28. Draw me a sheep
Another day. The sandstorm passed in the outside world. The sky's the shade of forget-me-nots.
"I'm getting sick of sitting in one place," Aziraphale murmurs. "Could we go for a walk?"
"Of course, angel."
They walk.
"Is that a peanut plant?" Aziraphale asks, kneeling by a little plant with yellow flowers, similar in shape to those of a pea.
Crowley smiles. "Yes, it is. Very good, angel."
Aziraphals smiles back, a little proud. But a bigger part of that smile is directed towards Crowley, a thankful appreciation of all those little things Crowley did for him while carrying the burden of memories for both of them.
He continues pointing at plants that Crowley has taught him to recognize.
Crowley praises him for each of them and occasionally shows him a new one.
Aziraphale puts a cream-colored camellia into Crowley's hair.
They don't talk about memories.
"Meet me at my place tomorrow?" Aziraphale suggests.
"Oh, sure."
"I'd really like to see your place sometime later, too. When it suits you. Could I come?"
"Uhm. Okay."
"You got one, right? You haven't been sleeping outside all this time, I hope?"
"Of course not."
And so Crowley starts half-building and half-miracling another cottage when he's not with Aziraphale, because of course he has been sleeping outside all this time.
It feels strange, making something just for himself. He has not made anything that would be his since getting here, with the exception of that one tunic and trousers. Everything else he made was for Aziraphale.
He often catches himself thinking about what Aziraphale would like while doing things. He has to consciously stop doing that, because he knows Aziraphale would recognize it and think he's just been moping around all the time. Which he has. Which Aziraphale probably knows. His angel is a bastard. A few words and he can manipulate Crowley into doing something for himself.
"Oh, that's really lovely, Crowley! You have pictures here!"
"Well… yeah. Just one so far. Been painting a little. Here and there." All of yesterday when he realized he needed some personal touch that would convince the angel that he's been feeling at home in this brand new cottage for a while already and he can't really buy any other art in Eden.
"It's lovely," Aziraphale smiles. Of course he knows and Crowley knows that he knows. The paint is still a little wet, after all. It's mostly brown and red, since Crowley didn't have the time to figure out how to make other ones. The picture is painted on papyrus and depicts a car. Or rather an impression of a car. Leather and shiny metal and smooth curves and speed.
He forgot everything else while painting it. He painted with red and it didn't remind him of blood.
"Would you like me to paint you something too?"
"Oh, my dear! That would be delightful!"
It is a dance. One that they knew so well before, they knew the steps by heart. But something shattered and now they are learning it again, tentatively trying the steps and testing whether the dancefloor will break under them. A game of "I know that you know that I know". A mirror game. The mirrors are still cracked and smudged, but they already hold hazy reflections.
"I underestimated him," Crowley says. He's drinking salep in Aziraphale's house while watching the angel as he's trying to find the best place for the picture. It depicts a bookshop. Or rather an idea of a bookshop. Warmth, coziness, smell of old paper, clutter of beloved objects.
"Uhm, who do you mean, dear?" Aziraphale asks absently, judging how the picture would look above the table.
"Him."
Aziraphale turns immediately. "Oh."
He puts the picture down on the table and sits across Crowley. They haven't talked like this for a long time, but there's still a lot unsaid.
"I was thinking about His game. The lesser evils. The choices we didn't have."
Aziraphale takes his cup of salep into his hands, feeling the need to occupy them with something. "And what conclusions did you come to?" he asks tensely.
"I don't know what's worse. The responsibility for the consequences if you did have a choice... or the knowledge you didn't have any, that you were just a tool to Him - only picking the way to be used, but used anyway. That's what He wanted, a tool. And He almost got it."
"But He didn't," Aziraphale says reassuringly. "You defied Him. That was a choice you made, the right choice."
Crowley snorts self-depreciatingly "I thought I was clever doing it. I thought I was buying us time. But He had decided to get me into His service again. Turns out He really appreciated my work. I wonder where He was when I only asked for one bloody wahoo."
"I always knew you were doing a great job," Aziraphale smiles faintly. "So clever and creative. He saw the results, but I don't think He really got it. Not if He thought He could make you a tool and still get that wonderful creativity of yours."
