The Dream We Don't Talk About
*Set in the days immediately following S1/book, addressing the many s2 moments of awkward uncertainly referring to each other as 'friends' and why Crowley slept in the Bentley instead of the bookshop after losing his flat.
Unlike most Earth-dwelling divine beings, Crowley loved to sleep. He loved the precious escape into that silent blackness so deep that it drowned the constant questioning that tussled about inside his head. For a being not typically designed for sleeping, he was remarkably good at it. Naturally talented, he frequently praised himself. Particularly when holding himself in comparison to Aziraphale – who apparently enjoyed thinking too much and never seemed to want to sleep at all. Crowley could happily sleep the accumulated hours of a legion and still take an afternoon nap on the side – a likely overestimation of his skills, but one that pleased him to no end when it came from Aziraphale. Usually, it was in response to Crowley's bored attempts to convince him that a good kip was, in fact, an excellent use of his time – "an actually-useful-fact that you would know if you just gave it a chance, Angel." Without ever glancing up from his book, Aziraphale always managed to find complicated, decorated ways of say 'I'm quite sure you sleep enough for the both of us, thank you very much'.
So it struck Crowley as particularly odd when a soft knock at his door interrupted a very rare occasion of sleeplessness for him. No matter how hard he willed himself into unconsciousness, sleep would not come. His skin tingled and buzzed uncomfortably with an urgent need, though he could not for the life of him think what or why. Crowley had determinedly decided that his skin would not win this argument – he had been engaged in a rather intense toss-and-turn wrestling match with himself when the three dainty knocks interrupted him at three hundred and twelve of the six-hundred-and-sixty-six Satanic sheep he intended to smite.
The knock unnerved him. Crowley was immediately wide awake and alert. Only hours earlier, he and Aziraphale had switched back into their own respective bodies after brilliantly tricking both Heaven and Hell into leaving them be. They had anticipated punishment for thwarting the apocalypse with plenty of time to plan and prepare – it took each of their people several days of paperwork and red-tape before they finally came for the rogue angel and demon. It had been strange living in Aziraphale's home and body for those few days waiting to be nabbed by feather-brained idiots, but also unexpectedly comfortable. In the angel's favourite armchair, he'd had the best snooze of his very long life. Their scheme worked a charm and after a few more careful days of pretending to be each other in case anyone was still watching, they'd decided to switch back today in time for lunch at the Ritz. Surely Heaven and Hell hadn't figured it out so soon – if ever! They'd been so clever about it all.
Expecting the worst, Crowley prepared himself as he approached the door. He straightened his jacket, raked his fingers through his reddish hair, and wrapped his sunglasses over his eyes in a single, swift movement that was rehearsed to perfection. If his lot had come for him again, he would at least go down in style. Letting out a sharp, growling huff at the door, he unlocked and opened it.
No denizens of Hell awaited him on the other side – the complete opposite in fact. Beaming back at Crowley with a ridiculous little wave and a golden light that hung about him like the first sunrise stood Aziraphale. Crowley leant languidly against the door frame.
"Angel -"
"Hello Crowley!" he chimed cheerfully. Crowley resisted a smile – had he actually been sleeping, he might have been genuinely annoyed. But he hadn't, and he wasn't.
"Angel, do you have any idea what time it is? Don't you ever sleep?"
"Now Crowley, we've had this talk before – you know I don't share your fondness for sleeping."
"Then…why are you here? Now? At this very, very ungodly hour?" Crowley asked, feigning irritation and emphasising words he knew would cause his angelic friend both discomfort and, secretly, excitement.
"All hours are Godly, Crowley, you know that. Not that it matters much now, I suppose…"
"Angel!" Crowley snapped, interrupting the start of one of Aziraphale's lengthy tangents before it began.
"Ah, yes. Well…actually – and I know you will make a big fuss of this – I was feeling somewhat… restless."
"Restless? You?"
"Yes. Not in the sense of sleeping, of course. No, nothing like that. Rather, I can't seem to settle in one spot and I've never had so much trouble comprehending what I read in all my life!"
"Sounds serious…" Crowley muttered, "must be, since you never come here and I always go there. To the bookshop I mean."
"Yes, yes, I know," Aziraphale conceded, looking somewhat apologetic, "I shouldn't have intruded, I don't know what came over me. Restlessness, I suppose."
"It's no intrusion Angel, you know that – you'd better come in before anyone spots you though."
With a single gliding backward step, Crowley opened the door wider and ushered Aziraphale in.
