fix h

by lovinfries4

fuzzy

Preface

In Silence Our Secrets Lie
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/22410847.

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: M/M Fandom: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV) Relationship: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) Character: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Protective Crowley, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Humanity (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe Where They Don't Know Each Other, Crowley can't speak, Crowley has lost his powers, End of the World, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, BAMF Crowley (Good Omens) Language: English Collections: Amazing Good Omens, Courts GO Re-Reads, Bittersweet Good Omens, Some of my favorites for later perusal Stats: Published: 2020-01-26 Completed: 2020-06-03 Words: 84,645 Chapters: 21/21 In Silence Our Secrets Lie

by IneffableToreshi

Summary

A Good Omens AU which takes place in the year leading up to the Apocalypse. Aziraphale has been alone on Earth for 6000 years. He loves the planet, the humans, all the wonders therein, but as the only ethereal being on the planet (as far as he's aware) and a misfit among the other angels of Heaven, he's been terribly, painfully lonely.

Everything changes the day he senses a presence: a demonic presence that is in pain, as lonely and miserable as the angel is, and is hanging on his last thread of life after being tortured for an untold length of time. Aziraphale rescues the dying demon, whose powers and voice have been stolen away from him by a mystical artefact, and vows to protect him and keep him safe.

But what will Aziraphale think when he finds out who was responsible for the demon's imprisonment and why? Not to mention the secret the demon is keeping about who he really is?

Notes

So, here it is! I had this AU idea that I just couldn't ignore, and several people on my social media seemed very interested, so here we are. This will be, at the core, a falling-in-love tale, but will also incorporate aspects of the Apocalypse plot line from the book/show. There will be fluff and angst for sure, but I haven't decided about smut yet. If I do decide to let the boys get frisky, I'll write it in such a was as that chapter will be skippable without ruining the rest of the story. :) Tags and whatnot will also be updated as I figure out where I'm going with this. lol

The Presence

Chapter Summary

An angel with a heart of gold seeks out a presence that duty tells him he should ignore. What he finds will change his life forever.

Chapter Notes

The absolutely stunning artwork at the beginning of this chapter was created for me by the amazing la_dame_du_warren (on Instagram). The full piece - a short comic of the chapter's end - is at the bottom of the chapter. Please check it out, bask in its glory, and go give the artist the love she deserves!

The presence was distressingly weak.

On a natural stone bridge on the Ayia Napa Sea Caves a figure stood, eyes closed, concentrating, feeling …

The figure could have been a man. He wore cream-colored trousers rolled up to the knees and a soft white button-up over a similarly-colored undershirt. Soft beige leather sandals adorned his feet and a tartan bow-tie of blues, browns, and creams completed the ensemble. White-blond curls sat upon his head like a cloud, ruffling in the soft breeze.

He looked like a man, and would never have been mistaken for anything else by any logically-minded person. A spiritually sensitive person, however, may have had an inkling that he was not, in fact, precisely what he seemed.

The figure, as it transpired, was an angel.

This angel wasn't in Cyprus because of a blessing or a miracle, or a mission from Heaven. He was, as a matter of fact, on vacation: the first he'd allowed himself in several centuries. He'd heard rumors of late that certain...apocalyptic wheels had been set in motion, and thus was doing what he could to enjoy the wonders of the Earth while he still could. After all, it had been his home now for more than six thousand years.

He had been strolling along these picturesque beaches, enjoying the bone-deep heat of the afternoon sun and the calming scent of the clear ocean air when he'd felt the presence. His hackles had gone up immediately, of course. He had, in fact, been immediately prepared for battle, had it been necessary.

He'd relaxed a moment later, however, when he'd attempted to hone in on the presence and realized just how terribly weak the life-force in question was.

He should have ignored it. It was none of his concern. It may have fallen under the purview of Heavenly duties had it been a threat, but with the presence so insubstantial - barely alive, as it were - that certain wasn't the case. There was absolutely no reasonable, logical grounds for the angel to do anything other than walk away and forget he'd ever sensed that little flicker of life.

But…

It felt like… Pain. Loneliness.

Misery.

And this particular angel - so very unlike his Heavenly brethren - was incapable of turning a blind eye to suffering.

That is how Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate and Principality stationed on Earth, found himself actively seeking out the presence of a demon.

The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time Aziraphale opened his aquamarine-blue eyes. It had taken much longer than he'd anticipated, but he had finally managed to grasp the thread of the demonic life-force and knew where he needed to go. A quick scan of the area to ensure there were no humans nearby, and then he took to the air, pearlescent white wings stretched wide against the evening sky.

He flew down the beach, focusing diligently on the wisp of life. Beneath two more natural bridges and through several winding, labyrinthine tunnels, the angel finally found that which he hadn't known he was searching for. A cave, nearly engulfed by the tide and partially hidden by the shadows of the stone pillars around it, called to him like a homing beacon.

With only a minor sign of annoyance, he let himself flutter down into the crystal blue water until he was submerged to his neck and his feet found purchase.

The cave's entrance was terribly claustrophobic. The narrow tunnel forced him to pull his wings back in, and once he'd rounded a corner the light source was almost entirely snuffed out. Up to his chin in water and plunging ever further into darkness, Aziraphale couldn't help but consider his own foolishness. If anyone Upstairs heard that he'd gone out of his way like this to help a demon , of all things, he'd be the laughingstock of Heaven.

More so than they already considered him to be.

He thought again about how the correct action would have been to leave, push his curiosity and empathy deep down inside, and leave the demon to whatever fate it was enduring.

Aziraphale kept moving forward.

Eventually the ground beneath his feet began to incline, the water level began to drop, and the pathway began to widen. Soon the angel was standing on dry land again, his sodden clothes creating a painting of dark spots upon the stone. He squinted into the deep, dark cavern before him with a frown on his face.

"Let there be light," he murmured with a snap of his fingers, and in one pale white hand appeared a small, soft sphere of light.

Shadows crept and crawled on the cavern walls around him. Somewhere nearby a steady drip made curious echoes that bounced through the open space, rebounding again and again. It was rather lovely, in a way, and yet…

"I don't like this place," Aziraphale decided aloud to himself. Then, feeling utterly ridiculous even as he was saying it, he added, "It's spooky."

The sound of his own footfalls against the stone reverberated around him as he walked, creating the unsettling illusion of being surrounded by many other moving bodies. He worried his lip and searched on through the ominous location, waving his light source to and fro, ducking his head into every nook and cranny as he went. The demonic presence was stronger here, but only in a sense of proximity. The life-force itself was still discouragingly weak. Painfully lonely. Heartrendingly miserable.

The angel searched faster.

When he finally - and rather suddenly - came upon what he'd been seeking, he was just barely able to hold back a gasp of shock and dismay that wished to rip itself from him at the sight.

The being collapsed on the stone ground before him was most definitely a demon, but it could have very easily been mistaken for a man. A man who had, it seemed, been imprisoned and tortured within an inch of his life.

He wore only scraps of black clothing, torn and shredded so that they scarcely resembled a series of rags clinging to hips and shoulders and neck. The skin that was visible beneath was terribly pale, the body thin, long, and all sharp angles, and very nearly every inch of it was splattered with dried, blackened blood. A second horrified look revealed angry red lashes and immense black bruises across his ribs, back, stomach, and thighs. A cursory examination would conclude that he'd been both whipped and beaten. Likely repeatedly. Possibly over an immeasurable stretch of time.

Long hair pooled on the ground around his head, so caked in dirt and blood that it was impossible to discern the true color.

A length of change was pulled tight around bony wrists and affixed to a stake in the wall behind him, locking his arms behind his back. A strange metal circlet wrapped around his throat. A dirty length of black material - likely torn from his tattered clothing - was wrapped around his eyes.

He lay awkwardly on his side, perfectly still, barely breathing. Demons didn't need to breath, of course, any more than angels did. However, Aziraphale knew firsthand that donning a human corporation made certain actions reflexive, therefore the weakness of those instinctual breaths could be quite concerning.

The angel approached cautiously, waving his little ball of light back and forth as he went. It didn't seem likely that this was a trap (what other angel would be foolhardy enough to even investigate such a situation?) but it didn't hurt to remain wary.

"Hello?" he called (practically whispered). He wasn't expecting a response, but there was definitely a reaction. The demon's body twitched, almost imperceptibly, and a tiny sound floated toward Aziraphale. It sounded distressingly like a whimper.

Spurred forward by the pitiful sound, the angel rushed forward and dropped to his knees in front of the wretched creature. He reached out, determined, words of comfort gathering in his throat, and brushed his fingertips along the curve of the demon's bare shoulder.

The result was visceral.

The demon lunged forward all at once, mouth open wide and baring a deadly set of fangs that snapped at Aziraphale's arm. The angel flew backward with a yelp, landing hard on his rear end while the demon hissed low in his throat. The chains pulled tight, keeping the demon from reaching the angel, but not for lack of trying. Aziraphale's eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The demon collapsed back to the ground with a cringeworthy thud, gasping and wincing, having put what little energy it had left into the failed attack. A strange noise came from his lips - a kind of high-pitched keen - and he seemed to be fighting to keep himself from crying out in pain.

A voice in the back of Aziraphale's head told him to stand up, turn around, and walk away. It told him to leave this horrid beast to discorporate in his own time, just abandon him to his wounds.

But a louder voice told him that there was absolutely no way he could walk away from this.

"Now, there's absolutely no need of that," the angel huffed as he righted himself.

The demon made a small choked sound and seemed to curl in upon himself.

Waiting for a retaliation strike , Aziraphale realized. Gentling his tone significantly he added, "I'm here to help you, you know."

The demon hissed again at that, but it was a pathetic attempt that made him sound like a wounded garden snake. It was clear that he was barely hanging on to the ledge of discorporation. It might have even been kinder, Aziraphale thought, to just help him end it. He would be returned to Hell and have a truly torturous amount of paperwork to deal with, but he'd be out of his misery (so to speak) and out of the angel's life.

But…

The angel couldn't quiet down that little voice that wondered...wondered whether the demon would be even further punished when he went back to Hell. Certainly the legions of the Fallen were not likely to be pleased by their agent on Earth being captured, tortured, and discorporated. What would they do to him? It couldn't be worse than whatever he'd already been put through, could it?

...could it?

Slowly, wishing to avoid the possibility of another outburst, the angel reached out and placed his hand on the demon's shoulder again. There was a twitch, an even weaker hiss, and a shudder, but he didn't seem to have enough strength left in him for anything else.

"There now," Aziraphale soothed, keeping his voice low and soft. "Shh...be still. I just want to help." He summoned a bit of angelic grace and let it was over the demon like a cleansing breath of warm wind. It wasn't enough to help wounds, but he hoped it would be enough to be a balm to the demon's pain and panic.

It seemed to work. The demon's breathing slowed and became deeper, calmer, his fangs retracting. The tension seemed to - mostly - go out of his body.

"There now, that's much better, isn't it?" said the angel with a smile. "Now, don't panic , okay? I'm just going to get that blindfold off you." He reached for the scrap of material as he spoke and was surprised when the demon flinched back, almost as though he didn't want the barrier removed. "It's okay," Aziraphale assured him as gently as he could.

Then he carefully set his little ball of Heavenly light on the ground and used both steady hands to delicately slide the dirty material up and over the demon's head.

The demon had his eyes squeezed shut. Aziraphale assumed he could see the light through his eyelids and was fearful of blinding himself after so much darkness. The angel waved a hand to soften the intensity of the light before encouraging the demon, "It's okay. You can open your eyes."

It was a tiny, jerking movement, but the demon very clearly shook his head.

This surprised Aziraphale. A reaction to torture, perhaps? he wondered, his chest panging at the thought. Did his captors punish him for looking at them? How horribly cruel!

With a kind of righteous anger guiding him, Aziraphale reached out to place a healing hand on the demon's head. He summoned his grace again, allowing another thread of it to flow, calming, through his own body to the other, soothing the demon's psyche. "It's alright," he whispered, as one might do to calm a crying child. "I promise that no harm will come to you as long as I am here. Now...please, open your eyes?"

The demon hesitated, but the soft trembling of his body had abated. Aziraphale waited patiently.

A long moment later, the demon's eyelids fluttered slowly open, and the angel had to work hard to suppress a gasp.

The hissing suddenly made infinitely more sense, because the demon's eyes were unmistakably those of a serpent. Slitted pupils, long and thin and indicative of stress, stared back at the angel from amid irises of deep, honey gold that nearly devoured the whites of the eyes. Any human would surely find these eyes upsetting at best and terrifying at worst. Any angel would look upon them with unrestrained disgust.

Aziraphale thought they were painfully beautiful.

He only realized he'd been staring when the demon curled back in on himself, averting his gaze.

Ashamed… the angel thought, sadly. "No," he said, quick but soft. He let his hand drift down from the demon's head to his cheek and felt him tense under the touch. "Please, don't hide them from me."

He knew it was incredibly unprecedented. He was confident that his brethren would be aghast, horrified, perhaps even furious. Yet Aziraphale simply could not stop the words as they tumbled from his lips: "Your eyes are very lovely."

Amber orbs peered up from beneath dark eyelashes. Cautious. Suspicious. Disbelieving.

"It's the truth," Aziraphale insisted, helpless to stop himself. "They're such a beautiful color."

He must have gazed another beat too long because the demon blinked, looked terribly bewildered, and made a weak hissing sound that had the inflection of a question.

Aziraphale felt an unusual heat rise in his cheeks and hastily pulled his hand away. When he spoke again his voice was strangely flustered. "Let's get those chains off, shall we?" he practically squeaked.

What the Hell is wrong with you? the angel berated himself as he moved around the demon to inspect his chains. It's bad enough that you're rescuing a demon in the first place without fawning over his eyes like a hormonal human teenager.

This demon who was an angel once…

Shut it!

The demon continued to breathe slow and steady (if not a bit rigidly) while Aziraphale used a tiny, hopefully un-noticed-by-Heaven, miracle to break the links of the metal from his wrists. Violent black-and-purple bruises were left behind, practically throbbing visibly. Aziraphale's fingers twitched to rub the pain away, but while he was still contemplating the implications of that urge the demon drew his arms around himself and pulled them toward his chest. Trembling fingers hovered over the destroyed wrists, punctuated by an almost-too-quiet whimper. Aziraphale's heart hurt at the sound. He ached to heal the demon's wounds but knew that such a use of a miracle would be too much of a risk of attracting Heaven's attention. Instead, he promised himself that he would pay special attention to those wrists once he got the demon home.

(The little bit of 'proper' angel still shrieking at him inside his own head gasped, scandalized, at the revelation that yes, Aziraphale was planning to take the battered and broken demon to his home .)

While the angel worked that outrageous concept through his confused and conflicted brain he watched the demon shift his body, spreading the long fingers of one hand against the ground. Then, suddenly, he was trembling, a high whine of sound coming from his throat. One leg bent up a little, a desperate attempt to gain some purchase on the stone with one bare foot.

He's trying to get up , Aziraphale realized.

And if the shrill sounds and labored breathing were anything to go by, he was killing himself in the process.

"Stop! Stop!" the angel cried, scrambling back around the demon to face him. He immediately regretted his rise in tone and volume as the demon responded by letting himself fall the few inches he'd gained before curling up with a whimper, eyes squeezed shut.

"On no, no, goodness me," Aziraphale fussed, careful to keep his voice soft and gentle this time. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. But really, you are in no condition to be attempting to get up under your own power." The angel considered the shaking form before him and worried his lip. It would have been so simple to place a hand on the demon and miracle them both back up to the surface. But if he'd been worried about Heaven picking up on an unusual healing miracle he was absolutely certain that they would notice him spiriting another human-shaped being through physical space.

There was really nothing for it then.

"Come here," Aziraphale decided. "I'm going to take you out of this place."

It was a bit difficult because he was so conscious and fearful of exacerbating the demon's wounds, but a few whimpers and pained gasps later he had the poor, broken thing in his arms. The demon stared up at him with wide eyes, shocked and confused and terrified.

"It's okay, my dear," Aziraphale assured him, failing to notice his own use of the endearment. "I'm going to take you out of here now. I could miracle us out, of course, but, well, an angel helping a demon? We really don't want Heaven to notice us. So just be patient with me, okay?"

The demon made not a sound, but Aziraphale saw a tiny shift in his head - a nod.

"You're awfully quiet, you know," Aziraphale pointed out with a playful smile. "You can speak to me if you like."

The demon's eyes darkened with something like sadness. He gave a gentle shake of his head and lifted one hand to flutter his fingers against the odd metal circlet around his neck.

"Oh." Aziraphale felt his heart drop into his stomach. "That thing robs you of your voice?" he guessed.

The demon nodded - another tiny motion - and let his head fall so that he was gazing into the shadows.

Aziraphale frowned. "Well, we'll just have to get rid of it as soon as we get you safely away from this place."

The demon didn't react. Aziraphale stifled a sigh.

It was a difficult trek back out of the caverns. It wasn't that the demon was heavy - even if he hadn't been a thin, bony wisp of a thing, Aziraphale had once been a holy soldier in God's army and hardly even noticed the weight in his arms. No, the problem was that as the tunnels once again became narrow and flooded, the angel had to twist, turn, lift, and maneuver in awkward ways to fit both himself and the demon through the restrictive path. A few times he even verbally begged the walls to widen just a bit and let them pass. The demon sent a strangely amused glance his way during that moment.

As they approached the exit Aziraphale expended a small miracle to keep them high enough above the water's surface to protect the demon's head from submerging. He wasn't certain if, in his current state, the poor thing's corporation would be able to survive any water getting into its lungs, so he justified the risk.

Breaking back through into the outside world felt like a miracle in and of itself. In the time since Aziraphale had entered the cave the sun had set and a full moon had risen. Thousands of bright pinprick stars shone down on them from a perfectly clear sky and reflected in the mirror of the still water of the beach. The illusion created was one of being surrounded in every direction by a sea of sparkling diamonds on velvety blackness.

"Oh, how lovely!" Aziraphale sighed with a soft grin. He couldn't help looking down to share his joy with the demon, but what he saw there gave him pause and made the smile slip from his face.

The light of the stars reflected in glassy eyes. A thin sheen of moisture made the golden orbs quiver as if molten, and as Aziraphale watched those beautiful eyes take in the majesty of the galaxy above, a single tear slid down the demon's cheek.

Aziraphale stared for a few moments. A complicated whirlwind of emotions and painful feelings pressed insistently against his rib-cage.

How long were you down there? the angel thought, biting back his own tears. Long enough to believe you would never see the stars again?

The demon's eyelids fluttered closed as Aziraphale unfurled his wings and took to the sky.

He was halfway back to his little rented villa (careful not to come across the path of any humans as he flew) when he realized that the demon had fallen asleep in his arms. It was so unexpected, so surprising, so...terribly tender, that it nearly broke the all-too-human heart in the angel's chest.

---

Beauty in Unexpected Places

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale whisks his rescued demon back to the small villa he's been renting while in Cyprus. The two strangers learn a bit more about each other while the angel cleans and tends to the demon's wounds.

Chapter Notes

Here we go! Chapter Two for you lovely people! I've gotten some beautiful comments about the first chapter, so I'm really keen to hear what you all think about the second! It's pretty fluffy and cute at the moment, but there will be a bit more dramatic stuff in future chapters. _~

The sky was far too clear for Aziraphale to fly under cover of darkness with any semblance of success, but luckily he'd rented his little villa in a secluded area with the intentions of keeping mostly to himself. With a little luck and a little celestial persuasion he was soon touching down in front of the cozy little rental, banishing his wings to the ethereal plain as his feet once again found the Earth.

He rushed through the little white door - thankful that he'd previously informed it that it was to open and close for him alone - and felt less tense once he was inside. It wasn't as though these man-made walls would hold back any visitors from Heaven or Hell that came to call, but there was just something about being in a comfortable, familiar space that felt safer, somehow.

Please , the angel prayed to the only being he had ever trusted. Please don't let the others find out what I've done. It was the right thing to do, I'm sure of it… But the other angels...I know they wouldn't understand.

A deep, steadying breath preceded an anxious sigh, then Aziraphale finally looked down at the figure in his arms. He was still sleeping, chest gently rising and falling. His lips were parted, letting soft puffs of breath flutter against the angel's bicep.

He looked so...sweet. So innocent. If it weren't for the weak energy pulsating from the core of his being, Aziraphale would never have guessed that he was a demon. The angel's gaze wandered down his battered body. He winced at the cuts, the welts, the incredibly nasty-looking bruises, and he decided that it didn't matter what this being was; angel, demon, or otherwise.

"No one deserves to be treated like this," Aziraphale whispered. "Who did this to you?"

His gaze landed on the metal circlet. He frowned. From what he could see there were no clasps, no seams, no obvious way to remove it. He ached to rid the demon of it. Just the look of it was somehow demeaning, but for it to also steal the dear thing's voice? It seemed an unnecessarily cruel addendum. Aziraphale couldn't help imagining the demon - beaten, broken, and blindfolded - left barely alive and alone in a deep, dark place, unable even to cry out for help.

He resolved himself to right this wrong in whatever way he could. He had no way of knowing how the demon would react once healed - perhaps he would turn on the angel the moment his strength returned - but Aziraphale decided he was willing to take that chance. It was what the Almighty would want him to do...he truly believed that. And even if it wasn't, well...it was what he wanted to do.

With that settled in his ever-anxious mind, Aziraphale considered his next move. He was rather remiss, he had to admit, to wake the poor dear now that he was sleeping so soundly, but he also thought it rather important to properly clean those wounds. He was going to have to take care of most of the healing process in the human way to avoid being noticed by Heaven, so it was best to get started as soon as possible.

Holding the slumbering demon close to his chest, the angel walked to the back of his quaint villa. It was a basic, three-room affair that he'd found quite lovely for his purposes while visiting Cyprus. The main room served as both kitchen and living area, complete with a small two-chair table, a soft, plush sofa piled with throw pillows, and a solid coffee table that was currently piled high with stacks of books the bibliophile celestial had been unable to leave behind during his travels. The second room, just off the living area, was a small toilet-and-sink affair that served little use for a tenant who happened to be able to pick and choose how his human corporation functioned.

The third room was Aziraphale's favorite. Even though he very rarely bothered to sleep, the feather-down bed with it's silk sheets and massive pile of pillows was a wonderfully comfortable place to sit and read in the evenings, and the large skylight directly above it gave a gorgeous view of the stars at night. There were lovely potted plants and colorful flowers all throughout the room as well, giving the room a comforting, natural feel and a wild scent that was just extraordinarily pleasant. However, the feature of the room that really made it the angel's favorite was the large, whirlpool bathtub that took up most of the south-facing wall. Aziraphale was usually more for a traditional style of fixture, but the important thing was that he was rather known to indulge in a hot soak, and he'd quickly warmed up to the lovely little jets included in this particular model. He'd been more than a bit stressed out of late, after all, and the warm, wonderful massaging sensation had become a daily indulgence in no time at all.

Careful not to wake him up just yet, Aziraphale gently lowered the demon down to the bed, certain to ensure that one of the softest pillows was beneath his head. A barely-there whimper of a sound escaped the demon's lips as the angel slowly pulled his arms away, but Aziraphale allowed a small, warm caress of angelic light to pass through him and he slept on with only a slight crease to his brow.

For a short time the angel distracted himself from his thoughts by preparing all he would need to care for the demon's wounds. He began by running the bath and holding his hand beneath the stream for longer than was probably necessary in order to ensure the perfect, comfortably-hot temperature. When he was satisfied he added a few extras from the personal stash he'd stored up: lavender-scented bubble-bath, a few scoops of Epsom salts, and a couple of drops of a vanilla-scented essential oil that was just...well, Heavenly.

With the lovely scents wafting through the room and the bubbles rising with the water, Aziraphale rummaged in the bedroom closet in which he was sure he'd seen… Ah yes, there it was. He pulled out the little suitcase-shaped first aid kid and popped it open to have a look. A cursory glance showed that it wouldn't be of the most overwhelming use, but at least there was a bottle of disinfectant and a variety of bandages for the smaller wounds. For the larger ones the angel (promising himself to replace what he'd taken later) ripped a thin white bed sheet into strips and set them to boiling in a large pot of water on the kitchen stove.

When the bath was full and the homemade bandages were sterilizing, he could avoid waking the demon no longer, even if he desperately wanted to let the poor thing rest.

He hovered over the bed, worrying at his lower lip and gazing down at the wretched thing laying there. For all intents and purposes he didn't look like much more than a bloodied corpse, positively covered in dirt, grime, and goodness knew what else. But his lips were parted just so, the plains of his thin chest rising a minute amount with each delicate breath.

Still alive then, Aziraphale assured himself, and was surprised to find he'd been genuinely scared the demon might discorporate the moment his back was turned.

With a deep breath and what he hoped was a friendly smile, the angel reached forward and gently pressed his fingers to the demon's shoulder, jostling him just a bit. "Time to wake up," he insisted, though in a soft tone. "I've run you a bath."

A bewildered groan left the demon's lips as his eyes slowly fluttered open. For half a moment those golden-honey eyes were soft and sleepy and unfocused. Then they caught sight of Aziraphale and blinked open in surprise, as though he'd assumed his rescue was a dream.

"There you are," the angel said with a grin. "Bath time, my dear."

The demon frowned, blinked, and then his gaze shifted past Aziraphale to the filled tub behind him.

Eyes went wide as golden moons, the pupils slit as thin as as a pen stroke. Pale skin became significantly paler, a breath taken in and caught there with a yelp following closely behind it. Though he had barely enough strength to move, the demon fought to scramble backward away from the angel, and when such an extreme expenditure of energy was proven impossible, he merely curled into a ball. Legs pulled to chest, arms thrown over head, fingers clawing, panicked, into muddy strands of hair. And all the while a horrid wailing whimper filled the air, making Aziraphale's blood run cold.

The angel's jaw had fallen in his surprise, a hand still outstretched where he'd touched the demon's shoulder. He stared at the quivering mass on the bed before him and struggled to understand what he'd done to elicit such a reaction. He'd seemed okay at first, if not surprised, but then-

Aziraphale turned and gaped at the tub filled with water, then back to the demon with a tight, clenched feeling in his chest. "Oh," he gasped. "Oh my- Oh dear Lord...did...did they torture you with holy water?"

The demon seemed beyond the capability to respond, so Aziraphale leaned forward slowly and carefully. As tenderly as he could manage he took one of the demon's hands and (heart hurting as the poor thing cried out at the touch) drew it away from his head to ensure his words would be heard. "Please, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you so. It's just ordinary bathwater, I promise you."

There was no response at first, beyond a weak whine of a noise, but after a few moments those honey eyes peered out from beneath the other shaking arm. He stared at the angel with genuine terror in his gaze, and Aziraphale vowed to himself that he would repair whatever psychological damage had been done here.

With a feather-light touch, the angel circled his thumb on the back of the demon's hand where he still held it. "Just bath water, I assure you," he repeated. "Nothing more, nothing less."

The demon's eyes - so wide and unblinking they must have been so dry as to be raw - flicked to the bath and back to Aziraphale. His body had nearly stopped trembling, but there was suspicion in his eyes.

"Shall I prove it?" the angel asked with a soft smile.

The demon didn't answer, but he did blink, and Aziraphale took that as a yes.

The angel careful laid the demon's hand back down on the bed and approached the bath. He moved to the side of it to ensure that the demon could clearly see everything he was doing, and very deliberately plunged his hand past the bubbles, into the water beneath. He swished his hand around a bit to allow the demon to hear the sound of the agitation, and finally lifted his hand back up above the surface so that the demon could see it dripping. Cognizant not to make any too-drastic movements, Aziraphale carefully shook off the excess water and approached the bed again. The demon made another terrible noise in his throat, but Aziraphale stopped at the edge of the mattress, kneeled down, and placed his hand, palm up on top of the comforter between them.

"Go ahead," he prompted, tone gentle. "Just a fingertip. Just enough so that you can feel how it doesn't burn."

The suspicion hadn't gone from the demon's eyes, but he glanced back and forth between Aziraphale's face and hand only a few times before carefully raising his own hand. He moved painstakingly slow, and pulled back a few times as though expecting the angel to attack while his guard was down, but eventually he managed to close the distance between them and poked at the angel's damp skin with a single shaking finger. His eyes squeezed shut in the moment he made contact, but sprung back open almost immediately afterwards. With the surprise clearly written across his face, he pressed the finger down harder, before adding a second and a third, and soon his entire hand was pressing into Aziraphale's, genuinely amazed that the angel had been telling the truth.

"There now," said Aziraphale, quiet and calm. "Shall we get you cleaned up then?"

The demon stared, blinking, which the angel took for acquiescence.

"I wish I could heal you the easy way," Aziraphale sighed, "but the signature of that kind of miracle would draw far too much attention, so we're going to have to take it slow." He stood and leaned over the bed to lay a warm, kind hand on the demon's head. "For now, I'm going to give you as much of my own strength as I can, so you'll at least be able to move easier."

The demon's eyes widened in alarm at that, but a moment later his eyelids fluttered closed and a strange sigh escaped him. Aziraphale felt his own strength wane as he allowed his energy to leech out into the other's corporation. Not too much...but enough to make things easier for both of them. When he finally pulled his hand away he felt tired, and a little achy, but knew that he still felt exponentially better than the demon did.

Long eyelashes lifted to reveal golden eyes that were wide with surprise and much more lucid than they'd previously been. Aziraphale smiled and nodded, and the demon ever-so-slowly spread his hands on the bed-sheets and began to push himself up. He moved very gingerly, and there were more than a few hisses of pain, but before Aziraphale's eyes he managed to push himself into a seated position, wavering only slightly. He met the angel's gaze with an unreadable expression. Aziraphale felt that, had that expression been accompanied by words, those words would have been, "Why are you being so good to me?"

The angel ignored the implications and offered a hand. "Do you think you can make it to the bath?" he asked.

The demon considered the proffered hand, swallowed, and after only a few moments of hesitation reached out to accept it.

Aziraphale grinned. Overflowing with kindness and patience, he carefully helped the demon shimmy off the side of the bed and walk on shaky legs over to the side of the bath. With them both vertically side-by-side like this the angel could see that the demon was just the tiniest bit taller than him. A pointless bit of information to be taking note of, but for some reason the new knowledge made the angel smile.

Once they'd made their way to the bubbly water, Aziraphale stopped and ran his gaze up and down the demon. "I think perhaps we should remove those ruined clothes before you get in the water," he suggested. He wasn't expecting the demon to look at him with wide eyes and a hint of pink across his dirty cheeks. "I hardly think human standards of physical shame apply to us," the angel said with a chuckle, "but I'll happily turn my back if it would make you more comfortable."

Counter-intuitively, this only seemed to make the demon flush a darker pink, but after a short moment he gave a single slow nod.

True to his word, Aziraphale took a step away and turned his back, focusing his gaze on the window across the room and the little garden that lay just outside it. A few heartbeats went by, but eventually he heard the telltale shuffle and soft flump of clothing being removed and dropped to the floor. He couldn't help wonder, as he stood and listened to the movement behind him, how aghast his fellow angels would be if they could see him now, not only helping a demon, but turning his back to one. He could imagine Gabriel asking him if he'd lost his mind, Michael insisting he be returned to basic training. He could practically see his fellow Principalities snickering at him, whispering to one another about how soft and pathetic this one was, how it was amazing he hadn't been discorporated a hundred times by now.

The thought of it hurt in a way Aziraphale had been hurting for millennia, but for now he pushed the pain away. He refused to believe that it was foolish of him to help, to give care and healing to the hurt, even if the hurt was a demon. And though it may have dropped jaws in Heaven if he were to say it aloud, he truly believed that the demon behind his back right now would do nothing to hurt him. He didn't know why he believed such a strange thing, but the belief prevailed. Perhaps - he thought, a little hysterically - it was Her influence guiding his soul.

When he heard the soft swish of water and a positively sinful sigh of comfort, Aziraphale turned back around and couldn't stop a chuckle. The demon had sunk into the water right up to his eyes - which were closed in pleasure - so that all the angel saw was the top of a head surrounded by fluffy white clouds of bubbles.

He let the poor dear relax in the hot water for a few long minutes before approaching and picking up a soft face-cloth. The demon's eyes opened at the sound of his movement. Aziraphale couldn't help but think that he looked like a meek little water snake, peeking out of a pond at the sound of danger.

"I'm going to see if I can get some of that grime out of your hair," the angel explained, offering the cloth. "You can work on your skin so that I don't inadvertently irritate your wounds, okay?"

The demon blinked once, slowly. Without shifting his gaze from Aziraphale's eyes, he lifted long fingers from the water to accept the cloth and, wetting it, began to gingerly rub it along his own face.

Aziraphale smiled as he reached for a bottle of shampoo-

( When was the last time I smiled so much?)

-and squeezed a generous dollop of it onto the top of the demon's head. He noticed that the demon went very still once his fingers dipped down to massage the soap into his long hair, but he chose not to mention it. He was sure the poor dear was grappling with the idea of being touched in a kind way after all that had happened to him. And even before that, it wasn't as though demons were the gentle-touch type. It was entirely possible this being hadn't been touched kindly since before his Fall. The thought broke Aziraphale's heart for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that he understood all too well the loneliness that the demon must have endured…

The angel worked his fingers through the dirty, matted hair, gently but with a firm touch. He thought he heard a few soft sounds as he massaged the demon's scalp, but he bit his lip and chose to ignore them.

Two more shampoo applications later and the suds finally began to run clear. Aziraphale let out a little squeal of delight that had the demon looking up at him with wide, worried eyes, but the angel simply grinned down at him as he continued rinsing out his hair. "It's red!" he explained, as if the demon didn't already know. "Oh, I've always adored red hair, you know! It looks just like the flames of a warm hearth-fire."

The demon blinked, and Aziraphale thought he may have dipped a little lower into the water to hide the pink of his cheeks.

In response, the angel clucked his tongue. "You're not working on the rest of your body," he pointed out with a slight smirk. The reminder made the demon startle a little, and then he was obediently working the face-cloth over his arms and legs beneath the bubbles.

When the lovely, long, red hair seemed clean, Aziraphale dried his hands on a towel and left it on the side of the bath within the demon's reach. "Okay, you finish up while I find you something to wear, and then we'll do something about those wounds," he instructed, standing. He held the demon's gaze long enough to receive a little nod before turning to a dresser of drawers on the other side of the room.

Aziraphale hummed a little to himself as he rummaged through the drawers for something appropriate. His clothes were all much too big for the skinny demon, but loose was probably better anyway, to keep the fabric from irritating his wounds. He was just settling on a pair of tartan pajama pants with a drawstring waist and a plain white t-shirt when he heard the swishing, dripping sounds of the demon stepping out of the bath. "May I turn?" the angel asked, and he got what he thought was an affirmative-sounding hiss in return.

He turned, clothing in hand and mouth open to ask how the bath had felt. Then he froze. His corporation stopped breathing and his face and throat felt suddenly far too warm.

The demon had wrapped the towel around his waist, just loose enough so that it was slipping down over one angular hip. His skin, though still covered in wounds, was now clean and pale as porcelain. He was long and lithe, some may have said too skinny, but there was a strength hidden in those thin arms and legs, a kind of deceptive power in the minute movements of that bare chest. Flaming red hair stuck to his cheeks and neck, falling around his shoulders and dripping drops of bathwater down the length of his body. And those golden eyes, staring down self-consciously, stood out as the loveliest feature on a positive masterpiece of art.

F-fuck… Aziraphale thought, and swiftly admonished himself. He's...he's so beautiful…

Aziraphale had come up against other demons in his time on Earth. It was inevitable that the enemy should show up every so often, causing trouble and making the angel's work more difficult.

All of them had been...disgusting. Even while attempting to blend in with humans, they'd each had a certain sense of dark despair among them. Their skin and clothes always seemed somehow dark and slimy, their eyes black and cold. The hatred rolled off them in waves, along with a rather pungent stench seemed to follow them wherever they went. Even the ones who bothered to try to make themselves moderately attractive in human terms radiated a sense of ugliness , from without and within.

This demon, however…

Lord help me… Mother Above, am I being tested or something?

The demon stood with one hand on the towel where he'd tied it, the other hanging awkwardly at his side, eyes cast down, seemingly waiting for permission to move.

Aziraphale took the opportunity of not currently being observed to force a hard swallow and convince his corporation to begin breathing again. He took a step forward, nearly tripped over his own feet, and continued on as though nothing had happened. With what he suspected was a rather forced smile, he placed the clothes on the edge of the bed and reached past the demon to retrieve a second towel. "You're dripping," he said simply, barely managing to croak out the words, and reached up to pat at the demon's hair.

For what felt like a long time - and yet no time at all - they were both silent. Aziraphale got the demon's hair as dry as he could with the towel, then carefully brushed it out to ensure there were no painful tangles. He faced the wall again to allow the demon to dress in the clothes he'd chosen, and forced away another gulp when he saw how the baggy garments hung off the demon's shoulder and hips. The angel gestured for the demon to sit upon the bed and, after steadying himself with a few deep breaths, reached forward to roll up the pant legs and get to work on the demon's wounds.

He dabbed carefully with the disinfectant, taking care to note any hisses or sharp noises, but the demon seemed to be working very hard to keep his reactions to himself.

Bit by bit, Aziraphale tended the demon's wounds, wrapping them in the bandages he'd made, and occasionally letting a small spark of his grace soothe the most painful-looking areas. He took care of both legs and arms, was extra gentle around the chest area and the particularly harsh lashes between the shoulder-blades. Every now and then he murmured soft apologies (why he felt the need to apologize was between himself and God), and throughout it all the demon simply gazed down at his own hands in his lap.

As he wrapped the final bandage around a red-raw shoulder, Aziraphale finally spoke. "Once your strength has returned I'm sure you'll be able to heal these wounds yourself, but you should probably-" He broke off when the demon cringed. "No…" he gasped. "You can't mean to say…"

One of the demon's hands rose - a little shakily - to touch the circlet around his neck. The other rose, thumb and forefinger together, and snapped once before lowering both hands back down to his lap.

At the heavy sense of dismay radiating from the demon's entire being, Aziraphale felt a sudden, unrestrained burst of Heavenly wrath. His hands rose to the circlet, fingers wrapped around it on either side, pulling, growling, demanding the demeaning thing release its hold. He didn't realize there were angry tears streaming down his face until one of the demon's hands tentatively touched his own. Golden eyes looked sadly into blue as if to say, "It's no good. It won't come off for you."

Those eyes brought Aziraphale back down to Earth, but also made him want to cry aloud. "I'll figure out how to remove it," he told the demon, voice stern and stubborn. "I promise you that."

There was something in the demon's eyes then, something that spoke of a mixture of confusion and belief. After a while he nodded, just once, and let his gaze fall back to his hands.

Aziraphale didn't know what else to say or do, and it killed him. "My name is Aziraphale, by the way," he said after a time. "I don't think I ever mentioned." He offered a sad smile and leaned his head down a little to look up into the demon's face. "I'd love to know your name as well. Could you write it down for me?"

The demon heaved a deep sigh and shook his head. He made a scribbling motion with one hand and lifted his shoulders in a small shrug.

"You...don't know how to write?" Aziraphale guessed, and felt his chest tighten again when the demon nodded. "What about reading? You could-" But the demon was already shaking his head again.

No reading or writing...were you not allowed to learn, or- He cringed at the thought. Could it be that you were chained up since before the written word became popular?

He didn't ask. He wasn't certain he would have been able to handle the answer. Instead he clenched his jaw and thought aloud. "Well...perhaps I could guess, somehow…"

The demon looked up from under his eyelashes, a bit of a cocked eyebrow suggesting he didn't think it likely.

The angel, however, was determined. "Let's think about it," he suggested. Does your name sound like anything else? Rhyme with something that you can point at? Maybe I could work out the syllables and-"

The demon had looked up, brow furrowed, a thoughtful frown on his face. With a look that suggested he felt a bit silly doing it, he lifted his hands, hooked the thumbs, and spread the fingers out to either side as though creating a shadow puppet.

Aziraphale was already excited by the attempt. "A bird?" he asked, and smiled when the demon nodded. "Your name sounds like a bird?" Another nod, and then the demon slithered off the bed toward his dirty, discarded scraps of clothing. He lifted a piece of the dark material and looked back at the angel while jabbing a finger at it.

Aziraphale frowned, but after a moment it clicked. "Black? A black bird?" An enthusiastic nod now, which made the angel grin. "Okay, a black bird...let's see. Raven?" A shake of the demon's head. "Starling?" No. "Grackle?" A look of incredulity. "Crow?"

The demon clapped his hands together.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up. They were getting somewhere! "Your name is Crow, or sounds like crow?" he asked.

The demon pursed his lips together and thought. After a moment he made the bird shape with his hands again, then crossed his fingers for a moment, then waved a hand in the air.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. "Crow….plus?" he said slowly, and continued when the demon nodded. "Crow plus something else?" Another nod, genuinely excited now.

The angel thought hard. He'd been around since the beginning, had heard every variation of every name ever bestowed on a being, he was certain of it. Surely he could figure this out. He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated hard, filtering his memory back through the millennia, recalling humans, angels, and demons he'd known, plays he'd seen, books he'd read, baptisms he'd attended, ceremonies he'd blessed...any name he'd ever come across that began with 'Crow'.

There was only one that came to mind; a name he'd heard mainly in Ireland but knew of no specific origin for.

He opened his eyes and met the demon's expectant gaze. "Crowley?" he asked.

For the first time since Aziraphale had set eyes on his broken form in that dark cavern, the demon's lips curled up into a little smile that had the angel's chest fluttering in an unrecognizable way. Red hair bounced and bobbed as the demon nodded and, oh- Was it just Aziraphale or were his eyes a little misty?

The angel stood from the bed, a wide, genuine smile on his face, and held out a hand. At first the demon didn't seem to understand the gesture, but a moment later he reached forward with thin fingers and allowed the angel to take his hand.

Aziraphale couldn't have explained it, not to himself, and most assuredly not to Heaven, but in that moment, with his hand grasped firmly around that of a red-haired, snake-eyed demon, the angel felt happier and more at peace with himself than he had since further back than he could remember.

"I'm so pleased to officially meet you, Crowley."

---

NOTE: I received some lovely fanart for this chapter! Check out vusster on Instagram to give this artist some love!

You Can Stay At My Place

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale plans their next step, gives Crowley a choice to consider, and learns a bit more about the demon as they take their leave of Cyprus.

Chapter Notes

Yay for another chapter! For some reason I had a rough time writing this one; it just didn't want to come! I guess I'm just too keen for future chapters, but I have to work through the interim bits first. :P Luckily I think the chapter turned out pretty well anyway...definitely super-cute, IMHO! XD

The following day was one for making decisions.

Shortly following the revelation of the demon's name, Crowley had begun to yawn, his eyes growing heavy and his body beginning to sag. Aziraphale had therefore insisted that his ward lay down in the bed and get some more sleep. Crowley had been resistant at first. The suggestion had him chewing at his lower lip anxiously, as though some part of him expected that falling asleep here would mean waking up somewhere else, somewhere worse. Perhaps back in his cold, dirty prison.

It had taken some doing, but after a bit of time the angel had managed to convince the demon that his corporation required rest in order to heal. "The energy I transferred to you is finite," he had explained. "It won't keep you going indefinitely. You need to rest so your body can recover naturally, and I need time to rebuild my own strength if I'm to help you more when you awake."

The reluctance was still there in those honey-colored eyes, but finally Crowley allowed himself to be shooed beneath the soft covers of the bed, and there was no denying the way his eyes fluttered with fatigue as damp red waves hit the fluffy feather pillows. Aziraphale had turned away, figuring the demon would be out cold by the time he left the room, but he hadn't gotten more than a single step away from the bed when he was stopped by cool fingers around his wrist. He'd looked back in surprise, just in time to see Crowley snatch his own hand back to his chest with a look of panic in his eyes.

Panic at the thought of being left alone? Fear of retaliation for having touched the angel without permission? A bit of both?

Aziraphale was quick to offer a soothing smile. Taking care to move slowly, he let his own hand fall to rest against the one Crowley had withdrawn. "Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?" he asked.

The look he received in return was understandably conflicted. There was fear there, absolutely. Also, shame. Self-loathing. Perhaps even disgust. But most importantly, there was confirmation; the tiniest of nods.

With a gesture from Aziraphale, Crowley pushed further back in the bed, opening up a space for the angel to sit and lean against the headboard. "Go on then," he insisted, voice low and soothing. He snapped his fingers to lower the lights and softened his normally rigid posture to put the demon more at ease. "I'll be right here."

Crowley stared at him for a little while, unblinking, until Aziraphale began to wonder what the silent dear was thinking. Then his eyelids began to flutter and, eventually, closed. For a while longer there was a bit of squirming, a few awkward twitches, but soon enough the demon's chest was rising and falling in slow, soft breaths and the stress had melted out of his body.

Aziraphale sat there for the remainder of the night, and though he occasionally turned his gaze skyward to peer up at the stars through the window above them, he spent most of the moonlight hours staring helplessly at the slumbering figure beside him.

He had so many questions.

Who was this demon called Crowley, who had tortured him so, and for what reason?

How long had he been imprisoned in that place, left alone in the cold and dark, without even enough strength to discorporate himself?

What was the purpose of that blasted circlet around his neck that stole his voice and demonic powers?

But most of all...what in Heaven's name was Aziraphale going to do with him?

This was the question that had his surplus of anxieties in a twist. He couldn't leave the poor thing alone, that was for certain. Until they figured out a way to remove the cursed object that kept him from using his own powers, Crowley was all but defenceless, and that was without even considering how long it would take for his physical wounds to heal without proper miracles. Setting him out on his own would be cruel at best, a death sentence at worst. What if he was found again by whoever had imprisoned him in the first place? What if another angel came across him while he was helpless and decided to smite him? Or another demon decided to drag him back to hell and punish him for having been weakened in the first place?

And that was another thing: it seemed an unintelligent move to remain in Cyprus any longer than necessary. They had no way of knowing whether the demon's captor (or captors , more likely) would return. Perhaps they checked up on their prisoner on a regular basis. Perhaps they'd already found him missing and were scouring the nearby towns as Aziraphale sat here wondering about it.

It took a bit of time for Aziraphale to calm himself back down after that train of thought ran away with him. With deep breaths and a few panicked prayers up to Her, he eventually managed to convince himself that it was rather unlikely - given the blackened state of the blood with which Crowley had been covered - that his captors had visited regularly. Still, it seemed prudent to extract them both from Cyprus as soon as possible.

The trouble, then, was having to go about things the human way to avoid curious eyes looking down at him from Heaven. He would certainly set off a few alarms if he miracled himself and a passenger home to London, but it wasn't just the big things that could be noticed. Miracling two plane tickets, for instance, would look suspicious to anyone in Heaven who knew the ever-lonesome angel, so it would be much safer to purchase them manually.

Thoughts and plans such as these flittered back and forth in the angel's head throughout the darkest hours and into the morn. He hardly noticed when the sun rose, nor when it reached its apex and began to crawl back down the other side of the sky. He was too lost in a sea of concerns, wondering what his most prudent courses of action should be.

In the end he decided that the safest choice was to purchase plane tickets to London as soon as possible, and take Crowley back to his bookshop in Soho. Though it sounded like pure madness even to himself, it was the best place for the demon until further notice. It was well-protected against human and Hell-born evils alike, and there were certain...methods he could utilize to keep other angels from detecting the demonic presence. Yes, it really was the most reasonable choice, assuming the demon himself agreed to it.

It was nighttime again and Aziraphale's mind was made up. Crowley slept on-

The dear is rather a top hand at this sleeping business…

-and the angel wasn't keen to wake him just yet, but it was long past time he started to get things in motion. Careful not to disturb the mattress in the slightest, Aziraphale gingerly extracted himself from the bed and tiptoed out into the main area of the villa. There was a small laptop computer on a desk in the corner of the living area that the angel had avoided until now. He'd always been a rather slow-moving creature of habit, a lover of old books and classical music, and had been having rather a frustrating time dealing with the explosive bursts of technological advancement over the past handful of decades. He'd worked out enough, however, that he thought it not too unlikely that he would be able to pull off booking their flight online.

A short time later, as the fifteenth pop-up ad blocked a field in which Aziraphale was attempting to input passenger details, the angel began a silent litany of enraged profanity for "the Internets". By the time he'd managed to enter his credit card information (he could miracle money, of course, but enjoyed having a few chunks of plastic in a wallet for appearances sake) he was beginning to threaten the laptop with a rather violent end. When the screen froze up during the payment process he very nearly smote the entirety of the international air travel industry just for the hell of it.

He had a finger raised to the laptop's screen, his hand shaking a little with barely suppressed fury, when a sound from the bedroom snagged his attention. Aziraphale's head turned toward the sound, lips drawn into a frown as it came again. It sounded a bit like a whimper.

The angel was on his feet and half a stride toward the room when the whimper became a full-blown cry, the sharp, strangled squeal of a voiceless throat.

He was in the room before he even registered having taken another step.

Crowley was thrashing wildly on the bed, hands twisted in sheets, legs tangled as he kicked in a mad panic. His eyes were squeezed shut, but there were tears streaming down his face and his mouth was open wide as he struggled to scream through his broken throat. The resulting sounds he made were reminiscent of a starving kitten being set upon by a slobbering rottweiler.

Aziraphale was on him without hesitation, one hand on a shoulder to hold him down, the other on a tear-streaked cheek, a spark of grace in the touch to help calm and draw the demon from his nightmare. "Shh...shhh…" the angel soothed. "Crowley, wake up now, it's just a dream."

Amber eyes shot wide open, pupils barely visible for how thin they'd become. There was a heartbeat during which those eyes were bereft of recognition, still lost within the confines of the nightmare. Then long, trembling fingers found the lapels of Aziraphale's shirt, gripping at the fabric and tugging a little, as though to prove to himself that the angel, his savior, was truly real.

"Shhh…" Aziraphale whispered again. He ran his thumb along Crowley's cheek to brush away some of the tears that were still falling. His heart was breaking for the demon, whose whole body was shaking. "It's okay, my dear," the angel assured him. "It was just a bad dream. You're here with me and you're safe, I promise you."

Aziraphale expected the demon to pull away once his mind had cleared enough to remember where he was and what had happened. Instead, Crowley pressed forward, a broken sob on his lips, holding on to the angel for dear life. The angel was startled by the press of a tear-streaked face to his chest, but he recovered quickly, adjusting his posture to let the demon lean in closer. He whispered small comforts while running warm fingers through sleep-tousled hair.