Crowley bites his lip. "He could, I'm afraid. Like hacking a computer and making it do what you want. The… the programs are still there... just not the will… And maybe, if He is cruel enough… and He is, definitely... there would be a spark of will left, aware of what's happening but unable to do anything about it."
He's shaking now and Aziraphale lets go of the salep to clasp his hands. Holding the cup before made Aziraphale's palms warm around Crowley's.
"Oh dear… that's so scary. I didn't know…"
"I never told you. I never told you how he can invade a demon's mind and just put things there. Instructions, knowledge. Things like that."
Aziraphale gasps. "Crowley! He did that to you? Before?" His eyes have a dangerous glint.
"Y-Yes. Last time when giving me the instruction about the Antichrist. But that's just invading, not controlling. To be controlled, you need to let Him in."
"Oh, Crowley…" The grip of Aziraphale's hands is strong, as if regretting it couldn't be there at the time. "Why haven't you told me before?"
"I… I thought it wouldn't happen again. I didn't want to think about it… I didn't want you to think about it."
Aziraphale stays silent, encouraging the demon to speak.
"But now…" Crowley sobs. "You saved me, Aziraphale. You saved me from that. I just want you to know."
"You saved yourself, dear. You refused the deal. And the thought that you even considered it… for my sake…" Aziraphale shakes his head helplessly.
"I refused it because I was thinking about what you would want. I promised you… that I wouldn't separate us. That helped with my choice. But it wouldn't have held. If you hadn't gotten the key… angel, you saved us both there. You were so brave and witty, using the sleight of hand like that! I'll never complain about your magic tricks again."
"Really? Never is a long time, dear. I wouldn't make such promises."
Crowley smirks, but then the expression in his face gets serious again. "Can you tell me one thing, please?"
"Of course, dear."
Crowley still hesitates with his question. "Don't take it as judgement or jealousy, please," he says finally. "I'd just like to understand. I know it wasn't purely pretense, I sensed your fear of me. But turning away from me as you fell, leaning on Him instead… how much pretense was in that?"
Aziraphale looks at him gently. "All of it," he whispers. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you. I needed to show Him my fear of you, to make it believable."
Crowley nods shakily.
"I was afraid of you somewhere in my subconsciousness," Aziraphale continues. "But of Him, I was afraid with all of my mind, a thousand times more than of you. I knew you would have caught me when I fell."
"And yet you turned to Him," Crowley whispers. "My brave angel... And I almost ruined it all because I underestimated Him."
"You didn't. You brought us here."
"I still underestimated Him. I thought He would torture us over and over, corporation after corporation until I broke and accepted the deal. I thought there might come a chance to escape, if we endured. I made the mistake of assumption, repeatedly. I knew he would lie, but I believed Him about this. And then I assumed He would keep an established routine. So when He changed something, I didn't notice."
"Hellfire," Aziraphale says quietly. "He didn't want to torture us over and over. He wanted me to die by your hand."
Crowley nods, the words sticking in his throat and refusing to pass further.
"You would have accepted the deal, if I had died by your hand."
Another nod.
"Oh Crowley…"
Aziraphale moves to Crowley's side of the table and doesn't let go of him for a long time. The salep gets cold. The picture remains unhung today.
They are walking together again. It is a casual walk, with a lot of stopping to take a better look at different plants. Sometimes to cautiously taste them as well, if it's a plant that Crowley doesn't recognize and looks like it could be tasty. Most of them aren't, but it's fun and relatively safe, because the poisonous plants are always out of reach. Eden was designed to nourish humans, not kill them.
But Aziraphale seems to have a certain destination in mind.
Crowley notices it when he looks up and between the crowns of trees, he sees the wall looming above them. Aziraphale is leading them to the Eastern gate.
Crowley stops in his tracks. "Angel."
"Yes, dear?"
"You don't want to leave, do you?"
"Leave? Oh! No, of course not! I only wanted to make sure that the gate is closed well."
Crowley relaxes with that. "It should be. I tried my best. But you are the expert on gates here."
Aziraphale smirks with that. "Actually, not really. I just made the first one ever and the title stuck somehow. But I'm not sure if I repaired it that well. I just tried to put the stones back as they were. Didn't have any idea about things like mortar back then. Oh, but I see you did."
They arrived at the former gate as they were talking.
Aziraphale tests the strength of the repaired wall. "You really did a good job, Crowley."
"I also covered it with sand from the other side."
