Eden, Year One
It was strange being underneath his enemy's wing.
Crawly had expected a fight. To be sent straight back to Hell. He was a demon, after all, and a demon who had caused God to cast out Her most beloved creations, at that.
It was what any righteous angel of the Lord would do.
Instead, here he was, huddled beneath pristine wings of white, protected from this water that fell from the sky. A cool mist sprayed against his face, flecking across his newborn skin. A curious sensation, so different than the scorching flames of Hell. His forked tongue dared to flick out, unable to resist the temptation. It was just as cold, tingled somewhat.
He had not been this close to an angel since his Fall, holiness saturating the air. Made his nostrils sting, made these new instincts itch and fester. He should hurt this angel. Should drag him to Hell with him; a crowning jewel of rebellion against his Creator.
If it had been Michael, that traitor, he might have. Would have revelled in seeing that beautiful face twist in terror.
But, this was not Michael. This was Aziraphale. A strange, little angel. Seemingly unremarkable, just another body in a line of many. Yet gifted with a flaming sword, forged from God Herself, an honour that had made the others seethe with a jealousy they dared not speak of.
Who had turned around and given that honour to these tainted humans without a second thought.
Aziraphale. Strange, intriguing Aziraphale.
Crawly wondered if he remembered the last time they crossed paths.
Aziraphale had not stopped watching these two humans, growing smaller and smaller in the endless sand. Something pricked at Crawly the longer he stared at him, something turning in the gaping void that had once contained his Grace. He shrugged it off, did not like how it felt. He turned his own gaze to the lion, lying curiously still, with a growing puddle of red underneath it.
"That lion hasn't moved."
Aziraphale did not answer him, plump lips caught between perfect white teeth. The odd feeling stirred once more, and Crawly frowned.
"Eh? That lion. It's just laying there. And there's... red all around it. You ever seen that before?" Aziraphale only hummed, twisting his hands together as Adam and Eve became distant specks in the horizon. "Your sword did something to it."
That got Aziraphale's attention. Turning to him with folded arms, expelling a sharp breath. "My sword? It's your fault those poor humans are out there in the first place! Don't blame what... whatever happened on me!"
Amusement flickered in Crawly's gut, winding up these newly forged limbs and tugging at his mouth. Odd that. His lips had curved upwards because of Aziraphale earlier, too. Stretching his skin, making him feel as if he were flying.
He could stay up here and needle Aziraphale forever. Far away from the sulphur that tore through his soul. Far away from the greedy hands that grabbed, and ripped, and sought endless pain.
That might be... nice.
He looked back at the lion, wanting to continue this game, this delight. Clinging to the airy sensation deep within his chest, when the retort died on his lips.
They weren't alone.
A formless, dark shape hovered over the too still lion. Dread seeped into his blood the longer he looked, rooting Crawly to the spot. Trying to speak, but his voice had fled. He could only pull at Aziraphale's robes, needing to know it wasn't just his troublesome mind imagining this.
"What..." and Aziraphale's voice faded too, held captive just like Crawly. Eyes wide, breaths held tight in their newborn lungs, staring at this thing that tugged at their very essence.
Wings suddenly sprung forth, unlike anything Crawly had ever seen. Darkness, darkness, like the farthest reaches of the universe, where no stars twinkled, where not a sound could be heard. Swallowing everything around the lion, piercing the air, something else there, distant lights that danced in and out of sight.
A shoulder brushed against Crawly, not sure who had moved, hypnotized as a figure emerged, enormous, blotting out the last remnants of the sun. Human shaped, with arms and legs, and draped in black robes, darker even than Crawly's. It wasn't a demon. He could not sense the sin of rebellion that marked the Fallen, the simmering fury that seared their flesh.
Not a demon. Not a human.
Then what was it?
The figure turned and Crawly nearly collapsed.
A white skull sat atop those dark robes, pearly bone that glimmered and shone even at a distance. A chill swept over them, carried by the wind and water, soaking through to Crawly's core, deep, deep, deep, where once only God had been able to reach. He could not breathe, he could not speak, lost in the fathomless void where eyes should have been.
Cold, cold, it was so cold. This thing, this entity, cutting right through Crawly, turning him over and over at will. He grabbed hold of something, warm skin, soft, soft, hardly aware he was doing it. The hand held his own just as tightly, trembling in his grip.
The figure stood there, observing them, endless wings spanning the entire horizon. It turned without a word, without acknowledgement. It did not need to, they knew they had been seen. It raised its hood, and took flight, towards where the vulnerable little humans had disappeared.
The chill did not fade and their hands did not relinquish their grasp. Something else there now, laid under his skin, against his will, marked forever, colder and darker than the hatred coiled around his heart. He glanced at Aziraphale, just as stricken, the grip on his hand almost painful.
