(but my heart is heavy and my hope is gone)

"Crowley?"

Aziraphale picked through the bushes carefully, trying to keep from stepping on ground so soft from slushy snow that his shoes would sink in. His parents wouldn't appreciate him being out in the woods. Especially if they found out why.

"Crowley? Are you out here? I brought your homework?"

He shivered. The sun was already going down. It got so dark so early in the winter. His parents would be expecting him home by seven-thirty.

Crowley hadn't been to school. He wasn't at any of his usual haunts in town either. The arcade, their favorite burger joint, behind the auto body shop where a certain group liked to smoke- Aziraphale hated going there. It smelled so awful, he wasn't sure how his best friend could stomach any of it. Crowley never made him go, or smoke, but he had to check for him there today and received some weird looks. Beez had been surprisingly kind to him. Well, kind was a stretch. They hadn't been mean. They hadn't seen Crowley since yesterday. Aziraphale then chanced calling, fidgeting with the telephone cord nervously. No one had picked up, which had been both a blessing and a curse. No Crowley, which was obviously worrying, but at least he hadn't had to talk to Crowley's awful father.

He would ask Anathema if she knew anything- she lived next door to him and they watched MTV together often- but she wasn't at school that day either. Her boyfriend was bringing her math homework and tea for her cold by her house later.

The woods were Aziraphale's last resort. His best friend had a hidden 'lair' as he liked to call it. (It was a treehouse, Aziraphale insisted. But no, that didn't sound cool enough. Lair is was.) Crowley spent a lot of time out here, either traipsing about studying plants or indulging in his secret collection of cassette tapes.

Aziraphale caught faint strains of a guitar.

That was him. With a long-suffering sigh, he picked up his pace, even though he had been walking all day.

The sun was always shinin'

We just lived for fun

"Crowley!" he called again when he was close enough to the rope ladder. "You weren't at school today, I was worried you might be-" Aziraphale paused. He was sure he had just heard something odd but with the thrum of the music he wasn't sure.

Sometimes it seems like lately

I just don't know

The rest of my life's been just a show

"Crowley?" Aziraphale shifted his messenger bag and started up the ladder, knocking on the trapdoor a few times. He heard the noise again, something staccato, and choked. Anxiety pooling in his stomach, he eased the door open and pulled himself up into the treehouse- or, excuse him, the lair.

Those were the days of our lives

The bad things in life were so few

There was Crowley, curled up impossibly small on the ratty beanbag chair in the corner. The song played on, but couldn't entirely mask the awful sound of Crowley failing to hold back tears. Aziraphale's heart physically hurt when he saw how scrunched up his best friend's face was in a futile attempt to keep tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he tried to swallow back any expression of what he must be feeling.

"Oh, dear..."

Math entirely forgotten, Aziraphale's school bag was abandoned and he joined Crowley in the blanket fort they had built together almost a year back. Some of the old sheets were painted over, sets that the drama club had discarded, too faded and full of holes for their use. Perfect to create a cozy tent shape in here, where no one but Crowley and Aziraphale would see. Some throw pillows (that Aziraphale's mother still hadn't noticed were gone) were propped in the corner with the ratty beanbag. Aziraphale gently pulled a green one away from Crowley's face, turning it over so the wet spots weren't visible.

Those days are all gone now, but one thing is true

When I look, and I find, I still love you

"What's wrong?" Aziraphale asked. He reached out, without thinking, and wiped the tears away from Crowley's jaw. His flushed face felt very warm, but that might have just been because Aziraphale was freezing.

Something about that question finally broke Crowley. A real, full sob tore from his chest and he let himself cry.

Boys weren't supposed to cry. He was Anthony J Crowley, as far as anyone at school knew, he'd never cried in his life, not even when his arm had broken. If his dad ever caught him crying, he'd give him something real to cry about.

His vision was blurry now, but he could only imagine the disgust on his best friend's face. He was afraid of this. Aziraphale would know that he wasn't always as cool and tough as he pretended to be. He would know what his dad knew, what his dad told him, that deep down, Crowley was just some soft, sensitive pansy who didn't deserve-

A hand on the back of his head was easing him forward. Crowley let himself be pulled into the best hug he had experienced to date. He was crying into the soft material of Aziraphale's jacket now. His best friend felt him shudder and tightened his hold.

It occurred to Crowley, dimly, that maybe he should do something with his arms, and before he knew it, he was clutching desperately to Aziraphale's back. A soothing hand was running over his tangled hair.

"Breathe."

Crowley finally tuned into Aziraphale's voice, and he tried to follow the command.

"Try to breathe. I've got you."

He didn't say to stop it or be quiet. There was no indication that he found this awful display disgusting at all, though surely it was, and Crowley was afraid he might be getting snot on his best friend's jacket. All he wanted was for him to breathe. So he tried. Even when the air caught in his throat and embarrassing noises accompanied the tears. The grounding pressure of the hug helped, and he felt his gasps slowly subsiding, and his breathing evened out.

The song came to a stop. Crowley made no move to pull away and take out the tape or rewind it.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" Aziraphale asked when Crowley had calmed down somewhat.

"He's dead," Crowley croaked.

"Who?"

"Freddie."

