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When they were done with the second coming, they'd bid a fond farewell to the Earth and had ridden through the vastness of space in a Bentley-shaped rocket. They trailed a Familiar path, past stars carved by Crowley's own hands. They came to a garden. The only place that rivalled it was Eden itself. Vast and green, and floating on the edge of forever, framed by the backdrop of Alpha Centauri. This was where Crowley brought his angel.
As soon as Aziraphale got out of the car, his wings unfurled. He let out a sigh of relief. All of the tension that he'd held in for thousands of years left him. He could feel his true form relax, the spinning of wheels slowing, and a thousand eyes blinked in slow syncopation. His grip on his flaming sword slackened, reminding him that it was still there in the first place. He briefly wondered if the fire had continued to burn while they'd been in the Bentley. His human senses took in their surroundings with wonder. Listening to the hum of bees and the singing of a Watch of Nightingales.
He reached out for a pear hanging from a low tree branch. He looked to Crowley, seeking permission. Granted with a nod, he picked the fruit and sank his teeth into perfectly ripe flesh. Rivulets of juice ran from the corners of his mouth. The first food he'd eaten since he'd set foot in that lift and ascended to heaven. It was perfect. When he'd eaten his fill, he asked the obvious question, filled with wonder.
"How long has this been here?"
He followed Crowley with his eyes. Watched him touch stray leaves filled with tenderness. He walked towards a stone platform displaying a familiar lectern adorned by an eagle, wings spread, ready to take flight. The demon turned to look at him.
"A while now. Started building it in the 19th century." He saw a flicker of surprise cross Aziraphale's face.
"I didn't spend all that time sleeping, you know, Angel."
A faint pink blush kissed the angel's cheeks. They'd never discussed what happened after their fight about the holy water. They didn't really talk about any of the unpleasant things they'd said and done to each other. Not until the last few days, and even those were brief snatches of conversation in between calamities.
"It is quite beautiful."
"Thank you."
Crowley removed his sunglasses, and Aziraphale found himself compelled to go to him, like a flower to sunlight, seeking the warmth of golden irises. They stood regarding each other. An angel afraid to reach out, and a demon stealing himself to make an impossible request.
"I need you to stay here Angel."
Aziraphale flapped his wings once before folding them against his broad back. He started to fidget with the ring on his little finger.
"For how long?"
Crowley shrugged, trying for nonchalance and failing.
"A month, a year, eternity? I don't know."
"You want me to stay here?"
"I want you to wait here."
"Until I come for you."
Crowley reached for Aziraphale's sword, and he took it without a word of protest from the angel. He regarded it with clarity. This was a gift from God, and Aziraphale gave it away without hesitation. He gave it to Adam, to humanity, and asked for nothing in return, but that they use it to protect themselves. It was the very thing that had first nudged at Crowley's heart. The minute ember, smaller than a grain of sand, that first suggested this might be an angel worth knowing.
Crowley swung the blade in a furious arch, piercing the ground, driving it deep into the earth he had brought here sod by sod, over countless years. He grimaced as he tried to move it, testing for even the slightest hint of give. When it held firm, he nodded, satisfied, and pointed to the ground in front of Aziraphale.
"Kneel, Angel."
Aziraphale's knees hit the soft grass, feeling the damp of the soil beneath leech into the weave of his trousers. He reached out and touched the hilt of his sword and looked to Crowley for further instruction. That's when he smiled; that's what Aziraphale was after, all he ever wanted. The look of kindness in his eyes, the sound of mischievous laughter. These were the things that made him feel safe. Loved.
"I want you to wait, just as you are now. I don't want you to move for anything or anyone but me."
Aziraphale frowned, tilting his head in a wordless question.
"Do you hear that?"
The question sent ot a shudder of familiarity through Aziraphale's wings. Too familiar, a wound to fresh. All the same he closed his eyes and listened.
"I hear nightingales."
"Beyond that, Angel. Listen further. Beyond the garden. To Earth. I know you can. Do you hear them?"
