Crossed Wings

*The beginning of the end* The Bowels of Hell, Hell, Not-Earth 2008

When Crowley recieved word that the Anti-Christ was coming, he panicked. When Gabriel told Aziraphale as much, he smiled and nodded as if the information was new. But the two had been conversing. Nothing was a secret anymore. They were on their own side.

"They're doing what?!" Crowley exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. The demon he was speaking with - Dameon - yes the most original name they could come up with - was looking around anxiously. Crowley had him by the shoulders until he surrendered the information. Dameon uttered a few unintelligible syllables before pushing Crowley away.

"They're doing it soon." He said finally before breaking away and stomping off down the hallway. Crowley ran a hand through his hair, took off his shades and rubbed behind his ears. He didn't want this. He knew he didn't, even if he wasn't willing to admit it. He thought about something he hadn't dared too for a long time. For some reason the angel just popped into his mind, now of all times. He had warn him. It was the right thing to do, and therefore something he shouldn't be doing. Heaven would sense it was coming wouldn't they? But Aziraphale wouldn't, and he wouldn't be safe on Earth with Armageddon going on. Why did he care? He couldn't explain it, and at any rate, it wasn't important.


*The near future* Aziraphale's bookshop, London, Earth 2024

"I think it was that day you came to warn me." Aziraphale said, lifting his book higher above his nose and stirring his cup of tea. Crowley looked up at him and scowled.

"It most definitely was not." He replied, pushing up his sunglasses and taking a sip of wine, even though it was ten o'clock in the morning. He wanted to be drunk if they were going to have this conversation.

Aziraphale put his book down dramatically and stared at the former-demon. "Six thousand years Crowley, I've known you six thousand years, I know when you're lying."

"I'm not lying! It wasn't then." He stood up and walked away from Aziraphale, into the back of the shop and turned around again. "It was a long time ago." He huffed and sauntered around awkwardly. He wanted a cigarette more than alcohol right now, but he wanted to finish this conversation more. "A long time ago angel." His voice was cracking, so he looked away, he didn't want Aziraphale to see the tears in his eyes. "I don't lie to you."

Aziraphale got up and walked towards him, "oh Crowley." His hand stretched out to the demon, but Crowley dodged him. "It doesn't matter, you did. That's all that matters." Crowley still didn't look up. Instead he looked behind him and brushed past him and out the back door. "Crowley!" Aziraphale called after him, but the demon swaggered off like nothing had been said. His own awkwardness getting on top of him.

Aziraphale slumped back into his chair and picked up his book. Why was Crowley so good at pushing him away? Pushing down his feelings. He read for about an hour, the silence in the bookshop almost chilling given the air after their 'fight.' Aziraphale didn't know whether to go and get Crowley, or to apologise. Had he said something wrong? Were demons supposed to be sensitive? It was at times like these that he missed having Gabriel AKA Jim around to talk to. He was very good for an impartial opinion.

After this immortal hour, Crowley came back in. Smelling of smoke and heaven knows what else. Aziraphale stood, "Crowley, I'm sorry- whatever it was. I'm sorry."

"No," Crowley interrupted, "I'm sorry. There was no time angel, it was always. We were always us." The angel was the one to look down this time, he was ashamed of assuming.

"Can we forgive each other now?" He asked rather sheepishly, turning his head to the side and acting all coy and cute because he knew Crowley was a sucker for it.

"Fine," the demon said smiling. He stepped forward and gave Aziraphale a hug, arms tightly wrapping around him. All the warmth and comfort of their millennia old relationship turning the cogs inside their minds. Without either of them, the other would be hopeless. Crowley turned his head to the side to kiss him as he pulled away.

"Much appreciated," Aziraphale returned swinging his arms as he leant forward and pecked the other man's lips. He didn't meet his eyes afterwards, he couldn't. He was playing hard to get today. So he sat down at his desk and picked his book back up. Crowley rolled his eyes and moved forward, kissing the angel's bright white hair before walking out the front door. They were low on milk.


The demon Crowley - formerly Crawly - had always been somewhat of an aloof character. As he sauntered down the road, for perhaps the hundredth time, he thought about his small life on a Soho street and marvelled at how wonderful it was. How had it come to this? He wondered, six thousand years and all he had to show for it was an out of shape Bentley and a husband from heaven. In both senses of the word. He was stumped.

The angel Aziraphale sat on his own, in his bookshop - his greatest joy - and read for the millionth time, a letter sent from Gabriel. It read, hope you are happy, my dearest friend. And do look after the shop. He was proud of that, he ascertained. That his greatest joy was not the bookshop itself, but the life in which he had lead inside it. His love of books fuelling his many adventures that took him past these four walls. His greatest love and his greatest pain, all rolled into a human life. Albeit an immortal one. He was happy here.