"Was that... one of yours?" Quiet, as though the thing might hear and come back, angelic voice stripped bare of its musical lilt.
"No." A swallow, no thoughts of cockiness, of questions, of the unwelcome feelings that accompanied Aziraphale. "One of yours?"
"...N-no."
The unspoken hung between them, too horrible to poke and prod. The sky crashed and screamed, the water drenching them even beneath Aziraphale's wings.
Where the lion once lay, only the red remained, washed away by the pounding water, rivulets running down towards the high Eastern gate.
It touched the stone, and Aziraphale squeezed his hand.
St. Barthélemy, 1984
"Was it a warning... or a threat?"
Mist hung heavy over the distant horizon as the morning sun peeked up over the ocean waves. Shoulder to shoulder, their reflections in the pool rippling with the breeze. Crowley did not respond right away, allowing the vodka to sear his windpipe the entire way down. Pointless to ask, neither one knowing the answer, but the silence had become too much to bear.
"I don't know, Aziraphale."
The question tortured him. Thousands of years of crossing paths with Death and it had never done such a thing. He could still feel the colours bleeding through his fingers, the blinding light that had wrung him of every ounce of power. The air was humid and yet the chill remained, tattooed into his lungs, present with every shuddering breath.
A hand reached out and found his own, interlacing their fingers, and Crowley's eyes fluttered close. Aziraphale was here. Warm and safe and alright. Coming to in the hospital to find Aziraphale on his knees, shaking and gasping for air, not responding to Crowley, not responding to anything. Snapping them away to the villa, far from prying eyes, desperate, desperate, needing Aziraphale to come back to him.
"How... how long has it... known?"
Crowley let out a bitter laugh. "Decades? Haven't exactly been fucking careful around it, have we." All those times they had let down their guard, reassuring themselves it was only Death. Their fellow Earthly sojourner, who probably didn't even know what exactly was happening between them. Death was there to collect souls, nothing more. What did it care about a wayward angel and demon?
How long had it known? Centuries, if Crowley was truly being honest. It could not have missed all the lingering touches and longing gazes. Could not have missed saving each other's lives, bending the rules over and over, all for friendship, all for feelings that even now they could not freely admit to.
It may have always known. Never involved, never speaking more than a handful of carefully chosen words.
But, always watching.
"Why now?" He kicked the water, sent droplets spattering across Aziraphale's pale legs. "It's not like this is the first time we're bloody seeing it since the war. Fuck, it can do whatever it wants, it doesn't need a human dying to pop on in to play mind games." He pulled Aziraphale's hand closer, panic bubbling up, impossible to push back down. "It never cared before. What, did it change its mind all of a sudden?"
But, that wasn't entirely true. It did care, on some twisted level. Enough to lie to Hell on Crowley's behalf, to save them both from certain destruction. He still hadn't figured out how or why, couldn't shake the feeling that such help carried a dire price.
But, it had saved them. Crowley did not understand Death, not even after near 6000 years, but it did not seem an entity that changed its mind so easily.
"I'm not sure, darling." He could hear it in Aziraphale's voice, the same horrifying pieces sliding into place. All he could do not to sink into his lap, to allow Aziraphale to tuck him away in his wings, just for a few fleeting moments. "If it has known since... well, the beginning, for it to interfere now..."
A pause, tense and taut, an elastic pulled beyond its limits, and Crowley willed with all his might for Aziraphale not to continue.
"Then... it's only a matter of time before... before we are found out."
It landed with a thud between them. Crowley staring hard at their reflections, throat constricted, burning and aching as Aziraphale at last spoke the unspeakable to life. He had always known this could not last. Happiness was not what demons deserved, and She would see to snuffing it out.
It did not stop the hysteria that threatened to overcome him. They played with fire every day, every second the last forty years. So many close calls already, only survived by the skin of their teeth. It was only inevitable that their luck would eventually run out.
Had he really thought this could go on forever? A happy ending, a long ride into the sunset, he and Aziraphale safe and free?
Perhaps Aziraphale would leave again, take flight to his sterile home in the clouds. No amount of cold-hearted assignments to Belgium were worth trading his life for Crowley.
And Crowley couldn't blame him.
Water lapped around their toes, the only sound in the grim silence. Flecks of gold caught the sunrise, winking and tempting Crowley to look over at Aziraphale, wind rustling through the tousled curls. Aziraphale caught his eye and Crowley forced himself not to look away, to drink in the rosy cheeks, the clever eyes full of sorrow and fear.
He was selfish. He didn't want to lose Aziraphale. Not again.
"Could be here any minute." Voice low, barely a whisper, swept up in the morning breeze. Mind saturated in paranoia, the smallest sound sending his heart into a frenzy. A soft hand to his cheek, thumb tracing the freckles dusted across his skin, and Crowley could not help but lean into the touch.
