One blow, two blows, three blows, a body breaking one, two, three, five, ten walls.
Weeping, whimpering, screaming and seething, Aziraphale and Crowley bled.
Each hit felt heavy, painful, and undeserving. Each strike sizzled into a new scar, invisible but all the more torturous, clinging onto their aching souls as they grabbed each other's throats, arms, legs, pushed and pulled into the raging ocean.
Parting the seas in a storm of fire and lightning, awakening old volcanoes on their trail, they bled.
Their wings felt like breaking under the pressure of their hearts, beating like they were reaching for one another, but forever missing the tempo of the other. Crowley would crush his angel onto the ground, shouting, punching his beautiful, perfect face, banging his chest, only to be blasted back into the air. Aziraphale would replicate, pushing his demon into a cliff, begging and whimpering for him.
"Please, Crowley! Stop this nonsense! I don't want to fight! Not you! Anyone but-"
Back into the ocean, his body yanked by the unforgiving waves, surrounded by Crowley's electrical outbursts, he had to protect himself, stay away from him.
They bled.
"Please," he heard him plead.
"Why should I? War is raging, angel." Spitting green goo, Crowley contemplated his angel for a second, wheezing. "Our current fighting changes nothing to the destruction happening all over the planet."
"All the more reason to stop!" His voice, cracking and reaching desperate highs, killed him. "Us two, we don't need to-"
"Don't bother," he answered, cold like ice. "We, of all people, have reason to fight. Six thousand years avoiding that. It just had to happen eventually."
His eyes, tainted with sorrow, his trembling lips and his slouching shoulders were making it so much more difficult- his heart simply wasn't ready.
He had wished to fall into his light, but Aziraphale had definitely refused his darkness. He couldn't… make him change his mind. He didn't want that. He wished for him to stay by his side, but-
oOo
"Hold this for me, please." Lucifer, in the middle of his next masterpiece, met a small angel called Aziraphale. He handed him the canvas and placed his crank handle into it, turning and turning it, crossing the eyes of this new coworker who smiled as he beamed, shining like a nebula.
A nebula! Yes!
Let there be light.
The stars exploded, filling the entire space around them, making a new expansion of the universe. "Oh, look at you. Gorgeous," he whispered to his newborn creation, feeling the little angel by his side looking at him. Internally, he chuckled. Youth.
oOo
One blow, two blows, three blows, he crashed him into a skyscraper and made him fall all thirty five floors, letting the debris bury them and the dust intoxicate them. Holding his arms in place, sitting on his stomach, his sunglasses obliterated by the fighting, he looked at him in the eyes and let out a long, uninterrupted hiss.
Aziraphale bled.
"Crowley…" He shook his head, getting louder. "Please. Listen to me." The angel bent his arms up and rested his hands on Crowley's forearms. The hissing stopped. Don't. "May I… ask something of you?"
oOo
"Lucifer, Aziraphale, I believe you know why you are here today." Lucifer kept still, Aziraphale slightly nodded. "You are here today because you have been found loving each other." He felt his little angel's hand reach for his own; just one finger, brushing against his own, afraid of committing to that crime in front of the Metatron. "As you know… love amongst us is strictly forbidden, with harsh punishment."
"Why?" Lucifer asked. The Metatron stopped in his speech, giving him a death stare. "We are beings of love, are we not? We love our creations, we love the life growing in the universe, and we love God. Why is loving each other not an option? Why is receiving love not an option?"
"The angels' love is unconditional, Lucifer. We cannot expect to receive any of it back."
"That is barely my point, is it? Love between angels doesn't need to be conditional. It needs to be unconditional, in fact. We have our missions, our retreats, our duties. But a love amongst angels is no different from the love we pour into our creations. So I ask again, Lord Metatron: why? Would you by any chance be afraid of something else?"
A slight whimper came out of Aziraphale's mouth. "How dare you make such atrocious claims, Lucifer? Do you truly wish to aggravate your case?"