"It's okay...it's okay...you're safe with me. I'm going to take care of you, my dear...shhh…"

It took a bit of time, but slowly, slowly, Crowley's trembling began to abate, his heaving sobs becoming weak whimpers. Aziraphale held him through it all, one hand carding through his hair while the other made soothing trails up and down his back. Eventually the only sound left from the demon was a soft sniffling, and then he was releasing Aziraphale's shirt and pushing away, as if he'd only just realized what he was doing. The angel allowed him to go, but was both surprised and a bit disturbed to realize how much he longed to chase and reclaim the points of contact.

The skin beneath Crowley's eyes was red and raw, and his face was flushed. He pressed his palms to the bed and let his head drop forward as if in penance, as if begging forgiveness for his outburst.

Aziraphale wished he knew what to do to help. It was such a strange situation from the outset, complicated by a variety of factors, not the least of which was Crowley's inability to tell him what, precisely, he'd gone through (and was currently still going through, if the nightmare was any indication). Throwing the angel even further off his game was the fact that he'd never spent any real quantity of time in the presence of a demon before and what he'd thought he knew about them clearly didn't apply to this one in particular.

Demon's weren't meek and shy about their appearance.

Demon's didn't actively seek out physical closeness for comfort.

Demon's definitely didn't cry into an angel's chest and then try to apologize for it.

Except, obviously, this one.

Well, I suppose I shall just have to forget that he's a demon and go with my own instincts, thought Aziraphale.

Crowley's bloodshot eyes flicked up immediately when Aziraphale's tender fingers wrapped around one of his hands. Blue eyes looked at him with nothing but kindness.

"Let's get you some tea," the angel suggested with a cheery smile. "I've got a lovely, soothing chamomile in my bags that always helps to calm me down."

Crowley blinked a few times, almost looked like he might begin crying again, then swallowed hard and nodded once.

Stubbornly avoiding the concerning flutter in his chest, Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the demon's wrist and gently led him out to the living room sofa. He deposited the still-sniffling Crowley onto the cushy furniture and puttered off to the kitchen area to boil the kettle. He couldn't help but notice the way the demon curled around a couch pillow and watched the angel's every movement, but he chose not to acknowledge it. He supposed that, even if there was at least a bit of trust there, the demon wouldn't be comfortable turning his back to anyone for quite some time.

Aziraphale added a splash of honey and carefully carried the steaming tea over to offer it to the red-eyed Crowley. The demon hesitated for only a moment before extending his hands and gingerly accepting the hot mug. Aziraphale watched as long fingers cradled the pale green porcelain and, when Crowley looked back up at him with some trepidation, he gently urged the demon to take a sip.

Crowley stared down at the steaming liquid and gulped, flashes of curiosity tinged with fear in his amber eyes. He leaned close enough to the mug to give it a quick sniff and scrutinized the contents with a twitch of a frown. Aziraphale began to wonder if the demon was having more concerns about holy water and was just about to offer to run the same test as before when Crowley finally moved the mug to his lips and took a delicate sip. A soft, pleased sound preceded a second sip, and a third, followed by a sigh and a fluttering closed of heavy eyelids.

Aziraphale watched and couldn't deny the insistent, warm feeling spreading through his whole body. Mother, give me strength…

The angel cleared his throat and perched himself primly at the opposite end of the sofa, facing the demon. "Now, my dear, you have choices to consider."

Crowley's eyes opened and peered over at Aziraphale, his expression wary. His fingers tightened a bit around the mug. Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder if the demon was waiting for the tables to turn, for the angel to suddenly enact a new and even more terrible form of torture than what he'd already experienced.

It was for that precise possibility that Aziraphale felt he needed to make this particular offer perfectly clear. "It's not safe for you to remain so near to where you were imprisoned," the angel explained, "especially since you're currently in no position to be able to defend yourself. Therefore I've arranged for us to travel back to London, where I normally reside."

Crowley blinked slowly, but otherwise did not react to this information.

"The decision you must make, then," Aziraphale continued, "is what you wish to do once we've arrived."

At that Crowley's eyes widened a little, lips parting slightly. His head tipped a bit to one side. He was unmistakably confused.

Aziraphale cleared his throat again and did his best not to fidget. He couldn't deny that the choice he was about to present made him feel a bit sick to his stomach, though he wasn't entirely certain which potential outcome was attributed to the nausea. "You're no longer a prisoner, Crowley," he said, tone soft. "Once we've gotten you away from Cyprus, you are absolutely free to walk away and never look back."

The demon's eyes widened further. It seemed quite clear that it had never once occurred to him that Aziraphale might actually set him free.

"Of course," Aziraphale continued, "I hesitate to send you out into the world with that blasted collar keeping you all but powerless, so you're-" He had to pause for a moment here to swallow and moisten his dry throat. "You're more than welcome to come back with me to my bookshop where I can keep you safe until we can work out how to remove this crutch that keeps you from being truly free."

The angel's gaze had wandered as he spoke - a nervous habit he'd struggled with for millennia - but now he looked up to meet golden-honey eyes that were staring at him with something akin to shock. Crowley's mouth opened as if he intended to speak, before snapping shut again, his jaw clenching.

"You don't have to decide right this moment," Aziraphale assured him. "You can think about it on the way to London if you wish. And, of course, should you decide to take my offer of help, you will be absolutely free to change your mind and walk away at any time."

Crowley's lips parted again. He seemed to be struggling with his inability to respond vocally. Eventually he lowered his gaze to his tea and gave a small nod to imply that he understood his options.

Aziraphale considered him silently as the demon sipped his tea with his eyes downcast. He couldn't help but wonder what Crowley was thinking just then. Was he grateful for the freedom the angel offered, or terrified by it? Did he think the angel wonderfully kind or pathetically soft? It bothered Aziraphale to realize that he cared a bit too much about what the demon saw when he looked at him. He hoped that, whatever it was, it was closer to 'unlikely friend' than 'hereditary enemy'.

After staring at gold eyes and crimson hair for just a bit too long, Aziraphale pushed to his feet and announced, "Well, our flight leaves in the morning, so we'll head out to the airport as soon as I've gathered my things. Best to get away from here as quickly as possible." He was halfway back to the bedroom when he realized something and stuttered to a halt. Turning back to the demon with a bit of a cringe he asked, "Do...do you even know what an airplane is?"

The look Crowley returned to him was one of incredulous amusement. He lifted an eyebrow and there may have been just the smallest crack of a smile on his lips as he nodded.

Aziraphale let out a little breath of relief. Imprisoned no more than a century and a bit, then… he thought, and though any amount of time was horrible, he was glad to know that the demon hadn't been trapped in that cave since before the written word…

---

The cab ride to the airport was...awkward. Crowley seemed content to sit and stare out the window at the passing countryside, and Aziraphale did his best to make small-talk with the cabbie, but the older, dark-haired gentlemen kept glancing in his rearview mirror, very obviously staring at Crowley's unusual eyes. Aziraphale chose not to comment, but after three quarters of an hour of the driver's sidelong stares the angel's jaw began to clench.

As they stepped out of the vehicle at their destination Aziraphale handed the cabbie exact change and bit out, "It's rather rude to stare, you know," before grabbing Crowley's elbow and steering them both into the Departures building. Crowley blinked sideways at him as the angel huffed and fussed with his travel bag in his aggravation.

"It's nothing," Aziraphale assured the demon with a significantly more genuine smile. "Nothing at all."

It was a lie. Aziraphale couldn't rightly recall the last time he'd purposely failed to tip anyone, even if they were rude. The fact that he'd now done so on behalf of a demon had his hackles up in a way he didn't know was possible.

The humans milling through the airport did nothing to improve the angel's mood. He'd done his best at dressing Crowley in the clothes he'd had available, but their body types were rather at odds with each other and the demon looked malnourished swimming in Aziraphale's brown trousers and white button-up. Combined with the metal circlet (which the shirt's collar wasn't quite high enough to hide), fiery red hair down past his shoulders, and his golden, serpentine eyes, Crowley cut an image that the passing humans couldn't seem to resist staring at. Aziraphale tried to ignore them at first, but by the time they were standing in the line at Security his teeth had begun to grind, especially as Crowley's own discomfort became clear. He had ducked close behind the angel, eyes cast down and seemingly doing his best to look as small as possible.

Aziraphale had just been seriously considering risking a miracle to cloak them both so they could storm past Security, when Crowley jumped (whether or not a kind of panicked squeak came from his throat as well was a matter of debate) and both angel and demon twirled to look at the young girl who had pulled on Crowley's sleeve.

The girl's parents were having an animated conversation with their friends in the line, and so didn't notice her grinning up adorably at the two celestial beings. "Your eyes are really cool, mister!" she whispered conspiratorially. "The color is so pretty!"

Crowley's face went the hue of a ripe tomato. Aziraphale thought his chest might burst.

"He can't speak, my dear," the angel told the little girl with a quiet smile, "but I'm certain he is pleased that you think so."

Crowley was a hot red all the way down his throat as the little girl leaned closer to look up into his wide, embarrassed eyes. Her lovely, dimpled smile made him blink foolishly. She glanced back to make sure her parents weren't looking before gesturing with her hand for the demon to come closer. Cautiously curious, Crowley crouched down so that he was face to face with the young human.

"They make you look like a snake," she whispered with a giggle. "I love snakes."

Crowley seemed to consider that for a moment. His gaze flicked up to the girl's parents, then to Aziraphale, and then back to the girl. Then, with a little twitch of a smile, he flicked his tongue toward her - a tongue that was too long, too thin, and forked at the tip.

The girl gaped for a moment, before her face broke back out into a beaming grin, hands slapped over her mouth to hold in a squeal of delight. Crowley winked at her before gesturing for her to return to her parents, which she did with a pleased giggle and an adorable wave.

When the demon stood back up it was to find Aziraphale smirking at him with an eyebrow raised. "That was rather-" he began, and found himself snorting with barely-restrained laughter when Crowley's eyes narrowed. "It was truly evil," the angel amended what he'd been planning to say. "Yes, obviously, encouraging a love for wily, trickster serpents must be truly evil indeed. How very devious of you."

Crowley jutted out his jaw and glared, but under the brightness of Aziraphale's amused grin he soon turned away with a sniff, hands shoved petulantly in his pockets.

Good lord, the angel thought while stifling a giggle, What are the chances I would rescue a demon with a soft spot for children?

The thought made Aziraphale feel warm inside. What were the chances indeed? He couldn't help looking at Crowley out of the corner of his eye, at the way the demon stood, shoulders hunched, head lowered, looking somehow shy. The angel wondered how much of this demeanor was influenced by his imprisonment, as opposed to his natural personality. He seemed unusually gentle and emotional for a demon. Was that entirely the result of having been tortured? Or had he always been like this? A kind of...exception to prove the rule, as far as demons were concerned?

Crowley followed close beside Aziraphale, never seeming for even a moment to consider doing anything else. With a minor bit of angelic persuasion Aziraphale was able to get them both past Security and onto their airplane without any identification. He'd splurged for first class seats, because why wouldn't he when he could miracle up more funds whenever he required them? Perhaps not the most angelic of attitudes, but he never had been the best angel.

The first class seats were set in pairs on either side of the aisle, and Aziraphale offered Crowley the window seat so that he would be a bit further away from curious (rude) humans. The demon took his seat with a small nod. The moment he was seated he curled his long legs close to his body, lay his hands on his lap, and leaned his head against the window. He seemed exhausted again already, which made Aziraphale frown. It must be overwhelming, he thought, suddenly being out and about, surrounded by humans, a part of the world again, after having been locked away from it for-

Oh. He still didn't actually know how long Crowley had been in that cave, did he?

"Crowley," the angel said, keeping his tone quiet enough to avoid the nearby humans hearing. "Could you tell me how long you were imprisoned if I tell you that it is currently July of 2018?"

The moment the date left Aziraphale's lips, Crowley's head whipped toward him so fast the demon could have given himself whiplash. His eyes were wide, the pupils slitted, and his face had gone even more pale than it already was. For a moment he simply stared at the angel, lips twitching as he apparently took in the date Aziraphale had given him with no small amount of panic. Then, after swallowing hard and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment while he took a steadying breath, he met the angel's eyes and held up both hands with all of his fingers extended.

"Ten years?" Aziraphale guessed, and felt both horror and relief when Crowley nodded. A decade of torture and solitary imprisonment… It was positively appalling, but also practically nothing compared to what he'd originally imagined. He found himself sending a small, silent prayer of thanks to the Almighty for allowing him to find the poor dear before, well… Depending on what happened in the coming year it was entirely possible that Crowley could have wound up trapped there without likelihood of discovery for the rest of eternity.

Crowley's gaze had shifted down to his lap, where he was wringing his hands as a twitchy frown played across his face. He looked incredibly perturbed about something. Aziraphale longed to help him, but knew their current communicative difficulties would be better dealt with when they were alone in the bookshop.

When he spotted the stewardess making her way down the aisle, however, the angel came up with a temporary plan to help the demon relax.

He laid a hand on a thin, bony shoulder, and met questioning amber eyes with a radiant smile. "My dear, would you care for a glass of wine? I have it on good authority that the cheap swill they have onboard has somewhat miraculously been mistakenly swapped out with a rather fine Malbec."

Crowley's eyes widened just a tad, before a small snort of laughter escaped him and suddenly he was desperately trying to hide a smile behind his raised hand.

Both the adorable little laugh and the twitch of the demon's lips made Aziraphale's heart burn with happiness. He made no attempt at all to hide his own pleased grin. "I'll take that as a yes," he smirked, and turned toward the aisle with a hand raised. "Madam? Two glasses of red for my friend and I, please!"

So distracted was the angel as he procured the drinks from the young, friendly flight attendant, that he didn't notice the way the demon's eyes shined and his lips parted at the entirely subconscious use of the word 'friend'.

Welcome to My Home

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale welcomes Crowley into his home; over a takeaway meal Aziraphale talks about his past, and Crowley...reacts.

Chapter Notes

First off, I just want to say that I'm overwhelmed by the love this story has been receiving! All your lovely comments have been absolutely melting me; you have no idea, you guys! Your wonderful words have been spurring me on, making me write faster and (hopefully) better. You guys are the absolute best; genuinely hope that you'll continue to enjoy this little tale! 3

It was mid-afternoon when the taxi cab pulled up along a busy street in Soho.

Crowley and Aziraphale had shared a few glasses of wine on the plane, stubbornly ignoring the raised eyebrows from fellow travellers who clearly thought it too early in the day for such indulgence. They didn't converse much, but Aziraphale spent a bit of time explaining about his bookshop and how it was really more a personal library than anything. He told Crowley that he'd come up with the idea of a shop as a front for his book hoarding that would throw off the judgement of other angels, and Crowley seemed entirely delighted by the sneakiness of the whole concept. Aziraphale thought that the demon's amusement should probably be a sign that he was doing something truly sinful, but reasons that he couldn't begin to explain it just further cemented that he'd come up with an excellent plan to camouflage his passion from Heaven.

By the time their flight arrived in London Crowley's cheeks were rather pink and his eyes looked heavy. He was also cringing a bit as he walked, so once they were safely in their cab Aziraphale placed a hand on the demon's shoulder and let a bit more healing grace transfer through them. The result was a soft, grateful sigh, and then suddenly Crowley was asleep in the back of the cab, head tilted sideways and lips parted as he breathed slow and deep. Aziraphale couldn't help but sit and smile at him. A few minutes into their drive the angel turned several as-yet-undiscovered shades of red when the friendly cabbie suggested that his 'partner' must have had a tiring trip.

(He did not, however, correct the driver, and chose not to further examine that choice in any way, shape, or form.)

Crowley didn't seem keen to wake when it was time to leave the cab, so Aziraphale gave him another little jolt of grace for energy before paying the cabbie (this one received a positively decadent tip that had him sputtering his gratitude) and leading the bleary-eyed demon across the road to their final destination.

"Welcome to my home," the angel announced, a little nervously, as they approached the large, old corner building.

Crowley, despite his desire to keep sleeping, seemed to perk up in interest at those words.

It was a lovely building, steeped in history, and Aziraphale loved it with all his heart. As he unlocked the door with a heavy, ornate old key, it occurred to him that he'd never actually had a proper visitor before. That was to say, there had been plenty of customers in the shop over the years, but they weren't necessarily welcome and were only allowed to invade Aziraphale's space in order to keep up the appearances that the building was, in fact, a shop.

This...this would be the first time he'd ever willingly invited someone into what was, in fact, his home. And that 'someone' was a demon. It was...incredibly strange. Yet, he couldn't wipe the smile from his face as he ushered Crowley through the door and into the shop proper.

"I know it's a bit of a mess," the angel chuckled, a bit anxious, "but it's an organized disorganization, I assure you."

Crowley made a little snorting noise at that and walked forward slowly, golden eyes roaming, taking it all in.

Aziraphale's shop was positively littered with books. There were piles of them, mounds of them. There were shelves absolutely packed with them, tables stacked with them, boxes overflowing with them. There was a huge, heavy, olden-style cash register, several lovely stained-glass lamps, and a rather handsome writing desk as well, but those were hardly worth noticing when faced with the absolute sea of literature. Crowley stared around at the treasure trove of written word and looked both impressed and a little frustrated. It didn't take long for Aziraphale to garner why: it must be terribly irksome to be positively surrounded by knowledge and be incapable of understanding it.

"Come," the angel instructed, waving his guest toward the back room. "You'll probably feel more comfortable back here."

Crowley ducked into the room behind him and did, in fact, look a bit more pleased. The sitting room, as Aziraphale thought of it, had a large, lovely fireplace, a cushy old armchair, and a large, squashy sofa. There were books all over this room as well, but fewer of them, and the space was filled with more small items the angel had held onto throughout the ages. This was where Aziraphale spent the majority of his time when he wasn't pretending to run a shop or out performing tasks and miracles for Heaven. There was nothing that made the angel happier than curling up in his armchair with a hot drink and a good book, and the fireplace kept the shop cozy warm even in the worst weather London could drum up.

"There's also a flat upstairs," Aziraphale continued. "I rarely use it, myself, but you're welcome to use the bed and the bath while you're still recovering, and there's a small kitchen with a few food items if you enjoy eating. Please, feel free to make yourself at home."

Crowley looked oddly nervous at the suggestion, but he nodded and continued to peer around the room a little awkwardly.

Aziraphale watched the demon for a few moments, feeling that surely there was more he should say, but he was coming up blank and beginning to feel nervous again. When he realized he was wringing his hands he forced himself to lower them and stammered out a quick, "Well, make yourself comfortable, my dear. I'll be right back," before practically running from the room.

Once the angel was safely surrounded by shelves of musty, well-loved books, he allowed himself to stop and take a few deep breaths.

"I have a demon...in my home," he hissed at himself, heart doing funny things in his chest. "What was I thinking ?!"

But he knew exactly what he was thinking. He was thinking that Crowley had been hurt and that he deserved help and kindness as much as any other being. He was thinking that surely the Almighty couldn't be cross with him for showing care and compassion for someone who was, after all, one of Her creations. He was thinking that, demon or not, Crowley was surprisingly sweet and gentle and...and…

Aziraphale took a single long, deep breath and let it out to a count of ten before leaning forward to press his head against the side of a bookshelf. "You've been alone for far too long, you absolute fool of an angel," he sighed to himself.

Well, there was nothing for it at this point but to keep moving forward. He'd promised to keep Crowley safe and help figure out how to remove the power-dampening collar, and that was what he was going to do.

But first, he really really needed some comfort food.

He grabbed the stack of take out menus he kept on a table near the register and returned to the back room with a question on his lips.

"Crowley, would you like to join me for-"

The demon whipped around in surprise, quick to try and hide what he'd been doing, but Aziraphale had seen and felt a hint of heat rise to his cheeks. Crowley curled in on himself, eyes aimed at the floor in either shame, embarrassment, or both. Behind his back he held the tartan-print throw blanket he'd just a moment before had pressed to his cheek as he breathed deep of the scent that Aziraphale knew was primarily his own cologne.

Golden eyes flicked up, just for a moment, and when they saw the angel staring they immediately went back to the floor. With a strange little coughing sound and a not-at-all-subtle movement, Crowley twisted his wrists and awkwardly dropped the blanket back to the sofa where he'd found it.

Aziraphale had no proper description for whatever it was he was currently feeling, but he would have sworn there were living things fluttering around inside his chest and stomach. His face felt terribly warm. Part of him was terrified by the feeling, certain that it would lead to no good in the end.

The other part of him convinced his legs to move forward.

Before he entirely understood what he was doing, the angel had come up beside the demon and set the stack of menus on the coffee table. Fighting stubbornly to keep the mild tremor out of his hands, he reached down and picked up the throw blanket.

Crowley only seemed to be sinking further into himself as the seconds ticked by, as though he was awaiting his punishment, expecting outrage, anger, disgust...

Instead, Aziraphale flicked out the blanket and slowly, tenderly, wrapped it around the demon's shoulders.

Crowley tensed, his body frozen, eyes wide as they could physically go. He didn't seem to be breathing. Aziraphale adjusted the blanket carefully, pulling it snug up against the demon's chest. "It's fine, my dear," he barely whispered. "I have plenty of blankets. Consider this one yours."

In the next moment the angel was sitting at the other end of the sofa, the menus back in his hands, skimming the options as he strategically ignored the way Crowley's long fingers lifted to grip the blanket closer to his body.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and did his best to pretend that the demon's actions weren't making his corporation feel far too tight. "I'm certain there's plenty of research to be done before we can work out the secrets behind that blasted thing around your neck, but now that we're both safe for the time being, I think a little bit of relaxation is in order." He smiled, the expression a bit anxious but mostly companionable. "Would you join me for a bit of a nibble? There's a lovely little Chinese restaurant a few blocks over that delivers, and I've got rather the impressive wine cellar if you'd be so inclined to share another drink."

It was difficult trying to work out precisely what was going through Crowley's mind as he blinked back at the angel. His fingers held tight to both sides of the blanket as if it were a life preserver and he was trapped at sea in the middle of a hurricane. His face and neck were flushed a rather warm pink, and the gold of his eyes had entirely devoured the white. He looked at Aziraphale as though he couldn't understand what was happening and had no idea how to proceed.

Aziraphale knew the feeling.

After a few long, awkward moments of staring at one another, the angel patted the sofa and forced out a little chuckle. "Sit, my dear," he insisted. "You should be resting, after all."

Crowley responded immediately - as though it had been an order rather than a suggestion - practically throwing himself at the couch. As he pulled his knees to his chest and squeezed as much of himself into the embrace of his blanket as he could, Aziraphale made a mental note to word future suggestions a little differently to avoid the demon thinking he was being given commands. He was a guest, after all, not a prisoner.

Not any longer.

Crowley hadn't actually indicated that he would like something to eat, but Aziraphale decided that it might be safer for the time being to make a few small decisions on the demon's behalf. He rang up the Chinese place and placed an order for two portions of each of his favorites, and popped down to the cellar for just a moment, quickly returning with three different bottles for his guest to choose from. Crowley merely shrugged when shown the options, but after a moment of gentle prodding from the angel he unwound a hand from his blanket long enough to gesture toward the Merlot.

Aziraphale poured two glasses, offered one to the flushed demon with a smile, and fussed around the shop while waiting for their food. By the time a knock came on the door he had the coffee table cleared of books and other sundries (replaced by plates and utensils), and had a bit of Brahms playing on his old gramophone. Crowley watched intently as the angel cracked open each takeaway container one by one, spooning a bit of everything onto two plates. When one such plate was offered to the demon he accepted it gratefully, though he picked at the food much like a fussy child.

Aziraphale didn't mind. Even if he actually consumed very little, there was something quite lovely about sitting here with Crowley, having a meal together.

"You know," the angel found himself speaking to his plate, a sad little half-smile on his face, "I can't honestly recall the last time I sat and just...enjoyed someone's company." He spied Crowley's surprised face from the other end of the sofa and allowed himself a small chuckle. "Oh, I've befriended humans over the centuries, of course," he admitted, "but I do tend to keep my distance to avoid getting too attached. Their flames burn so bright and fast, I'm sure you know. So I very rarely have anyone to talk to." He cringed the moment the words left his lips and quickly mouthed an embarrassed "Sorry" in the mute demon's direction.

Crowley, for his part, hadn't even seemed to register the slip, as he was too busy considering the angel with a curious, purse-lipped look on his face. His gaze wandered for a moment, eyebrows knitted together, until it landed on a white porcelain mug on the little side table beside Aziraphale's armchair. He stood, drawing the angel's confused gaze, set down his hardly-touched plate and made for the table. Delicately lifting the mug by its rim, he aimed it in Aziraphale's direction and gestured at the pair of brilliant white wings that made up the handle of the piece.

Aziraphale blinked foolishly for a moment before catching on. "Oh, you're wondering about other angels?"

Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale smiled again, but it was forced. There was nothing in the gesture of the warm, caring being who had been so kind to Crowley these past two days. "Oh, no, I...I don't have many friends among the other angels," he admitted. Then, with a little huff of laughter that was entirely devoid of humor, he added, "Really, no friends at all would be more accurate."

Crowley frowned, golden eyes narrowed just slightly. He carefully placed the angel-winged mug back onto the table and returned to the sofa, where he sat facing Aziraphale, quietly staring, silently letting the angel know that he was listening, should the angel care to say more.

For a few quiet minutes Aziraphale stared down at his plate, his appetite having quite left him, and wondered at the situation in which he'd found himself. He'd vowed to help Crowley, yes, to protect him while he was defenseless and find a way to remove the collar that made him so. He'd offered him a place to stay, allowed him to infiltrate his personal space, so to speak. Was he really going to go another step further and start sharing personal details of his past? With a demon ?

Yes, he realized. He was going to do exactly that, because in the short time they'd known each other Aziraphale had felt more companionship with Crowley than he had with any other being in...well, far longer than he cared to consider.

With a deep sigh the angel placed his unfinished plate next to Crowley's and picked up his Merlot for a large gulp before speaking. "I was a soldier once, you know," he said, and chuckled a little at Crowley's raised eyebrow. "I know, I know, I don't seem like the type, but back before Earth I carried a flaming sword and fought for the glory of Heaven." If one were paying close attention - which Crowley was - they would have noticed the slight hint of vitriol with which Aziraphale mentioned Heaven in this respect. "I was a decent soldier, I believe. Not outstanding, not like someone like Michael. But I did my job and did it well. So when I got assigned to the Garden it felt like...recognition."

Crowley's eyes had widened at mention of the Garden. Aziraphale offered him a sad quirk of a smile. "Yes, I was there, with the first humans. I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate." There was actually a bit of pride in his voice as he said those words, but almost immediately afterwards he slumped, his shoulders curling in as he sorted through the memories. "It was so lovely, the Garden," he said with a sigh. "The humans, the animals, all the lovely flowers and fruit...it was...I loved it there." Blue eyes were wistful with recollection. "Perhaps I loved it a bit too much, however," he muttered beneath his breath, "because while the other Guardians kept to their portions of the Wall, diligent every second of every day, I had a tendency to...wander, you see."

Aziraphale set his wine glass down so that he could properly wring his hands, and allowed himself another glance toward the demon at his side. Crowley was staring at him, mouth hanging slightly open, expression unreadable. "It was all just so interesting!" Aziraphale told him with something of a groan. "I wanted to see it all, to smell the flowers and walk through the grass. I wanted to speak to the humans and observe the animals. I wanted to experience it all, rather than just... staring at it from atop a wall…

And that was my downfall, you see, because while I was off wandering the Garden, experiencing things, that's when the Tempter crept in."

Aziraphale's gaze dropped to the sofa cushion between them as he spoke, his chest heavy with the admission that he'd never truly voiced aloud. "I failed in the job She gave me. I allowed a demon to sneak into the Garden and Tempt the humans because I was too curious to just stay on the darned Wall and do what I'd been told. And afterwards, well...the kindest angels thought of me as a pathetic joke. The less kind among them were certain to remind me loudly and as often as possible of how much of a failure I was. And, well…" He sighed. "Nothing has really changed since then. Most angels shun me outright, pretend I don't even exist, and that's honestly preferable. The ones who do acknowledge me aren't exactly pleasant about it. Truly, the only good thing that came from the whole affair is that I was encouraged to stay on Earth to watch over the humans because no other angel wanted the job. If they knew I'd actually prayed for the opportunity to escape Heaven and stay among the humans, they probably would have denied me out of spite. So...yes, that's...that's pretty much how it is."

There was a long moment of awkward silence before Aziraphale finally took a deep breath and looked up to face Crowley-

-only to find the demon staring at him with eyes absolutely drowning in horror and misery.

Confused and concerned by the reaction, Aziraphale immediately attempted to backtrack to sooth the dear, hands raised in a calming motion. "Oh, my dear, it's fine, there's no reason to get so worked up on my behalf," he assured the demon. "That was a long time ago now, and, and-" He struggled for something to say that would turn back what he'd revealed, to make his situation not seem so dire as all that. "I like it here on Earth, so it's really not all that bad, you know. I don't need the other angels to accept me to be happy." He forced a smile, but it felt dreadfully inadequate even to himself.

Crowley's gaze had shifted to the side, his eyes full of an emotion Aziraphale couldn't quite place. A hand had snaked out from beneath the tartan throw blanket, gripping it too tight around the demon's neck as he seemed to agonize over all that he'd just been told.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, pushed his feelings deep down (he'd become quite good at it over the millennia) and rallied himself for a more genuine, warm, welcoming smile. "Now, my dear, don't you worry yourself over my nonsense," he insisted, dutifully infusing his voice with a cheerful tone. "You have your own struggles to be concerned with, so let's focus on those, shall we? Which reminds me-"

The angel reached out to place a kind hand on the demon's knee. Crowley flinched before meeting Aziraphale's friendly gaze with wide, haunted eyes.

"Have you made up your mind?" the angel asked, choosing to let the flinch go for the time being. "Will you be my guest while we work on freeing you properly?"

Crowley stared at him for a long time, eyes doing strange things as he seemed to go through some internal struggle that Aziraphale could neither discern nor guide him through. The angel simply waited, endlessly patient, while the demon's eyes flitted through numerous different emotions before eventually, finally, he made what would come to be the most important decision of his existence.

Crowley forced himself to meet bright blue eyes.

He nodded.

---

NOTE: The mid-chapter artwork here was drawn by myself and posted as a "Draw This In Your Style" challenge on Instagram. I got some lovely responses to it, so please check out the Instagram accounts posted above each picture and give some love to the artists!

greenleaf_loves_cats

mjfitzarrow

No Stopping It Now

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale and Crowley learn a bit about each other, become more comfortable with one another, and Aziraphale comes to a foregone conclusion.

Chapter Notes

You guys...I just want to hug you all so bad! The love and sweet comments I'm getting for this story are heartbreakingly wonderful and I can't thank you all enough! I am loving this story so much myself and just keep plowing forward because I'm desperate to get more out to you guys! This particular chapter was actually uploaded on my phone, so please let me know if you catch any weird formatting issues. 3

They had a bit more to drink than was necessarily appropriate. Aziraphale justified that Crowley deserved the indulgence after what he'd been through, while he himself was simply being a generous host. They spent several hours into the night doing their best to learn a little more about one another, which became strangely easier the drunker they got. By the time the moon was high in the sky they'd used a series of easy questions (on Aziraphale's part) and a simple system of charades (on Crowley's part) to impart a variety of entirely random information.

For instance, Crowley managed to convey that he wasn't much of an eater, but was rather fond of coffee, alcohol, and salty snacks (after which Aziraphale had immediately dug up several bags of crisps and some salted, roasted nuts to enjoy with the demon). Aziraphale shared his reluctance toward more modern technology, and Crowley successfully indicated that he was a big fan of classic automobiles. Aziraphale spoke about all the places on Earth that he'd travelled over the millenia, and Crowley patted himself on the chest whenever the angel mentioned a place he himself had visited as well.

Late into the night (or was it now early in the morning?) Aziraphale began to give his guest a rundown of some of his favorite moments spent among humans (he may have droned on a tad too long about meeting one Mr Wilde), and subsequently asked Crowley how much time he had spent on Earth himself. It was a bit difficult to get across without words, but through the demon's gestures and the trial and error of the angel's guesses Aziraphale managed to work out that Crowley had never been stationed on Earth for significant periods of time, but had been sent up a number of times throughout the ages for individual missions.

At some point during this part of their 'conversation' Crowley seemed to get a little maudlin, gazing down at his drink as he swirled the red liquid slowly back and forth.

"Would you have preferred to stay?" Aziraphale had asked then. "On Earth, I mean? Rather than returning to Hell after your assignments?"

Crowley nodded, gaze held steady on his glass.

Aziraphale had studied the demon's face, looking past the drink-induced flush of his cheeks and the somewhat stiff set of his shoulders. He looked at his eyes, so different from his own, yet somehow so very similar. "You don't...really get on with other demons, do you?"

Crowley glared at first, as if he considered the angel's words an insult, but when he met Aziraphale's kind, sympathetic gaze, he sighed and shrugged. Admission enough, as far as the angel was concerned.

He chose to leave it at that for the time being, and changed the subject by way of a reminiscing of the time he'd 'liberated' several very old, very rare books of witchcraft from a cult of 'devil worshippers' (who had nearly soiled themselves when the angel had extinguished a room of candles with a snap of his fingers). The tale did it's job, breaking Crowley out into smirks and snickers as he recalled having come across these hysterical types of humans in his travels as well.

Aziraphale felt his heart swell every time he was able to get the demon's face to twitch into something of a smile. Perhaps it was just the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed, but he found Crowley to be positively delightful company. It would have been nicer, of course, had the demon been able to converse with him more easily, but they fell into a kind of rhythm as they sat and drank and nibbled on whatever the angel had stashed around the shop. It felt...comfortable, he realized with only a mild kind of surprise. It felt like...like they already knew each other, somehow. A foolish prospect, the angel thought, yet true none-the-less. The more time the two spent in each other's company, the more Aziraphale felt as though he'd been meant to find Crowley, that there was some - dare he say it? - ineffable reason that they had come together.

Sometime well past any reasonable hour, Crowley began to yawn and cringe and shift uncomfortably, and Aziraphale realized that his most recent infusion of the angel's grace must have been wearing off as they drank.

"We should get you up to bed, my dear," he announced, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. He stumbled closer to the demon and fought not to fall over as he placed a hand on the other's head. A few moments of concentration and he'd cleared the majority of the alcohol from both of their systems, leaving only enough to keep the pleasant, warm feeling that he thought might help the demon sleep.

Crowley blinked up at him with wide, almost puppy-like eyes that had the angel chuckling.

"Come now," he insisted. "You need to keep resting your body, and besides, my grace will help your wounds more if you're not expending unnecessary energy. So come on, up you go."

Crowley pouted, but complied, hugging his tartan throw blanket tight around his shoulders as he followed the angel upstairs to the bookshop's flat.

"I very rarely sleep myself," Aziraphale explained, "so you can really consider the bedroom yours for as long as you're here." He pushed open the door at the end of the short hall and ushered his guest into the room.

Crowley peered in slowly, nervousness seeming to have returned with the loss of liquid courage from his system. The room was much like the rest of the building - practically covered in books, but with the addition of a queen-size four-poster bed dressed in fluffy-looking cream-colored sheets - but the demon examined it as if he worried something would explode the moment he touched it.

"Go on," Aziraphale needled, good-naturedly. He gestured to a dresser in the corner (covered in books, of course). "There are pajamas in the second drawer there. They'll be too big, but we can run out tomorrow and get you some clothes that fit properly. Until then, feel free to find something comfortable, if you like."

Crowley nodded a little half-heartedly. He shuffled forward in increments until he'd made his way to the bed, and stared at it for a moment before settling himself down on the edge.

Aziraphale stood in the doorway, suddenly quite uncertain of himself. Looking at Crowley from here, he wondered if the demon would be alright up here by himself while he rested, or whether the nightmares were likely to return. Would Crowley even be capable of falling asleep by himself in an unfamiliar place? The angel wondered if he should offer to stay with him until he fell asleep, the way he had back in Cyprus. Would that be kind? Or presumptuous?

And honestly, was he considering the prospect for Crowley's sake, or for his own?

He realized he'd been staring when Crowley tilted his head and made an inquisitive kind of sound in his direction. Aziraphale shook himself, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Oh, um...so-" He cleared his throat and tried to will away the flush of heat he felt in his face. "T-the washroom is across the hall, and the kitchen is just next door if you need anything to drink or a-anything like that. Um, so-" He stumbled mentally, altruistic thoughts combining with selfish ones to make an indecipherable mess in his head that he couldn't sort through fast enough. "You'll be alright then?" he finally managed to spit out.

Something flashed across Crowley's face, too quick to comprehend, and then he nodded and wiggled himself further up onto the bed as if that was somehow proof of just how 'alright' he would be.

Aziraphale nodded back, the smile on his face feeling somehow tight and false. "Alright then, well...I'll just be downstairs getting to work on some research if...if you require anything." It would have been proper to wait for Crowley to acknowledge, but his own scattered thoughts and emotions got the best of him and he found himself rushing away down the hall and stairs to the shop proper before he even realized he'd moved.

With his hands pressed firmly against the nearest bookshelf, the angel forced himself to take several slow, deep breaths and tried to reorganize his brain.

Why did Crowley's very presence seem to affect him so? He knew that it wasn't entirely a sense of protectiveness for someone who had been wronged - he'd helped hurt humans many times before and never felt...like this. Whatever this was.

And it was one thing to be helping and protecting a demon, but quite another altogether to be getting attached to one. Right?

Aziraphale took several more deep breaths - wondering vaguely in the back of his mind why the action always seemed to help calm him even though he didn't actually require oxygen - before pulling a few books from the 'occult' section of his collection and heading for the back room. Any other night he would have piled the books on the little table next to his armchair and settled himself in with a mug of tea or cocoa, but tonight he found himself drawn back to the sofa he'd so recently shared with Crowley. He didn't even realize that he'd settled down on the end where the demon had been sitting until he caught a faint whiff of the shampoo he'd used to clean that flame-red hair and found himself sighing with contentment…

...only to recall Crowley breathing in his own scent from the tartan blanket and immediately feel his body temperature take a violent leap upward.

A frustrated groan fell from his lips as the angel leaned over his knees, head in his hands, and prayed.

Almighty Mother, please guide me. This...this isn't some kind of punishment, is it? I'm certain I did the right thing by helping Crowley. He may have done wrong, but he's still one of your children in the end… I needed to help him. He can't have possibly deserved what was done to him, I simply refuse to believe that. He seems so...so nice , honestly. But can it truly be alright to be... fond of a demon? I've made so many foolish mistakes in the past...don't let this be one of them. Won't you help me to understand? Couldn't you...couldn't you give me some kind of sign?

So deep into his silent prayer was Aziraphale that he almost didn't register the soft, nervous sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked up in alarm at the sound, blue eyes shooting wide.

Crowley stood a couple of feet away, looking a bit sheepish. He'd changed into a set of soft blue pajamas, but he still had the tartan throw wrapped around his shoulders and he was holding-

Aziraphale blinked, floundering, not immediately understanding.

Crowley glanced down at the steaming mug in his hand for a moment, lip between his teeth, before holding it out to the angel with an adorably shy look on his face.

Feeling as though he was moving through cold molasses, Aziraphale reached up to accept the mug, catching the delicious scent of hot cocoa as he pulled it toward himself. He stared at it for what felt like a long moment. There were three giant-sized marshmallows floating on the top.

"For me?" he found himself asking, though once the question was out he felt like an absolute moron for asking it. Who else would it be for? His discordant thoughts fought to catch up with the significance of the moment. Had he mentioned that he loved cocoa? That he specifically bought oversized mugs so that he could fit three of the giant-size marshmallows in when he made it for himself?

He had, he thought. Sometime through the night, around the time he'd learned that Crowley preferred coffee.

The demon had remembered. And… And…

Crowley was watching him carefully through the long strands of red he'd let fall in front of his face.

Well...he had asked for a sign.

"Thank you," Aziraphale said, feeling a warm, genuine smile take over his face. He lifted the mug to his lips for a quick sip and hummed in pleasure at the delectable chocolatey warmth. "Mmm...delicious…" He settled Crowley with a brilliant, beaming grin. "What a lovely surprise, my dear. Thank you again. You should really return to bed and get some rest though." He was trying to be logical - the sooner the demon healed up, the better - but there wasn't much heat behind his words.

Crowley must have realized this as well, because instead of making his way back up to the bedroom, the demon inched forward. He moved very slowly, a bit like a wild animal trying not to frighten off its prey (or trying not to become prey) until he was sitting on the sofa next to the angel. Then he scooched a little closer still, holding his blanket tight. He looked at Aziraphale hopefully, and suddenly the angel had an idea that made the most wonderful feelings rise up into his chest.

"Would you...would you like me to read something to you, my dear?"

Crowley's expression didn't change, but he seemed to breathe rather more deeply, and there was a kind of glow to his eyes, as if he were trying not to let on just how exactly the question made him feel. He did, after only a pair of rapid heartbeats, nod.

Aziraphale found that he was having a bit of difficulty breathing. "Any...um...any requests?"

The demon's expression did change then, just slightly, back into the shy, sheepish look he'd donned when presenting the angel with the cocoa. From beneath his blanket he produced a well-worn tome that Aziraphale recognized immediately as the one he kept safe from customer hands in a place of honor on his bedside table.

"You want me to read you the complete works of Shakespeare?" the angel asked with a twitch of a smile.

Crowley glanced back down at the tome, blinking in a surprised way, before looking back to Aziraphale and nodding enthusiastically. The little demonstration revealed more to the angel than the demon likely intended.

He didn't even know what the book was because he can't read the cover… He saw it by the bedside and guessed that it is one of my favorites…

Aziraphale's corporation was doing any number of new, strange, and confusing things as he reached out to accept the book. He ran his hand over the cover with a warm smile on his face and readjusted himself to a more comfortable position. "Very well," he just barely whispered.

He'd turned past the pages containing publisher information, acknowledgements, and contents, and was just opening his mouth to begin reading "All's Well That Ends Well", when he paused to look back to his audience. Crowley was sitting right where he'd been, blanket wrapped tight around him, leaning forward slightly, ready to listen. Golden eyes met blue with a questioning gaze: What's wrong? those eyes seemed to say, Why aren't you reading?

Aziraphale took a deep breath and forced himself to release the bit of inner cheek he'd been subconsciously gnawing on. "You know, you really should be resting," he reminded Crowley. A flash of disappointment crossed the demon's face until the angel added, "Come here, my dear," and patted his own shoulder.

Crowley's eyes went wide and for a moment he just stared without breathing. But after that moment had passed, and without any further prompting, he shuffled forward and carefully - clearly keeping his eyes open for any indication that the angel was going to change his mind - laid his cheek against Aziraphale's shoulder.

They sat like that for a few quiet moments, Crowley staring straight forward and struggling not to make any false movements, Aziraphale glancing at red hair out of the corner of his eye and working hard to bring his heart rate under control.

Mother, I certainly do hope that you are okay with this, because I don't believe there is any stopping it now.

With only a minor modicum of difficulty, the angel managed to get his corporation to relax; in turn, Crowley seemed to relax a bit more as well.

"Scene one, Rousillon, the Count's palace-"

Aziraphale read for a little over an hour before he heard a soft snore and peered sideways at the darling redhead sleeping soundly against him. The fondness that welled up in his chest at the sight of gently parted lips and long fingers loosely clinging to the edge of the angel's waistcoat settled it: come what may, when it came to this red-headed demon Aziraphale was well and truly fucked.

Feeling almost disturbingly tingly all over, the angel carefully placed the Shakespeare on the side-table before turning back with an acceptant sigh. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from Crowley's face, letting the tips of his fingers linger just a little too long near his ear. When a soft, purr-like noise came to him from the snoozing demon Aziraphale couldn't resist a delighted chuckle, but he quickly settled himself when Crowley shifted sleepily and tightened the fingers clutching his waistcoat.

"Shh...sleep well, my dear," the angel whispered. He reached over to pull up the edge of the tartan blanket that had slipped down Crowley's shoulder and ensured it was securely tucked. Then, with a wave of his hand, he reheated the remains of his cocoa and brought the stack of occult books close enough to be able to reach without moving.

He had absolutely no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.

---

The following week passed more quickly than any other Aziraphale could recall in his long life on Earth. He'd thrown himself into his books, scouring through all the oldest tomes - witches' spellbooks, books of prophecy, grimoires of the occult and ethereal alike - anything he thought might help him figure out how to free Crowley of the mysterious collar. He was determined to find something, to do something - anything - to help his new friend be properly free.

When he needed a break from research, however, he reveled in having a proper companion for the first time in longer than he could remember.

Crowley was a little bit anxious at first when Aziraphale suggested going for a walk through Soho - the experience of the airport and the plane itself had been exhausting and stressful for the demon after a decade of solitary confinement and he didn't seem to be sure he could handle any more just yet. The angel didn't want to push him, but also thought it would be nice to get the demon some clothes of his own that fit him comfortably.

"Not that I mind you borrowing my clothes, of course," he'd assured Crowley, "but my pants are several sizes too big for you and a couple of inches too short, and you just don't look comfortable, my dear. Wouldn't you prefer picking out something for yourself?"

Crowley had countered the question by raising his hand in a finger-snapping gesture, which had Aziraphale making annoyed little 'tsk tsk' noises.

"Oh no, dear, I never miracle clothes. They just never feel quite right."

That earned him an eyeroll, but there was a quirk of a smile accompanying it and the angel knew he'd won this particular battle.

It was another few minutes of gentle arguing before they left, however, because Crowley was extraordinarily reluctant to leave his tartan blanket behind.

Aziraphale made the trip as quick as possible for Crowley's sake by taking the demon to his personal tailor only two blocks over. The quiet atmosphere of the shop seemed to soothe the poor dear after the noise and excitement of the city street. Crowley stuck to the angel like glue the entire way there and refused to leave his side even in the shop, but Aziraphale managed to sweet-talk him into allowing the head tailor to take his measurements. The man was exceptionally professional - he'd known Mr Fell from the bookshop down the way much too long to risk his business - which settled Crowley further. Soon enough they were leaving the shop with a few pairs of slacks and shirts the tailor had already had in the demon's size, and Aziraphale had placed an order for a few more commissioned pieces, including a lovely black jacket based on the one he'd seen Crowley admiring in the shop window.

The following day, wearing some of his new clothes (Aziraphale thought the bright red button-up was rather fetching on the demon) Crowley agreed on another stroll, just to get some fresh air this time. He strode a little more confidently in an outfit that both fit and suited him, but when a rude, hissed comment about his 'freaky eyes' floated toward them from the outdoor tables at a pub they passed, he quickly became withdrawn again and did his best to hide behind Aziraphale.

They returned to the bookshop shortly after that, but not before Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the perpetrator of the offending comment found himself in very sudden, very desperate need of a toilet (all of which, in the pub, were currently out of order).

Back at the shop that evening Aziraphale presented Crowley with a pair of stylish black sunglasses that suited his new clothes.

"But they're only for when we go out," he insisted. "Just so that you don't have to deal with idiotic comments from humans. When we're back here by ourselves, I must ask that you leave them off." He'd smiled beatifically then. " I think your eyes are positively lovely, and I insist on being able to see them properly."

The hot red of Crowley's skin hadn't died down for several hours after that comment.

By the fourth day they'd worked themselves into a kind of schedule. Aziraphale would spend the first half of the day researching, then they'd go out into town for dinner or to window shop, or just to enjoy a bit of a stroll. Upon returning the angel would look over the demon's wounds (which were healing nicely thanks to daily infusions of the angel's grace) and then it was back to research. Once Crowley's body began to wear down for the day they'd curl up on the sofa and Aziraphale would read to him from Shakespeare.

It was all quite lovely, Aziraphale thought, although it was obvious that Crowley's waking hours were starting to incorporate an unhealthy portion of sulking. The demon hovered around the angel like he was a planet and Aziraphale was the sun, and he seemed well-pleased by the time they spent together , but when the angel was researching and the demon could do nothing to help, it seemed to make him antsy and frustrated.

By the evening of the seventh day Crowley was puttering around the shop, flipping through random books and glaring at them as though he thought if he just got angry enough at them they would begin making some sort of sense.

"You know," Aziraphale suggested, able to feel the demon's anxiety all over the shop, "it would take a bit of time, but if you like, I could teach you how to read."

He wasn't expecting the look Crowley gave him, which was one of incredulity. Soon, however, that look was replaced by one of apologetic realization. He shook his head 'no' and gestured at the book that lay open in front of him. He pretended to trace a line as if reading, only to lift his hands in swirling motions around his head, before finally touching his fingers to the collar around his neck.

Aziraphale frowned as he attempted to translate. "Hold on...are you saying you know how to read and write, but the...the collar is the reason you can't?" he guessed. His tone was aghast. To a bibliophile like him it seemed an outrageously cruel joke to play.

Crowley nodded and lifted his hands to his head again, twisting them back and forth as though indicating that his brain was scrambled by the sight of the words in front of him.

"I don't get it..." the angel murmured, almost to himself. "Dampening your powers, I can at least see the purpose behind that, if only to ensure you didn't escape your prison. But your voice, the ability to read and write-? It's as though your captors wanted to discourage you from any kind of plausible communication…"

Aziraphale's gaze had drifted down to the coffee table in front of him, but he looked up in surprise at the loud crack as Crowley slapped his hands together. The demon rushed toward the angel, face excited, nodding enthusiastically, and Aziraphale's eyes went wide. "That's it, isn't it?" he gasped. "Whoever captured you, they didn't want you to be able to communicate."

Red waves bounced as Crowley nodded again.

"But why?" Aziraphale mused further. "So that you couldn't call for help?"

Crowley shook his head even as the angel dismissed the idea himself. The demon had been so deep in that cave that calling for help wouldn't have done him any good anyway.

"Something you know then? Something that they didn't want you to share with anyone else?"

More nodding. Aziraphale's excitement began to catch up with Crowley's. The demon was gnawing on his lip now, casting his gaze around the shop as though seeking assistance, something he could use to help get his thoughts across.

"Is it something your captors did?"

Crowley shook his head. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then pursed his lips. He looked resolved as he lifted a hand and patted his own chest.

