this slowly and methodically? Tell me, ladies, how long has the bastard been here? Did he just get in? Should I allow him to ressst?” 

The women looked at each other, hesitantly. Nina didn’t have time to mumble out a week in answer before Crowley slammed his foot onto the gas, and she was thrown into the back of the seat in front of her.

“Oh my God, how on Earth did they grant you a licence?” Maggie asked, grabbing onto a handle for dear life as Nina sat herself back up.

Crowley made a noise that implied he did not, in fact, have a licence.

“Was I right?” Maggie asked triumphantly. She was scared that it would be a bad idea to reintroduce the two celestial beings, especially with Aziraphale being so adamant about avoiding Crowley. Although, she could admit she was glad to see Crowley doing something that wasn’t moping around.

“We’ll see,” Nina said sourly as she buckled her seat belt.

This was going to be a bumpy ride, but at least it’d be quick.

After Muriel’s conversation with Aziraphale, they had gone downstairs to focus on the task they had set out to do. However, they found they could just not focus and sat with their head in their hands for more time than they spent researching.

They didn’t hate Aziraphale—Muriel never could do that lest they lose faith in Crowley—but they were in a mood just above annoyed and adjacent with hate. It wasn’t even that what Aziraphale was doing was hurting Crowley, it was what he was doing to Muriel. Muriel had been here for five years. They had learned things, they had become things they hadn’t know a nobody angel could become. When Aziraphale disregarded Muriel like he had, it was like he was disregarding everything that had happened for them in the past five years.

When Muriel had been shunned in Heaven before, it had hurt, but they didn’t really think anything of it. After all, they were just a scrivener of 37th class. But here on Earth, Muriel learned that everyone was important, even someone like them.

And now that Muriel was being undervalued by the first angel they had met in years, they wondered if what they had learned was wrong.

As Muriel stared down at the abandoned papers on their desks, they realised that for the first time, they had someone who just might understand. They didn’t really feel the need to talk about what they were feeling with Eric right now, but they thought it would be nice just to see him.

Muriel smiled at the surprising thought, and just as they were about to realise they needed to retrieve Eric from next door, the door between their buildings burst open.

“Oh my Satan, you will not believe what just happened!” Eric said excitedly.

Muriel turned to face him and found themself smiling at the demon’s joy.

“Maggie had to leave so she let me ‘close up shop’. It was, like, the best thing ever! I mean in Hell, whenever someone is done with something, we just leave it and hope it doesn’t get eaten by another demon. We only put locks on torture chambers. But using them to protect human objects?” Eric put his hands on his hips, looking very proud at the technological advancements of humanity.

“Oh, and guess what?” He reached into his coat and grabbed a small stack of records. “I didn’t even have to steal these. She let me ‘borrow’ them.”

Muriel laughed and grabbed the records from Eric. “Wow, you… have quite an interesting taste in music.” Presumably, Eric had just grabbed whatever cover caught his eye because there was absolutely no rhyme or reason to the arbitrary collection of records he had picked out. After shuffling through an odd mixture of foreign pop, heavy metal, and other miscellaneous genres, Muriel stopped at one record in particular.

“Oh, yeah, I recognize that name. Lot of memos back in the day from Crowley.”

Muriel laughed. “Do you want to listen to them, then?”

Eric nodded slowly. Muriel suspected that prior to this point he only thought they were to look at.

Muriel walked over to the gramophone and put on Queen’s The Works as Eric watched with interest over their shoulder.

"Oh, it makes noise. How does it do that?"

Muriel tried to remember how it happened. "The needle scratches little holes in the plastic, I think."

"Wow." Eric was mesmerised by the spinning record. Muriel smiled at him and took his hand.

"And look, you can dance to it too."

Within a record five minutes of leaving his flat, Crowley was running up to the steps of the bookshop. He noted a burning sensation in his body as if someone had consecrated Whickber Street itself. However, this feeling was stronger than the mild burns holy substances could bring to him. Worse, it was only in his head. Now is not the time to go mad.

The doors of the bookshop swung open before Crowley, and he was met with the sound of music so much more his style that he wondered if the angel was really in the shop at all. Surely he would've turned off such bebop. 

But Crowley knew he was here. The sick feeling he'd been getting every time he stepped foot into the bookshop, the strange way Muriel had been acting. It was all coming together.

Crowley snapped and the music came to a stop. "Muriel, I expect an extremely well crafted, reasonable explanation for this."

Muriel rushed out into the main room to face Crowley, followed by who was presumably their new friend.

"What are you doing here?" Crowley had recognized him. Seeing him did not make him happy.

"Oh, er, yeah… Hi there." Eric rubbed his neck awkwardly, realising Crowley had found him out.

In his rage, Crowley grabbed the leather lapels of the demon and pushed him against a shelf. Several books fell to the floor. "Where is he? Why are you here? I swear to… if you did anything—"

Eric puts his hands up defensively. "I didn't do anything. I don't even know what— Oh, hi, Maggie!"

Maggie and Nina entered the shop, out of breath as Eric waved to them.

"He found out," Maggie explained sorrowfully to Muriel.

Her fault, Nina mouthed, pointing to Maggie.

Maggie gasped. “It most definitely was not!”

"Crowley, put him down," Muriel pleaded, pulling on Crowley's sleeve.

Crowley did as he was asked, making a note to deal with the disposable demon layer, and turned to face Muriel. "Where is he?" he asked again, eyes flaming behind his glasses.

 "Crowley, he’s not what you think,” Muriel cried.

Crowley laughed bitterly. “Ha, you think I don’t know that? I'm the one who got stabbed in the back!”

“Well...”

"Tell me!" he demanded.

 "He's… upstairs."

"Cut the crap, Muriel. I know he's here."

"No, no," Muriel corrected, their eyes wide. “I meant upstairs. Not Upstairs Upstairs. He's in the extra room."

Crowley ran towards the stairs, pushing Eric out of his path as he passed. He rushed up the spiralling steps, nearly tripping over himself many times in the process.

Once Crowley got to the top, however, he hesitated. After Aziraphale had left, Crowley imagined a hundred times what it would be like if—no, when Aziraphale returned. At first, he imagined how angry he’d be. He would yell at Aziraphale until the angel finally understood just how much he had hurt Crowley. Then came times when Crowley could do nothing but miss his old companion. In those moments, he imagined forgiving him instantly, taking him into his arms and never letting go. Eventually, enough time had passed that Crowley had reverted back to the first fantasy. If Aziraphale ever did return it would be too late.

Looking at the door now, he wondered if he was really ready to see the face behind it. He had been grieving Aziraphale's leave for five years. He was unimaginably angry at him, but he was also hurt. Crowley could barely think about Aziraphale without breaking down into tears. What would really happen if he saw him? All of that thinking in five years and he still was unprepared. 

Still, Crowley pushed forward. He couldn't leave Aziraphale to not answer for what he did. He couldn’t leave himself with so many questions unanswered and so many things unsaid. So Crowley opened the door, ready to greet the angel who had broken his heart.

But Crowley was only met with an empty desk, an empty bed, and sickeningly bright yellow walls. Aziraphale was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked to the empty room before quickly gasping and covering his mouth with his hand. He hadn't allowed that name to leave his mouth in five years. He was surprised at how easily it rolled off his tongue. As if Aziraphale hadn't left him. As if Crowley was just popping upstairs to check on the angel after being out for a few hours rather than years.

The thought made Crowley angry. How dare Aziraphale wield this power over him. How dare he make him cry and mope for five years and then suddenly hold all of his attention again.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, taking a step into the room.

When there was no answer he shouted, “Is this some sort of cruel joke? A trick to get me out for a stupid dinner?”

Crowley heard sounds of confusion from everyone downstairs. He glanced at the window. He wouldn't have gone out, would he?

As Crowley opened the window and peered out into the dark night, getting ready to crawl out onto the roof if he had to, he heard a quiet voice behind him say, “I'm here.”

Crowley whipped his head around, nearly banging his forehead on the window pane. Right there, tucked behind the desk, was Aziraphale. He put his hands out and waved as if to say surprise.

“You,” Crowley hissed as Muriel and the rest finally appeared in the doorway.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said slowly, bringing himself to stand but still not quite meeting Crowley's eyes. “Me.”

Crowley found himself speechless. All he could do was look and take Aziraphale in. He had changed. He had changed so much. He wasn't wearing his normal outfit and definitely not what you would expect an archangel to wear. His hair was a mess. He almost had a fully grown beard. And, Crowley noticed, he looked tired. Absolutely exhausted. All the usual spunk and energy had vanished and was replaced by a sort of callous demeanor that Crowley hadn't even known the angel was capable of. Or maybe he always had been like that, and Crowley only realised it now after being hurt by his carelessness.

“Ah, Crowley, I can explain,” Muriel said nervously before Crowley shut them up with a shaded glare.

“Look,” Aziraphale began, his voice reaching a frantic pace. “I didn’t mean for us to meet like this. I had a whole plan laid out, and I was going to make sure, first, that—”

“You think—” Crowley got caught up on his words. Satan, he wasn't about to cry was he?

“You think you can just appear out of nowhere after five years and just…” Crowley wasn't sure what he was going to say next. Set up shop like usual? Have Muriel take you in? Hang around with this random demon?

“Not say hello?”

Oh. That's the one he ended up going with.

Aziraphale's face softened. He actually had Crowley believe for a second that he might be apologetic. “Oh, Crowley…”

“‘Cuz you don’t.” Crowley could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. In a few seconds he wouldn't be able to stop them.

“No. You don't. You can't expect to be able to just waltz down from Heaven because you missed your– your books– and your bookshop. Not after everything you did.”

Crowley leaned back, beginning to feel very faint. He gripped the edge of the window sill, creating small holes in the plaster with his nails. “Do you even know what you've done? For five years you left me. I have been miserable. I put my heart on the line for you and– and– and you stomped on it!”

“Well, I didn't exactly mean to stomp—”

“You stomped on it. Like it was nothing to you. Like I was nothing to you.”

Aziraphale looked ashamed.

“I get it, Aziraphale,” Crowley spat sourly. “I'm a demon. I was never worthy of your company. You made that very clear the day you left.”

Aziraphale finally looked up and met Crowley's gaze. “That's not what I meant!”

“Oh, ‘course not. You only meant the best, you absolute fucking angel. You meant to offer me the salvation and forgiveness a demon like me doesn’t deserve!” 

Aziraphale was silent. Everyone was silent.

“I don’t understand, Aziraphale! I don’t understand why you still choose Heaven time and time again. I don’t understand why you think there’s anything wrong with me when you seemed absolutely head-over-heels and ready to start a life of domestic bliss five years ago. I don’t understand why you had to leave! And I don’t understand why I feel so sick!” Crowley punched his fist into the wall adjacent to the window as he leaned against the sill. His headache had only grown, and it was making it a lot harder for Crowley to hold it together.

“My bet’s on alcohol poisoning,” Nina muttered low enough so neither Aziraphale nor Crowley heard her.

“Now look at you,” Crowley hissed, trying to hold onto the few shreds of dignity he had as tears fell freely from behind his shades. “Quite the hypocrite, huh? Consorting with this demon.”

Eric cleared his thoughts nervously and stepped forward. “Okay, I guess that's my cue. You see, Mr. Crowley, sir—”

“Don't do that,” Crowley groaned.

“Sorry,” Eric apologised for his formalities. “But, uh, the reason I'm here with Aziraphale—or rather, that Aziraphale is here with me—”

“Eric,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I think it's best if I explain myself.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped to Aziraphale. Crowley thought the situation was quite clear. Aziraphale had stolen Crowley’s moment in the bookshop, told him he hated his being, left, and then suddenly appeared five years later. “Right then. Get on with it, Supreme Archangel.” Crowley enunciated each syllable of his last question, hammering each word like a nail into Aziraphale’s heart. ”Why - are - you - here?”

Aziraphale’s face faltered. “Ah, yes. See, that's the very thing. I'm not exactly the Supreme Archangel.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is Heaven not all you thought it would be?”

Aziraphale’s lip began to quiver. “Funny,” he said, ever so quietly. “No, it's not… they tricked me.”

Aziraphale would have very much liked to burst into tears and jump into Crowley’s arms. He wanted to grovel at the demon’s feet and beg for both his forgiveness and his familiar comfort. But there were other people here. Not just humans, but a demon and angel. Plus, Aziraphale was trying to prove he was strong. He couldn’t cry in front of Crowley and still have him think he could save them.

So Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady himself. It didn’t do much. He was still a nervous wreck on the inside, feeling as if his six thousand years on Earth were weighing down on him. Still, looking at him, you’d be none the wiser that this being was freaking out. At a glance he was just a typical flighty bookseller.

“They made me fall, Crowley,” Aziraphale finally said with the utmost composure.

The statement sent a shock through Crowley. Really, he could not say he was surprised if you asked him. He knew what kind of bastards they were up in Heaven. But still, he could never anticipate this happening to Aziraphale. Aziraphale who, at the end of the day, was still the perfect angel. Satan, he deserved the title more than anyone, even after everything he had done.

He had expected something else. That they demoted Aziraphale back to cherub, to scrivener, to Heavenly clean up duty, anything but that. Not Aziraphale.

Crowley wanted to feel relieved. He wanted to be glad that Aziraphale was finally free from Heaven and had come back to Earth, but Crowley knew what falling meant, he sympathised with the pain. Aziraphale didn’t deserve all that—especially after all that Crowley had done to keep him safe from the same wrath of Heaven that had doomed him.

Crowley couldn’t say anything for a few moments. He could hear the gasps of Maggie and Nina, but they felt as distant as the furthest corner of Heaven and the deepest dungeon of Hell. The few metres to the doorway where they stood were like light years to Crowley. Right now it was only him and Aziraphale in the room.

Crowley took it all in. He tried to scour Aziraphale for changes, but they were subtle. A worn expression. Some stubble. Hair a lighter shade of white, as if bleached by the sun. These were the kind of changes you would expect from not seeing someone for five years, not from becoming a demon.

“You're– You're a demon then?” Crowley finally managed.

“I suppose. Although Eric says I'm not technically a demon until I go through the customary torture and training. To be honest, I haven’t had time to dwell on it.”

“Didn’t spend enough time cooking,” Eric joked, reminding Crowley that they weren’t alone. Eric looked around the room to the number of scowls directed his way. “Sorry… just trying to keep it light.”

Crowley nodded. At least Aziraphale was safe from all of that. That explained why he remained himself. Sure, he looked worn and tired, but he was still the same angel.

“So that's why Eric's here.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Yes… I escaped.”

“So you did trick me!” Eric exclaimed.

“Eric, that’s basically common knowledge at this point,” Muriel whispered.

Crowley shifted through the millions of questions in his brain. About the fall, about what he thought of Good Guys now, about why Aziraphale had left in the first place. The questions bounced around in Crowley’s head, causing his corporation to feel pain behind his eyes and at the back of his neck. He shook off the pain and finally asked, “Then why have you been avoiding me for a week?”

The four inhabitants of the doorway shook their heads, showing Aziraphale that they disapproved of his avoidant habits as well.

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. He thought for a moment. “I… I only had to deal with some things first,” Aziraphale answered nervously, gesturing to the stacks of books and papers on his desk.

Crowley scowled. “You don't get to keep things from me. What's going on?”

“The end of the world. Again,” Aziraphale finally fessed up, his hands waving nervously. “And– And I'm trying to figure out what it is so I can stop it. The Metatron says it's going to be the Second Coming, but I can't find any legitimate proof of a new messiah and—”

“Hold on,” Crowley interrupted. The sudden threat of Armageddon sent a burst of adrenaline through him, shaking off the melodramatic thoughts. “Why would Heaven tell you what the end of the world is going to be? When they know you have a track record for stopping these things, and before they cast you out?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “Oh…”

“Second Coming? Too easy,” Muriel said.

“Wait.” Aziraphale stopped pacing and gave them a suspicious look. “You two know about the end of the world?”

