Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Let there be matter! Let there be gravity! Let there be…

…Let there be light!

Serpentine yellow eyes snapped open, blinking uncharacteristically in utter bemusement for a moment. The demon Crowley shifted minutely upright on one elbow, long fiery hair parting messily around his face. “What the…”

Someone stirred beside him in their lavish canopy bed, its twisting woodwork shaped into scaled coils, its velvety curtains just this side of comfortably dusty. A soft hand bearing a slender black ring blindly reached out for him. “Too early, dearest,” came a muffled complaint from the pillow. “Too early by far…”

A fond, besotted smile snuck onto Crowley’s face seeing Aziraphale turned away from him, mussed and incoherent with sleep – how different that’d once been, but what a few short years couldn’t do. He was powerless to resist sliding back under the covers and winding his arms around the angel, skin to skin with a pleasant shiver of scales passing over him, the two of them fitting together like exceptionally well-made spoons. The demon’s snaky smile widened as he closed his eyes again. “Agreed,” he murmured against the angel’s ear, eliciting a similar smile from Aziraphale as the angel’s hand came up to take his own against his chest, black and golden wedding bands briefly clinking together. Even with his eyes closed, Crowley could sense the angel’s halo softly blooming to life in lazy contentment.

Then his reason for waking reared its head again. He frowned, intrigue and amusement reawakening in his eyes as he opened them. “…Just had a bloody strange dream, though.”

“Crowley,” the angel whined.

“Dreamt of the Beginning.”

“Mrgh,” Aziraphale protested – but only for a moment, before stirring of his own accord, opening his eyes and tightening his hold on Crowley’s hand. “The Beginning, you say…” He shifted, turning around in the demon’s gentle hold, more attentive now. “You want to tell me about it?”

Ever since Crowley had briefly Risen and regained his angelic memories of his entire timeless past before his first Fall, details had occasionally come back to him. He remembered the songs of the stars and the wheels of Creation, even though he couldn’t currently perceive them any longer – but he didn’t think it all that great a loss, really, distracting as they would’ve been from the far more important and lovely things he’d chosen to perceive right here on Earth. He’d welcomed the brief interval in which he’d regained his angelic senses and been reminded of it all, but all the reminder had really done was cement the very clear preference of being his demonic self again now.

Dreams had been another side effect. He’d been occasionally remembering the Beginning, the start of Creation itself, his artistry in the stars, and his colleagues that’d worked on the cosmos alongside him. But as he gazed back at his angel, the demon briefly shook his head in vague dismissal. “Not the actual Beginning. Didn’t make sense this time. Was doing it all by myself, cranking it up like I might the Bentley for some reason.” Another recollection sparked in his eyes. “And you were there. Stopping by to watch as it started, just the two of us.”

“What, just us? Nobody else was invited?” Aziraphale quirked a touched smile. “How awfully intimate. But also a little… lonely, wouldn’t you say? Everyone was so happy… shouting for joy and everything…”

Crowley huffed in amusement. “You’re not telling me you enjoyed that. That overcrowded corporate get-together. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a people-person, angel.”

Aziraphale was affronted. “I enjoy people!”

“You enjoy people out there, to politely wave to as you pass by. Quick visits to the farmers’ market after which you very quickly nip back inside and back to your books.” The demon was endlessly fond; he wouldn’t have his husband any other way.

“Exactly,” the angel snootily replied. The effect was rather lost by their mere proximity, facing one another holding hands under the covers. “That’s exactly what I’m getting at. It’d be awfully lonely, just us alone in the cosmos watching Creation unfold.”

Crowley softened. “Good thing we didn’t bugger off into the stars when things looked dire, then.”

“Oh, you managed to find a perfectly habitable getaway for our honeymoon,” Aziraphale reassured him, beaming at the memory.

“’Course I did. What’d you take me for. But that was one we could come back down from.”

“That did make all the difference,” the angel agreed. “I really would miss people, you know, not just my books, or you your plants, I’m sure. I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Aziraphale had the gall to smirk, just this side of sly. Crowley could only scrunch up his nose, unable to keep his traitorous face from smiling back.

The demon had to marvel at the ways he’d slowed down and grown to be ever more at ease in the moment, and even in looking back instead of always looking ahead, worrying and anticipating – and looking back on an ever-increasing amount of peace, at that.^[1]

A new tidbit came back to him, and he grinned sharply at the audacity of his own subconscious. “I even said ‘let there be light’.”

Aziraphale frowned in confusion. “When?”

“In the dream. Keep up.”

“…Did you indeed…”

“‘Let there be matter, let there be gravity, let there be light!’” Crowley intoned, complete with mocking gestures, the best he could without moving from this prime spot too much. “Could you imagine? Me?”

There was a telltale amused twinkle in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Well…”

“…Don’t answer that.”

“That was a fairly decent impression just now, dearest,” the angel ribbed him, knowing exactly what he was doing. “It wouldn’t have been out of place at the moment of Creation, I daresay.”

Crowley scrunched up his face in mock disgust. “I’m still getting used to your flagrant blasphemy. Or is that heresy?”

“Both, I’m afraid.”

“Stars. Give a demon some warning, will you.”

Aziraphale kissed the expression off him. “I’m afraid you only have yourself to blame there, as usual, darling. Same as any other minor corruption or wile, you’ll have to weather the consequences of this one yourself, too.”

The demon grinned at that, pushing himself up with some relish, rolling the both of them over and bracketing his elated angel between his arms and under dark unfurling wings. His essence surrounded Aziraphale’s inner light like smoke, billowing and wafting around and over, all-encompassing like a serpentine embrace of the soul. “Don’t mind if I do,” he purred, eyes going fully yellow.

Aziraphale, for his part, had instantly lit up more brightly in both body and spirit, enveloping his demon right back, shining and warming and illuminating every hidden corner until Crowley’s attempt at suave mystery gave way to shivering honesty.

Tell me about you starting up Creation, dearest, the light murmured, adoring.

“Ngk – you bastard –”

Stars, yes? Nebulae? Dizzying, exploding and imploding about all willy-nilly –

Crowley clearly had trouble hanging on to his winged form, tightly closing his eyes as he attempted to focus, his expression irresistibly slipping into hazy bliss as different stars entirely bloomed within him, at every point of contact between their bodies and souls. Mmph… Aziraphale…

Overhead, their bedroom’s painted ceiling miraculously came to life. Crowley had painted it like a very accurate night sky, his skills as a starmaker carrying over into worldly art rather well – but actual shooting stars streaking across it in a cascade of tiny glimmers had never been part of it so far. Then they streaked into the room, trails of light manifesting and dissipating like so many stitches of golden thread all around the canopy bed, even if its occupants didn’t have eyes for the display in the slightest. Then, as if to allow Crowley a chance at exposition after all, spinning galaxies manifested in midair alongside the impromptu meteor shower; a dazzling display matching the mental state of the two miracle workers…

…and then Crowley’s eyes opened, and Aziraphale withdrew, having picked up on the shift within him. “…Dearest…?”

The demon sat up, shifting to the side. “Recalled something else,” he managed, clearly barely hearing himself, warmth and light and pleasant shivers spinning away from him. He glanced around the room, a fleeting smile passing over his face seeing their inadvertent Creations, reaching out to take one of the miniature galaxies in hand before it, too, vanished into so much glimmering dust. “I asked the question. The question that started it all. Ended it all. Either one.” He took a deep breath, holding Aziraphale’s gaze, apologetic, yet softening seeing the angel’s understanding, the care in his eyes, even as his halo dimmed around his messy hair. The dampened mood was the least of his angelic husband’s concerns.

“…Why it had to end,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Yeah.” Crowley’s voice was barely there, his entire animated demeanor gone still as a snake spotted by a bird of prey. “That was real. Thought it was nonsense from the start – having me and the guys create stars good to keep on burning for billions of years and only giving the entire universe six thousand?” But even now, new amusement danced in his yellow eyes. “…But, hey. No crying over burnt feathers.”

Aziraphale folded a white wing over his husband’s shoulder, warm down cocooning him as he ran a hand through Crowley’s own black feathers. “I think they’re very stylish,” he smiled against the demon’s freckled skin. “Black looks stunning on you, I wouldn’t have you any different.”

Crowley chuckled, leaning into him with a grin, briefly touching their foreheads together. “That dream was bollocks,” he declared then. “Wasn’t at all like that – distraught and mewling like some lost putto. I was gonna go up and poke some holes in the Almighty’s Plan alongside Lucifer and the boys, and I’ve soundly enjoyed doing so ever since – and look!” He drew back, giving a grand gesture around at the world in general. “I was right! It didn’t end after six thousand years! It was always gonna go beyond that, all because humanity stood their ground!”

