Chapter Text
“I don’t believe there’s anything left to be said. I’ve made my position quite clear,” said Aziraphale.
What else was he supposed to say? Michael threatened them with the Book of Life just a moment ago, and now this? The Voice of God himself, standing before him, suggesting that they need to talk? This didn’t make any sense.
All the alarms inside Aziraphale’s head started ringing.
Metatron just offered him coffee and invited him for a stroll. Something was wrong.
“Who do you think should take over in Heaven, now that Gabriel is gone?” the Voice of God asked him after they sat at the table outside the cafe across the road…
‘Why did he ask me? Why is he even here? Where is he going with this?’ wondered Angel. His mind was racing at this point, hopelessly trying to figure out what intentions the Metatron might have. Why did he come to him specifically? Is it because of Gabriel? Because Heaven knows Crowley and he were involved? Because Gabriel was in their bookshop?
A voice pulled him out of his thoughts again.
“There’s only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense. And that's you,” said Metatron, full of confidence, smiling politely.
“M-Me?” Aziraphale was baffled. ‘Why me? How does that make any sense? Me - who was strictly involved in stopping the Armageddon, who was hiding Gabriel all this time?’ Angel felt a shiver going down his spine as the questions rushed through his mind. This entire situation felt not only completely out of place, but also highly suspicious. Alarms that went off inside his head all but screamed at him at this point. Abort. Abort.
“I- I… I don’t want to go back to Heaven,” he responded, trying to sound casual, hoping to stop the panic that grew inside him. This was the truth - he was quite content with his current life on Earth, with his life with Crowley.
Well, maybe he wasn’t fully content about the state of his relationship with the demon, but this thought was being tucked away in a box and left in the dark corner, not to be opened.
Anyway, it wasn’t the time to dwell on it, Heaven clearly saw that he made up his mind, and after the entire endeavour with Gabriel, he was quite frankly tired of being involved in Heavenly struggles. They ignored him for the last three years, they didn’t need him - called him a traitor even. ‘There is definitely no way for them to-’
“Yeah, I've been looking back over a number of your previous exploits, and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon Crowley,” continued Metatron.
The train of thoughts that was speeding inside the angel's head suddenly came to a halt, as if it was met with a sudden brick wall emerging from the ground beneath.
‘Ah,’ Aziraphale finally realised, ‘this is not a suggestion, this is a warning.’ Metatron was threatening him, threatening Crowley, threatening that lovely, fragile existence they carved for themselves here. There was no backing away from this deal, whatever it entailed, was there?
“It would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend, Crowley, to full angelic status,” explained the Voice of God in a casual tone, as if he just informed him about a late meeting or given him possible praise for a job nicely done.
Meanwhile Aziraphale felt as if someone slapped him in the face. He knew Crowley enough to be aware how this offer would only end up offending him. It would make him angry, it would-
‘Oh. This is exactly what he’s after.’ Realization struck the angel like a sudden downpour. There was no backing out of the deal; he needed to somehow convince Crowley to go with him if they were supposed to work together on solving this, and his only option to do so was the one thing the demon would hate the most. ‘Perfect. Abso-fucking-lutely tickety-boo.’
“Well you don’t have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need,” said Metatron as they finished the discussion - that suddenly felt quite short, but also very long at the same time. It was time for Aziraphale to head into the bookshop and explain the situation to Crowley.
‘How am I supposed to explain that?’ he tried to figure something out, but… ‘Metatron is still here, he didn’t leave, he is… he is waiting,’ realised the angel, seeing as the Voice of God didn’t go anywhere further than to approach Muriel, who was currently sitting at the coffee table with a book in hand. ‘Was it one of my books? It must be. Doesn’t matter, it’s not the time for that.’
‘Oh Almighty, what are we to do? How do I explain all of it to Crowley? They'll see us talking through the window, everything visible like on display!’ worried the anxious angel while he tried to think about some sort of solution, any solution, but the distance between the cafe where they were sitting and his bookshop wasn’t enough to develop a plan.
If Crowley saw him right now, he would probably say that the angel had his “something’s wrong” face - and he would be right. And that would be perfect. And Angel would very well like that.
‘Oh, if only it was so simple.’
Sadly, it wasn’t. They needed to talk now, and they would have an audience - it simply cannot be obvious.
So Aziraphale took a deep breath before entering the bookshop, his hand slightly trembling as he reached for the door handle.
‘Really now, this is not the time for that,’ he thought to himself as he tried to calm his nerves. He even almost missed Maggie and Nina passing him at the entrance, which was probably rude, but he could worry about that later.
One more quick glance outside the window confirmed his biggest worry - the Voice of God was watching.
Aziraphale pulled the air into his lungs, before slowly letting it out in a feeble attempt to calm himself.
‘Well, I suppose I should put up a convincing performance with the audience like that, enough to convince him, enough for Crowley to realise what the stakes are here…Oh, God, help me…’ he prayed as he positioned himself in front of the demon. ‘Alright then, here we go. The curtain is already up.’ He braced himself as he pulled the most excited smile he could muster and channeled as much energy into his body as possible.