Aziraphale blinked, thoroughly curious. "Something you did?"

Crowley nodded. He seemed extremely agitated now, practically vibrating. Aziraphale imagined he would have screamed the answer if he'd only been given his voice back for two bloody seconds.

The angel found himself frowning again. "You'll forgive me for saying so, I'm sure," he thought aloud, "But I can't imagine you doing anything so terrible as to have earned imprisonment and torture."

Crowley gave him a surprisingly wry look and lifted two fingers to the top of his own head, crooked them like little horns.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know you're a demon, obviously, but I'm sorry, my dear, you just don't seem all that evil to me."

Crowley blew a lock of hair out of his face and snarled a little, but there was absolutely no bite to it. After all, how could he possibly get away with acting tough to the same angel he snuggled up against every night so he could be read to sleep?

"But this is good," Aziraphale considered aloud. "We're getting somewhere...maybe if you can work out how to reveal to me what you did, or tell me who it was that imprisoned you, then perhaps it would help me come up with a method of removing the collar."

A strange look passed across Crowley's face then, as though a troublesome thought had occurred to him, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had come. Before Aziraphale could truly register that he'd even seen the look, the demon was making a gesture - pointing to his head and nodding - to indicate that he would think about it.

Pushing aside the tiny flash of concern that had momentarily flared up in the back of his mind, the angel smiled and gave Crowley an encouraging look. "We're going to figure this out," he assured the demon, fingers curling around the edges of the book he'd been working through. "And I can't wait until I can finally hear your voice, my dear. I'm certain it's just as lovely as the rest of you."

Crowley's face went a new and wonderful shade of pink, and suddenly he was diving for the tartan throw - which he'd left laying across the back of Aziraphale's armchair - so he could sink beneath it like a child hiding from thunder and lightning.

Aziraphale couldn't keep himself from laughing, but it was a delightful, cheerful laugh; the kind of laughing he'd hardly done in six thousands years on Earth. He caught sight of glaring golden eyes peering out at him from under the blanket and only laughed harder still; big belly laughs that had tears springing to the corners of his eyes. He only regained control of himself - mostly - when a clink and a clatter alerted him that Crowley had slithered forth and snatched up the chocolate eclair he'd acquired for himself not five minutes prior, and was holding it toward his open mouth threateningly.

Aziraphale gasped, carefully tossing his book on the sofa as he stood, but the sound barely hid a giggle beneath it. "You wouldn't dare, you foul fiend!"

From the safety of the opposite side of the coffee table, Crowley held the angel's gaze and slowly flicked out a forked tongue, letting it hover mere millimeters from the chocolate icing.

"Don't you even think about-"

The serpent's tongue just barely touched the icing.

Had the bookshop been opened and currently hosting customers, they might have been concerned for the safety of the shop owner, as the back room was suddenly echoing with the sounds of a great battle. Tables tipped, books tumbled, shouts and growls and hisses rang out into the shop proper. A particularly conscientious customer may have, in fact, readied their mobile to dial for emergency services, for certainly someone back there was getting the beating of a lifetime.

Should those hypothetical customers have approached the back room once it had quieted down, however, they would have found a scene of a completely different type.

"Got you, you wily snake!" Aziraphale shouted triumphantly, and then almost immediately felt his corporation flare with heat as he took stock of the position he'd found himself in.

Crowley was flat on his back on the floor, the tartan throw spread out beneath him like wings, long strands of hair scattered around his head in every direction. His wrists were pinned to either side of his shoulders by Aziraphale's strong-but-gentle hands, the eclair having fallen, forgotten, to the floor. The angel hovered over the demon, plush thighs gripped tight against angular hips to discourage escape.

They were both breathing a little too fast, and Crowley's eyes had gone very wide, the honey devoured by wide black pupils.

A voice in the back of Aziraphale's head screamed at him to let go, move away, put some distance between them, quick, quick, you foolish angel!

A different voice, a softer one that was also somehow much easier to hear, was pointing out how warm Crowley's skin felt beneath his palms, how lovely his flushed cheeks looked from this angle, how soft and welcoming his lips looked, how terribly simple it would be to lean down just a little further and-

Distracted as he was, it was very nearly too late by the time Aziraphale sensed the influx of celestial energy that had appeared without any warning just outside the threshold of his bookshop's front door.

---

NOTE: I received some adorable fanart for this chapter! Go check out the artist, kittykazoo_art, and show some love!

Less Than a Year...

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale officially learns that he's working on a schedule, and a confrontation in the bookshop shows the angel that he has the ability to stand up if it's to protect something he cares about.

Chapter Notes

Gah! I didn't intend for this chapter to take so long to get up! It was a difficult one to write, not because anything particularly difficult HAPPENS, but because my brain kept wandering off to future chapters and I couldn't concentrate on this one. lol Hopefully that just means that the next chapter will be quicker. _

As before, a huge thank you to the lovely, LOVELY people who have been commenting on this fic! You all make me so grateful to be a part of this fandom! In addition to that, I've gotten some beautiful fanart for this story recently, which will be added to the chapters for which the scenes were drawn, so if you see any other random updates in the next day or so, that will likely be it and I'd appreciate you wandering back to those chapters to see the additions! 3

The angel Aziraphale, while anxious and nervous by virtue of millennia of taunting and torment from his coworkers, was actually a rather calm and calculated individual by nature. He had, after all, been a soldier once, and would certainly not have survived the War for Heaven had he not possessed the ability to keep his head and view situations with a rational, meticulous state of mind.

At this particular moment those qualities were warring desperately with a sense of deep, incalculable panic.

In the mere seconds during which he was the only one aware of the celestial presence currently standing outside the door of his shop, a vast number of turbulent thoughts raced through Aziraphale's mind.

He wondered which angel - or, more likely, Archangel - he had the distinct displeasure of dealing with this day.

He wondered what new, fresh psychological torture they would feel fit to inflict upon him while they were visiting.

He wondered what they could possibly want with him, given that they were supposed to have been under the impression that he was 'on vacation'.

He wondered, rebelliously, what his chances were of fobbing them off somehow, now that there was no doubt that they knew he was here in the shop.

He wondered a veritable tidal wave of different things...

Then those first couple of seconds of singular awareness passed, and suddenly the angel was seeing first hand just how quickly a demon could devolve into abject terror. Crowley's eyes transformed before Aziraphale's own. In the span of a heartbeat wide black pupils shrank to thin slits among a sea of gold as the demon picked up on the celestial energy that had just appeared so nearby.

Aziraphale's hands were still firmly wrapped around Crowley's wrists, which may have been the only reason the demon - who was now on the verge of hyperventilation - hadn't already scrambled off in an onslaught of hysteria. Seeing this, the angel held his position and let a thread of calming grace pass from himself to the demon.

Crowley made a distressing sound in the back of his throat, but his rapid breathing slowed a bit. Aziraphale released one of his wrists - while carefully retaining his grip on the other - to bring his steady hand to the demon's cheek. "It's going to be okay," the angel insisted, imbuing his voice with a confidence that he didn't truly feel. "We're going to be fine. You remember the spell I told you about?"

Crowley hesitated for only half a breath before nodding. His eyes were wide and fraught with fear, but he kept his gaze steady on the angel's.

"Keep calm," Aziraphale told him. "Stay back here. Pretend to read. They won't notice you. They won't see you. I'll get rid of them as quickly as I can, and we will be fine. " He emphasized the last four words carefully, certain to keep his voice even and his expression unafraid. He refused to let the demon know that he was trembling inside.

He could be brave if it kept Crowley from having a complete breakdown.

"Ready?" he asked.

Crowley shuddered, shook his head for a moment, but then took a deep breath and nodded.

The entire interaction took only a handful of moments, but now the visitors were knocking and Aziraphale couldn't put the confrontation off any longer. They would know he was there. They would know that he knew that they were there. There was no way forward but to go through it.

The angel pulled the demon to his feet, pressed their foreheads together for half a heartbeat to give him another little pulse of calming grace, and gave him a gentle shove toward the sofa before he himself took off through the shop proper.

He was halfway through the shop floor - a second, more insistent set of knocks coming from the door - when he began to feel the dread set in. He'd pushed it aside long enough to let Crowley believe that he wasn't worried, but the truth was that Aziraphale was panic-stricken. The angel's position and reputation - and, more importantly, Crowley's safety - currently depended on whether his untested spell was effective enough.

He'd performed the initial casting shortly after the meal they'd shared on their first night together in the bookshop. It was a complicated bit of ethereal magic that required daily upkeep to keep it active, but it should, theoretically, mask Crowley's demonic essence - and physical features, such as his eyes and fangs - by surrounding him in Aziraphale's angelic one. The demon would - Aziraphale hoped - appear to other ethereal beings to be nothing more than a human in close proximity to an angel's grace.

He hoped. He'd been quite confident, in fact, when he'd first come up with the idea, but now that it was about to be tested… Lord, he hoped he'd made the right decision in telling Crowley to stay downstairs. He figured the angels would question why a human presence was skulking around upstairs in his flat, but if the spell didn't work properly and Crowley was so nearby it wouldn't give them much time for an escape.

In the remaining breath of time before he opened the shop door Aziraphale sent a quick prayer up to Her that this foolish idea of his would prove effective.

(He also sent a quick thanks that the privacy spell he'd cast on the bookshop decades ago - meaning that no ethereal being could enter until he'd opened the way - was still working as intended.)

The angel took a quick, deep breath, mentally crossed his fingers, and plastered a smile on his face as he pulled open the door.

It was even worse than he'd thought.

"Aziraphale!" The overly-cheery, easy-going businessman demeanour was outdone only by the way the two visiting Archangels shouldered their way right past Aziraphale and into his bookshop without a further word.

The flustered angel's forced grin stretched painfully tight. "Gabriel," he greeted as pleasantly as he could stand. "Sandalphon. To what do I owe the-" He couldn't stop the way his corporation paused to swallow hard. "-pleasure?"

The two Archangels smiled as well, but their smiles were ones of gentle condescension.

Sandalphon was the shorter of the two, stocky and bald, clothed in a long, plain jacket, and with teeth so large and white it appeared that he might lean forward and bite your nose off at any moment. He stood straight, chest puffed out, hands folded behind his back, looking every bit the bloodthirsty bastard Aziraphale knew him to be. The angel had treated this one with kid gloves since that nasty business with Sodom and Gomorrah.

Gabriel, however, was somehow even worse. The right hand of God (or, at least, that's what he fancied himself) was tall, muscular, and too handsome for his own good, with short-cropped black hair and vivid purple eyes. He fancied lovely grey suits, like the one he was currently wearing, and at a glance one might think him a rather good-looking CEO or some-such. A more accurate description would be to say that he was a self-important, self-righteous, pandering, pompous, demon boss from Hell. (Ironic, really, Aziraphale often thought.)

The most effective way to portray just how horrid an Archangel Gabriel really was would be to explain that the only reason he ever came to deliver news to Aziraphale personally was so he could get a few emotionally scarring jabs in while he was there.

Currently, the bastard was looking around the bookshop with the particularly disinterested air he always seemed to have about him when he was in the presence of books. "Correct me if I'm wrong," Gabriel began in a tone that suggested he'd damn well better not be corrected, "but aren't shops meant to be open to customers?"

Aziraphale struggled not to respond with what was on his mind, which was that he was genuinely surprised Gabriel even understood the concept of a shop. Instead he continued to work his (frankly quite uncomfortable) smile and allowed a little forced chuckle at the Archangel's 'joke'. "Yes, well, be that as it may." He cleared his throat and tried to think of a way to move the conversation along so he could get these two intruders out of his home as soon as possible. "Is there something in particular that you're here for today?"

Gabriel's hands found each other in front of him as he stood tall, doing that annoying thing he always did wherein he aimed to make himself look as large and imposing as possible. He was still smiling as well, and good Lord, did Aziraphale wish he would just stop bloody smiling . "We just wanted to stop by," Heaven's CEO announced as though giving some kind of stakeholder presentation, "to make sure that you're being kept up on all the important news while you're down here all alone."

Aziraphale didn't miss the little inflection in tone on the words 'all alone', but chose to bite his tongue and focus on more pressing matters. "I'm sorry," he stammered just a little. "What important news is that?"

"The pending Apocalypse, of course," Sandalphon spoke up from where he'd crept in behind the angel. "It's finally coming, you know."

It took a great deal of willpower for Aziraphale to keep himself from visibly gulping. So the rumors were true. He'd hoped...oh, how he'd hoped…

"Yes," Gabriel was saying while Aziraphale's heart was sinking, "Lots happening, all good. Well, all according to the Divine Plan, of course." He chuckled, as though it was a particularly amusing joke that Earth and all its inhabitants were going to be burned to ash by the warring factions of Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale couldn't stop the question that came from him, sounding a bit like a plea. "And there's...there's nothing that we can do? To stop it, I mean? Stop the War?"

Sandalphon made a sound that could have been a laugh, if not for the fact that there was absolutely no humor in it at all. Gabriel made a face like he was talking to a cute, but particularly stupid, puppy. "The point isn't to stop the War, Aziraphale," the Archangel said slowly, patronizingly. "The point is to win it ."

Aziraphale's face was beginning to feel like his skin was about to split under the strain of his overly-polite smile. "O-of course. Yes. Quite. Um...do...do we know when it's happening?"

Gabriel began to wander aimlessly, waving a hand around in a way that was clearly meant to portray a lack of concern. "Oh, roughly ten or eleven months. When the Antichrist turns eleven, a Hellhound will be sent to him, the Four Horsemen will ride, and ultimately we will meet the armies of Hell in the fields of Megiddo."

Aziraphale was listening, but he was also panicking. Less than a year… Less than a year left for Earth, for the humans and myriad other creatures who lived here. Less than a year for his bookshop, the lovely little restaurants he so adored, the art and the music and the-

Oh…

Less than a year to work out how to help Crowley…

Less than a year before he and Crowley were pulled apart to fight on opposite sides…

He felt a bit like he might be having a panic attack. He couldn't picture it at all. He'd been a soldier once, true, and he'd been a decent one at that, but he hated fighting. Loathed it with every atom of his being. And he couldn't even begin to imagine Crowley on the front lines, surrounded by other demons. Lovely, gentle, bright-eyed Crowley, who brought Aziraphale hot cocoa and slept comfortably against the angel's shoulder, and would wear that silly blanket around his shoulders everywhere they went if Aziraphale let him…

Clever, expressive, beautiful Crowley, a hellfire blade pressed into his unwilling hands, forced to fight alongside creatures he felt no kinship for, shoved out onto a battlefield to be struck down by some virtuosic Archangel or Seraphim who hadn't the slightest sympathy for the fact that Crowley was different than other demons.

He couldn't…

Aziraphale couldn't let that happen.

There had to be a way he could stop it from happening.

It was right about the time that Aziraphale came to some strange new sense of determination that he also noticed Gabriel had stopped talking and was staring, with a frown on his face and an eyebrow raised, through the door to the back room of the shop.

"Aziraphale," the Archangel said, a mild amusement in his voice. "Are you aware that there is a human in your shop, listening to our discussion?"

Aziraphale's heart felt as though it was currently trying to climb out of his corporation by way of his throat, but even in his flustered state he managed to cough out the lie he'd thought up in advance. "Ah, yes, um, don't worry about him. He's deaf and mute, you see. Can't hear a word we're saying, so there's no worries."

He thought the lie had been convincingly-delivered and that it would be enough for Gabriel to lose interest - after all, the Archangel had about as much love for humans as a human might for the bugs that lived in their garden. To Aziraphale's despair, however, Gabriel immediately strode through the doorway without a word.

"Wait! No! You can't-!"

Aziraphale practically sprinted to the room - a smirking Sandalphon hot on his heels - with a terrible, sinking, vomit-inducing feeling in his entire body. He didn't know what he was going to do, what he was going to say, how he was going to get Gabriel the Heaven away from Crowley before something went horribly, terribly wrong.

Then he saw the terror in the demon's eyes as he scrambled backward over the arm of the sofa in a panic to get away from the Archangel who was advancing on him. He saw the way Gabriel stared at the demon with curious, narrowed eyes. He heard the little squeaks of fear from Crowley's throat and saw the way his body shook with the desire to run, run, run!

And in the next blink Aziraphale found himself placed solidly between a trembling demon and a shocked Gabriel, a stern glare in his eyes as he stared down the boss that had been harassing him for millennia.

"I'll have to ask you to stop right there," the angel instructed in a commanding voice that surprised him as much as it did the two Archangels. The lies came pouring out of him as easy as breath then. "This man is a war veteran who has been through a great deal and is recovering under my care. He lost his hearing in the same explosion that killed his entire squadron, and he hasn't spoken a word since as a result of the extreme post-traumatic stress he incurred. I've put a great deal of Heavenly effort into keeping him calm and comfortable in order to reintroduce him to society, and advancing on him the way you have is clearly negating my-"

" Alright, Aziraphale, for Heaven's sake," Gabriel interrupted with an exaggerated roll of his violet eyes. "I don't need to know it's whole life story, I just thought it looked familiar."

Aziraphale bristled at the use of the word "it" to describe his friend, but he forced himself to relax a little when he felt thin fingers slot into his own and a gently trembling forehead press against the back of his shoulder.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the display, his gaze moving from his suddenly rebellious subordinate to the mass of messy red hair and pale skin hiding behind said subordinate, and back again. From the other side of the room Sandalphon was watching the exchange with beady eyes and a tight jaw.

"Yes, well...if you've got nothing more to report?" Aziraphale swallowed hard and forced himself to hold Gabriel's gaze. The Archangel did not look pleased, but there was an unusual sparkle of amusement in the way he was looking at Aziraphale just then. It made warning bells go off in the angel's head, but he filed his nervous breakdown away for later while gently squeezing Crowley's hand to assure him that it was going to be alright.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and then-some, Gabriel's face broke out into another of his forcibly charming businessman smiles. "Yes, I believe that will be all for now," he said as though he'd been in full control of the conversation the entire time. "As I said, we just thought you should have some idea as to what is coming so you can-" He glanced around the bookshop and anyone with eyes would have been able to see the hint of sadistic glee in his eyes. "-get your affairs in order. You know...before you're called back to fight . In the War. "

If Aziraphale didn't know better he'd think that the Archangel was goading him, trying to get him to say or do something unmistakably out of line in front of a Heavenly witness. And he couldn't say that he wasn't tempted. But he could feel the nearly imperceptible shake of Crowley's head against his shoulder, urging him to remain calm, and he knew that the demon was right. If Aziraphale lost his control now, not only would he be dragged back to Heaven for an official reprimand, but Crowley would be left alone, still recovering and defenceless, and the angel couldn't allow that.

"Very well," Aziraphale forced through his tightest smile yet. "I'll be sure to...be prepared."

Gabriel clucked his tongue in mock-approval before adding, with a flick of his gaze toward Aziraphale's midsection, "Oh, and Aziraphale? You're a soldier. Lose the gut, hmm?"

It was nothing the angel hadn't heard a thousand times before from more than one Archangel, so he hardly flinched. But someone else did.

There was one extremely tense moment, drawn out as if it was moving in slow motion, during which Aziraphale felt Crowley stiffen behind him and a low vibration rumbled through the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale realized in that terribly long moment that the demon was growling , and a spike of fear went through him as he waited for Gabriel to notice the soft sound and realize that the "deaf mute" had reacted to his cruel comment.

He squeezed Crowley's hand and prayed fervently that Gabriel hadn't heard the growl.

"Gut. Lose it. Right." A sharp nod, a desperate internal plea for the Archangel to go away already .

"Right!" Gabriel practically shouted, clapping his hands and grinning like the egomaniac he was. "Well, we'll leave you to it." And with that he was striding purposefully from the shop as though he couldn't wait to get away. Sandalphon lingered another few moments, his eyes narrowed and an eyebrow raised, and then he turned and followed like the obedient thug he was.

When the shop's door closed behind the two Archangels and Aziraphale's privacy spell had been reenacted, the angel very nearly collapsed with relief. Instead, he immediately whirled on Crowley, hands on the demon's shoulders, gaze roaming the demon as if expecting to find massive physical damage. "Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly. "I'm so sorry, I didn't expect- Gabriel's not fond of humans so I didn't think he'd- Oh Lord, thank goodness the illusion worked! Are you okay, Crowley? "

To his surprise, the demon was gazing back at him with an incredulous look on his face, as if to say, "Me? Never mind me! Are you okay?!" He leaned to the side and lifted his hand, gesturing toward where Gabriel had been just a moment ago, and let his face twist into a mask of indignant rage.

Aziraphale couldn't help but be touched by the demon's concern, especially as it seemed to have thoroughly replaced the fear that had plagued his initial reaction to the Archangels' presence. "Oh, don't worry about that," he assured Crowley with a sad kind of chuckle. "He's always like that. At least, he is to me."

That only made Crowley's eyes narrow further. He glared in the direction of the shop's door and growled, quite audibly this time, baring his fangs as he did. His meaning was quite clear, and it made Aziraphale's chest tighten in a wonderful kind of way.

"My dear, it's okay, he's gone now." The angel released a vibrating shoulder to lift his hand to the demon's cheek and watched as Crowley slowly calmed and leaned toward the touch, half-lidded golden eyes meeting Aziraphale's gaze. The demon took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gave a little nod.

Aziraphale held that gaze, letting the warmth of it fill his body, his heart, his soul.

Less than a year…

He swallowed hard. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Found his gaze drifting down to Crowley's soft-looking lips…

Crowley made a little questioning noise in his throat that pulled the angel's gaze back to his eyes. Aziraphale wondered at what he saw there, in the warm, swirling honey gold. Was it confusion? Discomfort? Curiosity? Fear?

Longing…?

Aziraphale shook his head and chuckled, a little nervous sound as he dropped his hand from Crowley's cheek and absolutely did not notice the way the demon chased after the touch.

"I think that, after that nonsense, we deserve a night to relax, don't you?"

Crowley seemed as if he were considering something as his golden eyes scanned over the angel's face for a few long moments. Then, finally, he nodded, held up a single finger, and took off upstairs to the flat.

While he was gone Aziraphale took several deep breaths and tried to clear his mind. There was too much happening up there all at once. A visit from any of the Archangels always put him on edge, but Gabriel in particular made his eye teeth ache and his corporation tend toward fits of panic. On top of that, finding out for sure that the Apocalypse was coming...knowing that it threatened the things he cared about…

Crowley was one of those things now, he knew, for better or for worse. He cared for the demon, perhaps even…

Then he found himself flushing red hot as he recalled the position they'd been in before they'd been interrupted. The look on Crowley's face, in his eyes, in the way his lips parted just so…

He closed his eyes with a groan and dug the heels of his palms into them as he fought - for what felt like the hundredth time that evening alone - to calm the rapid beating of his treacherous heart. Mother… Please… I don't know what to do. I think I… And I've been taught that demons can't… But this one is so different , and is it possible that he-?

Aziraphale nearly leapt out of his skin when Crowley nudged his arm, having failed to hear the demon reappear. The angel settled his features quickly though, because Crowley had an armful of supplies that made a warm smile spread across his face: two steaming mugs of cocoa with jumbo marshmallows, a bottle of rather nice whiskey, a box of Aziraphale's favorite biscuits, and the book of Shakespeare.

A wonderful pile of offerings, but it all paled in comparison to the light in the demon's eyes, the soft golden shimmer that seemed to ask, "Did I do good, angel? Did I make you happy?"

And he had, Aziraphale realized...from practically the moment he'd come into his life.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded, and helped Crowley extract himself from under his offerings before they settled down on the couch with the demon's blanket spread across both of their laps. They added generous pours of whiskey to their cocoas and shared a few biscuits in companionable silence before the angel picked up the book and found the page they'd left off on in 'Love's Labours Lost'.

And if his heart fluttered a little at the way Crowley nuzzled up against him and let a thin hand drape protectively over the 'gut' Gabriel had commented on, well...that was between the two of them and God.

Signs

Chapter Summary

Time passes. A relationship grows. An angel and a demon stand together in the rain.

Chapter Notes

Phew! I got a little distracted with other things (hint: one of them is yet ANOTHER Good Omens fic idea...lord save me...) but I finally managed to figure out where I wanted to go with this chapter and got it finished up. _ I think you're all going to be pleased with the way this one ends. 3

As always, HUGE thanks and love to all of you who have been so sweet and supportive of this story! I've absolutely loved reading your comments and seeing the beautiful artwork that some of you have done (which I'll be attaching to the appropriate chapters shortly). Thank you all SO much! I love you all to death!

The following months were, by far, the happiest of Aziraphale's existence.

For a few weeks following the visit from the Archangels both angel and demon were a bit on edge, especially when the phone rang or a knock came at the door. Each potential intruder, however, proved to be no one more threatening than a local human wondering when Mr A. Z. Fell was going to reopen the bookshop. The "Closed for Holidays" sign had been up for nearly two months by now, after all, and none of Aziraphale's regulars could remember him ever keeping the shop closed for such an extended period of time.

It was sometime in October, therefore, that Crowley managed to convince Aziraphale to open the shop and return to his life as normal. It had been a rather frustrating one-sided conversation, during which the angel insisted that he had more important things to be focusing on, namely removing the demon's collar (which he'd, thus far, had no luck learning anything about). As it turned out, however, Crowley was exceptionally good at sulking. Following Aziraphale's initial refusal to return to his shopkeeper life, the demon had spent nearly two straight weeks moping about the shop, sighing dramatically, staring wistfully out the shop's front windows, and - the absolute worst one - stubbornly sitting himself at the opposite end of the couch whenever Aziraphale began to read to him. By the end of those two weeks the angel felt like a tightly-wound spring and would have readily admitted under very little duress that the demon refusing to lay against his shoulder was absolutely killing him.

The eventual conclusion, therefore, was that a stubbornly prideful angel announced that the injured demon was doing extremely well and there was no need to keep him isolated within the shop any longer.

It was at least mostly true. Through a combination of human healing techniques and the sharing of his grace for pain relief, Crowley had been doing much better for a while now. Nearly all of his wounds were healed enough to remove the bandages, and although his body was left riddled with scars that Aziraphale could not heal without bringing attention to them, the demon seemed to be growing stronger and more independent by the day.

So Aziraphale agreed to open the shop for a couple of short hours per day, as a trial period to ensure that business hours didn't interfere too much with his research. Crowley seemed exceptionally pleased and was only a little bit insufferable in the days following this win.

On the first day of reopening it occurred to the angel that perhaps Crowley's stubbornness on the subject had more than a little bit to do with having been excruciatingly bored.

He didn't notice it at first, but after the bookshop had been open for a mere hour Aziraphale began to feel faint wisps of discontent and annoyance in the air. Upon quietly investigating those feelings the angel had found a young woman lamenting that the small pile of purchases she'd been considering had vanished when she'd momentarily placed them down to look at another volume. A similar complaint came a quarter of an hour later when an older gentleman bewilderingly insisted that he'd been pursuing a book when he'd turned to a noise behind him, and when he'd looked back he was standing there with empty hands and a flush of confusion.

Aziraphale closed the shop about an hour later and found Crowley stretched out on the couch in the back room, looking quite mischievously pleased with himself. The angel raised an eyebrow at him, but made no accusations. Not just yet.

The following day brought more of the same, with the addition of a teenager's backpack ripping to spill its contents all over the shop, a long-haired lady's blond tresses somehow getting snagged in the edge of one of the shelves, and a gentleman in a nice suit tripping and splashing his coffee all over himself.

That evening before indulging in their reading, Aziraphale nudged Crowley's cheek with his shoulder and looked down at the demon with a raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile that he simply couldn't hide. "I don't mind you indulging in a bit of mischief around the shop, my dear," he chuckled, "especially as it has the benefit of getting most customers out of the shop without attempting to buy anything. However, I'm afraid I'll have to have some rather stern words with you if even a drop of coffee lands on any of my books, understand?"

Crowley blinked up at him as if he were the paragon of innocence before letting his face crack out into a sinful smile and nodding.

So their life together went on. Aziraphale ran his shop as usual, returning his business hours to normal (or as normal as they'd ever been) and continuing to work hard on the mystery of Crowley's collar. Meanwhile the demon dealt with his boredom and inability to assist in the angel's research by subtly tormenting the shop's customers and helpfully ensuring that very few of them retained enough patience to actually attempt a purchase. When the shop was closed the two would take walks, share meals in restaurants all over Soho (though Crowley mostly just drank and slid his barely-touched meals toward the gluttonous angel), and moved from reading Shakespeare to several of Aziraphale's other favorite books.

Days turned to weeks and became months. Crowley learned that Aziraphale loved the Christmas holidays but loathed the Christmas shoppers (and did his very best to use power-free demonic wiles to keep said shoppers away from the angel's books). Aziraphale learned that Crowley had a surprising penchant for gardening and purchased the demon several small indoor plants to care for (though, bewildering the angel entirely, his method of 'care' seemed to be mostly threatening hissing).

Bit by bit angel and demon became more than victim and saviour, more than strange acquaintances, more even than unlikely friends. Though neither ever spoke (or gestured) of the growth between them, it became plain to the humans who regularly witnessed the two together that there was something there.

It was likely inevitable, therefore, that eventually one of those humans would actually say something about it.

It was a mild day in April, and while a single customer was browsing the geography books Aziraphale found Crowley splayed in his desk chair, legs hanging over the arm, giggling ruthlessly while staring out one of the shop's main windows. The angel strolled up behind the demon, quiet as a mouse, and peered over his shoulder to try to determine what was so interesting and amusing.

A few moments later, after watching three different humans try and fail (with red, flushed faces) to pick up a coin from the sidewalk, the angel was genuinely struggling to hold back his laughter. "Crowley," he admonished, though there was absolutely nothing stern in his voice, "did you glue a coin to the walk?"

Crowley's laugh - though practically soundless - was contagious, and soon the two celestial beings were in stitches while they grinned at one another.

It was right about then that the man in black walked in.

The little bell on the bookshop's door rang pleasantly, but anyone who witnessed the arrival of the newest visitor would have immediately felt the smile being wiped from their face. He was tall, bald, wearing a black suit with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He wore a very expensive pair of sunglasses and looked a bit like he'd recently escaped incarceration. He was easily almost three hundred pounds, and the overwhelming majority of that was muscle. In short, he looked like someone you most assuredly did not want to tangle with.

Aziraphale sighed when he saw him, gave Crowley a little pat on the shoulder as he continued giggling at his absolutely demonic trick, and strode toward the door to greet the beast of a man.

"It's been a while," the angel began, the smile on his face a bit strained, "but I assure you that absolutely nothing has changed. As I've told Mr Giancana many times before, I have absolutely no intention of selling him this shop."

The thug had the audacity to smile and crack his fingers. "He said you'd say something like that." The words came coated in the most ridiculously stereotypical of 'tough guy' accents. Aziraphale half wondered if he was faking it in order to seem even more intimidating. "Thing is, Mr G. is tired of dealin' wit you and gave me the go-ahead to get a little...persuasive."

Aziraphale raised a single entirely-unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm rather surprised that you know the meaning of the word, if I'm being quite honest."

The thug grinned. "You'd be surprised what I know. Like, fer instance, I know how to break all kinds of bones with my bare hands."

"Oh for goodness…" Aziraphale crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Of all the ridiculous things to say. Do you honestly believe that you're going to frighten me with such-"

A number of things happened at once then. The first was that the customer who had been browsing Geography - whom Aziraphale had quite forgotten about - poked her head around the corner of a shelf to see what was going on and accidentally knocked over a stack of books. The second was that Aziraphale turned to look at her and, for just a moment, forgot about the enormous clenched fists advancing upon him in favor of his abused tomes. The third was that one of the aforementioned fists cocked back and swung forward with enough force to have easily kill a man if the right target was struck.

The fourth was that a veritable roar of anger echoed through the shop, and the thug was tackled to the floor in a yelp of surprise.

It was all such a shock that for several long, confusing moments Aziraphale simply stared with his jaw hanging, trying to translate the tangle of limbs on the shop floor before him.

The thug was pressed flat to the floor, eyes wide with shock. He'd immediately attempted to fight back, but Crowley had wrapped his deceptively delicate-looking fingers around each of the human's wrists and slammed them to the floor hard enough for bones to crack. The demon's knee was dug threateningly into the thug's groin, and he was growling , yellow eyes wide and glowing with rage. The human struggled, trying in a panic to kick the demon away. Crowley's knee drove in hard, his fingers squeezed harder, and he flashed his unnaturally sharp canines with a sound that was half-hiss, half-roar.

The thug was actually whimpering by the time the wide-eyed Aziraphale came to his senses and rushed forward. He dropped to his knees beside the pair and reached out a tentative hand to the demon's shoulder. "Crowley, dear, it's okay, he didn't do anything."

Crowley hissed down at the quivering human again before turning to the angel with a look that plainly said, "He was going to."

And despite himself, despite the fact that he really should have condemned the violence of the demon's actions, Aziraphale couldn't help but feel a tingling warmth spreading all throughout his body. He let his hand slide up from Crowley's shoulder, to the back of his neck, and up into the hair there, a calming touch, intensified by a soft wave of angelic grace. "It's okay," he repeated with a warm, wondering smile. Then, holding the demon's gaze and infusing as much emotion into the words as he could, he added, " Thank you ."

Crowley blinked slowly, drank in the angel's words, and slowly, slowly , the rage drained out of his eyes. He turned back to the thug beneath him (who had genuine tears running down his face now) and narrowed his eyes threateningly before releasing his wrists and standing up.

The human immediately scrambled to his feet, wincing and rubbing at his wrists - which were already sporting some nasty-looking bruises - and practically ran out the door without a further word. Aziraphale might have chuckled a bit at that, but he had eyes only for the demon beside him.

"You didn't need to do that, you know," he said, voice and eyes both soft. "I've dealt with his kind before. I could have handled it."

Crowley turned back to him and almost seemed to shrink into himself a bit. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gave a little shrug, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor between them.

Aziraphale closed the small distance and looked up into the demon's eyes, his heart fluttering like a newly awakened butterfly. "It was very sweet," he said.

Crowley snarled a bit at the word 'sweet', but when his eyes flicked toward Aziraphale he immediately bit the sound off and flushed a rather pretty pink before looking back down at the floor again.

Aziraphale allowed himself a quiet chuckle and once again lifted a hand to the demon's shoulder. "Why don't you go grab our coats? I'll close up early and we'll go for a walk. I think we could both use a bit of fresh air after that excitement, hmm?"

When Crowley looked up again there was a little twitch of a smile on his lips. He nodded once and happily wandered off toward the upstairs flat.

Aziraphale watched him go with that warm, fluttery feeling spreading all throughout his limbs. He was so exceptionally distracted that he nearly yelped when a small voice beside him said, "Mr Fell?" As it stood the angel did turn as red as an apple as he swung around to face the female customer who'd sneaked up next to him. "Oh goodness," he exclaimed, trying (and failing) to hide the fact that she'd startled him. "I'm so sorry! I'd completely forgotten you were here!"

She smiled shyly at that. "I just wanted to let you know that I saw everything, and I'd be willing to act as a witness to that man's threats if needs be."

"Oh that's quite kind of you, my dear, but I'm sure it won't be necessary," Aziraphale assured the lovely lady. Over the years he'd become something of an expert at 'getting rid' of the nasty businessmen who coveted his prime real estate. "But of course I thank you for the offer."

The young woman nodded. "I heard you say you were closing up, so I won't keep you," she offered. "But before I go, I just wanted to say, well…" She smiled knowingly and gestured with her hand toward the stairs where Crowley had so recently disappeared. "It's clear that he cares for you a great deal, to have put himself at risk like that."

Aziraphale's eyes went wide, his face hot, and he began to sputter nonsensically. "That's not-! I mean- He's- We're not- I just-" His hands fluttered in front of him nervously as he spewed a litany of sentence fragments.

The woman lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled, not unkindly. "Mmm-hmm," she chuckled. "Okay, I see. I just wanted you to know...the way he looks at you is quite...telling." She grinned at that and, with a pleasant little wave, let herself out of the shop, leaving one angel doing his best to convince his corporation to remember how to breathe.

---

They walked in companionable silence toward Saint James Park, Crowley looking just a little bit pleased with himself while Aziraphale was mentally wringing his hands as he replayed the customer's words in his mind over and over again.

It's clear that he cares for you a great deal, to have put himself at risk like that.

She had a point, even if she didn't understand that there had never been any true danger in the situation. When Aziraphale had first found Crowley he'd been so hurt, so weak, that only regular gifts of angelic grace kept him together enough to live in a human manner. The demon had healed quite a lot since then and didn't need the angel's grace anymore, but he still had the collar that barred him from his demonic powers and really had no idea how much of his normal strength had returned. A demon could easily overpower a human, no doubt, but until that moment Crowley'd had no real way of knowing for sure that he was capable of winning the fight. He might have just as easily bounced off the thug's body and been beaten to a pulp for his troubles.

Not to mention that if the demon had thought about it logically for a moment, he would have surely known that a punch from the human would not have actually damaged Aziraphale. But he hadn't thought about it logically. He'd just reacted without any real thought at all. It was as if it had been an...emotional response.

The way he looks at you is quite...telling.

Aziraphale carefully glanced sideways at Crowley as they paused to wait for a chance to cross the road. The demon wasn't currently looking at him at all, having been distracted by a lover's spat happening up the road. When the angel thought about it though, he could easily picture the dozens of times he'd caught Crowley looking at him when he didn't think Aziraphale noticed. Picturing some of those looks now, Aziraphale felt a heat crawling up his chest and throat. The demon's eyes, so warm and revealing, his cheeks painted with a soft flush of color, his lips parted just so as if he were imagining-

Aziraphale almost jumped out of his skin when Crowley's fingers touched his arm. The demon was giving him a confused look and gesturing at the road with his other hand. The light had turned and the other pedestrians were already most of the way across.

Aziraphale forced a nervous little laugh and a smile that he hoped didn't look too false. "Pardon me, my dear, I seem to have wandered off somewhere for a moment."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. He didn't look convinced, but he jerked his head toward the road again as if to ask, "Are we still going?"

Aziraphale responded with another too-anxious-sounding little laugh and strode stiffly across the road with the confused demon matching him step for step.

The park was fairly busy, which was understandable considering that the weather was finally turning around after a rather cold and drizzly winter. Though the sky was thick with dark clouds, the air was clear and crisp and pleasant, and had drawn what seemed like the entire city outdoors to enjoy what might have been the first proper Spring day. Rather miraculously, however, a lovely little bench was free despite the crowds, and Aziraphale's hand was suddenly clutching a bag of seeds to toss to the ducks.

They sat in silence for a while with the seed bag on the bench between them. Aziraphale tossed small handfuls at a time to a growing crowd of demanding waterfowl. Crowley flung a seed at a time, trying his damnedest to peg the little blighters in the head with them. It was quiet and relaxing. This was one of the things that had been growing between the two over the passing months: the ability to sit comfortably without saying a word (albeit, this was easier for Crowley, given his circumstances). It was nice. It was enjoyable. It was…

It was currently driving Aziraphale a little mad because he couldn't get that young woman's words out of his mind.

He'd lost track, since that first time last summer, of how many times he'd sent up a prayer, asking for guidance, asking for clarity, asking for a sign to prove to him that it was okay that…

And he knew, better than most, that God worked in mysterious ways. It was entirely possible that Her lack of any kind of response was purposeful. Perhaps she meant for him to solve the puzzle himself. Or perhaps She didn't want the puzzle solved at all. Maybe Her silence was due to the fact that She was trying to make a point: that he should be focusing on his angelic duties instead of pandering to a broken demon.

Or perhaps...perhaps that lovely young lady in his shop today had, in fact, been a Sign. Perhaps what she'd seen in Crowley's actions and in his gaze was what Aziraphale had been praying for: an unbiased, outside view of what he could only hope to be true…

Soft fingers tentatively touched the back of Aziraphale's hand, causing him to look up in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd been staring out at nothing, both hands gripped to the edge of the bench beneath him while a few particularly bold ducks wandered around his feet, squawking about the pause in their snack-time.

Crowley's golden eyes were questioning and perhaps a little concerned. Aziraphale felt their gaze as though they were looking into the very core of his ethereal being. Perhaps they were . Oh...what a strange and wonderful thought.

The demon made a soft noise that, over the course of their time together, the angel had learned meant something akin to, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, my dear," Aziraphale assured his friend. "I just-" And then he stopped because he realized quite suddenly that it was a lie, and...and he didn't want to lie to Crowley.

Ever.

The angel's eyebrows knit together and a little frown pulled at his lips. "Actually, no...I'm not fine." He sighed, letting his eyes close for a moment while he breathed and gathered his courage. "I'm...I'm scared."

Crowley blinked, the worry as clear as day in his eyes. He brought his hands together, pretending to crack his knuckles while affixing a threatening leer.

The impersonation served to make a smile crack at the corner of Aziraphale's lips. "No, I'm not worried about that silly human man. I told you, I've dealt with them before; it's really not a big deal."

Crowley tilted his head and shrugged a shoulder, the obvious meaning being, "What is it then?"

Aziraphale stared down at his hands for a few long minutes, gnawing at the inside of his cheeks and tapping his toes against the ground, unsure what he wanted to say or how he wanted to say it. Everything he'd been taught his entire existence told him that this had to be wrong. Heaven would lambaste him for it if they knew. And yet…

The angel turned his head to look at the demon and he felt all the air stolen from his body in a single wonderful swoop. The sun had begun to set behind Crowley and had momentarily broken through the clouds, the light spread out around him almost like the halo that he would have once been adorned with. His beautiful red hair almost seemed to be flaming with the illumination, his skin appearing to glow. And his eyes... oh , that was The Look...the one he usually reserved for when he didn't think Aziraphale was paying attention. It looked so very much like…

"I'm scared," Aziraphale admitted, "because I'm afraid that I may be…" He swallowed, hard. "And I don't know if you… " He felt his heart doing it's very best to force its way up his throat and had to struggle to convince himself to hold Crowley's gaze. "D-do...do you-?"

He'd seemed confused at first, lips pursed together as though trying to work out a particularly difficult puzzle, but all at once Crowley must have understood what Aziraphale was asking because his eyes went wide as saucers, his face turned nearly as red as his hair, and his jaw began to move like that of a beached fish.

Aziraphale immediately felt foolish and attempted to backtrack, to salvage some of his rapidly disintegrating pride. His gaze found the first sprigs of Spring grass before his feet, and his hands found one another in his lap, turning over and over as his anxiety reached critical mass. "W-what a silly question," he coughed out, failing miserably to make it sound like a nonchalant laugh. "I mean, honestly, what was I thinking? We're not- I mean, that is to say- How could you ever-? You're so painfully beautiful, and I-"

He didn't see Crowley move, but he must have because suddenly the demon was on his knees in the dirt in front of the angel, his long, lovely fingers wrapped around Aziraphale's hands to halt their fidgeting, and he was looking up at the angel with an almost agonizingly tender honesty. The demon looked up at his angel, and he didn't say the words because words had been stolen from him; but he said it with his eyes, with the way they shone, desperate to be understood.

Aziraphale understood. He understood and felt as though he'd been shattered and lovingly pieced back together, much stronger than before.

"Oh…" he whispered, the sound breathless. One of his hands, of its own accord, found Crowley's gorgeous, flushed cheek, and guided him closer…

closer…

closer…

A crack of thunder boomed across the sky directly above them, causing both angel and demon to squeak and leap to their feet in alarm. Within the span of a heartbeat the sky let loose, buckets of rain pouring down from a darkening sky, sending humans scattering from the park in a panic, with their hands over their heads. By the third heartbeat Aziraphale and Crowley were already soaked, staring at each other with wide eyes as the rain ran trails down their faces and bodies.

Aziraphale blinked. Crowley smirked.

They both laughed like fools as their hair and clothes became drenched through to their skin in mere moments.

And in mid-chuckle, while the demon was distracted with his nervous mirth, Aziraphale reached for his sodden lapels, pulled him down, and pressed their wet lips together as lightning streaked across the twilight sky.

Enough For Me

Chapter Summary

Hearts flutter, lips taste, fingers entwine. Cold rain becomes a hot bath, and a demon yearns to bare his soul to his angel.

Chapter Notes

I'm just going to let you all know right now that this chapter is basically entirely self-indulgent fluff. lol

As the sun set and night fell over London, the sky opened up and poured forth the first proper Spring rain of the season. And while straggling humans all across the city hurried to get indoors before they caught their death, in Saint James Park two figures stood close together, heedless of the inclement weather, consumed only by one another.

Aziraphale's fingers were wrapped tight around the lapels of Crowley's shirt, his lips pressed to the demon's as the rain poured down around them, leaving cool trails down both beings' flushed skin. It was chilly, and it was wet, and the angel had never experienced anything so astoundingly perfect in all his long existence.

Crowley's eyes had gone wide with surprise when Aziraphale pulled him down into the kiss, but now they'd fluttered closed and a soft, pleading kind of sound was coming from the demon's throat. He moved only in tiny increments, letting the angel set the pace of the slow, sweet, languid kiss, as though terrified to do anything that might break the spell that had surrounded them.

Aziraphale's heart was fluttering like a hummingbird's wings beneath his chest. A part of him couldn't believe that he'd actually done it - was currently still doing it - but mostly he was just lost in the sensation of the kiss, having never imagined such a thing could be so wonderful. Crowley's lips were so much softer than he would have guessed, so much warmer and sweeter. The demon tasted of hot coffee and roasted marshmallows, and from this close the hint of brimstone wafting from his skin mimicked the cozy, hot scent of a hearthfire. The angel thought that he could be perfectly happy if he never smelled or tasted anything else for the rest of eternity.

When Aziraphale finally broke the kiss and pulled back - only as far as was absolutely necessary, mind you - he was gazing into golden eyes that almost seemed drunk, and oh...what a thought that was.

"Was that okay?" the angel asked with a little crack of a smile.

Rainwater was dripping down Crowley's face, the runoff from his sodden hair falling down over his eyelashes, but he hardly blinked, half-lidded eyes regarding Aziraphale with something like veneration. His tongue flicked out to lick at his lower lip, as if seeking out any remainder of the angel's own flavor. He nodded, once, as a little shudder passed through him from head to toe.

Aziraphale felt warm all over, despite the rain soaking him through to the bone. "You know…" he said, fussing a little with Crowley's shirt while a pink flush spread across his cheeks. "Just in case it was unclear...it's perfectly okay if you would like to touch me too."

Crowley gaped. Aziraphale grinned and inclined his head down toward the demon's side. They both looked together to where Crowley's long fingers were shredding strips out of the sides of his trousers as he subconsciously fought to keep his hands to himself.

The demon chuckled - a small, breathy, embarrassed sound - and carefully extracted his hands from the tattered remains of his poor trousers. When he looked up again Aziraphale was struck by the vulnerability in his serpentine eyes. How funny that a demon - a creature who should have been well-versed in the art of temptation - should seem so shy and tender and sensitive. How funny, and how absolutely wonderful.

The angel let his fingers release the demon's lapels and slide down to press gently against his drenched chest. Then he leaned up and claimed Crowley's lips again in a small, reassuring kiss.

"Perhaps we should head home now?" Aziraphale suggested with a pleased smile. "We seem in dire need of a drying up."

Crowley blinked and glanced up at the sky as if he'd completely forgotten that it was, in fact, raining cats and dogs. A rumble of thunder travelled across the heavens in response to his gaze. After a moment he met the angel's eye and nodded, but he also seemed to be considering something, his eyes bright and curious. Before Aziraphale could question him the demon took a step back, followed by a deep breath, and reached out one hand.

For the briefest moment Aziraphale didn't understand. Then he broke into a smile that could have outshone any star in the night sky. He took the offered hand, linking their wet fingers together with a gentle squeeze, and revelled in the ecstatic, boyish smile he received in return.

And so two man-shaped beings strolled through London in the pouring rain, hand-in-hand, matching smiles of infatuated wonder on their faces. The humans who saw them from the safety of their cars and shop-fronts surely thought them incredibly foolish to be out in such weather without even the shelter of an umbrella, but a few of the more observant ones sighed pleasantly at the sight of a pair that were so obviously head over heels for one another.

They walked in giddy, excited silence, neither of them with any idea as to where their relationship might move from here, but just so exceptionally pleased to be heading into whatever-it-was together. Aziraphale cast numerous sidelong glances at Crowley as they strolled through the downpour, and felt little electric thrills of happiness each time he caught the demon glancing right back at him.

Oh Mother...I don't think I've ever been this happy since the day you created me. Please...please let me have this...let me keep him…

When they arrived at the bookstore they stood under the awning above the door and chuckled a bit at how completely and utterly soaked they'd become. Crowley's hair was pasted to his head, neck, and shoulders. Aziraphale's layers of clothing were sticking to one another in terribly squelchy ways. Both of them were bright-eyed, smiling shyly, each unwilling to release the other's hand just yet.

So, instead, Aziraphale gently crowded Crowley up against the shop's door - his free hand on the demon's chest just to put that little bit of space between them for the sake of public decency - and leaned in for another kiss. Crowley met him halfway, eagerly giving himself to the angel, and Aziraphale accepted him with a soft sigh. It was a deeper kiss than before, still sweet, still beautiful, but a little bolder, a little more exploratory. The angel let his tongue probe along the junction of the demon's lips and Crowley, taking the prompt, parted those lips to allow Aziraphale entrance. A lovely little groan came from the demon as the angel explored him. It made Aziraphale feel almost faint, heady with awe that he was doing this. Him . Fussy, soft, squishy, shop owner, bookworm, laughing-stock-of-Heaven Aziraphale was pressing the most gorgeous creature he'd ever seen up against the door of his shop, snogging him silly and drawing out sinful little noises from the demon that would surely make any human blush as hot as flame.

The hand on Crowley's chest began to wander, the angel's fingers making their way up to the demon's shoulder, through a curtain of dripping red hair, along his neck and-

Aziraphale broke the kiss with a little gasp, eyes wide as his palm pressed against Crowley's cheek. "My dear, you're positively frozen!" he exclaimed, feeling quite foolish for not noticing it sooner. He pulled his other hand from Crowley's fingers in order to press it to the demon's other cheek. "Why didn't you try to tell me?" the angel admonished. "Goodness, you feel like ice!"

Crowley's response was a soft whine and a gentle nuzzle of his nose against Aziraphale's; a wordless plea to "keep going, please kiss me some more, never mind the fact that my skin feels like it's frosted over, it's okay, I'll live".

