[A/n: fixed the Muriel/Uriel thing fml]
The meeting room was a vast expanse of white stretching out in all dimensions. The key to privacy is infinitely sized rooms you see, so no one could hear the four angels gathered there:
Michael spoke up, "He certainly seems preoccupied with Gabriel's work."
The Metatron, in his usual form of a giant floating transparent head, responded, "Yes? You've been keeping up with him as I instructed?"
"Indeed. We inquired about the demon Crowley, but it seems as though he'd prefer not to discuss the matter much," Michael replied.
Saraqael chimed in, "Well, as long as they're apart, that suits our business far better!"
The Metatron let out a laugh, "Good, good, it seems that there will be no interference this time then. So what was the time frame we agreed upon?"
Uriel replied, "Well, we agreed we'd modify that Austrian man's prediction, you remember him? The musician?"
"Oh yes, said his work was the 'outpouring of Christ's spirit,' hard to forget that!" The Metatron chuckled. "Doesn't matter now, we just need a deadline."
Uriel continued, "Yes, he'd said two-thousand years after Christ's crucifixion, it's nice, it's neat, punctual."
Michael added, "I mean, we could always expedite it, nothing wrong with one-thousand-nine-hundred-and-ninety-five years instead."
Uriel seemed a bit hesitant, "Yes, five years seems good!" Although it was clear the archangel would have preferred a round number.
The Metatron enthusiastically planned, "Maybe we can make use of Aziraphale's talents after all, he's got to know how to get the humans attention? We could start the old-fashioned way, send the really religious humans some dreams, get some basic miracles on the go-"
"Oh yeah, save some children, stop a flood! Classic!" Michael eagerly joined in.
"-then once that's on 'The News', we'll find a way to let them know that Jesus is due to arrive in 2028, that the righteous will be saved and the damned... you know, poof!" Metatron concluded with an enigmatic air.
The angels exchanged approving nods and smiles, their celestial plans falling into place. The vast expanse of the meeting room seemed to resonate with their intentions.
Muriel had delivered news of Crowley's whereabouts swiftly, but even after he had Crowley's location, Aziraphale found it increasingly difficult to ignore the constant ache in his heart. The void left by Crowley's absence was gnawing at him.
Silly me, to think that that would be enough. He longed to see the demon again, to hear his voice and feel his presence, but he knew that leaving Heaven was not an option.
Angels as a rule, have no need for sleep or rest. As celestial beings they need not for earthly comforts such as beds, so generally one would be hard pressed to find an angel in Heaven with a bedroom – luckily being an Archangel came with perks.
Aziraphale had requested private quarters away from the humdrum of Heaven's corporate office space. His room was stark and grey, hazy bright light fell through a panel of frosted glass, and furniture was minimal. He'd styled himself a chair similar to Chippendale he'd had in the shop, except try as he might Aziraphale could not get the thing to appear in any other colour bar white or cream. The bed he'd summoned was a similar affair, grey, and not a patch what you could buy on Earth – the mattress was hard, and it didn't seem to matter how many down pillows he conjured, they were all lumpy.
Suffice to say, when Aziraphale laid down to sleep, he was restless, and it was as he lay in his celestial bed, that an idea struck.
"Surely, I'm wasting my time missing you and not trying to do anything about it," the Angel grumbled to himself.
With a deep breath, Aziraphale closed his eyes and focused his energy. He reached out across realms, seeking the connection that he and Crowley had forged over millennia of companionship and shared experiences. It was a delicate thread that bound them together, and Aziraphale hoped to use it to bridge the gap between Heaven and Earth.
Finding Crowley was easier now he knew where to look, but alas it was night in this hemisphere and the demon had succumbed to an alcohol induced sleep. While the vision of the demon was foggy, in the light of a desk lamp Crowley had left on Aziraphale could make out his figure on the sofa; red hair falling softly across his face, and eyelids with dreams written across them, fluttering, like ripples over a troubled pond. Aziraphale was sure Crowley looked practically angelic.
Seeing him there struck Aziraphale with an idea. Maybe that could work…
As he channelled his powers, Aziraphale tried his best to send messages to Crowley through his dreams. The messages were simple and vague, just glimpses of memories they had shared or images of places they had been together. Some were visions of the bookshop, their smiling faces over a bottle of wine, and sometimes the angel just gazed at Crowley laying there in his sleep.
This seemed to go on for some time. It was, after all, Aziraphale's only respite from a monotonous job. But, it was on the third night or the fourth night of watching him asleep on the sofa, amidst a sea of bottles, that the Angel bore witness to something new.
