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Part I: Humans
There was something different about Anthony that drew Asa to him. He told himself it was attraction, and its not not that but it's also something else… something he can't quite put his finger on.
Something ineffable.
That's why Asa didn't go after him at first. His whole life he had been looking for that something missing. The feeling that he's missing something big, missing the point of it all, entirely commonplace by now. He’d often had these flashes, moments where he thought he really had it this time, and every time he'd been disappointed. A vintage bentley parked by the side of the road, the sound of nightingale song, a flash of red hair disappearing round a corner. None of it had got him anywhere. Actually, that time with the bentley had left him in a rather a worse way than he had started off in, he had ended up in an awkward spot with quite an unfriendly man. In any case, it wasn't worth it, to go after these things.
He just had one problem.
He's never had much self-control.
It's stupid, running out there, after him, and he feels stupid asking for the man's number… and then a little less stupid after he doesn't turn Asa down. He had expected to be turned down, that was the whole point of coming out here, to satiate his curiosity and find that there is, in fact, nothing there. That and as to not feel bad about letting a handsome stranger go without even trying to get his number. He knows he's not all that much to look at, but he’ll always try. He supposes that's why he's made it to… what is it? The number 6,030 pops into his head from nowhere, 50, he corrects himself. He’s made it to 50 without once falling in love and being loved back.
Anthony goes to the coffee shop across the road to wait for Asa. He orders a hot chocolate, which is strange because that’s the sort of thing usually too sweet for his taste. There’s the sense though, that he wants something familiar, and it reminds him of Asa somehow, even though they'd only just met. There was something distinctly odd about Asa—beyond the pull Anthony had felt to him, to that little bookshop on the corner—he had a certain smell about him, more than just cologne and old books, something that gave Anthony a sense of déjà vu.
That evening they go to dinner, and when they talk it feels like they're old friends, not strangers. It's not that Anthony knows anything about him, his life or any of that, but he feels he knows him.
“Sorry. Have we met before?" He blurts out. Asa pauses, looking puzzled.
“No, I don't believe we have."
“Sorry, uh, I just feel like I know you." Anthony feels a bit dim, obviously they hadn't met before, he'd have remembered someone like Asa.
“Well, maybe its just because we're getting on so well." Asa smiles and Anthony can't help but find it hopelessly adorable. He supposes that Asa’s probably right.
The date goes just about as well as a first date can go. Certainly better than any date Asa's ever been on at least, not that he's been on very many. He goes home happy, to the little flat above the bookshop that he rents out from Derek. It's not much, but he's never cared for big spaces. He much prefers somewhere nice and small to cozy up in, and with all the books downstairs, well nobody will notice if he takes one or two as long as he returns them in the morning.
Anthony unlocks his front door, pushing it open and falling back against it when it closes, smiling. He has a sense that he'd found something, something he'd lost but hadn't realised it until he found it again. Its the same feeling he had when he was a kid, the first time he'd been out of town, and all that artificial lighting, and seen the stars for the first time. He knew then what he had to do, like he knows now; He has to hold on tight to that feeling and never let go.
***
He'd promised Asa he'd pick him up from the bookshop next Sunday, so they can have lunch. It's only a few days away, and Anthony's always busy, be it with writing about the stars or painting them, so he expected the time to pass quickly, uneventfully. That is not what happens.
It's almost nothing at first, a flick of his wrist seeming to knock a plant pot off the shelf—what an odd coincidence—or his plants seeming to perk up when he talks to them—another funny coincidence. But he stops being able to brush it off when, by some reflex from god-knows-where, he waves his hand through the air, watching his living room door open all on its own, before stepping through it. In fact, he hadn't even noticed in the first place, before turning back in a double-take. What did he just do? He waves his hand again, the door doesn't close, nevertheless this one's quite a bit harder to write-off as a coincidence.
In his flat, Asa Fell stares at his cup of cocoa. He was sure it had gone cold, no it had definitely gone cold. So why then, when he had picked the mug up to heat it again, had it burned his hand? Why, as he takes a sip, is it the perfect temperature? Asa takes another sip, for science, and its still hot. He makes sure to go to bed early that night, get his marbles back in order. Anyway, he'll be meeting Anthony tomorrow, it’s not worth dragging out the evening with frivolities when he has so much to look forward to.
Next day, Anthony walks into the bookshop, watches as Asa instantly perks up and turns around upon hearing the bell ring, though Anthony's not quite sure how he knew it was him.
“Crowley." He says, in way of a greeting as he walks towards him.
“Bit formal. Are we not on a first name basis yet Fell?" Asa looks even more confused than Anthony feels at what he just said.
“Oh, I'm sorry, slip of the tongue. I'm not sure why I… Apologies."
“It's fine, c'mon." And then Anthony does the thing with the door again, and this time he really doesn't notice. Asa, however, does and when Anthony turns around to check why Asa isn't following he sees him stood in the doorway, gaping.
“H—how did you…”
“Was it the door? I…I can explain—well—sort of.”
“Oh! Is it some sort of magic trick.” Asa steps through the door. “I have quite the knack for magic you know, picked it up for a few years when I was younger.”
“Oh did you?” Replies Anthony, grateful for the distraction, as they start walking.
“Yes, I had a great teacher, a certain Professor… oh what was his name now? H…something.” He looks at Anthony, finally noticing the picnic basket in his left hand. How romantic. “Oh did you plan us a picnic?”
“Ah yes, its a nice day, thought we could take advantage of it.”
“Well that’s very nice of you, thank you.”
“My pleasure Angel.” Neither notice Anthony’s little slip of the tongue, both souls achingly familiar with it, even if their minds have forgotten. Anthony takes them to a lovely little park, spreading out a darling little red and white checked picnic mat under the shade of an apple tree. Anthony looks up.
“Better be careful we don’t accidentally discover gravity.” Asa laughs, in spite of himself, at the terrible joke. He then sits down with Anthony, who is opening up the picnic basket and taking out all sorts of yummy-looking foods, if he’s any judge. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got all sorts.”
“Oh you shouldn’t worry, I’m not picky.” Asa takes a sandwich and bites into it. “Now you must tell me how you did that trick with the door. Was it a string? I didn’t see a thing.” He sounds so genuinely excited about it that Anthony feels sort of bad that he hasn’t got any clever trick behind the curtain.
“Oh I don’t know, it just sort of… happens.” For a second Asa looks disappointed before he schools his expression into something more amenable.
“I understand of course, a magician doesn’t share his secrets. Oh, I could show something too, if only I had a deck of cards…” Asa’s not sure why he checks his pockets, its not as if he just carries around playing cards. But, lo and behold, he pulls a deck out. He drops them instantly, as if he’d been burned.
“They weren’t there before were they?” Anthony asks.
“How did you know?”
“Well I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so scared of a pack of cards before.” Asa opens his mouth to protest that he is not scared but Crowl—Anthony beats him to it. “And the door wasn’t a magic trick, it was me, somehow, and I guess the cards are my doing too.”
“You mean to say it was real magic.”
“Well I wouldn’t call it magic, it feels more like very lucky, very impossible turns of events like… little miracles.”
“Like… your cocoa staying just the right temperature, even though it should’ve gone cold.” Asa muses. Anthony is a bit puzzled at the analogy, but goes with it.
“Sure, like that.”
“It’s happening to me too.” Anthony furrows his brow.