Crowley and Muriel looked at each other.

“We snuck into Heaven for a moment when the bookshop was under attack and got a glance at some plans. The same plans Gabriel turned down. Aziraphale…” Crowley still couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes but did his best at softening the tone of his voice. “There's not going to be a warning. They're just going to get rid of humanity.”

Aziraphale's eyes went wide with surprise.

Crowley looked down at Muriel. “Have you not told him?”

Muriel rolled their eyes. Crowley was surprised they were capable of doing that. “Trust me, I have been trying to, but Mr. Aziraphale wasn't too keen on receiving my help.”

Crowley turned towards Aziraphale. “Okay, from now on, Muriel is one of us.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Very well. I apologise for brushing you off, Muriel.”

Muriel smiled smugly. “Well, isn't it nice to be included in something? Come on, I have all my planning-to-avert-Armageddon things downstairs.”

As Muriel left the room, Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already been planning together?”

“Don’t look at me,” Crowley defended, though he did silently acknowledge the twinge of jealousy in Aziraphale’s voice.

The two began to walk downstairs, and Crowley called out. “Hey, Muriel? How long have you been at this?”

All of a sudden, Muriel opened up a drawer in their desk and pulled out a large stack of papers. “Five years,” they answered. “Ever since we found out about the end of the world.”

“Huh.” Crowley made his way towards the desk and watched as Muriel brought out even more books. “Were you planning on cutting me in on this?”

“Eventually,” Muriel said sheepishly. “But you were a bit preoccupied.”

“Right. What do you need from me?” Crowley felt bad that his moping had made him seem like a less useful asset to the team, but he was ready to get down to business. Especially considering the fact that Aziraphale was back. Now he could focus on Armageddon. It was much preferred to thinking about all that was still left unresolved between the two of them.

“Well, now that we’re all here, we can start the planning phase. I’ve been compiling evidence from Heaven’s memos over the past five years, and this past week, Eric’s been a great help with connecting the dots.”

“Hold up,” Crowley interrupted. “We’re including Eric in this?”

All eyes turned towards the demon who was nervously picking at the thread in his gloves.

“Erm, I mean, I– I can go if you want me to…” Eric sputtered nervously while making direct eye contact with Crowley’s shades that undoubtedly had a disapproving expression behind them. “I just think I may, like, have some skills to offer, and I’m more than eager to help.”

“Eric stays,” Muriel declared. “And if anyone has a problem with that—”

“Of course I have a problem with that!” Crowley shouted, walking over to Muriel’s desk. “How do we know we can trust him?”

“I trust him,” Muriel said, not breaking eye contact with Crowley as his face loomed over theirs. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No! Your first year here you believed that Mrs. Sandwich actually runs a seamstress business.”

“That’s different,” Muriel defended. “Humans lie for whatever strange, convoluted reasons they have. For what reason does Eric have to lie?”

“That bit’s true there,” Maggie muttered to Nina in the corner as their celestial peers forgot that they were here watching.

“He’s a de—” Crowley stopped himself from saying it. Of course demons were supposed to lie, but he didn’t actually believe that. And if he spread it around that all demons were lying, untrustworthy bastards, what would that mean for himself? He was already on thin ice making Aziraphale trust him. And who was Crowley to assume that Eric wasn’t like him?

“Fine,” Crowley grumbled, taking a step back. “Eric can stay. I just don’t see what he has to offer.”

“Actually,” Eric said, sounding quite relieved to no longer be directly at the mercy of a nearly flaming demon, “I helped confirm that Hell does not know about Heaven’s new plans of Armageddon, meaning they are crafting a surprise attack.”

“How do you know this? I thought you were a low ranking demon,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley noticed this was much more a rude comment than the angel would typically give.

“Actually, I’m responsible for reading most of the memos sent down from Earth and Heaven. I usually have a clone working with Dagon in message receiving. And we haven’t received anything alerting us about Armageddon. Trust me, even the lowest ranking demons would know if we had to mobilise for war. Also…” Eric pulled a folded piece of yellowed parchment from his breast-pocket. “This was delivered straight to me from Heaven. Looking at it now, I realise it’s further evidence that Heaven is trying to keep their plan under wraps.”

Crowley took the paper and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the page, not too accustomed to reading words at a fast pace. Crowley was especially having a difficult time reading with all that was going on at the moment but eventually got the gist of the message.

“I don’t get it,” Crowley said. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Heaven sent me a message saying that I needed to keep Aziraphale a secret from Hell but report directly to them as soon as he fell,” Eric explained.

“Yes, yes. I can read,” Crowley growled. “But how does that relate to Armageddon?”

“Well, I thought about what it could mean for five years, and I think I finally understand it.”

“Perhaps, you’re overthinking it,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I mean, I am a high-profile angel. Heaven probably just wanted to protect me from you demons— I mean, the demons who—”

“Heaven doesn’t care what happened to you,” Crowley pointed out bluntly, trying to ignore the fact that Aziraphale still referred to Hell as “you demons.”

“Eric and I put our heads together and finally figured it out!” Muriel said, proudly beaming both at the accomplishment and their correct usage of an idiom. Their smile quickly faded, though, as they remembered the serious subject at hand. “It’s, erm, not good news.”

“Looking back at all Earthly affairs that concern both Heaven and Hell, we noticed they have all been put into writing,” Eric explained.

“The ordeal with Job, the first Armageddon, and many other small business matters. They’ve either been in Heavenly records or prophetic writings here on Earth. It’s the rule that both sides need to be notified.”

“But leaving written proof for both sides to see has not exactly worked well for Heaven and Hell in the past,” Eric said with a quick glance at Aziraphale and Crowley, alluding to their take down of Armageddon a few years prior. “So we think Heaven has found a way to secretly plan Armageddon while keeping it away from Hell and, well, you two.”

Eric and Muriel looked at each other proudly to finally be able to relay their findings, but Crowley only grew more and more anxious. “So what you’re saying is… this note—” Crowley held up the yellowed piece of paper with its singed edges so everyone in the shop could see. “Is Heaven’s declaration of war?”

Muriel and Eric nodded. “It’s the only way they could’ve done it without outright alerting us,” Muriel explained. “And Heaven may be a stickler for rules, but there’s been many cheats and loopholes taken throughout the years. Take it from me, I was the one processing them.”

“Wait, wait,” Crowley cut in, his tone shirt. “This memo being a declaration of war is just too far of a stretch. I mean, what does Aziraphale falling have to do with Armageddon?”

“Heaven can’t start Armageddon from nothing. They had to have some sort of sign in order to kick it off,” Muriel explained. "They must have it written somewhere. The world shall end in fire and flame once… well, once something happens that equates to both sides being opted in.”

“The stretch is what Heaven is considering that to be this time around,” Eric continued. “What they chose as their sign.”

Aziraphale finally spoke up while taking it all in. “I’m confused. What's our sign?”

Crowley turned grey, took a step back and slumped onto the back of a couch. “If that’s true…” he said, his mouth dry. “No! No, he can't be implicated like this!”

“Aziraphale,” Eric said slowly. “It’s you. Hell receiving you was meant to be the opt in for Armageddon.”

“Oh,” gasped Aziraphale.

“It makes sense too,” Muriel said solemnly. “A high profile angel… could easily be spun in favor of Heaven.”

“Eric,” Crowley hissed, springing from his spot against the couch to right in front of the small demon’s face. “Does anyone in Hell know Aziraphale is here?”

“No, no!” Eric put up his gloved hands defensively. “I’m not even sure if they know I’m gone. And I’m the only one who knows Aziraphale is done falling. I swear!”

Crowley gave up on Eric, who had started backing up into the bookshelf, and turned to Aziraphale. “Have you left the shop at all? Is there any possibility that Heaven knows you’re here?”

Aziraphale couldn’t answer, shocked at the sudden closeness of Crowley.

“No one knows about him, Crowley,” Muriel answered. “We’re safe.”

“For now,” Crowley grumbled, discreetly wiping the budding beads of sweat from his brow. For once he was glad Aziraphale had decided to hole up in the bookshop, at least now the Heavenly Host wasn’t descending on the Earth because he wanted to pop about London. “We’re running out of time. We need to think fast. Aziraphale, how did we stop Armageddon last time?”

“I– I honestly don’t think we did. We just sat around and let the humans do all the real work if you remember correctly.”

Maggie cleared her throat, reminding everyone that she and Nina were still there. The humans didn’t seem too vocal about the end of the world. Perhaps because they were always sitting with the fact that their lives wouldn’t last forever. Expecting humans to care much about the end of the world is like expecting frogs to jump out of boiling water—it makes sense for them to do it, and sure, study enough frogs in a lab, and you’ll get plenty that jump out, but most just accept the issue as it happens. Maggie and Nina wouldn’t like to consider themselves frogs, however. They were neighbours with supernatural beings. That made them special enough to care about Armageddon because now they knew for certain they could do something about it.

“If I may,” Maggie spoke up. “It’s just re-occurred to me something that Crowley said once while drunk a few years ago.”

“I say a lot of things,” Crowley stated, no doubt giving Maggie a blank stare from behind those glasses.

“No, no. About the end of the world.”

“I say a lot of things about end-of-the-worlds.” Crowley continued quickly before anybody, especially Aziraphale, had time to unpack that plural. “And I don’t see why any of my drunk rambling would be relevant to the issue at hand.”

“No, she’s right,” Nina agreed. “I remember. Something about nukes and bombs and that you wish Gabriel had just let them push that button.”

“When we went to Heaven!” Muriel identified the memory with excitement.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley puzzlingly, and Crowley quickly averted his gaze elsewhere. “I didn’t actually mean it,” he sighed. “But yes, point is, when Muriel and I snuck up to Heaven we saw the plans for Armageddon 2.0. Nukes. Whole lot of them, but simple as that.”

The room was silent, digesting that piece of information. Nukes. They seemed so permanent, so monstrous, and definitely unstoppable.

“No,” Aziraphale spoke up with a whine. “It can’t be nuclear weapons. The Metatron said that it would be the Second Coming.”

“Was that before or after he told you that he was giving you a big fat promotion to the Upstairs?” Crowley asked, his voice sounding more coarse and more pissed off than he’d been managing all day.

Aziraphale shut his mouth, and the room was quiet again save for Eric’s shocked yet entertained gasp.

“Crowley—”

“No, I’m serious,” Crowley continued. He had been trying to keep calm this whole day, but with the new subjects of bombs and Metatrons and the growing pain behind his eyes, it was becoming too much to bear. “Before or after he convinced you to leave me on Earth?”

“I did not want to leave you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sternly, also finding the need to empty the pent up emotions of the day. “But it’s things like this that made me have to. You won’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe in the Metatron. I don’t believe in Heaven,” Crowley clarified. “I don’t believe in this obvious decoy—”

“It’s not a decoy,” Aziraphale gasped, too focused on the conversation with his estranged ex-enemy to notice the faces of agreement surrounding him in the bookshop. “Believe me, Crowley. I think it’s truly going to happen.”

Crowley was swaying now, grasping onto the back of the couch for support. “I want to believe you,” he said. “And… well maybe five years ago I… I would’ve trusted your judgement, but—”

“Five years ago,” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, to me it is five years ago. It feels like just last week that Gabriel was here, and—”

“Funny,” Crowley spat. “It feels like last week to me too. Only that’s not because I’ve been gone for the past five years. It’s because I’ve been living through them and each second playing that one moment over and over in my head.”

He had been playing that moment along with many other old memories and imaginary scenarios that never did and never would happen over in his head countless times for five years. He had been stuck in a never-ending cyclic Hell constructed by his own dumb decision to stick around an angel who had the power to affect him. And now Aziraphale’s return broke Crowley from that cycle. For better or for worse, it was far too much for him to bear.

Crowley took a few dizzy strides to Aziraphale and grabbed the front of his jumper. “And guess what? It has not done me any—”

As Crowley spoke, his knees buckled and his hands slipped from Aziraphale’s soft jumper as he fell to the floor. He could barely muster out the word “good” before he properly fainted.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale let out a yelp as Crowley lost consciousness. “Oh my, is he okay?”

“Of course he isn’t okay, Aziraphale,” Nina scoffed. “Don’t you see? You show up out of the blue, the world is about to end, Crowley probably hasn’t slept in days. He’s very clearly overwhelmed!”

Aziraphale looked down guiltily at Crowley. He hadn’t meant to overwhelm him. Plus, he was surprised. The demon usually had a very good handle on stressful situations. He was always the one to find a way out of them and then settle down in the bookshop with a glass of wine as if nothing had happened.

“I’ll get him a glass of water,” Muriel announced. “Maggie, Nina, can you two lay him down on the couch?”

Maggie and Nina did as they were asked, quickly picking up the demon and carrying his lanky body to the couch. Aziraphale watched as they slipped Crowley’s jacket off and arranged him comfortably among the pillows. Something about the way they worked told Aziraphale that they had done this many times before.

Nina noticed Aziraphale’s inquisitive gaze. “Been dealing with this kind of stuff for a while now. In lieu of your absence.”

Maggie went to grab Crowley’s glasses, but Nina stopped her. “No, love. Leave those on. You know how he’ll be.”

Aziraphale went to fidget with his pocket watch only to remember that it was no longer there in his jacket. It was a shocking realisation. He had been trying so hard to occupy his mind with things other than his fall and his last talk with Crowley, but found he couldn’t quite do that anymore. All the memories started coming back to his mind at once.

“I didn’t mean to—” before Aziraphale could stutter out an apology, Muriel returned with a glass of water.

“Erm…” They looked down at the glass in their hands and then at the sleeping demon. Without any warning besides a quick shrug, Muriel splashed the water onto Crowley’s face.

“Muriel!” Maggie exclaimed. “The water is for him to drink.”

“Well, I know, but I figured given the urgency of this whole situation, we’d want Crowley awake sooner.”

As Crowley sputtered awake and shook the drops of water off his face and glasses, Muriel handed him the glass left with only a shallow bit of water left at the bottom.

“Thanks,” Crowley groaned before taking a sip.

Aziraphale rushed to Crowley’s side and looked him straight in the eyes, much to the demise of everyone in the room, especially Crowley. “Crowley, I rather think we should talk.”

Crowley choked on his water. “Now?”

Aziraphale nodded, trying not to look too desperate. He knew he still couldn’t bring himself to tell Crowley everything, but he had to do something. He was beginning to fear that if the world was ending he might never get to tell Crowley how sorry he was. But he hid that fear. Everyone was already so stressed. If the angel— once- angel showed that he was losing faith, everyone would.

Crowley faced Aziraphale, and Aziraphale faced back into those impassive black shades. “Right. Okay,” Crowley agreed. “Everyone give us the room.”

“Crowley—” Muriel began to protest.

“It’s okay, Muriel.” Crowley turned to them and flashed a small grin that indicated he was making a joke even though his tone of voice lacked its typical humour. “We can always just tell you what we said afterwards.”

“Well, finally somebody here has a good idea,” Nina exclaimed, her glare still trained on Aziraphale. “And to think it's this idiot. Alright, you heard him. Everyone out.”

Muriel sighed and gathered their stack of papers while Eric grabbed the books. Everyone retreated into a back room.

Nina stopped to look back at Crowley and Aziraphale. “Talk, hash it out, whatever. Just try not to kill each other.”

Then, she shut the door, leaving the two very aware that this was the first time they were alone in five years.

Aziraphale shifted closer to Crowley on the couch. “My dear—”

Crowley made a noise of disapproval, cutting him off as he backed up into the armrest opposite of Aziraphale.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said apologetically. “You're angry.”

“I'm fucking furious,” Crowley corrected.

“Right… but I just— Well, I want to say that…” Aziraphale attempted a calming deep breath. “I miss you,” he finished before bursting into tears. 