"Tea? Hot chocolate?" he offered, closing and bolting the door again. Aziraphale smiled warmly.
"Tea, please."
The opportunity to poke around Crowley's home while he was busy brewing tea was too much of a temptation to resist. The demon was very private and in all the years they had known each other, Aziraphale could count on one hand the times he had stepped through the front door. Just as it had each of those times, the shades of lavish black furniture and lush green plants surrounded Aziraphale with an intoxicating wildness that felt very far from Heaven, yet profoundly not Hellish at all. Picking up an errant cushion from the floor and neatly folding the screwed up heap of blanket, Aziraphale made a space for himself on the lounge – which appeared to be where Crowley took many of his naps.
"Here we go," Crowley declared with renewed enthusiasm as he emerged with two steaming mugs not at all as delicate and dignified as the china tea cups they usually drank from at the bookshop, "a lovely spot of hot tea should do the trick."
"What trick is that?" asked Aziraphale. Crowley perched on the arm rest of the lounge, pulling off his sunglasses and poking them curiously at his newly folded blanket. It amused him how much tidier Aziraphale was here than at the bookshop.
"The trick of resolving your restlessness of course – why are you so restless anyway?"
Aziraphale took a sip of his tea and shuffled about apprehensively for a moment. Crowley watched, because he enjoyed watching. He enjoyed how shy his directness about everything made the angel.
"Well," began Aziraphale, placing the tea down and clasping his hands together as he did at the beginning of all important matters he wished to discuss with Crowley, "I suspect it has something to do with…the switch."
"The switch – you mean…"
Crowley flicked a long finger back and forth between them.
"Yes, the switch," Aziraphale confirmed with a subtle, almost unnoticeable sigh of relief that Crowley didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about and drag it out, forcing him to uncomfortably describe exactly what they had done. In words. Out loud. Crowley noticed though, he always did. Still, he loved teasing at the precious wall of dignity Aziraphale kept around himself – it made the times when Crowley couldn't break through it that much more…intriguing.
"I see, go on –"
"Its…difficult…to explain," Aziraphale said hesitantly, "like a distraction but different. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin, so to speak. Like –"
"Buzzing, buzzing all over," Crowley interrupted suddenly. Aziraphale lit up in recognition.
"Yes! Yes exactly. But how on earth did you know that?"
Crowley sighed, long and heavily.
"Me too Angel, me too."
"You mean…?" Aziraphale glanced at the folded blanket he had found in a tumbled heap. Crowley nodded once, slowly.
"Restless! Me, restless! Can you believe it!?" Crowley hissed dramatically in frustration.
"I must admit that I am rather surprised," Aziraphale confessed, "though I do wonder if sleeping just a little less would do wonders for your mood Crowley – you can be a little…cranky. At times."
"A little less? Angel, I can't sleep at all," Crowley hissed again, though somewhat more venomously this time, "see what that does for my mood!"
Aziraphale smiled sympathetically and picked up his tea again. It appeared beyond doubt that they shared a common problem, one that seemed inextricably linked to their recent body exchange. They were silent for a moment, contemplating the situation at hand.
"It started this evening, after you dropped me home from lunch," Aziraphale noted quietly. Crowley tilted his head slightly, thinking.
"Yes…" he said slowly, drawing the small word out for what Aziraphale thought was an unnecessarily, but delightfully long time.
"Yes, that's when I first noticed it too – driving back," Crowley continued, staring thoughtfully across the room, "it was like something wasn't right, like it was, sort of…"
"Pulling at you," Aziraphale offered. Crowley brought his serpentine eyes back to the angel and nodded.
"Well – it would seem we perhaps spent a little too long, errm, switched," Aziraphale concluded, "it's not meant to be a week-long arrangement. It's not all that surprising that there might be… adjustments."
"Are you trying to say that you enjoyed being me so much that now you can't get any peace not being me?" Crowley asked with a pleased grin. Aziraphale dismissed him with an indignant look.
"Nothing of the sort. Well, not entirely at least. From what little I know of…switching…I suspect that we developed a kind of…attachment…I suppose."
"Attachment?" Crowley asked with interest, "what sort of attachment?"
"Hard to say," replied Aziraphale, a renewed excitement arising in response to Crowley's interest, "perhaps the extended time…erm…"
"Switched," Crowley offered. Aziraphale gave him a short, awkward smile.
"Yes, switched," he continued, a slight blush sweeping across his cheeks, "what I mean to say is, perhaps it's something of a shock to the system – so to speak – going back again. Afterall, a week living as you and you as me is quite an intimate experience, wouldn't you say?"
