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Crowley stood resolutely in the doorway of the bookshop as the door clicked shut behind him. He had made a promise to himself some time ago that he would never step foot in this shop again. Never breathe in the smell of dust and binding leather, never hear the old floorboards creak under his feet, never feel the cold metal of an oh too familiar doorknob between his fingers.
But he had also thought he would never again see a certain prim angel fussing over the bookshelves and their contents.
It had been three years since Crowley had last stood in this spot. Three years that were not a significant duration of time in the grand scheme of his existence, but had felt like an eternity. After Aziraphale's departure, the spoils of humanity that were once so interesting to him had suddenly lost their wonder. Music had lost its tune, plants wilted without reason. Even the wine and spirits Crowley used to numb his sorrows had lost their edge he once enjoyed.
He could not entirely remember the series of events that led him to the alleyway where Aziraphale had found him as he had spent the majority of said time belligerently drunk. In fact he had spent the majority of his time drunk recently. It was the only way he knew to keep the emotions at bay. Demons were not supposed to feel sorrow, they were not supposed to feel anything other than indifference or bloodlust. Demons certainly were not supposed to weep over the mere thought of a departed angel.
In his brief moments of clarity, Crowley himself had found his reaction to be odd. He had spent thousands of years apart from Aziraphale, “on his own side”, with only the occasional run-ins in Mesopotamia or Rome or Paris. So why was he so affected by the same occurrence this time around?
However, even in his own bitter reflections, Crowley knew exactly why. In fact he suspected that he had known for a long time. Crowley loved Aziraphale, plain and simple. He had loved him since he gave away his flaming sword in Eden. And up until that moment three years ago, he had been able to contain his feelings, he was able to push them down to the deepest darkest corner of his being and leave them there to rot. Except of course they didn’t. They continued to grow up the walls and through the cracks like ivy, growing brighter and stronger with every touch no matter how brief, every dinner at the Ritz, every night spent talking or day spent doing not very much at all.
That was until Crowley became overconfident, arrogant, a fool. He had let his guard down and allowed himself to believe for one moment that Aziraphale might have reciprocated. The result shouldn't have surprised him. He should have known that he would end up where he did, in an alleyway, alone. But he had allowed himself to hold on to that last flame of hope until the very last second, a flame that was swiftly extinguished as he watched Aziraphale climb into the sterile white light of the elevator. And as he watched the doors close, it had felt like Falling all over again.
But this time it was steeper. This time it was farther and he hit the ground harder than he ever had before. He had honestly thought he'd never be able to stand back up.
Which was why he was so genuinely shocked to be stood in this doorway again.
Crowley took a few tentative steps forward into the entryway. A few years ago he would have sauntered in, made himself comfortable in one of the arm chairs and maybe taken a nap. But this wasn't his space to inhabit anymore. He settled for leaning arms crossed against one of the yellow support poles a couple steps past the door. He'd rather not think about the last time he stood in this parlour. He instead focused his attention on Aziraphale who seemed to be blabbering on about the state his bookshop had been left in.
In this light he finally could take in the angel's new appearance. He wore his usual beige, although Crowley assumed that Gabriel's drab grey had been passed on to him for wear in Heaven. Such a sight was not something Crowley ever wished to see. His face seemed paler, an almost too perfect white. He lacked the rosy glow that could only be provided by the presence of humanity and their inventions. Judging by Muriel's lack of knowledge on the matter, Crowley highly doubted that he had access to a ‘cupperty’ or cocoa in Heaven. Despite the overly divine perfection of his appearance, he had the underlying energy of someone who was tired. His voice lacked the enthusiasm it once had discussing his collection of first editions, and instead carried the weight of someone who was holding the whole world on his shoulders. Perhaps he was.
After a minute or two of standing in silence through Aziraphale’s ramblings, Crowley had had enough. Aziraphale had appeared from thin air after three years, plucked him off of the street and brought him back here without as much as an explanation, never mind an apology. And now he was seriously going to sit here and drone on about his ‘poor bookshop’ without any acknowledgement of what had happened?
Crowley mustered up the most spirited voice he could (which admittedly had all the energy of an empty lithium battery) to interrupt him.
“Cut the crap Aziraphale. Why are you here? Why are you dragging me back into all this?”
Aziraphale stopped fussing with his shelves at Crowley's words. He had admittedly been trying to stall the beginning of this conversation, although he knew it’s happening was inevitable.
“Well… yes. I suppose I ought to explain haven’t I.”