“What is?”
“The… miracles.”
“Are you sure?” Asa inspects the deck of cards, the year on the box is 1876, though they look brand new, it also happens to be the year his favourite book on magic was published.
“Yes, and I quite think that these cards are my doing.”
“Did this happen to you before?”
“Before what dear?”
“Before y’know, you met me.”
“Oh, no.”
“Me neither.”
“I suppose its a sign.”
“A sign?”
“Y’know, from up there.” Asa gestures to the sky. “We met and all these helpful little things started happening. Must mean its a good thing, us.”
“Oh I don’t believe in all that, god or whatever, only things up there are stars, planets, nebulas, meteorites, all that good stuff.” He hesitates. “I think we’re a good thing because being with you feels like coming home.” It’s an awfully weighty declaration for a second date and Anthony knows that, but its what he feels, damn him if it’s too fast.
“Oh.” Asa thinks he got that exactly right, he hadn’t had the words to describe it before, but Anthony’s are flawless. “Yes, um, quite, me too.” He tries to say it casually, as if this is not an admission of the type he’s never had reciprocated. Anthony smiles.
“I’m glad, I mean, I thought I might be going a bit too fast for you.”
“No, no. I think you’d have to be going very fast indeed for that to be the case.”
“Oh?” Anthony raises his eyebrows. Asa had certainly not intended that innuendo.
“I didn’t mean—” Anthony bursts out laughing, cutting him off.
“I know—I know Angel.” He says, between laughter, which is, unfortunately for one Mr Fell, incredibly contagious. In the end, Anthony is doubled over and so is Asa and all of a sudden their faces are very close together. The laughing stops, and they look at each other for a long moment before Asa sits back, clearing his throat.
“Did I ever tell you about the time with the ducks?” He asks, collecting himself. Anthony leans forward, his chin resting on the heel of his hand.
“No, I don’t believe you did.”
***
They meet again Wednesday night for dinner and by that time Anthony has done at least another ten ‘miracles’, and he’s burning to ask Asa about it. Maybe together they can figure out some answers.
Anthony gets to the restaurant first, of course he does, he’s over-eager and misses Asa already. Asa, for his part, is right on time. And all it takes is the sight of him to make Anthony’s stomach flutter.
“Hello Anthony.” Asa sits down across from him, smiling.
“Hello.”
“How are you doing dear?”
“Just great now that you’re here.” Anthony says, smoothly. Asa runs a hand through his hair self-consciously.
“Well that’s… I’m… you make me feel good too.” Asa replies, and Anthony smiles.
They have a lovely dinner, so good that Anthony nearly forgets about the miracle thing entirely until they’ve almost finished their meals.
“Hold on, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Hmm?” Asa replies, with a mouthful of food.
“The um… miracles, did you do any more?”
“I think so. There was this one book, which I am almost certain we were out of stock of, and a customer wanted it. I turned around and there it was, just on the shelf.”
“Oh huh. Any idea why it’s happening?”
“No more than you I’m afraid.” The waiter interrupts them, taking their empty plates from the table. “Though I’m not sure we have much time to talk about it here.”
“How about over dessert?” When Asa looks hesitant he adds, “on me, c’mon.”
“Oh I really shouldn’t, I eat quite enough already I’d presume.” Asa looks down at himself, only for a second, but it’s telling, and Anthony’s not exactly beaming at the implications.
“Just this once.” Asa doesn't look convinced. “For me?”
“Oh fine.” Anthony smiles, and just then the waiter comes over again.
In the end, neither of them learn very much. They don’t have the foggiest clue between them, where with there being no patterns, no clear cause-and-effect to what’s going on. And it’s not that Anthony is exactly distracted, it’s just that the way Asa moans when he takes a particularly nice bite of dessert is a little… sidetracking. Either way, neither of them are too miffed about it, not with how much of a good time they had.
“Well it was awfully nice to see you again Anthony.” Asa takes both of Anthony’s hands, which had been resting on the table and there’s a spark. Not a real one, obviously, but it felt like a whole lot more than static electricity, so much so that Asa lets out a little gasp, almost pulling away, but instead choosing to grip tighter to Anthony’s hands. A long second passes. “Did you… see that too?” That makes Anthony hesitate.
“See what?”
“Nevermind… It’s nothing.” He turns Anthony’s hands over and gives them a last squeeze and getting up. “See you again soon?”
“See you Angel.” Asa smiles.
***
Anthony doesn’t dream a lot. It’s an odd trait of his. Ever since he was a kid he’s only had a handful dreams, and out of those, most were the same; standing amongst the stars, in the midst of space, watching nebulas bloom like flowers across the sky.
He wakes up that morning from that very same dream, except with one difference. He wasn’t alone up there in the stars, he was with Asa, or at least some version of him. This Asa had white hair and… wings. At first he shrugs it off at first as an odd mish-mash of reality and dream-world, but it sticks with him, feels like something more. A dove flying by him on his walk to work, pearly white wings extended, instantly sending him right back to it. And it feels nothing at all like a dream is supposed to feel, it’s much more vivid, life-like. He doesn’t forget any details of it, doesn’t notice anything out of place that doesn’t quite make sense and actually, now that he thinks of it, those stars are in exactly the right spots in the sky. They always had been, ever since before he knew anything about them.
It’s all very confusing.
Asa dreams every night, sometimes twice or three times. Always about strange places where he doesn’t belong. Ancient Rome, World War II, and once the Garden of Eden. He’s always found those dreams amusing, entertaining little things with a night’s rest. He dreams again the night after his date with Anthony, though this time his dreams also come to him during the day, and much more lucid than he’s ever experienced. Shelving Shakespeare suddenly brings to mind an image of him and… Anthony, who looks frankly ridiculous with how he’s dressed, in the Globe, though its empty and not at all as it is now. Looking through the history section, even a glance, has the effect of a number of odd ‘daydreams’ coming upon him in droves. He doesn’t know what to make of it all, and why Anthony is in every one of them now.
They meet again on Saturday, outside the bookshop—Anthony really is so nice, coming here to get him like this. This time Asa grabs Anthony’s hands as soon as they meet, hoping to get some clarity on what he saw last time, or at least confirm it was just a fluke.
It wasn’t a fluke. He can feel it. Anthony’s—though that name doesn’t quite seem to fit—lips against his. A devastating, heart sinking sense of loss coming right with it. Anthony looks none-the-wiser, looking down at their joined hands a little incredulously.
“Good to see you too.”
“Ah yes, yes hello. Sorry I…” He pulls his hands back before Anthony can protest. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“No need to apologise.” He slips one hand back into Asa’s, who looks suitably flustered. “C’mon.” He nods his head in the direction of his car. “I wanted to show you something, but it’s a bit of a drive, if you don’t mind.”
“No not at all dear, though it’s rather late into the afternoon, I worry it might get dark before we get there.”
“Oh, well not to spoil the surprise, but that’s sort of the point.”
“Oh, oh I see.” Asa looks genuinely excited, and Anthony can’t help but smile along with him.
The car ride is lovely really, watching the bustling city of London slowly thin out into the suburbs and finally to the countryside, where Anthony stops the car. Asa doesn't want to judge, but it feels like they're firmly in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but dark fields all around.
Anthony opens his car door.
