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[Hear me, brothers]
Suspended somewhere between realms, held there by the sheer will of a Cherubim, a former angel, holds back Heaven and Hell. They are all frozen in time, some of them screaming, sneering, crying- they can’t move, and they won’t move for hopefully many millennium.
The angel is in pain. The power that he exerts to keep the universe from ending is draining and tortuous. It hurts.
[I’ve a confession, painful to make]
“I love you.”
Aziraphale hears his own words echo in the prison of his own mind.
“I love you,” Crowley whispers against his lips, tongue sliding into the Angel’s mouth. His hands are everywhere like a promise.
Aziraphale fumbles for the snake’s glasses and tosses them across the room. For a brief moment he doesn’t wonder if the Metatron can see them- this is what he’s wanted, what he’s needed since he met Crowley in the Garden. Every fiber of his being screams “home” as Crowley pushes him against the kitchen counter, the only room that’s hidden from prying eyes.
Moments ago he had taken Crowley into the kitchen to inform him of the Metatron’s intentions. In a hushed whisper with shaking hands, he told Crowley that he needed to leave. If he did not leave, Crowley would be destroyed- no, erased, from the Book of Life itself. The Second Coming is upon them.
“And I would like to spend eternity with you.”
When the words finally left Crowley’s mouth, Aziraphale caved. They both know that they can’t do anything to stop this- the voice of God waits outside the door with his threats hanging over them.
“My darling, darling Crowley,” Aziraphale sobs as Crowley’s fingers twist into his curls. “My darling, my love, my soul.”
He wants to stay. He needs to stay. But if he stays then Crowley will be erased and he would lose him all the same. “I want you to know that I don’t want to leave you,” he says.
Crowley sniffs and takes a step back. He holds Aziraphale’s hands. “I know, Angel. I know.”
Aziraphale laughs sadly, tracing the sharp edges of Crowley’s face, hoping to commit it to memory. “How…How us. We finally admit to one another and we must be separated. It’s poetic, yeah?”
“If you bring up bloody Shakespeare, I’ll walk out right now.” There is no bite to the demon’s words. “It’s just because we’re stupid, despite our immortal existence.”
“Bless our foolish hearts,” Aziraphale mumbled, trying not to break down even further. The Metatron will be there in a few short moments. They only have a few short moments.
Their foreheads rest together and the hearts in their corporations seem to match in rhythm.
[I’ve endured a curse]
The memory of Crowley- of Crowley everywhere pierces his corporation like bullet wounds. How his demon made linoleum flooring seem like the most luxurious bed. How they fought like wolves over who would worship who. He recalls how Crowley pinned him down, but the Guardian of the Eastern Gate would not have it. He needed to make sure his demon knew how much love was oozing from his soul. But Crowley’s tongue silenced him quickly.
“I know you angel.”
Yes. Yes, that’s what Crowley had said. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate did not want to seem submissive, to roll over and prove that he is what they all said- weak, soft, pathetic. And they fought for dominance like they fought over anything- half heartedly, knowing full well that there was no real heat behind it.
If he imagines hard enough, he can recall the feeling of Crowley’s spine under his fingers. The dull ache caused by bruises on his neck. He can feel the tears of his lover running over his thumbs as they said goodbye, not really wanting to leave.
He strains his ears in the abyss to hear Crowley’s final words.
“I love you.”
[A silence haunts me]
But Aziraphale can no longer hear. That voice he adored so dearly seems to slip from his memory as time goes on.
Here in this void he cannot cry. He cannot move, cannot speak, he cannot see. It hurts too much. The pain. The memories. The weight of his actions. His goodbye.
There is a hand wrapped around one of his wings- he can feel it so intensely. He knows those fingers, that hand, that grip- but he cannot see the being that it belongs to. There’s a faint echo of a scream- from what he can still feel- from that being. One that cries out to him, and tells him no.
He doesn’t have to do this.
But he does. He did.
[They ask me, “do you hear the shepherd singing far off soft?”]