Aziraphale’s halo flared back on in pure elation at Crowley’s clear happiness. “Turns out we all just had to have faith, no?”

Crowley’s expression flattened, save for an uptick of his mouth he couldn’t seem to help. “Oh, way to ruin it for me, angel.”

“Faith in Creation even beyond Her Word, I mean,” Aziraphale primly went on, but not without his own amusement either. “The Almighty had us all bamboozled, to be sure, but I reckon She might’ve rather enjoyed the questions being asked. You clever rascals were right on the money – but She just couldn’t give away the ending yet. Or rather, the… not-ending.” He looked away with a slight frown. “Can’t say I agree with the way She dealt with the askers, but…”

Crowley drew him closer, enveloped in sleek, black, perfectly healthy wings. “Oi, no need for all that. She dropped both our former sides, letting us all flounder and guess, didn’t She? Can’t say I’d have enjoyed staying in Heaven.” He grimaced in distaste. “Had a front-row seat to the way they went about things, thanks to you. Not worth getting a ticket to, that.”

Aziraphale had to chuckle. “Quite right. Fortunately, we both had an even better seat at a far superior play as well, now didn’t we?”

Crowley leaned in, knowingly nuzzling his angel’s nose. “To the world,” he murmured against Aziraphale’s lips, pleasantly scrambling his thoughts and making white wings flex and flutter in elation around them both. “Mh… no, can’t say I agree with dream-me at all,” he then mused. “Never really wondered what the point was. Not for long, anyway. Plenty of point out there. Oodles of points. Best point of all, right here, lazing about showcasing some excellent mastery of Sloth.” He kissed his favourite point again, grinning into it as Aziraphale sputtered out a delighted, muffled laugh against his lips. “Do you, ah… do you remember any more?” the angel eventually managed.

The demon gave it some thought. “Can’t say I do,” he then shrugged, dismissing it altogether. He stretched out his wings, then his long, lanky limbs, hoisting himself out of bed at last. “Time to start the day, angel. Gonna get freshened up.” He glanced back, grinning to himself as Aziraphale lay back and indulgently snuggled up into his own wings and their remaining shared warmth. “You laze around as much as you like,” he remarked, appreciatively. There was little the demon enjoyed as much as seeing the angel enjoy himself; hedonism by proxy had always been his not-at-all guilty pleasure.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Aziraphale echoed back, more than satisfied with his current lot in life.

She dropped both our former sides…

How easily Crowley thought and spoke about it now. How shockingly open he was about it, after refusing to so much as think about it for millennia, and even after the world didn’t end; dancing around it, speaking about it by speaking about literally anything else, only outlining its shape, raw and dark and gaping, refusing to even call it a wound for fear of touching on it at all. Wordlessly painted canvases in black and red, flung against the wall before even he himself could really actually look at them. Nightmares, compulsive flights to the edge of space and dives back to Earth where he’d race gravity and his own terror, never actually feeling any better afterwards.

I only ever asked questions.

It had always, always been there at the back of his mind, underneath all his words and actions.

How easily Crowley thought and spoke about the Fall now.

They’d spoken about it a great deal over the past two years – ever since the demon had chosen to Fall a second time. About the way his angelic body had burned up like dry paper, leaving only his snake-shaped essence, having to re-conjure a humanoid shape for himself. About the way the second Fall hadn’t hurt, as he wasn’t being cut off from any kind of Love, but instead safely held aloft in the arms of his angel even as he burned – but how his first Fall had been rather different in that regard, particularly for a being that hadn’t known pain for even a moment in his life before. A starmaker, reduced to crawling in the dust, too overcome with pain, grief and blinding confusion to even recall his previous form for the longest time.

They’d talked about the way Aziraphale had been promoted back to his original Cherubic status, but the two wings that’d been returned to him had been ripped off his back by Gabriel on the way back down. Aziraphale had been prim and matter-of-fact about it for a few days, but Crowley had known better. He’d given his angel space, and all the time he needed – they’d both needed that, afterwards. They’d seen eachother weakening, growing shakier, gazes lingering knowingly, eventually breaking down and spilling themselves, one bit at a time.

They’d talked about all of it, finally. About Crowley’s love of heights but fear of falling, and the way his second Fall had changed everything, showing him he’d choose it time and time again now, that he had nothing to fear, that he loved and preferred the eyes he’d never been able to get right. About Aziraphale facing the terror of Gabriel tearing at his wings, but for good reason this time, choosing to let it happen, breaking free of his own accord even as he broke himself along with it, the remainder being exactly who, what and where he desired to be now.

No matter how much their own choices had factored in, it still hadn’t always been easy to face the memories, the reality of having lived it all again. To be reminded of how easy it’d have been to lose themselves, and one another.

“I don’t think I can start the day today, dearest,” the angel had murmured at one point, curled up in a ball under the covers, his remaining wings tightly wrapped around himself, fingers tight in his own feathers. “I’m just going to stay here for a while. Don’t wait up for me.”

Crowley had returned to the side of the bed at once, rebellious to a fault. “Gotcha. Know exactly what you mean.” He’d folded a sleek black wing of his own over the covers, warm and protective, smiling faintly. “I’m right here. And before you say anything,” he preemptively shushed the angel, “I’m not ‘waiting up’. Doing nothing of the sort. I’m right where I want to be.”

Downcast eyes had flicked up and fleetingly held the demon’s, love and hope a fragile glimmer in the stormy grey. Aziraphale had unfurled a little bit, and moreso as Crowley had snapped his fingers, summoning a bracing cup of tea onto the nightstand and a book into his own hands. Normally the angel disapproved of the usage of miracles on his books, but certain exceptions could be made.

“‘The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open doors the heavy scent of lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn…’”

“Crowley…”

“Shut up and let me read, angel. ‘From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as usual, innumerable cigarettes…’”

And what could an incapacitated angel do but surrender, when up against demonic temptations of this caliber?^[2]

Crowley’s wing hadn’t shifted an inch for quite some time, and Aziraphale had known the demon had needed to do some manner of protecting, as much as he himself had needed to feel protected that particular day.

Those roles would shift from time to time. Their respective recoveries ran different courses, and at other times Crowley would be the one hiding under the covers in serpent form or insisting on being coiled around Aziraphale’s arm or waist all day.

“‘m sorry. If I’m too heavy, or wrapped too tight, I can…”

“Nonsense, dear boy. Stay right where you are, you’re delightfully bracing.”

There’d been a lot of holding on to one another, in general. A lot of needing the other nearby, within a line of sight, or preferably within reach. Especially at first, they hadn’t done at all well when unable to locate the other, still lost in the moment Aziraphale had been torn away to Heaven without warning, the moment Crowley had burned away in his arms. The angel losing himself in a book for longer than expected would prompt Crowley tripping over himself while sprinting into the library, and the same went for the demon lingering in the garden or the heated greenhouse a little too long, a frazzled and forlorn Aziraphale rushing outside to find him. They both understood. They were always there to hold the other close, allowing for heartbeats to settle and breaths to even out.

Similarly, they’d both refused to fall asleep for a while, for fear of waking up to something unexpected again, still envisioning Aziraphale being dragged Up and losing himself to the will of Heaven, Crowley burning with angelic starlight and forsaking his eyes, his name, his identity. Eventually, Crowley had first succumbed to exhaustion and habit, sleeping for days on end – and waking to Aziraphale watching over him. He’d sleepily blinked up at him, relief settling bright and overwhelming in his chest. “How long’s it been, now…?”

“Just a few days, dearest, much less than I expected. Welcome back, it’s lovely to see you.”

Crowley had gathered the angel’s hand to himself, pressing it to his cheek, relishing its warmth. “‘m sorry.”

The angel had gone soft and fond, gathering him close. “Oh, hush. None of that, now.”

Later still, Crowley had finally awoken to a sleeping angel beside him, comfortable enough to lower the kind of guard that’d watched over the Tree of Knowledge, the Gates of Eden, and so much of humanity for millennia on end – and then the demon that’d grown even more precious than any of the aforementioned. Healing, change and growth, that’s what Earth did to you, like it or not.

Inevitably, they’d helped one another back up, as they’d always done, same as through any other senseless Heaven-, Hell- or human-made tragedy. There’d been quiet moments in their garden, holding on to one another under the cottage’s fairy lights and the countless stars above, their flourishing apple tree protective overhead. There were days where Crowley curled up before the hearth in Aziraphale’s library as the angel read in his comfortable chair, occasionally lowering his book to just look at his demon instead. There were days where Crowley made an attempt at gardening but also took plenty of time just keeping an eye on Aziraphale, glowing in the sunlight on the verandah or tending to his bees.