"I know."
"Should get out of here while you still have the chance." Heart twisting at the mere thought, of watching Aziraphale walk away from him one more time. Aziraphale's gaze hardened, steel shining in those eyes and Crowley's stomach flipped despite himself, faint sparks of hope when he deserved none.
"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley."
No chance to respond, Aziraphale crashing their lips together, a desperate ferocity. The noble thing, the right thing, would be to pull away, a kiss good-bye, to send Aziraphale into the stars out of harm's way.
He was not noble, he was not strong. Any moment and they could be ripped from each other's arms, each second more precious than the last. Hands roaming everywhere, bunched up in each other's clothes; desperate and broken and unwilling to let go. Aziraphale pulled him closer, and closer still, fingers fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, and Crowley realized just what he was doing.
"Wait-wait!" Panting, desire and arousal singing in his blood, rushing to his head. He was not noble, but Crowley could not bear this one thing, would sacrifice himself over and over to prevent it occurring. "Angel-Aziraphale! We- you'll-" Aziraphale looking at him, pupils blown wide, all he could do not to continue.
"You'll Fall."
Choked words, jagged edges of grief and longing. Crowley could never bear it, never, to Damn Aziraphale, who was good and pure and deserved nothing but serenity.
A peculiar look flitted across Aziraphale's face. One that darkened his eyes, made his brows furrow, before his hands cradled his cheeks, nose tips touching.
"I won't, darling." Crowley tried to protest, but Aziraphale hushed him. "Crowley... if I was to... to Fall because of you, it would have happened a long time ago."
He couldn't understand. Aziraphale calm and staring at him with unmasked longing, as if Crowley would not corrupt him, as if crossing that line was akin to their very first kiss, softness and innocence. Too much to bear, it was all too much, with Death and all the rest of them hovering over their little paradise. He tried to pull away but Aziraphale held on, wide eyes begging him to listen.
"No, no, it's different." He meant to sound strong and firm, but his voice cracked, and his hands shook, and his glasses were far, far away. "You said as much yourself in fucking Monaco the-the last time we almost, y'know..."
A low sigh of understanding fanned across his face, a soft kiss that covered his skin. Shame there, a look of utmost guilt, and Crowley was close to careening over the edge. "That wasn't because I thought I would Fall, Crowley."
"But-"
"It was misplaced loyalty." An edge to his voice, sharp enough to cut through diamonds, and Crowley felt his entire being still. "I have been so foolish for such a long time. I very much thought I could, what is that human expression? 'Have my cake and eat it too'." A humourless laugh, foreheads bumped together. "As if those... angels would ever look past my being with you so long as we were not intimate. So foolish..."
Something light cracking through the darkness, through the endless sensation of drowning. It couldn't be something so simple, that old song of Heaven's ever watchful eye. The last chains falling away, Aziraphale his now, his for the taking. Heart pounding in his throat, hands grasping at the aged overcoat.
"Are you sure?" So many steps, so many careful moments, and now at the final hurdle, Crowley froze. Certain that this could not be real, certain still that at last getting what he had long desired would destroy Aziraphale. "I couldn't- I don't want-"
"Crowley," hands moved to his hair, gripping, almost painful, his voice hoarse. "If Death was truly warning us, and our time is limited, I don't want to wait any longer." Aziraphale's cheeks were flushed, heat radiating off his skin, Crowley's ears ringing. "We're in this together... right?"
It was all Crowley needed.
He could not remember standing. Could not remember how they got to the bedroom. Only that they were kissing and kissing, that clothes were littering the floor, that he was shaking, and perhaps Aziraphale was too. Needing to quell the aching melancholy deep inside; needing to touch, to taste, to claim.
He had seen Aziraphale undressed before, but never like this. The fine white hair that covered his body, the wonderful plumpness that beckoned his bony fingers to explore. Gold there too now, scattered across his chest and down his calves, and Crowley could only stare in absolute awe.
"Angel," he spoke with reverence, a divine hush. His feather rested there, the gold gathered around it, a heavenly guardian. Aziraphale drank him just as greedily, just as unrelenting, hands following the former stars down his torso.
Nothing would ever compare. Nothing in Hell or Heaven or anything between. Lips covering every inch of skin. Bodies arching in pleasure. Names spilled out like endless prayers. He had never felt more human, never felt more like himself. The strange boundary between earthly pleasures and what they truly were, slotted into place, missing pieces found at last. Both just as demanding, tugging at their ethereal essences, darkness and light entwined in harmony, as if meant to be all along.