"Hmm, yes," Crowley muttered, half in agreement and half distracted by the shades of delicate pink blossoming like roses on Aziraphale's angelic face, "perhaps we should have expected some kind of, I don't know, side effects or something."
"I suppose so."
They sat quietly together for a long time. The tea had gone cold by the time Crowley realised that he felt tired! Not tired in the way that humans feel tiredness, but like he could – if wanted to – sleep.
"Angel, leave the house," Crowley ordered vaguely. Aziraphale was taken by surprise.
"What do you mean 'leave'? Why would you suddenly say such a thing to me, Crowley?"
"Just…rrgh! For once in your life, don't argue with me and get out!" Crowley demanded again, pointing towards the door. Aziraphale looked positively wounded. Leaping to his feet, Crowley took the angel by the hand and urgently escorted him out, slamming the door behind him.
Buzzing. The tingling sensation like creeping flesh swept over him again – Crowley had barely noticed that they had been very faint, almost gone, this whole time. Grinning triumphantly, pleased that he had figured it out before Aziraphale, Crowley opened the door and called after his departing friend.
"If you're not going to explain yourself, you could at least make up your mind," Aziraphale grumbled at him sternly as Crowley once again ushered him inside.
"Angel, listen to me -" Crowley urged excitedly, "the buzzing, do you feel it?"
The confusion and exasperation that had tainted Aziraphale's expression was steadily replaced by realisation. He too had not noticed his restlessness dissipate, but he had felt it return with ferocity as he had exited Crowley's home.
"Proximity!" exclaimed Aziraphale.
"Proximity," Crowley echoed, bowing dramatically before the angel, who made his best – albeit ultimately failed - attempt at hiding his admiration for the demon.
"Well done Crowley!"
"Why thank you," the demon said, glancing away uncertainly at the last moment, "errm, perhaps tonight you could stay here at my place, if you wanted to? Might be more restful?"
Aziraphale smiled shyly in agreement.
Two days had passed and Crowley still hadn't slept. Aziraphale still hadn't read a single book. They'd shifted to the bookshop – Crowley had muttered something about Hell wanting his flat back soon, so it probably wasn't best to have an angel in residence when they came to collect. Although their restlessness was less than it had been apart, it hadn't gone completely or even enough to give them peace. Crowley was climbing the walls – one time in the literal sense so that Aziraphale had to demand that he come down immediately before he started to topple unsteady shelves and the precariously balanced towers of books that leant against that very same wall he was scaling menacingly.
"I'm so bored and I can't sleep!" Crowley raged. Aziraphale sighed, just as impatient with the situation as the demon – though certainly more civilised about the whole situation.
"I know dear. But please, try to stay calm. It will eventually pass."
"Errgh," Crowley groaned indignantly before flopping melodramatically into a nearby armchair and draping his long arms and legs all over it. Like Dali's melting clocks - only prettier, Aziraphale thought with a quiet smile. Lately, such thoughts were all that kept him steady. How he longed to feel still all through the night with a good book. It was how Aziraphale managed the enormous wonders of Heaven and Earth that lived inside his mind, just as Crowley escaped his own endless questions by sleeping. Things were getting out of hand.
Night fell slowly, too slowly. It had been quiet in the bookshop for some time, a blessing that Aziraphale had been most grateful for as he tried once again to sit and read. The words blurred into inky messes before his eyes and Aziraphale felt cranky about how tedious this had all become. He wondered where Crowley had gone, what he was up to, and why he was so suspiciously quiet.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale called. No answer came.
"Hmm, that's odd…" the angel muttered to himself, getting to his feet and searching the shop for the demon. There was no sign of him anywhere. Aziraphale ascended the staircase, perhaps Crowley had found something of interest to occupy his mind up there. Looking around, though, he saw no sign of the demon. Surely he hadn't snuck out and gone home without even so much as a goodbye? The thought of it caused an overwhelming surge of disappointment to rush through the angel. He was about to go back downstairs in dismay when he noticed the door to his room was wide open. Aziraphale was certain he had closed it – afterall, it was a room he barely used except to store his most precious, sacred things. It was amongst those things that he found Crowley, sitting with his knees huddled up against his chest on the perfectly made, never-slept-in bed. The demon looked haunted.
"Crowley? Are you alright?" Aziraphale asked gently, feeling very concerned indeed. No tears were falling, but Aziraphale could see the wetness gathering in the wild eyes of his friend.