Aziraphale was not, however, about to let his darling demon freeze to discorporation on the stoop of his shop just for another snog. He immediately shoved his hands in his pockets to dig out the key to the shop and shuffled the sodden Crowley through the door. "Come on now, let's go," he instructed over the demon's weak protests. "We're getting you into a hot bath right this second."

Crowley tried to resist, to wordlessly assure the angel that he would be fine, it was just a chill, but he was shocked to silence when Aziraphale immediately began dragging him through the shop, both of them dripping everywhere they went. The angel pulled him up the stairs to the flat and down the hall to the washroom, fussing to himself the entire way about how he should have known that a serpentine demon would be vulnerable to the cold. He only released Crowley's hand when they'd come up beside the bathtub, so that he could lean in and twist the knobs to get the water to a nice, steamy temperature. He dumped half a bottle of bubble bath and a significant volume of epsom salts into the water as well before nodding, satisfied.

When Aziraphale turned back around he found Crowley standing in the middle of the washroom floor, in a steadily-growing puddle, fidgeting nervously. The angel gnawed the inside of his cheek for a moment before asking, in a soft and gentle voice, "Would you like me to leave you to it?"

The response was not immediate by a long shot, but it didn't take long for Crowley to swallow, meet Aziraphale's gaze, and very slightly shake his head 'no'.

The angel took a deep breath then, and approached slowly, shrugging off his drenched jacket and letting it fall to the floor as he went. Crowley went still as a statue when Aziraphale's hands reached out for him, but his lanky body shifted easily as the angel slid the black leather jacket off his shoulders.

Aziraphale worked with unprecedented tenderness, divesting the demon of his wet clothing piece by piece, slowly uncovering pale skin covered in scars, but positively gorgeous none-the-less. Eventually only the snug black pants were left. Here the angel stalled, feeling his face flushing hot, unsure at this point how far was too far. He was staring - a bit lost in his own head - at Crowley's bare chest when he felt a little tug around his neck and looked up. Crowley's long fingers were wrapped around the ends of the angel's bow tie, golden eyes questioning.

A thousand thoughts raced through Aziraphale's mind at once, each fighting the others for the right to trigger a panic attack. So many rules, so many beliefs, so many orders and commands and patronizing suggestions. He felt the shadow of Heaven, ever-looming, telling him what a terrible, incompetent, pathetic excuse for an angel he was, telling him that he was crossing too many lines and that soon there would be no possible way to turn back.

But he also heard another voice, small but strong and stubborn, telling him that this was right , this was real and true and meant to be . It could have been God's voice...but he was fairly certain that it was his own.

He gave a little smile and a little nod, and Crowley's eyes seemed to shine with relief. Clever fingers worked at the tartan bow tie, at the buttons on a vintage waistcoat, followed by the ones on the pale blue button-up beneath. Aziraphale watched as the demon worked, squirmed a little self-consciously when his 'gut' was revealed. As if he knew exactly what the angel was thinking, Crowley sank down to his knees and nuzzled his cheek up against Aziraphale's stomach, kissed it softly, and looked up with eyes that said, "Mine." The angel couldn't help but chuckle - albeit a little anxiously. He offered a hand to pull Crowley back to his feet, but the demon ignored it in favor of finishing his work. While on his knees, as though in prayer, he carefully undid the catch and zip on the angel's trousers and pushed them to the floor. Only then did he stand, offering his hands to help Aziraphale balance as he stepped out of the mess of sodden clothes on the floor.

With his heart doing some very complicated things beneath his ribs, Aziraphale held on to the demon's hands and gently pulled him backwards until they were pressed against the side of the bathtub. And if that bathtub had miraculously expanded to become big enough for two, well...he was sure he could think up some kind of excuse by the time Heaven got around to asking him about it.

The bath was full, bubbly, and steaming, and two celestial beings stood hand-in-hand in their pants, blushing at one another like human teenagers. Only the tiny tremble of Crowley's chilled body reawakened the angel to the task at hand. "You should get in first," he suggested, voice small and quiet. "I'll, um...I'll turn around-" He was in mid-motion when Crowley's fingertips found his arm. The demon's skin was flushed all the way down to his chest, but his fathomless eyes said, "No, it's okay. I want you to see."

Carefully avoiding Aziraphale's direct gaze, Crowley hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and wiggled them down his hips and legs to the floor. The angel felt hot all over. He tried not to stare, but was undeniably pleased by what he saw. In his six thousand years on Earth he'd never before felt any particular preference when it came to the human form. Now he quite suddenly realized that it wasn't that he lacked a preference; it was just that he hadn't yet come across the exact form that set off all the fireworks in his own corporation.

Crowley's tiny smile was shy but pleased. Moving deliberately, seeming almost as though he was trying to give the angel a show, the demon sat down against the side of the tub, swung one leg over, then the other, and slowly sank into the steamy bubbles with a soft groan.

It was all Aziraphale could do to suppress the shudder that wanted to run through him from head to toe and back again. He could feel his own body reacting to Crowley's little performance and had to will it to behave as he worked himself out of his own pants. Then the demon offered a hand to help him into the hot bath and he had to will his heart to behave as well.

Aziraphale sank into the water with a sigh, drinking in the rose and lavender of the bubbles. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment as his entire being seemed to relax. When he opened them his gaze met swirling, liquid honey watching him with pure adoration. The angel's heart melted. He lifted his hands from the water and gestured, a little shyly. "Come here, my dear?" he requested.

Crowley didn't hesitate for even a moment, surging toward Aziraphale as though he were being magnetically drawn to the other. He happily allowed the angel to wrap his arms around him, drawing him close and bringing their lips together one more. Aziraphale sighed into it, suddenly realizing how bereft he'd felt he'd felt without his demon's taste on his tongue in the short time since they'd kissed last. Oh, this could be dangerous , he thought as his hands stroked along the ridges of Crowley's spine. I may never stop touching him…

Crowley was the one to break the kiss this time, but only so that his lips could roam elsewhere, pressing soft and sweet against the contours of Aziraphale's jawline, up to the sensitive spot just behind his ear. The angel heard a little whine escape himself and bit down hard on a rush of desire. "Oh…" he found himself sighing. "My darling Crowley…my love..."

Crowley froze and pulled away to look at the angel with something raw in his eyes.

Aziraphale felt a flash of embarrassment and anxiety realizing that it was the first time the actual word had been spoken aloud. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, "T-that just slipped out. If you don't like- Oh!" He was cut off, surprised, as the demon practically tackled him. Thin-but-strong arms wrapped around the angel, holding him close, and a head of wet, tangled red hair pressed to Aziraphale's chest. The heat of the bathwater was nothing compared to the warmth in the angel's chest, but it began to chill when he felt the soft trembling of the demon's body. It took some doing, as Crowley had quite the grip and Aziraphale didn't want to manhandle him, but after a few anxious moments he finally managed to gently push the demon back and look at him.

The golden honey of his eyes had a hint of red to them and there were tears streaming down his face.

"Oh Crowley…" Aziraphale whispered. His warm hands found the demon's face, tenderly swiping away at the tears with his thumbs. "What is it, my dear?"

Crowley bit his lip as the tears continued to flow. He hiccupped, cringed, and reached up to wipe at his own face with the back of his hand, but only served to redden his eyes further. He looked frustrated, embarrassed, angry with himself. Eventually, he met Aziraphale's gaze again. He ran the tips of his fingers along the length of his throat and opened and closed his mouth. Then he ran those same fingers down to his own chest, just over his heart, before reaching out and pressing them to the angel's chest in the same place.

Aziraphale's heart swelled at the motions, aching for the demon, but also pulsing with joy. "Are you...are you sad because you can't say it back?"

Crowley looked down at the bathwater, turned bright red, and nodded once.

For what felt like the thousandth time Aziraphale wished he could crush that blasted collar around Crowley's throat and unleash holy vengeance upon whomever put it there in the first place. But his protective rage had no place here in this moment. Instead, he pulled his demon close, pressing their foreheads together as the bathwater and bubbles shifted around them.

"My dearest…" the angel sighed. "I understand. It must be terrible not to be able to express what you're thinking." A gentle, loving smile pulled at the corners of his lips. His blue eyes radiated with sweet, kind understanding. "And believe me, it would make me so happy to be able to hear you say it, but for now, just the fact that you want to say it is good enough for me, okay?"

Crowley sniffled and nodded and leaned down to once again lay his head against Aziraphale's chest.

The angel wrapped his arms around the demon, held him tight, laid sweet kisses to the top of his head. They stayed like that for a long time, until the soft tremble of Crowley's body abated, his sniffles slowed to a stop. When he seemed okay enough to move, Aziraphale gentled the demon to turn around and quietly, delicately washed his hair, running his fingers through the long red locks carefully to work out the tangles. Crowley made soft little humming noises as the angel worked, and no sooner had the last bits of shampoo been washed away than the demon had turned around to return to the task he'd abandoned earlier.

He ran his lips along Aziraphale's throat, pressed them against the angel's chin, his cheek, his temple. He'd made his way back to the angel's lips when his own split wide with a sudden yawn that had him flushing bashfully while Aziraphale chuckled fondly.

"It's been a rather busy day for both of us, my love," the angel said, and adored the way Crowley's eyes glowed at the new endearment. "I think, perhaps, we'll skip the reading tonight in favor of a nice rest in the actual bed, hmm?"

Crowley pouted, sticking his lower lip out comically. Aziraphale laughed and caught the offending lip in a kiss before pulling back again. "Perhaps I'll...join you?" he suggested, heart fluttering. Crowley's pout immediately became a shy, but delighted, grin.

The angel pulled the plug on the bath and turned to reach for a towel only to find Crowley already standing and holding one out for him. He smiled and tried to accept it, but the demon pulled it away from his outreached hand before flicking it out and wrapping it around the angel's shoulders himself. Aziraphale couldn't stop himself from pulling them together for yet another kiss before snagging up a second towel to return the gesture.

They dried in silence, each trying (and failing) not to cast sidelong glances at the other, and moved to the bedroom where Aziraphale chose a set of pajamas for each of them. His were soft blue flannel and one of the only tops he owned that boasted short sleeves. Crowley's were a sleek black silk set he'd picked up for the demon over the holidays, and he felt a tight heat in his chest when the demon set the shirt half aside and opted to go topless.

As he pulled aside the blankets Aziraphale found he felt suddenly quite nervous. It seemed foolish. The two had been living together for the better part of a year now. They normally spent nearly every night leaning against each other on the sofa while the angel read and the demon drifted. They'd confessed their feelings for each other and literally just seen each other as naked as the day their corporations were formed. Yet, somehow...somehow this...curling up in bed together...it seemed so very incredibly intimate.

He didn't realize how long he'd been standing there, having some kind of minor panic attack, until Crowley crawled across the bed toward him and looked up into his eyes. Those magnificent honey gold eyes served to calm him and he accepted the demon's offered hands with a soft smile.

Crowley slowly backed them both onto the bed, held the blankets up while Aziraphale nestled down beneath them, and then slithered under to join him.

They lay with nearly two feet of space between them, gazing nervously at one another before eventually breaking out into soft, self-aware giggles.

Swallowing down his anxiety, intent to focus on living in the moment - at least for tonight - Aziraphale lifted the blankets between them and gestured for Crowley to come closer. The demon complied immediately, sliding across the sheets with uncanny grace. The angel met him in the middle, and welcomed the comfortable meeting of their bodies. Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale's chest like the angel was a particularly cozy space heater, and Aziraphale wrapped an arm around the demon while reveling in the press of his nose to freshly cleansed fiery hair.

The angel wasted a tiny miracle to wave the lights off and let his fingers draw soft designs against Crowley's back until - much sooner than he might have guessed - he heard soft, contented snores coming from the demon.

It was by far the most comfortable and content Aziraphale had ever been in the presence of any other being. It set his heart aflame and broke it all at once.

Only a few more months… he found himself thinking as he breathed deep of the scent of Crowley's hair. We only have a few more months before the antichrist comes of age… I can't lose him now. I just can't…

Closing his eyes tight, Aziraphale flattened his palm against the small of Crowley's back and pulled him as close as he could without disturbing the demon's sleep. And then he prayed, possibly harder and more desperately than he'd ever prayed before.

Please, Mother… I'm begging you. Please guide me. Please don't let me lose him now that I have him. Please help me to know what to do...

Love Me Tender

Chapter Summary

Further exploration of love...and lust.

OPTIONAL NSFW Chapter! Not necessary for story progression!

Chapter Notes

If the last chapter was gratuitous fluff, this one is the gratuitous smut. I couldn't help myself! That said, this chapter is 100% optional. If you're not a smutty kind of person (although, I must say, this bit is actually pretty tame for me), you can absolutely skip this chapter. You're not going to miss any important revelations or anything, and the next chapter will continue on with proper flow whether you've read this chapter or not. :)

This is your third and final warning! This chapter is a (relatively mild) smutty one, but it is also completely optional if that's not your kind of thing! Proceed at your own discretion! _~

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Hours passed with Crowley snuggled safe and warm within the enclosure of Aziraphale's arms, breathing slow and deep and soft. For a while the angel prayed and fretted and searched the confines of his spectacularly long memory for any hint of an idea about how to proceed. They had anywhere from two to three months before it all went pear-shaped, and the looming threat was so much more horrifying with his demon sleeping gently against his body.

Aziraphale had always known that Armageddon was coming eventually. He didn't understand it, often questioned it, hated it even, and had spent many long nights before meeting Crowley wondering if there wasn't something that could be done to keep it from happening at all. It just seemed so cruel, so unnecessary, such a waste to allow humanity to come this far and then just...wipe it all out. And for what? So Heaven and Hell could take up arms once again? They'd all been one, once, and hadn't enough of them been carved from existence the first time around?

Back then, when he'd drowned himself in fine wines and finer whiskeys and contemplated how one might go about stopping the End from ever happening, he'd always inevitably come to the same conclusion: there was nothing he could do. He was just one angel - not even a particularly good one at that - and as far as he could tell he was the only being in Heaven or Hell who gave a damn about what happened to the Earth when the time came. He was alone, with no options, no choices.

But now…

Aziraphale flexed his fingers, quietly studying the cool, soft feeling of the skin beneath them. He moved his hand, slow and gentle, letting the tips of his fingers trail up and down the sharp ridges of Crowley's spine. He let his eyes flutter closed and took a deep breath, idly wondering if it were possible to drown himself in the demon's intoxicating scent.

And he remembered. The press of wet lips in the rain. The flush of bared skin amid steam and bubbles. Tears shed by a being who desperately wanted to speak words that had been stolen from him.

Oh, before Aziraphale had been sad and resigned, but now ...now he was desperate and stubborn. He had to find a way. He couldn't lose Crowley. He wouldn't lose Crowley.

Sometime past midnight the angel's mind had finally begun to drift, lost to the sweet sensations of being curled up like this with his darling demon. He'd very nearly drifted off, as a matter of fact, when a soft little whimper drew him back to full awareness.

Aziraphale's first thought was that it had just been a high-pitched kind of snore, as there was no immediate follow-up to the sound. But when he pressed a tender kiss to Crowley's forehead a second sound came from the demon, louder this time, a bit more like a whine.

Aziraphale's second thought was that Crowley was having a nightmare. It had been a long time since he'd had any, but in those first few months the demon seemed to melt into a realm of subconscious terrors any time he drifted off without the angel's warmth and grace nearby. It was certainly possible that a remnant of those previous times was lingering within the demon's subconsciousness. If it were a nightmare, though, it would the the first one he'd ever had with Aziraphale so very close-

The thought process had barely entered the angel's mind when it was forced to skitter to an unceremonious halt by the third sound that fell from the demon's lips.

Oh.

Oh .

That was most definitely not the sound of someone having a nightmare.

Gently, gently, so slow one might not have even been able to register his movement with the naked eye, Aziraphale slackened his embrace on Crowley's body and allowed himself to pull back a bit. From his new vantage point he could see that the demon's cheeks were flushed, his lips parted just slightly, his breathing a little thicker and heavier than it had been. Another little moan - because-

Lord save me

-that was absolutely what it was - came from those utterly delicious lips and-

Oh fuck me…

-Aziraphale found himself entirely uncertain as to how to proceed.

He was just wondering whether he shouldn't quietly wriggle his way out of the bed and let Crowley continue to rest when another - significantly louder - moan preceded a sleepy jerk of the demon's hips, and suddenly Aziraphale couldn't breathe.

Yes, that was...that was most definitely…

That was to say, well, he'd already seen -

It had only been a few hours ago that they'd taken a bath together after all, but then-

And now -

Crowley's hips moved again, less a jerk this time and more of a sensuous slither, and this time it was Aziraphale who moaned. " Fuck… " he whimpered, hips involuntarily moving to meet the body of the sleeping demon. "Damn it all, Crowley… Crowley, dear, wake up." The angel's lungs felt tight as he struggled not to shout, his body tight as a violin's string as he fought to keep his hips still, to stop his fingers from digging into Crowley's back. "Crowley, please wake up. "

Just as the angel was starting to lose his tenuous grip on sanity, lovely long eyelashes fluttered and hazy golden eyes gazed at him with half-awake infatuation. Just a touch of a sleepy smile twitched across Crowley's lips, followed by a yawn, and finally his eyes opened a little wider and seemed to take in the strange and worrisome look on Aziraphale's face. The demon's face dropped and he tried to lean up to better consider the angel's obvious fluster, but froze dead when the movement caused a very hard, very sensitive part of his body to rub up against Aziraphale's soft thigh.

Serpentine eyes went wide. Blue ones remained hazy with the sudden onslaught of sensations.

A look of mortification appeared on Crowley's face. In the next moment he was scrambling to put some distance between himself and the angel, a series of panicked, apologetic little squeaks coming from him as he began to practically hyperventilate.

Barely able to think straight, but cautious of making the demon feel trapped, Aziraphale let him wiggle free of their embrace before wrapping gentle fingers around a single thin wrist. "Wait," he gasped. "Crowley, please, it's okay." He could hear the huskiness in his own voice and tried to swallow it down. "It's okay, darling, it's okay. I'm not upset. Please…"

The last word had sounded so wistful and longing that even in his agitated state the demon couldn't have mistaken it. Golden eyes stared as Crowley finally stopped moving away and met the angel's uncharacteristically dark gaze.

Aziraphale swallowed - it felt like his throat was coated in sand - and carefully released Crowley's wrist in favor of running his fingers feather-light along the demon's forearm. "It seemed like you were having a good dream," he whispered across the space between them. "I'm...I'm sorry I woke you up."

Crowley's eyes searched the angel, looking for something, seeking some sign to help him know how to proceed.

Aziraphale's tongue had run out along his lips before he could stop it. "W-was…" He stopped, swallowed again, took a steadying breath that utterly failed to steady him. "Was...I...in your dream?"

Crowley stared back, unblinking, seeming to wonder whether or not this was a trick question. Eventually he took a breath of his own and slowly nodded.

Fuck…

There was a heat growing in Aziraphale's belly that he could no longer attempt to deny. He could smother it, if he had to, if Crowley needed him to, but if that same heat was growing within the demon as well…

Aziraphale reached out to Crowley, slow and cautious, and tenderly tucked a stray strand of hair back behind the demon's ear. In a low voice that he had to admit to himself sounded more than a little bit sinful, he asked, "Would you...would you like to continue your dream...with me?"

Crowley's eyes seemed to melt into a deeper gold all at once. His cheeks darkened. His Adam's apple bobbed. He looked like a starving man who'd just been presented with the finest ambrosia.

Funny…because that was exactly how Aziraphale felt.

The moment ran on long enough that the angel began to worry he'd gone too far, that this wasn't something Crowley actually wanted - at least not yet - that it had just been a dream and now he'd made the demon horribly uncomfortable. He was just opening his mouth to apologize, to say that it was fine, they didn't need to do anything, that he'd just thought-

Then long fingers were touching his lips as though they were something precious and delicate, and Aziraphale felt his heart speed and stutter at the touch. He wrapped his own fingers into Crowley's hair, fingers gently massaging against the demon's scalp, drawing a stilted, juttering sigh that sounded so wonderfully needy .

Aziraphale leaned up, moved forward, and kept his gaze on Crowley at all times, looking for any sign of discomfort, of fear or worry. He saw none, saw nothing but the warmest kind of want and need, so he kept moving forward until he was hovering over the demon, their lips mere millimeters apart, able to smell the scent of desire between them. "May I take care of you, my love?" the angel whispered.

The demon's hands came up to fist in the angel's top, bunching the tartan fabric and squeezing it, trying to prove to himself, Aziraphale thought, that they were both really there, that he wasn't still dreaming. Then he looked deep into the angel's eyes and made a small, desperate nose that - though the letters weren't formed - sounded very much like ' Please '.

Aziraphale leaned in for a kiss, and forced himself to move slowly, to be soft and gentle and sweet. He'd never before felt such overwhelming lust before, an animal inside him that had been caged for millennia suddenly awakening with furiosity, but even more powerful was the love coursing through his essence, and that love tempered him, grounded him, kept him tender and kind. He wanted his darling demon to feel safe, loved, cared for. Needed just as much as desired.

Their lips came together again and again - soft, lovely little kisses that were equal parts frantic and affectionate. Aziraphale let his fingers continue to wind through Crowley's hair while his free hand wandered lower, tracing mindless patterns across the demon's chest, ribs, abs. Crowley whimpered - such wonderful little sounds - while working his own delicious hands up beneath the angel's pajama top. Aziraphale hummed his pleasure at the touches and happily allowed the demon to pop open the buttons for better access, those gorgeous hands worshipping angelic flesh.

When Crowley's lips were beautifully red and kiss-swollen Aziraphale moved down to trail kisses along his jaw and down to his throat. The demon stretched and threw his head back to give the angel better access and then keened when Aziraphale gently drew a bit of flesh between his teeth before running his tongue along the same spot to soothe it.

"Oh darling," Aziraphale hummed as he worked his way across Crowley's collarbone, down the length of his lovely pale chest. He laid kisses on each and every scar, unable to heal them but perfectly able to smother their hurt with his loving attention. "You're so beautiful, my sweet, magnificent demon." He'd reached Crowley's stomach and was enthralled by the way the demon arched into his touch, lean muscles going taut as he silently begged for more. "You've completely enchanted me, my dearest. I've always loved - I'm made to love - but I never knew I could love like this ." He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of the black silk pajama bottoms and pressed his lips to the lovely angular hips that were revealed. "I never knew I could be so consumed by it...by this need to hold and touch and praise…"

Aziraphale's words were making Crowley tremble, but the demon's eyes - not a hint of white to be seen, pupils fighting to devour the brilliant gold - told him that it was a good kind of tremble.

Slowly, savoring the moment, the angel drew down the demon's bottoms and pants at once. He felt his body go aflame at the sight that was revealed: Crowley's body hard and flush and practically weeping for Aziraphale's touch.

He reached out, tentative at first, so many unfamiliar thoughts and emotions and desires bubbling up inside him, and let his fingers trail along his demon's length. The touch was barely anything at all, but it drew the most delightful gasp from Crowley, his chest rippling with the intake of breath. The demon's long fingers dug into the blankets at his sides, in danger of shredding them the way he'd done with his trousers the evening before, but Aziraphale didn't bother himself worrying about such unnecessary concerns. He had much more important matters at hand.

"Oh, my love…" the angel murmured, voice soft as a sigh as he wrapped his hand around Crowley's length in a gentle grip. "I must admit, I feel quite overwhelmed having you laid beneath me like this, like the most sumptuous feast I could have ever imagined… May I taste you, my darling?" A part of Aziraphale was aghast, unable to consolidate such bold and filthy words with the Principality who had cared over humanity since time began. That part, however, was currently being drowned, held far beneath the roiling waves of love and lust that were crashing down relentlessly around the angel.

Crowley, similarly, seemed shocked at first by Aziraphale's words, but scarcely hesitated for half a heartbeat before a truly wanton groan accompanied a frantic, breathless nod.

With permission enthusiastically given Aziraphale wasted no time in leaning forward to delicately run his tongue along the demon's flesh with a low, pleased hum.

Oh...Lord… Internally the angel cringed and quickly sent an apology skyward, but oh...he couldn't help the way his whole being shivered at the taste of his demon and the way that demon squirmed beneath him. He found himself laving attention on that hot flesh with his tongue over and over again, drawing it between his lips and moaning against it as he took as much of it into himself as he could.

Crowley moaned and gasped and whimpered, his body writhing beneath the angel's ministrations, his chest rising and falling with exponentially increasing frequency. A few times Aziraphale looked up to see him watching, jaw twitching, eyes molten, but just as often he had his head tilted back in the pillows, eyes closed, lips parted in a particularly sinful groan. It all served to egg the angel on, greedy to hear more of those wonderful little sounds of pleasure. He moved at a variety of speeds, experimented with his tongue and his hands, hummed to send little waves of vibration through his demon's body, and for all of it he continued to receive lovely little gifts of whines and whimpers and wordless pleas.

When Crowley's breathing began to get particularly frantic, his hips twitching erratically despite his death-grip on the shredded remains of their blankets, Aziraphale pulled away, stroking fast with a firm grip as he moved up to steal a kiss thick with passion from the demon's trembling lips.

All at once Crowley's body went rigid, his mouth drawn away from the angel's so he could exhale a long, ragged groan. Aziraphale continued to stroke him through it all, holding him close, pressing hot kisses to his chest and throat, murmuring sweet nothings until the demon's body went lax once more.

Aziraphale felt his chest might explode. He looked down at the proof of Crowley's pleasure all over his hand and the demon's stomach, and he found it almost difficult to breathe. Crowley was drawing in thick, labored gasps of air, his eyes half-lidded and fully-blown, and the angel didn't think he'd ever seen anything so magnificent, or ever would. His free hand wound up to cup the demon's cheek, stroking the contour of his jaw with his thumb.

"Oh, darling," the angel crooned with a sweet smile. "You're such a vision like this. Thank you for letting me take care of you."

Crowley swallowed thickly. He seemed incapable of opening his eyes fully, yet somehow still managed to give Aziraphale a look of incredulity, a look that said the angel was ridiculous for thanking him for that . His long fingers extracted themselves from the torn sheets to reach for the waistband of the angel's pajama bottoms and gave them a weak tug. Your turn , his blown-out eyes said.

Admittedly, the exercise had left Aziraphale so hard it was almost painful, but that didn't matter right now. He was happy to have worshipped his demon so well, to have been the catalyst for such a positively resplendent reaction. "That's okay, darling," the angel assured his demon. "Your pleasure has already made me so happy."

But Crowley, it seemed, wouldn't be so easily dissuaded. He made a whiny noise, pressed a handful of kisses to Aziraphale's lips and face, and then wriggled out of the angel's grip. Aziraphale was bewildered until the demon crawled to his knees, braced his hands on the headboard, and looked over his shoulder at the angel with his eyes half-lidded and his lovely arse up in the air.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck...

It was all Aziraphale could do not to groan aloud and dive at his demon. What a sinfully tempting picture he made, presenting himself so readily. His melted honey eyes regarded the angel, silently urging him to go on, you know you want to, it's okay, it's only fair .

And oh...oh God , Aziraphale wanted to, but no...not like this. Not as though he was taking some debt he was owed.

The angel ran his warm, gentle hand up along Crowley's back - noting the way the demon shivered at the touch - until it reached the back of his neck and wove up into those lovely red strands. Crowley let his head lean against the headboard, a soft sigh on his lips, awaiting what he was certain was coming next.

He looked confused, therefore, when Aziraphale gently tugged him back, twisted him around, and pulled the demon into his lap so that they were face to face.

"Not like that, my love," the angel spoke between tender kisses placed on Crowley's cheeks and forehead. "If you're ready to continue I will be more than happy to do so, but I want to see your beautiful eyes, and I want you to be in full control of what happens."

For a short time Crowley almost seemed to stop breathing as he stared at Aziraphale with genuine surprise. Then, with a look akin to veneration in his molten eyes, he manipulated their position until his thin fingers were pressing the angel down into the pillows at the head of the bed. Slowly, keeping his gaze on the angel's face for any sign of anything other than desire, he drew Aziraphale's arms from his pajama top, and wriggled down to pull his bottoms and pants away, tossing them to the floor without a care.

Aziraphale groaned a little when they were finally pressing together skin to skin, Crowley running his clever fingers up the angel's thighs, his stomach, his chest. Crowley crawled back up over Aziraphale's body like temptation incarnate, his lip between his teeth, his eyes full of a different kind of need now - a need to please, to show what he couldn't say.

The demon swooped down at the same time that the angel's arms wrapped around his waist, and then they were kissing, hot and hard and oh, so incredibly delicious. It was passionate and wondrous, and Aziraphale would have been happy enough to just keep doing this until they both lacked the energy required to continue, but Crowley had other ideas in mind. He reached down to his own hip to link his fingers around one of Aziraphale's hands and purposefully guided that hand backward until the angel's fingers were pressing lightly between-

Aziraphale broke the kiss to suppress a shudder and look directly into his lover's eyes. "Darling," he breathed, voice husky with want, "are you certain?"

Crowley met his gaze steadily and nodded before pressing his own fingers more firmly against the angel's.

The burning flame in Aziraphale's gut had been growing for some time now, and with so many reassurances he simply couldn't resist any longer. Trusting himself to come up with a believable lie later if any queries came from Upstairs, the angel ensured that his fingers were quite slick and oh-so-gently pressed one in.

Something of a whine came from Crowley's throat, but his face was calm and he immediately pressed his own fingers to the back of Aziraphale's hand, wordlessly urging him on. The angel reached up with his free hand to run soothing fingers through the demon's hair, a protective hush in his breath. "No need to rush, darling," he told his flushed lover as he worked at him, slow and steady. "I'll not risk harming you. I'll only ever have you feel loved, Crowley, my dearest…"

The demon whined again, but the sound was a mixture of surprise and longing. Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder if Crowley thought he didn't deserve 'kind and gentle', if perhaps he felt some necessity for suffering just by virtue of his being a demon. If so, the angel fully intended to drive those thoughts from his lover's mind with every kiss and caress, no matter how long it took.

He worked at his lover almost painfully slow, driving them both a little mad with the mounting expectation. He watched Crowley's face carefully, pulled him in for soft kisses, whispered sweet nothings and little praises to him, letting him know how wonderfully he was doing, how perfect he was, how proud he was of him. The demon moaned and shuddered with every kind word, every saccharine sentiment. By the time Aziraphale was up to three fingers Crowley was doing most of the work himself, pushing his body down onto the angel's hand with growing intensity. He'd become fully hard again as well, a fact that filled Aziraphale with a lascivious kind of pride.

When he thought Crowley was ready, the angel slicked himself up with his free hand and was unable to restrain the groan that bubbled up his throat at finally allowing himself to be touched. The demon's eyes went almost fully black at the sinful sound, and suddenly he was pulling himself away from Aziraphale's hand, a stubborn set to his lips. The look he gave the angel said, I'm ready, I want you, I need you, no more coddling!

(And secretly, it was exactly what Aziraphale had been hoping for: that Crowley would shed some of the meekness and inferiority he'd seemed to internalize, and take a bit of his control back.)

The angel nodded, held himself steady, and watched, enraptured, as his demon lover lined himself up and slowly sank down until their bodies were flush.

Aziraphale's hands had found Crowley's hips and were shaking with the effort of not squeezing hard enough to bruise. He was having a great deal of trouble keeping his breaths steady and felt that he might actually discorporate if the demon didn't move soon. " C-Crowley- Oh my- I've never felt anything so-" A visible shudder went through his whole body. " Fuck! You're so perfect, so, so bloody perfect- "

Crowley was breathing hard, his long fingers spread across Aziraphale's chest for leverage, and he had a little smirk on his face that was just exceptional in every way. Slow enough that the angel couldn't help but think he was being tormented in retribution for earlier, the demon began to move, lifting himself almost all the way up, only to slam back down without warning. The shock of it pulled a scream of pleasure from Aziraphale's throat, followed quite shortly by a litany of profanity the likes of which had never come from the angel's mouth ever before.

Undeniably pleased with himself, Crowley began to move in earnest, seeking the angel's pleasure, his eyes shining with desire and determination and that hunger to satisfy his lover. Aziraphale thanked him with torrents of "Yes!" and "Oh Crowley!" and "My love, my love, my love !"

When a particular angle made the demon cry out in echo to the angel's, Aziraphale extracted one of his hands from his lover's hips in order to wrap it around his flushed hardness with purpose. "Yes, darling," the angel groaned, stroking in time with Crowley's movements. "Take you pleasure, love. I'm so close. Come with me, please…"

Crowley whimpered, eyelids fluttering, and redoubled his efforts, working to hit that same spot again and again and again and-

Aziraphale cried out half a heartbeat after Crowley when the demon's body tightened and spasmed around him. All at once they were both falling, falling, crashing down into the waves together, fingers curled into flesh, thighs tightened around hips, wet warmth and sweat-covered skin and desperate gasps for air that neither truly required but needed so, so badly in that moment.

Crowley almost collapsed on top of Aziraphale, but the angel, in his blissed-out haze of warmth and wonder, managed to catch him and twist their bodies to ease him down to the bed. There they lay, face-to-face, breathing deep, eyes only for each other, soft smiles on either face.

Aziraphale had never felt so spectacularly satisfied and content. If anyone had told him twenty-four hours prior that this was where he would be right now, his entire body tingling after making love to his wonderful, beautiful, amazing Crowley, he'd probably have scoffed (after turning a particularly unflattering shade of red). Now, however, he felt that it had all been rather inevitable. Fated, perhaps. Meant to be.

Angelic fingers found Crowley's cheek at the same moment that demonic ones found Aziraphale's chest. Crowley sighed with what could only have been immense happiness. The sound made Aziraphale fairly glow.

"We seem to have made rather a mess of ourselves," the angel chuckled softly after a time. He gently tucked a stray strand of red behind his demon's ear, echoing how this had all begun. "What would you say to another bath before we return to bed for the night?"

Crowley's response was to slither forward and capture Aziraphale's lips in the most tender, loving kiss the angel could have possibly envisioned before locking their fingers together and pulling them both from the bed to lead the way.

Days Gone By

Chapter Summary

In a graveyard at night, a bewildered angel watches events that unfolded a decade gone by, and finally begins to understand.

Chapter Notes

I didn't expect this particular chapter to take so long, but omg you guys, I've been so distracted by other works-in-progress! I really want to do this story justice though, so I've been reading and re-reading and I hope this chapter turned out okay in the end! A few questions are finally answered! _

In roughly six thousand years upon the planet Earth, Aziraphale had come to enjoy many of the multitude of mortal pleasures humans had created for themselves. His clear favorites were food and literature, but he was also a great lover of the variety of arts, hot baths, long walks on sunny days (or moonlit nights), and he'd even been known to enjoy a cinematographic show or two, on occasion. One human pleasure he'd never really been drawn to, however, was this whole concept of sleep. As a being who didn't require the shutting down of his conscious state in order to 'recharge', it had always seemed like a bit of a waste of time to the angel. Why sleep when you could be reading or going to a show or even just sitting down with a lovely cup of tea to enjoy the quiet majesty of a midsummer's eve?

As a result of these attitudes toward nightly hibernation rituals, Aziraphale had only indulged in sleep a handful of times during his tenure on Earth, and most of those only when he'd had a bit too much to drink and forgotten to sober up. Further, of the few times that the angel had actually properly slept, he'd never before deigned to dream.

It was quite reasonable, therefore, to presume that Aziraphale wouldn't immediately recognize a dream when he saw one.

The Principality was quite bewildered - and more than a little wary - to find himself suddenly standing outside a rather dilapidated old graveyard at night when he knew he'd been laying in bed with Crowley just moments before. He very nearly panicked, in fact, until he spotted the demon lurking behind a large tree just up ahead. Mind racing for plausible explanations as to how they'd come to be here, Aziraphale quickly made his way toward the tree in the dark.

"Crowley," the angel hissed as he slid up behind the redhead. "Crowley, what in the world has happened? Where are-?" He stopped quite suddenly, staring, confused. Not only had the demon not seemed to hear him, but he wasn't… He wasn't quite right . He was dressed all in black - as was his favored style - but they were clothes Aziraphale didn't recognize. Not to mention, now that he'd gotten closer the angel could see that the long red hair he loved so much was significantly shorter, hanging just an inch or so beneath the demon's ears and spiked up in the front. "C-Crowley?" Aziraphale repeated, and began to truly panic when the other didn't react in the slightest to his voice.

Across the graveyard, a rumbling sound reminiscent of a tiny earthquake drew Aziraphale's attention. Without thinking, he moved toward it, scanning the darkness for the disturbance. One arm rose, protectively blocking Crowley from view; the other curled up in front of him, a faint glow of angelic strength across his knuckles as he prepared for the possibility of attack.

Behind a pair of family grave markers the ground pulsed, broke, and crumbled to the sides as two dark, dirty figures rose from the earth. They shook their bodies and brushed at their clothes, but most of the dirt clung as if it knew it belonged there.

Demons…

The shorter of the two had dark hair and skin and wore a long black coat. The taller one's hair was white as snow, but full of dirt and grime, and he wore a matching coat in a dark grey. They both had eyes as black as night and grimaced in a way that suggested it was the only expression they were capable of making.

Aziraphale flexed his fingers, the glow within them burning brighter to fight away some of the gloom and announce his presence. "Stay right there!" he shouted. Drawing upon the Heavenly soldier he had once been, he put as much commanding presence into his tone as he could muster. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

The two demons ignored him entirely.

"Have you still got it?" the shorter one asked.

The taller one lifted a wicker basket between them. "Wouldn't do to leave it behind," he snarled back.

"What's next then?" the shorter one growled, glaring around the graveyard with clear distaste.

"Convent isn't far," the taller said, hefting the basket a little higher. "Th' nuns'll do the rest."

Aziraphale couldn't have been more perplexed if a rain of haddock had begun falling from the sky directly over his head. "What in the world are you two talking abou-?" He stopped, eyes growing wide, when a large black-and-red snake slithered past him in the overgrown grass, heading directly for the two demons. On instinct the angel turned back to where he'd left Crowley standing a moment before. Finding only darkness there, he whipped back around with a shout on his lips: "No, wait!"

None of the demons reacted to his shout, but they were reacting quite violently toward one another. The snake had slithered up and lashed out at the shorter demon, fangs dug deep into one of his legs. A great deal of shouting, cursing, and stomping followed, interspersed with wild hissing and flashes of vicious strikes from the snake. Aziraphale rushed forward, certain now that the snake was, in fact, his Crowley. Without having any idea as to what was going on, he readied himself to fight, but it was all over before he could really compute what had happened.

The shorter demon had fallen to the ground, a foam of spittle trailing across his lips. The taller was clutching his hip and wavering as though drunk. The snake was reared up to its full height, rippling with agitation, fangs bared, a high-pitched hiss in the air around it.

"Alw's knew...y'were a fool…" the taller demon slurred as he swayed. "Y'll n'ver...git'way...wit…" Then he was on the ground next to his partner, a matching splatter of foam falling from his tongue, the wicker basket having fallen unceremoniously to the ground.

And if Aziraphale had been bewildered before, he was positively dumbstruck now, because the moment the basket struck the ground it began to wail .

In the blink of an eye the snake had once again become a man-shaped creature with golden eyes and fiery hair that wasn't long enough. The not-quite-right Crowley dove for the basket, flipping the top and delicately lifting out-

"Oh my gosh," Aziraphale gasped, a hand lifting to his mouth. His heart rose into his throat as, quite suddenly, a number of puzzle pieces began to fall into place.

Crowley cradled the infant in his arms, soft shushing sounds on his lips as he bounced the little tyke gently up and down. "Shhh…" came careful whispers. "It's okay… You're going to be just fine, little guy… You're gonna be just fine. No crying now. There's a boy."

Aziraphale gaped, dropped jaw covered by both hands now, a dozen different thoughts shouting for attention in his overclocked mind. There were two thoughts in particular, however, that were the loudest and most attention-grabbing, and were causing the angel's heart to palpitate wildly for two entirely different reasons.

The first was that he was finally hearing Crowley's voice, and it was beautiful and gentle, and he didn't think he'd ever heard anything so positively enchanting in all the known world.

The second was that he was suddenly quite certain of what it was that Crowley had done to incur such wrath, and he had a confident theory as to whom it was that had inflicted that wrath. Because, without a doubt, the angel was currently in the process of watching his lovely, utterly astounding demon kidnap the infant Antichrist.

The baby's wails had petered off into soft squawks and sniffles. The Crowley-of-the-Past heaved a deep breath and an even deeper sigh and offered the little child an almost shy smile. "Let's go then, before they realize what I've done," he whispered at the little, wriggling bundle. "I've got the place all picked out."

Aziraphale watched - an inferno of questions and emotions flaring within him - as Crowley held his stolen bundle close to his chest and strode off into the woods. Just before he could disappear from sight the angel took a large step forward-

-and suddenly found himself in the middle of a small, quaint town, standing outside a lovely little home with a picket fence and a large, gated garden. It was still night, though much closer to dawn than it had just been, and Crowley was standing a few feet back from the front door of the home, talking quietly to the child in his arms. Aziraphale crept forward. He felt a bit guilty, looking in upon Crowley's memories like this, but he needed to know, needed to see and hear and understand as much as he could.

"You'll like it here, I think," the demon was saying. "I checked it all out beforehand. Watched them for a while. Seems a decent place. Quiet. Regular sort of people. And these-" He gestured toward the home before them with his large, lovely eyes. "-these folk seem a proper sort. Not too good, not too bad. The type who'll raise you with rules but not be so surprised when you break 'em." He chuckled a little and bounced the baby when he made a cooing sound. "Yeah… It'll be okay here for you." He swallowed, hard. "I'm sure of it…"

The demon straightened his shoulders and took a large stride forward, but then hesitated and looked down at the child again. "I just...I want you to know...I'm not doing this for me , alright? I mean, don't get me wrong...if the world didn't end, that'd be great, because people...I kinda like people, you know? Earth, it's a...well, I don't wanna say a good place, but you know what I mean. Point is, honestly, I don't expect to be around to see it one way or the other, so this isn't all about me and what I want."

Aziraphale had worked his way around to the front of the pair so that he was standing directly in front of Crowley and the baby. He could see the way the baby was staring at the demon, almost as if he were truly listening and understanding, and he could see the heartbreaking mixture of hope and terror in the demon's golden eyes.

"I'm doing this for you, kid," the demon whispered, his voice wavering just slightly. "I want you to know that. Because...because no child deserves to be...to be molded, to be formed like a tool. And that's what'll happen if Hell's allowed to follow through with their plans for you. No doubt Heaven would be just as bad, seeing's they want the War just as much. And you don't deserve that, kid. You deserve to grow up with a normal family who cares about you and wants you to be happy. And when the day comes...if it still comes down to it...you deserve to be able to make your own choice about it all. Good or bad, death and destruction or business as usual...you should be able to make that decision without outside forces influencing you. Every child deserves...choice. I just...I just wanted you to know that."

The baby blinked and cooed, the demon sniffed and deflated like a spent balloon, and the angel swiped away at the tears that had gathered in his bright blue eyes.

Then Crowley was at the door, and a couple in their pajamas were there waiting for him, having been demonically influenced from their bed in the wee hours of the morning.

"You gave birth last night," came the powerful thread of persuasion. "Everyone you know will remember you've been pregnant. It was an easy birth. You've been terribly excited to meet your baby boy."

The woman, blond and classically pretty, accepted the bundle from Crowley with a hazy, dreamlike smile, and immediately pressed her lips to the baby's forehead. "My little man…" she whispered.

"He'll need a name," said the man, dark-haired with pleasant features that were currently shrouded in the demon's influence.

Crowley had turned to leave the humans and their new baby to it, but at the man's words he paused, and glanced over his shoulder at the little tyke. The baby was looking right back at him as if he knew .

"He looks like an Adam, if you ask me."

Then the demon walked away, a miserable kind of look on his face, while the humans retired to their home, all smiles and cooing and loving murmurs.

"Adam…" Aziraphale whispered to himself, as he watched the demon he loved saunter off down the road, fully aware that he'd just signed his own death warrant.

---

Aziraphale woke slowly, his mind hazy and confused, his corporation strangely stiff and achy. He felt slow, sluggish, and drained, as though he'd somehow expended too much of his grace at once. For a moment he considered just letting himself drift back off in hopes that he'd feel better with a bit more rest. Then the dream came rushing back to him all at once and suddenly he was sitting upright, a fist clenched in his pajama top over his chest.

He'd seen it. He'd watched it all happening before his eyes as if he'd been right there.

Crowley had poisoned and discorporated two demons. He had kidnapped the infant Antichrist away from Hell's clutches. He had hidden the child away with a normal human family where - presumably - no one from either side would ever think to look for him.

Crowley betrayed Hell. Stymied the intentions of Heaven. Possibly put an end to the End of Days...or possibly made them even worse, having no way to know for sure. All for the sake of giving a chance for happiness and a good life to a single child.

Aziraphale felt warm tears streaming down his face as he turned back to gaze upon the red-haired demon beside him. His chest was softly rising and falling as he continued to sleep, unaware that the angel had just unwittingly walked through his memories.

Aziraphale had never doubted that he was doing the right thing when he rescued Crowley from that cave. He knew most - if not all - of Heaven would disagree, but he held strong to his belief that God would want him to show kindness, benevolence, and forgiveness in light of the cruelty the demon had been subjected to. Now the angel wondered if there hadn't been more to his stumbling across Crowley in the first place. It had seemed awfully serendipitous that he should just happen to choose a vacation location where a tortured demon was being hidden. And if he'd only been a few miles further up the beach he may never have hooked on to Crowley's weak presence in the first place. Of all the places on Earth the angel could have been in that moment, he'd just happened to be exactly where he needed to be in order to catch that fragile signal of pain and despair.

Aziraphale found himself staring up, seeing not the ceiling above him nor the clouds far above that, but a hidden place deep within the soul of every living creature in existence. "Was this all your dong from the start?" he whispered. "Did you guide me there because you knew he needed help? Did you watch him hide the Antichrist away and judge him worthy of an angel's care? Do you even want this war to happen yourself? Then why tell us all that it's part of The Great Plan? Why not stop it yourself? Why-"

A tug on his wrist brought the angel's eyes back down to find the demon staring at him with wide eyes, pupils slitted with fear. Crowley had propped himself up on his other arm and was shaking his head frantically as he squeezed Aziraphale's wrist, silently begging him to stop.

"What is it, my dear?" the angel asked, turning his body to face his poor, antagonized demon. "What's wrong?"

Crowley bit his lip and thought. He pointed up, then at himself. He drew what looked like a squiggly line in the air, and then pointed down.

Aziraphale's brow twitched. "I...I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Crowley growled in frustration. He scrambled in the blankets until he was sitting facing Aziraphale. His chest puffed out as he took a deep breath. Then he tried again, more slowly. He put both hands on his own chest, and then pointed up.

"You...in Heaven?" Aziraphale guessed.

Crowley nodded. Pointed to himself again. Slowly drew in the air, making the shape of a question mark, and then another and then another, interspersed with pointing back at himself even more.

"Asking questions?"

Another nod. Then he lifted a hand up high for just a moment, before bringing it crashing down to the bed between them. And finally he gestured down, and brought his fingers up like horns on his head, just as he'd done so many months ago to remind the angel that he was, in fact, a demon.

Aziraphale blinked, and opened and closed his mouth several times. "You...you're trying to say that asking questions is what made you Fall?"

Crowley nodded, excitedly at first, but after a few moments it became a slow, sombre movement that ended with him staring at the bed-sheets between them.

Hardly a moment passed before Aziraphale had the demon swept up into his arms, holding him as tight as he could while still being gentle. Crowley squeaked and the angel shushed him while playing firm fingers through long hair. "I understand, darling, I understand," he soothed. "But don't you worry about me, my sweet demon… I'm not worried about myself right now." He pulled back and met those magnificent golden eyes with all the love and admiration he could draw out from within himself. "My darling...you risked your eternal life to hide the Antichrist child."

Crowley's eyes went from melancholy to stunned in less than a second, blowing wide as his jaw dropped and floundered. The ' How the hell?! ' was most definitely implied.

Aziraphale was grinning, though the trails from the tears he'd so recently spilled were still cool on his cheek. "I'm not sure how it happened, my dear, but I saw it. I was in your mind while you dreamed about it!"

The redheaded demon's mouth moved uselessly; the angel wasn't entirely certain that proper words would have been coming out even had he been capable of speaking them. He tilted his head this way and that, thinking, wondering, contemplating, until he finally landed upon a clear and simple understanding of the situation: Aziraphale knew what he'd done.

And then the wheels really began to turn behind the demon's eyes, as fear and uncertainty settled in with a vengeance.

It broke Aziraphale's heart a little to see that doubt clouding up over Crowley's features, a shadow of the mistrust from their first night together, but deep down he knew he couldn't blame the demon for his apprehension. He had the scars - both physical and emotional - to prove what could happen when someone discovered what he'd done.

Warm fingers found Crowley's slightly trembling ones and linked them together. "You've nothing to fear from me, my love," he promised, his tone smooth and sure, his gaze unfaltering. "I promise you this: I've never seen anything so wonderfully brave and selfless in all my days, and I don't believe I ever will."

Crowley's gaze softened, his sharp cheekbones went pink, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders, but he still looked hesitant. Aziraphale carefully pulled him a little closer and leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of the demon's lips before pulling back again to meet his eyes.

"We've never discussed it directly," the angel said, "but the fact is that I...I disagree entirely with the coming of Armageddon. I want to stop it."

Once again Crowley's eyes flew open, his gaze flicking up to the sky as if expecting the lightning bolt to crash through the ceiling and strike his angel down that very second. His breathing quickened exponentially, hurtling toward hyperventilation faster than Aziraphale could respond. His fingers wound into the angel's pajama top and held firm, ready - at least subconsciously - to fend off Aziraphale's punishment when it came.

But nothing happened, and the angel's hands found the demon's face, letting his grace and love wash over the other, urging him to be calm. "Shh...it's okay, dearest. I don't believe that I will Fall for these thoughts. I believe…" It was difficult to put it into words, knowing that he'd be accused of sacrilege and possibly cast out of Heaven if a single other angel were to hear them, but he spoke from a place of deep, personal faith. "I believe that we've come together because we share a love for humanity." He tilted his head, smiled sweetly, his thumbs stroking tender paths across Crowley's face. "I believe we were meant to meet, my love, because together we're the exceptions to all the rules."