He could feel Aziraphale. Raw, there for nobody but himself. Crowley knew that he was forever changed. It stung, it burned, this unbesmirched holiness, and he was alive. Pushing further, deeper, soaking in all that Grace. Aziraphale, here he was, here he truly was. No language could ever capture the beauty, the sublime, a thousand newborn stars that sent fire over his Form. Too much to look at head-on and he kept his Eyes turned away. Pain laced Aziraphale's face as well, submerged entirely in Crowley's sin, tight hands that told Crowley to think twice about pulling back.
This might be their only chance. He could turn his head and Ligur would be there, a handful of Hellfire lighting his eyes. Michael close behind, ready to rip them both asunder.
If this was it, so be it then.
Crowley would make every last second count.
Twilight descended as they at last collapsed beside each other, drenched in sweat, heaving breaths and tingling limbs. The bitter chill of Death long extinguished, euphoria humming in his blood and heart, salty tear tracks tickling his lips. Aziraphale draped himself over his chest, not bothering to wipe his own cheeks, dropping sweet kisses along his collarbone.
Crowley pulled him close, trembling and exhausted, but still reaching out, to make sure the pristine Love still remained. A lingering kiss to those curls, unspoken poems but Aziraphale could hear it all the same. Their wings had burst free somewhere along the way, Aziraphale's hands lazily tracing shapes in the black feathers.
They were still alone. No sound but the tinkling wind chimes and the distant music from the beaches below.
Alone.
For now.
"How long do you think we have?" Unvarnished honesty, no hidden words and careful dances. No place for them any longer. They were each other's now. Wholly. Completely.
There was no answer. Only wings that wrapped around the other, sealing their fate.
Britain, 1991
"What possessed you to stick that here, anyway?"
The heavy scent of cologne and tequila clung to their skin, slick with sweat, as pale green stars above bathed them in gentle neon light. Crowley curled against Aziraphale's broad chest, fingers idly stroking his feather, in perfect rhythm with the fingers wound around his scraggly curls.
A hum from deep within that chest, coaxing Crowley to press closer still. Enough alcohol that it all felt alright, the endless spinning halted for a few sacred moments. A question fastidiously avoided for so many years, never spoken, never acknowledged.
It could go unspoken for centuries more. But, today was ripe for truths to be revealed, for light to chase out the remaining shadows that hung just out of their reach. A celebratory occasion, the moment everything changed.
The hand in his hair paused, moved to curl around his neck, warmth trickling down his spine. "Well, originally, it was to keep it out of sight of Gabriel. He came too soon after you had left for me to hide it away."
Crowley waited, fingers running through the edges of the sleek black feather, still as soft as it had been so many years ago. A hand soon joined his, fingertips kissing as they traced its outline, the steady march of Aziraphale's heart a soothing lullaby.
"You were there." Nearly a whisper, a gentle hush in the darkened room. "You never even hesitated. Even after that horrid affair in St. James Park... you were still there." Scarcely breathing, scarcely moving, save for the rise and fall of Aziraphale's chest. "I had missed you terribly, Crowley. It was never more apparent than when you had to leave." The arm around him tightened, fingers clenching his hair. Crowley pressed closer, a reassurance.
"And I... I didn't quite have it in me anymore to pretend I didn't want you as close as could be."
Crowley looked up at that. He knew, of course, on some level. Why they were in this room at all, half drunk with cinnamon on their lips, with rose petals under their limbs.
But, never truly confirmed, never truly allowed to breathe; for the truth to unfold its wings and take flight. Aziraphale gazing at him, an expression of utmost fondness that still made the echoes of rage ring in his ears.
He brushed it aside, easier as each year yawned into the next. A ghost of a smirk, even as he caressed his cheek, swept down the soft jaw. "Is that why you were so insistent on today being the day? I would have thought '59..."
A chuckle rumbled throughout his chest, Crowley tucking his face away to hide his errant smile. "I suppose we could have, but would you really have wanted to wait another 18 years?"
"You were the one who came up with this whole thing, let's get that bloody straight. I don't do anniversaries." But, his smile was impossible to hide now, etched against Aziraphale's body.
Fifty years. Fifty years of the impossible. So easily things could have gone on as usual, another missed moment buried with all the others. He would not have ever believed this is where he would end up, with Aziraphale's lips pressed into his hair, free to touch whenever he desired. He covered the feather with his hand, bestowed a lingering kiss on his mouth.
They had not stopped looking over their shoulders for fifty years. Could not relax for even a second, every day drawing Death's warning closer and closer to fruition. But, it hardly seemed a price to pay when this was the life Crowley got to lead.
"Are you saying," Aziraphale lips mumbled against his own, little sparks shooting down Crowley's groin, "that you don't consider this day to be when we became beaus?"
It was said in jest, yet Crowley frowned. Staring down at Aziraphale, eyes raking over the curls plastered to his forehead, the slightly crooked nose. He could let it go, continue with their little to and fro. They deserved a break, a sliver of peace.