“It's just out here.” He sounds excited, and by the time Asa makes it out of the car, Anthony is waiting for him, taking his hand firmly and almost tugging him over the next hill. Asa doesn't get another vision, when his hand meets Anthony’s this time. It’s almost as if the warm blanket of darkness around them obstructs the bad memories. No, not memories, dreams. Him and Anthony have never… well.
They make it over the hill and up the next one before Anthony stops. Asa looks around, perplexed. There's nothing but empty field.
“What exactly is it that you meant to…” He trails off as Anthony pushes his chin up, coaxes him to turn his eyes upwards, towards the stars. And oh, are they breathtaking.
“Look at you, you're beautiful.” Asa looks back at Anthony, whom he expects to be gazing at the sky but has his eyes turned not up, but down, to Asa. He gets an overwhelming sense of deja vu, as though he's definitely heard that voice utter those words before, under the stars. Nevertheless he blushes, glad it's hidden by the night.
Asa doesn't know what he's thinking in that next moment. Perhaps he's feeling confident, or desperate, or simply wants the comfort that another's lips against one's own can bring. He kisses Anthony.
It feels like an explosion, not like a bomb going off, not destructive, but like the bang that brought about the universe, full of light and colour—a revelation.
Anthony holds him, holds him tight like Asa’s going to dissappear if his grip loosens—slip away like a leaf in the wind. Asa is more hesitant, less experienced maybe, or just less confident Anthony's not sure.
Neither breaks the kiss, It’s long and powerful and meaningful, a breath of fresh air, though ironically, not the kind that they can breathe and they are forced apart by the burning lungs of mortal bodies. They settle instead for pressing their foreheads together, eyes locked and heavy breaths mingling in the air between them. Asa thinks he catches something on that gaze, a flicker of golden-yellow. Anthony too, he sees a flash of blue, bright and beautiful, a pupil shaped like a star. And there's recognition, a brief moment of clarity shared between two intertwined souls before it all fades away again.
Asa smiles, steps back, feeling Anthony's hands fall away from his body, there was a warmth to his touch, and without it Asa feels rather cold.
“Did you… I mean… see that too?”
“See what dear?”
“I know you.”
“Of course you do, this is our third date.”
“No, no not like that. You had a different name, similar but different, you were called…” He groans in frustration, rubbing his forehead with both hands. “I just can’t remember.”
“Anthony, maybe we should sit down.”
“No, no there’s something, I can’t remember, but it’s important—it’s the most important thing. If only I could—” He shakes his head in annoyance, like that would somehow jog his brain into remembering better. Asa this all seems terribly out of character for him. So far Anthony has been nothing but nice and amenable, Asa doesn’t know where all of this frustration is coming from. It worries him that it’s happening only moments after their shared kiss, he can’t help but think that maybe he’s done something wrong, he doesn’t know what, but he also can’t imagine any other reasonable explanation for all this.
“Please Crowley, sit down.”
“I’m trying to think Assssiraphale! I told you, it’ssss important.” He hisses, and when he looks up his eyes are yellow, pupils transformed into thin slits. Asa jumps back, and they both stare at each other for a long moment, the edge of a snarl in the back of Crowley’s throat, before Anthony looks away, rubbing his eyes. When he re-opens them they are returned to normal, brown and most definitely circular under the light of the moon. He also looks worried. “I am so sorry Asa, I don’t know what got into me there.”
“It’s alright.” Asa steps closer to Anthony. “We all have our moments.”
“Yes, yes I suppose we do.” Anthony collects himself, still not quite being able to drop the nagging feeling that he’s missing something. He’s forgotten something very important and it’s on the tip of his tongue, he just can’t quite reach it. He takes the blanket from his bag, spreading it out in the grass intending to resume whatever he had planned for tonight. Stargazing, yes, stargazing. He hopes he hasn’t ruined it with his… whatever that was, breakdown, he supposes is the word.
Anthony takes Asa’s hand hesitantly—glad to feel him squeeze back reassuringly—and they sit down. “I really am sorry Asa.”
“I told you, it’s all forgiven.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Oh, I think I’d be a wretched angel.” Asa says.
“Why? You’re nice enough.”
“Bit too selfish I’d wager.”
“Selfish? You?”
“Well look at you. You’ve organised all these lovely dates for us, and what have I done?”
“You’ve been here, you’ve listened to me get all nerdy about space, let me take you out to a cold field in the middle of the night to look at the stars, s’enough.”
“You say it like this “cold field” isn’t terribly romantic.” Anthony makes a non-committal little sound. Asa sighs contentedly, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the stars. It’s a clear night, and the sky without the light pollution of the city really is a wonder. Absently, he rubs little circles over Anthony’s hand with his thumb. “I’ve never really taken the time to look up at the stars, but they are so very lovely.” Anthony hums softly in agreement.
“You ever wonder what it’d be like, up there?” Anthony asks.
“Oh I quite like it down here, with all the nice people and food and all that. I’ve always thought space seemed awfully lonely.”
“S’pose so. I’d like to see it anyhow. I couldn’t be an astronaut though—no good under pressure.”
“Oh I don’t know, I think you’d make a great astronaut.” In Asa’s head he sees Anthony, eyes wide, just a bit closer to his beloved stars and planets. He thinks that, if it were only a slight bit easier to get up there, Anthony would see no reason at all to stay down here.
***
Anthony hopes he’s not going crazy—he doesn’t think he is, but that is what a crazy person would say so who knows. His cork board, which he usually uses to put together ideas for essays and the like is full of scribbled notes, photos from his life, and a lot of red string. Looks like some sort of strange conspiracy theory.
Things are kind of, sort of, starting to make a little sense. He started with his dreams about the stars, then Asa being there. It feels like maybe a past life—which isn’t the kind of thing Anthony’s particularly inclined to believe, but it’s the only logical explanation he can come up with for all this. That there was another world , where he and Asa… well he’s not quite sure what did, but he knows they were there together. That or he’s undiagnosed schizophrenic. But that couldn’t explain the miracles, he still has no idea what’s up with that.
Asa, in the meanwhile, is quite getting used to the little magical conveniences that keep materialising around him. The bookshop is doing very well too, since they always seem to have just the book that customers want. His dreams also, are getting more lucid, a new character who looks very much like Anthony, though always wearing dark sunglasses, frequently starring in them now. He finds it quite amusing, not giving it much more than a second thought.
They meet a lot over the next few weeks and Anthony, amongst a quite acceptable amount of small talk thank you very much, asks—interrogates—Asa about the miracles, his dreams and basically anything else he can think of that connects to his theory. What he gleans is that Asa’s miracles are basically the same as his, convenient little things, but his dreams are all different. He cannot possibly imagine what just about every era of human history has to do with anything—and what was he doing there?
Asa also seems to think that he’s overthinking it and Anthony cannot imagine why. Doors don’t just go about opening on their own, there has to be a reason why? Why this is happening? Why now? Why them? It’s almost frustrating how Asa brushes him off with a light-hearted laugh and a smile. This is important and Anthony can feel it.
“Anthony please.” Asa sighs. “I’ve told you everything. How about we just have a nice time? Don’t worry about it.”
“But—mmpf.” Asa cuts him off with a chaste little kiss on the lips, it only last a second but it’s enough to throw Anthony off entirely, make him feel all squishy inside. “Alright angel.”
“That’s sweet.”
“What is?”
