Hey everyone,
I have another chapter for you! I don't have much to say other than thank you to those who are still reading, I hope you're still enjoying where the story is going.
I do also want to put out a slight warning on this one for a spicy (I think) kissing scene. There's nothing explicit, but if that's something that you're not a fan of, it's only a few pages in the center of the chapter.
Well, that's all I have so,
Enjoy!
Crowley tugged Aziraphale close again and tucked his head back into the angel's shoulder. Queasiness roiled in his stomach as the balance he was sure he had struck, as self-destructive as it was, was dashed to pieces with his angel's return. Perhaps teetering would be a better word for it. He had what he wanted, but he couldn't quiet the whispering feeling that it could crumble away as quick as it did in his nightmares. He took a shuddering breath, trying to revel in the reassuring scent, the familiar location, but it was just too stark. The grandfather clock in the back of the shop kept a slow count of the minutes, proving it was longer than the blink of dream, and yet Crowley clung to Aziraphale, trying desperately to dismiss the nagging sensation that nipped at the budding happiness. This has happened before…
He clung tighter to Aziraphale.
Unfortunately, he had seen Aziraphale in his dreams. Had heard his voice. Had been able to touch him. Had killed and been killed by him.
The comfort and familiarity listed in his confusion. He fisted Aziraphale's jacket trying to ground himself. Took in another deep breath of the known scent but it soured. Not even sobriety was enough to let him puzzle out reality.
An unrelenting shiver crawled up his spine.
Tears welled in his eyes as he gripped Aziraphale tighter and tried to hold on to what he was increasingly sure would disappear. In terms of nightmares, this one isn't so bad. His chest tightened as his breath caught in his throat.
"Crowley?"
Aziraphale's comforting voice drifted through the panic, but the demon couldn't make himself move. He couldn't stop the quaking panic vibrating at his core. The tension in his chest was starting to hurt. He didn't need to breathe, but his inability to choose to do so was agonizing.
"Crowley?" Aziraphale said a bit more urgently.
He bit his lip and shook his head as pain kept him from explaining what was happening. Guilt joined the panic as he realized he was close to ripping the fabric of Aziraphale's favorite jacket. A warm hand patted his back. Crowley felt Aziraphale's voice rumble in his chest.
"It's okay, dear. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out. Come with me."
Crowley moved because the support keeping him upright moved. Without his awareness, one hand was pried off the surely damaged jacket until they were standing side by side, Aziraphale's arm around his waist. They shuffled toward the twisted ladder at the back of the room. Only then was his other hand coaxed free. Crowley all but slumped as he lost the connection. That was it. The image of a burning blade stuck in his mind. The need for numbing alcohol screamed through the flames. She was getting more conniving with his perpetual punishments.
Only for hands to press into his waist as he was gently guided up the stairs. On broken instinct, he moved, and each foot landed heavier than the last, as a dead man to his execution. At the top, he slumped over the railing, his head falling into his hands. He was unwilling to watch the inevitable destruction.
But no biting pain demanded his attention.
No sulfurous scent struck him.
No pang of tremendous loss squeezed his heart.
Instead, gentle hands lifted him back into comforting arms as he was guided through the stacks of books and into a tucked back bedroom. As directed, he laid on his side on the bed and Aziraphale stretched out next to him, still inexplicably alive.
No golden ichor coated his hands.
Aziraphale relaxed against the headboard and his hand ran languid circles across Crowley's shoulder blades. The motions were easy, comforting, but his words were heavy with sorrow. "I'm so sorry, Crowley. For everything I did. I should have never taken that offer. Shouldn't have even taken the meeting. We were free from them, and I invited them back."
Not really hearing the words, Crowley muttered, "You'll go away. Always do." His fingers slipped around Aziraphale waist as he pulled himself into the angel's side. At least this time he was still warm.
Aziraphale bit down hard on his lip. Coughing down the sorrow, he gently promised, "I won't leave. Not again. Not unless you want me to."
Crowley curled tighter, but he couldn't parse out the truth from the lie. He wanted to explain what was going on, but he couldn't find the words. And the stiffness crushing his chest refused to abate. He squeezed his eyes shut instead. Aziraphale's ministrations never stopped, never wavered, but the steady ticking of the grandfather clock ratcheted up Crowley's discomfort. Why wouldn't She just end it? Just show him the destruction that was surely the end of this charade so he could finally pass out.
Instead, minutes dragged into hours. Aziraphale stoically kept up the comfort while Crowley slipped deeper into confusing paranoia. Only the tinkling bell on the door snapped Crowley's spiral. "Why did you come back?" He blurted out, his blank gaze fixed on a stack of books on a nightstand pressed against the wall and serving very little of the purpose of its creation, other than holding books, of course.
"I missed you." Aziraphale's voice was husky but honest.
It held none of the anger or blame Crowley expected to say nothing of the words themselves. Finally, some of the tension in his chest frayed and he managed a thin breath.
Aziraphale continued, "And Heaven's a mess. There is just…"
Crowley interrupted, "No where to get anything good to eat."