But, Aziraphale deserved to know. Had already cracked open his shell long ago, laid bare the raw and pitiful parts of himself that no one else had seen. Who had given up Heaven, knowingly risked extinction.
All for Crowley.
He was out of his bedroom without a word, trailing passed the television turned to face the wall, remnants of the time Ligur had nearly caught them watching Golden Girls. The Mona Lisa swinging open, revealing a nondescript keypad, not lost on Crowley that the combination was the very day they were marking. A door slid away, revealing a room unlike any other, Aziraphale unable to contain the small gasp of surprise.
"Crowley..." He stood there, turning every which way, naked body glistening in the pale light. Rows and rows of books and ancient scrolls, clothes that should be tattered and faded behind glass cases as though they were new. A desk there, wooden and timeless, an old projector with a roll simply titled Belgium 1915.
Crowley said nothing as Aziraphale drank it all in, heart beating so painfully he nearly miracled it away. Never had he intended to bring Aziraphale here, not even in his most far-fetched fantasies. No room to hide, no room for smirks and arrogance. He could only watch as it all fell into place, Aziraphale's eyes widening as he looked at the ancient film.
"This is..." Trembling fingers reaching out, but faltering before he could touch it. "Why do you... where did you..."
"Nicked it. About fifty years ago. Give or take a day."
Understanding dawning on that beautiful face, eyes flicking between Crowley and the film. He knew what he wanted to ask, the burning questions gathering behind his lips. How could he begin to explain, the papers upon papers stacked in his desk, all about Ypres, his eternal millstone. A film watched over and over, statistics carved into his mind. The humans said never to forget. Never again.
"Am I...?"
He could not answer. Not when his throat had nearly closed and his eyes burned. No clothes to fiddle with, not even a drink to hide his quivering hands. He had scanned every second for any signs of Aziraphale, had found him on the first viewing, a fleeting glimpse in a pile of corpses.
Aziraphale paled, turned away, busied himself with uncovering more of Crowley's heart. Every postcard he had sent while away on assignment, the pictures that Crowley had strong-armed him into taking together. The white feather atop a silk cushion, the crowning jewel of all his memories. Cracked items from ages long since passed, where there had been no them, only fraternizing, and moments filled with regrets.
"Crowley." Whispering now, and it still rang much too loud. "This is..." A long pause, staring at Crowley, unable to find the right words, and Crowley still could not look at him. He could spin a lie, a half-truth just as he always did. Shove it down to the soles of his feet, stomp it underfoot and keep Aziraphale from getting too close.
He couldn't. Not today. Not after everything.
"You know what I have to do to keep them off my back." He ran his fingers along a sonnet Aziraphale had written him, in gratitude for Hamlet. "Don't think I haven't seen how much bloody pain you're in when I come back all fucked up thanks to them," spitting at the mere mention of Below, "and we sleep together."
Aziraphale's swallow was visible, even as his eyes hardened, ready to deflect any of Crowley's concerns, just as he always did. Mercifully he waited, waited as Crowley slowly moved towards him, hands trailing over thousands and thousands of years.
"There's this thing. Pool of Sacrilege. Stupid name; Satan isn't as creative as he thinks he is." He could feel the infernal instincts twitch at the mention, scream in agony as the touch of Aziraphale's feather drowned them out. "It's where we all crawled out of when She threw us out. Had to take another little swim to get back up here. Never really gone away since."
He had never spoken of his time in Hell. Too much, even now, memories fresh and barbed despite the march of time. Aziraphale coming closer now too, inch by inch, gaze heavy and wonderful even as his skin pricked with shame.
"All this being here. It helps. Can come here, feel normal again."
Aziraphale beside him now, and Crowley could no longer keep his gaze away. Traitorous eyes wet, blurred at the edges, and Aziraphale's eyes shone, too. "I know you feel it. You deep-diving into this," gesturing at his heart, where the sin thrummed away, "even though I know it hurts, you stubborn arse."
His voice cracked, did not bother pretending it didn't. "I don't want to hurt you."
"As if your pain is any easier for me to witness." But, his voice was soft, and his touch was gentle, resting atop Crowley's heart. "I am not the only one 'deep-diving' into the metaphysical body, Crowley." A sad little smile, the kind that tore Crowley right in two.
He hesitated, before his hands moved towards his back. Crowley sucked in a breath, Aziraphale delicately ghosting over the long scar down his spine. Panic rushed to the surface, eager to jerk away, but something kept him locked in place. Perhaps now was the time, here in this corner of the Earth just for Crowley, naked as the day God breathed him to life.
"Is this from that Pool of Sacrilege?" Pain laced every word, oh it cut Crowley into pieces, to hear such grief on his behalf. "Did they do this to you?"