There was a lack of control to the visions he was sending Crowley. Maybe he's had more than usual to drink? Although it seemed unlikely as his alcohol tolerance was extremely high.
Even still, Aziraphale felt his grasp over the content of the visions begin to slip away; they seemed to be heavily influenced by Crowley's state of mind. As the night passed, the dreams Aziraphale witnessed became more vivid and intimate. It wasn't long before he realised that his demon companion's loneliness were causing the visions to take a passionate turn.
Often Aziraphale just stayed nearby watching Crowley's dreams play out, feeling the emotion and desire within them, watching as Crowley dreamt of them both together. But he couldn't resist the allure, the way the dreams painted a vivid picture of the possibilities of what could have been. Sometimes, when he knew Crowley was lost in slumber, the angel would venture into the ethereal realm, a place where dreams and desires intertwined, and allowed himself to be drawn into Crowley's dreamscape.
In this realm, Aziraphale could experience the dreams as if he were right there with Crowley. He could feel the warmth of the demon's skin against his own, the electric tingle of their fingers intertwined. He would immerse himself in the sensations, revelling in the intimacy they shared in the dreams, unbound by the constraints of their celestial or corporeal nature.
As Crowley dreamt of them together, Aziraphale would let himself get lost in the fantasy. They would walk hand in hand through ethereal landscapes, bask in the glow of a celestial sunset, and share tender kisses under a starlit sky. He would feel the weight of Crowley's love and longing, and it stirred something deep within.
In these dreams, Aziraphale allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let go of the responsibilities that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He surrendered to the emotions that coursed through him, embracing the love and desire he felt for Crowley without reservation. And sometimes, when the dreams turned more passionate, Aziraphale would blush and look away, a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration flooding his being. The torrid sight of limbs and wings intertwined, and the sound of warring sighs and moans were wanton at best and lustful at worst. He knew these were forbidden desires, ones that should not be entertained by an angel. But in the realm of dreams, he could be both angel and mortal, both bound by Heaven's rules and free from their constraints.
As much as he indulged in the dreams, Aziraphale understood the importance of boundaries. He never manipulated the dreams to suit his own desires. He respected the sanctity of Crowley's mind and only allowed himself to witness what was willingly shared.
At first, Aziraphale was taken aback by the intensity of Crowley's emotions. Lust was one of the original sins, after all, and it was something he had always considered to be forbidden. In the waking world, Aziraphale would sometimes find himself daydreaming about the things Crowley imagined for them, the memories they awakened, and the possibilities they hinted at. He would catch himself laying with a wistful smile, but he couldn't deny the mesmerising effect of the visions.
He wrestled with his own feelings, torn between his duty in Heaven and his longing for Crowley. The visions became a guilty pleasure, a secret indulgence that he couldn't resist. Aziraphale found himself drawn into the fantasies, the imagined moments of intimacy with Crowley, and he felt a mix of shame and exhilaration.
But as the nights went on, he also sensed the loneliness and pain that lingered beneath the surface of Crowley's desires. It made him ache for the demon, to reach out and comfort him, to tell him that he wasn't alone. And so, Aziraphale continued to send his cryptic messages, hoping that they would offer some comfort to Crowley, that they would remind him that he was not forgotten.
As the he lay in his bed, the weight of his emotions bore down on him. He wished, more than anything, that he could hold Crowley again, that they could share a moment of closeness without the weight of Heaven and Hell between them. But for now, all he could do was send his messages into the ethereal realm and hope that somehow, they would reach the heart of the demon he loved.
...
Aziraphale found himself physically fixed in Heaven, but his mind was still filled with the memories of his time inside Crowley's dreams. He felt a mixture of guilt and fascination, for the dreams had stirred desires within him that he had long denied, the thoughts took him far from his paperwork and into a world where pleasurable touch, and longing, and passion were abound. But he couldn't afford to dwell on such things. He was an angel, and angels did not indulge in such carnal wants.
Determined to distract himself, Aziraphale threw himself deeper into his new responsibilities as an archangel. He'd had little opportunity to speak with the other senior angels, it seemed odd to him that they would give him such a prestigious job and then decline to seek out his advice.
Nevertheless, I shall soldier on with it! And so he did, gradually, his pile of paperwork seemed to become less of a mountain and more of a hillock. It was after he'd checked his three-million-and-eighty-eighth form that he decided to take a walk. There was a glorious fountain on one of the mezzanine levels that was often fun to sit and read by for a while.
