Author's Note: This AU has Aziraphale and Crowley's bodies less human/flawed than in canon. They don't age, become ill, or require rest or food, although they do indulge in both of these human pleasures (as well as alcohol and sex, although there's none of that in this story!) They don't even need to breathe.. basically, all the perks and no hindrances, lucky devils.
Aziraphale stared at the cold, white light beaming down on him, disbelieving what he had heard the Lord declare.
A rushing, needle-like wind swirled around him. He cried out, pleading with his Father for forgiveness as the wind intensified and pierced his skin.
Aziraphale's shouts fell silent as a type of suspension enveloped him. A horrible silence rang in his ears as his entire body stiffened. Fully paralyzed, a deep tearing sensation rose from his feet, slowly up the column of his body. The angel's eyes rolled as the pain overwhelmed his senses.
The light vanished and, suddenly released, the angel crumbled to the ground like a broken marionette.
Lying prone, he worked to catch his breath, the smell of book-dust providing a dim comfort.
It took considerable effort to turn unto his back, as gravity seemed to have doubled its strength.
With pain still pulsing in his blood, and stars darting around in his vision, he could think only of Crowley.
As he ventured outside, a dull spark of gratitude alighted in the angel's mind, that his love's apartment was very close to his shop.
He trudged through the street and into the building. Luckily no one entered the elevator with him, as he leaned heavily against the wall, gripping the railing to compensate for his unsteady legs.
Forgetting he had keys, Aziraphale knocked three times on Crowley's door, calling to his partner in a voice he hoped sounded close to normal.
"Two seconds, Az," the demon called.
He swung the door open, already grinning at the pleasant surprise of his visitor.
His smile fell as Aziraphale stumbled forward into his arms.
"Angel..?" he said.
Other words failed him, stricken as he was by the lack of holy aura around his partner. A pale, golden light once arched over the head of the principality, but now, in its absence, an illusion of darkness sat.
"Dear boy," Aziraphale said, his naturally soothing voice made softer with exhaustion. "I could very much use a lie-down."
The pair made their way to the bedroom, all the while the angel refusing to meet the serpent's eyes.
Aziraphale sat heavily on the edge of Crowley's preposterously large, immaculately-made bed, bending forward to undo his shoes.
The demon found himself stock-still for a moment, morbidly entranced by the angel's shaking hands, his pallid skin, the circles under his eyes.
He looks human. Crowley thought suddenly, stomach sinking like a stone.
Spurred once more into action, the demon sat beside Aziraphale, helping him to remove his jacket.
"Angel, what happened?" he said. "What happened to you?"
The bookkeeper only shook his head, dancing curls mocking them in the forlorn moment. Wordlessly, he laid himself down and curled unto his side, grabbing a spare pillow and burying his face in it.
Crowley hastened to settle behind his broken friend, employing both the blankets and his body heat to help warm the angel, who felt cold even through his clothes. His love's chilled body confused the demon even further.
He squeezed him arm gently around Aziraphale, mind jumbled as he stared once more at where a soft, warm light used to crown his partner. Distantly, he knew not very many things could cause this light to fade, but he stubbornly refused to entertain the idea.
As Crowley struggled to think of something to say, Aziraphale startled in his arms, tearing his face away from the pillow with a gasp.
The demon sat up to face him, hand moving to his shoulder. Aziraphale coughed, gripping the pillow tightly, holding it away from himself. He glared at the soft cushion in confused accusation.
"Az, what—" Crowley began, before the angel spoke.
"I couldn't breathe… I needed air," he said. "It felt strange; it hurt. I needed air."
The serpent's brow furrowed.
"That doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. Please tell me what happened, Angel. I can't—" he hesitated, lowering his voice. "I can't see your halo."
Finally, Aziraphale met the demon's sharp yellow eyes with a numb stare.
"I angered my Father, when I helped prevent the war. He… he's made me mortal. When this body fails, I will be gone from you."
Crowley bolted to his feet, his unholy aura, like a scorpion under a black light, quickly became visible around his body, but especially surrounding his fists. The angel flinched, sitting up in the bed.
"Crow—" he began.
"No," the demon spat, shaking with emotion. "This is bullssshit. This is mad."
"I'm… I'm sorry—"
"No!" he interrupted again, a lick of his dark energy spiking, leaving a scorch mark on the ceiling. "Don't you dare fucking apologize."
Aziraphale hung his head, moving to stand.
"You sssaved people's lives. Billions of livesss," he went on. "You were helping, for fuck's sake!"
He turned sharply around, beginning to pace.
"Please, dear boy," the angel said, keeping distance between them. "I know you want to fight this, but it's already done."
Crowley scoffed.
"I need you here, not off on a suicide mission."
The serpent turned to his lover, there in his crumpled button-down and woolly socks. The enhanced glow in his eyes flickered in uncertainty.
"Please, I can't even touch you like this," he said, gesturing to the aura.
He stepped further away, hugging himself.
"The way I am now," he said shamefully, averting his eyes. "It hurts me."
Crowley withdrew his aura at once. His shoulders fell; he released his fists.
"I'm sorry," he said wretchedly.
He swiftly closed the distance between them, engulfing the angel in a firm embrace.
"Az, I'm so sorry. I never want to hurt you."
"I know, dear," Aziraphale answered, voice shaking.
His arms tightened around the demon as he failed to suppress his tears any longer.
Crowley bent his head and kissed his partner's neck, just behind his ear.
"Come stay with me, yeah?" he said lowly.
"Yes," Aziraphale breathed.
He swayed a bit, pushing against the demon.
The couple undressed further and returned to bed, where the angel fell asleep almost instantly.
About a week after that dreadful day, Crowley watered plants in the garden room, when he felt Aziraphale enter with hardly a sound.
"So beautiful, so bright," he said, walking along the wall to look at the greenery adorning the shelves. He observed with the wonder of a child, somehow still intact after so many ages of life.
Crowley continued watering in practiced, systematic motion, watching his love move from the corner of his eye. He admired the rich blue of his sweater in the bright room, and with the sunbeams in his blonde hair, the demon saw his halo return.
As he gave water to the last plant on the shelf, a plush white dahlia, he saw the angel stop his slow circuit around the room. He sensed a shift in the air between them. He put down the watering can, turning toward the other man.
Aziraphale had happened upon a failure of Crowley's, a small, shriveled plant now far past redemption. The demon blessed himself for not doing away with it earlier.
The angel held a crumbling leaf in his hand, entranced by the color and texture. His stormy blue eyes spoke multitudes.
This is how I am now. This is my future. This can happen, at any time.
Even as the demon's chest tightened, he walked assuredly up to the angel. He took Aziraphale gently by the chin, turning his face toward him.
Despite the glaring sun, Crowley removed his sunglasses to better meet his partner's sad, hungry eyes. Without a word between them, they kissed.
It started sweetly, but the angel soon deepened the kiss with a sort of desperate energy, more roughly than was his habit. Crowley returned the force in kind.
In this kiss, they lost themselves. The found shelter from their fear for a long, beautiful moment.
Aziraphale did not think of leaving Crowley, and the demon reveled in the absence in his imagination of the angel's breath ceasing, his soft hand going slack in his own.
The demon pushed his partner firmly against the window, humming deeply in his throat. With his entire body he urged forth the mantra,
You are here. You are whole. You're blooming.