“Angel.” Asa says. Anthony repeats his own words back to himself. Did he call Asa that? Why did he say that? He’s not usually one for pet names.
“Oh well I… suits you.”
“Thank you dear.” Anthony briefly muses whether that’s linked to any of his theories when Asa snaps him out of it. “Anthony, I know what you’re thinking about.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Anthony sighs. “It’s getting a bit late isn’t it? I better get going before it gets dark on me.”
Asa looks out on the sun setting over St. James park shuffling along the bench so he’s a bit closer to Anthony. “Well you could always come back with me to my flat tonight.” Anthony hesitates. “I mean, not like that just, you said yourself, it’s getting late you live so far from here and ah…”
“I would love to.”
“Oh, oh good.” He says and Anthony gets that warm, fuzzy feeling inside at the sight of Asa beaming at him.
Asa has a nice flat, and it suits him just right. It’s not so large, but it is very cozy, delightfully cluttered, and has a lovely big window out onto the streets of London, and this evening, the sunset. Asa gestures to a plush-looking sofa and Anthony sits down. “Would you like a drink? I’ve got some lovely wine saved for a special occasion.”
“Is there an occasion?” He just smiles.
“So?”
“Yes, that’d be lovely Angel.” Anthony again surprises himself with how easily the pet name slips out. Asa comes back quickly with two glasses and a bottle, filling the glasses and setting the bottle on the table. “You never answered my question.”
“Hm?”
“What’s the occasion?”
“You dear. I’ve been single for how long now, it’s good to have someone.” He says it so casually as if it doesn’t make Anthony want to melt. Asa sits down beside Anthony, leaning just slightly against him and Anthony leans back, pressing their shoulders together.
As the night wears on they get quite comfortably drunk. Not enough to be throwing up or falling over, but enough to feel relaxed, warm and just a little dizzy. Enough that Anthony can throw his arm around Asa’s shoulders and the two can laugh, basically cuddled together on the sofa, without giving it a second thought.
Soon enough Anthony starts to nod off, his head resting on Asa’s shoulder. “Maybe we should get to bed.” Asa says, a little amused. “I’ve got a nice sofa bed…” Anthony’s head instantly raises.
“Invited me to your place and you’re gonna make me sleep on the sofa?”
“Well I don’t have a guest room so…” Anthony pouts.
“What about yours? Got room?”
“Ah well I didn’t want to presume anything.” Asa’s blushing.
“Well?”
“Yes, I suppose I do, have room, that is.”
“Good.” Anthony smiles.
“Ah well, just this way then.”
It’s all rather nice, the whole, sleeping beside someone you really like. It feels safe and comforting. Not that Asa feels unsafe usually, only that with Anthony there, listening to his steady breathing, makes him feel achingly content. That is, until he’s jerked awake, in the middle of the night, to the sound of a blood-curdling shout and gasping breaths.
Crowley’s falling. Falling a very long way. Clouds rush past him, then clean, bright air, then rancid, stifling smoke. He hits the ground. Fast, hard, painful. Though it’s not normal ground, perhaps even a hard slab of marble would’ve been a mercy compared to what he lands on. Scorching earth that tears at his skin, the cracks in the rock revealing the searing magma hidden just below the surface.
He’s too broken to get up, to haul his wings from the lava before they catch alight. In a moment the dusty white feathers erupt into bright orange flame, and what had once granted freedom with which to soar through skies became no more than a pair of agonising weights upon his shoulders. They hold him down, keep him down, like shackles, always tied to the deepest pits of torment.
His ears ring from the whistling of the wind past his ears, and it creates a horrific backing for the pitiful groans of the others around him. There is all-ecompassing feeling of loss, of warmth that comes from within rather than without. It is almost a comfort, to be down here, in air which is hot like the stars, so that it may, at least, keep him from shivering. All he can do is curl up, sob, hope the flames engulfing his wings dies out soon, hope that there’s still something left when it does.
He gasps, screams, clutches at his back, expecting his palms to be burned but instead grabs at empty air. A dream—that was all it was. Though he is sure that pain was real, he still feels it, like a ghost, false nerves screaming in empty air simply at the memory of being alive. Then he remembers Asa, who is also sat up, and who he can, curiously, see in perfect detail, despite the darkness.
“Anthony?” He asks tentatively.
“Yes. Did I wake you? Sorry, just a bad dream.”
“Your eyes…” He reaches out, cups Anthony’s cheek in a hand, then his image fades into a shadow. Asa furrows his brows. “Are you quite alright? That seemed rather… extreme for a bad dream.”
“Fine, not as if it’s real.” Asa nods slowly, getting back under the covers.
“I suppose you’re right.” He sighs. “If there is something bothering you though Anthony, you know you can tell me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He responds, slipping back under the soft bedsheets, still feeling rattled and shivering a little. The warmth, of the bed, the stuffy little flat and Asa’s body helps. It helps a whole lot actually.
***
The next evening Asa sits back on his sofa with a hot cocoa, thinking about last night. It’s puzzling, what had happened to Anthony. He had told Asa the next morning that he’d never even had a nightmare before, let alone one that left him screaming and gasping for breath. He’s starting to see the intrigue in Anthony’s theories. This is all too strange, what with Anthony’s eyes and everything else.
Anthony, in his own house, paces up and down the living room. What the hell is going on? He thought his past life, or whatever, was a… a happy thing. He had dreamt of the stars, he never thought he’d dream of falling from them. It felt like some sort of cruel joke, that he should have had the opportunity to be amongst the stars and then fall so painfully, and so far away from them. Maybe that’s how he ended up here.
And the wings… the wings confuse him, though maybe they were how he got up there, amongst the stars, in the first place. It just seems so odd. Feathered limbs coming off a human back, or at least, he’s pretty sure he at least looked human. He pins a crow’s feather he had picked up on the side of the road to the cork board and sighs. He once again has more questions than answers. He’s learnt so much and is still no closer to getting to the bottom of all of this.
Part II: Crowley
It is one, unremarkable day that Anthony remembers. It's a slow, late afternoon and he's sort of gazing at Asa, chin resting on his hand as they wait for their food to arrive. It feels like nothing much at first. No gunshot revelation, no aha moment, just one minute he’s Anthony, admiring his Asa, the next memories are flooding through him like the tide drawing in. And then it hurts. Not so much physically— though his head is pounding—but rather the overwhelming feeling of having to relive, if only briefly, every single memory since the start of… well everything.
“Let there be light”
The war, falling from grace.
The garden, humanity, Aziraphale—the angel who sheltered a demon from the first storm.
Life, civilisation, freedom.
The flood, the death and the rainbow.
Aziraphale again, oysters in Rome and crêpes in Paris.
Falling again, this time in love not war.
Being dragged down to hell… again.
War, lots of war.
The end of the world… or not.
Dining at the ritz.
“I forgive you.”
The real end of the world.
God, the Devil, a sacrifice.
And a second chance.
It’s too much, too fast. Too much hurt, too much love. Anthony can’t take it. He gets up, stumbles out of the restaurant, tailed by Asa, and collapses outside, out of view, to gasp, to cry, to just try and process it all.
“Anthony? What’s going on? Should I call an ambulance?” Anthony hardly hears it. “Anthony?”
“No.” He chokes out. “No ambulance.” Asa kneels down in the street beside him.