Normally the fountain was a peaceful location, disturbed only by the splashing of water and the chattering of distant groups of angels conversing, but as Aziraphale sat on its white wall, trying to immerse himself in a plain covered copy of 'Modern Coin Magic', he overheard a group of angels. One of them seemed to be almost indignant and was being shushed by another.
"No that's blaspheme, Iquiriel! You can't be heard saying things like that!" one short angel whispered indignantly to their friend, who must have been Iquiriel.
"Well when was the last time anyone saw her? You can't tell me you've seen her in thousands of years." Iquiriel's whispered retort seemed to carry over clearly to the fountain. Aziraphale tried to bury his nose in his book.
"Yes," hissed the short one, "but that does not mean that she's missing."
Missing? Surely not, no one in Heaven went missing.
"Well you've heard the same things I have! A rogue presence, the lack of guidance, we've never been more divided from Hell-" Iquiriel was cut off by their friend.
"Would you please shh! We are Heaven, we're meant to be divided!"
"Yes I know, but you understand, I mean politically. I wouldn't be surprised – if she's gone missing, what if they did the same to Hell? They could easily do it right? Someone powerful enough could remove celestial beings."
"Iquiriel! That is enough. This is baseless! You must stop, please!" The short angel's indignation had risen beyond the volume of a whisper, and had now attracted several peeved looks from angels nearby.
Aziraphale's interest was piqued, Who could 'she' be? And what are they mean by 'a rogue presence'?
He hesitated, torn between the urge to interrupt and the fear of being recognised. Speaking now would surely cause them to halt their conversation and conceal their true intentions. So, he remained quiet, his heart pounding in his chest as he strained to catch every word. He turned, eager to hear more of their conversation, but when he looked up the two had hurried off.
Aziraphale furrowed his brow, troubled by the revelation. "This is serious. I must find out more."
If Iquiriel's claims were baseless, at least it was a distraction from Crowley. The demon's dark allure and forbidden desires still lingered in his thoughts, his dreamlike touch still danced on Aziraphale's skin. But he quickly pushed those thoughts aside, berating himself for indulging in such fantasies. Angels did not entertain such base desires. And yet, as much as he tried to repress them, the thoughts persisted, "Crowley," he whispered to himself, "why did it have to be this way?"
Hastening from the fountain, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel pulled between his duty as an angel and the desires that stirred within him. He longed to see Crowley again, to feel his touch, to hear his voice. But he knew he couldn't act on those impulses. Heaven's secrets were at stake, and he had a responsibility to uncover the truth.
As the days passed and the dreams of Crowley continued to haunt him, Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their connection than he had ever allowed himself to believe. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were meant to be together, that their destinies were intertwined in ways he couldn't fully comprehend. And so, as he navigated the complexities of Heaven's bureaucracy and the allure of Crowley's dreams, Aziraphale found himself torn between his Heavenly toil and the forbidden longing that tugged at his heart.
At least now he had a new goal, to find and speak to the angel Iquiriel - little did he know that the path he was on would lead him to a revelation that would change everything.
While away from London, Crowley had spent his time brooding over being cast aside by Aziraphale. He'd summoned up a radio to play the classics back to back, and done all but drown himself in alcohol. He'd made his home on the sofa, a dark, dusty, threadbare old thing, and surrounded himself in his emptied cans and bottles, interspersed only by ash or cigarette butts he'd casually flicked aside. Every day Crowley seemed to wake up with his throat dry and breath sour. He couldn't count the number of times the radio had played 'Behind Blue Eyes', or 'Comfortably Numb', but no matter, it was fitting.
Despite the weeks having rolled into months, the pain of their separation was still fresh, but recently something in the air had shifted. Crowley could feel an unsettling presence in his flat. He knew – or rather suspected – it was Aziraphale, trying to reach out to him from across the cosmos.
"How dare he," Crowley muttered, his anger flaring up once again. Aziraphale had made his choice, and now he was intruding into Crowley's space – as if he could just waltz back into his life!
But as much as Crowley wanted to push Aziraphale away, he couldn't deny the strange thrill that coursed through him. There was something intoxicating about having Aziraphale in his mind, in his body. It was as if he could feel the angel's touch, his presence, his essence. It was maddening and exhilarating all at once.