Aziraphale's face pinched in concentration. He opened up his entire being, past his physical form, to take in all the sounds of the world light-years away. The sound of billions of voices. A cornucopia of scattered thoughts, hopes, fears and losses.
"Do you hear their prayers?"
"Yes. I hear them."
"Good. I want you to ignore them."
Aziraphale's eyes snapped open.
"What? Why?"
"I don't care what any of them want. We've given them new beginnings, Angel. Twice, we have helped reset the end times. We have turned existence away from extinction twice. They have had everything from us. Now I'm asking you to offer me the same."
Aziraphale looked up at him, the shine of a trillion stars reflecting back at him, and Crowley almost crumbled. Almost pulled him up into an embrace and whispered words of affection. Knowing if he did, he'd never have peace. He'd spend the rest of their eternity wondering when he'd leave. When some new calamity would force him to choose between the demon he professed to love and humanity.
"I love you, Angel."
He reached down to cradle the softness of his fleshy jaw, relishing the feel of him nuzzling into the warmth of his fingertips. A contented sigh slipped from between soft lips. The temptation to stay was sweet and comforting like melted chocolate.
"Ohh Crowley, I..."
No, not now, not those words. He'd said them before, but they'd been put aside to chase down missing messiahs and furious angels. Crowley didn't want to run anymore. He didn't have the stamina for it. He was tired to his core.
"Don't. Not yet. I love you, but I don't trust you, not anymore. You have my heart, angel, and so far, you've not been gentle with it. I always come last, and I need you to show me that's not the case anymore."
He pulled back and looked down at the tears that had begun to silently stream down rounded cheeks. His curls and clothes still dishevelled from the second coming, and all it brought.
"Wait. For me."
He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to warm lips. Gentle and chaste. Exactly how their first kiss should have been. He relished each second they were pressed, mouth to mouth. Felt the touch of Aziraphale's hand over his. Felt love he couldn't trust. Felt his heart break in his chest. He stopped before want, and greed got in the way of need. His hand slid from the angels jaw to clasp the nape of his neck, as le looked into starry, starry eyes.
"Please?"
Aziraphale nodded as Crowley moved aside, allowing him to reach for his sword. Hands wrapping around the hilt, as he bowed his head.
A promise. One he intended to keep. He didn't watch Crowley walk away. He heard the Bentley's engine whine in protest. And then he was alone, with the sound of nightingales for company.
~
He stayed precisely where he was put. Not even a flutter from his wings. He heard every prayer. every mournful cry, and he didn't move. He didn't count days or years, how could he? Kneeling in a place void of time. The languages swelled and ebbed like tides. Until he didn't recognise the words as easily, but understood the tone. Except for one voice. One who spoke, knowing he would hear, always with the same message. Love that burned with a fury and flame so bright it ignited the flame of his sword, burning his hands, and he held on. He felt the creep of vines, crawling over him, surrounded by life woven and tended from infancy by demonic care. Birds built nests in the trees that groaned under the weight of their foliage, and unpicked fruit. He smelt the sweet, sour scent of fallen apples rotting on the ground, nourishing the soil and insects beneath him.
Occasionally, he was sure he could smell the maddeningly familiar scent of smoke and citrus. Just a hint of book leather and paper. It was always fleeting, and he daren't turn his head for fear of seeing his Eurydice slipping back to the underworld. So he stopped it all. No olfactory sense, blinded and numb. He cut temptation away like rot from flesh.
Stars collapsed, and comets passed with steady regularity. He stopped breathing, his lungs paused in suspended animation. His stomach forgot the comfort of food. As the thorns and tendrils of biting foliage pierced his skin, he muted pain receptors, allowing them to follow the paths they desired. Cloaked in moss, crowned with abandoned nests, his scalp and wings picked for building material. He was as rooted to this floating miracle as the trees that grew, expanding, crushing up against their original borders.
And he waited.
"Angel?”