It wasn’t instantaneous, but they gradually returned to themselves, venturing out, eventually returning to the village of Epfield, and finding that they’d been missed.

The first humans to encounter them again were an elderly couple out for a stroll past the nearby lake, coming up to the cottage’s overgrown garden gate and finding both of them in the garden, ostensibly as right as rain. “Well, I’ll be!” the mustachioed gentleman had exclaimed. “We haven’t seen you both in town for a spell, mr. Crowley, mr. Fell!”

“We were beginning to worry,” his wife added. “People were wondering if you were ever coming back, you know – but word was that the cottage’s lights were on in the evening, so we figured there was good reason for your seclusion. It didn’t seem right to come bother you gents, but now that we were in the area… is now a good time?”

Crowley had briefly frozen up, but Aziraphale had marched right past him, almost his sunniest former self, greeting the couple, letting them know that now was an excellent time. “Mr. Peterson, mrs…”

“Anne, you silly man, how many times must I tell you,” the woman smiled, warmly clasping his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

As Crowley beheld the happy reunion, he briefly considered the fact no one had bothered them while they were recovering because they hadn’t wanted to be bothered, indeed projecting the miraculous sense it wouldn’t be proper to approach the cottage at all, inadvertently influencing all of Epfield to leave them alone for the time being. He briefly felt a sting of guilt – it wasn’t their style to mess with free will, let alone on such a scale, but it hadn’t been on purpose and, if he was being totally honest, it had been necessary. But now their accidental little spell had been lifted, and it felt ever so fitting to step back into their beloved human world once more.

“…me and the other oldtimers would’ve taken very good care of that magnificent apple tree of yours if you really had vanished into thin air, you know,” the demon then caught mr. Peterson chuckling. Aziraphale faltered in reaction, going a little paler, and Crowley was quick to step in. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary just yet,” he smoothly retorted. “I know our garden is the pride and envy of fair Epfield, and I’d rather like to keep it that way.”

“Oh, as you like, mr. Crowley, as you like!”

Underneath all the jesting and nosy curiosity, the village’s humans welcomed them back with clear care, worry and familiarity. Once upon a time, they’d been mere tourists from London, but Epfield had quickly embraced them. The two of them instantly adoring the village with everything they had might’ve something to do with it^[3] – and so did the fact they’d stopped the historic cottage on the picturesque Serpent Trail from being demolished. With the two of them living there, the formerly dilapidated ruin had once more become a beloved landmark, and Epfield was delighted to see its return now the angel and demon had come out of their shell again.

They hadn’t just influenced the cottage itself; with them here, the resident winery did very good business indeed, its vintages often seeming to refine themselves of their own accord, and the same went for every little pub and restaurant. The economy around these parts was good enough for more interesting places to open by the year, it seemed. The resident viking museum’s histories felt more alive than ever somehow, and so did the monastery and its herb gardens. And that was without mentioning the sheer amount of fruit supplied by the cottage’s apple tree, as well as the eggs, vegetables and honey flowing from that very same garden. Even with the village children stealing a good portion of that yield^[4], it was altogether too much for the eccentric couple to finish by themselves, so they often gave it to the village free of charge, prompting the people to return cider and apple pie, as well as mead, honeyed wine and other general kindnesses. Without intending to, the angel and demon had kickstarted a rather ancestral barter-and-trade system that made them both feel really rather nostalgic. Everything on Earth was prone to change, and yet somehow, everything that’d ever been was still around somewhere as well.

In that way, Earth calmed and reassured them like only it could, and the next time Aziraphale and Crowley quietly toasted to their world, they found it was more heartfelt than ever.

They’d taken their time, but just over half a year after their ordeal in Heaven, they’d gone to see the ones who’d caused it in the first place; their angelic and demonic replacements in London, Nithael and Xaphan. Their unlikely friends had been ever so repentant and contrite, not to mention considerate, letting them be – it was time to catch up, and figure out how matters stood between them.

They’d gone to visit Nithael in what had been Aziraphale’s bookshop on Old Compton Street, but was now the new Principality’s plant library, where he cared for hopeless cases and rehomed them for a second chance. Officially, Xaphan wasn’t supposed to set foot inside, but both Head Offices played even faster and looser with any rule that might’ve once applied, and now certainly bent and hula-hooped its way around the whole situation with exceptional evasive gusto.

Very similarly, Aziraphale and Crowley found it rather simpler than expected to navigate their complicated relationship with the other occult duo. Nithael and Xaphan may have been the ones responsible for them being dragged to Heaven due to their obedient reports to their respective Head Offices, but they’d also been the ones buying time Up There, standing up against Gabriel, the other Archangels, and indirectly even the Lords of Hell. They’d irrevocably made their choices, and so much faster than Aziraphale and Crowley themselves that the two of them had felt really rather sheepish about it, all things said and done. Even Crowley had had to admit that the newcomers deserved a second chance to clarify themselves – and when seeing them again, things had quickly fallen into place.

Nithael didn’t have the hang of proper clutter yet, but Aziraphale had to forgive him for it; Heaven’s sterility was still fresh in the new angel’s mind, and the shop was still rather airy and stylish. Still, the back room had seemed to remember its original inhabitant, or perhaps both of them, as it was still this side of inexplicably dusty, the curtains morphing into a semblance of faded velvet, the paint on the walls just a bit flaky, the new furniture already resembling scuffed leather, and the air still filled with the faint scent and rustle of a thousand brittle pages. The innumerable books that’d once been housed here still seemed to be informing the recovering plants in the main shop how things ought to be done, and who they should even now be grateful towards. The shop remembered London’s original duo, and it welcomed them back wholeheartedly.

Nithael and Xaphan themselves had done the same, relieved to see them again and to be able to patch things up, now the air had finally truly been cleared between the four of them and their friendship could be based in truth at last.

That truth had come out in rather unpleasant and forceful ways Upstairs, but Aziraphale and Crowley could finally take great pleasure in personally telling their story over some good wine now, in their own words and on their own terms, and their successors were only too happy to listen.

“Shifting into eachother’s corporations,” Nithael had marveled in the end, all incredulous admiration that none of them ever would’ve dreamed of before. “And that right after Armageddon, too. Aziraphale, I’d never have expected it of you.”

“Ah, that’s where you’d be wrong, dear chap,” Aziraphale had grinned, wagging a finger. “Crowley and I barely needed any time at all to come up with that one! Much easier than human stagecraft, I’ll tell you!”

Crowley had smiled at him through his sunglasses, soft and fond at the memory of that night in his apartment after the world hadn’t ended. “Credit’s all yours, angel. You were the one suggesting a ride in my body earlier.”

“Can’t believe nobody thought to check,” Xaphan had chuckled, uncharacteristically subdued, something clearly eating at them.

“Yes you can,” Crowley immediately corrected them over his Château Gravas. “You’ve picked up imagination quick enough, I know you can imagine them being unable to imagine anything.” He gave a foul chuckle. “Vividly recall you being surprised at us wanting to be around one another at all, yourself. While barging in on our wedding day, mind.”

The ashy demon had paused. “Right. Yeah, you’ve got me there.” They’d glanced down, at the tiny disheveled brown dog lazing beside them, keeping a warily glinting eye on anything that moved. Unending Torment and the Gnashing of Teeth, or Teeth for short, had been a perfectly Earthly if very tenacious little creature, but was picking up more Hellish traits by the day, her eponymous teeth often seeming sharper, bigger and more numerous than could logically fit in her little muzzle, and her eyes developing a penchant for glowing in the dark – or even by daylight. Sometimes she experimented with extra legs, folded neatly into her fur until they weren’t. Sometimes there were little wings, or extra eyes winking back. After all, shape and size were only suggestions for her master as well. “Imagination is being worked on,” said master grinned, admiring the little mutt’s terrifying yawn.

Nithael had grown a little more serious, setting down his glass and leaning in. “I more than understand it all now, of course. I… suppose it’s a given by now, but I’m glad you survived, even if you had to break the rules and mislead both Head Office and us in order to do it. It’s more than clear that even higher authorities do approve of recent events, and therefore also of the more distant past…”

“And even if not,” Crowley butted in, leaning forward and leering over his glasses, “we’d still have done what we did, you do understand.”

“I do,” the angel smiled, a little rueful, but fond as well. “You might not like this, but I’ve always thought the best of you, Crowley.”

The demon quickly leaned back, shoving his glasses back into place at once. “Please. Don’t. I’m actually gonna gag.”