“Are you sure? What’s wrong?”
“Too much—too much to remember at once.” Anthony looks up and Asa sees his eyes, bright yellow once again—and it occurs to Asa that they look quite like a snake’s. This time they don’t go away either, rather well up with tears that reflect the somewhat unnerving image of a man with the eyes of a serpent. He looks scared, confused, completely overwhelmed.
Then the pain fades as fast as it came. It returns to the dull ache of unresolved stress that he’s used to. Crowley staggers to his feet, with the help of his angel, then stops, and just looks at him. On the one hand it’s endlessly relieving to see Aziraphale’s face, on the other, it’s clearly not him, and that’s terribly disconcerting. He doesn’t like his new look for one, rather pedestrian, and his unease around Crowley feels so very unlike Aziraphale. He sighs, heavily, it feels like waking up from one very long, very complicated dream.
“Are you quite alright Anthony?” Aziraphale—no Asa—sounds worried.
“Jus’ peachy Angel.” Asa draws back. There is something very different about Anthony. Not only his eyes, but his entire demeanor. His chin is raised in a cocky way so very out-of-character for him, and he had talked in an almost disinterested, sarcastic drawl that Asa has never heard from Anthony’s lips. Then Anthony snaps his fingers, a pair of sunglasses appearing in his hand, and puts them on. Asa gasps, involuntarily and Anthony raises his eyebrows. “We need to talk Angel.”
“About… I mean… what exactly is going on?”
“Well Asssa Fell.” Crowley hisses out the name. “I remember everything.”
“Everything?” Crowley sighs.
“Y’know the whole, weird miracles thing? And the dreams.”
“Yes?”
“It’s all real, real magic, if you want to call it that, real memories.”
“And you… know everything now?”
“Yup.”
“And that’s why you’re so…” Asa waves his hand vaguely towards Crowley.
“So what?”
“…Different.”
“Something like that.” Asa feels distinctly uncomfortable. It feels a little like the Anthony he knew is gone. The man sitting before him now is sarcastic, a little angry, and a little intimidating, nothing like his Anthony. Asa clears his throat.
“Do you have any idea how I might… remember too?” Asa asks tentatively, though he’s not sure he wants to remember with what’s happened to Anthony.
“Haven’t the foggiest. S’pose if you wait it’ll probably sort itself out, not like I did anything.”
“Oh right then.” There’s a long awkward silence between them that Asa breaks. “Did you want to go back to the restaurant.” Crowley glances at the door to the place, just around the corner. He’s not sure he can face all of that right now.
“Better not.” He says and Asa looks disappointed. “I’ll come over tomorrow yeah?”
“Alright.”
“C’mon Angel, I’ll drive you home.”
***
Crowley swaggers into the bookshop which, compared to the one he’s used to, feels completely devoid of life and whimsy.
“Angel.” he greets as Asa walks over to him. Anthony still can’t get over that haircut.
“Anthony.” Crowley doesn’t correct him, it wouldn’t feel right to hear his real name on Asa’s lips. The Angel feels like a shell of himself. He is almost as he was at the beginning, with all the bits that make up his Angel but with none of the distinctly Aziraphale flare. None of the confidence, none of the smugness. He’s just a nice, slightly insecure, bookseller. “You look… different.” Crowley lowers his shades and raises his eyebrows.
“Got 6000 years of memories knocking around now. I did learn a thing or two about fashion.” Asa looks him over again, that’s not what he meant and they both know it. He looks nothing at all like Anthony, red hair a much deeper shade and combed back, the sunglasses—though he supposes they’re necessary—and tight black jeans that just can’t be comfortable. He looks harsh, certainly not like the friendly, amenable man he’s gotten to know these past weeks.
“6000 years?” Asa questions, it’s the first he’s heard of this, it seems rather a long time to be alive, he’d have thought things would begin to get quite boring in a life like that.
“Yep.”
“How?”
“‘M a demon, don’t age, or not anymore, don’t get sick.”
“A… demon?” Asa takes a cautious step back.
“Oh relax, I’m not evil. Haven’t killed anything more than the London telephone lines.” Asa wants to ask about that, he doesn’t, they have more pressing issues.
“Then why are you a demon?”
“Asked one too many questions. Not a fan of questioning authority, up there.” he nods his head upwards.
“You mean…”
“In heaven, yeah.”
“Oh… and what about me?”
“You’re an angel. Not that it matters much anymore.”
“Why not? Shouldn’t we be… enemies.”
“We killed God.” Asa gapes at him. “and Satan but he wasn’t really… And we didn’t really kill them, they just sorta never existed. Anyway, didn’t matter before that either, us being angel and demon, whole thing was corrupt, beyond fixing really.” Asa takes another step back and Crowley sighs. “She agreed, God did, it’s not like we stabbed her in the back or something.” Asa would be inclined to say he’s lying, it seems like nonsense, killing God, but there’s a sincerity behind those serpentine eyes that cannot be faked.
“You killed God.” Asa repeats it, just to make sure that’s really what Anthony had said.
“We killed God, Angel.”
“And now…”
“We live happily ever after.” Crowley smiles sardonically. Asa’s not sure he likes this new version of Anthony, he would really rather the old one back.
Crowley, for his part, is also getting quite fed up. He wants Aziraphale back, not some human bookseller with his face.
***
Next day, Crowley returns to the bookshop—he has a plan, well not a plan exactly, more of an idea, but he needs to do something and this is all he’s got. He needs Aziraphale back.
“Asa!”
“Oh Anthony it’s you.”
“C’mon.” Crowley turns, waving towards the door and taking long strides as Asa rushes after him without a second thought.
“Uhm, where exactly are we going?”
“My place, we need to fix you.” Crowley gets in his car, a boring, modern thing. Asa follows quickly and Crowley puts his foot down.
“Is it really necessary to…” Asa begins after a few seconds, though a little intimidated by the angry man in the driver’s seat. “Get there so quickly?” He’s pretty sure Anthony is breaking the speed limit.
“You’ll be fine Angel.” He swerves, sharply around a bus. Bloody slow, lumbering things don’t know how to get out of the way. Asa gasps, gripping tight to the seat. His heart is in his throat.
“Anthony.” He chastises. He’s going to get them both killed at this rate.
“We’re fine aren’t we?” Crowley grumbles in response.
“Barely.” Asa mutters contemptuously, and Crowley sees another fragment of his angel in him then, just enough of a bastard. Crowley makes a sharp corner and it throws Asa against the car door. “Crowley!” Crowley almost hits the curb. That one sounded like Aziraphale and it makes him want, miss that stupid angel.
He sort of slows down a bit, because Asa is getting a bit annoying about the whole dangerous driving thing. The drive is semi-peaceful for a while, even though Asa is still clinging to his seat for dear life. That is, until he makes one very risky swerve and almost hits another car head-on. Asa jumps out of his seat and then… “What the—bloody hell Angel!” Crowley shoves white feathers out of his face before he actually hits something. “Put your bloody wings away Angel.”
“I…I…What’s…How do I..?” Crowley pulls over. The pearly wings are extended as much as they can be in the small space. The left one curling around to block the entire passenger window and most of the windsheild, and the right practically in Crowley’s lap. It’s comedic really, the image of the quaint, not-at-all-threatening, little bookseller who has none of Aziraphale’s aura of confidence or power, with the magnificent wings of an angel, a principality at that. He also looks terrified, wringing his hands like anything. Crowley snaps his fingers and the windows darken so that only a small amount of light can make it through the tint; he really doesn’t want to bother with curious humans right now.
