Friday
London
Third Alternative Rendezvous
(The Bandstand)
"I am not killing anybody."
"This is ridiculous, you are ridiculous, I don't even know why I'm still talking to you."
"Well, frankly, neither do I."
"Enough, I'm leaving."
An exchange this heated was usually enough for them to sulk, not speaking, for a month or two.
But there wasn't time.
"You can't leave, Crowley. There isn't anywhere to go."
"It's a big universe... even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off, together."
"Go off... together? Listen to yourself."
It's too tempting, Aziraphale can't stand it, it's too much that Crowley wants to run away together, it's the most romantic thing he's ever said. Aziraphale felt like he had just been handed his satchel of books in the midst of the burning church again. But Aziraphale has a job, has duties, the reason for his entire existence, he doesn't have a choice! How can he abandon God?!
"How long have we been friends? 6000 years!"
"Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common."
No, Crowley actually agreed that they weren't friends, though that's exactly what Aziraphale himself had called them, just yesterday.
"I don't even like you."
Crowley scoffed at the absurdity of the lie. Aziraphale loved him.
"You do."
"Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn't tell you, we're on opposite sides!"
"We're on our side."
"There is no our side, Crowley, not anymore. It's over."
"Right. Well then. Have a nice doomsday."
Aziraphale gasped at the sudden end to the conversation. He hadn't meant... he meant that the Arrangement was over, that they couldn't both win at Armageddon, not...
Did I just break up with Crowley?
Aziraphale stood rooted to the ground, staring after the lanky figure stalking away, waiting for Crowley to turn around. Aziraphale wanted to call out, to stop him, but he had no idea what to say.
But surely, the next step would be the one that would swivel Crowley back, Crowley would know how they could fix this, somehow there had to be a way of figuring this out... it will be the next step, he'll come back. He always comes back.
But how? How could they fix this?
No words came.
Crowley kept walking.
.
Crowley's jaw clenched harder and harder as he walked, gritting his teeth, sending shooting pains through his skull. His stomach heaved and he barely kept himself from vomiting into the bushes.
There is no our side, Crowley, not anymore. It's over.
The words repeated themselves over and over, a broken record playing in his head.
He let out a giant breath he didn't remember holding, a pained huff of air, accompanied by an inner voice mocking him, I told you so, flavored with a strange rush of bitter satisfaction that he had never felt before.
Of course Aziraphale chose Heaven over Crowley. How could he not? Crowley had known this would happen from the start. He had been waiting for it to happen, maybe not today exactly, but he had known it would happen soon.
No angel would betray God and Heaven for a demon, even one they claimed to love.
Crowley choked in a gasp of air in protest at the voice. He knew Aziraphale loved him, he hadn't doubted it since Aziraphale had first insisted on saying it out loud.
But now...
Aziraphale loved everyone and everything, he was made of love. Of course Aziraphale loved him.
I don't even like you.
Crowley had scoffed at the obvious lie, but what if it wasn't entirely a lie? What if it was the only word Aziraphale had?
In his haze, he remembered the snowstorm in the seventies, the whispered words, anything, my love.
And then his memory went back further, to the sixties, I know something good will come of us... I have enough faith for both of us, and then some. Everything will turn out the way it's supposed to.
Crowley tried to sneer, his features twisting. Aziraphale hadn't even made it to the true End. Crowley had always imagined Aziraphale on the battlefield with a sword to Crowley's neck and Gabriel hovering behind him, watching and waiting for him strike.
The battle hadn't even started yet, but Aziraphale had already given up on them entirely.
Crowley's breathing kept starting and stopping, his corporation long in the habit of wanting oxygen, though he didn't need it. His mind was so far away from his body that his misery kept taking over his corporations's basic functional instincts. He could feel his heart beating irregularly. It took a real effort stop himself from reverting to a snake, which would be a very bad idea on the busy streets of London.
Crowley made it back to the Bentley with all of his limbs intact and slammed the door shut a little too hard. His fingers gripped the wheel instinctively and he pressed his forehead to his knuckles as a sob finally escaped him. Burning tears fell down his cheeks. He threw his glasses to the glaringly empty seat beside him and dug his knuckles into his eyes, trying to stop them from leaking so much. He despised himself for showing weakness, even to the Bentley, who didn't understand what it was seeing anyway.
Crowley had known this moment was coming, had called it from the very beginning, he was not shocked, not even surprised, he had been waiting for it, he had prepared for it. It had been a countdown just as inevitable as Armageddon itself.
So why did it still hurt so much? His corporation was screaming at him with pain, physical pain, running through every nerve of his body. No sign of injury, no stab wound through the chest, just six thousand years of cumulative heartbreak.