Aziraphale turned from the bookshelf to face Crowley. He had honestly been rather shocked by the state he had found the demon in. His suave demeanour had vanished and had instead been replaced with what Aziraphale could only describe as utter defeat. His clothes were torn and dishevelled, his jaw lined with stubble. All that remained of his possessions were a single wilting plant, and the Bentley, which showed little signs of use since their last encounter. Crowley's confident swagger of a walk had been instead replaced with a defeated slump which he didn't even make an attempt to conceal. The demon he had come to know so well, Aziraphale realised, was no longer there.
He took a step in Crowley's direction “Well, I've come to help you.”
“Have you?” The demon's expression of disdain didn't slip for a second. His whole expression radiated distrust and disinterest, which Aziraphale noted was somewhat justified.
“Do you want an apology from me?” Aziraphale replied, a somewhat sarcastic tone to his voice. Of course Crowley wasn't going to be delighted that Aziraphale had left, especially after the way they had parted, but surely Crowley understood that he was doing so for the good of the world? For the good of humanity, something they had worked together to save time and time again? For the good of them?
However, judging by Crowley's reaction, this was not the correct response. His face remained stone cold and emotionless, staring blankly at Aziraphale. He almost wished that Crowley would shout, complain, scream, anything other than the deafening silence that stood between them at this moment.
“Em. Right. Well. Yes. I came back because there seems to have been somewhat of a mishap upstairs. I'm not sure if you are aware but- goodness I definitely shouldn't be telling you this- we were planning a small thing called The Second Coming, and we seem to have misplaced a certain important figure in the whole timeline. So I thought I should maybe come down here to warn you and also-”
“And also what” Crowley continued, his voice remaining monotone and emotionless.
“Also to perhaps ask you to assist me in locating him…” Aziriphale trailed off cautiously.
Crowley's arms tensed across his chest. His eyes stared daggers into Aziraphale’s through his glasses, his stomach turned in disbelief and anger.
“Right. So let me get this straight. You fly down from your little throne in heaven after three years, to pick me off the streets so that I could help you resolve a mistake you made for a plan that is going to end us all? Is that what you're telling me Aziraphale?”
Aziraphale began to wring his hands in front of his chest. “Well yes I suppose when you put it like that…” He trailed off, beginning to hear the slight absurdity of his own words.
Crowley let out a low unamused breath. “Right. Well. If that's the only reason you're here then quite frankly you can piss off.” he replied, beginning to turn back towards the door.
“Crowley this is bigger than you and me.” Aziraphale replied with exasperation. The use of ‘you and me’ instead of ‘us’ did not fly over Crowley's head. Instead it only added fuel to the fire of anger and frustration beginning to bubble in his stomach. He reluctantly turned back around to face the Angel.
“I think you've made it pretty clear who this is about Aziraphale. I'm a demon from Hell. You said it yourself, we're the bad guys. You made your alliances pretty clear. You chose Heaven. You clearly didn’t need my assistance back then and you won’t need it now. So go ask one of those pretentious assholes for help and stop bothering me.”
With that he turned on his heel and marched his way towards the door. He had full intentions to miracle a bottle full of the strongest alcohol there was and drink himself into a stupor that would allow him to forget this day.
“Crowley, please wait. Please.”
The break in Aziraphale’s voice stopped Crowley in his tracks. He hated how much of an effect Aziraphale still had on him. He hated that the sound of him being upset still managed to pierce straight through his ribs and into the center of his heart. But it did. No matter what he did, where he went or how much he drank, reminders of Aziriphale were always there. He was always in his heart no matter what and Crowley didn’t know if he would ever get him out.
“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”
Crowley turned once again to face the angel. Aziraphale had lost any of his last remaining ounces of conviction. He now just seemed utterly exhausted.
“I was trying to do the right thing.”
Aziraphale looked anywhere but Crowley after finishing that sentence. He couldn’t stand to look him in the eye (or rather, glasses) and see his stone cold emotionless expression. He instead trained his eye on a curled knot on the wooden floorboards.
“Trying to do the right thing were you?”
Aziraphale kept his eyes down, following the path of the swirling grain of the wood beneath him.
“Well let me tell you something Aziraphale. Heaven knows I’ve seen a lot of bad in my life. Creatures of hell are expected to be accustomed to torture and misery. But never in my life have I seen such callous cruelty as I did in Heaven. You weren’t there. You weren’t there to see when they forced you into a pit of hellfire without even a second thought. You didn’t witness the levels of cruelty they were willing to commit to make sure that they stayed in power.”