"Oh dear…what is it?" the angel asked, rushing to his side and sitting beside him.
"I…I can't stop thinking about it," Crowley whispered.
"About what?"
"The Fall. All my questions. The antichrist kid. The end of the world. You. Me. All of it. My head hurts so much…"
Without thinking, Aziraphale took hold of Crowley's hand, patting and brushing gentle strokes across his fingers to comfort him. Something sparked suddenly in the eyes of the demon. He rolled onto his knees to face Aziraphale searchingly.
"Did you feel that?!" Crowley asked urgently. The angel looked worried sick.
"Feel what? Crowley…are you alright?"
Without another word, the demon leapt at him, grasping Aziraphale tightly in his arms. Stunned, the angel attempted to escape, but quickly realised what Crowley had felt. No buzzing. No tingly, crawling flesh. It was gone. With a sigh of relief, Aziraphale sank into the demon's embrace.
Hours passed. Crowley had fallen asleep quickly and Aziraphale had not dared to move in case it woke him. Besides, he was quite sure that their current proximity was the only reason they had any peace. He passed the time stroking Crowley's hair and softly singing all the lullabies from around the world that he had ever learned. The sensation of laying on the bed with Crowley curled up against him, wrapped in each other's arms was not unlike how it had felt to switch bodies – strange, yet unexpectedly comfortable. After some time, against his better judgement, Aziraphale decided to close his eyes and will himself to sleep too.
It was pitch-black dark when Crowley dizzily opened his eyes the next night. The throbbing pain in his head was gone and the thoughts that had overwhelmed him were once again quietly at rest – at least for now. Neither he nor Aziraphale had moved for a whole day. He was surprised to find the angel not only in his arms, but also fast asleep.
"Since when do you sleep, Angel?" Crowley whispered drowsily, not wanting to wake him. As consciousness steadied itself in the demon's waking mind, he became more and more aware of the strangeness he had awoken into. Aziraphale had curled up slightly so that his cheek rested on Crowley's shoulder with his peaceful, angelic face nestled into his neck. They were wrapped together in a tangle of arms and legs that – for a time at least – had Crowley quite confused about where he started and Aziraphale ended. Soft, golden curls brushed his jaw and Crowley breathed in the pleasant scent of the angel. If he let Aziraphale go, would the restlessness return? He didn't know or care, it was a good enough excuse to stay where he was.
Eventually, though, Aziraphale began to stir. Dreamily at first, nestling and pressing closer to Crowley without even realising it. Then, realising it. The shock of waking up was new for Aziraphale, or at least relatively new – he hadn't slept in thousands of years, at least. Crowley remembered all too well the first time he himself had awoken from sleep, the disorientation was intensely, pleasingly alcoholic – but extremely overwhelming. Dream-drunk, Crowley called it. Though the first time after many sleepless years were particularly potent, sleep and waking were always like that for divine beings – Crowley had simply become far more used to it with abundant practice.
"Morning sunshine," Crowley said softly, a grin full of cheek accompanying his triumphant tone that he had been right about Aziraphale eventually one day sleeping again. Later, he'd make the angel do the 'You-Were-Right-I-Was-Wrong dance for him. Aziraphale groaned softly. The sound made Crowley growl deep in his chest, he didn't know why, but it did.
"Angel - " Crowley called more gently, remembering the disorientation of dream-drunk, "Aziraphale, wake up."
"Oh, Crowley," came a drowsy, yet still bell-like voice floating from angel to demon, "I don't want to."
"Yes, I know," he replied lowly, moving slightly onto an elbow as though to get up, "shall I leave you to wake in peace then for a bit?"
"No - " Aziraphale protested, grasping tightly to Crowley's jacket, "stay, please."
The words dripped into the air like thick honey, irresistibly sweet. Stay. Please. Aziraphale was asking, begging him to stay with him in the euphoria of waking from sleep. Still spinning slightly from his own waking, Crowley settled again beside him, sinking back into their tangle of embracing arms and legs. He wondered if he should let go of Aziraphale and just lay quietly without touching, but the angel was already nestling against him again, one set of fingers still clutching at his jacket while the other set had languidly found their way back around the waist of the demon. Crowley decided it was probably best to keep still and continued holding Aziraphale – so he wouldn't disturb his waking, of course.
"You slept again. How was it?" Crowley asked softly.
