Chapter Eleven
Crowley opened his eyes.
It was white. Everything was white. The very air seemed luminescent, but softly so, so as not to hurt the eyes. It was clean and beautiful and so achingly and disturbingly familiar at the same time.
Heaven.
"Hello? Is there anyone there? I think I must've been sorted wrong…" he called out, stepping forwards. He suddenly realised one of the main oddities of death – that mortal wounds and all exhaustion had been stripped from his body. Experimentally, he jumped up and down a couple of times. Everything was in perfect working order. Strange.
"No, you weren't sorted wrong," came a quiet voice from behind him. He whirled around.
"Who-" he paused, frowning. Then, eyes widening, he paled. "Oh, sorry – didn't recognise you like that."
"It's understandable, Crefael." The apparition smiled, taking one step forward. "No, I wished to talk to you."
"Urm, OK," he replied nervously, putting his hands in his miraculously restored pockets.
"It was a great deed you did, saving the Earth," the figure commented. Crowley nodded.
"Yeah, well, it just seemed the best thing to do at the time."
"And saving Aziraphale – to sacrifice your life for that of your friend…"
"I know," Crowley replied uncomfortably.
"You are ill at ease with these things – why?"
"Well, it's not very 'me', is it? Crowley the demon – stopped the Apocalypse and saved an angel's life," he drawled sarcastically. "At least I was good at being a demon."
"And you think you were bad at being an angel?" the figure asked in the same gentle tone. "You do know that I forgive you for leaving."
If possible, Crowley looked even more uncomfortable.
"It is distasteful to you now, what you do, isn't it? Then why do you continue?"
"What's the alternative? Be the world's first Good Demon? If I'm not accepted by Him, and I'm not accepted by You, then who am I?"
The figure paused, folding its hands. "I have considered you and Aziraphale for a long time, Crefael. It seems to me that neither of you are what you were, and yet what you are does not cause me pain. You are as close to humanity as any of us, my sons and daughters under the world included."
"What are you saying?" Crowley asked, confused, his eyes flashing honey brown for a split second as he looked across at the figure.
"You have a choice before you, Crefael. You can continue your journey from here to where you are taken. Or, given the nature of these monumental deeds, I could welcome you back to my hosts. You could take up your position of old, if you wish. Or I could reward your sacrifice with your life, and you could return to Earth as Anthony J. Crowley. It is in my power to make everything as it was with your superiors so that you will not be persecuted. The choice is yours."
Staggered by this, Crowley thought hard, his mind spinning. Part of him ached – the part that Aziraphale's presence had nurtured and healed over the years – that part of him wished he could go back, just be Crefael again. But, as someone once said, you can't go back – only forwards. So where did that put him?
He knew without even thinking that he couldn't leave Aziraphale behind. The very thought of the bumbling angel being alone worried him as much as it hurt him. Spending an eternity waiting for him…
He looked up and into those soft eyes that knew what he had decided without even waiting for him to speak.
"I do not judge your choice, young one. Go and be with your," the figure paused, smiling slightly "your friend."
Crowley gasped, his eyes flying open.
Looking up, he saw three figures, and the comfortably wonderful surroundings of his favourite bookshop. Aziraphale's back was to him, and his sword seemed to have appeared from somewhere, as it dangled from his hand loosely. The other figures were obviously angels – one was Raphael, and the other Crowley vaguely recognised from seeing him on a cloud somewhere. Martin? Michel? Michael - that was it.
"…was under orders!" Raphael was complaining, but the taller, commanding angel was having none of it.
"Those orders were not yet verified, and you know it! If you thought this would be a feather in your wings, think again Lieutenant – it'll be court martial for you!"
Crowley smirked, levering himself off the floor.
"And as for you, Aziraphale," he saw his friend brace himself, his hand clutching the handle of the blade more tightly, "we apologise for any inconvenience caused – that order has been retracted. I also have permission to give you back your wings."
Aziraphale looked up, his face looking pale and lost from where Crowley lay.
"My wings?" he breathed.
"Yes." Michael stepped forwards, laying his hands gently on Aziraphale's shoulders. The dark-haired angel closed his eyes, and after a second or two, his fingers started to glow in a warm light that spread across Aziraphale's shoulders, sinking into the skin. Then, all of a sudden, his jumper tore, and a bright, beautiful pair of wings erupted from his back, showering new feathers across the floor as they unfurled.
It took Crowley a few minutes to realise that Aziraphale was shaking, and then that he was sobbing.
"You know," the newly reformed angel said, his voice breaking. "You never know what you've got until it's gone. A week ago, I'd have given anything for my wings back. Now," he hiccoughed, "Now I've got them back, all I can think of is Crowley."
At this, Crowley grinned, feeling warmth settle into his stomach even as he felt it wrench in sympathetic pain. Shelving his glee for later, he wiped the smile from his face and eased himself up. Slowly, he walked up to his friend, moving around the wings and ignoring the gasps from the other angels. He smiled gently as he stepped forwards and folded him in an embrace.
He could feel the angel tense and shaking under his arms so he tightened his grip, placing his head on the angel's shoulder.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale whispered disbelievingly, his eyes tight shut as if he could hold the dream as long as he couldn't see.
"Yup, that's me," he replied casually. "Didn't you know that a good demon's hard to keep down?"
"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale choked, sobbing. "You were dead!"
"What's death when you've got the Big Guy on your side?" he replied quietly, pulling back slightly to look into the angel's unbelievably blue eyes. For a second, Aziraphale could've sworn that Crowley's eyes were brown – deep and dark and soft – but the next minute it was gone, and they were hugging again.
"I think we scared them off," Aziraphale joked weakly after a few more minutes had passed.
"Good. 'Orders Guy' was doing my head in," Crowley replied. "So, you've got wings again."
"Yes, I suppose so," the angel agreed, flexing them a little. "Back to thwarting and so on."
"Back to the Agreement?"
"Of course," Aziraphale replied immediately. Crowley grinned.
"Then it's business as usual," he commented.
"Well, as usual as it's going to get, my dear," Aziraphale returned with a grin. Crowley's stomach fluttered as he saw that grin back in its rightful place, but he held it down and merely grinned instead.
Unknown to him, Aziraphale was doing exactly the same thing.
Definitely business as usual.