Crowley had always wanted to resist the angel, from the very Beginning, had tried so hard to resist the charm, the kindness, the lack of hostility he was used to from angels. This friendly, polite angel who had given away his sword, who was utterly unlike any of the other angels. The only real angel.
Crowley had kept his distance for a long time after Eden. He recognized this would be a weakness for him, these soft feelings he had towards Aziraphale, this Thing he refused to name. Each time he crossed paths with the angel, it flared up again, only to be pushed down, denied, hidden away. Trick the brain into forgetting. Avoid. Deny. Avoid. Nope. Not a thing. Not a problem. Isn't happening. No room for weakness.
Until Rome, when wine was involved, when the situation wasn't utterly depressing and humans weren't dying right in front of them, when Crowley saw the movement of Aziraphale's throat when he swallowed an oyster, when a little flirtation was too irresistible, when desire to touch became overwhelming, when the angel pointedly didn't stop him from touching, though he could have done so with only a thought, and hope blossomed in Crowley for something more... but then Aziraphale had immediately rejected him.
He'd fucked off to South America for five hundred years to recover from it.
But Aziraphale's existence never stopped tickling at the back of his mind, the craving for his presence. Come find me, the angel seemed to whisper across the ocean, come back to me. It was entirely possible it was all just in his head. Even if it was real, it couldn't have been on purpose. It was magnetism, it was gravity. The Sun could hardly stop pulling in the planets, and the planets could hardly stop being pulled to the Sun.
Crowley resisted for a long time, remembering the pain of rejection, but sometimes the pull became nearly too much, and the effort of resisting became almost as painful as the rejection. Almost. Telling himself that he was imagining it, and there was nothing to resist anyway, helped. Almost.
Crowley's reassignment back to Europe was both a relief and a terror. He had run out of excuses to tell Hell why he wasn't able to go back to Europe, not quite yet, just another decade, and he just barely avoided being marked as insubordinate.
He ran into Aziraphale only a month after going East, because even though they had the whole bloody continent, of course they did. Of course.
But Aziraphale hadn't seemed to hold a grudge. They slowly settled into their Arrangement, and simultaneously pretended not to.
The number of years between each meeting grew shorter and shorter, and Crowley's resistance grew weaker and weaker, taking every chance he got to meet with Aziraphale, just be with him.
And then Paris happened, and fuck, Crowley was powerless to resist.
It just wasn't possible, not with Aziraphale pressed up against him, holding him tight within his wings, kissing him, whispering words like always wanted you and then take me, have me, I'm yours. Crowley knew it wasn't true, even then. Aziraphale wasn't his. Aziraphale was Heaven's. Knowing this still wasn't enough to keep him from giving into a craving he had tried to ignore for millennia.
Crowley hadn't meant to fall in love. He had just hung around the wrong angel.
When he was finally honest with himself that it was happening, he admitted that it had only taken a minute and a half.
...Gave it away.
You what?!
I gave it away!
When Aziraphale's wing had stretched out to shelter him from the rain, and how could he have stopped himself from stepping closer? How could he help his quiet gratitude that Aziraphale was treating him like an equal, not a lesser being?
You are a lesser being. You're weak, the voice said. Love is weakness. Weakness becomes failure. You didn't learn your lesson. Weakness for needing answers made you Fall.
The voice was his own.
There is no our side, Crowley, not anymore. It's over.
The world had already ended.
.
Saturday
The Last Day of the World
London
Mayfair
"Great plan… God, are you listening? Show me a great plan. ...You shouldn't test them to destruction, not to the end of the world."
Crowley didn't want to give up on the humans. He was rather fond of them, not necessarily as individuals, but as a group. After watching them grow as a species, it was hard not to feel a little paternal towards the lot of them.
But wouldn't they lose quite a bit of their charm, without the angel around to point out their charming qualities? If he somehow managed to thwart Armageddon on his own, and the world was saved, would Crowley even be able to stand living amongst the humans as the only occult being on the planet, existing in utter loneliness? Even if he found humans to befriend, their lives were over so quickly. Aziraphale had learned that lesson too many times. After Oscar had passed, Aziraphale had mourned long, and had vowed not to get so attached to a human again. Crowley had seethed with barely contained jealousy when Aziraphale had described his relationship with this man, though he had already been dead for fifty years before Crowley even knew he existed. Though Aziraphale had denied they had been anything other than friends, Crowley knew the affect Aziraphale had on the humans that met him. Of course Oscar had been in love with him. How could a poet not fall in love with an angel?
How could anyone not fall in love with Aziraphale?
He bit down on his tongue to stop any words escaping him while hearing Aziraphale's lament for a dead English writer, a source of comfort while Crowley slept away the century in Kamchatka, dreaming of that look of anger on Aziraphale's face when the angel had stormed away from him... That Aziraphale had sought comfort from the humans was nearly unbearable.