"Mmm, exquisite," the angel replied sleepily, falling back into dreams. Crowley sighed. Something about this moment felt exquisite - exquisitely not demonic, or angelic for that matter. He'd never been so close to Aziraphale before, not in over 6000 years. It felt…not bad. Crowley almost felt that he could slip back into sleep quite happily, but he knew that waking would be hard for Aziraphale. He couldn't let the angel go through it alone. Crowley decided to stay awake and keep watch over his friend. He smiled with delight at the prospect of waking up a dream-drunk angel. After all his years, who'd ever have thought that Anthony J Crowley could still have new experiences!
"Angel, you need to wake – do you remember how it feels?" the demon asked softly. Aziraphale nodded slowly, barely awake.
"You will be here?" he asked. Crowley promised that he would. Waking for the first time in so many years was always difficult – divine dreams opened angels and demons to the full expanse of Creation. The journey from sleep to waking world brought with it a euphoric peace that made everything feel irresistibly perfect – and often, too much. The return of corporeal sensations returned like a flood of overwhelm that made many angels feel lost or resistant to waking.
"Wake up love," Crowley beckoned again, "follow my voice, I'm right here."
A soft murmuring hum responded, barely. Glancing down, the demon checked where Aziraphale was – eyes still closed. No doubt slipping in and out of the dreams. He leaned down slightly, so that the breath of his words brushed ever so gently against the ear of the half-asleep angel.
"I heard you singing lullabies into my dreams," Crowley whispered, sending warm, pulsing shivers through Aziraphale that made another soft sound escape from him. Forgetting his own waking, Crowley was again taken by surprise as that sound stirred something deep inside him. Sensation was returning, he loved this part. Aziraphale, though, was overwhelmed by it.
"Slow, love," the angel whispered, recalling why he never continued this sleeping habit in the first place, "please go slow."
"I've got you Angel, don't worry."
Slow, Aziraphale had said, slow. Crowley liked the dizzying high of waking up fast. He would have to keep reminding himself…slow. Gently, he stroked his hands comfortingly up and down Aziraphale's back. He felt the angel sigh heavily, releasing his grasp on Crowley's waist so that his hand could slip inside his jacket and rest on the demon's chest.
"I want to feel your heartbeat," Aziraphale whispered, his fingers fluttering slowly as though feeling every muffled thump of the miraculous organ that pumped blood around human bodies for the first time. Crowley drew in a deep breath, apprehensive that Aziraphale might feel the way his touch caused an acceleration in his heart rate that the Bentley would be proud of.
"Aziraphale -" Crowley asked breathlessly, "are you waking, Angel?"
He glanced down to check, giving a gentle shake of encouragement. The angel stirred, opening his bright blue eyes slowly to meet the golden gaze of the demon. It might have been his own dream-drunkenness, but for a moment Crowley felt like the blue of those eyes had swallowed him whole. Like when he used to soar through the endless blue skies above the clouds.
"Yes…no…" Aziraphale murmured with a soft smile, "nearly, I think."
"Well at least you're conscious," Crowley chuckled, tightening his embrace and inconspicuously bringing up a finger to softly brush against the angel's drooping eyelashes before resting the same hand on Aziraphale's cheek and stroking gently. To keep him from falling asleep, Crowley told himself insistently.
"How do you feel Angel?" Crowley asked, "try to keep talking to me, that's the slowest way to go."
Eyes closing again, Aziraphale smiled. He was the absolute picture of peace – Crowley was convinced he was always meant to be a cherubim and not a principality. He couldn't stop gazing at him.
"Warm…happy…" Aziraphale breathed in a sleepy sigh, "everything is perfect now, here, with you."
"Is that so?" Crowley responded casually, not wanting to sound too pleased - not that he thought Aziraphale would notice in his current state, "what's so perfect about it, tell me."
"Mmm it's just…perfect," the angel murmured, "you're perfect, Crowley."
"Oh Angel, that's the dream-drunk talking," Crowley muttered, continuing to stroke Aziraphale's cheek with his fingertips, "I'm far from perfect – very, very far…all-the-way-down kind of far, you know that."
He felt his friend shake his head languidly. Trust in Aziraphale to insist on disagreeing in his sleep, Crowley thought. He was about to launch into reminding the angel of his demonic status when his words were interrupted by Aziraphale's arms wrapping themselves back around his waist again. Crowley couldn't help but let his eyes flick closed as the warmth of his angel enveloped him. The tilt of sleep flooded his senses, but he resisted – wanting more of Aziraphale's sweet words while they lasted.
"Aziraphale…say something…"
"Hmm…to the world!"