“What’s that lovely human expression? Oh, yes! Hold that thought.” He forced out a chuckle as he said it. Crowley definitely tried to tell him something important and he felt bad interrupting him like that, but there really was no time. The show had already started, with the Voice of God as the sole viewer right outside on the street, and the demon needed to know what was happening.
As Aziraphale recalled Metatron's suggestion and mentioned the possibility of Crowley’s reappointment as an angel, he played his role as best as he could, while constantly throwing glances outside the window and back at Crowley. Meanwhile, only one thought occupied his mind, ‘Crowley, please. Please realise what I'm implying. Or look outside the window. Or both, if possible. Please.’
But the demon didn’t hear his unspoken pleas. No, instead - he looked distressed and angry.
“We’ve known each other for a long time,” started the demon. And as he spoke, the realisation of what Crowley was trying to say dawned on the angel. ‘No. No, no, Crowley, don’t go there, not now!’ his mind screamed. The box with hidden emotions now rattled behind his heart, begging to be opened - as if the demon just handed him a key. Oh, if only the demon picked any other time to start that conversation, he would be elated. But…
But not now. Not when everything they built is at stake, not with another threat from Heaven above their heads, not with Metatron staring at them from behind the window! ‘How do I convince him? What can I say that will make him understand that something’s wrong?’ He tried to figure it out, pulling at the straws - every word, every sentence felt like a gamble, and Aziraphale was losing.
“You cannot leave this bookshop,” said the demon.
“Oh, Crowley. Nothing lasts forever,” responded the angel, with the most performative smile he could muster. He could feel how his heart was screaming at him, basically scrapping at his ribs to stop this farce. But he couldn’t, not with the Metatron watching them. All he had left was hope that the demon in front of him realised what he was trying to tell him between the lines. To remember - even for a moment - that he would never say that.
“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” commented the demon as he put his glasses on and started walking away.
‘No… ‘ The voice inside Angel’s head was like a whisper, the last bits of hope slowly falling off like petals on a wilting flower.
“Crowley, come back!” he pleaded. “To Heaven, with me!” he added after a moment, the performance mask slipping away as the panic took over. But if the demon left the bookshop then, all of this would be over. They were running out of time.
“We can be together! Angels! Doing good!” There was no way he was able to convince anyone at this point, he thought. Aziraphale was now desperate.
“I- I need you!” were the words he said.
‘I beg you! You- you don’t understand! If you leave now, it will be too late! Please!’ screamed his brain. He was close to crying at this point, no longer hidden behind the performative facade of the perfect angel - no longer being able to play, silently hoping that maybe this will help the demon understand. It might work. It has to work.
“I don’t think you understand what I am offering you.” Angel’s inner thoughts all but slipped through his lips now, as he tried to stop himself from crying. He can’t break down now - the Metatron was still watching.
Crowley didn’t listen.
And him? He couldn’t afford honesty, not here, not now.
“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do,” said the demon.
‘It’s over,’ thought the angel. “Well… then there’s nothing more to say,” he said, giving the demon a weak smile and a glance with his glassy eyes, ready to cry. He knew he was wrong - there were a lot more things to say, but the demon didn’t listen. He was hurt, hidden behind these stupid glasses, and refused to listen. Yet he still asks Angel to do so? To what, there is no sound, besides Aziraphale’s crumbling heart, but Crowley definitely couldn’t talk about this.
“No nightingales,” pointed out Crowley, as the angel lost the last bits of hope he was so desperately trying to hold onto.
“You idiot. We could’ve been US,” he continued, and Aziraphale’s heart broke into pieces. In front of him stood the lo- his best friend, hurt and defeated. Too hurt to listen to the angel’s hidden pleas for help, to realise that they are being watched, to realise that this is not the time for the arguments, that their entire existence is at stake.
Aziraphale was out of options. There was nothing else he could’ve said to let the demon know that something was wrong. His hands were trembling and he was trying so hard to swallow a sob that was creeping in his throat. And then, the demon made everything even worse. Better, but also, So. Much. Worse.
“I love you,” is what the angel wanted to say, as he stared at the demon with trembling lips, the shadow of Crowley’s touch still lingering on them. But he couldn’t. One glance behind the window told him all he needed to do. Metatron saw them. He saw them kiss.
“I forgive you,” barked the angel instead - one last bit of performance before his mask crumbles completely, before he risks all that they achieved until now, everything for a fleeting moment just to lose it right after. Before he ultimately dooms the love of his life, possibly losing him forever.
Aziraphale gave Crowley his last “we have a problem” look before entering the elevator, as the Metatron’s words about the Second Coming rang in his ears. There was no way to get out of this, and the demon didn’t know what’s coming. There was no way for them to communicate. ‘There’s no other way, I suppose,’ thought the angel as the elevator was bringing them up towards Heaven, ‘I need to find a way to deal with this myself.’
With that decision, he forced a polite, bureaucratic smile on his face, once again equipping the performative mask. The show had long since begun - the curtain torn wide, the lights blazing, the roles already cast.