He should have realized Aziraphale had seen it, what he had tried to keep hidden for so long. As if he could not feel the wretched edges each time they fell into bed, each time he sought out the long destroyed constellations in his freckles.
He ought to flee. To push Aziraphale right back into his bookshop. But, he could only shut his eyes, grit his teeth as the truth at last was set free.
"No. Wasn't them."
Deafening in the room, even as they were frozen in place, scarcely breathing. He himself wasn't quite sure, only had half-formed hunches that were too horrifying to think on too long. He settled on what he knew for certain, bracing himself for the inevitable.
"I promised you it wouldn't happen again. And it... it did, didn't it." He let out a harsh laugh, balled his hands into fists. "Well, actions have consequences..."
"What did you promise?" He somehow could picture Aziraphale's face perfectly, dripping with concern, wide eyes and parted lips. "Darling, who did this to you?"
"I don't know, Aziraphale!" He turned, and it was just as he imagined, eyes that implored to take on Crowley's burden. "Alright, I don't know. But, I know I swore to you I'd never let you die again, that Ypres would never happen again, and I failed. I fucking failed." His eyes stung and his lips wobbled, but he refused to give in. "That bomb fell and I couldn't save you, and it's been there ever since and-and rightfully so."
"Oh, Crowley."He had never sounded so heartbroken. Crowley clenched his teeth, drew further into himself. Exposed, exposed, as Aziraphale reached out to comfort him, and Crowley flinched. "I would have never wanted something like this. You do not deserve to suffer, Crowley, don't you realize that? If I had known you were... making an honest-to-goodness vow I-I never would have-"
"Don't. Don't you even start." Hands grasping his shoulders, shaking him slightly. No, no, he would not let Aziraphale make him take it back, to undo the one promise he intended to keep until he was crushed out of existence. "I should have been there, Ypres was my fault!"
Suffer, he deserved to suffer, no matter what lies Aziraphale told himself. "I won't take it back, angel, so don't you even think about asking. I don't regret it, and I'd do it again, scar or not."
There were tears trickling down Aziraphale's cheeks, staring up at Crowley in utter disbelief. He almost would have preferred anger, to the righteous fury that rested underneath that beatific smile. The sorrow, the helplessness cut far deeper, and Crowley could not bear to look any longer.
"I meant it. I meant every word." Turning away, holding the feather close to his chest. Faint vestiges of holiness warming his flesh. "Deserve that scar. Means I won't fail again."
For a long while, neither moved. Silence, not even the sound of a ticking clock, or cars passing by. He could feel the warm breath on his back, the hairs on his neck standing at attention. There he was, stripped of all his armour, more than he ever had been before. What he deserved, after Ypres, after seeing Aziraphale's too still body tossed aside as if he was nothing.
But then, a hand on his back, and then another, pressed where his wings lay hidden out of sight. Crowley shivered, breath caught in his throat. Lips touched the top of his spine, and Crowley went very still.
A kiss. Another. Trailing down, slow and deliberate. Every inch of scarred flesh accounted for, lingering and lingering until it tingled.
"I forgive you."
Time slowed. Stopped. Shattered.
No. No. No.
The room spun, his heart dropping to the floor. No, no, no! This could not be happening, not something so dangerous. Didn't Aziraphale realize what he was doing? After everything he had said, after every pain-filled night spent together. Aziraphale had touched evil, insisted on feeling what Crowley truly was after every wretched assignment, even as Crowley begged him to wait, just wait, until he could soak in his presence for a few precious minutes, temper the vestiges of all that hatred.
You're nothing like them, Crowley. Nothing. You would never hurt me. Not even at your worst.
Forgiveness.
Any moment and the instincts would charge to the forefront, urge him to do what he was meant to.
Forgiveness.
The one thing he would never obtain, that kept Grace from ever filling him again. And Aziraphale dared to say that to him? As if he was not a demon, born from Hell, who took pleasure in misery, drew power from destruction?
Muscles rigid, ready to fight, to clamp down on all the infernal things that whispered in his ear. He might have to whisk Aziraphale away, forgiveness, this word, bestowed so freely on him. Hell would not let it go unpunished. Screwing his eyes shut, blood bursting from where his nails dug in.
Forgiveness. He couldn't. Not him. Too far, even for them, even with all the lines they had crossed.
He waited. Ready to destroy himself rather than let those instincts win. If his heart urged him to harm Aziraphale he would rip it out. If Satan himself rose up for daring to accept, he would drown them both in Holy Water, one last stand so Aziraphale could be safe.
But, the hatred didn't come.
The voices were faint. Powerless. No more enticing than usual.
He let out a shuddering breath, close to a sob, and covered his face. The feather was warm, so splendidly warm against his cheek, every limb trembling. The hands on his back were shaking too, hot tears splashing down with every loving kiss.