“Calm down Angel. It’s fine, jus’ lost control of your corporation, s’normal.”
“But what’s happening I mean—” His wings start to flap anxiously and Crowley grabs the right one before it hits him in the face.
“Breathe Angel, breathe.” Crowley releases the wing, opting instead to run his fingers through the feathers, hoping to be some sort of calming. All he can think though is that they are so soft. He supposes his used to be like that, he doesn’t quite remember. Asa seems to calm down, breathing steadying and wings lowering. “Good. Now you can put these away yeah?”
“How?” Of-bloody-course he doesn’t know how.
“Just uh…” Crowley has no idea how to explain this. “You gotta find the Astral Plane, it’s where they’re stored.”
“Find what?”
“It’s like agh… different spatial dimension, kind of layered on this one, you can sort of hear it, humming, or if you see the air shimmering.” Asa searches, Crowley watches him squinting at the air, then closing his eyes presumably to listen, but he gets nowhere.
“I don’t understand.” It takes barely half a second for Crowley to catch a shimmer. It’s definitely still there, even in this universe.
“Focus Angel, pick one, listen, look whatever, focus on it, reach for it.” Asa closes his eyes and Crowley remains very silent, not even breathing.
“I think…I think I hear it.”
“Yeah? Great. Can you feel that sound in your wings? Let the humming through them.” Asa purses his lips tightly.
“Not with… you’re distracting me.”
“What am I… Oh.” Apparently Crowley had been stroking through Asa’s feathers absently, unaware that he hadn’t stopped once Asa had calmed down. Crowley doesn’t want to give up the lovely, downy-soft feeling under his hands, but he does. When he lets go though, in the small space the edges of those wings still remain brushing against Crowley’s front as Asa breathes, making him shiver.
“Yes… I’ve got it, what now?”
“They’re there on the edge between planes, just let them go.” Asa sighs, leaning back, and his back meets the seat of the car, unimpeded by feathery limbs. Crowley grudgingly misses the feel of feathers in his lap. “There you go. You got it.” Asa rolls his shoulders.
“Yes, I do believe I did.” Asa looks very proud of himself and Crowley can’t help but finding the happiness a little contagious. “So um… Why do I have wings?” Crowley inhales and it sounds a little like a hiss.
“You’re an angel, remember?”
“Oh right.” Crowley starts the car. “Do you um… have wings too? You seemed to know what you were talking about just then.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“But you’re a—”
“I’ll explain when we get back.” He cuts Asa off. He really doesn’t want to explain any more of this to him, he’s said enough. He doesn’t want to explain his fall to a human who couldn’t possibly understand, doesn’t want to explain millenia of circling each other, too scared to act. He just wants Aziraphale back.
They get to his place, well Anthony’s place really, and Crowley paces up and down the living room whilst Asa perches primly on the sofa. It’s unnerving, how much he looks like Aziraphale, and how much he definitely isn’t.
“Are you going to explain to me now then?”
“Ah right…” Crowley furrows his brows. What was he meant to be explaining again? He hesitates, he’s sure there was something, he had remembered everything. The memories slip through his fingers like sand and he groans in frustration—it feels like waking up from a dream, you’re sure you can remember it, it’s right there, but it’s gone. He pulls off his sunglasses; he’s getting a headache, stupid, human body.
“Anthony?” Asa looks up at him, seeming oddly hopeful.
“I can’t remember, sorry.”
“You mean… you don’t remember any of that?”
“No, no I remember just now, today, and yesterday, I just… I can’t remember before that. When we lived before… in a different world.”
“Oh, I see.” Asa looks into those familiar brown eyes and feels relief. His curiousity is nothing compared to that beautiful, perfect relief. He had missed his Anthony so, so much. “So we’re back to how it was before I suppose.” Anthony nods. He’s trying to make sense of what he’d been doing the last couple of days, and everything he had said to Asa. It feels like it wasn’t him, but someone else, he just can’t fathom how some memories could change him so much. It makes him wonder what a being would have to go through to be so completely altered.
“Not quite, we’ve got lots more clues, c’mon let me show you what I’ve been working on.” Anthony squishes the feeling of dread down right to the corner of his mind, forcing himself to feel excited about this, about everything he’s learnt. He shows Asa the corkboard, sticks up a few new notes, steps back, sighs, and just stares at it. “So? What do you think?”
“Oh well, wow.”
Part III: Aziraphale
That night, a human goes to sleep, and an angel wakes up. Aziraphale wakes wrapped up in his own wings, that lazy, early-morning confusion washing over him. Where is he? What is he even doing sleeping anyway? He hates sleeping, waste of reading time as far as he’s concerned. He sits up, quickly tucking his wings away, out of this plane of existence. There’s a sense of comfort and relief, not only in the soft sheets, but in the whole universe around him. Something is missing, he can feel it, something that had been keeping him on edge for all eternity.
Heaven is missing.
Aziraphale is conflicted. Heaven the place an angel should admire, clean, pure, perfect, was to him, a cold place, a place to escape from as quickly as possible, back to earth. It was a place that watched, though not too closely, that followed rules no one understood. So on the one hand, good riddance really, though its loss still feels like it deserves grief. If it was anything, it was where his fellow angels lived, nearly 6000 years of paperwork and bureaucracy all for it to be gone. And he doesn’t even know why, how?
Then he remembers Asa, who he is now, who he was, he supposes. And Anthony, and oh Crowley, how could he possibly forget him? And now he has the chance to love him, and also be loved back. Heaven is gone, and that’s terrifying, but it also means there are no eyes, and no hands, which seek to keep him apart from Crowley.
He miracles himself into whatever’s in Asa’s wardrobe and rushes outside to hail a taxi. He’s got to see Crowley. During the ride he thinks back on what Crowley said to him. Killed God? How could they have possibly done that? Heaven is one thing, but God? And how can he not remember any of it?
It only occurs to him when he’s standing outside the door, that turning up unannounced is considered rather rude, and that the Crowley he’s coming to see isn’t really his Crowley at all. He knocks anyway and he’s greeted by a very sleepy-looking Anthony; and he is clearly Anthony—not Crowley. His light ginger hair is muzzed-up, brown eyes visible through his glasses and he’s wearing a dark-ish robe. He looks very beautiful, not quite like Crowley but—
“Asa?” Close enough. Aziraphale hugs him. He’s missed this feeling, and though it’s not quite his Crowley, this love bubbling up inside of him doesn’t seem to care. It’s a love that Asa hadn’t yet had the time to fall into, Aziraphale, however, has had all the time in the world for it and now he is permitted to show it, it is overflowing. Anthony freezes for a moment, in shock mostly, but then he softens. He lets himself be taken up by the feeling of Asa’s soft body against his.
Then Asa lets him go and he starts to really process what is going on, it’s not even 7am. “I don’t mean to be rude but…what are you doing here?”
“Oh well.” Asa looks a little embarrassed. “I remember, like you did. And I suppose I missed you.”
“So you’re… you know what’s happening to us?” Anthony looks hopeful.