"Well… I cannot see how my case could be any worse than what's already in the works for us, so I may just as well ask my questions." he smiled, gently pushing his little angel away.
oOo
"Don't you think I have done enough for you already?" Damn you, traitor voice, softening up at the angel's simple touch. "You have ruined me, angel. I don't owe you anything."
Aziraphale smiled.
Fuck.
"Could you close your eyes for me? And imagine what I will dictate?" He glared at first, but that was where Aziraphale was the true devil- he trusted him. He trusted him to close his eyes and follow his words. And Crowley trusted his angel to not make him do anything harmful.
"I hate you."
A soft chuckle. Fuck! Why did he have to be so cute?! "I promise we will have a real talk after this. I too… have things that I need to get off my chest. But first… could you close your eyes? Please?"
Growling and hissing, Crowley obeyed. "You better protect me from the rubble, angel."
"Of course I will, Crowley. And thank you." A long pause, where he could hear Aziraphale's breathing accelerating and his heart beating faster. "You can feel it too, right? Nothing has been left alive by now." He nodded. The angel gulped. "... Now imagine us at the Ritz. Having a good breakfast there. Really alcoholic. Having some 'us' time. Hearing the nightingale sing." Fuck you, angel. Crowley couldn't battle the smile that grew on his lips, as his memories and fantasies took over, picturing their table by a window, viewing Berkeley Square. He felt his eyes soften, making him regret his shades, but he kept on listening. "Imagine the life around us. It's a busy morning, loads of people in here, and in the streets and in the square." Yes, he heard the chatter and the cars honking and the birds singing. He could view the little family and their kids running in the grass, and a group of students sitting and working on their classes. He noticed the old couple on the neighbouring table and the mounted pastries on the other side of the room. The little birds and worms and critters roaming around the park were each living their stories. The grass and flowers growing back from the winter period felt vibrant and warm.
He saw it all, heard it all, smelled it all. But most of all, he saw and heard and smelled Aziraphale, his hands on his arms, his thumbs gently stroking his skin. He could feel an anguish, a trembling from his movements, as he described not only Berkeley Square, but London, England, Europe, all the continents and the oceans between, the Sun, the galaxy, the nebulas around them and the universe.
oOo
"Speaking of punishment…" He took several steps forward, glowering at the image of the Metatron. "I would like to have it revised for Aziraphale, and shoulder all the blame for myself."
A pause, as the higher angel thought. He did not seem to understand the implications or reasons for that request. He turned back to Aziraphale and looked at him- truly looked at him, feeling his light envelop him entirely, as the white haired one looked perplexed and worried, reaching a hand out. "For you see," he continued, feeling each word scald his throat, "This poor angel fell under my spell. I, and I alone, truly fell in love." Puzzlement was replaced by horror in his little angel's eyes, and he tried to complain, but he cut him immediately. "After all, I am Archangel Lucifer. I manipulated him and enchanted him, to keep him close to me." Each new word that came out of his mouth ripped a piece of his soul out. He smiled, kindly, patronisingly. "He did not ask for any of this. He deserves no punishment, only pity for falling into my web."
"Lucifer, NO-" Aziraphale's shout bombarded into the empty, white and soulless room. "I cannot let you say this! You know it isn't- It isn't…"
"Forgive me, angel." His voice, steady and unworldly, pierced through the other one's heart. "I cannot let you shoulder a blame that is not yours." Aziraphale had started crying, bowls of tears streaming from his eyes, his throat too tight to say another word, his hand in front of his quivering lips. It killed Lucifer to see him that way. But he had to continue. To protect him. To shield him. To ensure no harm would come his way. "I ask of you, Lord Metatron, that you erase Aziraphale's memories of me entirely, and give all the blame to me. He was under a spell- he does not need to remember any of… us." For a quick second, his voice betrayed his conviction. His love, his undying love for him froze into the most poisonous grief. Aziraphale shaking his head frantically, reaching out for him, running, grabbing his collar, pulling him closer, his tears wetting his shirt…
"This sure seems to be a… powerful enchantment you got him under," said the Metatron in a fawning voice. He accepted the terms, then. "He will not retain any memory of your influence in his life. As for you, Lucifer… You will fall."
