Chapter Text
Chaos. Chaos everywhere. Voices clamouring. A buzz in the air. Everyone was edgy and skittish.
Something was happening, and none of it was good.
Aziraphale was swept along by a swarm of angels who seemingly had an objective to fill. A quiet determination rested on their faces and their feet fell into a quick-paced thundering march. Aziraphale had no choice but to go along lest he be trampled by the flurry of angels.
He looked about frantically, trying to glean what could possibly be spurring them on. All eyes were fixed ahead, bodies steady. Aziraphale recognised these looks in their eyes. He remembered them from the Great War. The same drive. The same passion. The same motivations. These angels were the same soldiers pushing forwards to confront the enemy.
A heaviness settled in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. “What’s going on?” he finally asked. “Where are we going?”
He was shoved forward, angels behind him stepping on the back of his robes intermittently with an impatience he’d not witnessed for centuries. Angels were normally calm, serene and ethereal, not irritable, hasty and restless. It was uncharacteristic for beings like this to act in such a way.
An angel next to him, who kept jabbing at his ribs with their elbow as they fell into step with the crowd, leaned in to speak, voice fighting with the impassioned vocalisations around them. “We’re going to see a traitor get justice served,” they said, sheer excitement ablaze in their eyes. It was almost animalistic and feral—a deep-seated hunger that could only be sated by a rebel getting their just desserts.
Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Nobody knows, but apparently he’s got too big for his boots. Thought he was better than the Almighty. Gonna get what he deserves.”
Aziraphale held back a scoff. Better than the Almighty indeed! No angel was better than the Almighty. The very idea was preposterous. A similar intensity took root in his chest and he found himself following this herd mentality of praying for the traitor’s downfall.
It was rather unlike him to feel this sort of raw malice, but his allegiance was to his Lord. She was the true power and voice of reason. If she deemed someone a traitor, then they were a traitor through and through.
Having witnessed the Fall, he knew what a traitor looked like. He knew what they acted like. He knew what he was going to see there—someone who had transgressed the rules of Heaven and gone against his most holy Lord.
Ushered into a large white room, the angels took their places, lining the walls like toy soldiers preparing for battle. Aziraphale stood near the front of the crowd, which encircled a vast beam of celestial light from above.
His eyes were blown wide, his jaw hung open as he realised he was about to hear her for the first time in eons. None of them got to hear from her directly very much, so this was a particularly historic occasion for them.
Angels around him bowed their heads in respect, averting their gaze from the celestial light. They held a reverence for the Almighty that was shared among their peers. A few, like himself, couldn’t tear their eyes away. How could they pass up the opportunity to bear witness to her in all her glory? They were truly humbled by this moment. He knew that looking away was the respectful thing to do until they were addressed, but he was simply so awestruck that it was impossible.
He clasped his hands together in front of him, finally moving his gaze towards the other angels again. Hundreds upon hundreds had filled up the room by now, and many were still trying to file in just to catch a glimpse of the traitor. He still wondered who it might be. As he scanned the sea of faces, he clocked many angels he knew closely—ones he’d been working with to fulfil elements of the Great Plan.
Assigned to work on creatures for Earth, he had a small hand in the creation of new life (sort of). He’d been on the duty of naming each creature as the concepts were made. Butterflies had been his first. He started out small and worked his way up to the stronger and larger animals. His most recently named creatures had been foxes. He found them rather fascinating for their survival abilities. Scavengers which could live in most environments. Resourceful and aloof. He admired them very much. It was just a bonus that they were beautiful to look at.
In fact, they reminded him of—
Before the thought could fully form in his head, Aziraphale’s attention was taken by the sounds of strong footsteps followed by the stumbling shuffles of another. Him and the other angels watched the far entrance and a ripple of gasps filled the room.
No. It couldn’t be.
Aziraphale’s entire body went cold as he stared in abject horror. His world felt like it had stopped, crumbling around his ears. His heart dropped into his stomach and every hair stood on end. Chest barely rising and falling, he found himself unable to take a full breath in. The air was dense, cloying, close. He was suffocating.
He wanted to run, but his body couldn’t be willed to move. The angel was glued to the spot while Kokabiel was dragged into the room and thrown under the celestial light of the Almighty.
And she was not forgiving.
As if he were under water, the sounds of Kokabiel’s voice and the Almighty’s barely penetrated his ears. Eyes fixed on the starmaker—the angel he had called his friend, the one he’d advised over and over again not to ask such questions, not to give suggestions lest he get in trouble—now forced to bare all for her.
It was all happening so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to comprehend what was transpiring in front of his eyes. He knew Kokabiel would be in trouble for his presumptuous nature; knew the angel would be punished; understood that this was what happened to the ones who went against her wishes.