He was a demon. Unforgivable. Or so he had been told. He should wrench away, should not let this facade continue any longer.
"I forgive you, Crowley."
Crowley did the unthinkable.
He bowed his head, shut his eyes.
And he did not pull away.
Britain, 1999
"Another thousand years gone. Where'd the bloody time go?"
The streets pulsed below them, a swirling mass of pure energy that rippled throughout the city, beckoned them to join. High above the London skyline, old Big Ben winking in the distance, their breaths mingling in the cold winter air.
"It did seem to go rather fast, didn't it?"
Aziraphale pressed up against him, hands intertwined under the tartan quilt with threads of vibrant red. Crowley remembered the last millennium he had witnessed, one wretched century rolling into another. He had been alone then, squirrelled away in some nowhere land on some forgettable assignment. He had not seen Aziraphale for over a century, the horrifying realization dawning on him as he watched the sun rise on the five thousandth year that the forbidden feeling was never going to go away.
And that he never wanted it to.
He flicked his cigarette butt into the air, turned it into colourful sparks that rained down from the sky around Aziraphale. He had been tense lately, smiles that didn't light his eyes. Too sullen to even indulge in his favourite sweets. Aziraphale caught a spark on his finger, gazed at it a little too long, face lined in melancholy.
"Have you heard what they've been saying? About... about what will happen tonight."
Voice distant, still not looking at Crowley, eyes fixated on the steadfast clock tower. He didn't understand at first, Aziraphale irritatingly vague as he always was in moments like this, before it all clicked into place. He couldn't contain the scoff that escaped. This was what had been weighing on Aziraphale so heavily?
"What? That the world is going to end? How many times have the humans said that by now. Come on, you don't really believe them, do you?"
But, Aziraphale did not laugh with him. Did not huff in indignation, or throw that deadly pout that always landed its mark. He continued to stare out at the horizon, and Crowley realized his free hand was clutching the tartan thermos close to his chest.
"Angel."
"They could be right. The world will end eventually. You and I both know that." The thermos cradled against his chest rising and falling rapidly, the heartbeat in his ears shrill, much too shrill, panic ringing out in every note. Instinctual now, hardly even aware, of his own essence seeking out Aziraphale's heart down well-worn trails, willing it to calm.
But, there were smoky tendrils of dread winding through his own stomach despite his indignation. 16 years since Death had spoken to them. 16 years of bated breaths, of meticulous plans, and check ins, and daily phone calls with every assignment. He had always thought each year would get easier, that they could convince themselves that Death was merely toying with them.
Each year only brought more certainty that their end was nigh.
"Yes, but we don't know when." He pulled Aziraphale's chin towards him, smoothed the worry lines around his mouth. "Don't you think they would have blasted it over loudspeakers if that was the case? They still think we're on their side."
"But, that's exactly my point! Maybe this is what Death was truly warning us about, that it won't be them finding out about us, it'll be Armageddon forcing us into the open." Frantic, he was nearly frantic, clutching Crowley's hand with all his might. "It goes beyond us. It'll destroy everything, everything! All those wonderful little humans, and all their creations."
It wasn't working. Aziraphale's heart continued to scream in alarm, immune to Crowley's touch. Bleeding into Crowley now, his chest clenching as images of humans dying by the billions filled his mind's eye.
He tried to shake it away. Could not dwell on the end of the world, it couldn't possibly be tonight of all nights. Another trumped up example of human delusion, as if they could predict the fickle natures of Heaven and Hell. He cradled Aziraphale's face fully, forced their eyes to meet. "You honestly think I'd fight you for those pricks? Really? They want to end our world, just let them try. Even if the humans somehow are miraculously right."
"It's not just that, Crowley." He was breaking, truly breaking. Deeper than Ypres. Deeper than Heaven's betrayal. More of Crowley pouring into him now, even if it hurt, what else could he do? He was there, he always would be. He would sooner die than lay a finger on Aziraphale.
"I know what they will do to you when they win. Oh goodness, what horrible, horrible things they'll do to you. I can't witness that, I can't. I know this is what Death's warning was truly about, I can feel it in my very soul."
He wanted to say that Aziraphale was being ridiculous. Getting all worked up for nothing. But, terror was quickly filling Crowley, laughing and twisting all his fears into new light. Perhaps they had interpreted the warning wrong all this time, expecting obliteration to be their end. Perhaps it was worse, so much worse. Hell winning, and taking Aziraphale for their prize. Making him watch what they would do to him, powerless to help, on and on for all eternity...
The crowds below were shouting now, joy so palpable even Crowley could taste it. Anticipation and fear and all the dizzying emotions humans felt in their too-short lives. History in the making, mere seconds away, the six thousandth year about to dawn, and they were lucky enough to witness it.