He smiled. "Your feelings were a lie, angel. Please…" his hand reached his cheek and ghosted on his soft, perfect skin. "Forgive me for betraying your purity in such a way." The tears, now streaming on his hand, were the first torture of many to come, and the most painful of all. "It was my fault entirely, and you fully deserve to live in this bliss. Forgive me." His voice cracked, worse than ever, and his walls were falling. He wanted to hug him, to tell him how much he loved him, how happy he made him, how beautiful he was, how sad he was to leave them behind. How he was the world to him.
oOo
"Do you feel it? The life around us?" Crowley's left arm slowly gave way as Aziraphale manoeuvred to liberate himself. "Those coffees and pastries and meals we took?" The damage they had made to their clothes was considerable, and he now felt very naked as the angel's hand grazed his aching skin, tracing a path up from his elbow to his shoulder, with little fabric left to stop him. "The nightingales, singing? Our walks around the city? Our meeting spots, the ducks and the politics of the world playing right beside us?" Of course he felt it, like he felt his angel's hand creep up his neck, his touch almost burning up his blood underneath. "Think of it all. Will them back."
The finger passing under his earlobe almost had him moaning. "What, you want a miracle out of me?" he groaned. "You know I don't have that power."
"Let me finish, Crowley." He could barely believe how obedient he was under Aziraphale's touch, under his hand tangling itself into his red hair. "Those coffees you drank. Those conversations we heard at the Ritz. The smell of the Bentley. The feeling of her leather handle." The angel's warm, gentle smile pierced him like a spear and his wings shivered from the memories he evoked. "Now, demon… would you be wicked enough to kiss me?"
oOo
"Now… stand beside each other, if you please." He obeyed, drying his angel's tears for the last time, abandoning his touch. As he did, his siblings Michael and Gabriel came in, carrying the spear of Longinus and a big, hefty book… of records, he supposed. "First… Gabriel, Aziraphale needs to have his memories of Lucifer revoked, and Lucifer has to be sent to Hell."
The book opened and threw up every single memory of them together. "Wait-" he started, as Michael readied the spear. "He will… see me still."
"Indeed he will," answered the Metatron. "He will witness what happens to treacherous angels, as all the troops should, really." Aziraphale's eyes looked into the void, as though not entirely present, while Michael started destroying each memory. Sadness, anger, desperation took Lucifer in a chokehold.
"STOP IT! Start with me! PLEASE!"
Aziraphale's hand came in contact with his own and he froze. He wasn't near enough to bump into him by accident. "Lucifer?" he turned around and met his angel's eyes, planted directly into his own, in one last effort to fight the mighty power. "I… I will find you."
"Don't say this. Live your life. Please. Don't go looking for me."
Tears streaming again -damn little ball of emotions. "I will find you. Please… wait for me."
No. No, no, no, no!
Erasing memories had one pervert effect to them: they drilled certain ideas into the brain of the angel going through the experience. If those were his last words before losing them, he would chase for him, putting himself in danger again. He had to keep that out of his mind. "Don't do this, angel. Be happy. It's all I want. Be happy. And please, please forgive me for dragging you into this mess." The bang of the last memory being destroyed made him release his hand and he turned back to the small assembly. "This is dirty."
Michael smiled. "Well, that's what we do, isn't it? Weed out the evil and make it a lesson for the future. Now, kneel." He obeyed, staring daggers at the Metatron.
"This was not our agreement."
oOo
"Huh?" He opened his eyes and met the gaze of the angel. He looked playful and yet determinate. Teasing and yet very serious. He heard the muffled taps of more debris falling and landing on Aziraphale's white wing above his head. Protecting him from the rubble.