Crowley managed to pull his gaze from the floorboards and looked at Aziraphale. It was true that he had had many fantasies about what would happen if Aziraphale returned, ranging from Aziraphale putting a flaming sword through Crowley’s chest to Aziraphale planting a long overdue kiss on Crowley’s lips as rain poured around them. He never imagined Aziraphale avoiding him. He never imagined Aziraphale seeming so unlike himself. 

“I'm sorry they tricked you,” Crowley said slowly once he remembered himself. “I'm sorry you fell, but you still can't leave me here just because you're upset.”

“I was falling for five years,” Aziraphale sniffled. It was no doubt a stressful experience.

Crowley chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Yes, but still… I kind of expected you to come back.”

“It would have been impossible.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

Aziraphale held his breath as a whole novel’s worth of thoughts fell into place. Crowley was right. There was always some sort of unbreakable tether that kept the two of them together. If ever there was any trouble, Aziraphale and Crowley would find each other. Or rather… Crowley would always find Aziraphale. And now it was Crowley who needed the help. Who needed the saving. And Aziraphale couldn’t do it. He had failed Crowley.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale’s eyes grew more and more damp. His face erupted into stinging spikes. “Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Aziraphale felt the phrase I need you waiting on the tip of his tongue but it was stopped from leaving his mouth by the anxious feeling that Crowley had already done too much for him and a wave of fresh tears.

Crowley wanted more than anything to go over to Aziraphale and offer him all methods of consolation. He could barely resist reaching out to his angel. He was still so beautiful. Still so helpless. Crowley couldn't just leave him. But he didn’t have it in him to do so. Maybe someday. Maybe eventually. “Well… you've been gone. I’m very hurt.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“You were gone for five years.”

“I know. And I'm sorry for that. Had I been able to, I would've come right back.”

“Would you?” Crowley lifted his head to almost meet Aziraphale’s. “If they granted you the position, would you care to pay me a visit or were we over?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Of course not, I would've come back to you once I had everything under control.”

Crowley gave a bitter laugh. “Once everything was under control. Of course.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m trying to set my priorities here.”

“And I’m not one of them.”

“You know that’s not true,” Aziraphale defended.

“Then why have you been avoiding me for a week?”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped shut. He thought for a moment. “I suppose it is because I didn't want you to see me like this.”

Crowley shook his head. “Nope, I've known you forever. I've seen you do more embarrassing things than any human would be able to do in a lifetime. That excuse won't work.”

Aziraphale sighed. He sighed the kind of sigh that someone who usually holds in all their emotions gives when they finally relent to telling a bit of the truth. “I feared I would be distracted. We left so much unsaid from our last meeting, and I was scared if I saw you that we—”

Aziraphale cut himself off, slowing down in order to choose his words wisely. “I was afraid we would go right back to where we left off, and no work would be done.” He meant work towards Armageddon, obviously, but what he knew Crowley wouldn’t understand is the work towards them. Aziraphale was afraid that if he let Crowley see him, that if he let him hold him and even, from the back of his mind that allowed him to fantasise such things, kiss him, Aziraphale would forget everything he had been thinking. That all the feelings of inadequacy would evaporate, leaving Aziraphale content but with no actual progress done.

“Armageddon is just too pressing of an issue, you understand?” Aziraphale clarified. “So I rather think we should take a rain check.”

“A rain check?” repeated Crowley, blankly. He knew that Aziraphale was objectively right. He was in part relieved. Armageddon was the bigger issue here, but he could hardly stand the wait to talk to Aziraphale. He’d been cut off once five years ago, and was feeling quite a bit of deja-vu to that moment.

“Fine, yeah,” Crowley relented, albeit with a pissed-off tone. “So no talking about us until after we save the world?”

“No, my dear. It’ll be better this way.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a reassuring smile. “Oh, buck up. It won’t be too long now.”

Crowley remembered the impending deadline. They didn’t even know when Heaven could strike. It could be at any moment, and they were not ready. It suddenly occurred to Crowley that there may not be an after.

Chapter Text

Over the course of the next few days, the bookshop was transformed into a base for the fight against Armageddon. The shop was closed to the dismay of about two potential customers and, if anyone inside had cared to notice, to the confusion of the rest of Whickber Street. But the team didn’t have time to worry about canceled shop visits, missed non-sales, and a pacing Mr. Brown—they had the threat of the end of the world against their backs.

Every celestial being inside the shop was frantic about said threat. Aziraphale was reading through every slightly relevant book in his shelves, not even worrying about putting them away nicely. Muriel was scouring every scrap of paper they had ever received from Heaven. Eric was… doing something with red string to keep himself busy (no one actually knew what exactly he was trying to pull off). And Crowley had decided to take to the Internet to research Armageddon. Crowley, not the most tech-savvy but not an absolute loss, had borrowed a sleek laptop that Aziraphale owned but had never once used and secluded himself in one of the side rooms where he could work by himself without distractions.

Maggie and Nina may not have been able to offer the most technical support in this mission, but they proved themselves helpful, always being around to give advice or support and remind the team to eat a meal. The eating may not have been physically important but it allowed the angels and demons and such to take a break and relax as much as they could.

Crowley had skipped every break. Which was what Nina was confronting him about at the moment.

“You haven’t eaten,” she stated plainly upon entering Crowley’s personal room. 

“Hmm, not my sstyle,” Crowley said slowly, not looking up from the computer screen as he was laying on the floor with the dimmed screen a foot in front of his face.

“Drink water then,” Nina said.

“Definitely not doing that.”

“Caffeine?”

Crowley’s body language slightly changed. “Only if you shoot it directly into my veins.”

“Do you even have veins?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Anyway, no. You don’t need caffeine, but you do need a break. You’re the only one who hasn’t stopped working all week. Even Aziraphale is taking breaks, and Aziraphale is the weirder one out of the two of you.”

Crowley almost chuckled but remained barefaced.

“Is it because you’re avoiding someone?” Nina asked. After a second she added, “And if you joke around and give me a bullshit answer, I swear to—”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Crowley said, finally looking up at Nina. “Don’t bring Her into this, please. That is the last thing we need.” Crowley took a breath. “And yess, I’m obviously avoiding someone. Glad we have someone with your observation skills on the team.”

“Right,” Nina sighed. “The sarcasm is unnecessary.”

“Sorry.” Crowley shook his head. “And anyway, no. I’m not avoiding him. I'm just… Well, I'm prioritizing this right now.”

“That's being avoidant.”

“That's being logical,” Crowley corrected. “Look, Aziraphale and I both agreed. We aren’t going to be able to… mmm talk to each other until we are assured that it's not just all gonna go to shit again.”

“The world or your relationship?”

Crowley didn't answer.

“Also,” Nina continued. “Shouldn’t the end of the world be inspiring you guys to hash it out? Say everything you need to say, do everything you need to do in case you never get the chance to again?”

Crowley slowly rose from the floor and leaned against the wall behind him, his shaded eyes trained on the ceiling. “Nina, I've been through a lot in my time in this universe. Maybe I would've responded like that in any other case—tsk, I have responded like that many times—but this situation is different. I'm not even nervous… I'm just… indifferent, I guess.”

Nina stood in the doorway looking at Crowley. She didn't know what to say. Crowley was always at least the second most energetic one out of all of them. He was always active in the face of a problem. And now he was just laying on the floor, talking about his feelings as if they didn't even bother him.

Nina supposed it was probably better, though, Crowley finally relaxing and taking a somewhat logical approach to his emotions, even if Nina knew he wasn’t being completely honest with himself.

“Well, anyway, I just came up here to give you the notes from lunch today. Muriel is thinking that they might have to go up to Heaven to gain more insight. They obviously can’t go alone.”

Crowley sighed. “Yes, alright, that's fine. I'll be more productive up there than I am here, anyway. This internet thing is completely useless. Everything is paywalled, whatever that means.”

Crowley eventually made his way downstairs and was caught up to date on the fact that there basically had been no new findings. He was, however, surprised to see a very decked out conspiracy board. “What’s all this?”

“This,” Muriel said, pointing at a glossy sheet of paper encircled by red string, “Is what makes this plan the smallest bit conceivable. Tomorrow was supposed to be Heaven’s annual golf trip. It did get cancelled, but this means there will be some angels a tad disappointed to not have the day off. It’s the most minimal security we’re going to get.”

Crowley figured that storming into Heaven would always be dangerous to him, security or not. Either way, it was a risk he didn’t have the energy to think about. Instead he just stared blankly at the board and asked, “Since when do we do golf?”

“You know… I offered to go with Muriel in the case you weren’t up to it,” Aziraphale spoke up from the back of the crowd.

Crowley scoffed without turning his head to look at Aziraphale. “Well, Muriel and I have been to Heaven together before so don’t worry about it.”

Course the Angel wants to go up to Heaven, Crowley thought, even though he knew it was completely unfair of him to think so considering the fact that Aziraphale had just been betrayed by them. Betrayed for the thousandth time , Crowley added. Don’t feel bad.

“I have to get some rest,” Crowley said, making his way back upstairs after only being in the room for less than five minutes. “Muriel, you can update me in the morning.”

The next morning, Crowley was clearly not having it. He didn’t want to go to Heaven, but he was prepared to do whatever was needed of him. Even if he was presumably operating on no sleep. Muriel too was not too eager about their side of the plan.

Muriel nervously approached Crowley just as he tried to swipe Nina’s coffee for himself and she took it back with a glare.

“Ready?” Muriel asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Crowley sighed, his eyes trained on Nina’s paper cup as she walked away.

“Are you still not feeling better?” Muriel asked, concerned. They had seen Crowley grumpy like this before, but he had never been asked to perform dangerous missions while in this state.

“I’m fine,” Crowley snapped. He turned to Muriel and softened his expression slightly. “Don’t worry. We can handle this.”

Aziraphale walked over to the two of them and Crowley immediately tensed back up, focusing his gaze on the floor and tightening his knuckles as he crossed his arms.

“I’ll escort the two of you across the street,” Aziraphale said with too much enthusiasm in his voice.

He’s acting strange, Crowley noticed, not giving Aziraphale the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

The three made their way across the street to the Dirty Donkey. It was a route that Crowley knew well but this trip had a whole different weight to it. Probably because it was leading to him being at the mercy of Heaven… or probably because Aziraphale was here. He was practically humming with energy beside him.

They were standing on the pavement as Muriel summoned the lift to take them Upstairs, and just as Crowley was mentally preparing himself to step inside, he felt a hand on his waist shattering his attempt at focus.

He jumped in reaction, but before he could even process what was going on, he saw out of the corner of his eye Muriel being herded away from the lift and felt himself being pushed inside.

In the blink of an eye, Crowley found himself rising, watching as a shocked Muriel descended outside the glass door. “What?” He reached out to the wall beside but recoiled at the cold touch. Frantically, he looked around to gather what was happening.

His eyes briefly caught shining blue ones across from him before turning away in surprise.

“What was that?” he demanded, completely dumbfounded at what had just transpired. Aziraphale is here, he tried to tell himself. This bastard pushed Muriel out of the way and is now on his way into Heaven with you. Get a grip! But he could hardly believe it.

“I wanted to go with you,” Aziraphale said, much too cheerily for Crowley’s taste.

The lift started to speed up and Crowley felt as his body travelled the equivalent of light years in just a few seconds. The white lights of the lift burned through his glasses in long pulses. “Aziraphale, I don’t know what the Hell you are playing at, but you need to stop. Don’t you understand? That isn’t some little ‘mission’ where we all volunteered to go and you got left out. This is sneaking right into the lair of the people that want to kill you.”

“Well, might I remind you that they want to kill you too,” Aziraphale huffed. He refused to turn more than a few degrees to face Crowley and also just looked straight at the doors. “I wasn’t comfortable with you going up here with only Muriel.”

“Why not? Muriel was perfectly fine. We had the plan laid out perfectly before you went and ruined it.”

“I just wasn’t comfortable with you and Muriel coming up here alone. I think they are a lovely angel, but don’t expect me to believe that they are capable of protecting you.”

With that, something snapped in Crowley. Aziraphale may have spent the past few days stomping on his heart with little disregard as to how Crowley was feeling, but for Aziraphale to insult Muriel—poor, sweet Muriel who had been his friend through his toughest five years—Well, that was not okay.

Crowley finally tore himself away from facing the doors and turned towards Aziraphale head-on. He grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels and swiftly slammed his back onto the door. Aziraphale was forced to look at Crowley with a bewildered expression.

“Not capable of protecting me?! Let me tell you something, Aziraphale,” Crowley stressed the syllables of his name in a way that Aziraphale hadn’t heard in centuries. “Who do you think has been protecting me and caring for me all these years?”

“Well, I haven’t really had a chance to think about—”

“Muriel! Maybe you haven’t gotten the chance to get to know them because you’ve been gone, but I trust them. They were here for me when I needed them. They have been with me through everything! Through—” Crowley felt his voice crack thinking about how he was almost about to reveal to Aziraphale just how hurt he had been, but he couldn’t tell him. Not like this. So he loosened his grip and took a step back. “You’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t need you to protect me from Heaven. Heaven can’t hurt me any more than you have.”

Aziraphale stepped forward only for Crowley to recede further into the lift. “Crowley…” he said, his voice breaking. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

Crowley wanted to shout at Aziraphale. Tell him over and over that he needed to stop, that he needed to go back down to Earth and leave Crowley and his stupid feelings alone. But deep down, Crowley knew that wasn’t what he really wanted, and it definitely wasn’t what he needed. All the anger was just another attempt at keeping all the pain at bay, but Crowley realised he didn’t need that now. He had nothing to lose now that he was alone with Aziraphale, travelling through planes of existence.

Crowley also abruptly realised that for the first time in five years he had touched Aziraphale. He had been avoiding making eye contact with him for days and now he had gone and slammed him into a wall. Crowley’s arms began to shake, and he looked at his trembling palms with shocked embarrassment. He wouldn’t be able to hold it together for much longer.

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale rushed to the demon, and this time he didn’t step away. Instead, Crowley allowed himself to go limp in the knees, practically falling into Aziraphale’s outstretched arms.

“Ngk! Don’t you get any ideas, Azzziraphale. I’m still upset with you,” Crowley hissed.

“I know. I know,” Aziraphale said softly as he moved so the both of them were comfortably sitting on the floor, holding onto each other. “You have every right to be angry at me. I’ve done an awful thing to you, my dear, and yes, I have not been considerate of your feelings. So tell me everything you’ve wanted to say to me in these past five years. Or, if you’d rather not speak to me at all, that’s fine.” Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s hands, and Crowley looked at him. Aziraphale knew that behind those dark glasses were Crowley’s wide golden eyes staring right at him. “But I need you to know that I’m here for you now, and I’m sorry. Beyond words am I sorry.”

A moment passed with the lift silent except for the indescribable sound of the cosmos whizzing by outside. Aziraphale sat waiting for Crowley to say anything . For him to start yelling at him again or for him to break down crying. After a while, Crowley’s face broke into a smirk.

“I forgive you,” he said, his natural laugh underlining the not-so-subtle jab.

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale cried, laughing just as much. He hardly knew what he was about to do, but a moment later it felt just right that he was jumping across the lift into Crowley’s arms and gently smashing his lips into his.

With the contact, Aziraphale realised that this is what he had been yearning for for the last five years. No , he thought—for his whole existence. Crowley realised much the same as he reciprocated the kiss.

God— Satan— really everyone knew that the two of them wouldn’t talk it all out. Crowley wouldn’t share with Aziraphale all the pain he had felt living on Earth alone, and Aziraphale, likewise, wouldn’t tell Crowley about all he was feeling in regards to his new fallen status, but without words, they were able to communicate all the built-up passion they held for each other.

Aziraphale moved his hand up Crowley’s sharp chin and burrowed it into his hair. As he grabbed a thick, red lock, he was grateful for the familiarity. This was what he had been missing. God, was he wrong for trying to avoid it. He was an idiot for thinking he could. Aziraphale tugged tighter on Crowley’s hair and went deeper into the kiss. He needed this.