Aziraphale looks at him. "How…"
"Rope ladder. How did you think I got the water from Lethe?"
"Honestly? Didn't really think about it at the moment. You are the creative one. I fixed the gate with me on the outside, so..."
"Heh. I'm just glad you didn't know much about masonry. I don't think I'd have had enough strength to open it for us if you did."
Aziraphale nods thoughtfully and sits down, leaning on the repaired wall. "I don't know if I've ever thanked you properly. You saved me. You didn't give up even when the odds seemed impossible, and you saved me."
Crowley joins him, sitting down at his side in a misaligned heap of limbs. He licks his dry lips.
"You begged me to kill you," he whispers. "You pleaded with me to end your suffering. And I didn't listen, Aziraphale. I didn't listen and turned away from you to open the gate." The words spilling from his lips are like black tar, staining him and everything around.
Aziraphale listens carefully. It's better for them to spill, better outside than inside. Outside, he can at least try to clean those stains. That's why he brought them here. He has checked on the gate on his own long ago, as one of the first thing after they settled into the meeting routine with Crowley.
"I don't remember that," he murmurs. "I don't really remember anything between the desert and waking in the cottage. You must have been so lonely."
"Ngk. Aziraphale. Of course you don't remember. You were in so much pain that… you begged me... to kill you!"
Aziraphale runs his finger along the rough stone. "I remember the pain," he says and closes his eyes like many times before, firmly, as if hiding from something.
But then he opens them and his gaze is gentle as he is watching the demon. "I remember the pain, but not begging you, so… apparently I wasn't very lucid at that point, was I? I told you before. You managed to be strong for me when I had no strength left. You saved me."
Crowley takes a shaky breath. Then exhales slowly.
Aziraphale takes his hand, caressing it with his thumb like gently wiping some dirt from it. "I say it so easily, don't I?" he murmurs. "It must have been really awful. I can't even imagine... You are so brave, my dear."
"I am brave? You were in so much pain… and you feared me… and still you comforted me while you could."
"That I remember," Aziraphale nods. "It didn't really require bravery. I was dying so I thought it would be over for me soon. Pity, but nothing to do about that. You proved me wrong, of course, but that's what I thought then. You were the one staying and having to go on. Of course I wanted to comfort you."
"You bastard," Crowley says, his voice a little choked. "You wonderful bastard. You wouldn't even make your last moments about you."
"Because it's much easier to be the one dying than the one staying. Do you think you would have been able to keep that promise you gave me? It was my last request, after all."
"Wasn't. You survived."
"I thought it was," Aziraphale pouts. "That counts."
"Well… since I was in the middle of a fucking desert, it would have taken me a while to get to the nearest holy water, so I would certainly have considered it."
"That counts, too," Aziraphale nods gently.
"But with Him out there, being able to find me… I'm not sure. I'd probably take the holy water."
"I wouldn't blame you," Aziraphale sighs. Then he gets up and runs his hands along the repaired wall. He seems satisfied.
"He won't get to you here," he turns to Crowley. "You are safe from Him."
"So we are staying here forever?"
"You are the one who wanted to go to Alpha Centauri. Surely this is a more hospitable place?"
"Well, yes. But I thought there was going to be nothing left of Earth. Now the Earth is still there with all of its books and music and restaurants and you are stuck here with me."
Aziraphale smiles a little. "Precisely because I am stuck with you, I do not mind the rest of the world staying out."
"Are you sure, angel?" Crowley asks uncertainly. "I don't feel stuck anywhere as long as you are there… but is it enough for you? We are still living apart. We remind each other of terrible things too much to be able to be truly together. It feels like we lost what we had before."
"That's true, but I don't think it's a bad thing. We are here, where we started over 6 000 years ago, so why couldn't we start anew? Rebuild what we had and enjoy the ride?"
Crowley smirks with one corner of his lips. "We have a wall. Could make some wooden chains and pretend it's the Bastille."
"Crowley!" Aziraphale admonishes him, scandalized. Or at least pretending to be.
Crowley smiles. "Fine, angel. Let's start anew. Let's go on dates, get to know each other again, move as slowly or fast as we need to."
Aziraphale wiggles happily. "That sounds scrumptious, my dear!"
Crowley watches him with a fond gaze. "But first I believe we have a bottle of water we need to pour out over the wall."