Crowley's body had relaxed, the panic on his face mostly melted away, but now he looked simply bewildered. Aziraphale could almost hear the words spoken in the lovely voice he'd heard in the demon's dream: "You think She brought us together?"

But the angel was on a roll now, the words feeling more and more right as he said them aloud. "The ones who hurt you, they wanted you to reveal where you'd hidden the Antichrist, right?" With a nod of confirmation given, Aziraphale continued, his fingers trailing to the accursed collar around Crowley's throat. "Then this - this infernal thing - must be designed to keep you from sharing that information with the wrong person, just in case you were lucky enough to escape and find a sympathetic ear, yes?"

Crowley was nodding with passion now, a glorious relief in his eyes at finally hearing the angel figure it all out.

"Then, you see, She must have guided me to you!" The revelation made Aziraphale feel lighter than he'd felt since he'd last resided in Heaven. "I've prayed to Her so many times about my fears and concerns. She surely knows that I disagree with Armageddon, and She hasn't yet struck me down, so that must mean that She is accepting of my preference for Earth to live on. Therefore it's logical to think that She must have brought us together so that I could help you, so that I could keep you away from those who would torture you for your knowledge. And surely She-mmff!"

Crowley had pressed their lips together hard and fast, startling Aziraphale into silence, and then pulled back with a sheepish half-grin on his face.

Aziraphale melted. "Was I rambling a bit, my dear?"

Crowley nuzzled the tips of their noses together and nodded, smirking a little.

Aziraphale giggled and sighed. "I'm sorry, love, I'm just a little excited to finally understand, and to know that we're on the same page where humanity is concerned. And I...I must say, watching you do something so incredibly sweet and courageous…" He trailed off in order to capture his demon's mouth in another soft, sweet kiss. "Oh darling, I've never known anyone as wonderful as you."

Crowley flushed and tried to look away in embarrassment, but Aziraphale captured his chin in one hand and wrapped the other around his thin waist. Blue eyes regarded the demon with utter devotion.

"Please don't look away from me, dearest," the angel pleaded. "Crowley, darling, I love you so much."

Crowley blinked a few times, fighting back a sheen of wetness that had gathered in his eyes. Then his lips twitched into a tiny smile. He placed a hand over his heart, and the other over Aziraphale's. I love you too, angel.

Aziraphale kissed him again, and again, and pulled him close just to feel his corporation's heart beating, and offered him the most breathtaking smile that Crowley had ever seen. "We're going to get through this together," he decided. "We're going to do whatever we can to make sure that no one finds the Antichrist. One way or another, we're going to make sure that Armageddon is not triggered. And I'm never going to let you go, my love."

The demon's tears actually did fall now, but they were sweet, grateful tears spilled around a desperately happy smile.

It was a warm, wonderful moment that may have easily led to an entire day spent remaining in bed, just enjoying one another's presence among a sea of sweet kisses.

It may have been...had it not been for the furious pounding that was suddenly echoing up to them from the shop door downstairs.

Righteous Fury

Chapter Summary

An unpleasant conversation, some unexpected information, and an angel learns the true meanings of fear and fury.

Chapter Notes

Goodness me, this chapter was actually supposed to end in an entirely different place, but the first half of what I had planned turned out to be a full chapter length all on its own! So you guys get extra, I guess. lol
Also, this chapter officially marks this fanfic being long enough to be an honest-to-goodness novel! How crazy is that!

The moment the banging echoed up from downstairs, Crowley's entire body tensed, his fingers curling around Aziraphale's wrists. Eyes of honey gold pleaded, Don't answer it.

But the angel simply smiled and gave his demon a sweet peck on the cheek before gently extricating himself. "Don't worry, darling," he assured an anxious Crowley. "It's no one of circumstance. I recognize the presence; it's the courier who often delivers my book orders." While he spoke he rose, and with a single snap of his fingers he was fully clothed in his usual outfit. "Relax here, dearest," he insisted while straightening his bow tie. "I'll be right back."

Aziraphale trotted down the stairs and across the shop proper with a positively foolish smile on his face. Though there was surely much for them to figure out before the scheduled End of Days, the angel felt more confident than he had about anything in millennia. His lovely, wonderful, courageous Crowley had given them a real chance to avoid this entire world-ending event. With influences from neither Hell nor Heaven, surely the boy would be normal enough to make a rational decision. In fact, perhaps he and Crowley could even seek him out, give him some kind of a 'heads up', as it were, as to what was at stake.

Whatever the method, Aziraphale felt positively fearless about the future. They were going to figure this out. They were going to get through this auspicious summer without the world ending, then the angel would refocus his efforts on solving the riddle of Crowley's collar, and the rest would come...one way or another.

By the time he reached the shop door the courier had banged several more times, with increasing intensity each time, and Aziraphale's smile had begun to falter out of mild annoyance. "Yes yes, I'm coming, I'm coming!" the angel called as he worked at the door's lock. "Do have some patience."

"Apologies Mr Fell, Sir," the harried-looking courier was saying even before the door was properly opened. "Only, I was told that this particular delivery was worth my job and that I wasn't to leave the premises until it was in your hands." He nervously held out a clipboard, on which was a perfectly blank white envelope and a tracking document to be signed.

Aziraphale accepted the clipboard with a growing frown. "What on Earth could be so important that your employment should be threatened?" he asked, mostly to himself, as he signed the sheet with a flourish.

"Beats me," the courier answered with an anxious chuckle. He accepted his clipboard back once Aziraphale had removed the envelope. "I figured if it's worth my job to mess up the delivery, it's probably worth my life to try'n sneak a peek." He nodded at the lovely scrawl of Aziraphale's signature. "Truth be told, I was worried you wouldn't be here. Been so long since you made any orders I got wondering if you'd left the city. Well, that's all in order, so I'll be seeing you around, Mr Fell!"

He was off with an air of relief around him before the angel could finish the thought that had come out with a tone of confusion. "But...you delivered an order to me not three days ago."

Aziraphale's brow was creased, a thoughtful frown on his lips, as he relocked the shop and stared down at the pristine white envelope in his hand. The soft padding of feet drew his gaze up from the mysterious delivery to find Crowley walking toward him, dressed and with his tartan blanket slung around his shoulders. He looked timid, like he was waiting for a bomb to strike.

"Just the courier, as I said," the angel assured the demon with a renewed smile. "Nothing to be concerned about, dearest."

Crowley didn't look convinced. He glared suspiciously at the envelope clutched between Aziraphale's fingers and pulled his blanket a little more tightly around his shoulders.

"Oh it's just a letter, Crowley, for goodness sake." He'd meant for his tone to be gentle admonishment, but there was a hint of genuine concern creeping into his voice. Whether he quite realized it yet or not, something definitely felt...off. He did not, however, want to let on to Crowley that there was anything untoward happening in the back of his mind, so with a bit of an exaggerated flair, Aziraphale plucked the envelope open and pulled out the single piece of cardstock that was housed within.

He managed to get through the first reading without much in the way of facial manipulation. By the time he'd read it the second time, Crowley was already plastered to his side, gazing over his shoulder with a low growl in his throat. The third and fourth re-readings served no purpose other than to make Aziraphale feel that his corporation was attempting to vomit up its own stomach.

Principality Aziraphale

You are to report to Heaven immediately.

Compliance is not optional.

"Well, I...I suppose I must leave you in the shop for a short time, my dear." The words came out casual and calm, but the look in Aziraphale's eyes certainly betrayed a mixture of fear and trepidation.

In an unusual show of confidence, Crowley strode to stand in front of the angel, tore the note and envelope out of his hands, and tossed them to the floor as forcefully as one could manage to toss paper. He met Aziraphale's gaze with dark, stubborn eyes laced with terror and shook his head. No.

The angel's sigh was a sad, frustrated thing. "I understand, darling, but I can't just not go." He wrapped his now-empty hands around Crowley's waist and pulled him close. "It specifically says that compliance is not optional. What do you think will happen if I don't show up?"

Crowley held his stubborn glare for several long moments before letting out a dramatic sigh and throwing himself around his angel. His nose nuzzled deep into the crook of Aziraphale's neck while his arms pulled tight, as if he thought he could somehow physically hold the angel there. The thought had Aziraphale chuckling as a warmth filled his chest.

"I'm sure I won't be long, my dear," he soothed, rubbing warm circles against the demon's back. "They probably just want to, oh, scold me for some foolish thing or another. You'll be safe as long as you stay in the shop with the door locked, and I'll be back before you know it."

With his face still stubbornly buried in Aziraphale's shoulder, Crowley shook his head vehemently and hugged his angel even more tightly.

Aziraphale indulged his demon for a few long minutes before gently pulling away with a sigh. "I really should get going. When they say 'immediately' they are generally being quite literal."

Crowley whined miserably as the angel guided him aside in order to reach for his coat. He reached out to pull at Aziraphale's wrist like a needy child, a litany of wordless sounds coming from his throat as he did his best to beg the angel to reconsider.

Instead, Aziraphale took Crowley's face in both hands and pulled him in for a tender kiss. Into it he pressed all of his love, his adoration for his demon's concern, and as much reassurance as he could, all while letting his fingers trail along those lovely cheekbones he so delighted in. When he pulled away Crowley's eyes were soft and lidded, but he still looked like he wanted to lock his angel in a box to keep him safe.

"I'll be fine , darling," Aziraphale said, soft and sweet (and not at all sure of himself). "And I'll be as quick as I possibly can, I promise you."

Crowley did not look mollified in the slightest, but seemed to accept that there was little he could do to stop the angel. Instead of arguing further he hiked his blanket back up tight around his shoulders, pulled up Aziraphale's desk chair, and planted himself stubbornly in front of the main shop window. I'll be waiting right here.

Aziraphale sighed, but smiled, and offered his silly, darling demon a little nod before he left, carefully locking the door behind himself. He miraculously snagged a cab within moments of stepping toward the road, and was soon on his way with a slight discomfort niggling at the back of his spine.

What could Heaven want with him that necessitated such a sternly-worded message. And threatening a man's job should he fail to deliver it in a timely manner? A bit extreme and entirely unnecessary.

He wasn't worried...not...not really . He'd survived many a lambasting at Heaven's bequest. Their summons occasionally lead to scars of the psychological variety, but it wasn't as if they were going to, oh... hit him or anything. The very thought of it was practically laughable.

Yet…

Aziraphale was so distracted with thoughts of what this meeting could possibly be about that the cab had almost reached its destination by the time he noticed how extraordinarily lovely the weather was today. The sun was bright outside the vehicle's windows, and humans were walking along the streets in varying states of exposure. He even saw a group of young ladies window shopping in what appeared to be skirts over bathing suits.

"My, the weather has certainly turned around all of a sudden, hasn't it?" the angel exclaimed, blinking as the blazing sun caught his eye.

From the front seat the cabbie glanced in the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow. "When was the last time you were out, mate?" he muttered, barely audible.

Aziraphale had just opened his mouth to remind the man of all the rain they'd had just the evening previous, but snapped it shut when the cab arrived outside its destination. Now was not the time for bantering with indignant humans. He had significantly more indignant beings to deal with now. The angel politely handed over a bit more than the drive's fare, stepped out of the cab, straightened his clothes, and strode toward the large, ivory skyscraper.

Not a single human noticed him, for this particular building was unseeable by mortal eyes. It's presence washed past their minds like stormwater down street-drains and beneath their feet, unnoticed, unimportant.

Aziraphale walked through the glass doors with a confidence he did not feel and went immediately for the single structure within the building: a steadily-climbing escalator.

The higher he rose, the further away from London and closer to Heaven he got, the more sick the angel felt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't have explained exactly what it was that he was feeling fearful of. He never felt pleased whenever he was called to Heaven for any reason, that was for certain, but this felt different. This felt like a heavy weight building in the depths of his corporation. Perhaps it was simply misplaced guilt weighing on him - he hadn't been paying much attention to his angelic duties of late - but he didn't think that was it either. It felt more like...dread.

At the top of the escalator a gleaming reception area housed a single industrial-white desk, at which sat a small, feminine angel tapping away at a computer keyboard. She looked over her tiny glasses at Aziraphale as he approached and, without speaking, waved him toward a nearby door.

"You don't happen to know what it is I've been called in for, do you?" the Principality asked, belying his nervousness.

The reception-angel glanced up at him again over her glasses. Never once did her delicate fingers stop typing away at the keyboard beneath them, even as she spoke. "I'm not privy to such details," she said simply. There was a stern set to her tone that silently added, "Ask no more questions."

So Aziraphale simply nodded, cleared his throat, straightened his clothes yet again, and took a deep breath before plunging through the door into the unknown.

Three Archangels awaited him in a frighteningly white, entirely empty room, standing side-by-side before a large expanse of windows that looked down into the city from many miles above. None of the three were whom Aziraphale was most expecting to meet.

Sandalphon sneered at him from the right, looking no more pleasant than he had when Aziraphale had seen him last. Uriel stood to the left - golden angel marks speckled across her chocolate skin - lovely but stern of expression, an air of boredom about her. Michael stood in the middle, a clipboard held between long, well-manicured fingers, hair up in a perfectly coiffed bun, lips pursed in business-like manner.

Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, and though he had other things to be concerned with right at this moment, there was something about that fact that filled Aziraphale with a niggling discontent.

"Aziraphale," Michael spoke with a tone that was surprisingly calm and lacking in the admonishment the Principality had been expecting. "We are pleased to see that you are well and unharmed."

This totally threw Aziraphale for a loop. Not once since his assignment to Earth could he ever remember any of the Archangels showing any kind of concern for his well being. For goodness sake, they'd given him an official reprimand for "wasting" a miracle to send himself to safety during the London Blitz. As such he found himself quite at a loss as to how to respond, until eventually he managed to stammer out the words, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. Uriel didn't so much as blink. But Sandalphon...oh, he had a disturbing sort of smile on his face that made the weight in Aziraphale's stomach double in size.

After a few moments of rather awkward silence Michael cleared her throat and consulted the clipboard. "We received intel that a rather extraordinary surge of angelic energy has been expended recently for unclarified reasons. When combined with the fact that you've been missing in action for approximately eleven weeks now, we-"

Aziraphale couldn't ever recall interrupting an Archangel while they spoke - he was a polite sort, after all, and didn't see the need in making these sorts of meetings any more difficult than they had to be - but he did so now, loudly and with boisterous exclamation. "Wait, what?!"

More eyebrows were raised, glances shot at one another, and when next an Archangel spoke it was Uriel who deigned to clarify the situation. "Your energy signature went off the grid nearly three months ago, Aziraphale, until approximately two hours when you suddenly reappeared, in tandem with the final spike of the unexplained energy surge. Care to fill us in on this unexplained absence and how it coincides with such a massive usage of Heavenly power?"

Thoughts raced through Aziraphale's head like wild beasts stampeding from imminent danger. A thousand voices - each his own in varying states of distress - seemed to be screaming at him at once. One pointed out that if what they were saying was true, he and Crowley had somehow slept for weeks and were now frighteningly close to the prophesied End of Days. Another was curious enough to wonder about this unexplained power surge - had that somehow been him whilst walking through Crowley's dream? It was an unusual situation, after all, an angel wandering casually through a demon's mind.

Somehow the voice that found its way to the angel's vocal cords was the one that asked, "You think I've been missing for weeks when I've been in my bookshop the entire time? Did...did you even look for me?"

Not one of the three Archangels had the decency to look ashamed.

"We've been rather busy," Michael offered without a hint of apology. "You're saying you've been on Earth, in your bookshop these eleven weeks?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"And can you confirm whether one-" Michael glanced down at the clipboard again. "-Anthony has been with you throughout that same time frame?"

Aziraphale felt his face blanch before he could compose himself. 'Anthony' was the name they'd been giving to friendly humans who asked the angelic shopkeeper about his redheaded friend who was always hanging around the bookshop. The only way the Archangels could know that was if they'd been spying on him, and if that were true, what else did they know?

"I- That is- W-we…" The sentences refused to form. What should or shouldn't he say? How much did they already know?

Uriel spoke up again, looking mildly more interested at the shift in topic. "You are aware of the laws that were put in place after the Nephilim debacle, are you not?"

A flare of hope rose up in Aziraphale's chest. If they were bringing up the Nephilim, they must still believe Crowley to be a human. Simultaneously, the implications of what Uriel was saying made his paled skin flush back to a sickly pink. "That...really isn't an issue, I assure you," he managed to spit out.

Sandalphon, of course, chose this moment to join the conversation. "You're saying that you're not fornicating with your little boyfriend?"

A frustrated, defensive, "That is hardly any of your business!" escaped Aziraphale before he recalled, with a cringe, Sodom and Gomorrah, and that this kind of thing actually rather was Sandalphon's business. "I mean, that's-"

"You've always been an odd angel, Aziraphale," Michael interrupted, eyes roaming down the clipboard again before looking up with a rather bemused gaze. "But considering the timing this is a rather foolish endeavour even for you. With mere months remaining before The Great War, you hole up on Earth with a human toy-"

Aziraphale sputtered indignantly.

"-vanish from Heaven's site without explanation, and perform some kind of massive miracle powerful enough to have blown up half the city had you misstepped, the details of which we haven't even gotten into yet. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Mouth opening and closing uselessly, Aziraphale couldn't think of a single thing.

"I'm curious," Sandalphon cut in again, the corners of his lips twisted up in a gruesome smile. "What were you intending to do with him when Armageddon arrives? Did you think Heaven would let you keep him as a pet?"

Aziraphale felt his jaw clench.

"Were you going to try to sneak him up to Heaven and hope that no one would notice? That's pretty stupid even for you, you know."

Don't take his bait, Aziraphale , the angel thought. It's not worth it.

"Or were you just going to leave him down there when the war comes? What's the saying? 'Kick him to the curb'? Abandon him like a used up little-"

Aziraphale's finger was in Sandalphon's face before he could stop it, his entire hand trembling with the force of the rage building up inside him. " Do not finish that sentence, Sandalphon."

The Archangel's grin was positively malicious. "Or what, Aziraphale?"

When he looked back on this moment afterwards, Aziraphale would have no idea what precisely it was that he'd intended to say, but he did open his mouth, he did take a deep breath, and he did feel a positively wrathful energy rising up within him.

He never got to answer the Archangel's question, however, because a sound like the tinkling of Heavenly bells drew their attention to Michael, who was pulling a sleek, expensive-looking mobile from within her suit jacket. A couple of quick taps, a glance at the screen, and the device was hidden back away again.

"Alright Aziraphale," Michael announced as though there wasn't currently a delicate standoff occurring right in front of her. "Thank you for coming; you're free to go."

Sandalphon gave Aziraphale a little shove to the shoulder, causing him to stumble backward, but the Principality hardly noticed because he was staring, bewildered, at Michael. A voice in the back of his head told him to just go, just zip his lips, turn around, and leave, but a louder voice was already wondering aloud: "What? What about-? I mean, what was even the point of my coming here if you were just going to-?"

And now Uriel was smiling, and honestly, knowing Uriel's special brand of temperament, her smile was significantly more disturbing than Sandalphon's. "Oh, Aziraphale...you were never all that bright, were you?" She leaned forward, hands clasped behind her back, all teeth and dripping with disdain. "This meeting was never about you . It was - how would you put it?" Her grin became infinitely more feral. "A brilliant diversion."

The heartbeat in which the Archangel's words took hold felt like the longest of Aziraphale's existence. He may have responded - he couldn't be certain. The next he knew he was sprinting past the startled receptionist and down the escalator. In a blink he was on the street, and there was simply no time to deal with human modes of transportation. With only the barest thought to use a miracle to cloak himself from human eyes, the angel pulled his brilliant white wings from the ethereal plane and took to the sky.

The heart in Aziraphale's corporation was hammering wildly, the taste of stomach bile rising up in his throat as he soared above the city streets, streaking back toward the bookshop. His mind was wild with speculation, his flesh cold with panic. He struggled ineffectually to keep calm and move forward, one flap of his wings at a time. London flashed before his eyes, but all he could see was Crowley's face, wordlessly begging him not to go.

If anything had happened to him…

Aziraphale flew faster. Within moments he smelled the smoke, but his erratic mind didn't register it - or even the wailing sirens - until he cut a corner and came face-to-face with the raging inferno that had been his home and sanctuary for over two hundred years.

The citizens of Soho gathered behind the barrier that had been erected by the firemen, gasping and pointing as A.Z. Fell & Co burned. Flames shot indiscriminately out of every window, the ashes of the most unique and extraordinary collection of literature on the planet falling down like rain around the first responders who fought to quell the blaze.

In six thousand years Aziraphale had travelled every inch of planet Earth and experienced the best of every era, and in all that time he'd never treasured anything the way he did his bookshop. Literature was his passion; he consumed it the way humans breathed, filling his life and essence with it with hardly a conscious thought. He cherished the written word, and his bookshop was a reflection of that: a collection of that which he held most dear, a carefully curated accumulation of that which had never failed to keep him company throughout the long, lonely years. It was his shelter, his shrine, his sanctum.

Now it was burning to the ground, and there was only one thought left in his mind.

" Crowley! "

The cry startled the humans, who hadn't seen the pale-haired man appear past the barricade, sprinting right for the blaze.

"Hey, you!" someone shouted. "Stay back! Someone stop him!"

They couldn't have done so even if they'd managed to reach him - Aziraphale was running on pure angelic adrenaline and would have shaken off any human attempt to restrain him like a grizzly bear swatting at a gnat. As it stood, it didn't come down to it anyway because self-preservation kicked in half a breath before the angel plunged into the flames. He ground to a halt and stumbled back several steps, staring into the unusually dark flames with wide eyes.

"Hellfire," he realized, speaking the word beneath his breath. The water the responders were attempting to douse the blaze with was ineffective because the flames were infernal.

On the one hand that meant that the fire itself wouldn't have harmed Crowley. On the other hand, hellfire had been used for a reason, and it seemed highly unlikely that it had nothing to do with the demon Aziraphale had been sheltering.

He whirled around to come face-to-face with a startled fireman who he hadn't noticed pulling on his arm. "You! Did anyone come out? Did you see anyone come out of the shop?" Before the man could even open his mouth to answer Aziraphale had both his hands wrapped almost painfully tight around his shoulders, shaking him in desperation. "Did you see a red-haired man leave the shop?!"

"I-I didn't see anybody!" The fireman winced at the grip on his shoulders. "Sir, p-please let me go!"

Three more humans - one of them a police officer with a handgun - were approaching with purpose. In his extraordinarily agitated state, Aziraphale seriously considered letting them go ahead and attack him if they dared, but at that moment he caught a whiff of demonic energy and his head rose like a bloodhound's to stare out over the crowd.

The din of the crowd and the crackling flames quieted and the world drew down to a pinpoint before the angel's eyes.

Across the road, past the gathered humans, two buildings down. An alleyway, shadowed. Two sets of eyes watching, gleaming a black so deep it seemed to draw in and consume the light surrounding it.

Aziraphale shoved past the humans and, with a wave of his hand, they all forgot he'd ever been there in the first place.

They were waiting for him in the alley, disgusting grins on their putrid faces. Aziraphale recognized them the moment he saw the contrast of dark and pale: the two demons who had been meant to deliver the Antichrist.

The angel's eyes glowed bright with righteous anger. "What have you done with Crowley?" he growled.

The shorter demon smirked, a blackened, pustulant tongue snaking out to lick his cracked, oozing lips. The taller grinned like a true psychopath while slimy, black ichor ran down his face in jagged rivulets. He was the one to answer the question. "We did our part to bring him to task for his treachery."

A more patient and less emotional being may have demanded more pertinent information under threat of violence. Aziraphale was neither patient nor currently in complete control of his emotions.

Within a mile radius in every direction, humans looked to the darkening sky with curiosity as a truly violent clap of thunder rattled through Soho.

Within the confines of the alleyway across from A.Z. Fell & Co, two demons found themselves slammed up against the filthy brick wall, cracks splintering through the structure from the force of the impact. Each of the disgusting creatures had a deceptively-powerful hand wrapped around their throat, squeezing without a second thought to mercy. Burning blue eyes glowed with hidden power and righteous fury.

When Aziraphale spoke again it was with all the highly-focused Heavenly strength at his disposal. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CROWLEY?" his voice boomed all across Soho, a second terrifying clap of thunder that had humans all over dashing for their homes and vehicles in fear of a sudden onslaught.

The shorter demon struggled ineffectually, clawing at Aziraphale's fingers while making insectile sounds of distress. The taller's eyes bulged out of his head as he fought - and utterly failed - to get his own fingers beneath the angel's. Neither spoke, so Aziraphale pulled them a few inches from the wall before slamming them back in again, the wall doing it's best not to implode from beneath their bodies.

"SPEAK!" the angel commanded. The sky began to rumble threateningly with the force of his anger.

"Th' park!" the taller demon choked out even as something inside his throat popped and cracked. "They...took him to...Saint James!"

"Bandstand!" the shorter coughed and gasped. "Waiting...for you!"

Aziraphale leaned in close, blazing eyes moving back and forth between the two creatures he held in his angelic grasp. "You better be telling the truth," he growled, "or I'll walk into Hell myself to finish you off."

Before either demon could get out another word the angel's hands flared blindingly bright, discorporating them both and burning their vessels to nothing but a pile of shrieking sulphuric ash.

Gleaming white wings spread again as Aziraphale peered up into the rapidly blackening sky.

"Hold on, Crowley," he whispered, a fist clenched in the clothes over his heart. "I'm coming for you."

And he took to the air once more.

As He'd Always Been

Chapter Summary

There's always an angel.
There's always a demon.
There's always a bandstand.
And hearts are always shattered.

Chapter Notes

I'm sooooooo sorry, you guys! Please don't hate me for this one! 3 3 3

All across London, humans were staring out the windows of their homes, cars, and shops at the dark, tempestuous sky that had been a lovely, clear blue not a quarter of an hour earlier. They watched and waited, with some hint of concern, for the lightning that would surely follow the crashes of thunder they'd heard rumbling across the city. It looked to be quite the storm, some of the elder folk said, and for once the younguns weren't inclined to disagree. It seemed as if the Heavens themselves were looking to unleash a wrath unparalleled by man or beast.

Across that sky a great, white-winged creature soared: an angel of the Lord with only one thought in his mind: to find his dearest demon and utterly destroy whomever had taken him.

The two demons he'd already discorporated had pointed him toward the bandstand in Saint James Park, so that was the direction in which he flew. He tossed out miracles indiscriminately to cloak his flight from human eyes and guide any lingering humans away from the park in question. He wasn't worried what Heaven would think of his misuse of power. If they'd been involved somehow in the burning of his bookshop and the abduction of Crowley it was clear he had little chance of returning to their good graces anyway.

"Be okay, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered to himself beneath the squealing of the wind as it rushed past him. "Please be okay. I'll never forgive myself if you're not-"

The demon's presence hit him like a punch to the chest.

He could feel him. Crowley was alive. Crowley was alive .

Aziraphale honed in on the presence and flew like his own existence depended on it, soaring down toward the abandoned park as thunder rumbled and lightning began to arc between the sky and earth.

The rain was just beginning to fall as the angel set foot down on the gravel path leading to the bandstand. The cool water ran down his hair and face, unnoticed. All of his attention was on the three figures standing at the far end of the wooden structure.

On the left, a small figure, feminine of feature but monstrous of expression, a being Aziraphale knew from reputation but had never seen before in person. Deathly pale skin, dark, spiky hair and hateful eyes, and a suit that would have been sharp if it hadn't been so filthy. Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of Hell.

One the right, a larger, more imposing being, and one Aziraphale had the displeasure of having known since the very beginning. Handsome features in a handsome grey suit, and vibrant violet eyes set into a cruel, pitiless, patronizing face. The Archangel-fucking-Gabriel.

And between them, on his knees, hands tied behind his back and blood running down the side of his face, the being that Aziraphale loved so entirely it burned deep inside his soul. Shining, golden eyes full of fear and pain and entirely unnecessary apology for the position they now found themselves in.

It was all Aziraphale could do to keep himself from rushing forward to pull the demon into his arms.

"Crowley." His voice was soft against the growing patter of the rain against the bandstand's roof, but he knew that all three beings could hear him. "Are you okay?"

Crowley met his gaze and nodded, but there was just enough hesitation for Aziraphale to know that it wasn't the whole truth.

It took significant effort for the angel to pull his gaze from his demon, and an even more significant effort to set that gaze on a pair of violet eyes that he currently wished very much to rip out with his bare hands.

"What do you want with him, Gabriel?" the angel bit through gritted teeth.

The Archangel didn't even bother with his trademark patronizing grin. Seeing him looking genuinely serious and somber was more than a little disquieting. "I think you already know the answer to that question, Aziraphale."

The Principality approached slowly, like a predator advancing on an unknown entity. He took in everything he could without making it obvious that he was doing so. He could see that Beelzebub had the fingers of one hand hooked beneath Crowley's collar, holding him with a firm grip. He noticed that Gabriel was standing a few inches forward from the others, insinuating himself between Aziraphale and his goal. He saw that the Archangel had his hands folded in front of him instead of behind, a subtle suggestion that he was ready to fight if necessary.

Aziraphale stopped a few meters away from his goal, noticing that Beelzebub's grip on Crowley got tighter the closer he got.

"So Heaven is working with Hell now?" the angel asked, curling a lip. "I'm afraid I didn't get that particular memo."

Gabriel sneered. "A necessary ceasefire in order to progress toward the end goal. Even you, Aziraphale, must understand that what this demon has done goes against God's Great Plan."

"I understand no such thing," Aziraphale shot back, gritting his teeth. "Unlike some angels I know, I do not claim to know the intricate details of the Almighty's ineffable design."

"You fucking moron," Gabriel shot back, all sense of decorum tossed away in favor of letting his anger loose. "It is written ! The boy will come into his powers, the four horsemen shall ride, and Heaven and Hell will face each other in the final battle!" One powerful hand reached back, wrapped itself in long red hair, and yanked so that Crowley flew forward with a strangled cry. "And this little bastard has put all of that at risk!"

Aziraphale felt fire rising up in his chest, a furious longing to rush forward, to tear Crowley from Gabriel's grip and make him regret he'd ever met the demon. "You're the one," he hissed, barely a whisper, knowing that the Archangel could hear every syllable. "You're the one who did all of this to him…"

From behind Crowley, Beelzebub sniffed, an almost bored expression on the demon Prince's face. "It wazzz a joint effort," buzzed the horrid creature. A booted foot lifted up to kick Crowley in the back, sending him to the ground on his face and causing Aziraphale's rage to spiral even further. "Thizzz little szzzhit wazzz too accuszzztomed to the uzzzual torturezzz of Hell."

Aziraphale felt his entire body go rigid with the force of his anger. He didn't even want to think about how much Hell must have done in the past for Crowley to be accustomed to it. "So you approached Heaven," he guessed, gaze shifting back to those disgusting violet eyes. "And you tortured him, with holy water . How utterly angelic of you."

Gabriel's lips curled into a psychotic grin. "He's a demon, Aziraphale. The enemy. The Fallen. A dirty, disgusting, thing that doesn't deserve to exist in God's world."

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise react, clearly content to save it for the battlefield.

"I knew I recognized him that day in your shop," Gabriel continued, a bit of a lunatic chuckle in his voice. "I considered having Sandalphon haul you both back to Heaven immediately, once we confirmed that he was missing from his prison." He took a step forward, and now his hands were behind his back, as if he'd decided that Aziraphale wasn't a threat after all. "But I decided to wait. Perhaps, I thought, you'd learn something from him that we hadn't. Perhaps you'd actually become useful by inadvertently leading us to the Antichrist." Another step forward, head thrown back in idiot laughter. "But you couldn't even do that right, could you? Instead of actually accomplishing something, you fell in love with the blasted thing!" He paused, shot a look at Aziraphale that was equal parts pity and disgust. "And don't even try to deny it. You've proven as much with this little show you're putting on. How you haven't Fallen already is one of the greatest mysteries of the Universe."

Aziraphale gritted his teeth, fought to keep his gaze on the Archangel who had now moved a significant distance away from Crowley. If he kept him talking, perhaps… "Why the collar?" he asked. "Why take away his ability to communicate if you were trying to get information from him?"

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically, a bit like a petulant child. "What do you think would happen if his story got out into the masses?" he snarled. "If millions of angels and demons found out that one single idiotic outlier managed to steal and hide the Antichrist, fucking up the Great Plan in the process?" Another step forward, and he leaned in to glare at Aziraphale like he was the greatest fool the Archangel had ever met. "They'd start asking questions . They'd start doubting . They might even start thinking for themselves ." He shuddered a bit at that. "Warriors aren't meant to think , Aziraphale. They're meant to fight. To do what they're fucking told. Something you clearly don't understand."

He was close now. Closer to Aziraphale than he was to Crowley. "So you teamed up with Beelzebub," the angel guessed. "Hid him away. Tortured him and fit him with a device that I'm assuming only you can remove, so that only you would be able to get the information you wanted. But he didn't tell you. No matter what you did to him, he wouldn't tell you. And he still won't tell you. So what do you think you're accomplishing right now?"

Gabriel's face went strangely calm then. He straightened up, offered a small smile, disturbingly businesslike once more. "Why, I'm giving him the proper incentive , Aziraphale."

From behind the Archangel, Beelzebub snatched up a fistful of Crowley's hair and hauled him back to his knees to make sure the demon saw and heard what came next. "If he doezzzn't lead us to the boy," the demon Prince buzzed, "what happened to your szzzhop will happen to you."

Aziraphale couldn't honestly admit shock or surprise at this new information. From the moment he'd run from Heaven's halls he'd known, somewhere inside, that he wasn't going to be allowed to get away with what he'd done. Complete obliteration by Hellfire may not have been exactly the fate he'd envisioned, but it was not shocking after all that had happened.

Crowley, on the other hand, had evidently never considered such a violent fate for his angel, because his eyes went wide, a strangled noise ripped from his throat, a desperate plea. No! You can't!

Gabriel had turned to smirk at the demon, an amused chuckle on his lips. "Yes, that's what I thought. What a pathetic excuse of a creature you are."

A clap of thunder shook the park and rattled the structure of the bandstand, but the din did not come from the sky above. Rather, it originated from the sudden connection of Aziraphale's fist brutally meeting with Gabriel's jaw.

The Archangel stumbled, nearly fell, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye he'd regained his composure, ripped glorious, blinding white wings from the ether, and knocked Aziraphale to the ground, his enormous fist wrapped around the angel's throat.

"You always were a failure of an angel in practically every way," Gabriel spat into Aziraphale's face as the angel struggled to free himself. "Too soft to be a soldier, too much of a pushover to be any kind of a leader...guarding the Garden was your chance, you know. It was your last opportunity to prove yourself, to be a part of the team , Aziraphale." He leaned in close, squeezing his fist tight around the angel's neck, his hot breath molesting Aziraphale's face. "And guess who it was that messed it all up for you?"

Aziraphale stopped struggling, blinking foolishly, momentarily thrown off guard by the change of subject. He felt his head being forced sideways until he was looking into the terrified golden eyes of the demon he loved. Those eyes that said so much of what the demon himself couldn't. They were full of pain, misery, panic, sorrow...apology…

"Such a sneaky, deceptive little snake , isn't he?" Gabriel's voice laughed.

Aziraphale's lips fell open. His vision went hazy. It suddenly seemed so obvious. Why had he never put it together before? Perhaps he simply hadn't wanted to. Perhaps he'd known all along, but couldn't face the knowledge, knowing what it meant.

For a moment the Archangel and the Prince of Hell ceased to exist. There was simply Aziraphale, staring at Crowley, his chest feeling far too tight. "Is...is that true?" His voice was cold and broken, strained. "Crowley...are you the...are you the Serpent of Eden? T-the Tempter?"

Crowley made no attempt to respond, but the tears that welled up in his eyes and spilled over to trail down his pale face spoke the answer for him.

Aziraphale felt numb. Exhausted. He didn't know what to say, what to do.

"Still think he's worth betraying Heaven for?"

Aziraphale barely heard the question. The world had gone strangely quiet.

"It's over, Aziraphale. Go wait at the appointed place. Rejoin your platoon when they descend. Pray for forgiveness and prepare to give yourself to the War for Heaven, and perhaps when this is all over your punishment will be...merciful."

Golden eyes. So very sad. So very sorry. So wet with pain and misery.

"Let's go."

Get up. Please, get up. Go to him, save him, do something, do it before it's too late!

But Aziraphale's body wouldn't move. His lungs wouldn't breathe. His heart wouldn't beat.

And in twin flashes of angelic and demonic light, they were gone.

Aziraphale was left on the floor of the bandstand, staring at the place where Crowley had just been, as the rain poured down around him.

Alone.

As he'd always been.

What Is The Point?

Chapter Summary

A heartbroken angel directs his pain in the only direction he has left to him, only to find help offered from a wholly expected place.

Chapter Notes

I got soooo many comments about the last chapter that basically boiled down to "WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO US YOU HEARTLESS BITCH?!"...lol...so I hope this chapter takes the first step in repairing the wound I've caused.

I actually intended for this chapter to go on a little longer, but I decided to clip it here so that I'd have something to offer you guys while I work out what's happening next. XD Do you love me again now? Pwease? 3

When the rain began it was the kind of storm that had adults preparing for structural damage and children peering wide-eyed out of windows to watch the threatening bolts of lightning arcing across the sky. Cascading explosions of thunder had wild animals and pets alike cowering for their lives, while the violence of the downpour itself destroyed flowerbeds and had stubborn motorists skidding off the roads.

Only a short time later, however, humans were peeking out their windows with bewildered curiosity, for the storm had all but abated. There was no thunder, no lightning, no vicious pounding of merciless liquid against every possible surface. It still rained, but now...now it was as if the heavens were quietly weeping.

In an abandoned park, on the floor of a sodden bandstand, an angel lay staring up toward the sky, tears of shock and pain and frustration spilling down the sides of his face.

Aziraphale had never felt more foolish.

Not because he'd risked himself and his reputation to rescue a captive demon.

Not because he'd taken that demon into his home and cared for him for months on end.

Not because, despite all odds, he'd fallen head over heels in love with that same demon.

No…

Aziraphale had never felt more foolish because he'd allowed himself to lose everything he'd ever wanted over a secret that hadn't even been that well-kept.

How could he have possibly not seen it? How could he have not understood? Crowley's serpentine eyes seemed to float in front of his face, wide and pained and miserable, the way they'd looked when Aziraphale told his story about the Garden. In the moment he'd seen it as empathy, disbelief that Aziraphale's own kind had treated him so poorly over his failure to properly guard the Eastern Gate. Now he saw it for what it was: horror, as the demon realized he was the catalyst for his own savior's misery.

And yet…

Crowley was a demon. Perhaps not a very good (bad?) one, if his kindness and fondness for children was anything to go by. But a demon none-the-less, who had been given a job and had done it. It wasn't as though he'd personally set out to ruin Aziraphale's life. Aziraphale just happened to be the fool who wasn't paying proper attention to his duties. If you really looked at it, it was more the angel's fault than the demon's...

And really…

If one were to think about it - and oh, was Aziraphale suddenly doing an awful lot of thinking about it - one could say that the outcome hadn't exactly been an awful one. Sure, Heaven had all but disowned him and treated him like a third-rate citizen amongst their ranks for the past six millennia...but they'd never treated him particularly well in the first place. He'd always been a bit of a black sheep, as it were, and the Garden incident was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

But meanwhile…

Because of Crowley's actions, and because Aziraphale was the one who (somewhat rightfully so) received the backlash, the angel had gotten what he personally saw as a reward. He'd been allowed to stay on Earth with the humans all this time. Yes he'd been lonely, yes he'd been quite sad at times...but he'd cherished his time on Earth, away from the "family" that rejected him. He cherished the humans and all their wonderful foolishness. He cherished being allowed to be among them.

And if it weren't for all that had happened, starting with that sneaky snake slithering past his defences in the Garden...Aziraphale would never have met that same snake six thousand years later...and fallen hopelessly in love with him.

Only to let him be stolen away while he lay in stupefied shock, unable to put his thoughts in the proper order.

"Oh Lord…" Aziraphale whispered as his tears burned hot trails in his skin. "What have I done?" He closed his eyes, hands brought up to drag painfully through his pale curls. "Mother, please... I...I've lost him, and they're going to make him lead them to the Antichrist, and I...I don't know what to do!"

He waited, sore and wet and miserable, for some kind of response, some kind of sign.

Something.

Anything.

But there was nothing…

A sudden rage flared up in the angel's chest, burning hot and hard, the kind of anger that could raze entire cities to the ground. He flew to his feet before he fully understood what he was doing, and then he was standing outside the bandstand, glaring up at the soft grey sky as it spilled down on and around him.

"What is the point of it all?!" he screamed up at the heavens, all sense and logic and restraint gone from him in his moment of agony. "Why even create the Earth in the first place only to have it be destroyed?! Why destroy the life of an angel who is clearly far too kind to be a demon?! Why lead me to him only to let him be ripped away from me?! What is the fucking point?! "

When there was still no response Aziraphale let out a guttural scream that caused the entire park to tremble. His knees brought him to the ground, and his fists came down with a violent fury, splitting the earth beneath them in sharp, spider web-like cracks.

A single renegade bolt of lightning divided the sky, its brother-thunder hot on its tail.

The rain continued to fall, steady and sorrowful and silent, soaking Aziraphale through to the bone.

It was the silence that finally pulled the heartbroken angel from his introspection. After all, rain, however gently-falling, should not be silent.

He lifted his head, slowly, cautiously, more than a little bit fearfully, and felt a gentle warmth caress his tear-streaked face.

She looked down upon him with love and patience, the soothing heat of Her essence flowing through him, encapsulating him in the affectionate glow of a mother's arms. She looked upon him with eyes like the brightest stars in the night sky, almost blinding and yet too beautiful to look away from. She didn't speak, but he could feel the strength of her Voice moving through him - body and soul - telling him not to be afraid, assuring him that She wasn't angry with him, encouraging him to speak his mind.

His mouth felt dry, even as the rest of him felt so very wet. When he spoke his throat cracked with fear, awe, and desperation. "I don't know what to do, Mother...I've lost him...and together we've lost the world."

Her smile was soft and sad, even as Her eyes twinkled with fond amusement. She ran fingers like rays of sunlight through Aziraphale's damp curls and leaned forward to press a butterfly's kiss to his forehead.

That feather-light touch was Everything. It was Love and Guidance and Knowledge . Aziraphale saw himself, laying in his bed, sheets askew, his arms wrapped lovingly and protectively around his darling demon. He saw their chests gently rising and falling as they slept soundly without knowledge of the Force that existed in the room with them. He saw the beautiful, wispy form moving above them, as soft and homey as dust motes floating through a brilliant beam of sunlight. He saw Her fingers - long and lovely and heartbreakingly gentle - sweep along each of the sleeping figure's heads, weaving their essences together. Watching them dream.

Aziraphale gasped as the image dissipated, the air drawn from his lungs in a strange, slow pull that felt like drowning and being saved from drowning all at once.

"You…" the angel whispered, mind working to understand. "You let me see… You drew me into his dream so that I would be able to see…"

She neither confirmed nor denied, but Her smile was like the comforting heat of a campfire on a chilly night.

Aziraphale's mind felt too full. On the ground beneath him his fists curled, working to ground him. "We lost all that time...because...because angelic and demonic essences were never meant to touch that way…it distorted our presences in the waking world..." He looked to Her for confirmation. He received no more than a gentle smile, but knew that he was, at least mostly , correct. "So you were the surge of power that the Archangels couldn't explain…"

He'd been certain he was on the right track now, but was surprised when She let out a beautiful little sound, like bluebirds singing to one another. Laughter, he realized, and an almost indistinguishable shake of a metaphorical head.

Aziraphale frowned. "That...wasn't you?"

The sound was like robins this time, or perhaps a Spring breeze rustling through an apple tree's leaves, or a jaunty little wave crashing into a waiting shore.

"I don't understand," Aziraphale cried. His voice was barely a whisper but it was steeped in emotion. "Why did someone like Crowley have to Fall in the first place? Why lead me to him if angels and demons are enemies? Did you truly want me to save him? Why give me the ability to see his past? Do you want me to stop the Apocalypse? But what about the Great Plan? And why-?"

Her hands wrapped around his face like warm bath water, enveloping him, shushing him, wordlessly encouraging him to be calm. Her eyes had softened, a light now like candle flames flickering from a great distance. She never spoke a word, and yet Aziraphale could hear Her.

Ask no more questions, for My Will is ineffable, my child.

Do not look to do what you fear I wish you to do.

Follow the path that your heart has set out for you.

Show Me what an angel's truest Love can accomplish.

His tears fell like rain, even as the rain fell like tears, and Aziraphale could once again hear the almost deafening din of the drops striking the earth, the trees, the path, the bandstand.

She was gone.

And he knew what he had to do.

But he had no idea how to go about doing it.

"I'm going to find you, Crowley…" the angel whispered to himself. "I swear it. I'm going to find you and I'm going to take you back from those-"

"Anathema, I think I found him!"

Aziraphale very nearly leaped from his skin, springing to his feet and whirling with hands raised, ready to face any enemy.

The tall, lanky human male who looked back at him nearly dropped his umbrella in a panicked move to raise both of his hands. "Don't smite me!" he squeaked, his glasses tipping down his nose. "I didn't mean to- That is, I- We're supposed to-"

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, hands still up in a defensive position. "You said you 'found' me," he reminded the human. "Who are you? Why were you looking for me?"

The man - who was hardly a man at all, really, being somewhere in his early twenties - sputtered uselessly. He was like a bundle of nerves made flesh and wrapped in tweed trousers.

The splashing sound of feet hitting the path in rapid succession drew Aziraphale's gaze away to a young woman - roughly the same age as the man - jogging toward them with an enormous grin on her face. She had long brown hair and a long green dress and cradled a book protectively against her chest with the hand that wasn't clutched around the handle of her own umbrella. "That's him!" she told her male companion. "That is definitely him! Excellent work, Newt!"

The young man flushed a deep pink and carefully sidestepped his way over to the young woman, somehow seeming to stand between her and Aziraphale whilst also appearing to rely on her for protection.

"Who are you two?" the angel demanded, growing frustrated and impatient. "What do you want with me? I've really got rather important things to deal with right now, so speak quickly or not at all."

"Principality!" the girl exclaimed with all the self-assurance of a powerful businesswoman. "You're a Principality, right?"

Aziraphale blinked at her. His gaze flicked back and forth between the man and the woman, considering his response carefully. Finally he said: "My dear, do you even know what that term implies?"

She stepped forward - the man quick to follow - and the grin never once left her face. "It implies that you're an angel, which would mean that you're exactly who we've been looking for." She shuffled her umbrella so that she could hold out the lovely, hardcover tome in her arm, as if it somehow explained everything. And then she said the words that had Aziraphale immediately listening with rapt attention.

"We can help you find your demon."

Entangled

Chapter Summary

A motley group of humans are working to save the world, and an angel has been pulled into their plans. He is uncertain, until it transpires that part of their plan involves helping him find his lost demon.

Chapter Notes

GAH, I am soooo sorry this chapter took so bloody long to get up! I was having major writer's block on this one, simply because it's a part of the story that I wasn't all that interested in writing. I'm all about the interactions between our angel and demon, and unfortunately there's none of that here, but I suppose there's got to be transitional periods in every story, right? Right.

I promise the next one will be quicker, and also that it will involve Crowley again. _ 3

Aziraphale stared down at the book in his hands with disbelief in his eyes. He ran his fingers over the golden lettering, half convinced that he was dreaming the words printed across the hard, dark green cover.

"The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter…" His voice was unmistakably filled with awe. He managed to tear his gaze away from the tome that he'd only ever heard of in whispers to look up at the young lady who had handed it to him. "Where on Earth did you ever find this?"

The young lady in question - Anathema Device, she'd told him - was twisted around to look at him from the front passenger seat of the young man's - Newton Pulsifer - ridiculous little blue car. Newt was leaning forward with his nose practically touching the windshield, squinting through his glasses as he drove with almost ludicrous care through the damp London streets. For every ounce of anxious energy that emitted from the young lad, an equal amount of excited energy came from Anathema.

"It's the original copy - the only copy, technically," she informed the angel. "All the others were destroyed by the publisher when it didn't sell. This author's copy was bequeathed by Agnes to her daughter and son-in-law before she died, and has been kept safe by the family ever since." Here she lifted her chin a little, a look of pride shining in the eyes behind her round spectacles. "I am Agnes's descendant."

It was a fascinating revelation that normally would have had Aziraphale fluttering around like a madman with bibliophilic excitement, but right now that sense of literary adventure was dampened by more immediate concerns. "And you believe these prophecies will help me find Crowley?"

Anathema's eyes fairly glowed with a headstrong kind of passion. She reached back to tap a delicate finger onto the cover of the book. "This book is the only one of its kind, filled with thousands of completely, one-hundred-percent true predictions." She grinned proudly. "My family has spent the past three hundred years working to translate and understand those predictions. We haven't always gotten them right, but because of this book we know a great many things. For instance, turn to prophecy two thousand six hundred and seventy-three.."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, but carefully flipped through the book regardless, until he came to the numbered prophecy Anathema had indicated. He squinted down at it, a little frown on his face, and read aloud: "When the Principality's shop of other men's books in flames doth fall, prepare, for the end is nigh."

Aziraphale blinked, his jaw working a little in surprise.

"We were in that crowd outside the shop when you appeared out of nowhere and started shouting," Newt spoke up as he stopped at a red light. "Sorry for your loss, by the way."

There was a sharp pang somewhere behind Aziraphale's ribs, but he paid it no mind. "Thank you, Newton," he replied. "But the shop is not the most important thing I've lost today."

Anathema nodded smartly. "Yes, your demon, right?" She gestured toward the book again. "Check prophecy nine hundred forty-five."

Aziraphale did as he was bid and felt his eyes water as he read the long-dead prophetess's words. "The skies rage, the angel hesitates, the Fallen One taken. In the bosom of Saint James the angel and the skies doth weep…"

He stared at the words for a long time, and when Anathema spoke again her voice was calmer, quieter, and full of sympathy. "We're going to find him," she promised. "We have to, because he plays an important part in saving the world."