He felt the angel's hand in his hair, tenderly pushing him down, like an invitation to take the lead. He averted his eyes for a second, apparently searching for the right words. "Do you remember the half miracle we did together? How little power we wanted give it, and how much power it really contained? What do you think would happen if we gave it our all?" Capturing his eyes again, he smiled. A smile full of confidence, full of pure love, an adoring and appeasing smile, one that pulled him in like a moth.
"... Let's wish for that world, then," Crowley answered, his voice rough and deep, before plunging into Aziraphale's arms, devouring his lips.
oOo
"It very much was. You asked to take the fall for… your little group, didn't you?"
Gabriel strutted behind him, his enormous book still steady in his hand. "I agreed to take the blame and for A-h…" he stuttered. "... the rest to be spared and forget all about it. It felt fairly obvious that no memory of me, none at all, should remain."
"But Lucifer, our agreement was about the rest not remembering… your group." The floating head dared a smile. Patronising, honeyed and soulless. "Besides, you are one of a kind, surely you can understand why your punishment cannot be kept… private."
"He is one angel, that is hardly a public action you are conducting here." Another smile, and the Metatron addressed the room.
"You, Lucifer the Morningstar, bringer of Light, are accused of treason against Heaven. You are accused of retaining your love for Our creation to give it to those who shall not receive it. You shall therefore be stripped from the Light and join the Darkness. You shall be stripped of your heavenly powers and be doomed to an eternal life as an Unforgivable. Your Name shall be stripped from your identity, and you shall crawl in the Abyss until another shall be bestowed upon you." He heard the scribbles and tinkles of the records being set in history. He saw Michael preparing the spear and throwing it behind him, whooshing right by his ear. "You shall be the executioner."
"Well. What could my last words as an angel be? Ah, yes. Damn you all. I'll see you around, I'm sure."
oOo
The kiss was nothing less than exhilarating and liberating. Unlike the last one, pulled from frustration and fear of losing him, this one felt like peace. Aziraphale's lips were perfectly soft, just warm enough to feel like home in the bookshop. His fingers jerked briefly into his crimson hair and a chuckle came from deep into Crowley's chest.
Ritz, Bentley, Berkley Square, London, England, Europe, Earth.
Oceans, prairies, mountains, clouds, Sun, stars, galaxy, nebulas.
Human chatter, nightingales singing, waves crashing, critters chittering.
Fires being made, villages being erected, councils, governments, nations being founded, houses and buildings and skyscrapers being constructed. Humans spreading across the globe, knowing love and heartache, joy and sadness, dreams and disappointments, dawns and dusks, blue skies and starry nights.
For a moment, Crowley felt his soul erupt into something very new- and very ancient. His back trembled as his wings changed to a pearly white and his face tingled as his eyes took a golden sheen. Around them, the rubble and the debris were picking themselves up, turning back time and coming back to their original place. Aziraphale opened his eyes, and Crowley saw his awe, as he watched his demon recognise his name as Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, shining like a sun.
"Crowley, what-" He kissed him again, embracing his angel's chin with his hand. He felt another wave of light making its way around the planet, breathing life back where it was lost to the Second Coming.
"We have known each other a very long time." Another kiss pushed the demons back into their holes. "Longer than you even remember." A fourth one cast the angels to the skies. "And I do not wish to be separated from you again, angel." Looking up and recognising the intact Middlesex Street, he heard Aziraphale take a deep, ragged breath. "Look at this beauty." The angel turned his head towards the outside and chuckled. "We did it, angel."
"Please… you did it."
"Not at all. Even harnessing the powers of an archangel, I never would have been able to do this. We turned back the clock, angel, and that is entirely us." He punctuated his argument with adoring touches on Aziraphale's chin, cheeks and temples, playing into his hair with all the care in the world. His wings gradually turned back to their raven colour and the golden sheen that had adorned his serpent eyes disappeared. "It was all just a trick," he added with the dramatic tone of a famed magician. "Old memories that came back to the surface."