The angel chuckled dryly and didn't stop his soothing treatments. "No patisseries to speak of."
The slight scoff in the answer felt normal and diminished more of Crowley's distrust. His breath came a little easier as it started to match the gentle pattern Aziraphale was running over his shoulders.
They fell quiet as footsteps on the first floor creaked through the old bookshop. Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the door swung shut. "Nina must have asked them to leave."
Crowley rolled far enough to glance out the window where evening's thin fingers carded through the lovely reds and yellows of the setting sun. "Seems to be the case. She must have wanted to close the shop."
The wandering footsteps quieted without ever reaching the second floor, which left only the familiar creaking of the bookshop to fill the silence. Aziraphale quietly summoned a set of strategically placed battery-powered candles, bathing the room in a comforting light. Only then did he risk asking, "What happened, dear?"
"Ngk." Crowley scoffed. Clearing his throat, he snuggled closer. "Nothin'. Don't know what you're talking about."
Aziraphale stopped the gentle circles. "I know that's not true, dearest. I was standing next to you when it happened. Please tell me. It doesn't need to be everything, but something."
Crowley grumbled at the insistence. It had been long enough without anything breaking through this bubble, but, even still, acknowledging it felt like it was only tempted disaster. And he had enough of that for a universe's lifetime, thank you very much. Unfortunately, he had never truly been able to deny Aziraphale anything. Even if this was an elaborate betrayal, he would take the chance every time. He swallowed hard and tucked his hands more securely, trying to hold Aziraphale in place before he admitted, "I've not been the…most responsible since you left." He winced at the gaping omissions in that statement.
"What does that mean?" Aziraphale asked and then something seemed to click. "Oh." The rhythmic circles started again.
"Yah." Crowley muttered. "I think I broke a statute." Probably the least egregious of his offenses, but an easy one to start with.
"A statute?"
"Of Shakespeare."
"Why would you do that?"
The indignance in his tone was unconscious and so was the hitch in his gentle treatment. Crowley felt bad at hearing it, but he could only shrug. A part of him wanted to be angry at Aziraphale for slipping so easily into whatever this was, but slinking relief and exhaustion won out. "I was trying to make myself feel better. And I was pretty drunk."
"Oh, Crowley." Aziraphale said sadly.
"Yeah." Crowley said dejectedly. "Not my best moment."
"Is that all?"
Crowley sniffled but bit his tongue. Nothing had rained down around them, no horrific betrayal had befallen them, and Crowley finally was able to quiet the nagging whisper. Unfortunately, that meant that more difficult times were stretching before them. He could feel the tears pricking in his eyes, so he closed them tightly.
"It's not." Aziraphale said confidently. Gathering Crowley up a bit higher on his chest, he carded his hand through his hair. He assured, "It's alright, dearest, you don't have to say anything more."
"I've been having nightmares." Crowley blurted out. His mouth suddenly went dry.
Aziraphale tipped his head. Crowley's eyes were closed, but the tension hadn't left. It had tightened his shoulders and puckered his brow. Aziraphale gently asked, "What were they about?"
Crowley's eyes popped open in surprise. He watched Aziraphale for a long moment before cryptically saying. "You." He opened and closed his mouth a few times, explanations created and dying on his lips before he could ever voice them. Finally, he settled. "Never anything good."
Aziraphale shuddered but didn't push.
"My plants are dead." He gave a dry smirk, but there was horror behind his eyes. "Apparently, even fear only goes so far when alcohol is substituted for water."
Aziraphale's heart twisted, and it wove through his voice as he sadly said, "Oh, Crowley." They laid in silence as blues and purples overtook the reds and yellows and the candles fully lit the small room.
"I'm just so incredibly tired." Crowley finally admitted.
Without hesitation, Aziraphale insisted, "Sleep then. I'll stay with you. Keep the bad dreams away as it were."
"Promise, Angel?" Hope blossomed through him at the question, even as the prospect of sleep terrified him.
Aziraphale kissed the crown of Crowley's head and laid his free hand on the demon's clutching arm. "I promise, dear."
"Will they come looking for you?" Crowley heard the fear in his voice, Aziraphale was a bad liar and instinctively, he knew he feared staying. He swallowed back the guilt.
"I don't know that anyone will know I'm gone." Aziraphale levied Crowley a bit more comfortably onto his chest as he settled his hand back into the soft red hair. "Maybe once the forms stop being signed someone will say something. If they do, we'll leave."
Crowley didn't fully believe his quiet convictions, but the fingers Aziraphale was carding through his longer hair was having an effect and within minutes, Crowley drifted off into his first real sleep in more than a month.
Aziraphale waited until Crowley's breath evened out before he released the biting hold he had on his emotions and let the tears fall. He had learned a long time ago to cry quietly, Gabriel had not been kind to him the few times he had shed tears beyond the pearly gates, but at least now it was a useful way to make sure he didn't wake his precious demon.
This was not at all what he had expected. In retrospect, he realized he had expected very little, but clearly a part of him had hoped it would be easier. The reality of the situation was far more precarious. He couldn't move quicker; it could hurt Crowley. They couldn't slow down either, not for too long, or it would end the world.