Now, Crowley… Crowley was just relieved. Beyond words was he relieved. All the pain he had felt was receding, and he was just glad to finally be kissing his angel. It still hurt, he knew, and Aziraphale’s face had a surprising prickle, but he didn’t mind. To finally have Aziraphale prove that he reciprocated his feelings in such a strong and passionate way was more than he could ever hope for.

The kiss was powerful, letting repressed feelings escape after being bottled up for millenia. Aziraphale pushed Crowley down further—or maybe Crowley pulled Aziraphale down. The details between whose intention was what became muddled as Crowley laid sprawled on the floor with Aziraphale still locking lips with him.

They only fell deeper and deeper into the kiss until they were so entranced by just the close presence of each other that they forgot where they were and didn’t hear the sound of the ding as the lift reached the top floor.

They did, however, hear the third “Ahem!” from someone at the open entrance of the lift causing them to break from each other’s grasps.

Chapter Text

“Checkmate!” Eric said triumphantly as he slid his pawn across the chess board.

“Eric, that was your first move. There’s no possible way to checkmate me now,” Maggie pointed out.

“I don’t think I understand how this game works…” Eric scowled down at the wooden chess pieces.

“Clearly,” Nina scoffed, looking over the back of the sofa to watch the game unfold before turning back around to see Muriel nervously flipping through pages at their desk. “Muriel, dear, do you maybe want to relax for a moment?”

“Relax?!” Muriel nearly shrieked, slamming a book onto the desk as hard as their conscience allowed them.

“Ooh, bad choice,” Maggie murmured to her girlfriend.

“Relax at a time like this?” Muriel asked again, standing up from their chair and beginning to pace around the room. “The world is about to end, and we’re relying on the depressed demon we’ve been baby-sitting for the past five years and– and the traitor who broke his heart?”

“Woah, Muriel, have a little faith in them,” Maggie said sweetly. “I know it is not exactly what we had planned but—”

“It’s not at all what we had planned! You know, I thought that maybe this is fine and it’ll be a good idea, y’know, because then they‘ll be able to talk to each other and maybe we wouldn’t have to deal with their arguing on top of everything. The whole two stoned birds thing.”

Stoned birds? Eric mouthed, wondering if that was a strange human expression. Maggie and Nina couldn’t help much there.

“But— Ha! What am I thinking? Like they’ll talk it out. They’re more likely to ruin everything before deciding to do make up,” Muriel continued. “And now I’m worried that everything is going to fail all because of some stupid mistake I made!”

Maggie, Nina, and Eric all looked at each other worriedly. Muriel usually was very emotional, getting worked up when they made a wrong order or ran late to a hang-out, but this obviously had greater implications.

“Muriel, don’t say that,” Maggie smiled, walking over the desk to put a comforting hand on Muriel’s shoulder. “Besides, we need a little hope right now.”

“And you did those two immortal idiots a favour. This may be the last time they ever get to talk,” Nina said bluntly.

“Goodness, that’s a morbid thought,” Maggie sighed. “The point is, Muriel, please don’t feel bad about letting Crowley and Aziraphale go off on their own. It’s comforting to think maybe amidst all of this mess they’re up there rejuvenating their age-old relationship.”

“Or trying to kill each other,” Nina added.

“Or that. But whatever it is, it’s fine. We need to hang on to hope. Because once we say that our entire plan has gone down the drain… that's when we know it's over.”

Muriel looked around at their friends who despite everything were still finding ways to have fun in the face of danger. They relaxed a little. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Hey, I am curious,” Eric spoke up. “How come you two are so calm right now? I mean, like, I can tell you I’m nervous about the world ending, and I’ve only been here for, like, a week?”

“Oh, trust me, Eric, we are plenty worried,” Nina said.

“Yeah… I should know. I see how well she’s sleeping.”

“Maggie! But, anyway, that’s when we’re alone. I suppose it’s so easy being calm any other time because there’s nothing else we can do.”

“Nina and I are used to this feeling,” Maggie explained. “As humans we know our lives are short and, in the grand scheme of things, basically insignificant. We know our time on Earth was fleeting anyway.”

“I watched five documentaries in the past month about the melting ice caps,” Nina interjected.

“But at least we’re doing something about it,” Maggie said. “The way I see it, we could either be passive or active, and by plotting against the end of the world, we already have a league up on Heaven.”

“I’m sorry,” Muriel apologised. “I’m trying not to be so worried about it all. It’s just that… after all the work I’ve done, the best we could come up with is going up to Heaven. That’s not even a plan. And to think that it’s Aziraphale and Crowley up there alone… I just think I could’ve done more.”

“Oh, Muriel, you shouldn’t worry about that. In fact, you should be proud of all the work you’ve done!” Maggie exclaimed.

“It’s thanks to you that we even have any hope against Heaven,” Nina said.

Eric watched as the two embraced their worried friend and felt a feeling he had never felt before in Hell. There, everyone hated everything and carried out their compulsory work without any passion at all. He decided then that Muriel, who held such a strong love of the world that they were trying to pull off saving it, was the best person they had ever met.

“And besides, knowing Aziraphale and Crowley,” Maggie continued, walking back to the chess table to no doubt beat Eric at the game. “They’re fine.”

With a startled yelp, Aziraphale leapt up from Crowley and pushed himself against the back of the lift. Crowley awkwardly followed by sitting up and greeting the angel who had found them with pleads of mercy. Well… as close to that as a demon like Crowley could get. His pleads sounded more like statements of “You do not see us. You do not see us!”

The angel Saraqael rolled their eyes from the doorframe of the lift. “Oh, shut up, would you? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Crowley put his frantic hands down and relaxed slightly. He remembered when Saraqael had last helped him and Muriel in Heaven. He didn’t understand it then, and he wasn’t going to pretend to understand it now, but he did feel like he could trust Saraqael. He supposed they were just another overworked angel losing faith in the Great Plan.

Aziraphale, however, did not trust the angel. And why should he? The last time he was in this lift, they had betrayed him, and that wound was still fresh.

Crowley didn’t notice and stood up to greet Saraqael. “Hiya, Saraqael. How’s it going?” He wasn’t sure if they would be eager to help him this time, but he figured if they wanted to smite him, he’d already be… smitted? Smote? Smitten?

“Oh, now you remember me?”

Crowley stared at them blankly. He turned back to Aziraphale for help, but he returned no response. “Sure…” Crowley lied.

“We worked on the H…”

“Horsehead!” Crowley exclaimed, making a lucky association. “‘Course I remember.”

Saraqael did not seem convinced.

“So, Sara, my old friend—”

“Please don’t call me that,” they interjected.

“What’s going on up here?”

“Oh, skip the bullshit, Crowley,” they glared. “I know why you two are here. You’re here to stop Armageddon. Again.”

“Ahha, so Heaven is restarting Armageddon again!” Crowley said triumphantly before turning back into the lift. “Welp, Aziraphale, mission accomplished. We can go home now.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Aziraphale mumbled, unsettled by Crowley’s casualness about the situation.

“Right. We’re here to…” Crowley suddenly stopped himself. What was he thinking? Here he was speaking to an archangel, and he was just about to give up their whole plot. Sure, Saraqael had helped him and Muriel last time, but that didn’t mean they’d be willing to ignore their loyalties now. Crowley knew more than anyone that angels were fickle. They could smite him and Aziraphale any second, and he was just standing there mid-revealing-sentence.

Crowley realised then that this wasn’t a game. Preventing Armageddon wasn’t a little task he needed to complete to please Aziraphale. This was the real deal. More real than it was nine years ago. Back then Crowley didn’t really care about saving the Earth. If anything, all the work with the Antichrist was an attempt to salvage his relationship with Aziraphale lest the two ended up on opposite sides of a celestial war. Of course now Crowley still cared about Aziraphale underneath all the bitterness he was trying his damndest to overcome, but now he had other things to care about. He cared about the place he had learned to be independent in the last five years. He cared about his, for lack of a less sentimental word, friends. He cared about his car and his music and his nice clothes. Not just because it made him look cool, but he actually found himself enjoying the joys Earth had to offer.

Realising all that was at stake, the nonchalant disguise Crowley usually donned faded away. But before he could come up with a plan to get himself and Aziraphale out of a conflict with Saraqael, the archangel spoke up.

“I really can’t waste anymore time. Just tell me what files you need me to access for you and then be on your way.”

Crowley was shocked by the offer. Aziraphale put it best. “Pardon?” he asked, still refusing to leave the back of the lift.

“Well, don’t make a big fuss out of it,” Saraqael sighed. “If I put up a fight that would involve calling the other archangels, and, ugh, I really do not want to deal with Michael and Uriel right now. If you ask me, it’s in everyone’s best interest that you two leave Heaven as soon as possible.”

Saraqael turned and began to float away when Crowley finally decided to follow.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gave a worried shout from where he stayed in the lift. “Crowley, what do you think you’re doing?”

Crowley paused and looked back. “Following Saraqael,” he said, overlooking Aziraphale’s terrified expression.

“Don’t you think it could be a trap?”

Crowley chuckled slightly at the suggestion given all that had ever happened to him, Aziraphale, and every other fallen angel. “Heaven set up a trap? Now where would you get that crazy idea?”

But Aziraphale did not share Crowley’s amusement. He looked rightfully panicked.

Crowley remembered then the extreme pain and betrayal he had carried with him for centuries after his fall. He had wanted to curl up under the sandy dunes of the desert and hide from the world and its celestial entities forever. Aziraphale, though, was different. He had always been a bit of a conniving bastard despite what he might try to present, and as a demon he was no different. Crowley felt a surge of pride realising Aziraphale was so quick to stop Heaven, but he acknowledged that this may be difficult for him.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said with a softness he hadn’t expected himself to use for a long while. “It’s going to be okay.”

“But how can you trust them?”

Crowley looked back at Saraqael who was now making clearly disgusted faces at this overly-dramatic exchange. He didn’t really trust them. Crowley didn’t really trust anybody. But what was he supposed to say? That even though he couldn’t trust an angel, he still had just enough faith left in him to believe that there may be just enough actual goodness in Heaven?

Crowley had already shown enough vulnerability today, so instead he just said, “Saraqael has helped me before. They’ll help me again.” He offered a hand to Aziraphale to lead him out into Heaven. “Besides, it’s not like we can turn back now.”

So, hesitantly, Aziraphale finally left the lift and stepped into Heaven for the first time since falling.

Chapter Text

Once Gabriel had turned down the plans for Armageddon and disappeared, the Metatron knew he had to come up with something better.

The Metatron was in the corner of the Heavenly plane which could be referred to as his ‘office’ and loomed over photographs and papers detailing the great triumphs of War. The Metatron thought of the horsewoman as messy and all too furious, but he could admit that he admired some of her tactics. He hoped he would be able to implement some of her ideas in his own war against Hell.

But how to kick it all off? That was the question. He couldn’t use nuclear weapons this time. No, they would expect that, but nothing else held the same amount of power. At least no weapon in Heaven or Earth. Hell, however, may have something up their sleeves, thought the Metatron.

The Metatron had requested a resource on Hell's weapons and methods of torture. The book was waiting for him on his desk now, and he opened the cover to read the book card. Most angels did not care to write their name in the front cover, only one Earthly angel ever did so, and his name in frilly handwriting against the white paper was staring up at the Metatron.

“This is nice,” Eric said, breaking the peaceful silence in the bookshop. Nina was leaning against Maggie’s shoulder, watching her as she scrolled through her phone, and Muriel had finally relaxed and picked up a book. Eric was just taking it all in. “I know the world is kinda ending, and, like, we’re all not supposed to be friends, but it’s nice being around people.”

Maggie smiled at him. “Aww, that’s sweet. I bet it’s terribly lonely being a demon.”

Eric shrugged. “It's something we get used to. I mean, Hell is pretty crowded so, in a way, it’s like I'm never alone. Although, I did spend the last five years all by myself in a cave waiting for Aziraphale to fall.”

Muriel put down their book at the mention of the fall. Something didn’t add up. In Heaven, lesser angels were told stories of the fallen and what a terrible thing it was to fall in order to keep them loyal. They remember being told in explicit detail about the ever so loud and crowded pools of sulphur and tunnels packed full of hellfire and monstrous demons. “Are you saying that in the past five years, there has not been a single new demon?”

“Not necessarily,” replied Eric. “I mean, not all demons arrive in Hell by falling. We really only reserve that for angels and, like, really bad people. And there were definitely more demons falling. Just not in this pool for whatever reason.”

“What made this one different?” asked Nina.

For the first time since receiving his order, Eric began to realise that maybe there was something questionable about the responsibility. “Well, I’ve never thought about it before. It was far away from the rest of Hell, and I didn’t sense a single soul nearby the whole time. Plus, you could guess that it was newly constructed from the look of it. And the sulphur didn’t even hurt like it usually should. Like, I was able to dip my legs in the pool a few times when I got bored. And don’t even get me started on how unconventional Aziraphale’s fall was. He was only in the pool for, like, less than a minute, and I didn’t even get to take him to torturing before he escaped.”

Muriel shot up from where they had been sitting comfortably on a chair and ran back to their desk. “Eric, do you realise what this means?”

“I think so.” He got up and followed Muriel to where they were sifting through papers.

“You said you were given instructions directly from Heaven on what to do with Aziraphale. Do you still have it?”

Eric reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper. Muriel took it from him and laid it out flat on the table. There was something satisfying about seeing the pristine white paper they had been dealing with all their life looking so worn.

They read the paper aloud.

To the demon known as Eric,

It is in the best interest of the Great Plan that you undertake this responsibility given to you by Heaven. You are to wait by a sulphur pool (you will know which one) for the treacherous angel known as Aziraphale. Once he has arrived you will take him directly to a cell in the centre of Hell. Under no circumstance can the traitor go to Earth, and under no circumstance can you inform the other residents of Hell (your higher-ups or not) about this task.

- The voice of God

“I could never figure out why Heaven wanted me to do that with Aziraphale. I mean, the locks in Hell aren’t really known for their fortitude. Not that it matters if anyone ever escapes one part of Hell because another part is just as bad. Plus, it seems kinda common sense that I wouldn’t take a fallen angel to Earth. The direction just seemed unnecessary,” explained Eric.

Muriel didn’t look up from their stack of papers. They were furiously digging through the desk now, determined to find something they had read long ago. “Oh nooo. Maybe we had it all wrong. I was taking this note at pretty much face value, thinking they wanted to know when Aziraphale arrived, but maybe they didn't really need to know. Maybe it was reverse psychology,” they said. “If it was, it seemed to have worked.”

Eric blessed himself for possibly falling into Heaven’s trap.

“Like we were thinking Heaven's signal to take down Earth would be— where is that thing? —Aziraphale's arrival. But maybe instead it wasn't a signal. Maybe Aziraphale needed to be on Earth for specific reasons. It all makes sense now, because if Heaven had really cared about Aziraphale getting up here, I would have been getting a lot more surveillance here.”

“Wait, I’m confused. What does all this mean?” asked Maggie as she and Nina left the couch and came over to where Eric and Muriel were leaning over the desk.

“It means…” said Muriel, finally grabbing a small, old personal journal from their sea of research and opening to an exact page. “That there’s more to Aziraphale’s fall than we think. And I know exactly what it is.”

When Crowley had bought his modern glasses a few years ago he was sure to request the darkest pair they could make for someone who was not legally blind. Now he had wished he had gone with an even darker tint. Something very unusual was happening to his head right now. The bright lights of Heaven were shining into his eyes, causing his brain to feel like it was throbbing between his ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked, noticing that Crowley was looking pale and quite damp.

Crowley could barely make out what Aziraphale had said. For some reason the voice that normally caused him to go weak in the knees (in a figurative sense) sounded shrill and painful to him like a whistle might sound to a dog. “Yeah,” Crowley managed as he continued walking.

He must be feeling poorly being up in Heaven, Aziraphale thought. Oh, what was I thinking wanting to bring him here? I should’ve completed this part of the plan by myself.