“No, please. Listen for a moment.” Nithael gathered his thoughts. “I agree with your decision to Fall again. The Ophan Cassiel… that’s not you, not anymore. You’ve grown beyond that angel during your time as a demon, am I correct?”

Crowley had stared, yellow eyes wide. “…Well, I’ll be damned,” he eventually managed. “Got it in one.”

Aziraphale had beamed with pride on his successor’s behalf. “Very well done. An excellent observation, Nithael.”

“I try,” the Principality had quietly beamed. “As Xaphan put it… imagination is being worked on.” He paused for a moment. “I’m glad you’re ‘Crowley’ once more. It’s important to use the name you prefer, and to be the person you chose to be. You wouldn’t have returned to being Cassiel if you hadn’t been forced to, and so I understand your choice to Fall again.”

“Words are all well and good,” Crowley nodded. “Actions are better. Understanding put into words and actions is best of all.” He gave a little flourish. “Very well done, you graduate. Or… something.”

“Now we can only hope the others will follow suit, in all their own ways,” Aziraphale remarked. “In time. But what we currently have is already more than there’s ever been. Any progress will be a happy surprise, but… all we really want is to be left alone to live our lives, like we initially asked for, free from anything work- or mortal peril-related.” He eyed Xaphan. “Speaking of. My dear, I do believe you retained your hellfire after that whole debacle? Not that I’m worried.” He paused, thinking this over, figuring he ought to be honest. “…Well. Maybe just a smidge?”

Xaphan had been a big deal in the Department of Infernal Flame, and the one to first convert holy fire to hellfire during their Fall. They’d been stripped of it after they’d failed to drag Crowley back Down seven years ago, but they’d been reinstated to full mastery of the flames after delivering the information about their predecessors’ body swap. Presently, their face had fallen, eyes darkening behind their faint faceting. “Yeah, about that. I did. Nobody bothered to check in on me after all that, seems they all had bigger problems to worry about. But the thing is… yeah, I could destroy you, and Nithael. And it freaks me out. And it freaks me out that it freaks me out. You know what I mean? Because I don’t think I do, entirely.” They shook their shaggy head, entirely at a loss. “Well played, Cherub.”

Aziraphale quirked a smile, fond as ever to hear the beetle demon’s nickname for him, alluding to the fact he’d once belonged to the most fiery Choir of Heaven – and the fact that Xaphan respected him for it, and for everything else he’d been to the demon since their friendship had ceased to be quite so strained by the presence of hellfire. Even now that fire had returned, some things still seemed to be quite the same.

For a lack of response, Xaphan rambled on, gesturing madly. “See, at first it was easy to be friends with you guys! We couldn’t touch you, so it didn’t matter that we didn’t really try anymore! I actually enjoyed the idea of you being the hellfire angel I could never fizzle! But now…”

“Ah, but my dear,” Aziraphale butted in, “being handed the tools to destroy someone, and then not doing it, is what it’s really all about. That’s what trust is, wouldn’t you agree?”

The demon stared. “How? How do you do that?”

“Well, the same way you’ve dealt with being a good owner to Teeth, I imagine. You were unnerved by her mortality and organic nature at first, too.”

“Yeah, but… she’s getting more Hellish by the day.” The little dog unfurled a lazy spider leg in unwitting demonstration, scratching a patch of fur that’d be hard to reach otherwise. “But you two… and…” A glance to the side. “…and Nithael…”

“You’ve dealt with me being vulnerable to hellfire the entire time we’ve known eachother,” the angel reminded them.

“Yeah, but now I’m realizing it all over again. Damn you.”

“I could dissolve you in holy water, too, you know.”

“That’s not the same.”

Crowley considered this his moment to break up the budding discussion. “Shut – just shut up for a second. Yes, all that’s true, big whoop. We’ve dealt with it for thousands of years working alongside one another, and humans do it every day as well. They’re mortal all the time and vulnerable to lots of things, they have the means to go on killing sprees all they want, and they do! But most of them restrain themselves pretty well even with the forces of Hell or even the Horsepeople whispering in their ears all the time, because they can imagine a functional society where they don’t constantly bash eachother’s heads in. So take them as an example, yeah?” He smirked. “Training wheels are off. Welcome to Earth, one more time.”

“I know you can do it,” Aziraphale beamed. “Keep it up, now. You’re doing excellently, my dears.”

“Imagination,” Xaphan muttered. “Right. Got it. Just gotta imagine the four of us being friends.”

Nithael nudged them. “Doesn’t seem too hard from where I’m sitting.”

“Well, when you put it like that.”

As it turned out, Aziraphale and Crowley’s successors in London hadn’t been alone in their pursuit of imagination.

After all of Heaven and Hell had borne flabbergasted witness to Aziraphale and Gabriel’s joint demotion and Crowley’s second Fall, both Head Offices had been forced to consider there were plenty of things they hadn’t considered before. Reasons a demon could and would want to Rise, reasons an angel would choose to leave Heaven, reasons both would want to return to Earth so badly. Things to discuss, and draw wild, unexpected, unnerving conclusions over. Yet more concerning was the fact some amongst their number found these conclusions highly interesting even before proper sense could be made of them.

Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t intended any of it. All they had wanted was to get back to one another and then back to Earth as fast as they could; all the rest of it had been a very big and complicated side effect, but what else was new? Somehow, the world and everything Above and Below it just kept on moving around them, leaving them scrambling to catch up. In that, they supposed they really were rather human.

Angels and demons had been taking an interest in Earth, and the strange effects that little planet had been having on those of them stationed there long enough. They’d begun coming up and down to it with actual curiosity, instead of a drive to change and mold and have matters conform to what they already knew. Granted, they’d been sternly cautioned by their respective superiors to be very careful and not tamper too much with this apparently explosive little ball of rock for fear of any further surprise effects, but life on Earth had still somewhat kicked into an overdrive of Interesting Times, all around; even the humans had picked up on it by now. Some even took it for the End Times, in ways where the actual End Times had been a sight more subtle indeed.

Fortunately, the small village of Epfield had been mercifully spared most of that. It might have something to do with their duo of exceptionally stable guardian entities.

Crowley was gardening. He’d truly taken to it like a duck to water.

No, that was an understatement. Imagine a tiny duckling being shown water and growing enamoured with it, but then being subsequently deprived of it for years beyond counting – before joyfully being given the ultimate pond of its little duck dreams. That came close to the way the demon handled their sprawling cottage garden.

He’d insisted on actually buying gardening tools instead of miracling them up; he’d argued the plants were real, it’d be the demonic thing to do to go at them with real tools as well. The first time he’d put a spade to soil, he’d turned a truly serpentine grin on Aziraphale. “Look, angel,” he’d snickered, giddy with it. “Groundbreaking technology!”

Aziraphale had been looking on with measureless affection, but his smile had very quickly devolved into neutral displeasure. “Have fun, dear.”

“Nonono, wait! I’m showing these poor sods what for –”

The angel had primly turned on his heel. “I’ll see you at dinner, shall I?”

Even a retired demon couldn’t help getting caught in his own wiles, every once in a while.

He was rather good at gardening, though. Even now he’d changed up his entire stance around his plants. Probably because of it, even.

Once upon a time, Crowley had kept his plants in line with a zeal bordering on the religious, keeping them terrified of being anything short of perfect in every way, even while knowing exactly why he was doing it. Same reason he did many other things, really. Still attempting to make sense of his own lot in life by inflicting it on others; at least the idea of it. He’d never been able to bring himself to actually grind up any of his underperforming plants, miracling them elsewhere instead.

Just a few years ago, he’d come clean to those remaining. They’d taken the revelation very well, bursting into bloom with elated relief, henceforth performing better than fear had ever spurred them into doing – to his own bafflement, but then again, he’d had a front-row seat to the effects of love and acceptance himself, so really his surprise ought not to be quite so great.

The garden was the most lush and verdant in all the South Downs, but not due to any Heavenly or Hellish tactics. He’d simply developed a knack for it over the ages, and moreso when assisted by the village’s gnarled veterans who’d been one-upping eachother since well before Crowley’s own retirement. Some of them had even gotten the demon into reading up, to Aziraphale’s endless amusement.^[5] Combine that with the lingering supernatural fallout inspiring Crowley’s beloved chickens into very efficient pest control, and the fact that any slug daring to venture into this garden never got further than very cautious window shopping, and there you have it; not quite Eden, but perfection enough for a very contented Serpent indeed.

He was just sharing some conspiratorial tips and tricks with the red-vined, white-flowered tenacious bindweed^[6] snaking its way unobtrusively but persistently throughout the entire garden when something suddenly came back to him. His expression shifted from surprise to baffled amusement, much like the moment he’d woken from his strange dream of Creation.

