Crowley came awake slowly, climbing out of a deep pit of lethargy that weighed at his mind and body. His eyes resisted opening, for the world was bright and painful; but they too slowly opened. He blinked sluggishly against the soft white light and vague shapes of his surroundings. Everything seemed very far away, including the voice that was speaking now as he struggled to orient his consciousness.

"Crowley! Crowley, can you hear me?"

Again Crowley blinked, and this time it actually seemed to do something. Many realizations trickled into his confused brain: he was lying down on a very soft, tall bed, his chest was absolutely killing him, the white light could only mean Heaven, and at his side, coming into focus now, was Aziraphale. Crowley turned his head fractionally to look at him, still taking a vague mental inventory of his body and surroundings.

"Corwley?" Aziraphale repeated. He was hovering half out of his chair, leaning over the bed. "Can you speak?"

Crowley took in Aziraphale's face, contorted into a mass of anxious lines, but it was not the angel's expression that caught his growing attention. It was his eyes. No longer violet, they stared down at him a familiar bright-blue, at the moment shining with nervous anticipation. Crowley tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed, manipulating the parts of his mouth, and tried again.

"Is it over?" Crowley croaked hoarsely, "Is it really over?"

"Yes," Aziraphale exhaled sharply in relief, and dropped back onto the chair, "Yes Crowley, it's over," he buried his own head in his hands, fingers shaking inside his white curls as both the enormity of Crowley's awakening and the answer to his question hit him, "It's really over."

"What… happened?" Each word was an effort, but Crowley forced them out. He had to know. "Who… won?"

"We did," Aziraphale looked up again, and saw both confusion and trepidation flit across Crowley's fave.

"We— you.. mean—"

"No, I mean—," Aziraphale laughed, a hysterical edge to his voice. It was all so overwhelming, and the mix of emotions inside him so large. "I mean, us. I mean… I mean, no one. No Second Coming. At least, not the way the Metatron planned it. No more Metatron. We're in a new future now, and it's…." he struggled for the words, and fell back on an old favorite. "…ineffable."

The noise Crowley made was half-laugh, half-cough, and whatever it was made him wince sharply with pain and clutch a hand to his chest. It was thick with bandages, he realized, meaning someone had treated what he had been sure was going to be a mortal wound. He felt the bed shift, and glanced to the side again, to see Aziraphale hunched over, his elbows leaning on the mattress with his hands threaded together, face now wracked with guilt. He wasn't looking at Crowley, but staring at the hand resting on his chest.

"Crowley, I am so, so sorry."

A pause hung on the air between them, full of the turmoil, rage, despair, desperation, hope, and every other awful thing that had passed between them in the time between Aziraphale's return to Heaven and the Last Battle. Then it vanished, as Crowley raised his hand shakily, and let it fall so that the back of his knuckles lightly grazed Aziraphale's cheek.

"'S alright, Angel."

Aziraphale opened his hand and took Crowley's between them. His skin felt dry, papery, and cool. Aziraphale squeezed lightly, hoping the transfer some heat, and Crowley's fingers curled over his in response. The angel pressed Crowley's knuckles to his forehead, closing his eyes as he fought off tears of relief.

"So… whose side… on now?" Aziraphale opened his eyes again, and looked up at Crowley at last.

"No more sides," he said firmly, pressing Crowley's fingers into his cheek, "No more sides. Except, maybe," Aziraphale's thumb swept the back of Crowley's hand anxiously, "Except, well, we've always been on our own side, Crowley. I think our side is the only one left. If— if you'll have me."

Crowley's fingers tightened around Aziraphale's.

"Our side."