Crowley remembered the shame of lurking outside the bookshop for years when he got back to London, wishing he had the courage to go beg Aziraphale for forgiveness.
"Why didn't you ever come in? Really?"
"I've already told you, I thought-"
"You thought wrong."
Crowley didn't have time to wait for the Nazis to blow up another church so he could rescue more books. If there was even the slimmest chance...
.
"Angel, I'm sorry, whatever I said, I'm sorry... We can run away together, Alpha Centauri…."
"I forgive you."
"I'm going home angel, and I'm getting my stuff and I'm leaving. And when I'm off in the stars I won't even think about you!"
.
"Consorting with the enemy..."
"Oh- I- I haven't been consorting-"
"Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in hell."
Boyfriend was not the right word, Aziraphale's subconscious protested. It was such a trivial word for the enormity of what he had with Crowley.
This was not the time to argue.
.
"This is Anthony Crowley, you know what to do, do it with style."
"I know who you are, you idiot, I telephoned you. I know where the Antichrist is-"
"Yeah, it's not a good time, got an old friend here-"
.
Aziraphale pulled the rug away from the circle and activated it.
He shouldn't have locked the door with only a metal lock.
He shouldn't have used candles.
He mostly shouldn't have stepped backward without looking behind him.
"Oh, fuck."
.
Ooooh, you make me live, whenever this world is cruel to me, I got you to help me forgive...
"Somebody killed my best friend! Bastards! All of you!"
Find me somebody, somebody to love, somebody to love… find me, find me, find me...
.
Aziraphale's vision was clouded and blurry but he could see the outline of Crowley wavering drunkenly at a table. Not just drunk. Utterly shitfaced, swaying, and talking to himself.
"Are you here?" Crowley asked, wondering if he was imagining Aziraphale's face in front of him. He'd had a lot to drink, after being broken up with, and then nearly burned alive, but he didn't think he had had enough to start hallucinating.
"Good question, not certain, never done this before. Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can hear you."
"Afraid I've rather made a mess of things. Did you go to Alpha Centauri?"
"Nah, changed my mind. Stuff happened... I lost my best friend."
Aziraphale was a little lost for words. Crowley had never called him that before. Aziraphale wouldn't have guessed that was the term Crowley would use to describe their relationship. The demon's voice was wavering in and out. Had he misheard?
"…So sorry to hear it."
"Look, wherever you are, I'll come to you. Where are you?"
Aziraphale's nonexistent heart clenched in the pain of sense memory. Wherever you are, I'll come to you. But he had to stay focused on the problem at hand.
"I'm not really anywhere yet. I've been discorporated... You need to get to Tadfield Air Base. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you think."
Crowley was far too drunk for this.
"I'm not going to go there," he murmured, his mind spiraling in several different directions.
Aziraphale seemed to not hear him.
"I do need a body. Pity I can't inhabit yours. Angel, demon, probably explode. So I'll meet you at Tadfield."
It was if their argument at the bandstand had never happened. Crowley felt a whirl of anxiety in his stomach, with just enough touches of hope to make his heart break all over again. His stomach heaved and he couldn't tell if it was nerves or the whiskey. Probably a bit of both.
"Tadfield Air Base..."
Aziraphale was gone.
Crowley threw the rest of his cash on the table, vastly overpaying his bill, and sobered himself up as he ran out to the Bentley, wincing. If there was even the slightest chance...
He would let nothing stop him from reaching Tadfield.
From reaching Aziraphale.
Not traffic, not Hastur, not even a wall of fire.
.
"Crowley!"
"Hey Aziraphale! I see you found a ride. Nice dress. Suits you."
Aziraphale was filled with instant relief. He had not been sure if Crowley would recognize him, with this face, but apparently hearing him say his name was all it took.
"This young man won't let us in."
Crowley leaned in close to his ear, the hint of a smirk on his face, and Aziraphale could feel the body he was sharing shiver in response. He had no control of its reactions, not when he was only visiting.
"Leave it to me," Crowley drawled into his ear.
Madame Tracy was adding to the shiver now, too. Aziraphale could feel her looking and enjoying.
Aziraphale wanted to tell her to stop looking, that Crowley was his, but he wasn't really, was he? He wasn't. Not really. Not anymore. If he ever really was.
Would he be, though? If they got through this, somehow, impossibly? Would Crowley be his, after all that had happened?
After what Aziraphale had said?
After what Crowley had never said?
.
"Right. That was that. Well, it was nice knowing you."
"We can't give up now."
"We are fucked!"
"Come up with something, or..."
Aziraphale held the sword uselessly in his hand. He had no threats that would work, had nothing, except, maybe...
"Or I'll never talk to you again!"
It worked.
It all worked.
.
"I don't think you need to go worryin'" said Adam gnomically. "I know all about you two. Don't you worry."
.