He’d rushed back into the cottage before he even knew it himself. “Angel,” he grinned, prompting a questioning look from Aziraphale over his book. “More of that stupid dream’s coming back to me. Hell was involved. I was persona non grata after Armageddon, but they didn’t leave me alone. New representative was dogging my steps.”

Aziraphale put down his reading spectacles. “Oh, that’s preposterous! Back then they were all positively terrified of us, after that whole business with the hellfire and the holy water.” He paused, expression going mischievous with the recollection. “It was ever so delightful, really.”

Crowley slid onto the couch beside him, conjuring up some iced wine for himself; even a basking snake could overheat on such a sunny August day. “Yeah, those days were much better than what my subconscious cooked up,” he agreed. “Hell had reclaimed my apartment, can you believe it? I was living in my car. Plants in the back seat and everything.”

Aziraphale blinked in alarm. “Oh, no! You’d have had to move into the shop then, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, didn’t do that either for some reason. It was weird.”

“I’d insist!” Aziraphale looked positively aghast at the actions of his dream self.

“I know you would,” the demon chuckled.

“But I didn’t in your dream?” The angel went so far as to close and put down his book. Crowley’s eyebrows rose. This really must be serious. “You were ousted and I didn’t take you in?” Aziraphale’s hands fluttered in frazzled alarm. “I would understand you not wanting to move in, preferring to get your own place with a bit more space for your plants and all your artifacts, but…”

Crowley gently stilled his hands. “No, angel, I’d definitely move into the shop,” he confirmed beyond all doubt. “In a heartbeat. Especially with just the handful of plants I seemed to have left in the car.” He shook his head. “Eh. No matter. Just subconscious nonsense.”

“I do wonder where it’s coming from,” Aziraphale pondered, creases of mild worry marring his forehead. “Well. As you say, dearest. Everything’s right here, and so are we, with plenty of room for both our lives.”

“So we are.” Something still niggled at the back of Crowley’s mind, and he made the mistake of fishing for it, like wiggling at a loose tooth. “…I was wondering what the point was, again.”

“What point?”

“Heaven. Hell. Demons. Angels. Ahead of my time, was I?” Crowley dug deeper, puzzled at what he found. “But I wasn’t even poking fun at that other sod. I seemed all… deflated. Boneless.” His frown deepened. “She was way too well-dressed for a demon, too. Where’d she even pick up on such a sense of style…? Bit outdated, but sharp. Lots of burgundy.”

“Well, it was your subconscious.”

“Guess so. Damn sight better than Xaphan when they arrived, or even these days.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale smiled. “They’re fond of that modern ‘shredded-chic’ style that’s all the rage with the youth, and who are we to talk them out of it? But hang on for a moment.” The angel retraced their verbal steps, handily preventing Crowley from reacting in any way to ‘shredded-chic’. “The point of it all, you said? Heaven and Hell? But we’ve been privately amusing ourselves with that exact question for ages. Not that either of us could outright say it, but us doing one another’s jobs, and the similarities between our respective Head Offices… why would you start wondering about it only then? And why would you be distraught…”

Yellow eyes flicked up, amused. “Wasn’t distraught. Never have been. Very traught demon, me.”

“Well, I do recall…”

The burning bookshop. The prospect of hellfire and holy water. You, dragged up to Heaven. “Don’t say it,” the demon halted the angel. “Very rarely distraught demon, after Armageddon. And never at the point of it all. Very quickly figured out I was never outright gonna get the answers, same as anybody else. Still did the job. The job allowed me to slither around on Earth, with you, and all the other actual points.” He grinned. “Dolphins. Wine and chickens and stars and apple trees. You.”

“You already mentioned me, dearest.”

Crowley gave him an unblinking golden look, raising a finger for emphasis. “You,” he said, “can’t be mentioned enough.”

Aziraphale briefly softened with fond endearment, but then his expression fell again. “Oh, but I didn’t even let you move in!” he fretted again, making the demon grin at the frazzled shift. “It was just a dream, angel –”

“You reckon we didn’t muster up the courage to talk about the way we felt about one another yet? Or rather, I didn’t muster up the courage to kiss you after we dined at the Ritz? Oh, imagine if we hadn’t had that delightful evening…”

Crowley’s amusement melted into something light and soft, watching his angel gesture and fret over something as inconsequential as what his mind had managed to conjure up that night. With some vague sense of guilt, he realized he almost appreciated his strange, nonsensical dream; it was making Aziraphale all mushy, getting lost in one of their fondest shared memories.

“…and I’d done nothing, and you’d just have kept going slow for my sake because you’re always so terrifically considerate…”

…Alright, that was enough. It wouldn’t do to make the angel fuss and distress himself too much, let alone say things that might bring an unsuspecting demon far too close to flustered. Crowley halted his husband’s rambling with a warm hand to his knee. “I remember what happened next,” he changed the subject, smiling crookedly. “At the bookshop. It’s even more ridiculous than me living in my car.”

“The bookshop,” the angel echoed, seeing the lure but also all too glad to take it, his demeanor shifting to some nostalgic joy. It had been five years since their move out of London, and he might have relocated all the books to his own private library, but the shop still held a lot of fond memories. “Oh, do tell me. Something rather more comforting, surely?”

The demon gave a thoughtful hum. “…Mmm, not as such.”

“Some bad kind of ridiculous, then? Don’t leave me in suspense!”

Crowley was starting to regret bringing it up with a surprising sense of familiarity – his actions hadn’t backfired this consistently in a while. “Gabriel was there,” he muttered, barely audible.

Aziraphale leaned in. “What was that? I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch –”

“The Archangel Gabriel was there, at the bookshop, alright?” Crowley huffed a sigh as Aziraphale’s eyes widened in some horror. “Yeah, I know, doesn’t sound all that fun now I’m hearing myself. But – it wasn’t him as we remember. He’d lost his memory, and get this, he was completely naked. Just sauntering up to the shop and putting himself at your mercy.”

Aziraphale had stilled. “…My word.”

The demon couldn’t help but chuckle, foul and just a touch sadistic. Bite me, I’d have loved to see it. “Could you imagine? I kind of enjoyed this part, really.”

“Crowley, this is not an image I expected to hold in mind today. Nor did I really want to, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale was fretting again. “Are you quite alright?”

“Perfectly. Why?”

“I’m just wondering what might’ve sparked this dream. We haven’t seen Gabriel in quite some time now.”

Two years ago, the Archangel Gabriel had plummeted down from Heaven together with Crowley’s second Fall. He’d been demoted to the rank of guardian angel, losing four of his six wings, and being assigned to watching over a little girl, presumably somewhere in England. Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t seen him since, nor had they made any effort – but they had gathered he now spent most of his time on Earth, most probably settling into a mundane life near his charge. Even Crowley’s worries had mostly tapered off by now.

“We have not, and thank Someone for that,” the demon had to agree with his husband. “I’ve seen quite enough of that one. It’s only funny because it’s a dream, angel. If he actually popped up naked on our doorstep…” He trailed off. There was no point in getting into unpleasant speculation; he wasn’t with Hell any longer, and he really ought to enjoy the reprieve from violence and torment. He really ought to. Or so he was now vehemently telling himself.

“Well, what did you do?” Aziraphale unwittingly shattered those good intentions. “In the dream?”

“What did you do,” Crowley corrected the angel. “He came to you.”

“Quite right. Well, what did I do?”

The demon sent his husband a fond look over his wine. “You asked me to help you take care of him. In the shop. Just couldn’t help yourself.”

Aziraphale faltered. “I… well, that’s to say… I think your dream paints me in far too flattering a light, dear boy…” He looked utterly helpless, all but pleading, as if Crowley could somehow rescue him from the dream’s logic. “In the shop?” he eventually managed with great distaste. “Really?”

“Would you have?” Crowley felt almost cruel asking this, but some part of him wanted to know. Wanted to poke at the angel, weigh his altruism against his common sense and self-preservation, as he’d done so many times in their shared past, before familiarity, friendship and love had rendered such games unnecessary and unwanted. He wasn’t a total monster, so as the angel fretted he snapped his fingers and handed him a flute of fine vintage from their cellar.

“Oh – oh, thank you, my dear…”

“It’s just a hypothetical, angel. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Aziraphale took a sip, savouring, gathering himself. “It is an interesting conundrum,” he had to admit. “Gabriel, without any memories, you say? Cast down to Earth without even the clothes on his back? Essentially made human, then?”

“Yeah, but also still very clearly Gabriel. Same prick we left to his own devices two years ago, ‘member?”

