Chapter 4: A Snooping Angel and a Gift

~~Aziraphale~~

The Metatron had given him space, or at least the illusion of it. Aziraphale knew that he could look in on him whenever he pleased. He didn't care. He prayed Crowley would know he was lying. He knew it would be safer for him if he didn't, but the wrecked look on Crowley's face right before the lift door closed was too much. Aziraphale wished he could wipe that from his memory; instead, it burned itself to his eyes. He could see it when he closed his eyes, and it lingered even when they were open.

He had been selfish; he had wanted Crowley to come for him. He hadn't anticipated how horrible it would feel. This wasn't one of his romance novels. There was no saving him from this. He couldn't defy The Metatron, not when it meant true death.

Aziraphale picked himself up off the floor, steady in his mission. His knees ached as if he'd landed on tile instead of the nothingness of Heaven's floor. His body felt strange to straighten again, and the thought briefly passed through him, how long was I on the floor? No one had come to him; no one had spared him a kind word or a gentle hand. Where had the mercy of Heaven been?

He could barely see down the hallway; his eyes stung with tears spent, the lids around them nearly swollen shut. A fire burned in his belly; was that hellfire? Was this what Crowley felt all the time? Was this the start of his fall? Aziraphale didn't care.

The file room was occupied by two angels who stood with their backs to him as he entered. He walked over to the cabinet and placed a hand on top of it, summoning his file to the top. With the other angels there retrieving things as well, he hoped his miracle might just go unnoticed.

Tucked into the first empty space he could find, Aziraphale opened his file. His face brightened with a smile he didn't recognise the feel of anymore. He scanned down to see his biological makeup, finding the same exact makeup as Crowley's file. He was half an angel. He was Crowley's other half. It was like God had created an angel, and then split the proverbial clay in half instead deciding to make two.

Why had She done this? Aziraphale combed through the rest of his file, and in tiny fine print at the bottom were the words. Is a set with A-33782, do not separate. He compared this to Crowley's file and found a matching comment containing his file number at the bottom. They were made from each other. For each other.

Aziraphale was made for Crowley. Crowley was made for Aziraphale. They were not supposed to be separated. God herself willed it. So why had Crowley fallen?

He laid Crowley's file down on top of his, needing to wring his hands as he took in the enormity of what was before him. An enormity that continued to grow as the files morphed into one and a new image projected up from the consolidated file.

Earth's Protectors. The images on this file showed Aziraphale and the demon Crowley. It confirmed what The Metatron had told him, that their life force was entangled. That if Aziraphale was to be punished for his transgressions, then Crowley would soon follow. One could not live without the other. But it also told him things The Metatron had left out, such as, even though they were split, they each still held their own power. No wonder the miracle they had done together had set off alarm bells. Even without trying, together they were something else. Something more than the other angels.

They were, however, no different when it came to the others in regards to sturdiness. Aziraphale couldn't find anything that would lean to the fact that he or Crowley couldn't be dispatched if necessary. He had come to Heaven to protect Crowley, but he could see now, that was a mistake. Together, they were stronger. Inside, he'd always known this, but to see it in front of him in writing, it gripped at his heart and his tears began to fall again.

How often had he spent his time trying to resist Crowley, to convince himself that he was good and Crowley was evil? He'd never believed that, not even in Eden, not really. Time and time again, Crowley had shown him who he was, saving not only Job's children, but his goats. Those blasted bleating birds had been one of many large moments of the demon filling up his heart until there was nothing left inside it but Crowley.

Aziraphale separated the two files, and then put them away. Now that he had the knowledge, it was safer to put them back in their place. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. He had considered himself safe in Heaven, even if it had been at the behest of The Metatron. His decision to come meant keeping Crowley safe, but what if all he did was make Crowley more vulnerable too. They couldn't fight off Heaven and Hell. At least, not alone.

Aziraphale couldn't help but wonder if the whole reason to get Aziraphale to Heaven was to …

Breaking out into a sprint that Aziraphale didn't know he was capable of, he charged through the halls of Heaven towards the Earth's orb. His lungs didn't need air here, but he found himself gasping as his body worked to propel him forward.

The room was thankfully empty as he skidded to a halt in front of the orb.

After a quick scan of the bookshop, Aziraphale found Crowley sitting in his apartment. A wine glass before him on the table. Aziraphale let out a breath—he was safe. He took a moment to watch his demon, his other half. The sharp angles of his face in contrast to the soft curve of his lips. This did nothing to slow his erratic heartbeat. Aziraphale wished he could reach through and just go to him. He would find a way, but he had to be careful; Heaven would notice if he left, and they would both be in extra danger until they were together again.