It was like holding up two pillars leaning away from him. If he kept them in balance, he would surely be torn in two and if he let go of one to write the other, he might as well have been pulled apart. Aziraphale exhaled sharply pressing his free fingers into the corners of his eyes. It was a terrible analogy, but that didn't make it any less true. He couldn't lose the world because that would mean losing Crowley and he couldn't lose Crowley because then what good was the world?
Even with all that danger and doubt, for the first time since he had left, he felt steady. Calm. Like he was back with the one particular person who could make it better. If he didn't fail him first. He didn't feel good by any stretch of even Crowley's imagination, but where he was, was the closest to an instinctive feeling of comfort he'd ever found. For once he realized how light the burden of inadequacy and stupidity that Heaven ingrained was when he was with Crowley. That realization cut deeply, but even that biting sting was soothed as he looked at Crowley's peaceful expression. He wasn't letting go this time.
For as dark as the looming threat was, Aziraphale finally felt an old inkling of genuine positivity. It was still possible to set it right. The world hadn't ended, and Crowley was talking to him. Well, kind of talking. It was the right direction.
His thoughts warred in that general vacillation until the late hours of night. Until Crowley started to mumble and shift uncomfortably. Torn from his thoughts, Aziraphale laid his hand on Crowley's back, intent to continue the reassuring ministrations.
But Crowley suddenly shoved away from him, practically rolling off the bed in a scramble.
Aziraphale snapped up. His wide eyes met Crowley's. A variance of emotion – disbelief, anger, relief, sorrow, a few others that flashed faster than Aziraphale could name – played through them before the golden hue hardened and Crowley relaxed into the wall the best he could, given the tightness in his shoulders. "Still here?" He snapped. It was a pointed accusation that barely covered the thickness in his voice.
"I told you I wouldn't leave."
Crowley slumped and dropped onto the bed, shaking his head.
Aziraphale crawled into sitting in front of him, never taking his eyes off the demon but unsure of what to do to make it better. He settled his hands in his lap and waited for direction.
"Sorry, Angel." Crowley said finally, letting out a heavy breath. "Shouldn't have said that." He flicked a hand noncommittally between them. "Clearly, you're still here."
"Yes, you should have." Aziraphale countered emphatically. He would take the blame, as much as Crowley was willing to give. "You have no reason to trust me. I left you."
Crowley sighed. "It wasn't just you that left." He tipped his gaze up to the ceiling and worked the muscle in his jaw. "It wasn't just you." He met Aziraphale's gaze. "I'm sorry I kissed you like that. I shouldn't have…I shouldn't have made you do that. I just…I was hoping that if you knew what I was trying to say…"
"Please don't apologize." Aziraphale scooted close enough to lightly touch Crowley's hand. "Just…do it again." A shy smile turned up the corners of his lips as he took in the surprise on Crowley's face.
"What?"
"It's what I should have said…before," he said softly. Scooting closer, he wrapped his fingers around the hand he had claimed.
"You meant it earlier?"
"Meant what?"
"You said that you should have stayed and done this." Crowley gestured the implication between them. "Instead."
Aziraphale smiled softly as he nodded in agreement. "I meant it." He leaned in.
Crowley stared, his face a stoic mask, unreadable. Only his pupils expanded as palpable tension rose between them, the consideration of crossing a line they instinctively knew would allow no return. In a burst of serpentine movement, Crowley wrapped his hand around the nape of Aziraphale's neck and hungrily pulled him in. A snap of sweet pain bit as they crashed into each other, but it disappeared just as quickly as Crowley threaded apologetic fingers through soft hair.
Aziraphale responded with the same enthusiasm, turning more fully into the demon's embrace, he hummed happily against lips sure to be bruised when they finally broke apart. Spice and dark chocolate combined in a taste that left Aziraphale frustrated he had only ever tried it twice, and insatiable for more. His hands found the edges of Crowley's sleep-loosened shirt and in curious daring, he traced a line along the hem, touching long forbidden skin.
Gasping at the contact, Crowley shifted fully onto the bed and turned completely toward Aziraphale. Testing those same limits, he ran his tongue lightly along Aziraphale's lips. He tugged almost painfully on blonde curls as he wrenched the angel into his chest, demanding more.
Aziraphale was more than content to cave. He straddled Crowley's hips and slid a free hand into the long hair as he pressed their lips together roughly. But it wasn't close enough and his demon's curious tongue was becoming more insistent in a way he wanted to understand. Aziraphale pressed Crowley back until he hit the headboard with a soft thud. Crowley's light gasp ignited something in his belly, and he parted his lips to the demon's curious tongue. Crowley melted into him with a sultry growl that started low in his throat and caused Aziraphale's heart to skip a beat. He pressed the flat of his hands to Crowley's back before crossing them tight enough to grip at the lithe waist.
"Angel…" Crowley whined against Aziraphale's lips. Not wanting to be unmatched, he pulled at the edges of the tartan bow tie, grinning wolfishly when it tumbled free. His suddenly free hands tugged at buttons that were tougher than their age would suggest. When they refused to immediately obey, Crowley growled and redoubled his efforts. After some doing, he finally disheveled the prim shirt.