Saraqael finally brought them to a glass desk with many slim files scattered across it. Aziraphale had never seen a desk in Heaven so messy. He figured the archangels must really have their work cut out for them in preparation of Armageddon.

“Chair?” Crowley asked hoarsely. He was gripping onto the edge of the desk for stability.

Saraqael looked up from their desk with a puzzled expression. “Why in Heaven would I have a chair for you?”

Aziraphale quickly miracled up a soft chair which Crowley promptly fell upon. Crowley was confused as to how Aziraphale was able to use a miracle in Heaven. Of course, he could perform miracles himself, but so far away from Hell he found it difficult. And Aziraphale was still new to all of this.

“Ah, here we are,” Saraqael announced, opening a file. “Us archangels are mainly in charge of what is to happen after the destruction of Earth. The Metatron is the one in charge of how it all happens, but I remember seeing just stray messages and documents outlining his plan. I pieced together everything I could find into a file here.

“You may recall our attempt at Armageddon a few years ago relied mostly on nuclear weapons. If anything good came out of your meddling it is that it highlighted the flaws in this method. Any weapon of Earth is too easily stopped.”

“So what did you use instead?” Aziraphale asked, taking the file from Saraqael. They gave him a grim look. Aziraphale thought he might have seen some empathy from his former associate. Hesitantly he read what was in front of him.

“Is that a diary?” Maggie asked.

“Aziraphale keeps a diary?” Nina followed up with a snort.

“Yes, he’s kept them religiously since the invention of paper,” Muriel explained. “Probably since before that, but the bookshop only has the paper journals. And for some reason pages have gone missing from them recently. I started reading them in order to understand Crowley a little better. I figured if I knew more about his past I’d be able to help him more. Then, I remembered seeing a few things in here that may be able to shed some light on how Heaven and Hell operate, and I remember this specifically.”

Muriel began to read.

December 20th, 1850

Dear diary,

I began the day the same as any other. I opened the bookshop at a quarter to ten, discussed literature with some very polite visitors and ousted some less polite ones from the shop, and settled down to do some reading around midday. I was searching the obituary sections of some Scottish newspapers I have delivered for a mention of Elspeth—

“Muriel, sweetheart,” Nina interrupted. “I don’t see how any of this is relevant. Can’t you just skip to the important bits?”

“Well, it’s all important,” Muriel said, offended. “It’s context.”

“Yes, but unfortunately I’m afraid we’re running a tad low on time for context,” Nina said.

“I think it’s interesting.” Eric smiled, sitting down and resting his head on Muriel’s desk, waiting for them to continue.

“Then the two of you can dig through the old man’s diaries at a later date,” Nina scoffed.

“Muriel, do you think you could just summarise what we need to know?” Maggie asked.

Muriel sighed. “Very well. Basically, Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley for decades at this point and was worried for him since the last time he saw him, he had been taken by Hell. So Aziraphale goes out and finds Crowley who’s moping around in a forest up North.”

“Well, what more can you expect from him?” Nina scoffed.

“Aziraphale finds out that during his time in Hell Crowley had been tortured and somehow he had escaped. Crowley couldn’t say much about it, but Aziraphale wanted to know what had happened, so he did some digging and found Hell’s new method of torture.”

Muriel flipped through several pages before finding the part of the entry they were looking for. “Here, read this.”

At long last, I was able to find Hell's new concoction used for torturing demons. It is known by a few names: popular ones include Unholy Water or Imbibing Sulphur. A mixture of sulphur, diluted holy water, and other ingredients, it has the unique ability to eradicate evil much like Holy Water but at a slower pace. The use of Unholy Water on a demon would cause their very essence to fight with itself and bring them to the very brink of death.

Crowley unfortunately would not tell me much about his time in Hell—although, I do not blame him. I had to find most of this information from files in Heaven. Why Heaven has information on such a Hellish practice I do not know.

I cannot help but think about poor Crowley down there for years. The Water must have eaten away at his soul until there was barely anything left. I only wished he had come to me sooner.

I was able, through some black market trading, to find a vile of Unholy Water. I was not sure if it was the real thing, but I needed at least one sample to conduct some research on. My first thought was to test it on myself. Surely Unholy Water would have some sort of effect on an angel, and maybe this would allow me to understand Crowley’s pain a little better.

However, occupied with other responsibilities, I had forgotten my plan with the Unholy Water and had it sitting in my desk for a week. Near the end of this very busy week Crowley came to visit me in my shop. I am always ever so glad to have his company grace my shop, even if the visits are potentially dangerous. He usually is only in for an hour or so, but this visit was even shorter. He had come inside for a reason—I could tell from his nervous behavior, but after just a moment of standing inside, he appeared distracted. When I questioned his sudden change in demeanour (and complexion as he had suddenly grown quite pale), he only answered by saying that something was off. I did not know what he meant by this at the time, but now I can only assume the presence of Unholy Water made him unwell.

Therefore, in light of this revelation I have decided to not test the Unholy Water on myself. I still do not know the effect it would have on an angel such as myself, but there is a chance the substance could permeate my corporation. If my system were to retain the Unholy Water, me being near Crowley could affect his demonic being, and I would hate to cause that pain for him.

I have decided it is best for me to abandon this investigation. After all, Crowley is safe now. I will simply do my best to ensure he is never caught disobeying his side again.

Muriel finished reading the diary’s excerpt and looked up to see Eric, Nina, and Maggie with focused expressions, still trying to digest the information they had just received. “I think we know what Heaven is using as its weapon.”

“The Unholy Water,” Maggie breathed. “But wait, you’re not thinking…”

“That they’re using Aziraphale as the vessel?” Muriel finished. “I mean, it’s the only thing that makes sense. How else would you explain why Crowley suddenly feels sick all the time? Or why things keep disappearing from my bookshop?”

“Those could just be coincidences,” Nina defended. “We all know it doesn’t take much to make Crowley feel like shit. Besides, how would Heaven even pull this off?”

“The secret is in the fall!” Muriel said, suddenly excited at this discovery. They dropped the diary back on the desk and grabbed Eric’s hands. “Eric, you said that Aziraphale’s fall wasn’t normal, right?”

“Uhh…” Eric didn’t respond and instead looked at Muriel’s hands clasped around his.

“Eric!”

“Oh, right, erm… Yeah! Yeah, it was very different. I mean, he had his own pool to himself, and didn’t really turn into a demon after falling in. But wait, I’m a demon, and I spent a whole five years next to the pool. If it was Unholy Water, shouldn’t I have felt it?”

“Maybe…” Muriel mused. “Or maybe not. Maybe you had no reaction to it because you’re different from most demons.”

“Oh.” Eric blushed.

“I mean your unique regenerative properties probably kept you safe from the effects of Unholy Water.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“This is just genius,” Muriel rambled on, leaving the side of the desk to pace around the room. “It’s sneak warfare. With the leadership shift, the Metatron took his chance to infiltrate Hell and manipulate Eric to gain access to the Unholy Water. Heaven must have known Aziraphale would have found his way back to Earth and that his presence here would slowly weaken anything Hellish here. Screw up the balance enough and you can eradicate the Earthly plane completely. And, of course, the one recognized threat to Heaven, Crowley, would be…” Gone.

“No,” Nina interrupted, nervous urgency soaking through her voice. “No! We need to find Aziraphale first. He’s up in Heaven with Crowley, and we’ve already seen how his closeness has affected Crowley so far. If his condition gets any worse…”

The four of them all stood silent, petrified at the implications of Crowley succumbing to the effects of Holy Water in the one place a demon should not be found, but before any of them could leap into action, there was a loud crash above them.

Shards of the yellowed glass of the ceiling dome rained down on the bookshop, and a black mass fell down in the middle of the rug. A dozen possibilities ran through the heads of the occupants, from the Heavenly host to a Heavenly bomb, but Muriel opened their eyes and peered hesitantly at the fallen object.

Laying on the rug, unconscious and bloodied was none other than the very demon they were trying to rescue. Crowley.

Aziraphale looked grimly upon the words in front of him. He kept reading the paper over and over, but the contents never changed. The words written in an ethereal language were new to him, but he understood it all the same. Heaven had decided to use the Unholy Water he had researched before.

Heaven had decided to use him.

Aziraphale’s rage was newly awoken. He felt betrayed by Heaven all over again. It was one thing that the Metatron had tricked him into believing that Heaven would ever forgive Aziraphale. It was another to set up a trap to make him fall. It was a whole other thing to turn Aziraphale into a weapon. The weapon to destroy Earth. The weapon to destroy Hell. The weapon to destroy—

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped, returning his attention to his companion, but Aziraphale was met with an awful looking demon. Crowley’s skin was pale and clammy, and his spine was struggling to stay upright in the chair. Aziraphale was sure that behind his glasses, Crowley’s eyes would be unfocused, darting around the room.

“I’m surprised he’s survived this long being near you,” Sarqael noted as dryly as one might comment on the weather. No emotional inflection came with their words.

Inside his frazzled head, Aziraphale was cursing himself. How could he let this happen? How come he hadn’t noticed the effect he was having on Crowley before? He had thought Crowley’s poor composure had been due to stress or him purely being dramatic, but he had greatly misjudged the situation. Aziraphale realised with relief that the distance he had Crowley keep prior to getting into the lift probably saved his life, but realised with dread that their recent make-up was potentially ending it.

“You need to make it stop!” Aziraphale shouted, jumping towards Saraqael. “How do you make it stop?”

Saraqael rolled back to avoid being hit by the furious angel. “The treatment wasn’t designed to be reversible. The Metatron cast you out of Heaven, but didn’t make you a demon. He made you a weapon.”

Aziraphale stumbled back taking all this in. He was a nuclear missile mid-flight with no red ABORT button and didn’t even realise it. All the time he was trying to save the Earth, he was hurting it by merely being there.

If angels were taught sympathy, Saraqael might have expressed that they were sorry, but they couldn’t identify the sick feeling they felt in their chest as they watched Aziraphale take indecisive steps away from Crowley while he still yearned to rush by his side and make sure he was okay. They also couldn’t tell why they held a breath when familiar footsteps approached the desk.

“I suspected you would find your way up here,” a cold voice observed, causing Aziraphale to swiftly turn around.

“It’s—” Aziraphale’s words got caught in his throat at the sight of the Metatron’s corporal appearance. The angel he had trusted before he cast him out and turned him into the very thing hurting the Earth.

“Yes, Aziraphale, it’s me,” the Metatron sighed with annoyance. “You don’t have to be so dramatic. This is just business. You happened to be the most eligible one to use for our plan.”

Aziraphale, however, knew it wasn’t just business. This was personal. Why else would Heaven choose the very angel who stopped Armageddon? The very angel who happened to have a close relationship with another celestial fugitive?

Aziraphale backed up as the Metatron continued to approach him. Habitually, he reached out for Crowley, grabbing onto his wrist, but quickly let go as soon as Crowley winced in pain. Aziraphale saw that his contact left a red mark on Crowley’s skin with blood filled boils surfacing.

The Metatron tutted. “Careful. You’ll hurt him.”

But the Metatron kept walking closer so Aziraphale had no choice but to stand by Crowley, attempting to shield him from the angel.

“You knew befriending one of his kind would have its consequences,” the Metatron condescended. “And you’ve had every reminder that angels and demons don’t mix, but you did not stop, did you?”

Aziraphale recalled all the times he felt anxious in Crowley’s presence, all the times he was sure their relationship could only end in disaster. Yes, he wanted to end it a thousand times. Not just for his safety, but for Crowley’s.

But Aziraphale never could quit Crowley. Every time the two would cut it off, they’d find a way back to each other because even with their two contrasting beings, their presence was comforting.

It’s not so comforting anymore, Aziraphale realised. Just being near him, Aziraphale knew he was causing Crowley immense pain. Aziraphale looked back at Crowley. He was trying to keep his head up, though he probably had no clue as to what was going on. A few drops of red blood fell from his wrist and marred the floor of heaven with a sizzle.

“What can I do?” Aziraphale asked the Metatron desperately. He knew how he sounded with his voice shaking. To make a deal with Heaven would be admitting defeat, but if he could have a chance at helping Crowley, he had to take it.

Saraqael looked at Aziraphale sorrowfully before averting their gaze.

“Oh, Aziraphale,” the Metatron laughed as if they were having a casual weekday conversation. “There is nothing you can do. You’ll be sent back to Earth, and no matter what you do to stop it, you will bring about the End. Even if you travel to the far corners of the Earth, even if you hole yourself up in that stuffy bookshop of yours, you will drain every essence of bad from the universe until there is nothing left to hold the balance together. The world shall end not with a bang, but a whimper, and eternal Heaven will take over without us having to lift a finger.”

Aziraphale stood helpless, his mouth agape. He tried to think of a plan, he needed to think of a plan, but he could come up with nothing. Aziraphale was even ready to put away his pride so that Crowley could think of some brilliant loophole and save the day, but it was all a part of the cruel irony that he was unable to do anything at the moment.

“Saraqual, be a dear and escort these two back to Earth. When you come back I’ll have you get started on those reports. Why don’t we move the due date to tomorrow, hmm?” The Metatron looked at Crowley with an expression that was a mix between disgust and pride. “It seems the End is coming sooner than we anticipated.”

The Metatron walked away, disappearing into the vast distance of Heaven. Saraqael made a point to follow him with a glare until he was no longer visible. “Come on,” they eventually sighed, signalling for Aziraphale to follow them.

“But—” Aziraphale didn’t know what he meant to say. He wasn’t sure if he should ask for help or to beg for it. He wasn’t sure if he should have pointed out the obvious fact that he had no way of moving Crowley.

Saraqael seemed to notice the latter issue, snapping their fingers and causing Crowley’s chair to rise and float away from the desk. Then, Aziraphale had no choice but to follow.

“What’s going to happen?” he asked nervously, hoping the archangel would be kind enough to share some small bit of information that he could then use to hatch a plan, but Saraqael had no time to answer. In no time they were back at the silver doors of the lift to Earth. The layout of Heaven was ever changing, and Aziraphale noticed that, most of the time, it was laid out the way it was to be a personal inconvenience to him.

“The Metatron is going to check to make sure you returned back to Earth. The lift will register one angel and one demon, so I’ll need to accompany Crowley,” Saraqael said as the large blue button on the side of the doors lit up.

“What?”

“I’ll go down to Earth with Crowley, make sure he gets there safely. Meanwhile, you can get out of here.” Saraqael’s eyes never left the doors.

“You’re not taking me back to Earth?” Aziraphale asked, confused.

“No.” The way they scoffed made the assertion sound ridiculous, and Aziraphale realised that maybe not every angel wished for the downfall of Earth. “I want to give you a chance to escape, get as far away from all of this as you can. It’s only fair after we tricked you. So long as the Unholy Water is in your system you won’t stop destroying the universe, but if you get far enough from Earth, it’ll buy us some time. At the very least I won’t have to finish those reports by tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, though he knew how stupid he sounded, thanking who was supposed to be the enemy. If Crowley were awake he’d sneer at Aziraphale’s etiquette.

Saraqael filled the absence by doing it themself. “Don’t thank me.” The lift dinged. “Besides, we're not nearly at the end of it all yet.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt your treachery here, but I just can't let you go through with that.”

Aziraphale and Saraqael whipped around to see the Metatron standing just within earshot.

“You really think I would have trusted you, Saraqael? After you let these two into Heaven?” the Metatron laughed.

Aziraphale was shocked. His mind was reeling to the last time he had been betrayed by the Metatron. “Then why did you—?”

“Well, you never would have gone willingly back to Earth if I didn't give you the option. I didn't want to expend energy by putting up a fight. But no matter. In the time I've saved by not having to plan out Armageddon, I've been rebuilding our army.” Suddenly an angel appeared. Only one angel, but he was armoured in all white which hid his face and all of his figure. It was still clear, however, that he had an intimidatingly muscular build. It felt wrong to even call him an angel. He was only built to be a weapon of destruction.