And then, there were the dreams—those relentless vivid, intimate dreams. Dreams of them together, touching, skin on skin. Crowley couldn't deny that he was drawn to the illicit urges of his imagination, it was a battle of restraint and indulgence not to sink down into those thoughts for hours. There was something tantalising in the knowledge that he could show Aziraphale what exactly he'd given up on. Usually on his own, his thoughts weren't nearly as vivid, maybe it was Aziraphale's presence that made him want the angel so badly, that made him think the feeling of their bodies pressing together, skin on skin, mouth on mouth, stomach to stomach, hip to hip–
"Fuck!" He paced back and forth in his living room, kicking over empty cans and litter, trying to shake off the sensation of Aziraphale's presence. "Damn it, angel," he muttered, running a hand over his temples. "Why won't you leave me be?"
But deep down, he knew the answer. He knew that Aziraphale cared for him, perhaps even loved him. And in some twisted way, Crowley found solace in that. He had spent so long believing that he was unworthy of love, that he was destined to be alone. But Aziraphale had shown him a different side of things, had shown him that he was capable of being loved, of being wanted.
And now, Aziraphale was watching him, witnessing his more demonic hungers. It was humiliating and exhilarating all at once. Part of Crowley wanted to push Aziraphale away, to protect himself from the pain of rejection. But another part of him wanted to let Aziraphale in, to show him every part of himself, the good and the bad.
He stood still for a moment, trying to navigate his conflicting emotions. "You're not supposed to see this side of me, angel," he said, his voice low and filled with vulnerability. "You're not supposed to know this darkness."
He pushed his hair from his eyes, his breathing laboured. He knew that Aziraphale already cared. The angel had seen him at his lowest and most primal and still chose to care for him. And that scared Crowley more than anything. It scared him because he wanted to believe that he was worthy of that love, but he was also afraid of losing it.
With a heavy sigh, Crowley sank onto the sofa, his head in his hands. "What are you doing to me, Aziraphale?" he whispered. "You've upended my existence. I'm utterly lost."
But as much as he tried to resist, he couldn't help but let Aziraphale linger in his mind and heart. And in the quiet moments of the night, as he lay in his bed, he found himself hoping that Aziraphale would continue to come to him, together they could catch glimpses of what could have been.
For now, they were both trapped in their own worlds, separated by Heaven and Hell. But Crowley couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, they would find their way back to each other. And so, with a mix of anger, longing, and hope, Crowley allowed himself to be both repelled and drawn to Aziraphale's presence in his mind, and in his heart.
Aziraphale was all he could think of, the balmy nights were followed by days full of anxiety over the angel's well-being. It irked him like a persistent itch, he couldn't shake the feeling that the angel was in trouble. Try as he might there was a persistent nagging, a feeling of doubt, he didn't trust the circumstances that had taken his angel away from him – or the person who had taken away his Aziraphale.
"If there's one bastard in Heaven who's up to no good, I'd put money on it being Metatron." Crowley hissed into a cold can of beer. That name sent shivers down Crowley's spine, and he felt a surge of anger towards the meddling archangel. Crowley couldn't help but dwell on the possibility that someone had tricked Aziraphale into leaving him. He knew the angel was kind-hearted and naive in his own way, always believing that he could change Heaven for the better.
"Innocent fool," Crowley muttered to himself leaping up, he tore through the living room gathering up his things, the radio, and a stray bottle of Wray and Nephew. "Quickly now," the front door flew open for him, and Crowley threw himself and his possessions into the Bentley.
He knew he needed to find out more about Heaven and its dealings, but the information wouldn't be easy to come by. Angels weren't exactly forthcoming with their secrets, and Crowley doubted that they would willingly share information with him, especially after his Fall.
He had to find an angel who was willing to speak to him, someone he could trust—or at least, someone who might trust him enough to reveal what they knew. And there was only one angel that he could think of—Muriel.
"Right then, London!", he exuberated, as the Bentley sped off back towards the capital.
A/n: so I guess the theme of this chapter is Az eavesdropping? Oh well I hope you enjoyed the dream stuff it was fun to write! Wonder what they'd do if they were actually in the same room? I'm also enjoying finding what Heaven is up to, it's quite funny getting to think about what the plot of season 3 could be.
I'll try to get some more out tomorrow, it might have to be a shorter update though (I've got lots of weekend plans the next few days, I'm going to some horse racing for a friends birthday and I've got one those fascinator hat things – not a massive fan, but there's a cash prize for best dressed, fingers crossed for me lol). I've got loads to do before then too, but I've been really enjoying writing this instead.
- so I've fixed it now but, last chapter I'd written Uriel instead of Muriel the entire time (almost 30 times!), I didn't notice, I don't know how it happened. I've read other fics involving Muriel and somehow didn't see what I was doing. I actually only realised when I started googling why there were two angels called Uriel, I just thought it was an interesting directorial choice, sorry!