Aziraphale looked up at her. He could see Newt regarding him in the rear-view mirror as well and blinked rapidly to rid himself of the bothersome wetness in his eyes. "Tell me everything you know," he insisted.

Newton pulled up outside a blue block of flats and led them through the front door as if he lived there, though Anathema assured Aziraphale this was not the case.

"Newton is a member of the witchfinder army," she explained, and leaned in closer to Aziraphale to whisper conspiratorially. "It's just him and Shadwell though...I think he felt sorry for the old dodger and just kept hanging out with him to be nice."

"Hey," Newt chuckled back toward them as he made his way up the stairwell, "It turns out I'm a pretty decent witchfinder! I found you, after all."

Anathema smiled back at him in a way that clearly denoted a deeper connection, but her response was teasing none-the-less. "I think we rather found each other, don't you?"

They gazed a little doe-eyed at one another until Aziraphale cleared his throat.

Newt flushed a rather interesting shade of magenta and whirled to knock on the door to the left of the stairwell. "Sergeant Shadwell, it's us," he called.

"What's the password, ye ninny?" a Scottish drawl called back.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow even as a sweet, motherly voice scolded from just on the other side of the door. "Oh don't be such a silly, Mr Shadwell, you know good and well that it's just young Newt and Anathema."

The door swung open and a lovely older lady with bouncy ginger curls and a variety of sparkling shawls wrapped around her shoulders appeared before them. She offered a kindly smile to the two humans before her gaze fell upon Aziraphale and she broke into an elated grin. "Oh you did find him!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around the angel. "Oh I'm so glad!"

Aziraphale, for his part, had gone quite stiff, bewildered by the unexpected welcome. "I'm quite sorry, madam, but do I know you?"

She pulled away with a pleasant chuckle, but her hands were still on his shoulders, squeezing amicably. "No, love, but I know you!" she announced with a grin. "Come now, do come in and have a cup of tea while we all have a good talk."

The woman ushered the younger humans into the apartment ahead of her and pulled Aziraphale along behind her by the hand. "You can call me Madam Tracy," she explained by way of introduction, "and the grumpy looking fellow over in the corner there is Mr Shadwell."

" Sergeant Shadwell, if you please," growled a rather hard-looking gentleman with grey hair, an unshaven face, and a bit of the look of a homeless man. He was standing at the far end of the apartment, near a glass case in which was displayed a truly outlandish-looking projectile weapon of some kind, and he looked Aziraphale up and down as they entered. "This him then? Looks like a great Southern pansy ta me."

Aziraphale chose to ignore the rather ostentatious rudeness of the 'Sergeant' in favor of addressing the kindly Madam Tracy. "Pleased to meet you. My name is-"

"Aziraphale, yes, I know," the lovely woman interrupted. "I know quite a bit about you, love. Come here now, have a sit down and I'll bring you a lovely cuppa."

The angel did as he was bid, becoming more confused by the minute and more anxious as well. "I'm sorry to be rude," he addressed the room in general as he glanced around at the mess of old newspapers and dirty dishes that seemed to be everywhere, "but I'm really in quite a hurry. I must find Crowley before-"

There was a loud slam as Anathema dropped her ancestor's prophetic tome on the table and sat across from Aziraphale. "You're right that we need to hurry, but not to stop your demon from going to the Antichrist. That part is inevitable."

Aziraphale's jaw worked for a few awkward moments before he was able to get any actual words out. "How do you know about-?"

Anathema tapped a finger on the book with a sly smile. "We don't have time to explain it all," she insisted, "but here's the short version. I have been tasked by my family and my ancestress Agnes Nutter to do my part in saving the world as per the prophecies in this book. Newton, Shadwell, and Tracy are all mentioned in the book as pieces of the greater puzzle to stopping the end-times, and that is how we've all come to be together. And you-" Here she paused and wiggled a finger in Aziraphale's direction. "-and your demon are two halves of the most important piece of that puzzle."

Assuming that there was surely more explanation to come, Aziraphale sat and stared for several long moments before realizing that the four humans were, in fact, all staring at him . Madam Tracy strode forward and carefully placed a steaming cup of tea down next to the angel without ever once taking her eyes from him.

"What...what do you mean by that?" Aziraphale eventually managed, his mind racing.

Anathema shrugged, strangely nonchalant about the entire situation. "Not sure, exactly. Not all of Agnes's prophecies are exactly straightforward. But this-" She flipped the book to a particular page, pushed it toward the angel, and jabbed her finger at a paragraph. "-is clearly about the two of you, don't you think?"

Aziraphale blinked at her for a moment, frustration and anxiety growing within him in equal measure, before finally looking down to examine the words beneath her fingertip. "Number four thousand one hundred and one," he read aloud. "When Darkness and Light converge, the Great Beast in sight, angel and demon stand with Adam's line, thine lines drawn in the sands of time."

The angel frowned. "I don't understand," he admitted. He pointed at the page and looked up to find all four humans watching him carefully. "This bit about 'Adam's line', that makes a bit of sense because I know for a fact that the Antichrist's given name is 'Adam'. But the bit about drawing lines in the sands of time...it sounds like gibberish."

"There's more," Newt assured him with a bit of an anxious smile. "Most of it sounds like gibberish, but if there's one thing Anathema has proven to me it's that it all makes sense in the right context."

"The trouble is figuring out that context," Anathema added. "Here." She flipped confidently to another page and jabbed her finger down again. "Look at this one. I have a feeling this is one you might actually be able to explain to us."

Aziraphale peered down at prophecy number two thousand nine hundred and forty-three, and promptly felt his face begin to burn. It read: Fear not, Principality, for you shall hear the Serpent's voice, and his whispers light raging fires in the night.

It was all he could do to look back up at the humans with a straight face. "I, um...I don't think this one has anything to do with the Apocalypse," he managed to spit out.

Anathema and Newt looked mildly disappointed that no explanation was forthcoming, and Shadwell simply looked distrusting, but Aziraphale noticed that Madam Tracy was giving him a rather knowing look that only made his fluster grow.

"I don't understand what any of this has to do with finding Crowley, or the Antichrist for that matter," the angel deflected. He waved his hand over Agnes Nutter's book in annoyance. "This is extraordinarily interesting, I assure you, and under other circumstances I would insist on being given the chance to thoroughly examine every prophecy, but right now there is the pressing matter of my- that is, Crowley having been taken, and if I don't find him soon there's no telling-" He paused, his throat having gone rather dry and his eyes beginning to burn.

Suddenly Madam Tracy was at his side, kneeling next to him with a kindly hand upon his arm. "There there, love, not to worry," she said, voice soft and soothing. "It's all going to be quite alright, I promise."

It was a foolish sentiment, certainly. The human woman had no idea what she was talking about. Yet, Aziraphale couldn't quite help but believe her. He swallowed back the sob that had been threatening to rise up in his throat, covered her hand in his own, and gave her a small nod.

"Pardon th' interruption, ladies." Shadwell approached with a disgruntled kind of walk, looking like it had taken him a rather significant effort to spit out the word 'pardon'. He focused his gaze on Anathema. "Ye said ye wanted to know when it'd begun. Aye think we can safely assume it has." He gestured back behind him to where a television set (that even Aziraphale understood was quite old and out of fashion) was playing a news report. The sound was down, but as the four humans and one angel considered the scene it was all too clear what was happening.

"Are those...are those carp ?" Newton asked, incredulous.

And yes, indeed, the poor field reporter was cowering beneath a battered umbrella as carp rained from the sky all around him.

Anathema pursed her lips. "That's prophecy three thousand eight hundred and four," she sighed. "The Antichrist is coming into his power."

Aziraphale stared at the television set with an eyebrow raised. "The Antichrist is...making it rain fish?"

Anathema had the gall to look exasperated with him, as though by virtue of being an angel he should somehow know and understand all that was happening. "The Antichrist is doing a great number of things all over the world by now, possibly without even realizing it."

Aziraphale frowned at her, his head beginning to pound. He would have killed for a whiskey just then. "But who is guiding him?" he countered. "I have it on good authority that he grew up free from the influences of either Hell or Heaven, and even if the others have already found him there would surely be some transition of talk, of disbelief, of cajoling him to do as they want. So what is making him suddenly think, 'oh, a light sprinkling of carp would be lovely weather for Bristol today'?"

To the angel's annoyance, his question garnered looks of disbelief from all four humans, but it was Newt who spoke, with a surprisingly gentle tone. "You obviously haven't hung out with many children," he guessed. "It really doesn't take much for them to start imagining the most outlandish things possible. He could be causing alien ships to land in Washington, DC right now because of a game he's playing with his friends. If his imagination alone is all he needs to cause chaos, then we're honestly lucky all the world's food supply hasn't been magically replaced by ice cream yet."

Aziraphale closed his eyes, heaved a deep, put-upon sigh, and counted to ten before opening them again. "Very well," he said, choosing his words carefully. "So let us recount. The Antichrist has come into his powers, which means that the world could be ending any time within the next twenty-four hours. You-" He pointed at Anathema. "-have a book of true prophecies, some of which led the four of you together, and then to me. We know that the Antichrist's first name is Adam, and nothing more. At least, I'm assuming you don't know anything that would lead to his location, or we would be racing off there as I speak. With all of that stated, I must ask, quite clearly, what you are expecting us to do about all this ?"

He'd been a fair bit harsher than he'd intended, his voice reaching a rather fevered pitch as the futility of the entire situation bore down on him, but surprisingly, Anathema smiled.

"You, Mr Principality," she said with absolute self-assurance, "are going to lead us to the Antichrist and thus help us save the world, by leading us to your demon."

Aziraphale felt a bit as though he must be going mad. "Haven't I made it clear that I have no idea where Crowley has been taken?" he practically growled. "He's in the hands of an Archangel and a Prince of Hell! It's not as though I can just feel out his aura. If those two abductors have even the slightest bit of sense they're going to have all three of their essences hidden from me."

Newton in particular looked in awe of the very idea that such a thing might have even been possible in the first place, and Shadwell simply looked confused, but the two women were smiling, as if they alone were in on some kind of joke. Without saying a word, Anathema flipped Agnes Nutter's book to another page and pointed down at prophecy four thousand and sixty-two. Without even looking down at it, she recited the words from memory, staring into Aziraphale's eyes the entire time:

"They hail from either side, but belong to neither, entangled instead in essence as well as heart. With permission freely given, the Sensitive bares her soul to guide the way." Aziraphale listened to the words as they were read to him, then read them twice more, slowly, to himself. His jaw felt tight and his chest constricted. There was no doubt in his mind that the 'they' in the prophecy referred to Crowley and himself, and he felt a little thrill of desperate hope, believing that whatever the prophetess's words meant, they could lead him to his love.

Madam Tracy's hand was still on his arm and she squeezed it to draw his attention. She was looking at him with an almost motherly smile. It should have been laughable, considering that he was older than her by several millennia, but it was strangely calming instead. "I believe I am the 'Sensitive'," she explained. "I'm a bit of a psychic, you see. Been pulling back the veil for a modest fee for quite some time, but it was only recently that I began to pick up on something real, something powerful ." Her grin was one of genuine joy. "It was only little snippets here and there, but I know now for sure, it was you and your loved one I was feeling."

Aziraphale's face grew warm at her words, wondering exactly what and how much she knew. "A-and you think you can 'guide the way'?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

Madam Tracy lifted both her hands to place them on either side of Aziraphale's face. She let her eyelids flutter closed and breathed deep. "The connection is already there," she assured him. Beneath her eyelids there was movement, as if she were examining something thoroughly. "You are entwined, like the book says. Linked, as if an invisible thread was tied between you." She opened her eyes. They twinkled as she looked at Aziraphale with unfaltering confidence. "The ones who took him may shield themselves from your kind of power, but they won't be expecting the human kind. Together we can find him, and once he's with us, we can stop all this foolishness about the world ending."

Aziraphale blinked, uncertain. There was no precedent for it, no manual he could consult or colleague he could ask for advice. They had no idea what to do, how to do it, or what might happen as a result. He could accidentally kill this poor woman.

"You won't," she insisted, an eyebrow raised alongside a cocky smirk that made him wonder if she'd really heard the thought or simply inferred it. "You won't hurt me."

"You're bloody right he won't," Shadwell growled from nearby, glaring at a wall as if he thought it would keep the others from hearing him. "Because if he does, I'll ram Dalrymple's Thundergun righ' down'is throat."

Madam Tracy's gaze didn't leave Aziraphale's, but she called back a sweet, tittering, "Oh you do say the sweetest things, Mr Shadwell," that made the old Scotsman fluster comically.

Anathema and Newt were watching the angel carefully, her with determination, him with growing anxiety. "So," the young woman said, the question clear before she'd even spoken it, "what will it be, Mr Principality?"

Aziraphale looked at the young humans watching him with bated breath. His gaze wandered to the television set that was now showing a report from Japan claiming a giant dinosaur-like lizard had just emerged from the ocean outside the Mikurajima region of Tokyo. He let his gaze float past the angry Scotsman who was glaring at him from the corner of his eye, and drew it back to the lovely woman who was still holding his face as gently as a mother consoling a babe.

And he thought about Crowley, about the very real possibility of finding him, of rescuing him from those two scheming bastards who had taken him. He thought about holding him close and apologizing over and over, and swearing to never let him go again.

"Alright," he whispered, speaking more to himself than to the humans. "Let's find my demon."

What If...?

Chapter Summary

With a human's help, an angel reaches out, searching, determined to find his demon. What he experiences as a result makes him all the more desperate to enact the rescue fast.

Chapter Notes

I TOLD you the next chapter would be quicker!
Okay, okay, I didn't honestly plan to have it up within a day. But when I woke up this morning and saw all the postings about how it's the Good Omens book's 30th anniversary I couldn't resist getting another chapter up as a way to celebrate.
Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm gonna go rest my poor brain, because it was in overdrive trying to make sure I got this out quickly. :P

To say that Aziraphale was nervous would have been a truly astounding understatement.

He and Madam Tracy had moved across the hall to what transpired to be her flat (the garbage-dump-in-training that they'd left was, she told him, Shadwell's place) to have some quiet for what they were about to attempt. They'd made a bit of room in the rather cozy sitting area, lit what seemed to be about a hundred candles, and were currently sitting cross-legged, across from one another, in the middle of the self-proclaimed psychic's floor.

(She'd laid down several thick blankets, stating that she wasn't about to throw out her rear end for this, and the angel was silently grateful for the modicum of comfort they provided.)

Now it was, for all intents and purposes, up to him to figure out how to proceed.

For which he hadn't a single, solitary clue.

Sensing his discomfort and frustration with himself, Madam Tracy carefully wriggled herself closer until their knees just barely touched. She reached out and took the angel's hands - which he'd been wringing rather uselessly - and settled them so that their palms were pressed together, lying comfortably across the bridges of their legs.

"Just relax, love," the psychic soothed. "Take deep breaths. If the lovely lady who wrote Anathema's book could get all those other things right, then I'm sure she got this right too, which means that it's going to happen. So just relax, think about your Crowley, and let what's going to happen, happen."

She was so sweet and confident that Aziraphale couldn't help but offer her a little grateful smile. He couldn't honestly remember a single point in his history on Earth when he'd been comforted by a human; it was usually his job to comfort them . "I'm just worried," he admitted. "Things went a little...wrong, when we were separated, and I-" His voice cracked. He swallowed and shook out a little broken laugh that was anything but humorous.

Madam Tracy gave his hands a little squeeze and used what he'd come to think of as her 'mother voice'. "It's going to be okay, love," she insisted. "You're going to find him, and we're going to fix all this foolishness, and then you'll be together again, okay?"

He felt so angry with himself, but he couldn't seem to stop the way his throat and chest clenched, the way hot tears forced themselves from his eyes to burn down alongside his trembling lips. "I want to find him, I do. I need to find him and rescue him from the mess I've left him in. But what...what if he doesn't forgive me?" he found himself whispering. "What if he hates me now and doesn't want to be with me anymore? What if we do come back together, but Heaven and Hell rip us back apart? What if we can't escape them? Can't hide from them? What if-?"

Beautifully-painted fingernails dug deep into the angel's hands, almost hard enough to draw blood and certainly hard enough to cause him to yelp out in alarm.

"Sorry about that," Madam Tracy said quickly, releasing her death-grip to gently pat the crescent moon indents she'd left. "But you were losing yourself there." She squeezed again - a proper, comforting squeeze this time. "No more of that nonsense, okay? We're going to find him, and you're going to do whatever you need to do to make things right and be with him, okay?" When Aziraphale didn't immediately respond she dug her nails in again, just a little, as a warning. " Okay? "

Aziraphale nodded emphatically. He managed to wrangle back one of his hands in order to wipe the tears from his face, and when he met the human woman's gaze again his face was significantly steadier. He nodded again and resumed his previous position. "Okay. Yes. Thank you for that. Let's do this."

They both closed their eyes. For a time they sat in silence, the only sounds the occasional hiss-crack of a candle flame licking its wick, and their own breathing. Slowly but surely their breaths became deep and steady and unified, as if there was but a single being in the room.

Aziraphale had no idea precisely what he was meant to do, so he simply let himself drift away, his essence melting from the corporation he'd worn for six thousand years, the energy that was wholly, uniquely him spreading out, searching, probing, working its way toward the answer he sought…

The energy that was him felt the energy that was Madam Tracy. She was small, oh so small, compared to the enormity of him, but her energy was bright, strong, and warm. There was a fierceness to it. A steady assuredness. He reached out and touched it, feeling for her assistance the way he might physically feel for her hand.

She let him in, made room for him, took a metaphorical step back to allow him access to whatever it was he required from her.

He could almost see her, though there was nothing physical about them at the moment. She was a warm smile, a loving touch, kind and understanding eyes. He thought, with a bit of a start and a fond smile, that this... this was what they meant when they said that God had created humans in Her image…

She guided him, drew him forward, showed him, and he was surprised to find that he actually saw it, just as she'd described. A thread. Invisible, and yet so very clear in this form. It was wrapped around his essence, entangled in him in a way that suggested it would never break free.

He followed it. The energy that was her pressed him on, anchoring him but also guiding him away toward the other end of the path. Toward his goal. Toward the one he wanted, needed, adored, desired, loved .

Toward Crowley.

Under other circumstances it may have felt like coming home. It may have felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket with strong arms snug around your shoulders. It may have felt like joy and exaltation and sweet, song-filled wonder.

It may have, but it didn't.

It felt like cold, agonizing, inescapable despair.

Later it would be impossible to describe, but at that moment it felt a bit like being inside Crowley, and yet watching him from the outside as well. Aziraphale could see the demon's pale skin, his fiery hair, his golden eyes...but he could also feel the tight anguish that shook through his body as if that body were the angel's own.

He was kneeling. His knees ached and there was blood seeping through the ripped gashes in the trousers covering them. He'd recently been shoved to the ground. Possibly more than once.

There was the sound of a chain rattling and suddenly he was yanked, hard, his shoulders nearly popping out of their sockets as the shackles that held his wrists behind his back were hauled upward.

"Where izzzz he, Crowley?" a familiar voice buzzed.

It was a struggle - it hurt him like he was being burned to do it - but Aziraphale managed to drag himself far away enough from Crowley to take stock of where they were. It was the front yard of that same house - changed by time in small ways, but very recognizable - where the demon had left the infant Antichrist with his new human parents. Those human parents were puttering around inside the house, but there was no third presence. The Antichrist was not here.

A sharp pain made Aziraphale want to cry out, though it wasn't possible in this form. Crowley had been kicked in the side of the head, his whole body shoved unceremoniously to the ground. A meaty fist grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back up to stare into furious violet eyes.

"Where is he, you useless monstrosity?" another familiar voice growled. "You said he would be here!"

An energy passed through the Archangel's hand, and into the collar. It burned , but it also felt like a gasp of long-withheld air.

With the spell temporarily removed, Crowley opened his mouth and spoke. His voice was hoarse, harsh, and a pale imitation of the one Aziraphale had heard in the demon's dream. "Said he lived in Tadfield," he croaked. "Didn't say he'd be sitting around at home waiting for you to show up."

Another hand came down alongside a howl of rage, sending Crowley back to the ground gasping air. Aziraphale felt as if his jaw had been shattered. A rush of air was yanked from the demon's lungs; the collar's spell once again in effect.

Tadfield . The town's name floated around the angel's essence like a gift from God Herself. That was it. That was where they needed to go.

But he couldn't leave. Not quite yet.

While two voices shouted at one another, arguing about which direction they should check first, Aziraphale focused his essence back onto the demon laying broken amid the grass. He let the rest of the world melt away, unnecessary, unimportant. He wrapped all that was himself around Crowley, taking in the pain, the fear, the hopelessness. He felt the resignation, the belief that he was a dead demon walking, the understanding that it hardly mattered anyway because he had nowhere to go, no one to go to…

With the more immediate concerns of his captors temporarily distracted, a fresh wave of misery crashed down over the demon, drowning him, dragging him under. Aziraphale couldn't hear his thoughts, but he could feel the harrowing reaction to them. Crowley felt like he was Falling again, over and over. He felt abandoned, discarded, unwanted. He wondered if it could have been different had he been brave enough to find a way to tell Aziraphale the truth himself. He wondered if the entire year since they'd met had been some cruel, existential joke at his expense; building him up, making him feel like he could be allowed to have happiness, only for it to be ripped away.

He wondered if, someday, Aziraphale might see fit to forgive him, even if he was no longer around to be forgiven.

He hoped - though it made every tiny piece of his essence howl with agony to imagine it - that Aziraphale would forget about him, find someone else who cherished him the way he deserved, and be happy…

Though no one could hear it, a sob rippled through Aziraphale's essence. He put everything he had, everything that was his very being, into trying to comfort the demon. He longed to wrap his arms around him, to run his fingers through that beautiful, soft red hair, to whisper to him that he was loved, he was wanted and needed, he was precious.

But Crowley's pain didn't seem to lessen, no matter how hard the angel tried, and he could feel a pull now, dragging him back, guiding him to return to his own body.

He gave one last lingering caress to the essence of the one he loved, promising that they'd be together again soon, and gave in to the pull.

Aziraphale's eyes snapped open, a gasp on his lips as though he'd been deep underwater and just broken the surface. His heart felt as though it had been carved from his chest.

Madam Tracy was on her knees, leaning in to cup the angel's face in both palms. At some point he'd begun crying again; her hands were quite wet.

"Are you okay, love?" she asked, voice quiet. "I couldn't see, but it felt...oh, it was quite horrible…"

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, fighting back the nausea that had boiled up from his stomach into his chest. "I'll be okay," he assured the woman, reaching up to pat her arm with a hand that was shaking treacherously. "But we need to get to him soon. I don't know how long Gabriel and Beelzebub will keep him around now that they're close to what they want. I need to find him."

She must have seen something in his eyes just then, because for the first time since they'd met Madam Tracy looked genuinely serious, something of a hardness building in her jaw. She nodded smartly and stood before helping Aziraphale to his feet as well. "Do you know where we need to go?" she asked.

The angel plucked up a couple of tissues from the decorative box on Madam Tracy's coffee table and quickly dabbed them over his face, hoping that he looked at least a trifle less destroyed without the wetness covering his face and throat. "I do," he assured her. "Tell the others to get ready with whatever supplies they need. We're going to Tadfield immediately."

It Isn't Over

Chapter Summary

An angel and his new companions rush toward Tadfield to stop the End of the World and save a certain demon. The angel is more than a little surprised to find four children and a small dog facing down the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Chapter Notes

Phew! We're getting pretty used to the end now! This will be the last chapter (thank goodness) that doesn't have Crowley in it. Time to finish things and get our poor boys back together, am I right?!

"Surely this thing can move a bit faster, can't it?" Aziraphale groused.

Newton offered an apologetic look into the rear-view mirror. "Sorry," he said, and did sound truly sorry. "Dick Turpin was never really meant for speed. Or carrying a full load of adults. Or much else besides moving steadily forward, for that matter…"

Beside him in the front, Anathema rolled her eyes fondly.

"Why is-?"

Madam Tracy's question was immediately cut off by a wild-eyed Anathema. "For the love of all the puppies of the world, do not ask him why the car is called Dick Turpin," she commanded. Madam Tracy's eyebrows rose, and in the rear-view mirror Newt looked genuinely upset.

From Madam Tracy's left, where he was lovingly cradling the odd-looking old weapon Aziraphale had noticed in his flat earlier, Shadwell grumbled just loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Dunnuh even know why I have ta be here. 'M a witch finder, not an Antichrist finder." Madam Tracy patted his arm in an affectionate way and gave him a look that told him in no uncertain terms to keep his nonsense to himself.

To the psychic's right, Aziraphale was flipping through Agnes's book whilst desperately attempting to distract himself from the fact that at their current speed they were likely to arrive in Tadfield a week or so after the Apocalypse had already occurred. He grumbled down at the prophecies on his lap, doing his best to read and learn, but failing miserably. He checked his pocket watch for the seventh time since they'd set out and wondered, vaguely, if time had somehow begun moving faster.

It hadn't taken the humans long to gather up their meagre supplies and hustle down to the street to pile into Newt's odd little vehicle. All they'd really been waiting for, evidently, was Aziraphale to tell them where they were headed. It was only a scant few minutes after his instructions to Madam Tracy, therefore, that the angel found himself wedged into the positively illogically-designed vehicle with four other grown adults and a rather large old antiquated weapon.

Since then it had felt to Aziraphale like they were physically moving backwards, while time kept barrelling forwards. The Apocalypse could be happening as they sat there , puttering through London traffic, with a roughly sixteen hour drive ahead of them in what felt like the slowest vehicle to ever grace the United Kingdom's roadways.

He was panicking. There were no two ways about it. Gabriel and Beelzebub were already in Tadfield, which meant that they could find the Antichrist at any moment...if they hadn't already found him. They could be influencing his decision at this moment, working together to convince him that ending the world was the best and proper choice. The Four Horsemen could theoretically be there as well, and Aziraphale was confident that they would be on the side of the Great War without a doubt. So that was half a dozen celestial and supernatural beings against one young boy, all working to warp his mind and set into motion the end of days.

Aziraphale very much wanted to stop that from happening, but more importantly, he wanted to make it to Tadfield before Gabriel and Beelzebub decided that there was no longer any need to keep Crowley around.

The angel kept seeing the defeated look in the demon's golden eyes, grown dull from pain and despair. He could still feel the agonizing ache, the anguish eating away inside the demon's chest, convincing him that all was lost, there was no hope, there would be no happy ending...least of all not for him.

And Aziraphale couldn't go on knowing that a significant portion of that anguish was his fault, planted there in that single moment of hesitation in which he had failed to rescue his love.

Damn it all, they had to go faster!

Aziraphale's fists curled over the open pages of Agnes Nutter's prophecies. He was just about to shout something rather rude about Newton's ability to put his foot down, when his eye was drawn down by a single, three-worded prophecy staring up at him from the center of the page he'd left open.

Prophecy four thousand five hundred and eighty-three.

Fly, you fool.

Aziraphale blinked, groaned, and then grinned. "For the love of-" he muttered to himself. "I really have been on Earth too long. I've gotten silly in the head."

All five humans were looking at him - Newt through the rear-view, but Aziraphale went straight to action without bothering about with timely explanation. With one hand he pushed the book into Madam Tracy's arms, and with the other he snapped his fingers to miracle an industrial-strength steel crane harness through Dick Turpin's windows.

Frivolous miracles be damned. He may as well use them all; Heaven was never going to forgive him after all of this anyway.

"I suggest you all hold on tight," the angel called to the confused humans as he threw open the door and pushed himself from the vehicle while they were at a red light. "This may get a little bumpy."

Without further explanation, and to the bemused shouts and honks of fellow motorists, Aziraphale climbed up on top of Dick Turpin's roof and stood tall with the ends of the steel harness in either hand.

"Okay, Aziraphale," he spoke to himself, ignoring the cacophony he was causing all through the busy street. "You can do this. You were the angel of the bloody Eastern Gate. You may have spent the past six millennia doing rather a lot of eating and rather a lot of not exercising, and you may have gotten a bit soft in the midsection, but you are a soldier. A powerful one. And this may be the most important thing you ever do, so buck up soldier, and get the job done!"

Just as the light was turning green and Newt was leaning out the driver's side window to ask what the hell was going on, Aziraphale manifested his wings and spread them wide. They shone in the mid-afternoon sun, almost sparkling in their intensity. He didn't bother wasting energy on camouflage. If he didn't move quickly and efficiently the stunned motorists watching him wouldn't live to tell the tale anyway.

He flapped once. Twice. A third time. Muscles that hadn't been properly tested in thousands of years rose to the challenge with aplomb. The fists of a Principality clenched around braided strands of metal, and an absolutely ridiculous little vehicle began to rise from the ground.

Anathema hooted. Madam Tracy and Shadwell gawked. Newton may have let out a little squeal of terror.

And Aziraphale clenched his teeth in a determined grin.

"I'm coming, Crowley. Just hold on a little longer. I'm coming for you."

---

For the humans on the inside of the car, Aziraphale was certain that the flight to Tadfield was more than they could ever hope - or want - to experience in an entire lifetime. Being carted several miles above the ground by an angel schlepping their vehicle beneath him would have been plenty on its own, but the sights they saw on their way had them all gaping like a school of wide-mouthed bass.

As they escaped London they flew over a raging wall of fire that had sprung up along the entire length of the M25, while motorists and emergency personnel stared in dumbfounded shock.

As they approached the countryside, several large tornados (one of them carrying a group of rather confused sharks) blustered by, forcing Aziraphale to duck and weave in maneuvers that would put a fighter jet to shame.

As Oxfordshire came into view, so too did a group of three rather stereotypical-looking unidentified flying objects, rainbow lights blinking in magnificent patterns, and outer-mounted loudspeakers repeating a message of "universal peace".

(That one made even Aziraphale raise his eyebrows.)

It became more and more apparent that they were headed in the right direction as the strange sights and sounds only increased. Medieval knights, complete in shining armor, were seen riding across the country on battle-ready steeds. A pack of enormous, furry tarantulas the size of Dick Turpin wandered in and out of the treeline, not attacking anything, but spinning glorious webs made of what looked like pure gold. From a lovely little idyllic lake giant tentacles rose and thrashed while a beautiful, golden-haired woman with a glowing sword danced and wove through them majestically.

It was like all the idle daydreams a young boy could ever have were springing to life with greater and greater frequency the closer they got to The End.

Which made it all the more surprising when Aziraphale set the humans and their vehicle down in the little village square of Tadfield and they found that positively nothing strange was happening there at all.

"Are you s-sure this is the place?" Newt stammered as he exited the car, legs wavering like jelly.

Shadwell had practically poured out of the back seat and was dry heaving against the cobblestones while Madam Tracy sympathetically patted him on the back. "It's the right place," the psychic insisted. "I heard it too. Crowley did say Tadfield."

"And I recognize it," Aziraphale added, allowing his gaze to rake over the lovely little village while he caught his breath (metaphorically, since he didn't actually require such). Several locals who had happened to be out enjoying the sunshine -

The weather here is absolutely perfect…

- were gaping openly, whispering to one another, and occasionally hiding behind trash bins. "Over there-" The angel pointed toward a small hill that led down past an ice cream shop and through a stone tunnel overpass. "The boy's home is in that direction. Yes. This is definitely the place."

Anathema was already flipping through Agnes Nutter's book. "It seems so calm, though," she muttered to herself. "If this is where Armageddon is supposed to go down, where is it? Why is it so normal here?"

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, continuing to sweep his gaze around them, searching for anything out of the ordinary, anything that would lead him to the Orchestrator of the End and, in turn, his demon. "It feels...loved," he said after a moment, surprising even himself.

Newton's face did a funny thing as he considered that. "Loved?"

"Loved," the angel agreed. "This whole area, it feels loved and protected...as if…" His brow wrinkled as he took in the beauty of the place, the almost unrealistically perfect weather, the way the flowers around the little park seemed to be blooming in impossibly straight lines. He turned to Anathema with both eyebrows raised. "I think the boy...he loves this place. Truly loves it, so much so that it doesn't even occur to him to change it in any way."

Madam Tracy made a thoughtful humming noise. "That makes sense, I suppose," she thought aloud. "It is the boy's home, after all. It is where all the things he cares about most are."

Anathema hemmed and hawed over this, even as she was flipping through pages, looking for something that would help them determine where to go next.

"Pardon me."

Aziraphale and his human friends jumped, blinking in surprise. The human man who had approached them had a little dog on a leash who was looking at them curiously, while the man himself looked as though he had just seen a ghost but was stubbornly determined to prove that said ghost was nothing more than an optical illusion.

"R.P. Tyler," the man introduced himself smartly, but with a bit of a twitch in his eye. "Tadfield Neighborhood Watch. I noticed you...arriving-" He cut himself off in order to swallow, clearly biting back the words 'falling from the sky'. "-and was wondering if you require any assistance. Perhaps instructions on how to get out of town?"

Aziraphale, whom R.P. Tyler had approached directly, cocked an eyebrow. What a rude little man , he thought. He noticed the man's eyes twitching back and forth between his face and wings and allowed himself to feel a brief little shiver of self-satisfaction at the disturbance he was clearly causing in the man's small little life. "As a matter of fact," he said, fluttering his wings a bit just to watch the rude man flinch, "we're looking for a young man named Adam."

R.P. Tyler's face immediately twisted into something of an angry grimace. "Ah, Adam Young, you must mean," he grumbled. "Only 'Adam' in Tadfield, he is. You must be here to arrest him, yes? Ooh, I knew that boy was going to get his eventually!"

Both of Aziraphale's eyebrows rose now. He wondered, bemusedly, how thoroughly broken Mr Tyler's psyche must be at the moment for him to be looking at four humans - two young and bespectacled, one grumpy and grungy, and one clad in multicolored robes - and a man-shaped being with enormous white wings fluttering behind him, and apparently see police people set out to arrest an eleven-year-old.

But it was as good an excuse as any.

"We are , in fact," the angel assured the strange man while his little dog sniffed at the angel's lowest feathers. "Could you possibly direct us to where we may find him?"

R.P. Tyler, looking caught somewhere between a mental breakdown and overwhelming joy, lifted a hand to indicate the proper direction. "Ah, yes, he and his little gang just came through here not twenty minutes ago, heading for the Tadfield air base. Up to no good, I imagine. Serves them right if they get shot by one of the guards, the foolish little brats."

Aziraphale's raised eyebrows lowered even as his jaw clenched and twitched. Not only rude, but terribly awful in general.

"That's it!" Anathema exclaimed, drawing all attention to her. She had her finger in the book, pointing to a prophecy, and looked terribly excited. She looked up to Mr Tyler with such bright, exuberant eyes that the man actually took a step back as if he expected her to attack him. "This air base," she demanded, "do planes land there any more?"

Mr Tyler looked, for a moment, as though he wasn't going to answer, but Aziraphale gave him a tiny jolt of celestial energy in his backside and suddenly the man was yelping out, "No! No they don't, as a matter of fact!"

Anathema's gaze whipped back to Aziraphale. "That's where we have to go. Hurry!"

Without another word (except perhaps for a bit of a roiling groan of horror from Shadwell), the humans piled back into Dick Turpin and the angel took up his position once more.

None of them bothered to look back at the Tadfieldians - least of all the exceptionally rude R.P. Tyler - who gawked and squeaked and, in some cases, fainted as they took to the sky once more.

As soon as he had a proper vantage point again Aziraphale scanned the land for what they sought. Newt actually saw it first and shouted out, drawing the angel's attention to the flattened and cemented stretch of land about a dozen miles outside of the town border. He took off for it without hesitation while the humans in the vehicle yelped (and in Shadwell's case, heaved) at the sudden jerky movement.

If he'd been flying with purpose before, Aziraphale felt he was now flying with divine purpose. He beat his wings as hard as he could, hurtling toward their destination. He could feel it now. He was headed in the right direction, moving toward the end game. The boy - the Antichrist - was there, and things were about to get very desperate, very fast.

Even as the angel and his passengers approached the base, they could see four figures on bikes - followed by the fifth figure of a small dog - approaching the main gate. A man in uniform stormed from the gatehouse to shoo them away, only to turn in surprise and alarm as the gate began to open of its own volition. The five figures flew through without a second thought while the uniformed man shouted and waved his hands in mad panic. His composure was so thoroughly shattered by the intrusion that he didn't even notice a little blue car carried by an angel go streaking across the sky about a mile above those same four figures.

"That's him!" Anathema called up to Aziraphale from the passenger seat. "The one with the curly hair! I'm certain of it! He's the only one whose aura I can't see!"

The curious part of Aziraphale's mind made a mental note to ask Anathema about this interesting ability she apparently had at a later date. The focused part of him began to descend, following the four biking children to where they stopped near a small group of buildings. A large number of soldiers stormed from the buildings, guns raised, shouting, but Anathema's theory was confirmed as the curly-haired boy lifted a hand and every last soldier dropped to the ground, apparently in a deep sleep.

Dick Turpin touched the ground once more, and while the humans staggered (and in one case, fell face-first) out of the vehicle, the angel drew back his wings and rushed forward with single-minded determination.

He reached the children just as the curly-haired one -

Adam…

- lifted his head and spoke two words: "I'm here."

"Yes, you certainly are, and I think we need to have a bit of a chat, dear boy."

Four young faces - three boys and a girl - turned to face the angel with surprise and confusion. (To be fair, the three not-the-Antichrist children had been confused upon arrival, but had been slowly catching up before a man who dressed like their grandfathers suddenly appeared behind them looking like he was going to give them a good scolding.)

"Who are you?" the girl demanded. Her tone was surprisingly bold and haughty, and she took a step forward as though intending to protect the three boys if necessary. Aziraphale took an immediate liking to her.

"That doesn't matter right now," the angel insisted. His gaze settled firmly on the curly-haired Adam, who looked so wonderfully human that it immediately gave Aziraphale a sense of hope for the world. "Have you done anything yet? Has it started?"

The Antichrist met the angel's gaze and, surprisingly, looked genuinely upset. "I didn't mean to," he insisted, his voice cracking a little. "There's been all these weird voices, and things started happening, and I felt a bit like I was losing my mind." He sank back in on himself a bit, even as his three friends surrounded him protectively. The dog - a little Jack Russell terrier who seemed to have a strange hint of a glow to his eyes - stood in front of the boy and snarled at Aziraphale. "I didn't really understand what was going on, until my friends snapped me out of it."

The three other children glared at Aziraphale as though expecting him to attempt to take their friend away. The angel blinked at them. There was a small, delicate boy with glasses, a rather grimy-looking lad with his fists raised, and the truly fierce girl, who had fire in her eyes. The Antichrist's friends…

"Then it has begun," the angel grimaced. "You did it after all."

But Adam was shaking his head, clearly frustrated. "No!" he insisted. "We're here to stop it. I don't want this!"

"Aziraphale," came Madam Tracy's voice from beside the angel. "Anathema took Newt and ran off. She said their part is coming and that they'd be back when it was done."

Shadwell, looking rather worse for wear, but holding his thundergun steady, appeared by the psychic's side. "Ay think we've got more important matters ta deal with at the mo'," he suggested, waving the barrel of his weapon forward.

The children turned, the angel's head rose, and together the gathered party watched as four figures strode with purpose from the nearest building.

Aziraphale had never met any of them in person, but he instinctively recognized each one and felt his celestial form shivering in dislike. The first three had looked human once, the angel was certain, but now their forms had twisted, melted, burned and boiled and transformed to reveal the hideousness beneath. Famine's teeth were long and pointed, his face gaunt and pale. Pollution's eyes were dark as night, and a black, oozing ichor seeped through her very pores. War's grin was too wide to be logical, her skin and hair practically burning with the barely-suppressed desire to raze the world to the ground, by herself if necessary (and, perhaps, preferably).

Half a step behind them, the only figure that had never changed once in all of his existence, was a dark, cloaked being with only shadows visible within. Death. The End of All.

The Four Horsemen stationed themselves across from the four children, the three with faces grinning wildly.

"Master…" the cloaked figure purred in a dark, low voice. "Finally, we are all together."

Adam wasted no time making his intentions known. He stood up straight, threw back his shoulders, and seemed to take strength from the strange little dog at his side. "I take it back," he told the Horsemen. "Whatever's been done, I want to reverse it."

"There is no ending The End, little boy," Famine hissed. "It has begun. The wheels are in motion."

Pollution gestured with dripping black fingers to the building behind them. "The countdown has begun. Soon, the bombs will fly."

"The whole world will be at war," added the Horseman of the same name. War grinned the widest of them all as she swung a deadly-looking sword in circles before her.

Aziraphale squinted at that sword. Something felt strangely familiar about it.

The Antichrist's friends were looking at Adam with wide eyes and not an insignificant sense of fear about them. The smallest one, the one with the glasses, hissed, "What are we going to do, Adam? They're grown-ups and we're kids. I don't actually think we can fix whatever it is that needs fixing."

Adam, however, stood remarkably tall. "They're not even people, not really," he told his group with more than a bit of an attitude in his tone. "They're more like...projections of ideas… nightmares , really."

The Horsemen - three of them, at least - laughed mockingly. War in particular took a step forward, twirling her sword like a threat, shifting her gaze from child to child as though trying to decide who should be struck down first.

"Ay dun care who or what they are," Shadwell growled. To Aziraphale's surprise (he hadn't grown particularly fond of the man in their time together thus far) the Scotsman lifted his weapon and aimed it, unwavering, in War's direction. "Ay'll not stand by an' watch wee lads an' lasses bein' threatened. Away wit' tha' weapon now, lassie."

War, quite contrary to looking concerned, allowed her grin to spread even wider. With a flick of her wrist her sword burst into flame, and from behind the children Aziraphale's face went pale.

Oh… he thought, with something like guilt picking away at the depths of his stomach. Oh, I definitely recognize it now…

Shadwell's stance had definitely faltered at the show of some type of supernatural ability, but to his credit he quickly reasserted himself, checked that his aim was true, and responded with a warning. "Tha's it then, lassie. Yo've got to tha' count o' three."

War sneered .

"One!"

Madam Tracy's hand found the witchfinder's shoulder, squeezing it tight.

"Two!"

Aziraphale's mind raced for some way he could help, knowing that his Heavenly powers could not combat those of the Horsemen.

"Three!"

Shadwell pulled the trigger.

The resulting explosion of noise had Aziraphale and the children flinching, but no one experienced a greater shock than Shadwell himself. As he pulled the trigger, War's hand had thrust out over the children's heads and pierced the barrel of the thundergun with her flaming blade. The resulting backfire filled the air with black, acrid smoke, and sent the witchfinder hurtling backward through the air with a yelp and a cry of pain. His weapon, now a mangled twist of smoking metal and wood, flew several feet past him.

For a moment all was chaos as the children tried to wave away the smoke. Madam Tracy ran back to Shadwell with a moan of concern, and Aziraphale, almost subconsciously, sent a little healing miracle in the man's direction while simultaneously reaching forward to pull the children back away from the Horsemen. Unfortunately, he didn't notice until the smoke had cleared completely, that he'd only managed to sweep his arms around three of the four.

The girl who'd faced down Aziraphale earlier had bewilderingly stepped forward to face the hysterically laughing War with a fierce frown on her young face. "You're a nasty piece of work, you know that?" the girl snapped.

Aziraphale wasn't certain whether she was courageous or insane, but he desperately hissed a command for her to step back, which she ignored entirely.

War looked down at the little creature in front of her and laughed all the harder. She swirled her sword through the air between them, pointing the tip of it at the child with a menacing air. "Oh look. It's a little girl," she purred. "Run home to your dollies, little girl."

Aziraphale was just about to leap forward and grab the child, when she did something that would have his jaw dropping.

"My name is Pepper ," she growled, haughty and angered, "and I do not endorse everyday sexism!" And in a move that no one could have expected, she ducked beneath the flaming blade, lifted a foot, and slammed her heel into War's shin as hard as she could.

In shock and surprise, War stumbled back, releasing the sword to clatter to the ground. Before she could even consider retaliation, Pepper had scooped up the weapon and lifted it's point to the Horseman's chest. " We are Adam's friends," she spat with her head held high. "And you lot are just a joke ."

War smiled, lifting a hand to wrap around the red-hot steel of the sword's blade. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Here Pepper did falter, for even with all her bravado, it hadn't occurred to her that she might actually have to use the weapon in her hand.

Then Adam, pushing himself away from Aziraphale's meagre protection, took a step forward and told her what she needed to hear. "Just say what you believe, Pepper."

The girl tensed again, shoulders back and chin stuck out. "I believe in peace... bitch ."

She barely pressed the tip of the blade against her foe when the screaming began. Those gathered watched, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as the embodiment of War went up in shrieking flame, and vanished.

Aziraphale gasped. A child - a human child - had just defeated War with nothing more than words and her own belief.

As if suddenly understanding their part in the greater scheme of things, the two other boys rushed forward. The grimy-looking one took the flaming sword from Pepper's hand and advanced with a sudden rush of confidence upon the oozing, slimy Pollution. "My name is Brian," he announced, "and I believe in a clean world!"

It couldn't be that simple, Aziraphale thought, and yet…

Pollution's wails filled the air as the blade touched her and solidified her doom, burning her away to nothing.

Famine, for his part, seemed to see the writing on the wall and turned to make his getaway, but Adam's little dog had rushed forward and snapped his jaws around the Horseman's ankle, growling viciously.

The last child, the small, bespectacled one, took the sword from Brian and stepped forward. He was more timid than the others, but he stood tall and spoke loud, and seemed to take strength from the little dog's assistance. "And my name is Wensleydale," he spoke with intelligence. "I believe in good food, and a healthy lunch for everyone. Actually, it's a very. Good. Thing!"

Famine struggled, his face one of frustrated disbelief, but in the end the blade touched him, and the dog and Wensleydale stepped back as his form erupted into flame and was gone.

Aziraphale's jaw moved, but no sound would come out. Madam Tracy and Shadwell came hobbling up beside him - him with an arm draped over her shoulder, her with a hand protectively over his chest - and gaped with him.

"Industrious little darlings, aren't they?" Madam Tracy chuckled.

Adam's friends moved back to him, and together the four children and their strange little dog faced the final Horseman, under whose cloak had begun to be revealed the pale, eyeless form of that which he represented.

"Death," Adam said. "This has to stop."

The cloak rustled, only slightly, as the Horseman angled himself toward the building behind him. "It has stopped," he announced. "But we will be back. We are never far away. I am creation's shadow. You cannot destroy me. That would destroy the world." And with an air of complete disinterest one way or the other, the figure turned. "Good day, gentlemen."

And as Madam Tracy and Pepper both raised their eyebrows with a dual exclamation of, "Cheek", Death spread enormous black wings that encompassed the entirety of existence...and he was gone.

There was a beat of silence, then…

"Well. That was...a thing," Aziraphale coughed. He was quite ruffled, to say the least, and rather felt as though he'd walked into a story somewhere near the end with no idea of how they'd come to this point. "Are you children okay?"

A shout from the building ushered the return of Anathema and Newton, who'd come running and looked exceptionally pleased with themselves. "Is it done?" the witch asked, a little breathless but grinning wide.

Adam immediately stepped toward the two young adults with an air of gratefulness about him. "You two stopped the bombs, didn't you?" he asked.

Anathema was practically beaming, while Newt looked strangely embarrassed. "Actually, my boyfriend here did most of the work," the witch insisted with an affectionate smile in his direction.

"How did you-?" Adam began, only to be cut off by Newt mumbling something that sounded like, "Nevermind. It's done. All good. Yup."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and reminded himself to ask Anathema about that story later on.

Before then, however…

The angel felt himself practically vibrating from a mixture of relief and frustration. It would seem, as near as he could tell, that this strange congregation of humans had succeeded in doing what he himself had never been able to work out a decent plan for how to do. They'd saved the world. They'd stopped the Apocalypse. Without the Four Horsemen and the 'blessing' (curse?) of the Antichrist, the Great War could not occur.

Yet, as grateful as that made the Principality who now stood watching said humans make introductions and pat one another on the back, he couldn't help but feel it wasn't over. Especially, he thought to himself, as Crowley and his two captors had never actually-

He felt them before he saw or heard them. The Archangel's self-important glow and the Demon Prince's smoldering black haze were unmistakable, but even more so was the wave of agony that nearly knocked Aziraphale to the ground, ripping the air from his lungs.

"You think this is over?" Gabriel's furious tone asked from a mere few meters away, and Beelzebub's enraged one answered:

"This izzz far from over."

The Great Serpent Arises

Chapter Summary

An angel and a demon are reunited. A battle commences. An angel begs forgiveness.

Chapter Notes

GOD it feels good to be writing Crowley again! I missed you, my bebe snek boi...*hugs*

The overarching story is quickly coming to a close, my friends, but there are still a few chapters left yet...after all, I need to spoil you all for sticking with me and leaving such sweet, wonderful comments on every chapter! 3 3 3

For the humans in attendance, the sudden appearance of three new figures who had seemingly popped out of the ether was surprising and perhaps a bit alarming. They stared at the tall, put-together businessman, the ambiguously scruffy figure dressed all in black, and the third figure slumped between the first two as if they were intruders upon a private party. (With the exception of Madam Tracy, who let out a little gasp of recognition.)

For the angel, however, the sight of those three figures set his heart racing.

Crowley was hanging between his captors, each of them with a hand under one of his arms. His torn, bleeding knees edged the ground. His head was slumped forward, hair hanging in a ragged red mess. If he'd been human, Aziraphale may have believed him dead.

He was not dead. Aziraphale knew this by the waves of misery that continued to radiate outward from his limp body. Crowley was alive .

The knowledge did little to ease the raging fury that had reignited in the angel's chest.

Without a word, and without taking his eyes from his targets, Aziraphale thrust his hand toward Wensleydale. The boy, clever as he was, put two and two together immediately and shoved the flaming sword he still held into the angel's waiting fingers. The moment the blade had been returned to celestial ownership it's flames grew, burned hotter, brighter, and deadlier.

He stalked toward his prey, eyes burning as brightly as the sword. He hadn't taken up a battle stance in millennia, but he did so now, gaze flashing between the Archangel and the Demon Prince, but focusing more intently on the Archangel.

"Hand him over, Gabriel." His voice was steady, determined, and commanding. At the sound of it, Crowley's head quickly rose. There was blood dripping down his face, and a mixture of surprise and confusion in his eyes, but Aziraphale also felt the faint flicker of hope amid the pain of the demon's aura.