“Get them.”

As soon as the Metatron gave his command, the armoured angel moved towards Aziraphale. He moved swiftly but not with urgency. Aziraphale didn't even have time to think of jumping out of the way.

He found himself locked inside the grasp of the armoured angel and watched Crowley move away from him as he was pulled back towards the lift.

Aziraphale kicked at the ground, trying to find his footing, his soles dragging against the tiles. “No!” he cried. He watched Crowley's eyes flutter. Alertness was flickering in his face, but he was far too incapacitated to come to the rescue.

With determination, Aziraphale grounded his feet and grabbed the angel's arm. He yanked him forward, leaving him caught off guard for long enough that Aziraphale could slip out of his grasp.

The angel was perplexed, and so was the Metatron. This angel was the pinnacle of strength, they never expected that anyone would be able to stand a chance in a fight against him. And yet, Aziraphale, who was recently recreated to take down evil, was able to evade him.

Aziraphale didn't have time to look at the other angels’ expressions as he was running towards Crowley. With a painful pull, he grabbed Crowley's arm and began dragging him alongside as he raced away from the elevator.

Crowley hissed in pain. Aziraphale felt terribly sorry but had no time to express that. They had to hurry. Crowley knew that too.

Aziraphale heard shouting followed by strangely loud footsteps behind him. They were being pursued.

They're terrible, Aziraphale admitted to himself. God, they are evil. He knew the only way he could succeed now was if he finally acknowledged Heaven for what they were.

Crowley was starting to lag behind as he tripped over his feet. Aziraphale opted to pick him up and speed up, practically floating above the ground as he forgot the limits of his corporeal body.

Aziraphale flew for several minutes until the footsteps were just a faint echo in the distance. He chose this place to stop.

“Crowley! Crowley!” he shouted earnestly as he lowered Crowley so that he was standing with support.

Crowley tried to respond back with Aziraphale's name, but he could only manage a gasp of a syllable. He was deathly pale now, and a trickle of blood was falling from his nose.

Aziraphale removed Crowley's glasses. It was selfish, but he needed to see Crowley's eyes. They were revealed to be shut tight, but with a whisper of his name, Crowley's eyes shot open. They were practically all gold, with only a fine slit of a pupil that was darting all around. Crowley wasn't focused on anything but the pain of being in Aziraphale's arms.

“Dear, I'm afraid we must part ways.” Aziraphale felt many hot tears streaming down his face, but he tried to remain as calm as he could. “I'm sending you back to Earth. Please don't try to find me.”

With that Aziraphale kicked hard through the floor of Heaven. He knew what he had to do in order to make it happen. He focused on all the bad that Heaven had done in his time. With that in mind he was easily able to break a wide hole, revealing a void of nothing below. Aziraphale pushed Crowley through. He couldn't use a miracle to ensure he ended back on Earth safely, but he gave a quick prayer.

The footsteps were getting louder. Aziraphale knew the angel was approaching. So now he had to find a way to escape. He couldn't go to Earth, no. He would end up consuming everything there. He had to find someplace far far away where he would be no harm to anyone.

Aziraphale looked up. He could see the angel now appearing in the horizon. He closed his eyes and felt himself being transported out of the office building of Heaven and into the Heavens and beyond. Stars and galaxies surrounded him. The angel was nowhere to be seen.

Aziraphale gave a sigh of relief. He was safe. More importantly, Crowley was. Now… he just had to stay put.

Chapter Text

When Crowley woke up, he didn’t recognize the ceiling as the one in the bookshop. Someone had taken his glasses off while he was out so he had an unobstructed view of a pale, tea-coloured ceiling above him. The faint smell of incense lightly burned his nose. He hadn’t smelled incense since Aziraphale had left.

Crowley felt his de-speckled face. There were stinging blisters on his skin. How did I get those?

He tried to remember his visit to Heaven, but could only recall a blinding white light and some high-pitched ringing. And something about Aziraphale holding him, gripping him so hard that Crowley could still feel his fingers pressed into his arms. The memories were limited only to those strong, overpowering sensations. Crowley couldn’t even remember how he and Aziraphale had gotten out. Now that Crowley thought about it, where was Aziraphale now?

Crowley heard the sound of tapping on glass and sat up. He could tell he was definitely not in Heaven anymore, nor was he in the bookshop. He found himself on a soft, green couch in a cosy room. It looked like a bunch of modern hippies lived here. There was no television in sight, only a hand-painted scene of a meadow hanging on the wall.

The tapping continued, and Crowley turned around to see a young man waving at him through the window. You’re awake! Crowley watched him mouth before he opened up the window and climbed in.

“What? This place not have doors?” Crowley asked.

The man looked back at the gaping window as if it were a perfectly normal way of entering a house. More normal than using a door, even. This was the kind of man who didn’t live by other people’s rules and preferred to break into cottages through windows blocked by thick bushes in, presumably, the middle of the night. In other words, he was a teenager.

“Are you feeling better?” the teen asked.

“Physically? Or mentally?”

“Physically,” the teen answered matter of factly. “Muriel told me to only look after your well-being. They said you’d probably try to start talking about your emotions and that I was completely okay to ignore you.”

“What?” Crowley was slightly hurt by Muriel’s assumption, but he was glad to hear their name. At least he knew he wasn’t in some random house for a random reason. “Where am I?”

“Jasmine Cottage,” the teen said as he left the room for another. “You want food or something?”

“Where’s Jasmine Cottage?” Crowley asked, wondering if that was some place he was supposed to remember.

“Oh, Tadfield,” the teen said before opening a freezer drawer. “Wicked,” he exclaimed. “She has ice-cream.”

“Tadfield? Why the bloody Hell am I in Tadfield?”

“To get you away from the anti-demon rays.” The teen emerged from the kitchen with a pint of ice cream in his hand and a bit of chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

“To… What?!” Crowley was so confused as to how this barely adult man said things like anti-demon rays and broke into windows while looking completely unphased.

“I dunno. Something about your friend being affected by some potion or something that made him harmful to demons. I like to imagine he had anti-demon ray powers. Pew-pew. ”

Crowley wondered if he was still asleep and dreaming up some wild plot. Or maybe he had been taken by Hell, and they were experimenting new torturing methods on him: forcing him to listen to young people talk about video games and comics he didn’t understand.

“But anyways, that’s why you felt sick. So they brought you here to get better,” the teen explained before taking a break to take another spoonful of ice cream. “The other one is upstairs.”

“Other one…?”

The teen rolled his eyes and suddenly Eric was sitting right next to Crowley on the couch. As if he had always been there.

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Wait… you just did that… you just—”

The teen shrugged. Crowley could see now that he wasn’t really a normal kid at all. He had grown up, but he still had his brown curls, freckles, and the monstrous look behind his eyes that hinted there was a little bit more to him than human.

“You’re Adam Young!”

“Nice of you to finally remember. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, by the way.”

Crowley gulped, feeling a tad frightened. He tried his best not to think about the one instance that he and Aziraphale considered killing a kid for the sake of the Earth, but the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, father of lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness obviously still thought about it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it!” Adam laughed. Crowley didn’t appreciate how easily he could read him. “Water under the bridge. We’re cool now. Besides, I like your new friends. They crack me up.”

Eric laughed with Adam before leaning over to whisper to Crowley. “I am absolutely terrified,” he said through gritted teeth. “I just keep making jokes so that he might not kill me.”

Crowley, however, was able to put away his apprehensions of the Antichrist despite it being drilled into him his entire existence. There were bigger problems at hand. “Where are the others? Where is Aziraphale?”

“Muriel and your two lesbian friends are down at the Air Base using sonar technology to track the status of Earth. My idea,” Adam winked.

Status of Earth? Crowley didn’t know how long he had been out for. Obviously he had missed an update. Was Earth in critical danger now?

“And Aziraphale?” Crowley noticed the angel was missing from the line-up. Crowley prayed the angel hadn’t taken his absence as an opportunity to get himself into danger.

Adam didn’t say anything. Crowley looked over at Eric who was also hesitating. “He… didn’t come back from Heaven with you.”

Crowley shot up from the couch, startling Eric beside him. The sudden rush of adrenaline made him forget for a moment the state he was in, and he stumbled a little. The last thing he could remember was collapsing at Saraqael’s desk and slowly succumbing to sleep. He had felt so tired up in Heaven. Even though he knew he needed to be there for Aziraphale, he had no choice but to pass out, but he was deeply regretting that now. He had let his guard down. He had let Aziraphale down. And now Heaven had him.

“What?!” Crowley hissed. He wanted to scream. He had just gotten Aziraphale back and had now lost him again. And everyone had just let him rest? Let him recover from whatever strange episode he had had in Heaven? Didn’t anyone else understand the urgency of the situation?

Crowley was only able to stammer out a half coherent sentence through his rage— “We’ve got to— Why is no one— Agh!” before rushing to find an exit to this overly friendly cottage.

“No, Crowley!” Eric got up and grabbed his arm as he was halfway through the ice cream stocked kitchen.. “It’s not like that…” He sighed. “I was supposed to tell you, but… Aziraphale isn’t coming back.”

Crowley pulled his arm back seething. Isn’t coming back? How dare someone suggest such a thing. Aziraphale always pulled through. Even when Crowley was almost certain Aziraphale would never leave Heaven and come back for him, he still held onto a little ball of hope. He could never lose faith in Aziraphale, and he was not going to lose it now when everything was on the line.

“He’s okay!” Eric said, though not with much reassurance. “Well, erm, he’s not in any danger as far as we know. Look, just sit down and let me tell you what’s going on.”

Unsurely, Crowley sat down on a chair that was probably constructed from reclaimed wood. He was still feeling disoriented. Information was coming to him in pieces. Aziraphale was gone. But Aziraphale was safe? Someone had brought Crowley to Tadfield and he couldn’t remember a thing? Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. He really hoped Aziraphale hadn’t made some sort of deal with Heaven. He was always dangerously noble.

“To start… well, we found out how Heaven is planning to take down Earth. And it’s also the reason why you have been feeling, erm, not your best recently.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Crowley, do you remember that substance Hell had used on you about, say two-hundred years ago? Unholy Water?”

Crowley shuddered as bad memories came up. “How could I forget?” That was the experience which had motivated him to move on from reluctant compliance with Hell to rebellion.

“Well, it seems like Heaven has found a way to weaponize it. They’re using it to suck out all the bad from the universe so that it’ll just poof!” Eric made an explosion motion with his hands.

Suddenly, everything made sense to Crowley. Why they couldn’t find any signs of an attack on Earth. Why he had been feeling so sick lately. “Alright, do we know how they’re using it? How can we stop it?”

Eric chewed on his lip. Crowley seemed relieved that they discovered Heaven’s plot. He didn’t want to tell him that they didn’t know how to stop it.

“Crowley… what they’re using to… well, it’s not really… It’s Aziraphale.”

“What?” Crowley’s face dropped from hopeful to pure dread.

“They basically infused Aziraphale with the Unholy Water so he’s the one doing all this to Earth.”

Eric saw a glint in the back of Crowley’s eyes before he jumped up from the chair and started to angrily pace around the room.

Eric continued talking nervously. “Heaven didn’t actually make him fall. He— They made it so he fell into a pool of Unholy Water so that he’d take on its properties. And that’s why I’m not being affected by it because I was beside that pool for five years, playing into the plan. Unknowingly, of course. And—”

Crowley shot Eric a glance, causing him to shut up. Even Adam still standing in the doorway looked worried.

“Where is Aziraphale now?” Crowley spoke slowly. He was trying hard to keep it together.

“He—” The words got caught in Eric’s throat. “He didn’t come back. When he found out—”

“Where is he?!” Crowley roared, he threw his palms onto the table in front of Eric shocking the demon.

“He’s gone!” Eric cried. “We guessed that Aziraphale was gonna try and make his escape. That he was trying to get as far away from Earth as possible so that he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore! I mean, all we know is Heaven doesn't know where he is, otherwise they would have already sent him back by now.”

A growl came from Crowley’s mouth. Of course. Of course the moment Crowley was incapacitated Aziraphale went off and tried to do the right thing. Of course he went and got himself in danger for the good of the world. Of course he did something completely idiotic but still undeniably noble. Still undeniably good.

When was the angel going to quit this game?

“So what, he’s off in space waiting for his new powers to slowly melt away all of space and time? Hah, the selfish prick!”

“What—”

Crowley cut off Eric’s confusion. “Does he really think I won’t go up there and drag him back to Earth?”

Crowley saw that both Eric and Adam wanted to speak. They probably wanted to bring up some point that Crowley, blinded by an equal amount of love and rage for Aziraphale, couldn’t see, so he kept talking. “I don’t care if it’s not what he wants. Obviously, he doesn’t have a very good track record of making the right decision.”

“Crowley!” Eric finally said. He made a face, embarrassed by his own brashness. “Sorry! Sorry. It’s just— You don’t understand. There isn’t anything you can do.”

“Aziraphale made the only move he could,” Adam explained. “And if you go up there, he’ll only end up hurting you.” Right, Crowley forgot. Anti-demon rays and all that.

“Look, I gave up the Antichrist stuff ages ago, but I still am the protector of Tadfield. No matter what happens, we’re safe here. And Aziraphale would want you to be safe.”

Crowley fell back onto the seat, defeated. He hated to admit it, but they were right. Aziraphale was right. And he was usually never right, but there are so many options you can take when Heaven has you backed into a corner and there was no denying that Aziraphale did the best he could.

“So I’m just supposed to stay in Tadfield?” Crowley didn’t do well confined to one place. Unless, of course, it was his own bed for a few years.

“Yes, we’re safe here,” Adam said. “If anything were to happen to Tadfield, my powers would immediately regenerate it.”

Crowley laughed dryly. “There’s no chance you can extend those powers to all of Earth?”

Adam gave a sorry expression. “I can’t. Years ago I made the decision to only rule over Tadfield. Can’t go back on that now.”

“Hmm.” Crowley may have seemed like he was out of it—he had been out of it for years—but he truly was listening to everything Adam was saying. And after turning over his words in his head a few times, he realised they had given him an idea.

Maybe Aziraphale had made the best decision he could, but he had known Crowley would come up with something. And Crowley refused to allow it to end like this. What was he supposed to do? Sit around and research Armageddon until it eventually happened? No. He wouldn’t take it, and he knew Aziraphale didn’t expect him to.

“Crowley… once you feel up to it, we can meet with the others,” Eric said slowly.

“Oh, no no no,” Crowley stood up with newly generated vigour. “No, I’ve got a better idea.”

“Muriel told me that—”

“And you can tell Muriel that I appreciate whatever advice they have for me. But I need to take care of this. I’m the only one who can.

“You guys stay in Tadfield in case your theory is true and this is the only safe place.”

“And what about you?” Eric asked desperately. Crowley had made his decision and now had his hand on the doorknob.

“Me?” He cracked a grin. “I’m about to make a deal with the devil.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck this!” Shax shouted for what was probably the fifth time this… day? She could hardly tell. She had lost any sensible track of time since she took over as Duke of Hell five years ago. Or Duchess of Hell. She much preferred that one. Not that her title mattered at all as no one would respect her enough to use it. All the demons called her nasty terrible names if they were still around. Most had already left Hell to go live on Earth as rogue demons.

Sadly, at the bottom of the husk she called her heart, Shax knew she deserved all the hate from Hell. She was a terrible Duchess. Beelzebub made the job look so easy. And fun! Who knew that ruling over Hell would include so much paperwork? Shax had wanted the throne so that she would be able to wield the full force of Hell’s armies and take down all the angels and humans, but she was stuck behind all this red tape.

Shax was currently surrounded by that red tape, sitting at her desk while stacks of paper stood metres high above her. Behind the yellowed paper, Shax heard the familiar deep voice of the head of Hell’s security, Josh.