“Yes, but this version of him didn’t attempt to kill us both, nor tore my wings off, now did he,” the angel deliberated. “Still, I’d be most uncomfortable looking after him, even so. Wouldn’t trust it, even with the whole… undignified situation, there.”

“As you say, he’d essentially be human,” Crowley offered, setting up an out with practiced ease. “Nothing to do with us.”

“Quite so. Best to let him be looked after by other humans,” the angel decided. “Plenty of perfectly suitable humans out there to take care of one of their own in need of help. They’ve been doing it for such a long time, they’d be bound to be better at it than us.” Aziraphale still looked doubtful, however. “Even though we might be saddling them with a metaphorical ticking bomb of ethereal potential…”

The demon thoughtfully swilled his wine around. “What was it you once said? ‘How awful it might have been if we’d been at all competent’…”

“…We really wouldn’t be the right people for the job, would we.”

“Nah. With our track record?”

“Exactly. Best not to contemplate.” Aziraphale appeared relieved at this tentative conclusion. He bashfully clinked his glass against Crowley’s as the demon held it out. “Really, as a retired agent of Heaven it’d be unseemly to be expected to take care of my former boss. They themselves made it clear they wanted nothing more to do with me, surely Gabriel would be of the same persuasion should his full memory be restored. Best not to do anything he himself wouldn’t agree with.”

“Be much more fitting for him to head to some… religious order or other,” Crowley suggested, gesturing vaguely. “Convent. Salvation Army. They love taking care of those in need, and the residual… religiosity would make him feel right at home. Might even restore what was wrong with him so he could bugger off back Upstairs. Whereas what he’d be getting into in the shop…” He thought this over, and decided it best not to put those thoughts in to words. “…Well.”

Aziraphale quirked a smile. His husband had never gotten over the hellfire trial that’d been meant for him, nor everything Gabriel had done after that. “While I couldn’t possibly condone any rash actions… I might not be opposed to hearing about any… sentiments that might be rearing their head in one’s imagination now…”

Crowley had to grin, shifting to face him properly. “Oh, you might not, is that so? Might be inclined to take part in some sadistic Hellish fantasies, might you? You astonish me, Aziraphale.”

The angel hid his own smile against his glass. They might not be in league with their respective Head Offices any longer, but the old song and dance still had its charms, familiar ground all the sweeter to retread for the fact it was no longer strictly necessary, more of a game than it’d ever been. “I didn’t say that,” he demured. “I’m simply aware of how much you enjoy rescuing me, dearest. Putting all your lovely clever wiles to use.”

“And, additionally, how much you’ve enjoyed getting into trouble to be rescued from,” Crowley quipped.

“Naturally. It was my job to inspire others into doing the right thing. And saving an angel…”

The demon was grinning. “…Saving an angel from an Archangel, though?”

Aziraphale’s expression shifted at that. He reached out, running gentle fingers through Crowley’s long hair and cupping his cheek, his eyes endlessly, inordinately fond. “Silly serpent. You know how I feel about that; you already did it. We’re both sitting here because of it.”

The demon couldn’t help but close his eyes and kiss the angel’s palm. “…Ngk. Yeah. Guess I do.” Crowley had always rather downplayed his own role in the whole ordeal, but even he had to admit he’d been rather instrumental. There was no sense in comparing a silly dream to that whole nightmare, though. “Still… in the dream, he did end up staying in the shop, bumbling and harmless and all. Glad we cleared up there’s no way you’d go through with it for real, though. Weight off my shoulders.”

“Oh, this dreadful dream!” Aziraphale fussed. “Crowley, you’re supposed to enjoy sleeping. It’s really rather worrying me, you know.”

“I was against it from beginning to end,” the demon nodded glumly.

“But it did happen?” Aziraphale inquired.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, it’s all coming back to me now actually. It got worse.”

“Worse?”

“So much worse.” Crowley shivered. “Beelzebub came to find me. Dragged me back Downstairs and told me…” He frowned, doing his best to recall against his own will and better judgement, “…that both Heaven and Hell were after Gabriel for some forsaken reason, and anyone found to be hiding him would be… erased from existence altogether?”

“What?” Aziraphale looked as puzzled as Crowley. “Erased? How?”

“Erased from the Book of Life.” Crowley’s frown deepened, visibly questioning his own words as soon as he spoke them, slow and hesitant. “That doesn’t make any bloody sense. Made all the sense in the dream, but…”

“But that’s… preposterous. That’s not at all what it’s for. It’s just for humans, to record the names of those that were to make it into the universe beyond Armageddon… if demons could be erased by removing them from the Book, Hell would’ve never existed in the first place. There’d have been no need for any War if Heaven had been in possession of such a weapon.” Aziraphale faltered for a moment. “…And we probably never would’ve been able to walk away from our trials after Armageddon, either. They’d have just erased us after the hellfire and holy water failed to do the trick, if they’d have tried those at all. Crowley, I’m very glad the Book doesn’t actually work that way.”

“Told you,” Crowley chuckled weakly. “Dream logic.” The prospect of Adam having been able to do as he pleased with reality had been enough of a scare. Head Office holding such a threat over both of their heads didn’t bear thinking about, and so he decided to stop.

Aziraphale leaned into him, providing a much-needed distraction even from not thinking. To Crowley’s surprise, the angel was chuckling, seeming much less worried all of a sudden – exhibiting that baffling, clever courage he’d really always possessed but had only truly managed to unearth after Armageddon, refusing to silence himself ever again. “Quite ridiculous dream logic indeed,” he was smiling, voice warm with mirth. “Oh, but now I’m intrigued, dear boy! In this… this ‘alternative reality’ of yours…”

Crowley let out a quiet groan. “…I’ve really got to get you into a bit more sci-fi, angel…”

Aziraphale soundly ignored this. “…In this alternative reality,” he insisted, “you ended up going along with my admittedly either braver or more foolish alternative self in housing Gabriel in the bookshop, yes? As we both needed to hide him and the fact he’d come to us, lest we both be erased from existence altogether, going with this ghastly Book of Life idea of yours.”

His demon beheld him warily. “…Yeah? What’s your question?”

“Just how did you go about telling me about this complete change of heart, darling? I’ve hardly ever seen you do a more complete one-eighty, as they say.” Aziraphale was mercilessly amused now, sensing he was on to something. Crowley leaned away from him, folding his arms, almost wishing he was wearing his sunglasses to hide his overly vulnerable expression, hopelessly betraying he’d been caught. “Oh, for… you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Having a giggle at my expense?”

“What? Never! I’m merely curious as to how your own subconscious would portray such a scenario, dearest!” Aziraphale was grinning now, indeed all but giggling with his bastardous little victory. “Surely it can’t have been as bad as housing a naked Archangel in and of itself…”

Crowley’s expression had flattened. “Well, you’re gonna like this. Further proof all this was the figment of a severely addled psyche, mind, because this is never gonna happen for real.” He paused, just briefly. “I did a little dance about it, alright?”

Aziraphale sputtered with mirth. “Begging your pardon? A little dance?”

“You heard me.”

“Oh, but that’s delightful. Might we see it?”

“Never in a million years.”

The angel had the gall to tilt his head, pouting ever so slightly. Crowley vehemently looked away, but couldn’t keep it up for long. “No – no, not with the face. I’m not doing it, angel.”

Aziraphale blinked, innocent as anything. “Oh, do us a favour. Please? I do so love your dancing, you know, you really are quite good.”

The demon let out a long-suffering sigh, laying back his head and rolling his eyes – but then sinuously pushing off from the couch and striding to the other end of the room, prompting a giddy little celebration from Aziraphale. Crowley was clearly trying very hard to look reluctant, but couldn’t prevent a tiny, traitorous smile from sneaking around the corners of his mouth, simply happy to have distracted his angel from less pleasant thoughts. Still, his glare remained admirably venomous as he stepped, twirled his hands, spun around and ended up on one leg, arms spread in a whimsical low bow. “There. Happy?”

Aziraphale gave a little applause. “Very much so! Simply enchanting. Reminiscent of tropical birds, perhaps. Mind if we adopt it from your dream?”

Crowley recoiled. “No, no no. Please…”

“I jest, darling. I’d be perfectly content to be the only one using it, to even out your ordeal just now,” the angel chuckled, welcoming him back to his side.

The demon still grouched. “Tropical birds, really? What am I, some parrot gone gothic?”

“A charming image,” the angel considered, to Crowley’s baffled affront. “You did always go out of your way with the elaborate courtship, you have to admit.”

“You loved it,” the demon ribbed him back.

