XII.

"It's not for us to understand. It's ineffable. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words."

Crowley stalked into the church, a demon on a mission. He felt the natural barriers around the consecrated ground bend, expand, then let him through as if they had had to think about it for a moment. As if they had been confused as to why this entity belonged and yet didn't belong here.

It hadn't been more than a tingle. Like a faint static whisper. His feet didn't burn as he stalked deeper into the cool interior. There was no ache in the back of his head, no adverse reaction to being here.

Crowley had been in his share of churches throughout the millennia. He knew they weren't his favorite place to be. Temples, sure. Temples were fine. Churches were another matter and they either left him itchy, moody or with a headache that wouldn't go away for a week.

The church was empty, except for the usual relicy stuff. And the smell of Old. And the Holiness.

Nothing of it touched him.

Crowley tore off his glasses, staring at the cross, took in the saints gazing down at the congregation from the stained glass windows, the vessel containing the holy water, and he sneered as he raised his eyes to the roof far above.

"Well, hello!" he shouted. "Long time no hear!" He spread his arms. "I know you don't listen. I know you don't give a flying bloody fuck about any of us. You made that abundantly clear when you slammed the door in my face! Because I asked questions, right? Well, let me ask you a question today: what the Hell?!"

His voice echoed in the empty building.

Crowley couldn't really logically explain why he had come to a church of all places. He could have just stayed at his flat and yelled at the ceiling. Or the Mona Lisa for all it mattered.

No, he had sought out a church. Ancient, one that had weathered through the ages, the wars, the Blitz, and the growth of the metropolis around it.

"No answer?" Crowley laughed roughly. "I wouldn't have one either. First you kick out a few rebellious children. You don't sit down and talk to them, no! You just swiftly give them the boot. And if there's one who just happens to be caught between the lines, one who's not the perfect little angel you thought you had created, you just ignore them, too!"

Nothing. Not a blip.

"Then you drown your own Creation! You get tetchy with Humanity and throw a tantrum! And you sit idly by as your precious Earth ends up as the chess board in a stupid playground altercation!"

He paced up and down in front of the altar.

"And now? Now you let one of those brain-retarded angels attack my angel?!"

Something shivered through him and it wasn't anything from Above. Crowley felt… pain. Emotions. His emotions concerning his angel.

His!

Aziraphale was his! Aziraphale loved him! Not like an angel loved everything, or was supposed to love everything, the Almighty had ever created. No, it was something solely reserved for one entity. For Crowley. For a demon. And Crowley loved him in return.

He would fight for him. He would go through Heaven and Hell for him. No questions asked.

"How dare you?!" he screamed. "He is mine! You left him! You abandoned us both! Why are you still meddling?!"

The next thrum was a little less him and a little more Holy.

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, right. Push me down. Hurt me like you hurt so many of us! You gave Aziraphale this freedom, right? You made it Happen! What is he? A pet project?"

The thrum had him gasp and he locked his knees, refusing to kneel. He would never kneel. Ever!

He knew his resistance to churches was rather good. He had managed just fine about eighty years ago. Sure, a bomb had blown it to piece within three minutes of his arrival, but hey! Small miracles, right?

And he had developed a tolerance.

But that was waning fast as the sensation of Holiness increased. As if something was pushing into the very walls of this building, making it… more.

"You cast me out! You sacked Aziraphale! Let us finally be!"

The next thrum was like a glowing nail driven down his spine and Crowley couldn't hold back a gasp. He doubled over, fingers grabbing on to the nearest bench, clawing at the old wood.

"No," he hissed. "NO!"

He wouldn't kneel. Ever!

The pain was getting worse, but his anger was overpowering everything else.

Wood splintered under his fingers as he clawed at the pews.

"I love him," he hissed. "You hear me? I love him! Me! A demon from Hell! Unforgiveable! Vilest of the vile and spawn of no-good! I love him! I love Aziraphale! He is and always was my saving grace! He's my angel, not yours anymore! Mine!"

The emotion expanded inside him, grew warmer, encompassing his soul.

"I love an angel," he whispered roughly. "The unspeakable happened. Unforgiveable, right? It's why you let them hunt him… because the first attempt backfired. Did you ever love him?" he cried at the emptiness around him, voice echoing. "Why did you let your fucking archangels execute him? With Hellfire, you bloody bastard!"

There was Light. Inside his head, all around him, going through every cell of his body. Crowley groaned in pain, curling both arms around his middle.