“Boss, I’m telling you. We need more resources dedicated to the security team. Almost a dozen dark creatures have escaped this mon—”

Shax lifted her face towards Josh. She was exhausted and her eyes bloodshot. Of course, you could barely tell because she still kept her makeup as nice as ever. Life as Duchess may be hard, but she was never going to allow it to compromise her appearance.

“ More?” She screeched. “You want me to give you more funding? More demons? More resources? When you can’t even do your job right?”

Josh’s fear was clear on his face, but he stood his ground.

Shax jumped forward from her desk. “Leave,” she hissed. Intimidation and bossing demons around was supposed to be the best part of the job. Why didn’t it have the same buzz to it anymore?

“Er, yeah, Josh, you probably should leave for now,” an annoyingly smug voice said from behind Shax. A hateful expression formed on her face, and she turned around to see Crowley sitting in her chair. “Give the Duchess and I a moment to talk.”

With a swift change of attitude, Josh bowed his head. “Yes, Crowley,” he said before leaving. He would be back to continue his negotiation, but he didn’t want to get on Crowley’s bad side.

Crowley smirked after the demon left. “I guess I still have my reputation down here.”

“Actually, it’s gotten worse,” Shax said, envy dripping from her words. “The demons down here have heard the legends of the fight at the bookshop. How you managed to trick and swindle and discorporate every single demon.”

“That wasn’t even me,” Crowley scoffed, amused. He wasn’t complaining though. Taking credit for Aziraphale’s work in Hell was how he had gotten this far.

“I know!” Shax whined. “That was supposed to be my battle. My moment. But you and that insufferable angel stole that from me.”

“You wanted to kill us. What were we supposed to do?” Crowley sighed. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ve forgotten completely about our little scuffle.” And he really had. A lot had happened between that fight and now. “I’m here to call in a favour.”

“A favour?” Shax laughed, walking to the other side on the desk. “What— get out of my chair.”

Crowley did so and Shax sat down to assume a very business position. “What makes you think I’d grant you a favour?”

“Hmmm, sorry to tell you…” Crowley leaned back onto the surface of the desk. “But I don’t really think you get a choice. See, the favour I’m calling in was actually promised by your predecessor.”

Shax’s expression darkened, which was impressive since Hell had dim lighting and she was already very pissed off. “That little pest messing things up for me still?”

Crowley scrunched his face in fake pity. “Yeah. Anyway, they basically promised me anything I desired if I found Gabriel for them, and well, I did. It’s time for Hell to hold up their side of the deal.”

Shax hesitated. “Does what you did really count as finding Gabriel? You willingly hid the archangel from Hell for days.”

Crowley shrugged. “Even better. I kept him safe. As far as Beelzebub is concerned, I did a great job. Thing is, they aren’t here to grant my wish. That responsibility falls onto you.”

Shax’s eyes dropped from Crowley’s and focused onto a red pen she had twirling in her fingers. “And if I say no?”

Crowley sucked his teeth. “Oh, then you just break a contract bound by the Throne of Hell, and you forfeit your role as Duchess.” Crowley didn’t consider that perhaps Shax didn’t want to rule over Hell anymore, but seeing how stressed she was he added in, “They’ll probably throw you into janitorial services after what you’ve done. Or worse, they’ll put you back into HR.”

Shax didn’t say anything.

“It’s true. I’m not making it up this time.” Crowley saw Shax was about to question the “this time” so he kept talking. “We could look it up, but I just don’t have the time. So if you could get on with fulfilling my request, I'll be on my merry way.”

Shax waited for another moment. Croweley’s heart was pounding in his chest. He didn’t know much longer he could keep up this nonchalant facade.

“Fine,” Shax spat out. She clicked her pen and pulled out a legal pad. (There was an abundance of those in Hell.) “What do you want?”

“I need to become Protector of Earth. I need to know for sure that it will never be destroyed by Heaven or Hell.”

Shax put her pen back down. “Oh, we can’t do that.”

“What? But Beelzebub promised me—”

“I can’t honour Beelzebub’s promise like that. Especially since they are now considered a traitor.”

Crowley lowered his voice. “Believe me, Shax. You will want to give me this.”

“Why?”

At first, Crowley didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure how much information he could give away. “All I can tell you is that Heaven is planning to destroy Earth so that they can attack Hell and start the Great War. It’s already underway so don’t even think about planning a counter attack. Trust me, you can’t win this one.”

Crowley didn’t say that it was Aziraphale who was being used as the weapon. If he had, he was scared Shax would get the idea that she could take him as her own.

“Do you really think Hell is in the position to win a battle against Heaven especially when they’ve had years to prepare?”

Shax dropped her eyes. She was ashamed of how she had been leading Hell, though she’d never admit it.

“It’s in your best interest that Earth stays safe.”

Shax stayed silent for almost a minute, and Crowley was terrified that his persuasion didn’t work, but then she cleared her throat and said, “Okay. But I don’t really understand your request here. What do you mean you want to become Protector of Earth?”

“Beelzebub promised me whatever position I wanted. I want to become Protector of Earth. Just like how Adam gave up being the Antichrist to become the Protector of Tadfield. That’s what I want.”

“You realise the boy gave something up in order for that to happen, right?” Shax asked. “You’ll have to do something along those lines as well. You’ll give up your old title, and you’ll have new responsibilities.”

Crowley slammed his fist on the desk triumphantly. “Yes! Whatever it takes.” He was relieved to have finally found the solution. Now, he could tell Aziraphale, and they could—

“But you have to understand,” Shax continued. “If something were to happen to you or you were to leave Earth, the protection drops.”

Crowley’s joy faltered for a second. He allowed himself to think about the implications of this solution. If he became Protector of Earth, he would no doubt become a bigger target for Heaven and, once they got their act together, Hell. Also, he’d never be able to leave the Earth. That was his sacrifice.

“I remember who you were before you fell, Crowley. I know what it would mean to give that up. Do you still want to go through with this?” Shax pressed.

The stars, Crowley realised with a shock. It was up in the vastness of Heaven where it all started. Where he discovered his love for the Universe. Where he learned to think for himself. Where he met Aziraphale. If he was being honest, Crowley always wanted to go back. He had hoped that he and Aziraphale could fly away together when this was all over. He may love Earth, but space would always be his home.

But then Crowley thought about the Earth and London and Whickber Street. He had spent millennia on the planet and years in the bookshop. He thought about the way Muriel kept their shop in tip-top shape even if no one ever bought anything. He thought about the place where he could get six shots of espresso in a big cup and no one would stop him. He thought about cars and horses. He thought about love and about death. He thought about the ocean and the deserts. He thought about goats. But among everything that was running through his head, he thought most about Aziraphale and the way he smiled whenever he was reading or when he had a particularly good cake or when he heard a funny joke or whenever there was something on Earth that brought him joy.

That was worth more than all the stars in the sky.

“Yes,” Crowley finally said. “Yes, whatever it takes.”

Shax shrugged and began writing. It was no skin off of her back if Crowley never saw space again. “Alright. I’ll put in a request to have your title be changed from Tempter of Earth to Protector of Earth. I estimate it’ll go through within the next 24 hours, assuming Heaven doesn’t shoot it down.”

Crowley grew worried. “Would they do that?”

Shax shook her head. “They most likely wouldn’t. The angels who process our requests are lower ranking, and, if what you say is true, they wouldn’t want a war to start soon either.”

Crowley released a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He had been nervous coming down here. It never did well to his mood. He just hoped Shax wasn’t able to see through his confident demeanour. “I guess this won’t be the last time we see each other.”

“I guarantee we’ll be coming after you once Hell is ready for a war,” Shax smirked, but Crowley knew she wasn’t joking.

“I’ll count on it.” Crowley stood up and began to walk towards the exit but turned around once more. “Oh, and Shax?”

“What?”

“Good luck down here. Maybe give your disciples a little more trust, okay?”

Shax sighed. “I don’t need your advice anymore, Crowley.” But she thought about what he said. After he left, she stood up to see if Josh was still waiting outside the door.

Chapter Text

“I wasn’t planning on returning to London tonight, you know?” Aziraphale said after her and Crowley had run out of Houston street to walk on. They were basically on the outskirts of town. It was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the crickets and cicadas, but the night was buzzing with potential.

“We can find something else to do,” Crowley said quickly. “I mean, if– if you want. There’s a park nearby where I go stargazing.”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm. “Take me there,” she smiled. Crowley’s face was pink in the moonlight.

After a moment of walking, the two came upon a large field. Several small hills crowded the plain and a few trees cast deep green shadows over the sky with their large, outreaching branches. The grass was tall in a lot of areas, acting as a shelter for the many sleeping diurnal creatures.

It felt considerably warmer in the field with the heightened level of moisture in the air, so Aziraphale took off her shawl gifted to her by Crowley and laid it in the grass before sitting upon it.

“Erm…” Crowley was still taken aback by Aziraphale’s forwardness. She was worried that any second now this moment would fade away. She figured she couldn’t turn into a snake and slither into the hills right now like she wanted to, so at last she sat down.

“You’re in luck,” Crowley said, finally relaxing. “Look at what I took from the bar when no one was looking.” She presented Aziraphale with a bottle of whiskey.

Aziraphale laughed, thankfully not telling Crowley off. She conjured up two glasses for them to drink from.

Crowley poured the whiskey, and Aziraphale chattered on about how this particular year and brand used a particular crop of rye that she was sure Crowley would find quite enjoyable.

As she sipped her drink and listened to Aziraphale talk, she realised the two hadn’t shared a moment like this in quite some time. The last time was during the Blitz, and the time before that was well over a century before that. “Y’know, Angel? If it takes me sitting through your Godawful magic show to share a drink with you…” Crowley trailed off. Now how was she supposed to end that thought in a way that didn’t cause Aziraphale to think she was getting soft?

“Well, you’re always welcome to join me in the bookshop for a drink,” Aziraphale said. “And I’ll be nice. I won’t make you watch my amazing magic show.”

Crowley laughed, deep down very grateful for the invitation back into the shop, even if that came with a lot of weighted feelings.

“I’m curious. How’d you find me, anyhow? I didn’t leave a note or a record of where I went.”

“How do we ever find each other?” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley couldn’t dispute that they had a knack for showing up in each other’s affairs.

Aziraphale looked up at the night sky. Although the moon was bright, she was able to see many more stars than she had been able to in London recently. “Can you tell me the constellations?”

Crowley knew Aziraphale knew the constellations and that she was only asking her because she knew Crowley was particular to astronomy, so she tried to seem nonchalant in her reply. “Oh, sure.”

She pointed West, directing Aziraphale’s eyes to a spot low along the horizon. “There you can see Serpens. Now, I say that a snake is the easiest constellation to make, but I guess that’s what the humans liked. Anyway, the lower snake, Serpens Caput, has a bright star in the middle called Unukalhai. It’s a red giant about 74 light years away. The next star is actually three close together…”

Crowley continued listing all the visible constellations in both the modern system as well as constellations made by other communities throughout history. They were shapes imagined by humans and thus completely made up, but both Crowley and Aziraphale could appreciate the way in which humans interacted with the cosmos. For each constellation Crowley also named the stars included. Crowley wasn’t taking credit for any of the stars but Aziraphale knew which ones were hers.

Aziraphale was enjoying this. She loved how calm Crowley’s voice had become as they were lying there on the grass. She loved the disposition Crowley took when she was talking about something she loved. It was so different from her usual manner.

“Do you want to go back?” Aziraphale asked softly after a few hours.

Crowley knew she wasn’t talking about going back to town. “Back to Heaven?” she asked, her voice turning sour.

“No, no.” Aziraphale hadn’t meant to suggest that. “I mean back to the stars. You feel like you belong there, don’t you?”

“Well, of course. Don’t really belong here, do I? I didn’t exactly plan on living on this rock for so many years.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, but the Great Plan says—”

“Don’t bring that up now,” Crowley hissed.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale apologised. She was hurt by Crowley’s answer. Even though she knew it was coiming, she didn’t expect Crowley to be so eager to get back as if nothing on Earth mattered. “But… Do you really think there’s more for us out there? More than... what's planned?”

“I hope so,” Crowley shrugged, turning back to the sky.

“I– I feel like I belong here,” Aziraphale said. She’d never really admitted that before, and she knew she shouldn't have done so. She knew she enjoyed herself way too much here. The other angels knew it too, and it was starting to get her in trouble. She knew she wasn’t supposed to grow attached to Earth. It wouldn’t be her problem in a couple decades anyway according to the Great Plan, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t like to admit it, but she knew she was supposed to match Crowley’s indifference. Imagine that, an angel needing to be more like a demon.

Crowley turned towards Aziraphale. “I know you do, Angel,” she said in a way that made it all seem okay. “And I don’t mean to say I don’t like it here. I do. I mean, I’m having fun now, aren’t I?

“That’s the one thing that does make me feel sad about how it’s all gonna go,” Crowley continued talking. “To know that Earth is gonna explode into lava or whatever the plan is. I know how much all the humans and all the creatures on Earth enjoy it. I know how much you enjoy it. And myself? I’d be sorry to see it go too.”

“Do you think you would trade the stars for it? Would you give up everything you were meant to be if it meant… having this forever?”

Crowley didn’t answer. Aziraphale guessed she was pondering an answer as she turned back up to the stars. Aziraphale herself turned her gaze back to the landscape and felt the warm air through her shawl. She wanted to know Crowley’s answer so that she’d feel better about hers. She knew in her heart—even if it went against everything she was supposed to stand for—that she would give anything to keep Earth safe.

It was cold up here. So cold that Aziraphale was shivering. He knew it was a strange thing for him to notice. After all, he had spent so much of his lifetime up in the vacuum of space. It was the closest an angel had to a natural habitat, but he had grown used to another environment. He didn’t remember it being so cold and empty up here, however. He figured that might have to do with his new set of powers. Already, he was consuming this part of the universe. With enough time, everything would disappear. The stars, the planets, the warmth, even the dark matter would cease to exist. Aziraphale just hoped that he was far enough from Earth to spare them for some time.

Aziraphale had let his wings out, but he couldn't remember when he had done so. Maybe he had just forgotten himself in all the chaos and forgot to hide them. Looking at them now, he saw they were just as they always were. White and ruffled. A week ago, Aziraphale would’ve been relieved to find that his wings were unchanged and that he was still an angel, but the realisation seemed hollow now.

All Aziraphale had wanted was to do something on his own to save Crowley. Now that he had, he felt a surge of pride, but it was quickly eaten by the feeling of missing Crowley. He wondered how Crowley would react to the news that Aziraphale was gone forever. He hoped to God that the demon wouldn't try and rescue him. He couldn't have Crowley risking his life to save Aziraphale when there was no possible way out of this. Still, he admitted that nothing would make him happier than to see Crowley one last time. He didn't even have a reminder of him in this black void free of stars.

Crowley was flying as fast as he could through space. His wings flapping against the lack of air, avoiding the occasional asteroid. He had no idea how long he had. Shax said his request would be processed within the next twenty-four hours, but it could be sooner than that. He couldn't be up here when the change was put into place, he didn't want to know what would happen then. Besides, Crowley didn't want Aziraphale to be alone for more time than he had to. However, he wished he could stop for a second, perhaps to catch his breath or to take in the marvel of space.

He glanced around. This would be the last time he saw the stars like this. Crowley decided he could spare at least a moment.

He slowed to a stop somewhere near Messier 5 and took off his glasses. It was quite active at the moment, Crowley noticed. He hoped no angels were around to notice him looking.

Crowley took it in. The swirling clouds amongst the hundreds of stars. The distant collisions which made no sound but left bursts of light deep in the cluster. A nova in there somewhere.

Crowley remembered when this was his whole life. When existence was simpler and he was free to work on his creations without caring about anything else. Things had turned sour after that, Crowley knew, but he still couldn’t help but feel grateful. Thank you, God.

“Crowley.”

Shit! I take it back! I take it back! Crowley thought as the loud, detached voice boomed around him.