oOo
The spear pushed through his wings and into his body a few seconds later, and he saw Gabriel walk past him, the records firmly in his hands. No spear, which he knew was still held by someone. The weight of his fate pushed him against his little angel, holding onto his arms as he crumbled at his feet, his head sliding down his torso as Aziraphale let go of the spear. His eyes… they were still warm. Full of pity. "Good job, angel. It was lovely getting to know you, and may we meet again on a better occasion," he whispered with the last angelic breath he could draw. He felt the pain of each feather of his wings corrupting and falling, the agony of his cells rebuilding themselves entirely. His vision fogged as his eyes lost the Light, his legs, sprawled on the ground, felt excruciating torture as scales appeared all over them. But not a cry came from him. He looked at Aziraphale, gave him a weak smile, as his ears retracted and his arms rotted away. Aziraphale, the kindest soul to exist, did not retract, did not cower in disgust. He watched him, with pity, as the ground itself gave way under him and the hands of the Darkness grabbed him by the bust, dragging him into Hell.
Tormenting path, as he had no hands left to catch his tears, no functional mouth left to scream, no legs left to run to him. Only one promise remained. I will crawl out of this pit, andI will damn you all, and I will drag you all to Hell.
Hissing and growling for the next millennium, shuffling his long and fine body on the ground, his heart never ceased to ache, even as his memories of the better times were fading away, leaving place to an undying hatred of Heaven and of their Great Plans.
Crawley was the name bestowed upon him.
oOo
"You were… Lucifer. I always thought that was Satan himself." Crowley smirked. Table for two, coffee, pastries, an extreme amount of alcohol on the table, as they had intended long ago.
"Well, angel, I cannot reveal everything to my fiercest enemy now, can I?" he teased, looking above his sunglasses. Aziraphale had a chuckle, but Crowley saw his train of thoughts get abruptly interrupted and changing routes entirely.
"Speaking of… that." Oh, so he wanted to have the talk right there. The demon steadied himself in his chair, breathing his anxiety out of his system. The angel had considerably tensed up, seemingly afraid of his reaction- which, Crowley thought, couldn't be a good sign. He thought he had been frighteningly clear about his feelings the other day, and he was not convinced to be able to take another rejection. "I… I will ask you to be the listener first, Crowley." He signed his angel to keep on talking. "I am not sure I understand everything that happened. What I know however, is that I owe you an apology. A real one." He did not, in fact, owe him any apology. But Crowley kept his mouth shut. "I should have been more open to what you were saying… in my bookshop. I should have been smarter. Less… naive. You were right, all along… like always. I should not have taken the offer. I should have stayed with you." Aziraphale gulped. "I apologise. And I hope that you will be able to forgive me."
He smiled, but did not say a word. Only when Aziraphale anxiously looked at him did he understand that he was done listening. "Oh, that was quicker than I expected. Well, angel, you are entirely forgiven." He raised an eyebrow, teasing his sunshine with a smirk. "Not that a demon should be even allowed to do that. More seriously… You don't need to ask for my forgiveness. I know who you are, and why you accepted this offer; you're the purest angel around, after all. Heaven doesn't deserve you, but neither do I, and who am I to keep you from trying to better Heaven like you bettered me?"
The blush on his cheeks and his shy smile were so incredibly endearing that he could trap him in a bear hug and never let go. He felt his sweet hand touch his own, with only a couple of fingers at first. "I missed you so much, up there."
Crowley trapped his hand fully into his own, pressing against it gently. "Hey, no need to be shy now, angel. No one in Heaven or Hell could do anything to stop us now."
"... I love you." He did not expect the gut punch those three words gave him. They felt like an impossible dream, something he never thought could happen. Six thousand years in the making. He must've tensed up, breathed too loudly, because Aziraphale immediately took away his hand and looked away, fidgeting. "You… I… You don't need to reciproc-"
"Give me back your hand," he ordered, holding his own open on the table. He waited until the angel complied to continue. "I don't understand how you can still doubt how I feel about us. I have felt this way for so long that I have forgotten what it felt not to feel this way around you. We are an item, aren't we?" Aziraphale nodded and chuckled, happily, and edged just slightly closer to him.