Gabriel sneered. His patience for this game had clearly long since expired. When he spoke his voice was low and threatening. "I thought we'd been through this, Aziraphale," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Are you honestly going to risk Falling for the sake of a worthless demon?" He punctuated the question by releasing his grip on Crowley's arm, causing the demon to slump to the ground with a pained hiss.

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened. "You don't have that power, Gabriel," he reminded his former boss. "And I do not believe for a second that She will punish me for helping someone who was hurt and needed protection."

The Archangel's eyes were wild. A kind of madness swirled within them. "Let's not fool ourselves, Principality," he barked with deranged laughter. "This isn't about 'protecting' anyone. This is about Heaven's most pathetic angel falling in love with a God-forsaken demon ."

Aziraphale felt a growl building up in his throat, but before he could let it out a gentle voice spoke up from behind him.

"Pardon me, Gabriel was it?"

Aziraphale started and Gabriel blinked in bewilderment to find that the assembled group of humans had piled up around the angel, very clearly making their intention to stand by his side known. Madam Tracy in particular had come to Aziraphale's right side and had her eyebrows raised in the manner of a woman about to scold a particularly disobedient child.

"It seems to me," the psychic said with a twitch in her jaw, "that if you believe Aziraphale would be punished by God for falling in love, well...I just don't think you know God the way you think you do."

All around him, Aziraphale saw humans - young and old - nodding in agreement.

Gabriel looked genuinely stupefied. When he spoke again there was a strange squeal to his voice. "What are you-? Don't you lecture me on what God would or wouldn't do!" he practically screamed. "I'm the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel!"

"Aye dun give a rat's back-end who ye are!" Shadwell growled. He was still limping, but he had a hand on Madam Tracy's shoulder and seemed ready to step in front of her the moment it became necessary. "Ye'll not talk to the wummun that way or ye'll have me to answer to!"

Madam Tracy practically glowed with affection. "Oh, Mr Shadwell…"

Gabriel, however, looked like he thought he was losing his mind. "Are you-? What in the name of-?" He shook his head hard, and when he reasserted himself he turned to send a glare back at his bemused partner-in-crime. "What are you doing back there?" he snapped. "Give me a hand here! Go grab the Antichrist or something!"

Beelzebub, who still had a steady hand on Crowley, cocked an eyebrow and let out a sound like the vibrating buzz of a thousand flies. "Oh, but you're doing zzzo well on your own," the Demon Prince said sarcastically.

"For fuck sake, Beelzebub! "

He'd allowed himself to become flustered and distracted, and in that moment between one heartbeat and the other Aziraphale attacked.

A crash of thunder shook the air base, the reverberations so violent that they nearly sent the humans to their knees. Gabriel glared, eyes burning, over the sword he'd manifested to parry Aziraphale's attack. "So this is how it's going to be, Aziraphale?" he asked, frighteningly calm.

Aziraphale shoved, stepped, and whirled, pushing them apart just enough for the enemies to reassert their stances. "I suppose it is," he agreed.

Only the slight twitch of Gabriel's eye betrayed his anger now. "You'll never be allowed to return home after this," he pointed out, as though the threat was his last olive branch.

Aziraphale felt a momentary pang, deep in his chest, but his gaze flicked to where Crowley knelt on the ground next to Beelzebub. His golden eyes were wide and terrified, not for himself, but for the angel he loved who was about to do something he could never take back. With a tiny twitch of his lips the angel tried to let the demon know that everything was going to be okay before refocusing on the threat at hand.

"My home is here," he told his foe. "With humanity, and with Crowley."

Gabriel's sword flared. The white of his teeth gleamed in the light as he growled, "So be it!"

It was as though a violent storm were raging just outside the small village of Tadfield. Every strike, every parry, every shout and scream and cry of rage crashed like thunder, blinded like lightning, shook the land around them. Gabriel fought like a madman who'd had his purpose ripped away from him, but Aziraphale fought like a man who knew his purpose clearly and refused to submit. He carefully drew his foe away from the humans and his demon love, protecting them above all else, fighting and defending like a true warrior of God.

With the only clear threat occupied, Beelzebub finally stalked toward the Antichrist, dragging Crowley by his collar as they went. "You!" the Demon Prince shouted, pointing directly at Adam. "You will rezzztart Armageddon immediately!"

Adam's friends piled around him, the older humans directly behind them. The Antichrist stood tall and set his jaw. "I won't!" he shouted back, petulant as only an eleven-year-old can be. "I don't want the world to end!"

Beelzebub's gaze twisted into something halfway between sympathetic and threatening, and not at all convincing. They crouched down just a bit to be eye-to-eye with the child. "But when the War hazzz been won, you'll rule the world," the Demon Prince attempted a purr and failed miserably. "Don't you want to rule the world, Adam?"

For a moment the older humans glanced at each other, concerned, but the Antichrist only snorted, a derisive sound. "I have enough trouble thinking up things for Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale to do," he said, as though it was a totally reasonable and logical explanation for his decision.

"Now lizzten here, you little-"

Several things happened very fast. The first was that Beezebub took a threatening step toward Adam with their fist raised, releasing Crowley in the process. The second was that Crowley quickly twisted his head and clamped his snake-like fangs around the Demon Prince's arm with all the force of an anaconda's crushing jaw. The third was that, while Beelzebub was howling in pain and anger, Newt ran forward with a metal hunk of whatever was left of Shadwell's thundergun and swung it at the Demon Prince's face as hard as he could.

In the resulting moment of Beelzebub's shocked distraction, the other adults rushed forward. Shadwell and Madam Tracy grabbed Crowley by the arms and pulled him back, while Anathema dashed around the Demon Prince, pouring a thick circle of something white on the ground around them.

It all took only a few moments, and when it was over Beelzebub was stunned to find a circle of salt trapping them. "What the-?" Their shock quickly turned to fury. Fists smashed against open air, which shuddered like a wall of flawlessly clear glass.

"How'd you know to do that?" an impressed Pepper asked Anathema.

The witch shook the box of salt (which she'd had hidden in a pouch hung beneath her skirts) with a grin at the girl. "I know a lot about the occult," she explained. "When this is all over I"ll teach you, if you want."

"Wicked," the girl replied.

Madam Tracy and Shadwell had lowered Crowley to a sitting position, both their faces a little white at the brackish blood he was spitting from his lips with clear distaste. Newt and Wensleydale, both fairly green-faced themselves, gave him a look over as though either of them had any medical training at all.

"He's pretty beaten up," Newt declared the obvious, "But if he's really a demon maybe he'll be okay?"

Crowley lifted an eyebrow at the humans and made a snuffling noise that almost could have been a chuckle.

Beelzebub was furiously beating at the invisible barrier around them, voice becoming more and more insectile with each word that passed their lips. "He bloody well won't be okay when I get out of here!"

Adam flat-out snickered at that, as though the thought of the diminutive Demon Prince getting free was a particularly amusing joke. "Dog," he commanded in a humored voice. "Guard the prisoner."

The little Jack Russel, with his faintly-glowing eyes, did just that, plunking himself on the outside of the salt circle to growl threateningly at the creature within. Beelzebub's jaw actually dropped when the connection came together in their head. " Izzz that our Hellhound?! " they exclaimed, aghast. "What the bloody Heaven have you done to him?!"

The Demon Prince's cries went unapologetically ignored, however, as the young Antichrist approached the demon, Crowley, and crouched down to get a good look at him.

The boy's face was calm and open, soft and curious. His curly hair fell past his ears and was wonderfully shaggy. His eyes were a soft, kind grey behind which one could read a thousand and one imaginary tales of wonder. He looked so young, yet somehow quite wise, and so perfectly, ineffably human that Crowley couldn't help but heave a great, relieved sigh as his lips quirked up into an exhausted smirk.

The hint of a smile seemed to be what did it. Adam's young face quirked into a bewildered look of recognition. "I know you…" he said, slow and quiet.

Crowley's eyes went wide, blinking, surprised. He nodded a confirmation. A hand came up to touch the boy's chest, then the demon brought his arms together, rocking them back and forth, miming as though he was holding a baby.

Adam's eyes were confused, as if it was a half-remembered dream that he'd had before his brain had learned what dreams were. He reached out, eyes narrowed in an examination of the being before him, and placed a hand on Crowley's arm. "Why are you only half a person?" he asked.

The demon's lips parted, surprised once again. He brought a hand to the metal collar around his throat. Adam's eyes followed the motion, and he frowned before looking back up to meet Crowley's gaze. "You should go back to being whole," he said.

And without further word or thought, without pomp or circumstance or explanation of any kind, the collar cracked into two splintered half-circles and fell to the ground.

The breath that Crowley took in was deep, desperate, and felt a bit like the first one he'd ever taken. The suddenness of it had the adults leaning forward, as if they expected him to pass out, or vomit, or something worse. But that first needy gasp was followed by several slower, calmer ones and then the demon's eyes - which had fluttered closed in the joy of the moment - opened to settle on the boy before him. "Thank you," he managed with a voice hoarse from misuse, and couldn't fight the grin off his own face.

Adam may have said something else, perhaps told Crowley he was welcome, or asked the demon to clarify how they knew each other, but in that moment there was a great, shuddering boom that splintered the cement around them and sent most of the humans squealing down to their rear ends.

Crowley was the first to locate the source of the sound, and a low, loud, hissing growl rose up from the very depths of his throat.

Aziraphale had been fighting with all his might, and had done a magnificent job, all things considered. As the battle between himself and his abusive former boss raged on, however, the angel began to feel the wear of his six thousand years upon the Earth. Aziraphale was a soldier of God, and a damned good one at that, but it had been so long since he'd had to properly fight . Gabriel was taller, fitter, and an all-around more powerful Heavenly being. Therefore, it was little surprise to Aziraphale, truly, when he found himself caught off guard and slammed backward into the ground with all of Gabriel's not inconsiderable strength pressing down upon him.

The ground had split and shattered at his back. His head rang from the impact. His own sword was mere inches from his face as Gabriel's bore down against it from above. Aziraphale could feel the heat from both swords threatening to scorch his corporation to nothing and knew, with a sudden wave of panic, that if he discorporated now he would never be given another body to return to Earth.

Gabriel's grin was a thing of pure insanity, only accented by the streaks of blood running across his face from Aziraphale's attacks. "I knew that prophecy was nonsense," he growled gloriously. "There's nothing special about you ."

Even in the position he found himself in, Aziraphale couldn't stop his curiosity seeping through. "What in Heaven's name are you on about now?" he spat back.

The question was never answered, because just as Gabriel found an extra burst of strength with which to bear down on his sword, a great, writhing, scaly mass of vengeful fury slammed into him. With a wonderfully pathetic yelp and a splash of gold-tinted blood, the Archangel dropped his weapon and was torn away from his prey.

Aziraphale was quick to scramble for the dropped sword and leap to his feet. When he'd done so he found what was, to him anyway, a truly beautiful sight.

It was a serpent, larger than any other that crawled upon the planet's surface. Its belly was as red as fresh blood, but the rest of its body was as black as the night sky, speckled with the tiniest of glimmering specks that almost looked like stars. Its eyes were wide and furious, and the deepest honey gold Aziraphale had ever seen. And it's fangs, nearly as long as a human child's arm, were currently embedded in Gabriel's sword arm and shoulder.

The Archangel shrieked like a banshee, free hand clawing at the monster-serpent's snout even as the tail came snaking around in looping circles to entrap his legs. It wriggled and writhed and tightened its jaws until Gabriel's body was truly trapped, being squeezed with enough force to have already killed a human. His face was a cross between red and purple. It was unclear whether the coloring was the result of his anger, or the fact that his ability to breathe had been rather cut off.

Aziraphale saw the moment the Archangel's eyes began to glow, indicating that a rather extreme miracle was about to occur, and quickly stepped forward to press the tips of both flaming swords against the small of Gabriel's throat. The flames licked at his corporation's skin and left black, hissing scars. "Not another thought, Gabriel," Aziraphale commanded.

The Archangel's eyes were hot with rage, but he stilled.

"Over here!" a voice called. "Quickly!"

Aziraphale and the Great Serpent turned to the sound. Anathema was waving them over to a circle she'd drawn on the ground in what appeared to be some kind of sticky, wet substance.

"Drop him in here!" she called.

The Serpent's eyes met Aziraphale's, and it was telling of the events of the past day that the angel didn't question the human witch for a moment. He nodded, and together he and the Serpent guided their prisoner over until they were able to drop his gasping form unceremoniously into the circle. The moment Gabriel's knees hit the ground and the other two bodies were clear, Anathema dropped a match and her circle burst into a blue-tinged flame.

"Holy oil," the witch explained even before Pepper could ask. "One of the only things that can hold an angel. He'll be trapped until the flames die or I release him."

Pepper's eyes lit up devilishly at the information, while Gabriel sneered and Beelzebub growled in frustration at their now-useless 'partner'.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Aziraphale turned his undivided attention to the Great Serpent who had lunged into the battle to rescue him. He could feel the turmoil of emotions roiling within the form of the giant snake, but even without those waves of energy radiating out toward him the angel would have recognized those gorgeous golden eyes anywhere. He dropped both swords to the ground, letting their flames extinguish with a puff of acrid smoke, and lifted a gently shaking hand toward those impossibly black scales.

"Crowley…" The name fell from his lips like a grateful prayer.

To his dismay, just as his fingers were about to touch the demon-serpent's snout, Crowley curled in upon himself, slithering backward, held pulled down low against his body, staring back at the angel with uncertainty in the honeyed swirl of his eyes.

It absolutely broke Aziraphale's heart.

The angel stepped forward slowly, just a foot or two, and let himself drop to his knees. He put everything he had left in him into projecting out his own emotions - his relief, his fear, his sorrow, and most of all, his indefatigable love - and desperately prayed that Crowley could feel it.

"My dearest-" he began, felt his voice crack, and had to start again after swiping away a tear with the heel of his hand. "Crowley, I am so sorry . It was only a moment...just a brief moment of hesitation...but I never should have let it happen." He let his hands fall to the ground beneath him and crawled another few feet closer. "The moment you'd gone, it felt like my soul had been torn out of me." He watched carefully, through wet eyes, for any sign that the serpent staring back at him was listening and understanding, but Crowley gave him no emotional handhold to grasp at. "My love," he barely whispered, the words coming harder and harder. "I don't care about what happened in the Garden, or anything of what came as a result of that. I would give anything to go back and tell you that right away, to be brave and rescue you before you were ever taken. And I swear-" He reached out again, but was careful not to touch. "I swear, I'll spend the rest of eternity making it up to you...if you'll let me…"

The Great Serpent lay very still, curled up in itself, staring at the angel before him, showing no sign of a reaction to those heartfelt words.

Aziraphale felt he might never be able to breathe without pain again as he began to withdraw his trembling hand…

...and then soft, smooth scales were pressing against his fingertips. The serpent that was a demon had slithered forward and rubbed his snout into the angel's fingertips. It was the slow, careful movement of a wary animal being tempted with food by a larger creature. He flicked out his tongue, scenting the angel's arm, and leaned his head sideways to let those fingers draw across the top of his head.

The world shifted, slithered, reconstructed itself before Aziraphale eyes, and when it had settled itself anew there was long, messy red hair beneath his fingers and the sad-but-hopeful golden eyes of his demon were looking back at him.

"Crowley," the angel breathed.

The demon's lip twitched a little. "Aziraphale," he replied for the first time, voice soft but clear.

The angel very nearly gasped. He'd gathered - at least, subconsciously - that the serpentine transformation must mean that Crowley's collar had somehow been removed - and yet, hearing his name from the demon's lips for the first time felt like some immeasurably beautiful gift. He felt certain, in that moment, that he was going to embarrass himself by bursting into tears.

Then, without warning, the land beneath them began to quake.

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's arm, pulling them both to their feet and clutching the demon close as his head swiveled to find the danger.

The humans were snatching at one another's hands, sets of wide eyes seeking explanation. A couple of the children yelped. Newt stumbled and fell into Anathema, knocking them both to the ground. Madam Tracy took the initiative to lower both herself and Shadwell to the ground carefully, though her calm decision was betrayed by the flash of fear in her eyes.

"What's happening?" Aziraphale asked, projecting his voice over the sound of splitting earth and cracking concrete. The words were hardly out of his mouth before he noticed the smug look on Gabriel's face and the small black device being held in Beelzebub's hand.

With a disturbing smirk only amplified by the Archangel's matching one, the Demon Prince wiggled the ancient-looking mobile phone and answered the angel's question:

"I called his father."

Marvellous

Chapter Summary

Lines are drawn in the sands of time. Choices are made.
An angel holds a demon close and promises to never let go.

Chapter Notes

PHEW! This has been quite the adventure, hasn't it? :D It's not QUITE over yet, but the real BIG stuff is closed up with this chapter. Enjoy, my lovelies!

"His father?" Anathema squeaked. "Oh shit…"

From where he was knelt on the ground with his friends, hands linked together to keep themselves steady through the quake, Adam looked bewildered. "My dad?" he asked. "I don't get it. What does he have to do with the earth shaking?"

"Not that human man you've been living with," Beelzebub snapped at him. "Your proper father. Your demonic father. The dark angel, Luczzzifer… He'zzz coming, and he izzz not pleazzzed with you."

Madam Tracy and Shadwell had one hand each on the ground, hanging on for dear life with their free arms around one another's shoulders. "C'n tha boy fight 'im?" Shadwell asked, voice quavering from the shaking of his entire body.

Adam looked genuinely distraught at the thought. "Fight the devil? " he exclaimed. "I might have powers, but I'm still just a kid!"

Newt was crawling toward the children on his hands and knees, barely managing to keep himself upright. "But all those things you made happen around the world!" he pointed out. "You're more powerful than you think you are, kid. I'm sure you can do something!"

Adam cringed, and Brian glared at Newt. "Don't pressure him!" the grimy, but loyal, boy shouted. "Let him think!"

"There's no time to think," Anathema shot back as she clutched at her book of prophecies. "I can feel him coming! This is it! If we don't figure something out now, we're fucked! "

Aziraphale watched the humans scream at each other as the quake grew louder and more violent. He saw the twin grins on Gabriel and Beelzebub's faces and lamented that the two opposing sides were truly more alike than he ever could have imagined. He saw the way the ground beneath them was cracking, crumbling, threatening to open up and devour them all.

And he felt the warm, comforting pressure of Crowley's hand in his own.

The angel looked to the demon with desperation in his eyes. They couldn't let this happen. They'd just found one another again. "We have to do something," he said, not knowing what he expected from the demon who had only just been released from his magical leash. "Adam could stop this, I'm sure, but he's panicking! He needs a moment to get himself together."

Crowley looked back at the angel with those molten gold eyes, and Aziraphale felt something hot like panic spread through his chest. There was something in the demon's eyes in that moment that scared the angel through to his very essence. Crowley had the look of a man who had just seen his fate and reluctantly accepted it.

"No," the angel said, voice cracking. His fingers tightened around Crowley's hand, refusing to let him go. "Whatever you're thinking right now, no. I can't lose you again." As he spoke his words became something broken and desperate. "Please…"

Crowley's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "I can do it," he told the angel. "I have to. Trust me?" The words were steeped with meaning. He was pleading, asking Aziraphale to stand with him and believe in him.

Though he could feel that pain pulsating in his chest, the angel nodded and squeezed the demon's hand again. "I won't let go," he promised. "Never again."

For a moment Crowley's golden eyes looked wet, but then he blinked and suddenly he was all business, jaw set, eyes narrowed, a steely determination on his face and in his stance.

He closed his eyes…

He took a deep breath and let it out very slowly…

He lifted the hand that wasn't in Aziraphale's to the sky…

And he bellowed , loud enough for everyone around them to hear him over the cacophony of the world splitting open.

Suddenly, all was silence. The shift was so immediate and so complete that Aziraphale gasped, his hand going to his ear as he wondered if he'd somehow gone deaf. That breath remained trapped in his throat, his body shocked to stillness as he took in the world around him.

It was a vast, clear desert, stretching out in every direction farther than the naked eye could see. Miles and miles of untouched sand - so pale it was nearly white - hung beneath a soft, wide, baby blue sky. It was so calm and pure and pristine that the angel found himself unfurling his wings to stretch and take in the untainted beauty of it.

A flash of the deepest black caught the angel's eye, drawing his attention to a sight even more painfully beautiful than this pristine land.

Crowley knelt in the sand, his body whole and unharmed. The fiery hair that Aziraphale adored so much was loose and fluttering around his shoulders in the gentle breeze. Behind him, stretched out so that the tips of the primaries kissed the white sand, were breathtaking night-black wings speckled with pinpricks of light that mirrored the scales of the Great Serpent.

He was breathtaking, Aziraphale thought. He'd thought so since the day the demon rose, clean and dripping, from the bath in that little villa in Cyprus. This, however, was an even more heartbreaking kind of beauty. The angel could see creation sparkling in his demon's wings; hundreds of thousands of stars breaking through the soul-deep black, reflecting the spark of goodness that shone out from within Crowley's essence.

Before the demon, looking somehow much smaller and younger than he had before, stood the boy Antichrist. His eyes were dry, but red, and his shoulders bounced with too many rapid breaths. The warm air caressed his curls as though working to bring him some calm. Aziraphale watched and wondered whether it was truly the natural air, or a part of Crowley's soul wrapping itself around the terrified boy.

"W-where are we?" Adam asked, voice wavering.

Crowley offered the boy a smile, but it was an exhausted thing, betraying the state the demon found himself in "A safe space," he promised. "I've stopped time. We have a moment, but not a long one. You have to decide what you're going to do."

A few panicked tears ran down the boy's young face. "I don't know ," he choked out. "What am I supposed to do against the devil ? I'm just a kid!"

Crowley seemed to be struggling for words. There was a mild tremor working its way through his body, causing the tips of his wings to sweep little divots in the sand beneath them. A single bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

It's taking everything he has to give Adam this moment… Aziraphale realized.

The angel strode up to the pair and lowered himself down so that he was close to Crowley and eye-level with Adam. "Being a kid isn't a bad thing," Aziraphale told the boy. "Kids have strong wills and even stronger hearts. You are stubborn, imaginative, and capable of a beautiful sense of loyalty. You're not just a kid, Adam. You are a good kid. Not perfect and pure, nor nasty and evil. Just...human. Wonderfully, ineffably human."

Aziraphale met Crowley's eyes. They smiled at one another, though Crowley's was strained.

"When you were born," the angel told the boy, "the forces of Hell planned to control your destiny, to raise you to be what they wanted you to be. Heaven-" Here he cringed a little. "-would have done the same, had they gotten their hands on you. Whatever it took to get their Great War, either side would have done at your expense." Aziraphale watched the boy's face carefully. "Crowley didn't want that for you. He risked his life to steal you from Hell and hide you away with a proper family who would love you and take care of you. He made sure you were safe to grow up in your own way, to be able to make your own decision free of the influences of Heaven or Hell."

Crowley's trembling had intensified. His fingers were clenched tight around his thighs and his eyes were showing the strain that was currently pulling at every edge of him.

Aziraphale put one hand on his love's shoulder, the other on that of the boy. "He gave you the power of choice," the angel explained. "And all we're asking now is for you to exercise that ability to choose. What do you feel? What do you believe ? Right now reality will listen to you, so look into your heart, and decide."

Adam had glanced at Aziraphale during his speech, but right now the boy's attention was for the demon alone. "You rescued me from Hell?" he whispered.

It was clear that he was struggling - there were several beads of sweat now and his pupils were mere slits - but Crowley managed to find the strength to nod. "Couldn't-" he ground out, "-let them...use you…"

Adam seemed to consider that for a moment, before suddenly announcing, "You're like my guardian angel."

Crowley's eyes went wide, shocked; his jaw dropped. Despite the incredible significance of the moment Aziraphale couldn't abort the little snort of mirth that came from him. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed even as Crowley seemed to be grasping for the words to explain why the boy's statement was so very, very ridiculous.

Then the demon cringed, a groan escaping his throat. Black wings fluttered behind him, a kind of manic twitching motion. The tips of his fingers broke through clothing and skin, causing little wells of blood to spring up along his thighs.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's shoulder. He could feel the demon's energy disintegrating rapidly. Almost subconsciously the angel allowed his own essence to seep through their touch, but he knew there was only so much he could do with Crowley exerting the way he was. He was being drained exponentially with each passing breath. If they didn't leave this 'safe space' soon the strength required to sustain it would drain them both and leave nothing behind.

Crowley had clearly come to the same conclusion, because he used the energy Aziraphale was sharing with him to force out the question, "Are you ready, Adam?"

The boy still looked terrified, but there was also a determination in his young eyes. "No," he admitted, "but I guess it's time anyway." He took a long, deep breath, let it out slowly, and then threw his arms around Crowley's neck. "Thank you," he said softly.

Crowley was blinking rapidly, not quite able to stop the tears from falling. Aziraphale couldn't keep the proud, loving smile off of his face.

Then the world came screaming back to stark reality. The air base was shaking and crumbling, the earth pushing violently up from beneath the tarmac, their human friends screaming and shouting. Aziraphale had less than a heartbeat to register the shift as time resumed, and then he was reacting instinctively to catch Crowley as his body collapsed.

"Crowley!" The cry was wrenched from his throat in a tidal wave of panic. The demon's body was limp in his arms, his eyes closed and lips parted.

He couldn't feel him.

"Crowley, please!" Aziraphale felt cold all over. "Please, no, no, no, no… Please…God, I can't-" His vision went hazy as his eyes filled with tears. White wings spread wide and curved down, an angel mantling over his dear demon, desperate to keep him close. "I can't...please…"

"Shhh…"

Aziraphale hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes, but now they flew open. Wide, wet blue met lidded, exhausted gold and a smirk that seemed to be taking far too much exertion to pull off. "'M not...not done yet…" Crowley managed to sigh.

And if Aziraphale collapsed over him, a sob on his lips, gently folding their bodies together in a way that suggested he had no intention of ever, ever letting go, well...he thought they'd earned that moment.

"WHERE IS HE?"

As the rumbling, destructive quake finally tapered away, an enormous, booming voice shook Tadfield air base with anger.

"WHERE IS MY DISOBEDIENT SON?"

Aziraphale lifted a wing and held Crowley tight as, together, they looked up upon what had become of the Morningstar.

He towered over the assembled angels, demons, and humans: a massive, hulking creature with skin the color of congealed blood. His giant claws scrabbled at the broken ground, his bull-like horns rose defiantly toward the heavens, and his eyes glared down with disbelieving rage, for there was a young boy standing in front of him, staring up at him without fear.

"AHH...ARE YOU MY REBELLIOUS SON?"

Adam's hands were fists at his side, and his face was resolute. "You're not my dad," he said, loud and clear and fierce. "Dads don't wait until you're eleven to say hello, and then show up just to tell you off."

The look of pure shock on the face of the Prince of Darkness in that moment would be something that none of the assembled parties would ever forget.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

Adam took another step forward and screamed up at the creature that towered over him, knowing in his heart that what he was saying was right. "If I'm going to be in trouble with my dad, it won't be you! It's going to be the dad who was there! The one who raised me and loves me! You are not my dad!"

The massive face twisted with anger. "COME HERE, YOU-"

"You're not my dad!" Adam shrieked. Then, quieter: "You never were."

One monstrous red hand reached forward, seemingly to snatch Adam up and crush him into submission, but the land itself cut off the motion, reaching up around the monstrosity and pulling him in. The air base echoed with cries of fury and frustration as the world that Adam loved rose up to aid him in dragging his delinquent father back to Hell where he belonged.

The land became calm once again. The boy who had been the Antichrist let out a deep, shuddering breath. A group of humans watched with awe and wonder. And an angel and a demon sighed out in relief and pride.

"He did it," Aziraphale whispered.

"Always knew he would," Crowley insisted, though the soft tone of his voice suggested he was more pleasantly surprised than he was letting on.

Anathema's shout was the only warning they got, and it came a second too late.

Aziraphale turned, saw with horror that the shaking and cracking of the tarmac had broken the circles of salt and holy oil, and in the same breath found his face slammed to the ground. A knee dug mercilessly into his back, and a cruel hand wrenched one of his arms back in a way human bodies were not meant to bend. He screamed through the pain to lift his head and saw - dismay filling every inch of him - that Beelzebub had one arm around Crowley's throat, the other pointing a hellfire dagger at his heart.

Gabriel's voice came from behind Aziraphale's ear; his breath was hot and slimy. "Did you think you would be allowed to get away with it?" he growled. "I don't care what that stupid human bitch said, you're a pathetic excuse for an angel, and you always will be." His disgusting tone felt like it was molesting Aziraphale's ear, making the angel shudder with disgust. "This was to be our moment, the final battle between Good and Evil. But you've ruined it...and now you and your little fucking pet demon are going to pay for what you've done."

There was a brief moment during which several thoughts passed through Aziraphale's mind rather rapidly. The first was that if the humans moved fast, perhaps they could capture the Archangel and the Demon Prince again and rescue himself and Crowley in the process. The second was that surely the former Antichrist would come to their aid, warp reality in some way to set them free of their captors.

The third, and loudest, thought was that he didn't need any help, because he had already made his choice, and that choice was to be with Crowley, whatever it took.

"Gabriel…" Aziraphale said, quietly enough to cause the Archangel to instinctively lean closer.

"What?" Gabriel hissed back. "Going to try and beg for your life now, are you?"

Aziraphale's gaze met Crowley's, and the demon's eyes widened in surprise to see the angel grin.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit of a prick?"

Gabriel had the passage of precisely one second to take in the angel's words, and then the back of Aziraphale's head was slamming into his face hard enough to shatter his corporation's nose.

With the moment he'd gained throwing the Archangel off his guard, Aziraphale dove for the two swords he'd so recently discarded, moving faster than he even thought himself capable off. Both blades burst into flame at his touch, and before Gabriel was able to regain his composure the Archangel found himself driven into the ground with burning hot metal driven straight through his stomach, screaming like a particularly pompous banshee.

With the second sword Aziraphale turned, gaze positively terrifying, and began stalking toward Beelzebub. The Demon Prince was clearly attempting to look unaffected, but the twitch in one black eye was extremely telling.

The arm around Crowley's throat tightened. "He belongzzz to Hell," Beelzebub insisted with a growl, even as they began moving backward.

Aziraphale's eyes narrowed. He strode toward his prey without the slightest hesitation. "He belongs to no one," the angel bellowed, relishing in the Demon Prince's flinch. "And you will release him now, unless you'd like to be returned to Hell in a ball of holy flame."

For just a moment it seemed as though Beelzebub might actually call his bluff. Then, all at once, Crowley had been lowered to the ground and the Demon Prince was backing up, hands in the air. "Take him then," was the petulant response. "He'zzz a fucking uzzzelezzz demon anyway."

Aziraphale kept his sword trained on Beelzebub while carefully lowering himself to check on Crowley. "Are you okay, my dear?" he asked quietly.

The truth was that the demon looked like a good stiff breeze would be the end of him, but he managed a playful smirk none-the-less. "Okay?" he teased. "More than okay, angel. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh, though there may have been a hint of a grateful sob to the sound.

With Crowley's safety secured, the angel cast his gaze back and forth between the visibly disturbed Beelzebub, and the rapidly-discorporating Gabriel. "You've both lost," he told them with all the authority he could muster. "There will be no War, no End of Times. You will return to where you belong and lick your wounds far away from here."

Gabriel spat out a mouthful of blood and glared, but when he spoke his voice was more of a whine than a growl. "But it was...it was the Great Plan!" he cried. "It was written !"

Though it seemed to cause him physical pain to do so, Crowley let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. He cast his exhausted gaze upon the Archangel and looked upon him as one might look upon a figure of great pity. "D'you honestly believe, tha' if She wanted it...She wouldn't be here right now, makin' sure it happened?"

Gabriel opened his mouth, then almost immediately closed it, eyes gone wide.

Aziraphale heaved a deep sigh, feeling his own mounting fatigue beginning to weigh upon his shoulders. "Go home, Gabriel," he said. "Just...go home."

On their opposite side Beelzebub was making a sound like a wounded animal. "Do you have any idea what it'zz going to be like to tell ten million demonzzz to put down their weaponzzz and go back to work?" Evidently, though, it was a rhetorical question, as the Demon Prince hardly had the words out before the ground split and opened beneath their feet and they vanished back down Below.

Gabriel stared, disbelieving and lost, at the Principality who had bested him and the demon he'd betrayed Heaven for. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the look in Aziraphale's eye he seemed to reconsider. Without a further word from the Archangel a bolt of lightning lit up the air base, and then the light had faded Gabriel was gone.

Aziraphale's sword clattered to the ground as he knelt to wrap his arms around his demon. Crowley's skin was cool to the touch and quite pale, but he had a look of deep affection on his face. "My angel, the badass," he snickered, and then struggled to hide the cringe when the motion caused a sharp pain.

"Shush," Aziraphale scolded, though his voice was soft. "If anyone here is a badass, it's you, my love."

The endearment made the demon's eyes go a bit watery, and he simply nodded, as though not trusting himself to speak.

"Are you two okay?"

The angel and the demon looked up to find themselves surrounded, encircled by humans with a mixture of concern and awe on their faces. Young Adam was the one who had spoken, his kind eyes focused mainly on Crowley.

"We will be," the demon promised, and then winked. "Good job, kid."

"Is it over now?" Wensleydale asked.

Aziraphale looked around him at this strange, motley crew of humans who had come together to save their world. They were dirty, shaken, eyes betraying the extent of the stress they'd gone through and the fatigue they were feeling, but here they were...whole and alive. Madam Tracy looked as though she wanted to wrap the angel and demon in a motherly hug. Shadwell looked uncharacteristically concerned for the celestial creatures he so mistrusted. Anathema was beaming with a mixture of pride and victory. Newt looked like he wanted to sleep for a month, but was shooting loving glances in Anathema's direction. And the children, bless them, looked like they'd just had the greatest adventure of all time and were bursting to tell the world about it.

They'd all earned places of honor in the angel's heart.

"I believe so," he told them with a genuine grin. "You were all marvellous." Then, turning to his darling demon with pure love in his eyes: "Especially you."

And without a single care for the humans watching with pleased smirks on their faces, Aziraphale placed a gentle hand on Crowley's cheek and leaned in for a much awaited reunion kiss.

May I Tell You A Story?

Chapter Summary

An angel and a demon finally get some downtime.
A story is told.
Certain words are said.

Chapter Notes

This chapter is pure fluff, if I'm honest. lol But after their time apart I wanted a chapter of just our two boys being alone together before I bother with the end bits. 3 Hope you enjoy it!

Aziraphale felt mentally, emotionally, and physically drained.

Oh, he was overjoyed with the way things had turned out, make no mistake about that. Those last twenty-four hours, however, had been the most trying of his existence, and he'd never before felt fatigue quite like this.

By the time it had all been said and done, the sun was setting over the broken ruins of the Tadfield air base. There had been hugs and pats on backs and exuberant retellings of the feats that had just occurred from the points of view of those who had observed them. There were some half-hearted suggestions about celebration, but it was clear that each individual was holding on by a thread, so they agreed as a group to take a rain-check and headed back into town instead. The human adults piled into Dick Turpin. Aziraphale had a short, hushed discussion with Newt and they decided that he would drive slowly so that the angel and his demon could ride on top. Aziraphale felt the restrictiveness of the vehicle wouldn't be good for Crowley just yet, and he was too worn out to miracle the car larger or fly.

The kids, of course, rode back on their bikes, with Dog-the-Former-Hellhound riding happily in the basket on the front of Adam's.

They moved away from the battlefield together, as one unit, the children riding on either side of Newton's vehicle, and the angel and demon resting quietly above them all.

Crowley didn't speak as they drove. Aziraphale held him close, enveloping him in warm arms and sparing what grace he had to spare, and the demon let his head droop into the angel's chest. Aziraphale couldn't help but fret a bit. He'd imagined that when Crowley finally had his voice back there'd be no shutting him up in his need to say anything and everything aloud. He kept reminding himself that the poor dear was exhausted to the absolute core, but he also couldn't help but wonder if the demon wasn't quite ready to talk to him yet. The angel tried to reach out, to touch the connection between them and see what Crowley was feeling, but the poor thing was so exceptionally drained that there was hardly anything there to feel.

It was nearly dark when they drove into town and almost ran right into Mr Arthur Young frantically searching for his son. There had been a chat with Mr R.P. Tyler, apparently, who'd given the poor man the impression that his child was picking fights with army men and had probably been shot. Newt and Shadwell managed to talk the man down, spinning a yarn about how their car had broken down near the air base and the children had been helping them get it in good enough condition to coast into town. Aziraphale used what little strength he had to gently influence the father's mind into taking no note of the strange pair sitting on top of the vehicle, and Madam Tracy and Anathema inquired as to whether there might be lodging nearby that they could partake in until morning.

With plans made for the night, Mr Young commanded the children all return home before their parents had fits, and the group that had saved the world together split apart.

Dick Turpin puttered along slowly until it reached a lovely little place with a sign that read 'Jasmine Cottage'. Mr Young had promised to call ahead to the owner, and so the lovely white-haired lady was waiting by the gate for them when they arrived. It was a two-bedroom, she told them, which suited the humans just fine. Aziraphale had assured Anathema that he and Crowley would be fine in the living room until morning, but she'd balked at the idea and asked the little white-haired lady if there was anything else private available for her other two friends.

That was how Aziraphale found himself carrying a bleary-eyed Crowley into a small caretaker's cottage down a short trail behind the little white-haired lady's home. It was surrounded by trees, very private, and she promised him that she kept it well-stocked for guests and to feel free to anything they found in the pantry. The angel thanked her graciously, made a mental note to bestow a particularly lovely blessing on her when he was feeling more up to it, and bid her good night from the cottage's front door.

Before he went any further into the house, Aziraphale leaned down to press a soft kiss to his demon's forehead. "Still with me, darling?" he asked, his voice perhaps a little more needy than necessary.

Crowley's eyelids had drifted partially closed, but at his angel's voice he lifted them long enough to give a small nod. "M here…" he sighed, very quiet. "Jus' tired…"

Aziraphale pressed their lips together, just a tiny, gentle thing before drawing back with a soft smile. "Of course you are, love," he sighed. "You've had an incredibly trying day...no thanks to me…"

Crowley's eyes had drifted closed again, but now he fought to open them and set his angel with a steely gaze. The effect was rather ruined by how worn he looked. "Don't, angel," he insisted. "You didn't-"

Aziraphale had waited such a long time to hear his darling demon's voice, so it seemed terribly surprising even to himself when he pressed a gentle finger to Crowley's lips to stop him. "Shush for now, love," he whispered. "You can tell me off as much as you like when you're feeling better." With that he finally ventured into the little cottage, cradling the quieted demon close.

It was a sweet little cottage with a variety of chotchkies on every shelf and a darling little diner-style booth in the kitchen, but Aziraphale knew what he wanted and headed directly for it. It was a very modest little washroom, but an annoyed glare from the angel had the old claw-foot bathtub thinking better of itself and stretching out to be large enough to accommodate two.

Here Aziraphale hesitated, because he was loath to release Crowley, even for a moment. The demon seemed to sense what he was thinking because a soft voice chuckled against his chest. "I won't shatter if y' put me down f'r a minute, angel…"

Aziraphale allowed for a little smile, but he wasn't fooled. He'd spent enough time with Crowley when he couldn't speak to have a good understanding of his body language, and currently the demon was practically screaming, Please don't let go...please, please…

The angel decided to make things a little harder on himself in the name of granting his darling's unspoken request. He sat on the edge of the bath with Crowley in his lap, holding the demon against his chest with one hand while working the taps with the other. It took a bit of doing, but eventually he managed to get the water to a lovely temperature and had dumped in rather a lot of bubble bath from a bottle he found on the vanity ledge.

Satisfied with this, he had fingers wrapped around the first button of Crowley's shirt when he froze and bit his lip. A wave of anxiety grew in his stomach as he met lidded honey eyes looking at him curiously. "Is this…?" the angel said quietly. "Is this still okay?"

There was a brief pause, barely long enough to be noticeable, but it made Aziraphale bite his lip harder before Crowley very quietly said, simply, "Please."

The angel nodded and slowly, carefully, began to peel away the demon's torn and tattered clothes, along with his own, which had been effectively destroyed in the battle with Gabriel. The entire process took far too long for his liking, but he refused to release his hold on Crowley and didn't feel he had enough wherewithal left to pull off miracling their clothes away without accidentally turning their skin green or something equally ridiculous. Eventually, however, he was lowering them both into the wonderfully soothing hot water with Crowley held gently against his chest. The demon made a soft, groaning sound as they sank into the heat. Aziraphale smiled a little at the sound and couldn't resist nuzzling his nose into the tangle of red waves in front of him.

For quite some time the two lay in silence, surrounded by bubbles and heat and one another. Aziraphale kept one arm around his demon's body at all times, while slowly cupping water with the other hand to wet down those tangled red locks. He wanted to speak, but was at a loss for what to say. All those years surrounded by literature of all kinds, and his words were failing him now.

He knew that he'd already done it at the air base, but the angel felt like he had so much more apologizing to do. He wanted to assure Crowley that he didn't blame him for any of what had happened after the Garden. He wanted to beg forgiveness for his callousness in that moment of hesitation, and for being so foolish as to allow the demon to be taken away. He wanted to soothe and heal any wounds - physical or emotional - that had been caused as a result of that foolishness. He wanted to -

A soft snore brought Aziraphale out of his internal drama, blinking in surprise. Slow and silent, he drew a few strands of crimson hair out of the demon's face and peered down to see that Crowley had, indeed, fallen asleep curled up against the angel's chest. His features had softened with rest, eyelids fluttering minutely as he dreamed. Tiny puffs of warm breath from parted lips tickled the surface of Aziraphale's bare chest. Despite all he'd so recently been through, the demon seemed to be sleeping quite soundly wrapped up in his angel's arms.

It reminded Aziraphale of the night they'd met, when Crowley had fallen asleep as the angel carried him across the starry sky, before ever even knowing one another's names. That night seemed so long ago now, but the angel remembered a sense of wonder, realizing that a demon, who had clearly been imprisoned and tortured within an inch of his life, so quickly found himself able to relax in the arms of someone he should have despised. And now...well...perhaps it wasn't quite the same as being chained and beaten, but Aziraphale had hurt Crowley terribly...he'd felt the extent of that pain himself...and still, the demon lay upon him and slept, calm and peaceful.

It felt like a gift, somehow - one that Aziraphale was not entirely certain he deserved.

He found himself just laying there for hours - expending little bits of energy every so often to keep the bathwater at the perfect temperature - and gazing upon his demon. After the agony of believing he'd lost him, or worrying that the End would come and drive them apart permanently, the angel felt the need to study everything. He watched, content, as that lean chest rose and fell in minute increments while the demon breathed. He counted each softly fluttering eyelash and each of the adorable little freckles that ran along the demon's shoulders. He gently traced the contour of a sharp collarbone, the shell of an ear, the curve of a cheekbone…

"So beautiful…" he whispered, and pressed another soft kiss to his dearest's brow. "Perhaps it is foolish of me to think this way, but I would truly believe that She designed you specifically for me, my love, for never before has there been anyone whose beauty was able to so thoroughly entrance me."

It was flowery and foolish, and sounded a bit like he was reciting (admittedly bad) poetry, and the angel didn't know if he would have said it out loud had he known that the demon was listening. As it turned out, however-

"Do you...really believe that…?"

The voice was small, barely a whisper, and quite terribly vulnerable. His eyes remained closed, as though he couldn't face the angel while asking such a question.

Aziraphale ran his thumb along the shape of Crowley's lips, across his cheek, and up to caress along his hairline. "Absolutely," he replied. He took note of the way the demon's fingers - which were draped against the angel's hip - tensed just slightly, and then relaxed. "I've thought so since even before I was willing to admit it to myself," he confessed. "Your hair delighted me, your body tempted me-" He paused here to smirk to himself before sighing and murmuring the last bit against Crowley's hair. "-but your eyes...they devoured me, right from the beginning."

There was a moment of silence. Then Crowley opened his eyes and shifted, just enough to look up at Aziraphale with something like disbelief. "I've always hated my eyes," he admitted. "Th'only thing I can't properly hide. Proof that I'm a monster underneath."

Aziraphale scoffed. "Nonsense," he grumbled, though his lips were twitching up at the corners. "The only thing you are underneath is a good person." Crowley growled at that, but it was a halfhearted kind of noise that made the angel chuckle. "You are ," he insisted. "Besides...you may not like your eyes, but I love them. They are beautiful, full of emotion, as warm as molten gold. In the past year we've been together, they were your voice, telling me when you were happy or upset or confused… They are precious gems, exquisite windows to your soul, my darling, and if I could gaze upon them and nothing else for the rest of eternity, I would do so with warmth and contentment in my heart."

Those eyes were staring at the angel now, sclera devoured by gold, pupils expanding. It was a look that Aziraphale had come to know well, but as he leaned forward to capture the demon's lips in a kiss, he was surprised instead by Crowley looking away, moving back down to nestle his cheek against the angel's chest. He couldn't help but feel a little pang in his heart, but commanded the organ to behave itself. If Crowley wasn't feeling particularly amorous with him, he would respect that. Even if it hurt. He'd brought it on himself, after all.

"May I tell you a story, angel?" came the quiet voice that mumbled against his breast.

Aziraphale blinked a few times before he answered, more than a bit bewildered by the request. "Are you sure you are up to that?" he countered. "I can tell how terribly tired you still are."

"I can speak just fine," the demon insisted.

Aziraphale frowned, but after a single long moment he admitted, "I shall certainly enjoy being able to hear your lovely voice, dearest." He discreetly convinced the bathwater to regain a few lost degrees and waited patiently for Crowley to begin.

It took a few minutes. Aziraphale had almost begun to think that the demon had drifted back to sleep. Then the first words tumbled out.

"I didn't mean to Fall," he said, voice small and quiet. "All I ever did was ask questions. Guess that's all you had to do to Fall back in the old days…

The others...it seemed like everyone around me took to their new natures like fish to water. The angels they'd been vanished overnight, and suddenly they were filled with so much anger, malice, hatred...there was no doubt about what they would do next. Except me. Full of doubt, me. Maybe I wasn't the only one...I dunno...but it sure felt like it, and I've never come across another demon like myself.

I never fit in down there, there was certainly no doubt about that. I enjoy mischief as much as the next demon, but while their ideas for involved death and destruction, mine leaned more to the general nuisance side of things. They wanted pain and agony; I've always been more amused by being a pest and seeing how people react, one way or the other. So I've never exactly been...respected, Downstairs. The one thing I've always had going for me, though, is that I seem to be the only Fallen in all of Hell who actually has an imagination. So when a job called for creativity or thinking outside the box, I tended to get called in.

One of the first of those jobs...was the Garden…"

Crowley paused and Aziraphale waited quietly, trying his hardest not to so much as breathe too loud, lest he put the demon off his tale.

"They really had no idea what was to be done about it. They just told me to 'go up and make trouble'. Didn't specify any details. Didn't give me any guidance. I think they mostly just figured, 'hey, a snake, maybe won't be noticed among the other animals'. I think they were maybe also using me as a guinea pig; send me up to see if any of the Guardians smited me into ash and then go from there. Either way, once I broke up through the ground within the Wall it seemed like a dream job. Everything was so fresh and vibrant after being stuck in Hell… The smells, the sounds, the tastes… Obviously I figured I'd try to drag the job out as long as possible so I could enjoy it. So for a while I just slithered around, taking everything in, hardly even bothering to glance at the humans.

But there was someone else in the Garden...he wasn't supposed to be there, and that's what first drew me to him. He was just wandering around, tasting fruit and dipping his feet in the lake when he was meant to be up on the Wall, guarding the Eastern Gate."

Aziraphale felt a flush of heat travel through his face and chest as he realized what Crowley was saying. He saw me... He saw me there, back then... It was a strange new awareness. The angel couldn't help but be terribly curious to see where this story was headed, so he remained silent.

"I obsessed over approaching you…" Crowley's voice was barely a whisper here, as though he couldn't decide whether or not he actually wanted Aziraphale to hear this bit. "You seemed so different from the others…calm and happy and warm... But I was too much of a coward. I thought that if you learned what I was, you'd smite me, and even if I survived the encounter, Hell would surely punish me for failing my mission."

Aziraphale wanted to tell Crowley that he wouldn't have harmed him, that he'd never been that kind of angel, but he couldn't form the words. He'd changed a great deal in the six millennia since the Garden, and while he'd never been the type to engage in violence without proper motivation, he couldn't honestly say that he wouldn't have reacted poorly to finding a demon in the Garden he'd been tasked with protecting. With that in mind, the angel bit his tongue and held Crowley just a little bit tighter.

"You know the rest, more or less," the demon continued with a sigh. "Didn't even really realize what I was doing, to be honest. Just thought it was kinda silly for one random fruit tree to be forbidden. Told Eve so, watched her enjoy a bite of apple, and the next thing I knew I was being called back Downstairs and halfheartedly congratulated on instigating the First Temptation." He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "That's the way most of my jobs were. Get sent up with very little explanation, stumble into a solution without even realizing what I'd done - sometimes watched while humans did it all without even a whisper from me - and get called back until they found something else for me to do. I rarely ever got to see the aftermath of whatever I'd done…"

Ah… Aziraphale was beginning to understand now…

"When you first found me in that cave...it had been a while since anyone had been in to...talk to me. I figured I was due for something especially awful. Then you took off my blindfold and convinced me to look at you, and when I saw your face I thought for sure that you'd been spent specially. How could it possibly be a coincidence that the very Guardian whose territory I'd sneaked into should happen to come to me while I was trapped and powerless?

But you were kind… You helped me, took me out of that place, cleaned me up and did your best to heal me… I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. I thought for sure that this was some kind of exceptionally cruel trick; make me let my guard down and then strike twice as hard as before.

Then you told me about your experience in the aftermath of the Garden...and it all came crashing down. You weren't trying to trick me - you really were trying to help me - because you had no idea who I was or what I'd done to you."

Aziraphale finally felt that he should intervene, but he barely got through, "Crowley-" before the demon's own words barrelled over him.