Aziraphale couldn't help himself; he stared unabashedly at Crowley through the viewer, so focused on each detail of his love that he only noticed the thermos when the demon's long slender fingers reached for it.

"What?" Aziraphale searched his memories. Crowley had used the holy water he gave him. It hadn't been for him, and it was gone.

Watching in fear, Aziraphale held his breath as the lid came off, and Crowley poured what appeared to be water into his wine. Crowley didn't dilute anything.

He had Holy Water.

Did he not know?

"No, don't!" Aziraphale cried out as Crowley lifted the glass and swung his eyes up to the sky and to, what felt like directly, at Aziraphale. Unable to do anything but watch, he held his breath as the demon brought the cup to his lips. He wished their last moments together could have been actually together.

~~Crowley~~

"To the world," Crowley stated and brought the cup to his lips. He paused, and then put the cup back on the table. He stared at it again—judging it, judging himself—and then went to reach for it before pulling his hands back and stuffing them in his pockets.

"Just do it, you coward," he groaned to himself, but as his fingers slipped deep into his jacket pocket, he felt something.

The hard metal slipped over his finger as he pulled it from his pocket. Crowley looked down at his hand, now adorned with Aziraphale's ring. It stared back at him with a message he wasn't able to decipher. How long had this been in his pocket? When had Aziraphale …

He remembered the brief moment in Heaven when Aziraphale walked him to the lift, brushing just slightly against him. That Nefertiti-fooling fellow had slipped the ring in his pocket. And while Crowley didn't know what the angel was trying to tell him, hope brewed anew in his chest.

He looked at the glass on the table and his heart sank. How close he had just been. He had nearly traded the only permanence he'd ever known with the ultimate permanence. Crowley slipped the ring off his finger and held it up to examine it, but when he determined there was nothing more hidden within it, he slipped it back on his ring finger. For safekeeping, he told himself.

"What does this mean?" Crowley growled, bouncing back and forth between his feet, filled with a new energy. "Aaaa, 'Ziraphale, what are you trying to tell me? Why wouldn't you have just said it?" Crowley's eyes lost focus as he delved into his mind, looking at the painful last meeting with fresh sight.

It hurt just as bad. There was nothing, no hidden message, nothing beyond the ring slipped in his pocket. The moment just as the doors were closing came into focus. Aziraphale's eyes looked so sad. His face had stayed blank, but his eyes. They could never hide anything from Crowley. He knew those eyes. Those blue angelic eyes.

Blue. Not purple. Aziraphale was not the Supreme Archangel. No wonder Muriel hadn't known. So why did he tell Crowley he was?

A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Aziraphale." A huge grin climbed up his cheeks as he raced to the door and nearly ripped it off the hinges pulling it open.

Standing there was a blond angel and another blond angel. Neither were Aziraphale, and neither looked happy to see him.

"You will come with us, demon, or we shall smite you right here."

"See, I had just decided against the smiting," Crowley glanced back at his cup. "I think I'll pass on both accounts. Sorry, chaps, no smitings today."

Crowley pushed down the fear he felt and tried for a cool nonchalance as he made to shut the door. The larger of the two very grandiose angels grabbed his wrist and twisted it in a move Crowley was sure he'd seen in a movie once. It was very effective as he was almost instantly spun around and restrained with his arm twisted behind him.

"You think he's going to be trouble?" the one holding him said.

"Looks like it," the other replied, and even though Crowley was no longer facing them, he could hear the menacing smile in the tone.

"Nope, no trouble here. Just lead the way, and I'll …"

Crowley woke up in a large white room with a Heavenly forcefield cutting it in half. He could see the other side of the room but knew that walking through the glowing field would be the last thing he'd ever try. They had tossed him unceremoniously on the floor; he could tell by the way his limbs seemed to drape over each other in off angles. He had a wicked headache and a wild case of double vision. But he was alive, and that was something.

It took him a couple of wobbly tries but he made it to a seating position, resting against the crisp, cold white surface of the back wall. He brushed a hand through his hair, wincing when he found the bump left behind from whatever they had hit him with.

Knocking him out and dragging him to Heaven was starting to become a habit he wasn't fond of. He fidgeted with Aziraphale's ring on his finger, trying to collect the thoughts that splintered and filled his head with a cacophony of nonsense.

"Allo?" he called out, wincing again when his head echoed his voice back at maximum volume in his head.

There was no answer. He hadn't really expected one. They didn't want him dead yet. Or they weren't quite sure how to do it.

Crowley briefly considered discorporation but ending up in Hell didn't really feel like an upgrade. Besides, it was quiet here. Crowley could use the time to think. Somewhere not far away was Aziraphale, and something told Crowley that he was in danger. And that just wouldn't do.