“Not exactly, I don’t remember everything.” Aziraphale steps inside, pushing the door closed behind himself. “Just rather too many memories for all at once I imagine, I’m sure we’ll figure out what got us here eventually.” And by here, Aziraphale means this universe. He knows they are in London, he also knows that this is not their London. It has a different feeling to it, the air is clearer, and there are not so many clouds blocking out the light. “I rather don’t remember much since… Maybe the 1830s?” And even then, he’s sure a great deal else is missing. “But I’ve got most of it. How much could’ve happened in 200 years?” Anthony opens his mouth, about to point out that two World Wars happened but he’s cut off by lips on his. It’s not a long kiss, but it’s confident, Asa grabs him by the back of the head, holds their lips together, and it’s nice, though it’s not something he’d really expect Asa to do. “Oh I’ve been dying to do that at least since the garden.” Asa says, when they part again.
“The garden?”
“Oh don’t worry about that now.” Aziraphale smiles, feeling awfully smitten. He cannot wait for Crowley to come to himself again.
“Hold on I—”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” And really, Aziraphale can’t think of a single reason to explain the whole tedious matter of heaven and hell and creation, when Anthony gets the gist of it all and he could be enjoying his time with a version of Crowley that is so achingly simple, so easy and unburdened.
“But Asa—” He’s cut off again, though pleasantly, with another kiss.
“My name is Aziraphale.” He says lowly, between one kiss and the next.
Anthony feels a little dizzy, he’s pretty sure Asa, Aziraphale, wasn’t this good at kissing the first time. He tries to match Aziraphale’s energy but ends up falling short quite significantly. Aziraphale breaks the contact. “Forgive me, was I going a bit too fast?”
“Uhh…” Anthony takes a second even to process that Aziraphale has said something, then another long moment to figure out what it is that he said. He laughs, a little nervously. “Maybe a tad. It’s a bit early for all that.”
“Of course, of course sorry dear.” Anthony smiles.
“Well since you’re here did you want some breakfast?” Aziraphale beams.
“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”
***
They go on a date later that week. Another picnic, except this time Aziraphale has organised it, persuaded him to drive them out of town and to some nice place in the countryside, because it really is such a nice day. For Anthony, it all feels different though not altogether bad. Aziraphale is certainly different to the Asa he knew, dressing himself now in a beige suit and bowtie, his hair no longer golden, but instead a bright white, platinum blond. Altogether, he looks like a different man, a little more handsome, but a little less familiar. Anthony also misses those endearing little traits of Asa’s, the way he’d blush, though not the nervousness that came with it; and his cute, tentative, little smiles, but not the insecurity behind them. He supposes then, it’s all for the best.
Aziraphale has a confidence about him. He doesn’t bother about whether he’s been too forward or if he’s over-indulging, in food, or in carefully pressing his lips to Anthony’s still humming after a particularly delicious bite. It’s nice; he likes to see his angel enjoying himself.
When they're done eating, and drinking and feel comfortably full, and all the more drowsy for it, Anthony lies back on the mat, looking up into the blue sky. He jumps when, just about to doze off, he feels a hand on his hair.
“It's only me dear.” Aziraphale says, and Anthony feels his fingers pressing into his hair, running through copper strands.
“Oh sorry.”
“That's quite alright dear.” Anthony opens his eyes, looking up at his angel, who has an open book resting on one leg, though doesn't seem to be paying it much attention. Instead his blue eyes are focused on Anthony; his hair, his eyes, the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
“Surely the ground is a little uncomfortable.”
“Hm?” Aziraphale closes the book, setting it down beside himself.
“Lay down here.” Aziraphale pats his lap and Anthony goes red. Nevertheless, he lifts his head, shuffling around a little until his head is resting on those soft thighs, and he's looking up at his angel.
Aziraphale hums. “That's just perfect.”
“It is?” Anthony asks. Aziraphale puts his fingers back in Anthony's hair, rubbing, carding through it in a way that is certainly messing it up, but feels much too good for Anthony to care.
“You have no idea how much I've dreamed of this.” It's odd, endearing, but odd. To Anthony they only met a few weeks ago, but to Aziraphale, he's known Anthony for who knows how many thousands of years, wanted him maybe for all that time, at least for most of it.
“I'm not uh… him though.”
“Sorry?”
“I mean… I don't remember, and I'm so different to him. Kinda just look the same.”
“Oh I don't know that you're so different. Experience makes you a little more guarded about your feelings is all.”
“There was so much anger—I don’t…I’m not like that.”
“You haven’t been hurt like he has.” Aziraphale sighs. “He—you—likes to pretend he’s such a big and scary demon. Doesn’t want to admit he’s soft on the inside, scares him, being vulnerable like that.” Aziraphale smiles, rubbing little circles into Anthony’s temple. “I imagine you’re what he’d be like if the world wasn’t so cruel.”
Part IV: Forever
When Anthony remembers the second time it hits him almost as hard as the first—except this time he’s alone, gazing out of his window at the stars. He gasps, pressing the heel of his hand into his forehead as the pain rolls through him. Then it’s all over, faster than the first time, but still leaving him with his head in his hands and tears in his eyes.
Crowley gets to his feet, pacing the length of the room a few times, trying to put everything in the right place in his head. Separating out Anthony’s feelings and his own, what has happened since the end of the world and what happened before. Then he flops down in bed, thoughts lingering a little too long on the escapades of two humans with familiar souls, kissing, smiling and laughing. His head hurts, his heart aches, and he only hopes that it won’t be too difficult to pick up the pieces of all the things they left unresolved at the end of the world.
Next day has Crowley rapping on the door of the bookshop which is not supposed to be open today. It takes a long time for Aziraphale to hear it and by the time he sees the angel rushing downstairs to unlock the door Crowley was very seriously contemplating miracling it right off of its hinges.
“Oh Anthony dear, how nice to see you…” He trails off as Crowley lowers his shades, revealing his eyes. Aziraphale smiles. “Crowley.”
“That’s right.”
“Oh how wonderful.”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“Quite.” They stare at each other for a long moment before Aziraphale steps back. “Come inside, we can talk.” Crowley follows him inside. “You forgot to fix your hair dear.” Aziraphale adds and Crowley quickly runs a hand through it, miracling it back to the right shade and into a more fashionable style too.
They end up across from each other in Aziraphale’s living room, Crowley draped across a sofa and Aziraphale sat primly in an armchair. Crowley raises his eyebrows.
“Why must I be first?”
“Fine.” Crowley sighs. “We… we never talked after you came back and there was the whole thing with Jesus and the end of the world so we didn’t get time to—”
“What are you talking about Crowley?” Right, 1830s, how could he forget?
“Scrap that. Happened in 2026.”
“You can explain it to me.” Aziraphale says and Crowley lets out a world-weary sigh.
It’s complicated—better you remember than me explaining badly.”
“Alright then. How about lunch while we wait?”
“Sounds good Angel.”
They go out to the Ritz because Aziraphale has been so looking forward to going there with Crowley one day and they have a decent time chatting about nothing. Crowley drinks a little too much wine whilst watching Aziraphale eat whatever tasty morsel he ordered this time. It’s all very normal, an odd thing to say in the middle of well… all of this.