"I wanted to tell you." He shuddered, long fingers digging a little into the angel's flesh. "I wanted to come up with some way to explain to you what had really happened, to swear to you that I never intended to cause you any pain, that it had just been a stupid job and that I hadn't even really known what I'd done to you…" He trailed off for a moment, swallowed hard, and forced his fingers to release their grip on Aziraphale's hip. "I wanted to, but I didn't...I probably could have...but I was too scared. I had a friend for the first time since I'd Fallen - not just a friend, but a savior - and I was terrified to lose that…"

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale managed to sigh in the brief moment of silence. "I-"

"Story's almost finished, angel," Crowley interrupted in a soft voice, curling down lower to make sure his eyes were hidden from the other's gaze. "Please let me finish?"

The request made something in Aziraphale's stomach ache. "Of course, darling."

Crowley took another deep breath. "I kept telling myself that eventually I'd tell you, somehow or other. The closer we got, the less I wanted something like that hanging between us. But also, the closer we got, the more terrified I was of losing you. When you first kissed me-" His breath hitched a bit. "-I think I lost all motivation to ever bring it up…

Then…

Then that wanker Gabriel told you instead, and the second he did I knew I'd made the greatest mistake of my life by not telling you myself, because the way you looked at me then-" His voice cracked. His body trembled. "It wasn't just the shock of finding out the truth. It was a look of betrayal...a look that accused me of lying to you.

And I felt…

I felt like…"

Aziraphale couldn't stand it any longer. With a tender touch he gently maneuvered Crowley so that they were both sitting up straight, the demon in the angel's lap, facing each other. He brushed a few damp strands of hair behind the demon's ear and felt his heart breaking when he saw the few stray tears snaking down Crowley's face.

"My dearest," the angel whispered, "I felt it too. I won't lie to you; when Gabriel told me who you really were, I felt a spark of betrayal, and I think that is what caused me to hesitate." His fingers found the demon's jawline, then wrapped around to the back of his neck. He pressed their heads together and let his eyes flutter closed, just focusing on the feeling of his demon here in his arms. "But the moment - the exact heartbeat - that they vanished with you, I knew I'd been a fool. I love you, Crowley. I love you and I need you. What you did back then...I spent a long time cursing you, blaming the nameless Tempter for the way the other angels treated me. The truth, however, is that the other angels have never treated me particularly kindly. What you did was just another excuse for them to use. Another reason to find ways to emotionally torment me. Just another justification for verbal and mental abuse. If it wasn't what you did, it would have been something else, I'm certain of that now."

Aziraphale opened his eyes and found golden eyes watching him carefully.

"Crowley, my darling," the angel sighed. "What you did...in the long run it really only helped me, by getting me permanently stationed on Earth, where I belong. What I did to you, however…" He gulped back a little sob that threatened to escape his throat. "My love, can you ever forgive me for abandoning you like that? If only for that moment?"

Crowley's golden eyes searched Aziraphale's blue for what felt like a very long time.

"It hurt so bad, angel," the demon barely whispered. "All the torments they inflicted on me in that cave...none of it was so bad as believing you'd rejected me."

Aziraphale had to bite back a wail this time. Though the water around him was still perfectly warm, his whole body felt cold through to his core. Was this it then? Was this the moment Crowley revealed that he couldn't be with Aziraphale anymore? That he'd hurt him too badly and that he couldn't stand to stay with the angel any longer?

Long, lovely fingers found Aziraphale's face only a moment before warm lips pressed to his own. It was soft, sweet, and short-lived, and when Crowley pulled back there was a small, sedated look on his face.

"It hurt worse than anything," the demon said. "But then you came back, angel." His lips twitched up into a tired smile that reached his beautiful eyes. "I don't know what happened after we were separated, but you showed up to Armageddon with a small army of humans and a flaming sword, and you fought an Archangel for me." His fingers trailed back into the angel's damp curls, playfully tugging on them. "I won't lie and say that the hurt isn't still fresh...but you came back, and you fought against Heaven, and...and… Fuck, angel, it was the most romantic, heroic thing I've ever seen, and how could I possibly not want you a thousand times more after something like that?"

All at once Aziraphale let out an enormous breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a relieved smile spreading across his face, erasing the tension through his body. "Oh thank goodness," he chuckled, a little nervously, and pulled the demon in for another, more desperate, kiss. Crowley snickered and returned the angel's enthusiasm with what strength he'd recovered during his nap.

Aziraphale felt a wonderful warmth, more than that of the water around him, more than the grateful joy of being able to save the world, and even more than that of the soft skin of his loved one pressing against his own. Thank goodness…thank goodness...

Strong arms wrapped around a slim waist, while blue eyes gazed lovingly into gold ones. "By the way," Aziraphale said with a grin, "if it makes you feel any better about stumbling your way through your mission in the Garden, I was actually just reminded today of something rather foolish I did back then as well."

Crowley nuzzled his nose into Aziraphale's shoulder, breathing deep of the soothing scent of his angel. "Oh?" he murmured with a soft little sigh. "What was that, angel?"

Aziraphale smiled into his darling demon's hair. "When Adam and Eve were banished from the Garden, I gave them my flaming sword to keep them safe."

Despite the fatigue he was quite clearly still feeling, Crowley's head snapped back up, eyes wide and mouth agape. "You what? "

A bright pink combination of embarrassment and amusement colored Aziraphale's cheeks. "I gave it away!" he laughed. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, although seeing that same sword in War's hands today, I wonder if perhaps it was a slight misstep…"

Crowley gaped for an almost uncomfortably long time before suddenly dissolving into very un-demonic giggles. Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows and sniffed a little - though he couldn't hide his own smile - until eventually the demon resettled, grinning at him with unparalleled fondness.

"I love you, angel," he sighed happily. "And it feels so good to finally say it."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, before softening back into a look of utter joy. "It feels just as wonderful to hear, dearest.

And I love you too."

Coming Home

Chapter Summary

When all is said and done
an angel and a demon go home
together.

Chapter Notes

This is it, my loves! This is (technically) the end! I WILL be writing an epilogue that will be pure fluffy, smutty indulgence, but as far as the actual plot of the story goes, it is officially over.

It is incredibly bittersweet, let me tell you! I've gotten so much enjoyment out of writing this story, and have deeply loved and appreciated all of the wonderful comments and support that I've gotten throughout. I will definitely miss this one a lot, but I also promise that I have no intention of giving up on GO fan-fiction any time soon! So if you've been a fan of "In Silence", I hope you'll stick around and keep an eye out for future works. I've got lots of ideas in store, make no mistake. _

Thank you to everyone for reading! I love you all so much!

Aziraphale woke slowly, half lost in a dream that faded away before he could cling to the retreating threads. For a few sleepy moments he was confused by the smell of fresh, country air and the cheerful birdsong wafting in through the open bedroom window.

Then he felt soft lips against his own and sighed happily as the previous night came rushing back.

"Thought you'd never wake up," a smirking voice teased, and oh...that voice made Aziraphale grin ear-to-ear to finally be able to hear it. He opened one eye at a time to savor the sight before him: his beautiful, fiery-haired demon nuzzling close to him in the midday light.

It made the angel's heart race in a way that suggested it had never quite understood its purpose until just this moment.

"Shouldn't you be resting as well?" Aziraphale admonished, though the effect was ruined by the way he wrapped his arms around the demon and pressed playful kisses to his forehead.

Crowley squirmed a little at the touches, fighting against a giggle that was threatening to work its way up his throat. He buried his face in his angel's shoulder and gave the flesh there a little nip in retaliation. "I feel much better," he insisted. "Healing is much easier when your powers aren't locked away."

Aziraphale hummed into the mess of red hair before him, shamelessly breathing deep of the scent. "Mmm...I'm so glad, dearest," he muttered against the soft waves of it. "Though I must admit that I'll miss having a reason to take care of you."

Crowley's body tensed for a moment before melting beneath Aziraphale's touch. His head ducked down further, face hidden from view, as he mumbled a soft, "Don't need a reason…"

The angel's heart did a funny, skipping kind of leap at those words. When he spoke, however, he did it best to make his voice sound confident, as though he'd never once doubted that this was the way things would be now. "Of course, darling. Of course."

They lay in bed for a while longer, just quietly enjoying one another's presence. It was calm and peaceful, and really quite lovely just to be together, knowing that the world was not going to end, that the War was not going to occur, and that Crowley was not being forcibly reduced to a mere shadow of his true potential. Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder, a little, whether their dynamic would change now that Crowley was once again a proper demon, but those curiosities faded in the face of playful nuzzles, soft kisses, and wonderful little hums of contentment.

It was all so terribly sweet that Aziraphale nearly growled when a soft knock came from the front door of the cottage. Crowley chuckled at the little rumble that did pass through the angel's chest.

"I'm ignoring it," Aziraphale insisted, making the demon's laughter intensify.

"You stay here," Crowley instructed with a hand on his angel's chest. "I smell human. Pretty sure it's the book girl. I'll see what she wants." He leaned in to steal a kiss and plucked up his discarded trousers, which miraculously became clean and repaired by the time he'd pulled them on.

Aziraphale watched him saunter out of the room in just those trousers, hips swaying sinfully, and wondered if it would be unreasonable to ask the demon if he'd like to stay in bed together for the next week or so.

His sinful fantasies were interrupted when Crowley peaked back into the room with a look on his face that was part apologetic, part annoyance. "Book girl insists on speaking to you," he bemoaned. "I considered threatening to bite her to make her go away but figured I'd leave the choice to you." The playful sparkle in his eye said that he was kidding, but that he'd also seriously consider it if Aziraphale actually wanted him to.

Instead, the angel smiled through a dramatic sigh and tore himself from the comfort of the bed to gather up some of his clothes.

When a fully-dressed Aziraphale and a stubbornly half-dressed Crowley joined Anathema in the kitchen she'd taken it upon herself to boil the kettle and was just finishing pouring three cups of tea. The angel accepted his with good grace, while the demon waved his off in what probably passed for politeness in his mind.

"You wished to speak with me, my dear?" Aziraphale asked after taking a sip from his cup.

Anathema had been grinning rather knowingly at the two celestial beings, but now she managed to pull her attention to the matter at hand. "Well, firstly," she said, "I wanted to let you know that Newt is going to be taking Tracy and Shadwell back to London shortly, if you'd like to catch a ride."

"You're not going with him?" Aziraphale inquired.

A hint of a blush appeared on the young lady's cheeks before she responded. "He'll be coming back here tomorrow, actually." She cleared her throat and tried her very best to look innocent. "Now that it's all over, we were thinking of a bit of a vacation, and we're actually rather fond of Jasmine cottage, so I'm going to see about staying a bit longer and gathering some necessities."

Crowley had crawled up to sit on the kitchen counter behind Anathema, and was making a rather lewd gesture behind her that suggested precisely what he expected this 'bit of vacation' was going to entail. Aziraphale shot him a glare over his teacup, but couldn't hide the twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"That sounds lovely, my dear," the angel supplied. "I suppose we probably should take young Newt up on the offer." A hint of sadness passed across his face then, though he worked very hard to bury the sudden flare of pain as deep down as possible. "I should really head back and see if there's anything to be recovered from the bookshop."

Anathema gave a slow, sympathetic nod, and from behind her Crowley's face dropped as he remembered what had happened before he was abducted. Aziraphale caught the look and made a mental note to reassure the demon that none of what had happened had been his fault. He expected it might be a regular conversation for some time, but he would repeat himself every day for the next millennia if that was what was required.

"I also thought you might like a bit of clarification on a couple of things," Anathema continued. She carefully placed her teacup down next to Crowley's untouched one and strode for the table where she'd left Agnus Nutter's rather helpful book. "There wasn't time before to go through it all, but there are two prophecies that I think might fill a few gaps for you."

"Oh?" Aziraphale couldn't deny that he was rather curious. Now that the danger was over he rather thought he'd enjoy having a good long sit down with that mysterious tome. "Such as?"

Anathema flipped through several pages, searching, while Crowley looked on with undisguised interest, having not had personal experience with Agnes's prophecies yet. When the young lady found the page she was looking for she cleared her throat and spoke aloud:

"Prophecy number four-thousand, one-hundred, eighty-two; never before hath existed such a bond, great power for which be required to build. Be concerned not, Principality, for time is all that's lost, a sacrifice made not lightly, in order for Her gift to take hold." When she finished reading, Anathema looked up with curiosity shining in her own eyes. "Does that make any sense to you?"

Aziraphale thought of the time he and Crowley had lost - several weeks in what had felt to them like a single night. He thought of walking through the demon's dream, learning so much in the process, and of that link that had allowed him to later track his love down to this very village. And he thought of soft, loving eyes, of warmth and light surrounding him when he'd believed all was lost, urging him to get up and move forward, to fight for what he believed in.

The angel nodded, once, slowly, and smiled to himself. "Yes...I believe I do understand," he said simply.

Anathema almost seemed to be vibrating with curiosity, but she managed to bite it back while flipping through the book again. "There's one more, and there's a bit of a story to it," she said as she scoured the pages. "You see, when Agnes left this book to her daughter and son-in-law after her death, there were also several sets of instructions included for different people, to ensure that certain things happened the way they were meant to. One of those instructions was to make a copy of a particular prophecy and deliver it to a certain place at a certain time. The story of that delivery was passed down through my family with the book, and after meeting him for myself I'm confident that I know who the prophecy was delivered to." She paused to look up, and gave Aziraphale a meaningful look. "My great-uncle, the deliverer, told of a tall, imposing man with eyes the color of violets."

Aziraphale's eyebrows rose with genuine surprise. From his perch on the counter Crowley let out a low, threatening growl. "Gabriel?" the angel asked, though there was really very little doubt. Whom else had he ever met with eyes in a shade of purple?

Anathema nodded. "I'm guessing," she said, but she seemed certain. "He was apparently overseeing the opening of a new church in Alabama, and was extremely rude to my great-uncle when he delivered the prophecy. He read it once, became very angry, and called my great-uncle a few rather disparaging names before storming off."

"Sounds like him," Crowley grumbled under his breath. Aziraphale couldn't possibly disagree.

"But why deliver a prophecy to him?" the angel asked. "Did Agnes know who he was? What he planned to do?"

"Hard to say," Anathema admitted, still flipping pages. "I've studied these prophecies my entire life, and I've often thought that she only really understood a small portion of what she wrote down. It must have been quite the ordeal, to see visions of a future so different from the world you lived in. Ah-" She stopped and jabbed her finger at a page. "Here we are. Prophecy two thousand, nine-hundred, and twenty-two."

Aziraphale leaned forward, and Crowley slid down off the counter, both filled with the kind of curiosity that was practically magnetic.

Anathema read:

"He is stronger than you by far, Archangel, though you will surely never understand how or why. Leave the Principality be, should you wish to avoid a truly astounding impact to your rather ignorant posterior."

Aziraphale blinked multiple times. His jaw had dropped a little.

After a few quiet beats Crowley burst into raucous laughter. "Did she-?" He bowled over upon himself, hands held to his sides as he guffawed openly. "Did she warn him that Aziraphale would 'kick his ass'?" He was practically gasping with mirth by the time he got the sentence out.

Aziraphale's cheeks felt warm. Crowley's laughter was becoming inescapably contagious. "He did mention something about a prophecy when we were battling," he snickered. "He said he knew there was nothing special about me."

Anathema had closed the book and was grinning as well, apparently rather happy to have delivered this last bit of information. "She even knew that he'd be ignorant about it. She was a smart lady, huh?"

Soon all three of them were laughing outright, hands on sides and tea forgotten as they doubled over in hysterics. Crowley found his way over to Aziraphale and threw an arm over his shoulder, holding him close and fighting to get his breathing back under control. "She knew that my angel was a bad-ass," he gasped around his grin. "So yes, she was definitely a bloody smart lady."

---

They did take Newt up on that offer of a drive back to London. On the way they discussed a great many things. Madam Tracy was very keen to be properly introduced to Crowley, who seemed a bit taken aback by her at first but was soon deep in conversation with her about the legitimacy (or lack thereof) of a variety of occult 'powers' such as tarot reading and contacting the dead.

Newton brought up a few details he and Anathema had already discussed concerning a kind of "celebration party" with the children and their families, which they were intending to disguise as a "get to know the village" backyard barbecue. Aziraphale and Crowley were, of course, invited and also encouraged to visit any time before or after; both angel and demon took the open-ended invite to heart. Aziraphale in particular had grown quite fond of this strange little group of humans he'd befriended and had no intention of letting them slip out of his life any time soon.

Even Shadwell got in on the conversations, though his contributions mostly came down to finding openings in which to discuss the Witchfinder Army and suggest that it was, perhaps, an organization that gentlemen such as Aziraphale and Crowley might have use for at some point.

(Aziraphale kindly accepted the man's contact information, but privately reminded himself that having a good heart was not necessarily a compromise for being a bit of a bumbling buffoon.)

At one point, when they'd paused at a small truck stop for gas, Crowley had managed to convince Newton to let him drive for a while. The experience had left the demon grinning like a maniac, and his passengers - Aziraphale included - trembling in terror. There wasn't a doubt in the angel's mind that Crowley was using demonic energy to convince Dick Turpin that it could move significantly faster than reality would dictate, and while it was a bit amusing to see his demon finally able to have a bit of fun with his powers again, eventually Aziraphale had to beg Crowley to give Newton back the wheel.

(On the plus side, his short stint as their driver had somehow shaved away more than half of their remaining travel time. )

It was a bit past midnight when they finally arrived back in London. Crowley had drifted off against Aziraphale's shoulder as the angel wove gentle fingers through brilliant red waves. Madam Tracy was in the back seat with them and hadn't stopped smiling for quite some time. "Alright then, love?" she asked, quietly, as Newt turned a corner and headed into Soho.

Aziraphale offered her a truly grateful smile in response. "We will be," he promised her. "I'm quite certain of it."

Up in the front of the vehicle Newt cleared his throat and gave Shadwell what he must have thought was a discreet shove. The older man sputtered indignantly for a moment before grumbling back a gruff, "If'n yer needin' a place to stay while ye work out yer affairs with th' shop, ye know where to find me."

The very thought of staying with Shadwell among his teetering towers of old newspapers and filthy dishes made Aziraphale shudder down to his core, but he responded with a kind smile and an, "I appreciate that."

When they were a block away from where the bookshop had stood, Aziraphale gently jostled Crowley awake and asked Newton to let them out here. Perhaps it was a bit silly, a bit overly emotional for a celestial being, but the angel had decided that he wanted to be alone (with his darling demon, of course), when he saw what remained of the bookshop. He'd been pushing down his own pain over the loss for quite some time now in the face of much more important matters, but now that this was all there was left to do, he felt that a dam was about to break, and he wasn't certain that it was not going to be pretty.

They exchanged contact information, with Newt promising to get in touch with them as soon as he and Anathema had worked out the details of the party, and then funny little Dick Turpin puttered away, leaving an angel and a demon strolling hand-in-hand beneath the moonlight.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until a soft, uncertain suggestion came from Crowley: "We could rebuild...I'll do whatever I can to help. I'm mostly responsible for Ebay, I'm sure I could track down some of the harder-to-find books-"

Aziraphale stopped Crowley's flustered rambling by pulling him in closer and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, dearest," he sighed, a sad smile on his lips. "But let's just see what we're working with first, okay?"

Crowley deflated a bit, but nodded and kept their bodies close together as they approached their destination. He could tell that his angel was holding his breath, his entire body tensed with the knowledge that he was about to see his home in ruins, and the demon wanted desperately to be able to do something more to help him through such an awful moment…

...and then the shop's corner came into view, and Crowley felt his face breaking out into an enraptured grin. He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, hard, and turned to see the angel's reaction, but was just a bit too slow. For, now, Aziraphale was sprinting the rest of the way down the street, dragging his laughing demon along with him as he shouted nonsense sounds of shock and wonder.

They stopped at the corner, looking up together at the gilded words that announced, "A.Z. Fell and Co." for all the world to see.

It was there. Right there, all in one piece, not the slightest hint that it had ever been touched by flame.

"It had to be him," Crowley laughed happily. "It had to be Adam! He said he was going to set things right...he must have fixed it for you!"

Aziraphale was staring, lips parted in wonder, eyes a little wet. He didn't seem able to find any words. This sort of thing was becoming rather a problem with him lately.

Without saying a thing, the angel gave his demon's hand a little tug, and together they walked through the front door, the little jingle of the bell welcoming them home. Aziraphale walked slowly, reverently, taking it all in, running his free hand along every surface that came within reach. "It's all here…" he whispered. "It's all back exactly the way it was…"

Crowley gave him a little nudge with his hip and pointed toward the angel's writing desk, where a full set of first editions of a children's series were lined up in a place of honor as though being used as a calling card. "Those are new," he pointed out, still grinning.

They walked toward the lovely new set of books together, and Crowley reached out for the piece of cardstock that was snuggled between the first two entries in the series. He examined it with a frown at first, before his serpentine eyes suddenly blew wide open and his jaw dropped.

Aziraphale, justifiably concerned after all they'd been through, demanded to know what it was and ended up snatching the cardstock out of the demon's hand before he could get an answer. The angel read the words, written in a childish script, and then re-read them twice as he felt his own jaw drop.

Dear Mr. A. (sorry, I have no idea how to spell your name)

Anathema told me all about how your bookshop burned down, so while I was busy fixing all the messes I caused, I made sure to put it back just the way you left it. I hope I didn't miss anything.

Anathema also mentioned being worried that other angels or demons might come after you and Mr. Crowley, and I wanted to make sure you two would be safe, just like Mr. Crowley did for me. So Anathema helped me figure out what would be best, and now you two are totally immune to hellfire and holy water. I hope that helps! I want to see you both again as soon as possible.

Cheers!

Love, your new Godson (is that alright with you guys?),

Adam

"I-Immune?" Aziraphale gasped. "Can he- I mean-" He waved the cardstock in Crowley's face as though he could forcibly shake further explanation from the paper. "Can he do that?!"

Crowley's face was completely dumbfounded. "I...I dunno! Maybe? I mean-" He allowed for a nervous chuckle that was part disbelieving gasp. "I mean, I'm not keen to run to the first church I see and test the theory, but he is the Antichrist...reality-bending powers and all that…"

The angel and the demon stared at each other in shock for several long, pregnant moments before Aziraphale spoke again.

"Crowley dear, what would you say to catching our new godson up on eleven years worth of missed Christmas and birthday presents?"

Crowley laughed outright then. "I think that sounds like a great idea, angel."

They laughed together for some time, the sound a whirlwind mixture of all they'd gone through, both alone and together. At some point they wound up wrapped up in each other's arms, laughing maniacally, happy tears streaming down their faces as they sank down together to the floor of the fully-restored bookshop.

It felt like a dream, but if it was Aziraphale hoped it was one he would never wake from.

He found himself tenderly brushing red strands of hair away from Crowley's face so he could admire those beautiful, honey-gold eyes and sighed with the perfection of it all. "You'll stay, won't you?" he whispered. When the demon blinked in confusion, the angel clarified. "Here? With me? I mean…" He felt his face flush and averted his gaze, gnawing a bit on his lip. "I mean, you can take care of yourself now, so it's obviously perfectly fine if you'd like to get your own place, or-"

Insistent lips pressed passionately against his own, thoroughly cutting him off and causing his brain to stutter to a halt. "Angel…" Crowley murmured without pulling away. "The only way you're getting rid of me now is if you physically toss me out and raise wards against me on every inch of the property."

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed, smiling. "Oh, good."

Long fingers wormed their way beneath the angel's coat to draw them closer together. "I love you...my angel…"

Oh lord , but that sounded so wonderful to hear… Aziraphale didn't think he'd ever grow accustomed to the wonder of it.

"I love you too, my darling."

Aziraphale rose, pulling Crowley up with him, and offered his beautiful demon the most genuinely loving gaze he could muster. "Dearest, I feel we've earned a bit of a rest," he suggested, a sly glimmer in his eye. "I was thinking that perhaps we could hang a sign on the shop door and retire to bed...for a few days. Maybe a week?"

Crowley's face reddened in a blink, his hand in Aziraphale's twitched, and a delicious kind of hunger darkened his swirling golden eyes. He made a sound that may have been a word but sounded more like, "Ngk-" and had Aziraphale smirking devilishly as he pulled them toward the stairs.

"I'll take that as a yes, my love."

Epilogue

Chapter Summary

An angel and a demon celebrate coming home in an incredibly human way.

Smut warning!*

Chapter Notes

Aaaaand here we are: the epilogue, and thus the official end, of this story. This is your final reminder that the epilogue does not expand upon the plot, and is basically just a self-indulgent excuse for me to write some soft, fluffy, smutty fun times. You've been warned!

A huge thanks to everyone who has read, enjoyed, commented on, and shared this story! I have had so much fun writing it and have thoroughly enjoyed all the amazing comments I've received, not to mention the gorgeous fanart! It is definitely bittersweet to be ending this one, but don't worry...I have plenty of ideas for future stories! So if you haven't already, check out the other works on my account, and hit the subscribe button so you'll know when I post future GO stories. 3

An angel and a demon. Who would have ever imagined - or believed - such a thing to be possible? It went against the very fabric of the universe: good and evil colliding, not in war, but in love. There was no plausible way that it should work.

And yet...Crowley was no more evil than Aziraphale was ultimately good. They were both, for better or worse, instruments of their own design. God had given free will to the humans, but at least one angel and one demon had decided to reach out and take it for themselves as well.

Aziraphale, for one, thought that She was proud of them for it.

But he put Her out of his mind as he led his darling demon through the newly-restored bookshop, up the stairs to the little flat, and down to the bedroom that was unmistakably, wonderfully, ineffably theirs.

An angel and a demon, choosing to make their lives together.

At the bedroom door Aziraphale turned and pulled Crowley into a soft, sweet kiss. Gentle hands pressed sinful hips back against the wall, the angel crowding his body up against the demon's, claiming without entrapping. The kiss deepened, and Crowley moaned into it. His hands found Aziraphale's and tightened around them, holding them in place, silently giving him permission to hold tighter, harder, fiercer...

Aziraphale shuddered all through his body at the thought. He drew Crowley's lower lip between his teeth and gave a little pull that made the demon whine before pulling away to meet his lidded gaze. "Tell me what you want, darling," the angel purred. "Tell me how to touch you, how to worship you. Tell me all your desires and let me make them reality."

Crowley almost seemed to melt against the wall, his knees going weak beneath him. He made a desperate little keening noise, and his beautiful eyes betrayed the extent of his arousal. "Nnngg...Aziraphale…" he gasped, breathless. "I- I dunno, I…" He was breathing hard, gnawing his lip, fingers twitching over Aziraphale's hands, and the angel took pity on him.

"Shhhh, dearest," he whispered, nuzzling his nose against Crowley's. "I'll take care of you, love." He worked one of his hands out from under the demon's twitching grip and ran his finger through that gorgeous red hair that he loved so much. "I will take ever such good care of you...just promise me that you'll talk to me, tell me what you like and what you don't so I can treat you the way you deserve, alright?"

Crowley's breaths began to come a little slower as his angel massaged his scalp. His twitching fingers stilled, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, angel...I promise."

Aziraphale's face lit up like the sun. "Good," he said with a bright, loving smile. He leaned in for another kiss - which Crowley wholeheartedly returned - and gently rucked the demon's shirt out of his trousers so he could run warm fingers along that slim lower back. With another teasing nip of the demon's lower lip the angel pulled away again and asked, "Is this okay?"

This time Crowley made a face. "You're not going to ask that every twenty seconds, are you?"

Aziraphale grinned, just a touch of evil in the look. "I just want to make sure you understand the rules, my love."

Crowley huffed and muttered something that sounded like, "Ridiculous angel…" In response Aziraphale began to pull his hands away, only for the demon to quickly snatch up his arms and hold him there. "Yes!" he exclaimed, with a bit of a pout to his voice. "Yes, it's okay, I like it, please don't stop, please keep touching me."

Aziraphale chuckled and did just so, putting a bit of pressure into the touch, massaging Crowley's lower back. "What about this?"

"Nngg…" the demon moaned, leaning his head against Aziraphale's. "Angel… Feelsss good…" The moment the words were out of his mouth, however, his head shot up and he looked embarrassed. "Ssssorry," he gulped out, cringing, cheeks pinkening. "It...it happensss when I'm-" He bit his lip, allowing Aziraphale a momentary glimpse of fang. "-when I'm...worked up."

He looked absolutely mortified, but Aziraphale's eyes had gone a little dark at the sibilant hiss. "Oh, my love…" he sighed, and pressed their bodies closer together so that Crowley could feel the effect he was having on the angel. "What a brilliantly charming way for me to know what pleases you…"

Crowley blinked foolishly for a moment, eyes wide, mouth dry. "Y-you like it?" he asked.

Azriaphale's hands wandered further down, fingers squeezing beneath the waistband of those foolishly tight trousers to press deliciously into the flesh of his demon's arse. "I like you ," he hummed, leaning in to kiss Crowley's lips, jaw, throat. "Everything about you, my love, my darling…" A kiss just beneath his ear made the demon keen and the angel grin. "Let me hear you, love...You've spent far too long trapped in silence." He nipped Crowley's earlobe between his teeth and oh , the sound the demon made was so lovely.

"Azsssiriphale…" he groaned, slipping down the wall a few inches as his knees finally gave out. " Pleassse… "

The angel gave the demon's earlobe a little soothing lick before releasing it. Then, quite suddenly and with an undignified yelp on the demon's part, Aziraphale had Crowley bundled up in his arms and was carrying him to the bed. "Is this alright, darling?" the angel asked with a cheeky grin.

Crowley really did try to scowl at him, but there was no hiding the pleased flush that had quickly overtaken his cheeks and throat. "Yesss…" he admitted with an adorable huff.

Aziraphale chuckled, but became quite serious once again as he laid his demon upon the bed, gently, as if he was the most precious of treasures. The overwhelming tenderness had Crowley gnawing at his lip again, and the angel could see the question in his honey eyes. "What is it, my love?" he asked as he crawled over the other's body, bracketing him with both arms and legs. "Is there something you would like?"

Crowley chewed at his lip for what seemed a long time, but his gaze was steady on Aziraphale's, and eventually he managed to choke out the request: "Undressss me?" Hearing the words aloud in his own voice caused the flush in his cheeks to deepen and the angel's eyes to darken even more.

"Oh, my love, of course."

Aziraphale took his time, carefully undoing each button on the black silk shirt, pressing a trail of kisses all along the demon's chest and stomach as he went. When the garment lay open, he helped Crowley shuck it from his arms and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor before admiring the gift that had been hidden beneath. He ran feather-light touches along the crisscrossing scars and watched the way the demon's chest rose and fell with deep, calming breaths.

"Will you heal them, now that you're able?" the angel asked.

There was only a moment of hesitation before Crowley shook his head, surprising Aziraphale. "I'd...like to keep them, I think," he admitted in a small voice. "I don't want to ever forget...the path that led you to me."

Oh … Aziraphale's chest felt like it might burst. "Oh, Crowley…" Then he dipped back down and began to lave attention on each scar, kissing, caressing, trailing the tip of his tongue across each reddened inch of flesh. By the time he'd had his fill Crowley was a writhing, whining mess, fingers twisting in the bed sheets. The sight did wonderful things for Aziraphale. "Still with me, love?" he teased as his fingers moved to the zipper of the demon's trousers.

Crowley said something entirely nonsensical, consisting of only consonants, before pulling himself together enough to say, "I take it the ssscarsss don't bother you?"

Aziraphale hummed a bit as he guided the demon's hips up so he could wriggle those skin tight trousers down his lovely long legs. "It bothers me that you had to go through what you did in obtaining them," he explained, choosing his words carefully. He managed to peel away the trousers and a pair of flat black socks, and then moved to press firm hands up along the tensed thigh and calf muscles that had been revealed. "But they also make me think of how strong and brave you were to withstand what you did. You could have given up Adam's location at any time to make the pain stop, but instead you endured everything they threw at you. My dashing-" He pressed a kiss to Crowley's left thigh. "-gallant-" A kiss to the right thigh. "-courageous demon." A kiss to his stomach, just above the hem of his pants.

Crowley squirmed at the words. "Hnn…'m not," he insisted.

"You are," Aziraphale immediately argued back. "And I'll not hear another word to the contrary." He crawled up the length of his demon's gorgeous body to capture his lips in another kiss, deep and heavy with emotion. "You are both the sweetest and bravest being I've ever known," he whispered against trembling lips. "My marvellous, heroic, staggeringly beautiful demon."

There were a few sounds from the demon then, of the type that the angel dutifully pretended not to hear while peppering kisses all along his jaw, throat, and collarbone.

When the moment had passed, Crowley's fingers found Aziraphale's fluffy white curls and sank into them. In an obvious attempt at self-preservation he gave the angel's head a gentle little tug and complained, "You're too dressed."

Aziraphale's chuckle rumbled across Crowley's bare chest. "Yes, I suppose I am," he admitted, lifting his head to look down at himself. Then his eyes met Crowley's with a devilish gleam in them. "Would you care to assist me in rectifying this situation?"

Crowley licked his lips and nodded. Slowly, as though terrified of making some kind of mistake, he pushed them both to their knees and let his eyes roam over his fully-dressed angel, considering where to begin. He swallowed hard and settled on the bow-tie. Trembling fingers worked at the little strip of fabric like it was as precious as the rarest jewel. When he'd managed to slide it free of the angel's collar he carefully folded it and placed it reverently on the bedside table before turning back to find Aziraphale watching him with bright eyes.

It made the demon pause, flustered. "I…" he stammered, "I know how...how fond you are of your clothes…"

Aziraphale surged forward, unable to restrain himself, hands rising to cup the demon's face while pressing their lips together in a passionate embrace. Crowley's surprised groan added fuel to the flame burning deep in the angel's belly. "How did I get so lucky?" he sighed against the demon's lips. "To be gifted such a creature as you?"

In lieu of a response Crowley dove back in, tongue probing along Aziraphale's lips while clever fingers worked at the wall of buttons that stood between him and his angel. Their little sounds of pleasure echoed one another as their fervour grew, and though it seemed to take forever in the moment, soon enough Crowley was sliding layers down over Aziraphale's shoulders, past his elbows, to be taken and draped just as carefully as the bow-tie over a chair in the corner of the room. The angel watched with growing hunger as sinuous hips moved away from him, and bit his lip hard when those hips turned and revealed the extent of the demon's arousal beneath those snug black pants.

"Like what you see, angel?" Crowley teased as he reapproached. He was smirking, but Aziraphale could hear the genuine curiosity in the question, the hint of self-depreciation begging to be disproven.

Well he couldn't allow that, now, could he?

"There has never been morsel, nor tome, nor starlight above that so tempted the deepest reaches of body nor soul, my love." Aziraphale reached out, snagged the fingers of the breathlessly beautiful creature before him, and pulled him down, down, until they'd reversed their prior position. Crowley hovered over his angel's body, eyes wide and bright, lips parted in awe of the words spoken, cheeks adorably pink. Aziraphale ran one hand through the demon's hair, gently scraping fingernails along the back of his head and neck, while the other wandered along shoulders, ribs, hips, drawing little gasps of breath. "You are temptation incarnate, my darling," the angel growled low in his throat. "Your eyes alone have destroyed me, but combined with the rest of your resplendent form, I've an assassin of the heart strewn across my body."

"Aziraphale-" Crowley's voice came out a little cracked, too full of emotion for him to handle. He bit his lip and slithered out of the angel's grasp, pushing himself down to paw desperately at tan trousers, needing them gone immediately. "Nnng- Angel...need...I- pleassse- " The trousers went to the floor - the previous sweet concern for the garments gobbled up by frenzied desire - followed shortly by a pair of pale beige pants.

The moment Aziraphale's body was laid bare before him, Crowley pounced, a frantic intensity to the sounds coming from his throat. He had a hand wrapped around the angel's cock and his mouth open wide to devour it when he was shocked to a stop by Aziraphale's strong fingers around his wrist. He was breathing heavy and his eyes were desperate when he looked up to meet blue eyes bright with concern.

"Darling," Aziraphale soothed carefully, fighting back the urge to thrust up into the demon's fist. "That was all quite sudden. Are you alright?"

Crowley nearly growled at the question, but managed to swallow it back at the last moment. " Yesss , angel…" he gulped, forcing his erratic breathing to slow to a more reasonable pace. " Pleassse ...I want to- Let me pleassse you…"

There was no hiding the ravenous look in Aziraphale's eyes, but he posed the question none-the-less: "Is this something you want , my love?"

Crowley answered by once again parting his lips, holding the angel's gaze, and sinking down slowly and deliberately to wrap his hot mouth around Aziraphale's cock. Utterly thwarted by the demon's wiles, the angel hissed in a sharp gasp and fell back down to the bed, arms splaying.

Crowley moved slowly at first, lips gentle and tongue soft, exploring, taking the angel as deep as he could at a glacial pace before retreating in the same manner. He lazily swirled his tongue around the head, laved his tongue in long, wet stripes from base to tip, and then took it all in again, languidly sucking all the way down. Aziraphale rewarded him with gasps and groans and little helpless twitches of his hips. It was gloriously warm and wet, and the demon's tongue was ridiculously talented. It was all the angel could do not to thrust up into that wonderful mouth with reckless abandon.

But something didn't quite feel right in the way Crowley's pace began to increase in jerky movements, the way his breaths were once again coming quicker, the way the free hand on Aziraphale's thigh was clenching and unclenching like a nervous tic.

Aziraphale bit back a particularly wanton groan and reached down, winding his fingers through his demon's hair. It took a few less-than-gentle tugs before he was acknowledged, but eventually the demon pulled off of him to look up. And, oh...his lips were spit-slick and swollen, his cheeks beautifully flush…

...and the ichor black pupils of his eyes had receded into long, vertical lines.

"Come here, love" Aziraphale gently instructed. There was a moment of hesitation before the demon complied, slowly allowing himself to be pulled up into a soft, tender kiss. The angel spent several long minutes showering his demon in tender affections. Sweet, slow kisses. Gentle fingers tracing the curve of well-defined shoulders. A warm hand at the small of his back, holding him protectively, but not trapping him.

When it seemed that he'd calmed down again, Aziraphale gently lifted Crowley's chin and met his somewhat-ashamed gaze. "Talk to me, dearest," the angel requested. "You've a voice now. Tell me what's happening in your head."

Crowley's gaze flicked away, but returned when Aziraphale made a little noise of displeasure. He looked absolutely aghast at the idea of putting words to his thoughts, but the look in Aziraphale's eye reminded him that very recently he hadn't had that option...it would be ridiculous to ignore it now. So, with a heavy sigh and an abashed huff he spoke.

"I know it's...it's stupid…" he began slowly. "But...but you're just so overwhelmingly perfect , this flawless fucking diamond amid a sea of coal. You treat me like I'm something amazing, something worth loving, and I just-" He swallowed hard, and Aziraphale could see that he was struggling to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. "-I just had this sudden feeling, like...like I'm going to fuck it up somehow, like...like there's no way you'll keep me around unless I prove I'm...I'm good for something-"

His last word was cut off as Aziraphale pulled him into a crushing embrace, one arm wrapped around his body, the other woven up into his hair, drawing his head into the angel's shoulder.

"No, dearest, no-" the angel gasped, almost choking with the need to get the words out. "No… Crowley… God, I will never let you go again, I swear it. I love you, my darling demon, with every atom of my being. You do not need to prove yourself, my love. You've already done that, so many times over, and I am irrevocably head-over-heels for you. So please…" He eased up on his hold to allow Crowley to lift his head and quickly swept away a few treacherous tears with his thumb. "Please believe me when I tell you that what we do or don't do doesn't matter. I'll still adore you more than life itself, either way."

Sometime much later, when he was once again feeling capable of pretending to be more threatening than he really was, Crowley would bare his fangs and warn Aziraphale against ever speaking of the way he'd openly sobbed into the angel's shoulder for several long minutes before managing to regain his composure.

When he did - regain his composure, that was - he let Aziraphale pull him into dozens of tiny, tender kisses until he was smiling again, overwhelmed by the angel's sweet, loving smile.

"Angel?" he asked, voice soft and hesitant.

"Yes, my dearheart?" the angel replied, holding him close.

Crowley had to close his eyes for a moment to deal with the request in his own mind, but when he opened them they were once again heavy with both desire and adoration. "Make love to me?"

The beseeching tone nearly made Aziraphale gasp. If he were being absolutely honest, he'd been expecting a more vulgar type of term to be the go-to for the demon, but the fact that Crowley had chosen those specific words…

As gently as if he were made of delicate wisps of cloud, Aziraphale rose and rearranged their bodies so that Crowley was laying on his back with piles of pillows all around him. Reverential fingers trailed down taut muscles to hook under black pants and pull them away. Crowley's arousal had waned during his minor breakdown, but now it was revived in full force under his angel's tender ministrations. By the time Aziraphale's miraculously slicked fingers slid beneath him, massaging gently without yet pressing in, he was mostly hard and breathing in deep gulps of air.

Aziraphale's free hand ran up and down the demon's ribs, his lips working across the sharp jut of sinful hips, temporarily ignoring the neediest part of his lover's body. "I'm going to make this so good for you, my love," he promised against trembling stomach muscles, and very slowly pressed a finger past the tight ring of muscles he'd been teasing.

Crowley whined, just a small sound, but so delicious to the angel's ears. He moved agonizingly slowly, pressing the finger in as far as he could and sliding it back out again, all the while worshipping the demon's body with kisses and tender nibbles and whispered praises.

"So beautiful…"

"...strong, sweet, sumptuous demon…"

"...could spend the rest of my days just pleasuring you over and over and-"

Crowley did his best to breathe through the waves of feeling that were crashing down and battering him from all sides, but eventually he began to squirm, looking down at Aziraphale with blown, needy eyes. "Aziraphale, please !" he mewled, canting his hips a bit.

Aziraphale responded with a second finger and the tip of his tongue against one lovely pink nipple. The combination had Crowley squirming even more, but the movement was accompanied by a moan. The angel smiled as he took the nipple between his lips, giving it a bit of special attention while his fingers moved and spread, slowly, carefully preparing his love for what was to come.

"More... more! " Crowley begged with his long fingers clenched in the sheets beneath him.

Oh, how lovely it was, Aziraphale thought, to be able to hear that desperate word from his demon's lips.

A third finger joined the first two, and together they pressed, slow but firm, against a specific bundle of nerves. Crowley cried out, back arching, toes curling, cock hard and red and dripping. A series of needy sounds fell from the demon's lips, but none of them could have possibly been mistaken for proper words.

"Speak to me, love," Aziraphale teased, before flattening his tongue against the other nipple and curling his fingers again.

Crowley cried out again, the sound a delectable mixture of intense pleasure and a need for more more more more- With immense effort the demon managed to pull himself together enough to gaze down at his angel with eyes that had been devoured by black. " Azsssiraphale… " he gasped, struggling. "Feelsss...ssso good…" He swallowed hard and keened, head thrown backward, as Aziraphale stroked that spot again. "F-fuck!" The profanity was directed at the ceiling, but as soon as it was out of his mouth he forced himself to look back down at his angel again. "Pleasssse, pleasssse , angel- I need- Need you, pleasssse… "

Aziraphale surged up, heart beating wildly beneath his chest, and captured the demon's lips, swallowing down all the wonderful, desperate little sounds. When he pulled back his eyes were dark with both desire and adoration. "Oh, my gorgeous creature...how can I possibly deny you when you beg so beautifully?"

The fingers disappeared, pulling with them a little whimper of loss from Crowley. Aziraphale shuffled back, snatching a pillow as he went and carefully settling it beneath the demon's hips. He settled himself between Crowley's raised knees and took himself in hand, spreading some more miraculous slick as he lined himself up.

And he asked, eyes lidded but cautious, "Are you ready, my love?"

"Yessss," Crowley hissed, just a bit of a whine to the sound. "Pleassse!"

The demon had been well-prepared, but Aziraphale went slow all the same, watching his lover's face as he pressed in by fractions. He watched the way Crowley's jaw slacked, the way his head pressed back into the pillow beneath it, the way his eyes fluttered a little, wanting to roll back. Aziraphale savored every tiny twitch, as much as he enjoyed the tight, wet heat pressing around his cock, drawing him in, claiming him. The well of praise began to bubble over again.

"Oh darling, fuck, you feel so good, love-"

"-never seen anything as beautiful as you lying beneath me-"

"-take me so perfectly, fuck, darling, I believe we were made for each other-"

Crowley whined and whimpered at the barrage, cheeks pink, chest heaving, tongue flicking out to wet lips dried from desperate gasps. The moment Aziraphale was fully seated he wrapped his long legs around the angel's body, pulling in and holding him, as if declaring that he was never allowed to leave.

Aziraphale was trembling a bit, overtaken by tight heat and the furious desire in his demon's eyes. "O-okay, love?" he asked, just a hint of a bastardly smile on his lips.

Crowley allowed a little growl to crawl up from his chest, but it sounded more like a particularly intense purr to the angel. "Angel," he sighed and swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "I think if you don't move ssssoon, I might dissscorporate."

Aziraphale grinned and gave the slightest twitch of his hips that made the demon suck in a breath. "Well, we certainly can't have that, can we darling?"

And he began to move. Slow. Deliberate. Perfectly angled to drag along that bundle of nerves with each thrust. Crowley twitched and squirmed and gasped and groaned, and Aziraphale increased his pace in increments, building, building…

The angel didn't realize that his eyes had fluttered closed until long fingers brushed down his cheek. He opened them to find his demon watching him with veneration in his gaze. His lips were parted enough for a glimpse of those brilliant fangs. A few strands of red fire had strewn across his face, held there by a sheen of sweat. A flushed red, dripping cock bobbed against tight stomach muscles with each thrust.

"God, you are gorgeous," Aziraphale sighed, hardly intending the words to come aloud.

Crowley made a needy sound in the back of his throat. Fingers stretched back, threading through the angel's soft curls to pull him down into a kiss so intense devotion that it nearly spelled the end for both of them.

"Pleasssse, angel," the demon begged against flushed lips. "Harder...faster...need you...need to-"

Aziraphale did not thrust away in earnest, but he did move faster, harder, concentrating on hitting that same spot over and over. A hand snaked between their bodies to wrap around Crowley's poor, neglected cock, causing the demon to gasp and buck his hips up into the sensation. "Yes…" the angel hissed as he worked to match the rhythm of his hand with that of his hips. "Yes, my love, my beautiful, wonderful demon, my everything… Let go for me. Let yourself fall apart and I shall piece you back together with the utmost care."

A particularly frantic keen came from Crowley's lips as he struggled with the onslaught of sensations, both physical and emotional. Everything was coiling, tightening, growing hotter, burning, burning, burning-!

He came with a scream of his lover's name, back arched incomprehensibly, painting his stomach and Aziraphale's hand in hot white stripes. His body clenched around the angel, pulling a gasp and a curse from him as his thrusts began to stutter.

One...two...three more frantic thrusts and Aziraphale moaned through his own pleasure, coming hard and hot, filling his lover while continuing to stroke the demon until he'd wrung every last beautiful little whimper from his lips.

For a few long moments they lay, collapsed, gasping, Aziraphale's head pressed into Crowley's shoulder, Crowley's fingers pressing into the soft plushness of Aziraphale's hips. Eventually the angel found the energy to press a kiss to his demon's shoulder, then his neck, then his jaw, finally finding his mouth and working here for a good while. They kissed languidly, not a single care in the world beyond one another.

When Aziraphale pulled away Crowley tried to chase him with a whine, but the angel chuckled and pressed a gentle finger to the other's lips. "Let's get you cleaned up, hmm?" he suggested. He snapped his fingers and a wide bowl of steaming water appeared beside them, precariously balanced on the bed but knowing better than to even think about tipping.

Aziraphale pulled out slowly, placing sweet, tender kisses along Crowley's collarbone when the demon whimpered with the loss. Well-manicured hands dipped into the bowl and brought out a downy-soft cloth, ringing it out carefully before pressing it to the demon's stomach.

Crowley's instinct would have been to simply snap his fingers and rid himself of the mess, but he had to admit that this was sooo much better… The heat of the cloth was perfect, and the way Aziraphale carefully, lovingly cleaned every inch of him before even considering himself…

The moment the angel had finished cleaning them both and banished the water basin, the demon surged up to wrap his arms around his love and pull him down. Aziraphale went with a joyous laugh, rolled them so that they were laying face-to-face, and yanked a couple of blankets around to get them beneath them.

When they were settled Aziraphale pressed a soft kiss to Crowley's nose before meeting his gaze with an absolutely besotted one of his own. "I rather think that went well, but I'd love to hear your thoughts, my dearest."

Crowley gave him an absolutely incredulous look at that. "You- I-" He shook his head a little and let out a little disbelieving laugh. "You are ridiculous, angel," he sighed. Long fingers snaked around Aziraphale's shoulders, softly stroking the spot where his wings would emerge. "You are ridiculous, but you're also positively amazing." He grinned, all teeth and bright, honey eyes. " Especially in bed."

Aziraphale chuckled at that. "I'm glad, my love, because I don't plan on letting you leave it any time soon."

Crowley hid his pleasure by nuzzling his face into the angel's chest. "Hmm...what about book girl's party?" he asked. "Adam will probably be upset if we don't show up."

"Hmm…" Aziraphale agreed, smirking. "And I don't suppose you would be upset if we didn't go?"

Crowley huffed, a petulant sound that Aziraphale could see right through. "'M a demon," he responded, as though that explained anything at all.

The angel smiled and ran warm fingers up and down his demon's back, secretly memorizing every inch and every minuscule reaction the demon's body had to his touch. "Don't worry, darling, we'll go," he promised. "But I'll be renting us a cottage to retire to afterwards...one that's far enough from any neighbours that no one will hear your screams."

Crowley's body tensed, a hot flush creeping up and down his neck. "I didn't scream ," he lied through his teeth.

Aziraphale chuckled and pulled back a bit to look down at his darling, embarrassed demon. "Oh? Didn't you now?" he teased. "Well, I suppose that means I shall have to try harder next time."

Crowley flushed an even darker red, practically matching his hair, but he was betrayed by his body, which stiffened and gave a little twitch against Aziraphale's hip. "O-oh?"

"Mmm-hmm," the angel hummed, nosing against his demon's cheek. He breathed deep of his lover's scent and sighed, happier than he could ever remember being before. "I love you so much, my dearest," he whispered, heart so full he could hardly stand it.

Crowley met Aziraphale's gaze with those gorgeous, honey-gold eyes, heavy with emotion and an absolute need to express it.

"I love you too, Aziraphale.
More than I'll ever be able to say."

Afterword

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