Aziraphale shuddered as Crowley's deliberate fingers left trails of heat in their wake as he touched every inch of skin he could reach. Every sense was on edge and all he wanted was follow the temptation as far as it would take him. He nibbled on Crowley's bottom lip and smiled widely as the demon's nails dug into his back.
There were no tears as they devoured each other, forgetting their long practiced need for air. Fast and needy, they tasted and tempted in the way a starving man would consume a buffet. Tongues tangled and lips stung only for the pain to be eased a moment later with an apologetic kiss or softening nibble.
Aziraphale, frustrated by the vest's restriction, set to work on the buttons. He moved carefully, disregarding the impulse to rip them free. Crowley's sudden interest in his neck made it all the more appealing. As the last one finally gave up, the demon found a soft spot under his ear. Aziraphale groaned loudly at the contact and his knuckles knocked against the headboard as the vest finally fell away. Crowley hissed devilishly and that fluttering in his belly started to burn.
Enticed by the response, Crowley slowly moved down Aziraphale's neck. Kissing and nibbling, he was spurred on by Aziraphale increasingly heavy breaths. The angel gave a particularly whimpering sigh when his lips brushed Aziraphale's collarbone. With a wicked smile, Crowley raked his teeth across the bone and gently sucked on the skin already warmed by flushing emotions. Aziraphale whined in response, and Crowley redoubled his efforts, biting and sucking at the same spot until it started to purple. All the while he scraped his nails across the angel's back. Aziraphale arched into the blissful pain and Crowley felt the bubbling of honest ecstasy in his chest. Crowley hummed his approval as he moved up the long neck, careful to leave little skin untouched as he was slowly drawn back to Aziraphale's lips.
Tongues clashed again as lips parted greedily and wandering hands became far more deliberate in their need. The first rays of dawn peaked in through the window, dimming the candles still flickering on the books.
Using his leverage, Aziraphale pulled Crowley to him. To hold him as close as he could, he slid his hands up until his hand found bare shoulders. The loose shirt hitched up. Crowley had done his work well and the feeling of skin on skin was the closest to divine Aziraphale had ever come.
But abruptly Crowley pressed him back. A soft pop was all the separated them. Crowley met Aziraphale's darkened gaze, took in the bruised and puffed lips and all he wanted to do was continue that debauchery. Instead, he tugged down his shirt and shook his head. "What're you doing, Angel?" His voice was hoarse.
Aziraphale's lustful look tumbled into confusion as he asked, "What do you mean?" He flushed as he tried to add some levity, "I believe I made it very clear what I was doing."
The attempt went over like a lead balloon. Crowley was silent for a long moment, but the vulnerability was clear in his expression. "I don't understand." Crowley said, drawing up his long legs and curling into the headboard protectively. "You didn't want this before. You left. I…" He trailed off with a frustrated growl. When he flicked his gaze back up, it reflected the confusion in his voice. "What changed?"
"You kissed me."
Crowley's expression fell into guilt. "Angel, I…"
"No." Aziraphale rebuked him softly. "I don't mean it in that way. I just mean that you showed me what I've…been missing and then I…you…I lost it. I tried not to think about it in Heaven, but it was there, lingering. I've gone six thousand years without it, and I just don't want to forgo it any longer."
"I'm not worth it, Angel."
"You are." He insisted. "I…" Aziraphale flicked his gaze to the sheets, again reminded of what he had broken, "finally learned the truth. I was alone and I did a lot of reading." He shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world, but his voice held his honesty. "I know what they did, all of it. From their own records." He slid back, not enough to let go of the hand he had somehow grabbed, but enough to give Crowley space. The passion of moments ago had worn thin, but the lingering trust of long-established love informed the rest. "You've always pointed out the flaws in the system. Questioned the pieces that don't make sense and I've never really listened. It was…safer…I guess to wave it away as ineffable." He leaned forward enough to meet Crowley's still blown out gaze, "But so many of the problems, of the issues we've seen is…just apathy. Heaven has so much potential and uses none of it." Unconsciously, his attention slipped on the ring on his finger. "The only difference between them and Hell is an honesty of purpose." He dragged his gaze away and looked up at Crowley. "I can't give you up for that."
The hardened distrust melted, and some of the tension of Crowley's shoulders dipped as he asked, "You truly mean that?"
"I do." Aziraphale said with complete conviction. "I swear it on Her name." He took Crowley's hand and pulled it to his chest, "I swear it on the World."
Crowley's eyes widened at the promise, but he felt compelled to ask, "This isn't a trick?"
"No, my dearest." Aziraphale promised with a knowing smile. Crowley wouldn't be Crowley without the questions, after all.
Crowley turned his palm up and threaded his fingers through Aziraphale's. Finally, a soft smile graced his expression.