Dear G… hng!

It burned.

His teeth ground against each other so hard, he might just break them.

But he had had worse in the past. He wouldn't kneel and he wouldn't give in.

"You let them hurt him," he managed. "Words. Gestures. More words. Demotion as you kicked him just for good measure after he had already fallen! Always hurt him! Like you hurt even human children on your precious Earth!"

And the next spike of Light was driven through his physical form, right into his once divine soul, and his scream was on a plane no human could hear. It was a pain he had never felt before.

It was too much.

He couldn't take it, even with his tolerance.

Crowley fought it. He fought against the overpowering force tearing into his physical body and right into his essence. A broken cry left his lips as his wings were forced out of his back and the sheer force of it pushed him to his knees. The black wings exploded out of his back in a display of raw magic and it was the most painful manifestation ever.

They opened above his back like a canopy of feathers and gleaming energy, full of such life it was almost too hard to bear. He felt their existence like never before, powerful, indestructible, an integral part of him.

And large.

Rivalling Azrael's in size, but not reflecting every star in the universe and the depth of Creation and Death itself.

They sparked with hellish fire and divine light, bathing him in energy that would be enough to destroy lesser creatures than him. Of both realms. It was as if the lid was suddenly off, giving him access to something that had always been there, out of his reach, but integral to his core.

There was a sensation, a Presence, and Crowley all but gasped, unable to move, to think, to speak, to do anything but exist. And even that was becoming problematic.

The Presence was too much for a single soul to bear, even if that soul belonged to a tenacious bastard of a demon, who hadn't even really Fallen. Not properly anyway.

The Presence moved, endlessly powerful, so very much more than even Lucifer could ever become, and it whispered straight into his soul.

The Light lessened, but it was still painful to perceive. It took on shape, but it was nothing any language could describe. Crowley felt his face taken in a gentle hold and something brushed over his brow.

Everything became softer, the pain turning into more of a rough scratch over his core, and he moaned in relief.

~Child~

It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a memory. It just… was.

Crowley gave a broken sob, drawn between tearing out of the loving caress and leaning into it. He barely remembered the time before his not-Fall. Except for this…

~You were always different~

~Your love was different~

Crowley screwed his eyes shut, emotions ripping through him, unveiled by a power he couldn't fight. Loss. Raw pain. Fear. Terror. Loneliness. Need. Love.

~Love is an emotion~

~Different for everyone~

~Love comes from many places and is for many things. ~

~Sometimes loss brings forth love. Sometimes love demands loss to flourish. ~

~And sometimes, just sometimes, there is a special bond between two sides that shouldn't be possible. ~

His body was no longer under his control and shields crumbled like brittle paper under a gust of wind.

Aziraphale. His angel. The love he had for him. The powerful need to protect him, to show himself worthy of the angel's affections, and the happiness.

Crowley was happy. Ever since meeting the awkward Guardian of the Eastern Gate, he had felt… happy. Different shades of happy, but still… happy.

~Love him. ~

~Let yourself Love him. ~

~Everything else no longer matters. ~

~What you have been given was always there~

~It needed time to grow, to evolve~

~It is now time to take off the safety~

~You are on your own, Child~

~Love him, let yourself be loved, and protect it~

And then there was nothing.

Nothing but harsh gasps. His own. His lungs expanding and deflating in spasms. As useless as they were, right now Crowley had no idea if stopping to breathe was a good idea.

Actually, he had no ideas at all.

Laying on the church ground, his body aching, wings limp and useless, he tried to just breathe.

xXx

He must have lost consciousness.

Somehow. Sometime. He had no idea.

His body hurt. His head hurt. Everything was a mass of agonizing signals. The pounding behind his eyes was bad enough to make his teeth ache in sympathy. Every breath seemed to be a massive effort, burning his lungs. He had no idea if he even had hands or feet, let alone arms of legs. He only knew that he existed, even though it was in sheer agony.

"…"

It sounded like a moan. A pitiful sound. Weak, pathetic, and very much him at the moment.

And then there was darkness again.

xXxxXx xXxxXx xXxxXx

He came to in a cocoon of white feathers.

Warm, angelic white feathers. Ethereal and almost translucent in places, pearlescent and silver, so very much different.

Hands brushed over him. Ran over his arms, his face, along his neck. A voice asked frantic questions.

"…ngh…"

"Crowley? Oh thank you, Lord…"

He shuddered. Demons didn't throw up as a rule; right now he was all for breaking that one.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Crowley, what…"

"Angel…shuddup," he grated.