He didn’t think, however, that it would end in Kokabiel falling. Somehow, Aziraphale thought she might take pity on her chosen one; he thought she might forgive him for being naive and curious. So many of the angels showed curiosity, and it wasn’t wholly frowned upon, simply guided in a certain direction. Their Lord had knowledge of all Kokabiel had done to begin the universe. His efforts would not be overlooked. Yet here he was begging for her forgiveness, trying to find a way to prove that he was worthy of staying up in Heaven. If it were anyone else, Aziraphale would have thought it ridiculous to beg for such things when the act of questioning the Lord had been committed. But this was his friend. Someone he’d formed an attachment to. He’d watched as Kokabiel had brought stars to life; watched as he breathed love into the Earth and its surrounding star systems; watched as this angel did as his Lord wanted. And all he asked for in return was clarity.
Sure, it was starry-eyed of him to think he would get the answers he craved, but to go as far as making him fall? That seemed callous and merciless on the Lord’s part.
Conflict warred within Aziraphale as he stood witness to this judgement being passed on the starmaker. Despite his loyalty to the Almighty, the angel felt like this was unjustified treatment. Possibly his thoughts were tainted with so much dissent occurring in recent millenia, but was this truly fair? How could Aziraphale say what was fair and what wasn’t? He was meant to serve the Almighty; he wasn’t meant to question her. Up until now, he would have followed that mantra to the end of time itself.
But something shifted inside him. Something cracked. Something blossomed. A new thought pattern was emerging as he watched this heinous act unfold.
Through the ringing in his ears and over the thud of his heartbeat, Aziraphale heard Kokabiel begging him to tell the Almighty he was a good angel and he meant no disrespect.
Of course he meant no disrespect, but intentions don’t always come across in practice.
The fact of the matter was that she had taken offense at Kokabiel’s questions, at his suggestions, and now she was showing her wrath in spades.
Panicked cries rang out and Aziraphale realised all too late that the ground was primed and ready to swallow Kokabiel whole, and toss him into a pit of boiling sulphur, forging a new demon to join the ever-growing hordes below.
Aziraphale found himself hurled to the ground, hand reaching for the angel, but never quite making the correct contact. Robes were snatched up. A struggle. Disintegrating stone made finding a strong grip point impossible. The terror in the other angel’s eyes was palpable, and Aziraphale knew in his heart that he couldn’t hold on.
He tried. Oh, how he tried, but his hold was too weak.
The seconds rushed by; Kokabiel was already plummeting fast, and a bone chilling scream filled the space around Aziraphale.
For a good moment he thought it to be Kokabiel’s, until he was yanked away from the edge by the firm hands of another, and realised that the sound had come from his own mouth.
Gasps and sobs racked his body as his hands clutched at his chest and lips in equal measure. His heart was racing; his body heaved with the agony of loss. His blue gaze was completely glazed over, blurred with the salty embrace of tears unshed. He couldn’t muster a single word, yet his entire being screamed.
Ear-splitting, bloodcurdling noises were all that could escape him.
Even as the piercing stares of the angels around him bore into his soul, Aziraphale wasn’t able to stand.
He lay crumpled up on the floor, robes creased and flooding the immediate area around him, while his wings were contorted at unnatural angles—angles that should have been excruciating, yet he was too numb to feel.
Every single pair of eyes in the room was on him. The same disdain, judgement and contempt weighed heavy in the air, and whispers about dissent spread like wildfire.
“He tried to help the traitor.”
“Will he be the next one to betray the Lord?”
“They were in cahoots.”
“Kokabiel rubbed off on him.”
“He deserves to fall too.”
“Traitor.”
“Traitor!”
“Traitor!”
Quiet.
Be quiet.
Be quiet, all of you.
Those words stabbed at him. Jabbed his heart. Slammed against his temples. Violently assaulted all of his senses.
“Shut up. Shut up, shut up! Shut up!” Aziraphale clamped his hands over his ears. His chest was heaving, heart thudding, head throbbing. “Shutupshutupshutup,” he continued to whisper-yell at himself until he found he was shaking. With what, it was unclear. A deep-seated fire was coursing through his veins, born of fear and rage, seething and mixing to create the most terrifying effect Aziraphale had ever experienced.
A metallic tang settled across his tongue. It was foreign for an angel unfamiliar with taste. Vile and acrid, it clung to his untrained tastebuds, making him wish to rip his tongue clean out. He clawed at his skin, bringing blood to the surface; tugged at his white-blonde curls, normally so wispy and delicate, now plastered to his skull with sweat. His whole body was crying out in fury and apprehension and panic.
So. Much. Panic.
He couldn’t say when he’d been carted out of the vast white room and dumped in his quarters, but as the throbbing finally drained away and his eyes eventually focused again, he felt strangely hollow.
Emptiness planted itself in his core. It was as if his entire centre was ripped out.
Heaviness gave way to nausea. Numbness gave way to gnawing agony. Heartache gave way to anguish.
Aziraphale suddenly felt very, very alone.