Aziraphale allowed himself to be drawn forward with a light tug. Hesitantly, he leaned against the headboard, far enough not to crowd, but close enough to keep a handhold. Without a second thought, Crowley tucked into Aziraphale's side. He wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's waist, careful to slide his hand under the still opened dress shirt. Aziraphale wasted no time, dropping his forehead onto Crowley's hair with a shaky, relieved sigh.
The last of the tension melted out of Crowley's shoulders as he relaxed into his angel's arms. Closing his eyes tightly, he buried his head in Aziraphale's chest. It finally felt comfortable. The familiar scent and rote world around him stabilized and the questions in the back of Crowley's mind finally quieted. He shuddered.
"I'm so sorry, dearest." Aziraphale said quietly. "For all of it."
"'s alright now, Angel." After a beat he said, "It was a dream, bad dream. You fell because of me." He looked up at Aziraphale. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
"You didn't scare so much as worry me. But we're safe now." Without allowing for another word, Aziraphale settled his arms around Crowley.
Even with that assurance, they both fell silent. A few more stolen hours to themselves wouldn't make a difference to the world. Aziraphale lazily ran his hand in predictable patterns across Crowley's back while the demon remained as still as he ever had, a snake soaking up the warmth of a summer's sun. All the while, the sunlight of a new day crept in, making the din of the candles all the more unnecessary.
While they laid there, a fleck of light caught Aziraphale's attention. Curiosity piqued, he looked down and, as he slid his hand up Crowley's back, his ring caught the early morning sun. Oddly ominous. With each comforting pass, the light reflected and the ache in his shoulder deepened. Finally, he let his head fall back against the headboard as he realized what he needed to do. The skin on his finger burned like betrayal. Closing his fingers on the molded ring, he took a deep breath.
"What're you doing, Angel?" Crowley with a thick voice. He blinked lazily up at Aziraphale, his gaze falling on his hands.
"I can't wear this anymore." He tugged and twisted the ring, knowing that he could miracle it away, but feeling far more guilty about doing that. "It's a lie."
Crowley gently covered Aziraphale's hands. "It's not a lie." He rolled into sitting. "It's not a lie, Angel. You served Her faithfully for years, you still are, and that was a symbol of your position, you don't have to take it off."
"I do," Aziraphale said, dropping their joined hands into his lap. "It's a symbol of a side I don't have anymore. A demonstration of a promise that never truly existed. It will always be a reminder of what Heaven did."
"Angel," Crowley started, threading his fingers through Aziraphale's, "please don't do this."
"I have to, dear." Aziraphale said. Regretfully pulling his hands free, he twisted the ring over his knuckle and pulled it free. He held the beautifully crafted ring between them, "We're on our own side now. You and me." The light reflected off the heavenly created lines as Aziraphale tipped it to Crowley, "The only way I would keep it would be if you wore it."
"It's yours." Crowley breathed.
"And now it's yours, my dearest." Aziraphale's voice held sweet relief, like a burden he hadn't realized he was holding had been lifted. Even as the last few tears fell, he was smiling as he pushed it toward the demon. "If you want it."
Crowley reverently took the ring. Rolling it between his fingers, feeling the slight warmth the heavenly object left in its wake, he studied it closely before he looked up at Aziraphale, "I can't take your ring. She gave it to you."
"She gave me you." Aziraphale said, leaning forward and gently kissing Crowley before he said, "I don't need a ring to tell me what I know. I want to be with you, and I want to protect the World. If it's yours, it will fulfill its promised purpose."
"Are you sure, Angel?" Crowley asked, closing his hand around the lightly burning metal.
"I am."
Swallowing, Crowley slipped the ring on his finger. It left behind a trail of secure warmth as it contacted his skin, like touching the side of a heated teacup. It wasn't uncomfortable, quite the opposite. It was a constant reminder of his angel's warmth. Meeting Aziraphale's gaze, he quietly said, "I don't have anything for you."
Aziraphale reached out and pulled Crowley back into his arms, "I can feel your love, dear. I don't need anything else."
Crowley relaxed into his angel's hold, snuggling back with a sigh. And had the situation been anything other than what it was, they would never have moved. As it was, they were only afforded another hours or so to hold each other. With the promise of a new day, the hanging threat would be illuminated. Crowley might have been the most important reason for Aziraphale's visit, but he wasn't the only one.
By silent decision, they waited as long as they could. Only when the sun streamed through the windows, did Crowley broach the alternative reason for Aziraphale's visit. The sorrow was clear in his voice when he admitted, "We have to stop them, Angel."
"I know. But I have no idea how."
Crowley pressed a heavy breath through pursed lips. "Well, what do you know?"
"Not much unfortunately, there are seven signs and after the seventh, which has not been described, takes place there will be a fight I'm assuming."
"Between who, Heaven and Hell? Not a very creative, are they?"
"It'll be different this time." Aziraphale countered. "They're stockpiling relics from the churches and hidden places on Earth. I found them stuffed into a storage room. It was a strange mix of items too. Some had actual resonance, Samson's donkey jawbone and St. Peter's chains, but others – do you remember the scourging column hoaxes? – are there as well."
