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Jagged streaks of lighting flickered purple and blue as anger and anguish battled for release. Crowley stared at Aziraphale's lifeless hand, eyes blurred with tears, the shifting of the light making it appear to move.
The lightning faltered as he watched. It was moving. One finger, then the next.
IMPOSSIBLE Death said, and Crowley dared to hope.
It happened quickly, fingers, hands, arms, then head, Aziraphale's eyes meeting Crowley's, bright and alive.
“It worked,” Aziraphale said, a tinge of pride behind the awe in his voice.
WHAT WORKED? Death loomed over them, though with more curiosity than menace.
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley in a familiar, nervous way, before looking to Death, squaring his shoulders. Death held the book, looking down at the page.
A Z FELL he read aloud, somehow giving the
impression of frowning at it, without having anything with which to frown.
“You brilliant, idiotic bastard!” Crowley said, slowly getting to his feet. Aziraphale beamed at the praise, reaching a hand out to help, slotting their fingers together.
YOUR HUMAN ALIAS. CLEVER ANGEL. BUT KNOW WHEN YOU LEAVE THIS PLACE, THOSE MEMORIES WILL FADE.
Crowley raised Aziraphale's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “I'll help him remember.”