"Oh. Oh, okay. I… shutting up…"

The demon coughed a laugh and cracked his eyes open, gazing into the wide eyes of his angelic counterpart. Wide, wide eyes, reflecting everything Aziraphale had ever felt, had ever said and wanted to say, reflected pain and fear, almost terror, and a deeply raw emotion that left Crowley gasping for unneeded air.

"Dear…"

His dug his fingers into the light material of the coat, stilling the words.

"What happened to you?" Aziraphale managed after a whole second of silence.

"I had words. With your former boss."

The angel stared at him. "I-in a church?"

"Where else?" he muttered.

"And you talked to… Gabriel?"

"Hu-hn, no."

Aziraphale cupped his face, his wings still hovering over them like a beautiful, feathery canopy. Crowley wanted to get lost in the sight of them. They had never looked like that before.

"Dear, what did you do….?" He whispered shakily.

"Like I said. Had words. With your ex-boss."

"You… talked… to…"

"Hn."

"Crowley…"

"Wasn't like you think. More like kicking me where it hurt and showing me who's boss."

"Crowley…! You really talked to… God?!"

"Well, it wasn't that bloody fucker Metatron."

He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but the pain that raced through every fiber of his essence had him gasp, his vision fading for a moment.

Aziraphale's aura expanded, grew strong, powerful, so pure it should hurt a demon, but it only helped in easing the pain. Like a living, breathing shield. Passive and protective. A web of carefully woven lines, protecting the fragile soul, keeping guard over the demon. It soothed his soul, quieted the spikes, and Crowley relaxed into the heavenly embrace.

The threads of divine inside him expanded, soaked up the healing energy, and he felt his body respond in a way it shouldn't, if he was still a demon. Well, true demon. Whatever he was now, it was mostly demonic with a sprinkle of whatever.

"You talked to God," Aziraphale whispered and it sounded to Crowley's ears like he had said the words a few dozen times already.

"Well, there were no words. Aside from mine. Well, ranting. Lots of ranting. Some cursing."

Aziraphale winced. "Oh my…"

His eyes narrowed and he tried to sit up once again. This time the vertigo didn't happen, but he still felt weird.

"How did you get here, Aziraphale?" he asked.

There was a blush creeping up those fair features.

"Angel?"

"I… felt a summoning."

There was a moment of complete stillness, then the demon erupted from the ground, upsetting the balance of the angel, who suddenly sat very unceremoniously on his behind.

"A summoning?" he roared. "A summoning?! How dare they…?!"

"Crowley…"

Aziraphale got to his feet, wings gone, his normal form looking a little disheveled, but none the worse.

"Dear, please."

"You are not part of the whole shindig anymore!" Crowley yelled. "They have no right!"

"I was Called. Because of you, dear."

The wide, demonic eyes were filled with a million emotions. Crowley felt them all, most of all the disgust, the fear, the bone-deep terror that… that God…

"They Called upon you," he whispered roughly.

"Because of you. Only because of you. It was… a request. Like texting me your location."

"Tex…" He broke into desperate laughter. "Texting? Oh, angel…"

"I found you here. I thought…" Aziraphale wrung his hands.

Crowley stilled, taking in the other being, then deflated. "Oh, Zira…"

"You walked into a church and yelled at God, Crowley. She could have…"

"She didn't."

Aziraphale exhaled sharply. "No. Instead I was called."

His fingers were caught and intense eyes met his. "Zira."

"Please don't do it again!"

"I won't."

"I want your word."

"You have it," the demon replied easily. "My word." He pressed his lips against Aziraphale's hand.

xXxxXx

Aziraphale knew that a word was not given lightly by either Side. And Crowley had never lied to him. Never directly, never when it was something important. He might have obfuscated things a little, had talked around the truth, but he had never lied.

Now he had Crowley's word. It was like an oath.

The angel shivered a little, dredging up a brave smile. Crowley's aura was weak, but it was still intense, inserting itself into Aziraphale's soul and weaving them together.

He felt something inside him unknot, something that had been wound so tight ever since he had been summoned to the church and had found the demon inside. Curled up, features slack, clearly unconscious, and his wings had been forced out.

In a church.

Huge, black wings, spread out over Crowley and over the floor, like a feathery cape, and inside a church!

Aziraphale had a hard time coping with the imagery, and now he knew what had happened.