Crowley scoffed at the idea of the hoaxes being used but then he thoughtful said, "The ones with actual power would be useful against demons, so Hell is at least part of the equation." He looked away and considered the far wall before he asked, puzzled, "But why the unholy pieces?"
"That's why I don't think it's just Hell. There's something else going on. Saraqael said it was destruction and I must imagine that's complete destruction. The Metatron said the Apocalypse Adam stopped was never meant to succeed, that She would never want the son of Satan to remake the world. Apparently, this is Heaven's chance to do what Hell failed to do, but they need Earth." Aziraphale scrunched his nose at the informational deficit. "The Metatron is keeping it as clandestine as possible. Very few, if anyone, knows the full plan." He shivered at the thought, that was the first time he had vocalized it.
"Alright." Crowley breathed out. "Then how do we stop it? And why in the devil are they collecting relics? Because they need Earth to do something?"
"I do not know." Aziraphale admitted. "Seems I wasn't much of a Supreme Archangel."
Crowley growled at that doubt. "Seemsss to me, that you're comporting yourself as more of a Supreme Archangel than Gabriel ever did." His fiery gaze locked on Aziraphale's, and he spoke with conviction, "We will figure this out and then we'll be free of all of it. But no more of that." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "We need to know more. Is there anyone you can trust? Anyone who can shed more light?"
Aziraphale dropped his head back in an unconscious imitation of Crowley. "Of course, I…there's a file on my desk. Nakir found it, but I left in such a rush…"
"What are you talking about, Angel? You have a desk? In Heaven?"
"I am the Supreme Archangel, dear, I have a desk." He looked incredulously at the demon and a bit of the fussiness of the old Aziraphale shone through. "There was an angel, a scrivener, whose been helping me figure out what's going on. Not that he knows that, mind you."
"It's always the scriveners." Crowley said with a smirk. "You can trust him?"
"As long as I don't tell him too much, I believe so. We need to retrieve that file."
Crowley scowled. "We could ask Muriel to go…"
"I can't do that if they get caught helping me. I could never forgive myself. Not to mention, if they get caught with that file, it could implicate Nakir as well."
Crowley studied Aziraphale – his gaze flicking across his face, his disheveled bow tie, a shirt only closed with a few buttons, and his hands clasped around the demon's – before he finally admitted. "You said you wouldn't go away again." He couldn't help the vulnerability. The fear. It was a terrifying prospect.
"I won't go if you ask me not to."
Crowley chewed on his bottom lip before he finally said, "No. You're right, it's a good start to a plan and we have to stop that bastard if nothing else."
"The Metatron?"
"Yes, the Metatron. I don't much like him. And I'll be twice-damned if he gets what he wants." Crowley took in a deep breath, and then hurriedly said, "YouneedtogobackuptoHeaven, Angel." His expression soured into a sickened scowl.
It was Aziraphale's turn at the negative. "It's not that simple, Crowley. I can't just go. You're right to bring up the Metatron. He's already asking about you, if I do something wrong, if he finds out I'm here, or what we're trying to do, he could destroy you."
"Or you." Crowley growled. His gaze darted away as his eyes narrowed for a long moment before a smirk broke across his face and he met Aziraphale's attention. He mischievously said, "I could just stay here…It's half my bookshop, right?"
Aziraphale scoffed at the correct assumption, knowing well it had been Crowley's almost from the day he had purchased it. He had never really had to ask to be let in. He smiled softly at the memory of the times he had, in fact, asked if he was allowed. "It is our bookshop, yes. But I've already allowed him entrance."
"What if I don't let him in? What if I refuse to let any of them in?" Crowley asked, his hand now running lazy circles over Aziraphale's arm, unable to keep still but not wanting to move.
"It's a heavenly outpost…" Aziraphale trailed off as he considered Crowley's thought process. Shax's odd introduction sprang to mind. Why had she pretended to be a hitchhiker?
"But what if you're not here?" Crowley asked, putting together the thought as it came to him, "Is it a heavenly outpost because an angel bought it or because you're in it?"
"I'm not sure." Aziraphale said slowly. He sat up and looked at Crowley, "Without the summoning circle activated, it is just a regular shop. And you are still a demon so giving half of it over to you would mean it becomes a Hellish outpost as well, I would imagine." He shook his head. "But if I'm here, that offers you no protection. I wouldn't be able to come back."
"But if you're here, I wouldn't be alone, and we can take our chances together." Crowley said with grumbling determination.
"If we do this, wouldn't that make the bookshop vulnerable to Hell?"
"Hell's not who we're worried about." Crowley rebutted.
Aziraphale scoffed at the presumption. "What if we said it was ours? Put it on our own side as it were. Change the perception of its ownership."
"Honestly, Angel, I'm guessing on all this. I don't know if it makes a difference or if we're yelling into a void but if this is what we're doing we need to try something."
"You're right." Aziraphale admitted. "We need to do something…"
"How would you…do that? Give it to me? Give me half?" Crowley asked hesitantly, "You built this bookshop, would you give it away?"
"Crowley, you're talking like it's never been yours. It always has been."
