Chapter Text
Chapter I
Aziraphale, Supreme Archangel of the Lord
“I forgive you.”
“Don’t bother.”
Aziraphale realized what happened as soon as he reached the top of the elevator. Crowley had kissed him. The angel practically (or perhaps literally) glowed at the thought.
“You idiot! We could've been- us!"
Why had he sounded upset? Crowley mustn't have understood him properly.
In fact, Aziraphale was so caught up in trying to decipher whatever Crowley thought he was saying that he hardly noticed Metatron step out of the elevator and into Heaven.
“Are you coming, dear boy?”
Aziraphale snapped back to reality. He stood up straight, adjusted his waistcoat, and straightened his bow tie. He sucked in a deep breath, and took his first step into Heaven as supreme archangel.
“I suppose I am!” he declared with a small smile.
Aziraphale couldn’t understand why, but something about this whole ordeal felt wrong without the familiar presence of his serpentine friend by his side. Perhaps he had grown closer to the demon than he had thought. Or, perhaps Crowley had grown closer to him than he had thought. After all, Crowley had kissed him.
While the two angels walked down the illuminated hallways, Aziraphale thought about his future as supreme archangel. Would he ever be able to see his bookshop again? Would he ever be able to see Crowley again?
Crowley, who would never drive his Bentley below 90 in central London. Crowley, who would barge into the bookshop unannounced. Crowley, whose bright yellow eyes sparkled beneath the sunglasses he’d always wear.
Aziraphale thought of the 6,000 years they’d spent together. He’d always assumed they’d have at least 6,000 more. But what if this was the end? What if he’d never have dinner at the Ritz with him again?
Oh, why hadn’t Crowley agreed to come to Heaven with him?
The two reached a large room which was full of Angels. In fact, possibly all angels. Metatron guided Aziraphale to the center of the room, and tilted his head upwards to address the crowd.
“Introducing Aziraphale, the new supreme archangel!” he bellowed, holding his arms out wide.
Everyone cheered, and Metatron turned to face Aziraphale, who was suddenly very uncomfortable in his tweed jacket. He knew he should speak, but he hadn’t a clue as to what he should say. He truly hated how it felt to have all these eyes on him. All he could manage to force from his throat was a small greeting.
“Err- Hello!” he squeaked.
For a moment, the crowd froze. Aziraphale hoped they weren’t expecting a full speech. Suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, the audience erupted in applause. It was perhaps the loudest sound he had ever heard, far louder than anything from his time on Earth.
Although the immediate crisis was averted, Aziraphale still felt like a germ under a microscope. He was grateful when Metatron took him by the arm and led him out of the room, suggesting that the torment was over.
Once they were alone again, Metatron flashed Aziraphale a rather patronizing smile and led him to his new desk. It was in the middle of another blank, glow-white room. Aziraphale once again found himself yearning for the cluttered comfort of his bookshop.
“I do believe it is high time- dear angel, that we begin our efforts concerning the second coming.”
Aziraphale knew this moment was inevitable, yet it still made him feel exceptionally uncomfortable.
“I– Yes, about that…” he began. “I regret to say- I’m sorry- we simply can't!”
Metatron was utterly taken aback.
“Whatever do you mean, Aziraphale?”
“Oh, it's just that he’s– it's simply too lovely to lose! There a-are people with lives down there! We can't just take that away so that we can fight Hell! We’re Heaven! W-we must be good!”
“Have you grown… attached to Earth, Aziraphale?”
Even as Archangel Supreme, Aziraphale still lacked enough confidence to be able to stand up to Metatron. He simply looked down.
“I see.” Metatron began, his voice brimming with barely hidden disdain. “It's that blasted demon, isn’t it?”
Even though he was on Heaven’s side now, Aziraphale knew deep down that it would be best for him– and Crowley- if Metatron was not made aware of the happenings the day before. He kept his mouth shut.
To his surprise, Metatron did not wait for Aziraphale’s response to keep talking.
“It is important that you remember my boy, that Crawley and the other demons made their choice a long time ago. You couldn’t possibly–”
“Crowley.” Aziraphale interrupted him. He could take all of the condescending nicknames, after all, Metatron was literally holier-than-thou. But an insult to Crowley? That was something he had never been able to withstand.
“Excuse me?”
Aziraphale began to shift uncomfortably again, but he held his ground.
“His name isn’t Crawley, it’s Crowley. It hasn’t been Crawley for at least five thousand years.”
“Right, I suppose so. Well, none of that matters now, seeing as Crowley has proven that his allegiance lies with Hell.”
“No he has not!” Aziraphale responded almost immediately. “He’s- He’s on his own side!”
“Well!” Metatron breathed. “Which side are you on?”