Eternity. All he had wanted was eternity. For an immortal, that’s not too tall an order. He wanted to bask in the sun for the rest of his days to make sure his snake remained warm. To be able to feel love every moment until God decided enough was enough (again).
He remembers how his hand fell from Crowley’s when the Metatron arrived. How they staged a fight. And despite its falseness, Aziraphale couldn’t help but cry.
On the walk to the elevator, the angel said goodbye to his beloved earth. To smells, to joy, to everything human that was precious and incredible.
[No.]
They shoved him down, hands on his neck- stark contrast to the hands that were there not even an hour before. Holy blades were drawn, his wings were ripped from his ethereal body. One by one, eyes were plucked and sewn shut. His ears severed and closed. Like everything else they could not stand, his mouth is gone.
Golden blood stains the white halls of Heaven, but he cannot see this. He cannot see their smiles as they assault who they believe to be a lowly Principality.
The pain is sharp and all consuming. Holy essence torn from his soul, all that he is, removed like something that could be replaced.
(Where he hangs in the abyss, the past blends into the present)
A secondary feeling, something smaller but stronger.
Rage.
[GOD, AM I PROMETHEUS? ]
Chained to Heaven, hanging by broken limbs to attend the end of the world. He does not know how long he has been there. He feels powerful entities near him, but he cannot tell who. He can feel vibrations through the air, and can smell smoke rising. The smoke isn’t normal. It burns his nose in a way a normal flame does not.
Hell is retaliating. And all he can think about is his demon.
He twists his wrists, flinching at the bones pressing against his corporation. His wings, ripped of thousands of feathers, flap uselessly in an attempt to move.
He wants to call out to his demon, but he can no longer speak. Nearly all his senses have been removed, but he does not care. He searches for that essence that is Crowley. His beloved Crowley.
Something appears at his side and hands are on him. The angel tries to turn away, the shock of touch making him recoil. But the hands are on his face, gentle hands, tracing the holy thread that binds his lips together. Feather-light touches on the threads that closed his bloody, angelic eyes. Touching gently on where his ears used to be. There’s a caress through the angel's blood stained hair, a caress so familiar it makes the angel shudder.
Crowley.
[EXILED IN CHAINS]
And he wants to cry out to his demon. To tell him he understands that his demon is there. But he can no longer speak. He can no longer see. His wrists fall free and he stumbles forward, falling into loving arms.
Crowley’s arms wrap around his angel like the snake he is, contorting his whole body to hold Aziraphale. Aziraphale raises his shaking hands, feeling for his demon’s classic sunglasses and removing them. His fingers trace down to Crowley’s lips and feel the demon’s tight smile. He can only imagine what he looks like now.
Crowley shivers and Aziraphale hugs him, trying to tell him that it’s okay, that he’s okay. But from the way the demon trembles, Aziraphale knows he’s crying.
From the way Crowley’s throat moves, he knows he’s speaking. He wishes for nothing more than to hear him again.
[FOR GIFTING HUMAN KIND MY FIRE]
I can’t hear you! He wants to cry. My love, I can't hear you!
[TAKE MY FEELING, TAKE MY SIGHT, TAKE MY WINGS]
Crowley is speaking to him and he can no longer hear his voice.
No longer see his gorgeous golden eyes.
No longer taste his lips.
If he had Fallen, would he have lost this much?
His heart tells him no, that Heaven is somehow much crueler than that, that they reveled in the way Aziraphale’s blood shed so easily. The little Principality was taken down a notch.
The many eyes of a Cherubim are scattered somewhere.
[BUT LET ME HEAR]
Aziraphale’s body is wracked with sobs that will never be heard. It feels strange to cry without any of its natural responses.
Then, Crowley disappears. Aziraphale claws at the air, searching for him. He feels a twist in his gut. A feeling that could put to past any argument they had had. Crowley is in danger. Crowley needs him.
And Aziraphale cannot see.
This helplessness fuels the stirring anger inside the angel.
[why?]
An anger that was planted like the first seed of Eden when his status of Cherubim was taken from him, but his essence remained. When he was cast out, down to Earth because his siblings despised him. When he remembers the joy on his demon’s face as he created the stars. All the injustice that had occurred from the holy being he called Mother.