"Ngk." Crowley intoned sheepishly. "It's mine then." He paused and looked around as if expecting something to change. No monumental shift started, no noticeable transformations of any kind. "How do we know if that did anything?"
"I don't know that we can." Aziraphale said with equal trepidation.
They both surveyed the room, but neither moved to check the rest of the shop.
"Now, what do we do?" Crowley asked tentatively.
A knock at the door was followed by the same door opening without pause and answering his question. Muriel stood in the doorway in their constable uniform, their wide eyes on the pair on the bed. Their face reddened, and they looked away just as quickly. "'m sorry. I didn't know where you went."
"It's alright, Muriel." Aziraphale said gently, lifting Crowley off him with a small effort. The demon loudly grumbled at the imposition. The angel shot him an amused, loving look before turning back to Muriel and realizing his state of undress. Deftly moving to close the last of the buttons, he conversationally said, "We need to speak with you actually."
"With me?" The curious angel asked, taking a step into the room, any perceived impropriety gone.
"Yes." Aziraphale reiterated, appreciating the presence of Crowley at his back. He glanced behind him only briefly before he explained, "Heaven has designs on this universe that, we are mostly sure, will destroy everything and everyone in it. Angels and demons included."
Muriel's expressive eyes widened. "Why would they do that?"
"I don't know." Aziraphale admitted. The hand he only now realized was groping behind him was caught by Crowley. His resolve stiffened. "I wasn't able to find that out. I only know it's coming and that we have to stop it."
On instinct, Muriel nodded their agreement. "Yes, of course, we can't let that happen." As soon as that confirmation escaped, their expression dropped. "Umm, I mean, maybe we should stop it. But what if the destruction is what's best, Supreme Archangel?" They dropped their gaze to their shoes.
Aziraphale took in a steadying breath, helped when Crowley tightened his hold on his hand. "Please do not do that, Muriel. This isn't a test or challenge. Your instinct to help is correct, you're an angel, that's what you should do."
Sheepishly, Muriel looked up with wide eyes. "But your grace…"
"You do not have to help, Muriel. We," he tipped his head back to Crowley, "will deal with this if you do not want to, but, as you've been staying here, you have the right to know a bit about what we're considering."
Their eyes darted across the floor before resolutely meeting Aziraphale's. "I want to help. I like Nina and Maggie, Mrs. Sandwich, even Mr. Brown, they've been kind to me, and I don't want them to be destroyed. I'll help."
"Good." Aziraphale said, "You and Crowley will be staying here. I need to go back to Heaven." He turned on the bed and met Crowley's gaze. "Are you sure about this, dear?"
"Not really." Crowley smirked. "But we have to try something, because I believe you owe me a very alcoholic lunch at the Ritz and that can only happen if the Ritz is still standing."
Aziraphale furrowed his brow as he considered their long history of deals and bets. "Do I?"
Crowley's smirk dropped into a slight frown when he admitted, "That's where I was going to take you before all this started. That morning after Shax attacked the bookshop…" He trailed off as Aziraphale's expression soured as well. "If you want to make it up to me, it's your treat." A bittersweet smile blossomed.
Aziraphale couldn't help but return it. He leaned forward and kissed Crowley, a firm commitment to everything he had promised. When he pulled back, he pressed their foreheads together and said, "I promise. It will be my treat."
They stayed that way for a long moment, reveling in the healing promise of togetherness before Aziraphale stood and glanced between the pair. "I should get back." He looked at Crowley. "I'll bring the file back with me when I'm able. Please be safe until I can."
"Never, Angel." Determination sickened his expression, but he held firm, nonetheless.
Aziraphale smirked at the response and disappeared in a poof of golden-hued smoke.
The Metatron stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, staring unseeingly out of the main windows. He started to speak as Michael and Uriel approached, "I need you to confirm something for me."
"Something particular, milord?" Uriel asked with their patent blend of annoyed obedience.
"Is the demon Crowley back at Aziraphale's silly bookshop?" The Metatron intoned. His voice was soft, but it sliced through the Heavenly space with all the ease of a Hellish blade. He turned slowly, his gaze solidifying, "Given what I have found, it appears you were correct Uriel, Aziraphale has decided to abandon our cause."
Michael and Uriel shared a knowing look before Michael asked, "Is Aziraphale there now?"
"No." The Metatron harshly said. "He has chosen to come back to Heaven as a turncoat. I believe you would find him in his office if you were to look." He turned toward both archangels, his face a mask of anger. "Aziraphale will be privy to none of this. He will be made to think he is succeeding until he isn't."
"You want us to what then? Knock and see if a demon comes to the door."
"Or search for him." The Metatron snapped. "I don't care how you find the information, but I want to know how much the demon knows and how we can deal with him if necessary."
A stack of books in his hands, Crowley was quietly cleaning up the mess Muriel had managed to make in the month they had overseen the bookshop. To that point, he snatched a book out of their hands and dropped it on top of the pile he was carrying to the correct section. A thud echoed off the door.
Furrowing his brow, Crowley gently set the stack down and slinked into the entrance. Peeking through the frosted windows, Crowley caught sight of an individual dressed all in cream. He snapped back with a hiss.