And they could be counting down to their very elimination.
"Angel, listen-"
"I love you."
Crowley froze.
10... 9...
His mind and body separated. An instant death, floating somewhere above in his stars, flung far from reality. He must have heard wrong. That could be the only explanation. It could not be Aziraphale staring at him, desperate, desperate, his own hands cradling Crowley's face. It could not be the impossible, even in their world of miracles.
It could not be Aziraphale loved him.
...8... 7...
Slipping away, a hurricane crashing along the shore line. Ships sinking beneath the violent waves, supernovas exploding and collapsing into black holes where no light could ever been seen. Aziraphale... no. He couldn't... him, not him. A demon, beyond redemption. Evil incarnate.
Right?
...6... 5...
He was flying. He was soaring. Untouchable. Unstoppable. He had always known his own feelings, thousands and thousands of years. Growing despite the darkness, despite the adversity, despite the fact he was not meant to feel love. Even with all they had done, all they had shared, he had never dared to hope, to suspect Aziraphale might feel love for him. Love for humans. Love for a God who no longer cared for Her creations.
But, love. For him. For Crowley.
...4...
Smiling now. He should not be smiling when Aziraphale was white and trembling, grip almost painful on his hollow cheeks. But, Aziraphale loved him. Had said it with his own voice. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. He deserved to hear the same, if this was truly it. That the unthinkable had happened, all because of Aziraphale. That Crowley loved and loved him in return. With the ferocity of all the galaxies he had sculpted with his hands, all the planets and comets scattered across his universe.
...3...
He opened his mouth. No sound emerged. He tried again. Again. The feeling was there, just like it always was. But, the ever present sin churning and churning, enraged at the feeling accepted and embraced. Caught the four words in its web, stuck somewhere in his throat. One last act of triumph in six thousand years of losing the war for Crowley's soul.
He couldn't say it.
He couldn't say it.
...2...
Time nearly gone, sand through their fingers, never to return. Maybe the humans were right, and this would be it, and Aziraphale might be condemned without ever knowing. Fury at himself, at being denied this one thing, the most important of them all.
He could not let the moment slip away.
"It's always been you." Desperate himself now, pulling Aziraphale as close as could be. Chests touching, noses touching, eyes so close he could feel the flutter of his lashes. "It's always, always been you, angel."
He had to understand. Let him understand.
Let him have this, at least.
...1!
Aziraphale kissed him as the humans screamed with glee. Big Ben tolled, fireworks exploded, a cacophony of colours across the London skyline. Everywhere singing, everywhere dancing, lights and sounds and all the things humans had brought forth into their miserable little world.
On top of a roof, an angel and a demon kissed. Kissed with all the passion and anguish six millennia wrought. Kissed as their human charges celebrated, as new beginnings unfolded before their eyes. Kissed as the heavens remained shut and evil continued to lurk. Kissed because any moment could be their last as Death made its rounds already, new souls to take flight to their final destination.
Kissed with all the love they had long been denied, but had been born all the same.
Perhaps Aziraphale did understand. Perhaps he could see the truth behind those simple, silly words. He buried his face in Crowley's neck, laughing, laughing, at what he could not say. Crowley could only laugh in return. Laughing. At Hastur. At Ligur. Beelzebub. Satan.
The world would end. One day, perhaps.
He almost wished it were tonight.
They had lost. They had lost them both and they would never get them back.
Aziraphale loved him.
And Crowley. The demon Crowley. The Serpent of Eden. The damned. The one cursed for eternity.
Crowley loved him, too.
Britain, 2008
All good things must come to an end.
A baby in the backseat. His Master's sultry voice over the radio. Staring straight ahead, numb. Unable to think. To feel.
6000 years. Gone before he could catch his breath. 6000 years. He thought they had more time.
6000 years. The beginning of the end.
No more running. No more hiding.
We're in this together.
But, all good things must come to an end.
A/N: At long last, we've caught up with canon! I'm incredibly excited to dive into modern times and explore how this Crowley and Aziraphale navigate the coming Apocalypse. On another note, this story has now been upgraded to M due to the scenes in this chapter and ones going forward. Sex will continue to be non-explicit, but I think it's safe to say this story has well moved past a T rating.
I've also been working on another project for this universe that I'm very excited to share: a collection of missing scenes from this story that ended on up on the cutting room floor. Since so many years are skipped over, a lot of scenes had to be left out. So if that sounds interesting, be sure to keep your eyes peeled!
I have to once again thank you all so much for your patience. Life has been busy the last month especially, and the last thing I want to do is rush out a chapter that is mediocre at best. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and followed. There was a huge influx after last chapter, and I couldn't be more grateful. As always, a special thank you to Jafryn: Seeing your reviews always brightens my day and I absolutely love seeing all your insights into how this story is going!