[Why?]
The anger burned like holy water was sloshing around inside of him. An angel of pure love feeling a rage that not even Lucifer felt when he was cast out.
Aziraphale is trapped in eternal darkness, but around him, enemies scatter. A Cheribum’s halo glows, blinding the eyes of anyone in the ruined prison of Heaven. Where his eyes once existed, light seeps out between the golden thread. Battered wings lift from the ground, the angel floating high above the battle.
A being, not quite a demon, but no longer an angel, hangs between the warring sides. A desperate demon grabs onto his lover, not quite sure what is happening to his beloved.
Crowley has burns on his arms from holy water. But Aziraphale cannot see this. Instead, the brush of Crowley’s roughened skin infuriates the Cherubim.
An angel with no voice somehow speaks into the war.
WHO HURTS HIM?
The fighting halts for a moment to gawk at the creature above them. This being is terrifying. They have no eyes, no ears, and no mouth. Their wings are bloodied and black at their tips. They have a halo, but it appears twisted.
WHO HURTS HIM?
The being asks again.
Crowley is calling for Aziraphale, but it is no use.
Light blasts through angels and demons alike, obliterating the first few lines of soldiers. The shock can be felt in the air and the being above tilts their head, as if waiting for something.
They pray silently in their head. Asking for direction. Asking for an apology.
[Silence is God’s reply]
It’s carnage. The being, this angel or demon or something else, freezes ethereal time. No angel moves. No demon sneezes. Nothing.
The Earth below sits quietly, unknowing of what had occurred for its sake. Aziraphale sacrificed the rest of his time to prevent the destruction of the home he adored.
Crowley clings to his angel, frozen in time like the rest. But unlike his body, his thoughts whir incessantly through his mind.
“Angel! Angel, I’m right here!”
For a millennium, the demon had been trying to communicate with Aziraphale.
“Angel!”
[I hear a grace and feel a ringing in me]
The beings head slightly toward the snake that is clutched so dearly to his side. He could feel a voice singing to him. Angel. Yes, that’s what Crowley called me. What I used to be.
“That’s it Angel. I’m right here.”
Aziraphale wishes he could see. He wishes he could do something as simple as smiling at his beloved. Instead, wincing, Aziraphale releases Crowley. Crowley falls into Aziraphale’s arms and the former angel hugs him with all the strength he can muster.
Crowley buries his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and weeps. “Aziraphale! I never should have let you go!”
Aziraphale doesn’t hear a word Crowley says, but he holds him tighter like he does. He forces memories on to Crowley, memories warped and changed by time but the feelings are all there.
He shows him when they met. Watching the stars come to fruition.
[Turn again to touch my flame]
Meeting on the wall.
The Flood.
Saving Job’s children.
Centuries and centuries of millennium aged memories are shared between the two.
Expressing their love for one another on Aziraphale’s kitchen floor.
A demon cradling a broken angel.
And now a Cherubim, a broken and powerful being, holds a demon in his arms, protecting him from the rest of the world.
“I love you,” Memory-Aziraphale whispers to Crowley.
Crowley presses a kiss to his neck- quick and chaste. “I love you Angel.” The words are mouthed against skin.
[A broken man, as best I can]
For a moment, Aziraphale thinks he can feel Her. Thinks he can see Her. But if She is listening, he doubts She would’ve let it come this far.
Regardless, he nods his head towards the Earth in the distance. All Powerful, All Knowing God did not save Her creation. She couldn’t care less.
[Hear me-]
But two of her most backwards children keep the world from crumbling. They keep it safe from destruction. Their cherished home- if only they knew that a witch fell to her knees when she felt the change and she raced to the former Anti-Christ for help. A few humans, a witch, and the Anti-Christ were the only ones who noticed the sacrifice.
[And be well…]
Crowley knows in his heart that the ending they wanted, the human ending, is not possible. At least, not yet. So he holds his angel and is held in return. And as long as they can remain together, that is enough for them.
[Be well…]