Aziraphale's hands stilled in front of him. His eyes stayed locked on the floor, this time out of guilt. Crowley's voice, now a borderline snarl, rang through the silent shop.
“And I tried to warn you Aziraphale. I told you they were no better than Hell. You’ve known for thousands of years just what they were capable of and you chose to turn the other cheek. You knew they were willing to cast someone into a pit of boiling sulfur just for asking a few questions. You knew that every single one of them would betray you in a second for their own gain and yet you still left. You abandoned humanity, you abandoned your life and you abandoned m-“
Aziraphale’s head jerked up as the end of Crowley's sentence caught in his throat. Was he? No... he couldn’t be…
Crowley was crying.
And with this sight Aziraphale's heart shattered into a million pieces. Every emotion and doubt he had violently suppressed for the past three years rose to the top and bubbled over like a pot left on the stove for too long. He knew Crowley was right. In fact he always had.
How could he have been so stupid.
Aziraphale took a few steps forward towards Crowley so that they now stood a mere meter apart. He wanted nothing more than to lift his hand and take hold of Crowley's face, wipe away his tears for the first time in 6,000 years and tell him everything would be alright.
“Crowley, my dear. I have been an absolute fool. Every second since the moment I stepped into that lift I have regretted my decision. Every day since I have wanted to abandon my post and return to my old life. Our old life.”
Aziraphale slowly took a step forward and lifted his hand to the dark frames that surrounded Crowley's eyes. After a few moments he lifted the glasses from Crowley's face, folded them and placed them gently on the table next to him. This conversation was simply too important for either party to be hiding behind a layer of protection.
“All of these years, I have never been acting as an agent of heaven, whether I wanted to admit it to myself or not, which quite frankly, I did not. For so long now I’ve been on my own side, our own side. I have always had an underlying guilt of betraying those that do good, and it took me leaving for heaven to truly break the illusion.”
Aziraphale looked straight into Crowley's eyes, now wide and shining with tears. In this state they shone a brighter gold than ever before. His eyebrows knitted together as if in determination to control himself and his lips formed a tight line. Aziraphale could see traces of hope, fear and heartbreak mixed into the golden hues. Aziraphale had spent too much of his time in Heaven contemplating how this conversation would go, and he was not going to ruin what could possibly be his last chance.
“You have to understand my dear. I never chose heaven. No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, my heart and loyalties have always stayed firmly in Soho. Every second I spent dismantling the plan was for one thing and one thing only.”
Crowley couldn’t take this torment anymore. He was on the verge of snapping. He needed Aziraphale to free him from this tension one way or another. The sheer vulnerability of Aziraphale seeing him cry was enough to make Crowley want to sprint out of the shop and never look back. But his feet stayed firmly planted on the floor and golden eyes stayed fixed on blue.
“For what Angel?”
The corners of Aziraphale's mouth twitched up slightly before his response.
“For you my dear.”
Crowley's desperate frown relaxed, now replaced with a saddened smile. Tears welled further in his eyes until they eventually spilled down his cheeks. Aziraphale, deciding to be bold for perhaps the first time in his lengthy existence, reached up to wipe one away with his thumb. He let his hand rest on Crowley's cheek. Aziraphale had spent three years contemplating the bravery it took for Crowley to do what he did, and Aziraphale was sure as anything that he wouldn’t make him do it again.
This time Aziraphale was the one who leaned in to kiss him.
But this time it was different. This time it wasn’t urgent or desperate. This was no last ditch effort to convey what couldn’t be put into words. There was no representative from heaven waiting outside and the fate of the world was not hanging in the balance (well, for now at least).
This time it was just an Angel and a Demon who loved each other, and who had loved each other for a very long time. This time it was just two beings who had known each other since the dawn of creation, finally showing what had been begging to be seen for years.
As they broke apart Aziraphale held on to Crowley's arm. He looked straight into the demon's eyes, now brighter and golder than ever before.
“Crowley?” He asked, the demon staring right back at him.
“Yes?”
“I did miss you calling me Angel.”
Crowley tilted his head back to laugh that oh too familiar cackle and dropped his hand to take hold of Aziraphale's. The second coming and all of that fodder could wait. Perhaps Heaven would succeed in their plans. Perhaps they wouldn’t. But all that mattered in this moment was the two intertwined souls who were basking in the warmth that comes with finally being completely on their own side.