'Slow' be damned – Crowley couldn't help himself. Roughly, he pulled Aziraphale closer to him, their bodies pressing against each other as hungrily as they had when the demon had first realised how to make the restlessness vanish. The angel gasped, his fingers pressing into Crowley's back painfully. The demon didn't mind, though he did feel a little guilty for losing control and startling Aziraphale.
They held each other tightly in silence for hours, wave after wave of feelings pulsing through them. Crowley – chin resting in the golden hair of the angel - felt Aziraphale waking more and more, expecting him to pull away. But he did no such thing. He simply held tightly to the demon, lips brushing against Crowley's neck with each breath.
"We're supposed to be waking Angel," Crowley whispered, "not this."
"What…what exactly is this?" Aziraphale whispered back uncertainly. A long, quiet breath escaped the demon before he released his embrace and shuffled downwards so that they faced each other. He tilted his head forward, the gentle bump of their foreheads making the blue eyes of Aziraphale open again.
"Exactly? It's…waking up," Crowley said, suddenly feeling self-conscious and carefully removing Aziraphale's arms from his waist "…and the switching. It…makes you feel things, I suppose."
"Oh…" Aziraphale acknowledged, sounding somewhat disappointed, "I didn't realise it was just me."
"No, not just you Angel, me too…" Crowley admitted awkwardly, "what I mean to say is – well it must be making us feel things."
"Yes," Aziraphale smiled sadly, "yes I suppose that makes sense – I've never switched before and you well know how I feel about sleeping."
"Oh I don't know, you seem to be enjoying it – sleep I mean, not the feelings," Crowley pointed out, looking away upon realising what he had said. Aziraphale blushed. He desperately wanted Crowley to hold him again.
"I don't mind the feelings…" he whispered. Crowley returned his gaze, but was still and quiet. He wouldn't take advantage of dream-drunk Aziraphale – even if he really wanted to.
"Did I go too fast? Waking you, I mean," Crowley asked, avoiding Aziraphale's words.
"No dear, no not at all. Your pace was very … gentle," the angel said with downcast eyes, "in fact, I believe I might still be waking…I'm quite overwhelmed."
It broke Crowley's heart to see Aziraphale hurt – especially when he was the one doing the hurting. Which he usually was. But how could he let someone as pure-of-heart as Aziraphale give himself to a demon? No, Crowley couldn't allow that. Or could he? The rules now were so unclear – it had been so much simpler when he'd had his lot downstairs and Aziraphale had had his lot upstairs. They knew their sides, their places, their boundaries. Besides, Crowley knew that deep down inside, Aziraphale still held to the hope of forgiveness in Heaven. He wouldn't take that from his angel.
"It might last for a long while, I'm afraid," Crowley said softly, brushing his fingers slowly through Aziraphale's curls and down his cheek one last time, "but I'll stay as long as you want me to."
"I'd like that very much," Aziraphale replied with a sad smile.
It took two more days for the effects of the switch to go silent. Crowley stayed at the bookshop until he was able to sleep on his own again. He kept a cool distance from Aziraphale, sleeping in an armchair next to the angel – who did not attempt to sleep again, returning instead to his beloved books. It happened one afternoon when Aziraphale left the bookshop to get them hot chocolate across the street and spend some time outside in the warm sun. He'd taken a book with him out of habit and was struck with the bittersweet realisation that he was able to read it in peace again. When he returned to the bookshop, he found Crowley fast asleep in his chair.
Everything had returned to normal. Yet Aziraphale felt utterly dismayed.
When Crowley awoke quite some time later, he realised immediately what had happened and shook off his dizziness. If he didn't leave quickly, he might say or do something dangerous. Though it took every ounce of willpower he had, he gathered his plants into boxes and loaded them into the Bentley. Time to go.
"Crowley, wait -" Aziraphale called softly as the demon headed for the door with his last box. Crowley froze.
"What is it, Angel?"
Aziraphale was silent, unsure of what to say. Crowley had turned to face him, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. The angel fidgeted nervously.
"I…hmm. Well, I wanted to thank you," Aziraphale said softly, "for staying when I…when I needed you."
Crowley gazed at him, expressionless as he always was when Aziraphale said something nice to him.
"Always, Angel."
With that, he spun around and strode out the door, making the little bell ring as he left. The world felt very loud for a moment as the Bentley roared and disappeared into the distance. Then it fell still, leaving Aziraphale alone in the silence of the bookshop. He felt a heaviness in his chest, like tears or fear or both. Pushing it down, he smiled and made a cup of tea – certain that they would never speak of this again.