It terrified him to no end.

xXxxXx xXxxXx xXxxXx

The bookshop was toasty warm, the lights spreading diffusely to play with the shadows, and the world outside moved past behind lowered blinds. There was muted noise, the chatter of voices, the honking of car horns, but nothing really made it past the invisible barrier that lay right behind the thick, old walls of the corner building.

The 'sorry we are closed' sign had been there the whole day. No one had really bothered knocking on the windows or rattling at the door knobs. No one had called to inquire about opening times either.

There was only the cozy bookshop world existing invisible inside the world of humankind.

Aziraphale raked gentle fingers through auburn hair, enjoying the soft feel, the caress of each strand against his skin.

The demon whose hair he was petting was asleep, exhausted beyond the worst state of exhaustion he had ever witnessed; right after the thwarted Last Day. Crowley looked immensely pale, face more drawn than Aziraphale had ever seen him.

"You walked into a church and yelled at God," he whispered. "At God…"

The facts were still hard to swallow for him. What Crowley had done no sane demon would have even thought of. Not even an angel would scream at their Boss in a church.

There was a restless twitch and he hushed his counterpart softly.

Crowley had yelled at God. He had gone into a church and…

His thoughts were whirling around those two facts.

A lot of humans yelled at the Almighty and nothing ever came of it. No one, not even Gabriel, had ever had a conversation with the Big Boss directly. There was always the Metatron. The Voice.

But God had… in a way… talked to Crowley? Well, 'talked' was…. wrong. Crowley had tried to explain it, in a halting, stammering, shell-shocked manner, but Aziraphale only got one thing out of it: God had been in touch with a lower demon. Aziraphale's demon. The demon kicked out of Hell, the one who had assisted an angel kicked out of Heaven.

Yellow eyes cracked open and Aziraphale smiled radiantly. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

It got him a scowl and the angel ran an apologetic caress over the pale features.

"A very superfluous question. My bad."

He ran his fingers up and down the slender back, along the spine, feeling warmth and sinewy strength hidden underneath the skintight, black material. Crowley wasn't weak; had never been weak. He had surpassed his own, perceived limitation, had evolved into so much more.

He wouldn't have survived this otherwise.

His palm came to rest between the shoulder blades and he let his own energy seep into the exhausted being.

Crowley's whole body relaxed, all muscles loosening, and he groaned.

"Zira…"

"Shush."

It got him a half-hearted glare and grumble.

"You didn't have to do that, dear," Aziraphale said after a long, long moment of silence between them.

"I had."

"You…"

"Ranted. Yelled. Cursed."

The angel winced.

"Didn't think anyone would listen. Maybe some lowly intern. Not… the Boss."

"But She did."

"Hn."

"Did you get an answer?" he asked tentatively.

"Kinda."

The angel felt tension creep into his frame. "The Almighty… spoke?"

"Nah. Not really. It was more like a nail into the brain."

"But She replied…" Aziraphale felt his voice tremble.

"Hng."

"God is watching us," he managed.

The demonic eyes widened a little, then grew harder. "Let Her."

Aziraphale looked pale, terrified. "She talked to you, Crowley. She has never talked to anyone directly. The Voice of God is the Metatron. Not even Gabriel has direct contact."

"So I'm a special snow flake. Yay me," Crowley said wryly.

"You don't understand…"

The demon got himself in a sitting position, even though his face took on an unhealthy shade of gray and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut. Aziraphale just increased the flow of divine energy that was channeling into his counterpart.

"I understand," Crowley said as he squeezed his angel's hand. "Very much. I didn't think anyone would listen. I'm no one to your lot. And God doesn't even listen to Her own."

Aziraphale shivered.

"Now we got Her opinion on the matter. I think we'll be in the clear."

The angel expelled a desperate laugh. "Blessed by God Herself?"

"Yeee-ah, maybe not Blessed. More like a kick in the nuts for me, some scolding, and then I got thrown out of the whole chat. There might have been a pat on the head, but I can't be sure. Might have been a slap."

Aziraphale looked drawn between consternation, outrage and laughter. He decided to smile. He had to unlearn a lot, change his view of matters, and he needed the most important soul in his life.

He grabbed the narrow face and pressed their lips together in a kiss.

Crowley's eyes flew open wide, then closed with a soft sigh. He answered the kiss.

"We'll be fine," Aziraphale whispered against the dry lips when they parted. "We will be absolutely fine."

It sounded like a prayer. Maybe it was.