“Well, obviously,” Aziraphale demurely admitted. “Obviously enough to you, anyway, thankfully. It led you to keep your chin up for six thousand years.” His expression shifted, and he briefly folded his hands into his lap before carefully getting up. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Angel?” Crowley followed him with his eyes as he moved to the door. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No no, not at all, dear boy. You just sit tight. I won’t be long!”

“Right,” the demon murmured to himself, sitting back down, just a little worried despite himself. Six thousand years of wariness, and the most recent big scare a mere two years ago; he was still a bit on edge around the unexpected where it came to his husband. But he knew Aziraphale knew this, the same applied the other way round, and they always took care to be gentle with one another, so… surely nothing was actually amiss.

The angel had gone into the garden, scurrying around in the assumption he was being stealthy. Crowley followed his pale hair around through the windows, a fond, uncontrollable smile sneaking onto his face as if it’d always been at home there. “What are you up to now,” he mused to himself.

True to his word, Aziraphale didn’t take long; he quickly padded back into the cottage, arms folded behind his back, wearing a bashful little smile Crowley hadn’t seen in quite a while. “What’s gotten into you?” the demon inquired, amused, any leftover wariness evaporating at once seeing the angel’s demeanor. “You can’t be feeling that bad for making me show you the dance.”

But Aziraphale primly took position before him, stepping, holding out hands and twirling, ending up on a rather more wobbly leg than the demon had, and then – exasperating and melting Crowley in equal measure – conjuring up a frumpled little wildflower bouquet that’d clearly been concealed in his waistcoat. The demon reflexively read its meanings, even with how quickly and perhaps unintentionally it’d been put together. Loyalty. Steadfast connection. Survival through challenge.

Huh. Perhaps not so unintentional. Crowley never knew whether to thank or loathe Nithael for bringing flower language back to the forefront of both their minds.

“I apologize, my dear,” the angel managed, still balancing rather ridiculously, clearly intent on holding the pose until Crowley relieved him. The demon graciously got up, taking the flowers and righting the angel. “You daft – what’s all this for?” It couldn’t just be about the dance.

Aziraphale held on to his hands, still bashful, although also quietly beaming. “It’s the whole dream. It just won’t do. You, dreaming about us not being together, having to live in your car, me forcing you into taking care of Gabriel? In order for you to envision all of that, I must’ve done something truly wrong, or at least not enough right.”

“Angel, you’ve done nothing –”

“You’re in dire need of being courted, my dear. No, I won’t hear it. I’ll be making up for whatever sparked these dreadful visions, mark my words!” With a snap, the angel’s ancient gramophone sparked into life, playing soulful piano notes.

Love of my life, you’ve hurt me
You’ve broken my heart
And now you leave me…

Crowley barely knew whether to laugh, swoon or pointedly reason with the angel that none of this was necessary as his hand was taken, kissed and placed on Aziraphale’s shoulder in a cheeky, but very loving waltz, putting the apology dance’s nonsensical grace to rather better use. “You – you do know that none of that –”

They didn’t have any Queen gramophone records. No CDs either, for that matter, the Bentley didn’t need them – but the gramophone would certainly only play Queen if and when either of them willed it, which wasn’t very often. They didn’t have to go out of their way to hear Freddie’s dulcet tones, after all. Despite that fact, Crowley had come to love his car’s musical tastes as much as he loved the car itself.

You've taken my love
And now desert me
Love of my life, can't you see?

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” the demon told his husband, as clearly and gently as he still could while being so thoroughly wooed. “Bless it, angel. It was just a dream.”

But Aziraphale only pressed closer, resting their foreheads together, smiling as he closed his eyes. “If we’d have gotten into trouble after Armageddon, I’d have chosen you over everything,” he murmured, his halo softly flaring to life. “Our side. Alpha Centauri, if necessary. I’d never have listened to them again. And I’d have taken great pleasure in slamming the door in Gabriel’s face…”

I will be there at your side
To remind you
How I still love you

Crowley’s restraint gave out. He surged forward, capturing the angel’s lips mid-dance, his snake surging right out of his tattoo in the same motion to possessively wind around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him ever closer. And I wouldn’t have given Hell a second thought, he managed, dark coils of smoke and scales winding around the angel’s very soul. Even if we’d have had to give up on our miracles.

We don’t need very many these days, Aziraphale breathlessly agreed, his innate light gilding his entire outline and reflecting off of Crowley’s scales as he smiled into the kiss. Well. Perhaps other than this…

Yeah, no. Not giving this up. Not… ever…

This is a much nicer dream, no? For all his teasing, there was no way Aziraphale could hide the effect Crowley was having on him here.

For a moment, Crowley’s coiling darkness could only send back wordless feelings of overwhelming agreement, exceptionally pleased with the whole situation – but then his consciousness sharpened a little, and the demon broke the kiss, although not their ethereal connection. You do know I know it’s all a load of bollocks, right? C’mere. Feel it, come on.

And now it was Aziraphale’s turn to flicker and falter under the demon’s overwhelming adoration, the knowledge that they’d never end up disagreeing over such a ridiculous conundrum as Gabriel’s safety, or turning back to either Head Office. The knowledge, as certain as the very Earth under their feet, that Aziraphale had well and truly chosen, and that Crowley had been aware of that for a very long time, long before the angel had even made any obviously discernible moves.

My dear… I…

I’ve known for a long time, angel. I know you were just trying to keep us safe. Appreciated the concern, believe it or not, as much as I loathed the reasoning. Would’ve happily risked it all for this, of course, but do appreciate the chance to enjoy it a little longer, still. You were worth the wait.

Crowley, the angel only managed, happily surging in, unconsciously unfurling his wings and wrapping them around them both – every plant, fragile bauble and piece of furniture in the room carefully ducking, bending and backing away as not to be bowled over. Most of them had been in occult possession for a long time and knew the drill by now, and the newer arrivals were admirably quick studies.

Now, Crowley grinned, soaring, diving, skimming his fingers over Aziraphale’s soul even as his physical ones threaded through the angel’s hair and feathers, where were we this morning…?

Oh, I remember, Aziraphale beamed back, whirling into a million stars filling his demon’s night sky, pleasant physical shivers translating to dizzying ethereal scintillation. Let there be light…

“Look at you,” the demon murmured against the angel’s lips, giddy with it, dazed eyes on Aziraphale’s physical form and dazed Sight on his ethereal one, openly projecting every ounce of adoration squarely his way. “You’re gorgeous.”

And as the angel bashfully flustered and glowed all the brighter, Crowley swept out dark wings and chased him into their glimmering shared cosmos, the whole cottage caught up in gusts of warm wind and otherworldly light.

“Well, I’ll say. You don’t see that every day, do you?”

Ethel and Janice were, respectively, two self-respecting ladies from the nearby village of Epfield and the rather more further removed village of Woolbeding. They were out for a brisk afternoon walk to loosen both creaky joints and gabbing tongues that’d lain idle for too long, rapid-firing all the giggle-inducing bits of gossip the other had missed to and fro. It was important, old friends catching up, as was getting enough fresh air. They hadn’t been out to see strange phenomena at all, but Janice wasn’t complaining now that one had presented itself.

The phenomenon, similarly, didn’t seem to have any objections, because there it was, right in the open over the nearby woods on the Serpent Trail; something that for all intents and purposes resembled a silvery aurora borealis coming down from a clear sky.

“Oh, that just happens sometimes,” Ethel nodded, appreciative for its consideration to show itself now. “Usually near those woods, but not always. It’s been investigated, you know, lovely young reporters with notebooks and everything!”

The phenomenon shimmered on, unperturbed.

“It’s hard to catch on camera though, it seems. Very flighty. The couple that live in the cottage over that way say they’ve never actually seen it for themselves, if you can believe that!”

“Their eyesight must be going,” Janice suggested. “Or they’re hiding it, doing something…” her voice went low and conspiratorial, “something untoward, causing it themselves?”

“No, no, they’re still quite young! And they’ve been very cooperative about it, or at least mr. Fell has, he’s such a dear, usually has the most delightful fresh apple pie on hand for interested visitors. But nothing ever occurs when people go investigating on purpose, even with their help around the area.” Ethel briefly considered how the couple never seemed to mind missing the aurora allegedly occurring in their backyard, and how especially mr. Crowley sometimes seemed downright smug about not being a proven paranormal hotspot. But what could you do. They were still, in the end, two relatively young city-dwellers at heart, and therefore likely to be short-sighted around natural beauty, no matter how lovely their garden had grown. A right shame.

As, unbeknownst to him, the silvery aurora slowly faded far above, Aziraphale was straightening his bowtie with a very contented smile. The glow still shimmered in his hair.