Then Crowley drives Aziraphale back to the little bookshop, which is sort of familiar but uncanny in how much it isn’t Aziraphale’s bookshop, even more so now that Aziraphale resides in it. The books in this place are sold and stocked again. They are not left to linger and gather dust on shelves only to be, once every decade or so, taken down, have the dust blown off them and opened up by a careful pair of hands under lamplight. They are not revered, kept, protected. Instead they are sold, sent to live a hundred lives to be torn and treasured and to age and tear and fall apart. The books live like humans live, and it is certainly no way for angels and demons to live. They were created for eternity, created to watch the rise and fall of ages, it is clear, he supposes that their true natures could not be forced into human lives for long before things started to break.
Aziraphale gets out of the car, then hesitates, eyeing Crowley.
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Oh uh I thought you’d…” Crowley starts to get flustered. “You want me to?”
“Of course.” Crowley gets out of the car, slamming the door out of pure hatred for Anthony’s taste in cars, really a modern car, and in grey. He walks around the car to the bookshop door, which Aziraphale is unlocking. “Things have quite changed between us dear.” He pushes the door open, stepping past Crowley. “They would rather suit being discussed in private.” Crowley gapes at the angel, who is now a few paces inside the shop, feeling his cheeks heat up. Was he… flirting? Aziraphale turns to him.
“Be a dear and lock the door behind you.” Crowley supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, they both knew after their human incarnations couldn’t spend five minutes together without very openly falling for each other, but it’s still a shock. He half expected for Aziraphale to call it a silly human thing, that he was simply indulging Anthony with that picnic, and the kissing, so much kissing. He knows what it feels like to be held by his angel, even if it wasn’t really him feeling it and he would’ve been content with that, just knowing, but now that he might have more… “Crowley?”
“Yes, yes coming Angel.” He shoves the door shut behind him and miracles it locked, rushing after his angel who, when Crowley steps into his flat is right there, waiting just inside the door for Crowley. And when he shuts the door behind himself, Aziraphale takes a step closer.
“I did miss you Crowley.”
“Missed you too Angel.” He thinks about Asa, how heartwrenching it was to watch Aziraphale’s face, and mannerisms, with none of him. And now he’s here, not entirely, but enough, and it’s desperately perfect.
“You know.” Aziraphale’s voice lowers and Crowley’s heart is in his throat. “Anthony was nice to kiss.” Not what Crowley expected him to say. “But I could always tell he wasn’t you. Underneath, I mean.”
“Oh?” Crowley’s not sure what to say. He hadn’t even known the angel was interested in this kind of human flirtation, he had certainly shown no indication of it at the end of the world, but he supposes there was a lot going on. Aziraphale lowers his eyes to Crowley’s lips, like he’s done so many times but Crowley has conveniently ignored. He doesn’t ignore it this time.
“Yes, it rather made me wonder—” Crowley cuts him off with a kiss, it’s hot and a little harsh Aziraphale breaks it, rather quickly. “I was talking.”
“You don’t need to flirt with me angel I already…” …Love you. It goes unsaid but Aziraphale seems to understand and kisses him, properly this time; slowly. He rests one hand on Crowley’s cheek, wrapping his other arm around his waist so that his hand is pressed just against Crowley’s lower back, pulling him in closer. And Crowley melts into the feeling. He wraps both his arms around Aziraphale’s middle and kisses back with everything he has. He kisses him with all the times he wanted to before, with all the desperation of their first kiss, and now with all his love as well. There are tears in Crowley’s eyes by the time they part, lips feeling wet and soft and tender. Aziraphale smiles to himself before looking up, and catching those tears under his thumb, and pulling Crowley against him in a hug.
Aziraphale senses that he’s missing something. There’s something in the way Crowley talks to him, they way he kissed him that makes him feel like Crowley almost lost him. There’s a desperation, a relief in him, one that was totally absent from Anthony but seems to be consuming Crowley. He just can’t fathom how so much could happen in 200 years, they’ve been around for 6000 after all, what’s two centuries? No more than one of Crowley’s long naps. He gives Crowley a kiss on the head before extricating himself from the demon’s grip.
“Come on now dear, sit down.”
“Ngk.” Crowley slumps down onto the sofa beside Aziraphale, a bit closer than he would’ve before, and Aziraphale takes his hand, turns it over, and interlaces their fingers. Crowley looks at their hands, the warmth of Aziraphale’s in his, it’s soft and comforting in a way they’ve never been allowed. There is no threat of heaven or hell spying through the window, no end of the world rushing them around, just them, and all the time in the world.
***
Next day they go for a walk, the weather’s nice and Crowley miracles himself some frozen peas to feed the ducks with. It’s just a way to pass the time really. Aziraphale is distracted with trying to grasp at missing memories and Crowley is starting to feel the absence of those memories in his character.
They talk about frivolous things, about their lives as humans, it feels as if they owe the Asa and Anthony that belonged to this world at least that. To remember the lives they lived and all the waiting they did just to bring Aziraphale and Crowley together, how, against all odds and all across human history, those two managed to stumble into one another on a whim.
Then it starts to rain. Just spitting at first, though it takes all of two minutes for it to be absolutely chucking it down. This blasted country Crowley thinks why do they stay here again? He grabs Aziraphale by the arm and drags him under a tree. Aziraphale looks up at it, and a memory comes back to him
He’s in a crowded pub, with Crowley who is dressed in a… turtleneck?
“You mean a sudden rainstorm forces them together beneath a canopy. They look into each other’s eyes and realise they were made for each other.” Crowley had said.
Except they both already knew that, no need for thunderstorms to know they’re in love. What Aziraphale realises, in that moment, is everything else. He remembers, armageddon and the second coming and everything in between. He remembers the kiss, Crowley curled up in that alleyway, tears in those beautiful eyes. He remembers God, and Satan and Crowley’s question—left unanswered, his own—answered but with what end? To learn that his love was to her, only an amusement? He remembers the sacrifice, the ache in his heart as he watched Crowley fade away. He wants to ask him why. Why choose to sacrifice their love for the world?
And here they are again, saved through what strange miracle neither of them know. There is so much left unsaid, so much that they never resolved before it all faded away. They have second chance now and Aziraphale is not going to waste it. He takes Crowley’s hands in his own, and squeezes them gently before speaking,
“I remember.” Crowley’s eyes widen.
“Just now you..?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What have you to be sorry for dear boy?”
“I didn’t explain. I didn’t… you know I’d never sacrifice you, us, like that.”
“What?”
“The book of life, Michael burned our pages, but we didn’t disappear. Figured we wouldn’t when god did it either. Also figured she might be listening, didn’t want her to catch on, change the rules, so I didn’t say, but I… I’m sorry you thought that was the end.”
“Oh my dear boy. There are certainly worse things to apologise for.” He smiles. “I’m just glad that we are here now, together.” Crowley squeezes Aziraphale’s hands, trying not to cry.
“Forever?” Crowley asks, tentatively.
“Forever.”
They kiss, and though neither could count how many times their lips had met before, this feels as if it is the first time. There is no fear, it is not a last ditch effort at love, and it is also not ignorant. It carries with it everything; the hard times and the good ones too. Fear, friendship, broken-hearts, reunition, and love all rolled up neatly into a bundle that is that kiss.
It has all led up to this. 6000 years to a rainy day in St. James park. In which one former-angel and one former-demon, both helplessly and breathtakingly in love, are finally allowed to say it. Without fear; of God nor the Devil, of falling from grace, nor being dragged back to hell. To utter the words “I love you” quietly, between kisses.