Aziraphale's heart sank. "Oh, Anthony, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Somehow the news hadn't reached him yet. He wished it had, so he could have been there sooner for Crowley. Mercury was his idol, his inspiration. Freddie Mercury was bold, and flamboyant, and queer. He was everything Crowley looked up to. He and his music were banned from Crowley's house, and Aziraphale's house too, but that music had brought them together at a house party in the summer- Aziraphale remembered vividly how anxious he had been. He wasn't supposed to be there. His parents would have a fit if they knew that he and Micheal hadn't really stayed at Michael's house the entire night, that he was here way across town surrounded by people and music that was way too loud.

That's when it happened. The opening to Somebody to Love, and someone had shouted "I love this song!", and he had turned to look, and so quickly, so quickly a different careless partygoer had knocked into him and sent him stumbling into the arms of a redhead all decked out in grunge attire. A drink had spilled, Aziraphale's glasses had fallen off, and dark sunglasses slid down the nose of the redhead, and Aziraphale found himself looking into the eyes of the boy he would spend the next few hours talking and laughing with.

The boy recognized him from school. Aziraphale had to be reminded which class they shared and handed his glasses. It was Anthony, Anthony Crowley under that eye makeup. He had never talked to the standoffish boy before, but right now Anthony was smiling, and Freddie Mercury was singing, and somehow the conversation came easy. They fought over which Queen album was the best one. Aziraphale found out that Crowley had every release date ingrained in his memory. His familiarity with Queen was put to shame by Crowley's encyclopedic knowledge. Aziraphale told Crowley that his parents still held the old-fashioned belief that rock and roll was associated with the devil. The redhead had let out a bark of laughter at that. "How?"

"I- I'm not entirely sure. Something to do with- well, with sex. Some of the lyrics are... innuendos I suppose. And the dancing..."

"They afraid you'll dance with some girl tonight?"

"They don't know I'm here. I'm not- well, I don't dance anyways, not with girls."

Crowley had raised an eyebrow. "Not with girls?"

Aziraphale's heart leaped to his throat. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to say that at all.

"Would you dance with me?"

The question had taken him by surprise, but Aziraphale found himself nodding. It was the first dance of what would be many as Queen songs somehow kept coming. Another One Bites The Dust. I'm In Love With My Car. Killer Queen. Crowley thought it was tragic that Aziraphale couldn't listen to Queen in his house, and the very next day after school, he enthusiastically dragged Aziraphale out to his beat-up old car to listen to his collection of tapes. Under Pressure and Who Wants To Live Forever were blasted so loud that it felt like Aziraphale's teeth were shaking.

In a way, Aziraphale had Freddie Mercury to thank for the opportunity to get to know his best friend.

But however much this man meant to Aziraphale, he meant ten times more to Crowley. It couldn't be entirely put into words, just how hopeful this music made him. Knowing that someone like him could be this successful and loved meant the whole world on days when his father went on long, homophobic rants, or...

Those days when Crowley wouldn't talk about the black eye but looped We Will Rock You, mouthing the words big disgrace, arms crossed defiantly.

Now Crowley was crumpled in on himself, looking utterly defeated. As crumpled as the newspaper that he pulled from under the beanbag. "Look," he said, his voice hoarse, pulling back to show Aziraphale. He ran a shaky hand over the paper to smooth it out. "It was- he was sick. He died just yesterday."

Aziraphale skimmed the article, certain awful words jumping out.

"Dad- he was saying how..." Crowley drew another shaky breath, his voice dangerously close to breaking. "He said he deserved it. For being-"

"You know it isn't true. It isn't true."

"What if it never gets better?"

The question felt like a punch in the gut. Aziraphale had often wondered things along the same lines- it was hard not to feel this particular brand of hopelessness. When his father sat at the dinner table, casually calling the disease God's retribution.

What would he think if he found out? Would he think I deserved to die too?

He couldn't spiral now. Not when Crowley still clung to his sleeves, face slightly puffy from crying. Aziraphale tucked soft, red hair back behind Crowley's ears. His hands lingered there at his jaw, cupping his face. They were close enough that Aziraphale could have counted the faded freckles on Crowley's nose. Both boys were quiet. They never said anything in these moments, when their friendship blurred at the edges, almost feeling like something else that they were both too afraid to name. Aziraphale pulled his hands away and the spell was broken.

"It has to get better. It will." He tried to sound certain, for Crowley's sake and his own.

"I can't believe he's gone."

"Me neither."

There didn't seem to be anything else to say on the matter. Crowley let his head fall back onto his best friend's shoulder. He allowed Aziraphale to rock them, slowly, side to side for a while.

"'M sorry," Crowley mumbled.

"You're allowed to grieve. Don't be sorry."

"It hurts."

Aziraphale swallowed. That made his heart ache all over again. He felt inadequate faced with the weight of Crowley's grief. "Do you want to play that song again?"

He felt Crowley nod against his shoulder.

"I'll rewind it for us, then."

The sun set, Aziraphale's curfew came and went. Two boys with a heavy secret and heavy sorrow remained in the treehouse in the woods, and the cassette played for them again. And again. And the tangles were combed from Anthony's hair, and a pair of arms settled around Aziraphale's waist. It remained unspoken. And the cassette played again. Freddie Mercury sang.

Those days are all gone now, but one thing's still true

When I look, and I find,

I still love you

I still love you