"What is it?" Muriel whispered, appearing behind him.
Crowley jumped slightly as he snapped around to face them with a sneer. "It's an angel. I can't tell who through the window, but not a good one."
The doorknob jiggled before aggressive knuckles rapped against the door. Crowley slunk down the steps, pushing Muriel with him as he hoped whoever it was would read the damn sign and go away. Instead, the knock echoed again through the room. Muriel looked at him nervously and said, "I could just…"
"Don't touch it." Crowley snapped. "Don't open the door. Don't look at them. Don't invite them in." He growled the last order, desperate to find out whether their experiment would work. He made a show of sniffing the air and his scowl deepened. "One's at the back door too."
Muriel's expressive face revealed their panic as they shuffled back into the bookshelves. Their gaze darted out of the window as they asked, "Who is it?"
"How should I know?" Crowley spat. "I can't know that from smell, can I?" He shrugged away from the door even as he loudly called, "We're long passed closed, come back another day."
"We demand to be let in." Michael insisted. Even muffled through the heavy door, her voice was distinct enough to name her.
Crowley hissed but smirked at the apparently successful barrier. "What's the matter?" Crowley mocked, only Aziraphale would be able to see the nervousness underwriting his posture, "Door won't open for you?" He hissed back to Muriel, "Uriel's at the back door."
"What did you do, demon?" Michael demanded.
Crowley could see the disgust on her face in his mind's eye and he shuddered. Michael was not an angel to be toyed with. He glanced in the direction of the back entrance, hoping that their theory would hold true, and it wasn't just a good lock on the front. Until then, he would have to keep Michael busy. "Wasn't me." Crowley teased. "Seems the shop doesn't want you inside either."
A jiggle sounded in the direction of the back entrance, but the thunk of an unyielding lock confirmed his assumptions. The tension in Crowley's shoulders released.
"Muriel, allow us entrance this instance." Michael spat.
Crowley spun on his heel and snapped his finger toward Muriel, "You stay there." He called in a slightly off singsong, "They can't come to the door right now. Too afraid of the demon in the threshold." Crowley laid his hand on the door handle intent on banishing the threat.
He snapped the door open, relishing, only momentarily, the surprised jumps of the two archangels on his doorstep. Crowley smiled his best wicked gleam and leaned casually against the door frame as he considered the angels before him. "As you can surely read, the shop is closed for the foreseeable future. I'm sure one of the many other bookshops in Soho would be able to get you what you need." He tipped his head to the side. "Pornography of some kind I would assume?"
Uriel snarled at his mockery. "We want our archangel back, Crowley."
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Strange request given he went back up to Heaven little more than a month ago, I believe. Sounds like you've got a bit of an institutional problem if you keep losing archangels."
"We know he's been down here with you." Michael countered.
"Could've fooled me." Crowley said, sweeping his hand at the bookshop. "Wouldn't you be allowed in if he were here?" He smiled sweetly.
"You will let us in to confirm that for ourselves."
"I don't think I will." Crowley said with a shrug. "You can take my word for it, because I will not extend that invitation." He moved to shut the door. "Time to shove off, I've got important organizing to do."
As the door was closing, Michael ordered, "Muriel, you will allow us entrance this instant." Her voice got louder as the slowly closing wooden impediment muffled it. "I demand you follow my…" The latch clicked into place as Crowley clapped his hands in front of him with a smile. "Well, that worked better than I thought it would." He strode back over to the stack he had been working on. As he passed the window, both archangels were staring through it. He gave them a big wave and a smile before turning to Muriel, frozen in place. "Don't listen to them. If they get in here, they will discorporate the both of us. Permanently."
Muriel's eyes went wide but when they looked back up, the two archangels were gone.
Down that same Soho Street, a pub was getting ready for a match that was sure to bring in a crush of regulars. As the bartenders were straightening the glassware and checking the kegs, a quiet news report spoke to an empty room. A well-dressed man in his early forties had a story appropriate scowl on his face as he read off the teleprompter before him. "We are now getting reports that various mountains have been heard cracking shortly before large boulders tumble down from the rock face, leveling large portions of the countryside below.
It was reported just minutes ago that a large group of queuing climbers has been killed on Everest as the side of the mountain collapsed. In fact, across the world, at very close to the same moment, large mountain chains suddenly crumbled. The Great Smokey Mountains in the United States have caused wide-spread destruction, and the Italians are working closely with the French and Swiss authorities to rescue those trapped in Alpine avalanches.
The seemingly seismic events came with no warning. And experts are scrambling to understand the catastrophic events…"
The report was cut short as the correct station was plugged into the remote and the even keeled voice of the reporter was replaced by the excited calls of a football announcer. As the first patrons settled in, the widespread suffering was brushed off as the rest of the world continued on.
And that's all I have for now! Things are starting to pick up a bit and Crowley and Aziraphale are starting from the back foot (as usual), but at least they're back together.
Feel free to let me know what you thought in the reviews.
I hope you all have a wonderful night/day and stay creative!
- Lily