Briefly, he simply basked in the feeling, but then inevitably the real world caught his attention from the corner of his eye, and he busied himself fixing crooked carpets and statuettes facing the wrong way, not entirely having gotten the memo of how the living room ought to look. Some he went about with a look and a quick gesture, but those of Crowley’s paintings now hanging at lopsided angles he took care to fix by hand, careful and almost reverent, much the same way he’d handle his own books.

Sprawled across the couch, starry scales still shimmering across his cheeks and down his throat, Crowley watched him with smiling, besotted eyes.

“Let’s do the lakeside restaurant tonight,” Aziraphale piped up as he straightened the portrait of the striking, hat-wearing fellow who’d once lost said hat and a striped scarf in the angel’s bookshop. He’d been ever so considerate, and clever as a whip, and after just one brilliant conversation the demon had decided he simply had to be captured on canvas. “My treat.”

Crowley chuckled, folding one arm over his eyes, mouth stretching into a sharp-fanged grin. “Angel, I can only handle sso many romantic gestures on short notice, you know.”

“I insist!”

“We already have that festival near Tadfield next week. You’re gonna need your spoons for that.^[8]” The demon motioned his husband over, finagling him onto the couch and his book into his hands, pressing a fond kiss to his temple. “Read your book. Just lemme have this. Yes?”

Aziraphale allowed the demon to stretch his legs into his lap, settling into a now-familiar arrangement, recognizing what his husband now needed was to see him enjoy himself and simply be content. He managed to fulfill his end of that admirably for a little while, but then Crowley started catching on to the angel’s stolen glances over his book, the demon’s happy dozing soon turning to flustered grinning. Eventually, the demon had to get up and go outside about it.

Aziraphale reached after him as he got up. “Dearest –”

“No, no, don’t worry. Not your fault you’re too bloody adorable. Just – gotta go cool off for a bit.”

It was late afternoon, but still a hot August day. Aziraphale stifled a very amused grin, knowing enough.

By the time evening rolled around, their roles had been reversed; Crowley had gone inside for a spot of inspired painting in his messy studio, and Aziraphale had taken the opportunity to slip outside into the garden instead. The angel wasn’t very stealthy, but he did manage to surprise his husband one more time nonetheless. When the demon eventually came looking for him, he stumbled upon the most romantic little dinner set up under the apple tree, wine and dainty little tapas in the evening light, the cottage’s fairy lights already faintly aglow between the hedges of their personal Eden. “Angel…”

Their tree’s branches curved overhead, gently yet sternly chided into not dropping any fruit anywhere inconvenient right now. Crowley’s chickens affectionately scuttled around, greeting their keeper with little pecks and nuzzles to his scaly not-shoes. Aziraphale’s assorted bees warmly drifted through the air, and music soon joined in from the cottage as the angel snapped his fingers, giving a knowing smile from under the tree. “You really can’t blame me. I simply want you to have a much nicer dream tonight.”

The demon slid into his seat at the garden table with a brief, endeared and amused kiss to his husband’s lips. “Mmh… more nonsense won’t be due to a lack of effort on your part…”

“Just giving it the old college try,” Aziraphale quipped, not without some smug pride.

“You never went to college,” Crowley had to remark, knowing full well he was setting up the pins for a new round of an old game, and just as up for playing as he’d always been.

“It’s an expression,” Aziraphale clarified, unnecessarily. “And I attended plenty of tutors, you know that!”

“Yeah, for ridiculous stuff like stage magic and learning languages you already speak,” the demon retorted, chuckling as he watched the angel eat. He’d occasionally sample some, good-naturedly interested in his husband’s tastes and wanting to appreciate his grasp of the culinary, but their respective versions of a good meal would always be a little different.

“Well,” said Aziraphale, imbuing the word with enough chiding to forego needing any stronger terms. “We can’t expect to intuit everything perfectly right off the bat, can we? We both know how far that got the rest of us, simply assuming they understood Creation, whereas humanity is so much more intricate than most angels and demons can fathom even now. Even you and me, if it comes down to it, I daresay.”

“It’s been two years, give them a moment,” Crowley chuckled.

“Oh, I suppose. Though asking for patience is rich coming from you, dear.”

“What can I say. There’s no telling what Earth might teach you on any given day. Very dangerous little planet, this.”

Aziraphale fondly beheld his demon, the one who’d opened the whole planet up to humanity, the one who’d always been amongst those most delighted by said planet’s surprises, and found he couldn’t stop smiling. “Quite so.”

Later still, they enjoyed their favourite dangerous planet on the verandah, watching the chickens scurry their last before settling in their little painted coops as moths and bats flitted overhead, visiting the flowering ivy covering the cottage. Fireflies flickered green in the grass. There, warm and comfortable and together, Crowley took Aziraphale hand and snuggled a little closer, and told him: “I remembered the last bit of my dream.”

“Hmm?”

“You still wanna hear?”

“That depends,” the angel replied, quiet and pleasantly drowsy. “Is it very dreadful?”

“Not really,” the demon considered. “Just ridiculous this time. Promise.”

“Well, alright then.”

Crowley rested his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder, his eyes on the garden, the chicken coops and beehives, the fireflies. “We used a joint miracle to hide Gabriel from Heaven and Hell so that even if they were to come looking, they wouldn’t recognize him. Half a tiny miracle from you, and half from me.”

Aziraphale considered this. “You suppose we could actually do that? Make just one single thing happen, together?”

Crowley gave it some thought. “Well, we did hide ourselves that one time. But that was both of us. Two things. Maybe.” His eyes glimmered. “We do make plenty of stuff happen when we go miracling together, but there’s really no telling who’s doing what, and it’s never just one thing either…”

“And it’s not exactly very secretive, at that,” the angel agreed, amused. “Did our joint miracle work?”

“Oh, yeah. But I wonder if we’d actually need it. As long as Head Office doesn’t suspect something, they won’t think to see it even if it is right there in front of them. Wouldn’t need to waste a miracle on that. They’d never believe some human named Jim that just happens to look like Gabriel’s latest face actually is him.”

“Crowley, don’t make fun,” Aziraphale chided him, gently nudging him, only making the demon grin wider. “They’re more perceptive than that, these days.”

“These days, maybe. Before? They overlooked the whole Arrangement for nearly a thousand years because they couldn’t imagine it.”

“Hmm.” The angel was smiling too. “We could’ve gotten married before anyone realized we were in love at all, if Nithael and Xaphan hadn’t been so adamant to have it explained to them.”

“Ridiculous,” Crowley snickered.

“Wait, Jim?” Aziraphale caught up with characteristic delay. “Why Jim?”

“‘s what you ended up calling him. Though even if he’d have introduced himself as Gabriel nobody would’ve noticed, with how amazingly strong our miracle ended up being.” Crowley chuckled again. “Last thing I dreamed was alarm bells going off in Heaven because of how ludicrously powerful we were together. So many lazarii. With that kind of power you’d think we wouldn’t have to hide or fear anything anymore – the kind of power they thought we had, back then, remember?”

The angel had to laugh, warm and fond at the memory. “Ah, yes. Inhabiting your form made me ever so courageous. Insinuating I could do all sorts of things, bluffing at Lord Beelzebub…”

“Would’ve given someone’s right arm to see it.”

“Crowley.”

The demon looked up, amused. “What? Could be a prosthetic. Didn’t even say I’d detach the arm, either.”

“Oh, you fiend.” Aziraphale paused, reluctantly yet equally amused, before some mild distaste snuck onto his face. “I am glad we were never actually that powerful, though. It’d be far too much of a hassle. The responsibility alone.”

Crowley uttered a little noise of agreement. “Yeah. Flying under the radar is what we do best.” He glanced up, smirking. “Our own way of sharing miracles is much better.”

Aziraphale gathered him close, his halo gently flaring into life, confusing some nearby moths into feverish, loopy circles. “Most pleasant indeed,” he murmured, the low velvet of his voice settling into the bones of a very happy demon.

Once they’d tucked themselves into bed, they’d almost forgotten all about the nonsensical dream – but just before drifting off, Aziraphale still brought it up one last time. “I wonder if there’ll be any followup. It seemed rather open-ended, there. Not at all narratively satisfying.”

“You and your narratives,” Crowley mumbled against him. “Dreams don’t have to make sense. You know that, you’ve been dreaming for years now.”

“Yes, but even so.”

“Didn’t you just spend all day trying to make sure I’d have very different dreams? And anyway –” A huge yawn, baring all his fangs, “– if you sense anything going pear-shaped, you can just come and step in. Alright?”

“Alright,” Aziraphale smiled, smoothing a hand through his demon’s long fiery hair. “Sleep well, dearest.”

“Mmh.” Crowley snuggled in with a smile. “Sweet dreams, angel.”