“Crowley, after all these years.”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t talk now. Lots to take care of.” Crowley tried to fly off and avoid talking to God.

It turned out the omnipresent being had the power to follow him. It was like the voice was in his head.

“Crowley, do you understand what you are doing?”

Oh, now look who’s asking the questions. And who was She to be asking this kind of question when it was Her agents who caused this disaster in the first place?

“Crowley.”

“Yes, I understand!” Crowley shouted. “I can never come back here. I’m damned on Earth forever. I’m gonna be stuck with Aziraphale forever!”

Crowley slowed down to a stop to compose himself. “It is strange. Trust me, I am aware. I should be asking myself— I should be asking You if this is the best way this can work out. If there’s any way that I can save Earth and still have the existence I should have had. The existence I always thought I would have.”

Crowley thought back to those millenia ago when all he wanted was to live and work in the stars. He remembered how betrayed he had felt when he learned that he wasn’t meant to have that in God’s plan. Crowley didn’t even follow any of God’s plans anymore—not that he was aware of—but he still ended up in the same place he had fought so hard to get out of.

“But You know what? I don’t care anymore.” He laughed dryly. “You should be proud that I learned my lesson. I’ve learned not to question it anymore.”

Crowley still didn’t agree with everything that had ever happened. He didn’t trust every decision God ever made or every terrible thing She ever let happen. Allowing so many angels to grow jaded, for example. But Crowley could now come to understand why his life had turned out that way.

Crowley was damned long ago, he decided. Not by God (well in the literal sense, yes) but by fate. He could never be an angel after he started to ask questions. And he was damned when he met Aziraphale. As soon as he talked to the angel on that wall. It was always going to be this way. He would spend his entire existence with Aziraphale. And he would always get roped into the angel’s stupid shenanigans. And he would always end up saving him. And, Crowley decided then, that was a pretty good way to end up.

Crowley looked back out into space, gazing over the distant stars. This was nice, and it was the only closure he was ever going to get.

God was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “I found out about your request. I can still take it back.” She waited for Crowley’s response.

“I know. I don’t want you to.”

“I’ll give you five minutes. By then, I need you back on Earth.”

Crowley didn’t dare ask why it had to be this way. He guessed that deep down he probably understood why. But he did ask: “Could I at least get a boost?”

God laughed. “My dear Crowley, you don’t need My help to get to him. Remember that I put you in charge of the cosmos.”

Crowley felt the presence of God leave, but with Her absence he felt a new invigorating sense of self. He was in charge of the cosmos. A long time ago that was who he was.

And so Crowley closed his eyes and stretched his wings one last time.

Angel!

Aziraphale heard the voice distantly as he was staring off into nothing. Crowley, he thought fondly. Perhaps the solitude was driving him insane, and he was beginning to hear things. He was glad the voice was just his imagination because if Crowley was really here…

“Angel!”

Damn it.

Aziraphale turned around to see Crowley zipping towards him at what had to be the fastest he had ever seen anything move. He was still distant at first glance but a second later he was right in front of Aziraphale, clutching onto his shoulders.

Crowley winced, quickly taking his palms away. His black wings were curled strained around the two of them, barely visible against the vacuum of space. “Agh, still takes some time for the promotion to take place.”

“Promotion? Crowley, what are you doing here? You can’t be here? I can hurt you!” Aziraphale felt himself filling with dread. He had really hoped that this time around Crowley would have done the safe thing and let Aziraphale do what he needed to. 

“Look, no time right now to explain.” Crowley looked at his scuffed up watch. “We have about two minutes to get to Earth.”

“Crowley, no. I can't go back to Earth. If I do, I’ll—”

“Trust me.” Crowley’s eyes were out, and they were looking deep into Aziraphale’s. “It will be okay.”

Aziraphale took a breath, focusing on Crowley's yellow eyes. They were the brightest thing he had seen out here. “But to get to Earth in two minutes would… it would take a miracle!”

“Exactly.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands in his slowly. “Which is why…” Crowley grit his teeth trying to mask the pain of touching Aziraphale. “I need you to focus, okay?”

 Aziraphale nodded and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about how he was hurting Crowley right now. He tried not to think about how he could hurt Earth if he got near it. He tried not to think about how Crowley had not listened to him and come back to save him… and about how glad he was for that.

Instead, he thought of home.

Chapter Text

When Aziraphale first opened his eyes to his bookshop, he expected to feel a sense of utter relief. He didn’t know what trick Crowley had pulled this time, but he was glad he did. After everything that had happened, he was grateful to be back. However, when he looked around the shop, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be here.

The place still felt hostile to him. It was the same feeling he had felt these past two weeks but instead of being subtle in the back of his mind, it was taking over his entire body. It was almost as if Earth and the bookshop and everything that could be considered bad was now destroying his being as much as he was destroying it all.

Aziraphale wishfully deemed it as paranoia, a reminder of what he had gone through, but one glance at Crowley proved him unfortunately wrong.

He had turned to him for an explanation, his name frantically leaving his mouth. “Crowley?”

“Angel…” Crowley said with a pained smile. He stood beside him looking the way humans do after they’d been injured. His long hair was plastered to his neck face, and his brow was knotted as he tried to ignore the pain. He stood crooked and looked as if his arms were about to fall off. They pulled down on him until their heaviness eventually brought him to the floor.

The demon laid out on the red patterned rug which he and Aziraphale had appeared on, clutching his chest in a way that made it obvious that the pain was only growing. 

Aziraphale rushed to his friend’s side. Crowley was squinting, trying hard to keep his eyes open and was able to find Aziraphale’s gaze.

“You– you–” Aziraphale reached to grab Crowley’s hands and felt a shock go through his own body. If Aziraphale hadn’t known that it was hurting Crowley much more, he would’ve pushed through the pain anyway to hold his hands, but instead he was forced to kneel helplessly next to him.

“Sshhh,” Crowley managed out a whisper. “L’be alright…”

“You idiot,” Aziraphale sobbed. He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks and quickly wiped them away before they could fall on Crowley. “I had it figured out. I had it all under control. You would’ve been safe.”

Crowley shook his head slightly with a grimace.

“You don’t always have to save me, you know? Especially not now. Not after everything I’ve done to you. I don’t deserve it.”

Crowley was panting now, but his eyes remained trained on Aziraphale. Aziraphale noticed that he still retained all the injuries he had gotten in Heaven as well as others that likely occurred when Aziraphale tried to rush him back to Earth. He had scratches on his arms and clothes and dried blood at the base of his neck. They would have faded, thought Aziraphale. They could have faded if he had let them.

“I just wanted to keep you safe,” cried Aziraphale. His voice shook the shelves around and pounded inside Crowley’s head.

A few moments of quiet sobbing passed before Aziraphale realised Crowley was trying to say something. He lowered his head so that his ear hovered above Crowley’s mouth.

“Ha– have a little faitthh, Angel,” the demon said with a slow chuckle.

Aziraphale sat up, processing what Crowley had said. He looked down to him for answers but found his partner still and with his eyes closed.

Aziraphale held his breath. He tried to have faith, he tried to hold on, but Crowley was laying in front of him very still and very quiet. Stiller and quieter than the demon ever managed to be.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispered. He felt alone. He felt more alone than he ever had before in his existence. He felt more alone than he had in Heaven before the War. He felt more alone than he had on the cliff in Uz after betraying Heaven. He felt more alone than he had for all the millenia that he had lived alongside humanity, watching them form their communities and bonds and relationships and families and never getting to know himself what that felt like. He felt more alone than those five years he spent in limbo. He felt more alone than he had when he resolved to live isolated in space. Because at least then he still had Crowley. And he and Crowley had always been a team. Aziraphale wished he could have realized that sooner.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale cried. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left you.”

Aziraphale wanted to do anything he could to remedy the situation, but he was all out of ideas. And there was no longer a demon on his shoulder to suggest anything. He was forced to sit in silence, his head bent over his friend who he was too afraid to touch.

Beeeeeep! As Aziraphale sat there in defeat, he heard a shrill noise breaking the silence. A high pitched beeping was coming from Crowley’s wrist.

Crowley’s watch. It was a black, sleek, and stylish timepiece that Crowley always wore. It reminded Aziraphale much of Crowley. Aziraphale inspected it now to find that it was worn with the clasp tattered and the face scratched up. It would be even more fitting had it not been going off.

Aziraphale reached to turn the alarm off—being careful to not brush Crowley’s wrist so he wouldn’t feel the too-cold skin—and submerged the bookshelf once again in silence. The watch was now as quiet as its wearer.

Aziraphale sighed. He no longer felt the impending feeling of doom coming from all sides of the shop, but he knew he had to get out of here before it was too late and he killed everything else on this planet. He was about to make up his mind about running away again when he saw Crowley stir before him.

Crowley’s hands clenched and unclenched and Aziraphale felt himself drawn to grabbing them. This time when they touched Aziraphale didn’t feel pain or fear, he only felt pure relief.

“Say what you will about God, but She is punctual,” Crowley groaned as he pulled himself to sit up.

“Crowley, what was that?” Aziraphale asked. “I– I thought you were d—” Aziraphale could not finish the sentence and sobbed as he gripped Crowley’s hands further to feel the pulse beating in them.

“Not dead,” Crowley assured. “At least, not anymore. I’m here. We both are here now.”

“But why?” Aziraphale asked frantically. “I can’t be here or else I’ll—”

“Relax,” Crowley said, his voice surprisingly soothing. “I struck a deal with Hell and God.”

“God?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley replied sheepishly. “All that’s important is you can stay here on Earth without destroying it.”

“How?” Aziraphale couldn’t believe it.

“You… are looking at the new Protector of Earth,” Crowley said with muted bravado. “So long as I am here, nothing can hurt us.”

“Are– are you alright?”

Crowley gave a tired smile. “It’s a change, Aziraphale, but I’m alright.”

“So that means we’re actually safe? From Heaven, Hell? Forever?”

“Well… I don’t know about that,” Crowley admitted. “I kinda came up with this plan as everything was happening so I wouldn’t call it fool-proof, but we will be safe for the time being. And we’ll be together. That’s more than I could ever ask for.”

Aziraphale thought about the Crowley he knew. Or… the Crowley he thought he knew. He had thought that Crowley would trade everything on Earth to have his old life back as an angel in Heaven. Aziraphale had been wrong about the angel part, and he had been wrong about the Heavens. He was especially wrong for thinking that Crowley didn’t feel extremely protective of the life he had built over the past six thousand years alongside Aziraphale.

The implications of Crowley’s sacrifice dawned on Aziraphale. “But that means you gave up—”

Crowley shushed him. “Let’s not think about what I gave up, shall we? And like you’re one to talk? Aziraphale, you were about to let yourself float alone in space forever if it kept keeping me safe.”

Aziraphale blushed. He was glad his efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed even if they were a horrific failure.

“I’m glad I’m not there.” Aziraphale smiled and finally took that breath he had been holding forever. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale moved his hand up Crowley’s arm. “You’re sure it doesn’t hurt when I touch you?”

“Not at all,” Crowley replied truthfully.

“And everything else?” Aziraphale was referring to the emotional hurt that Crowley had felt all these years. Not just in the past five, but throughout their entire time together. Aziraphale knew it couldn’t be forgotten, but he at least hoped that he and Crowley could work through it together now.

“All is well.”

Aziraphale leaned in to kiss Crowley. He was planning to give him the kiss he really deserved with more reciprocation than the one they shared in the bookshop but with more reflection than the one in the lift. However, the moment was interrupted by the door of the bookshelf opening with such force it shook the bell right off its hook.

“The two of you had better be able to explain yourselves!”

Maggie ran in after the furious Muriel. “Sorry, sorry.” She grabbed the angel by their shoulder. “They’re a little freaked out.”

“We all were,” Nina said as she and Eric filed in after them. “We are so glad to see that you guys are okay.”

Muriel ran to hug Crowley as he was still on the ground. “I was so worried,” they cried, showing the most amount of emotion they had allowed themself to in the past while. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m glad I’m not dead either,” Crowley said as he patted his friend on the back. “Sorry for all the drama, but I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“So is it all okay now? Everyone’s good?” Eric asked.

“Yes. I was able to pull a few strings.” Crowley stood up and put his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Aziraphale and I cancel each other out. Nothing bad will happen to Earth as long as the two of us stay here together.”

“That’s what makes us such a good team,” Aziraphale added cheerfully.

Crowley looked over at him and reciprocated his smile.

“So… I guess it’s all over?” Eric asked after a few moments. “I should probably, like, get out of here now.”

“What?” Muriel asked with a laugh, grabbing the scarf of the demon who was planning on vacating the scene. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I– I don’t have to leave? But– but I’m a demon. And I know I did a lot of bad things, and I don’t really think—” Eric felt moisture around his eyes. He wondered if that meant he was dying.

“Eric, we’re all friends here,” Maggie said.

“We’ll promote you to a staple of Whickber Street. I’ll tell you, it’ll be quite easy for you to gain popularity around here with that hair-do,” Nina joked.

“I don’t want you to leave. You’re my friend,” Muriel said, giving Eric another one of their hugs.

“Oh… okay,” Eric managed before succumbing to something he would later learn were “emotions”.

Eventually, Aziraphale stood up and awkwardly faced Muriel. “Erm, Muriel, I wanted to properly apologise to you. And to thank you. All this time, I thought I could be the one to save Earth. I guess you could say I was blinded by my pride, because I didn’t realise how I was treating Crowley, and I didn’t realise how I was treating you. But you really pulled through. It is because of all your hard work that we were able to save Earth, and you managed to do it all while staying just the nicest of angels!”

Muriel smiled. “Thank you, Aziraphale. That means a lot. I suppose I should forgive you too. I guess I was wrong about how much you cared about Crowley.”

“Oh, you don’t have to forgive me,” Aziraphale said sheepishly.

“Ah, good then. In that case I’ll just keep the bookshop,” Muriel said with a smug smile.

Aziraphale gasped but tempered his reaction. That, he supposed, he deserved. And getting his bookshop back wasn’t entirely what he cared about.

He pulled Crowley who was standing beside him closer. “Ahha, hi,” Crowley said slowly and bashfully. He wondered if his newfound disposition was a result of his new title (as he was no longer much of a wily tempter) or if he was just glad Aziraphale was here and everything had turned out okay. It was probably the second one, he decided. He was finally free to relax. “It might take me a little while to get used to you being back.”

“Whatever you need, dear,” Aziraphale said, gently grabbing Crowley’s hand. "Muriel, we'll talk about the shop later, but do you think you could please leave it to us this one evening?"

Muriel put their hands on their hips and rolled their eyes. "I guess that's alright. What exactly are you planning?"

Crowley nestled his face into Aziraphale's curls, taking in the scent that didn't hurt him for the first time in a long time. "I believe what you had elegantly put before as 'the date stuff'."

Muriel turned red but kept their amused smile. "Oh, you better not."

Of course, what Crowley had meant by 'the date stuff' was drinking, eating, and listening to music. They would basically do everything they always had done but now with a new sense of togetherness... and perhaps one other notable exception. For the first time, they felt completely secure because they were meant to be together. Their union was protected by the power of Heaven, the policies of Hell, the grace of God, and the future of Earth.

Aziraphale eventually made peace with leaving the bookshop, and properly passed it on to Muriel himself. He and Crowley would move out to a place where they had a better view of the night sky than they had in London but would visit often enough.

In the years to come, some angels and some demons would try to take them down, but none proved successful, and the Metatron’s evil plans seemed exhausted. There were considerably less attempts at stopping them because now Heaven and Hell didn’t just have to worry about a rogue demon or a rogue angel, they would be going against the very thing that kept the universe together.

Crowley still would never admit it outright (he didn’t want to appear too sappy), but he was extremely grateful that he and Aziraphale were able to spend their years together safe from any threats. He’d been fighting for them to be a team since forever, and now it was reality. It was the best gift Aziraphale could ever give him.