Chapter Text
Thirteen Years Later
Theoretically, this was a very nice and completely uneventful day.
Theoretically, he was aware that overthinking tended to make things worse and not better.
Theoretically.
With his hands on the sink, Aziraphale leaned forward and studied his reflection. It was a familiar face, a familiar pair of pale and now narrowed eyes that looked right back at him. The crow's feet around his eyes were familiar, too, just like the softness around his jaw; neither of which had ever really bothered him.[1] There wasn't anything wrong about it all, he decided, because it was exactly how it had always been.
Then again, that was exactly what was wrong with it.
Frowning, Aziraphale did what he had wanted to do in the first place, he washed his hands. He still felt somewhat uneasy, and the slightly disturbing thoughts he'd come up with refused to leave his head. That was something he was used to, all that overthinking, but he didn't want to have anything to do with it today. Today was supposed to be a good day.
He left the bathroom and made his way to the living room, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas just yet. He found Crowley sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled out in a rather complicated manner under the sofa table, because sofas were obviously for beginners. Aziraphale, who had always been a very proud beginner of all kinds of things, sat down on the sofa behind his husband and peered down at all the papers that were spread out on the low table.
His eyes weren't good enough to read them without his glasses - thank you, Adam, dear, -, but he knew what Crowley was looking at, anyway.
“Please don't tell me you have been up all night again, Crowley.”
Crowley made one of his noises. “I, uh, won't tell you I've been up all night. Again.”
Aziraphale sighed and shifted, nearly kicking Crowley in the back as he placed one feet at each of Crowley's sides. He touched Crowley's neck and shoulders, tutting when he felt how tense they were from sitting hunched over his textbooks.
“Ngh, that's good,” Crowley said, wriggling a bit to get Aziraphale's hands to the particularly strained spots.
Aziraphale huffed, but complied. “Are you getting anxious again, my dear?”
“I'm not getting anxious over an exam.”
“Of course not,” Aziraphale agreed dryly. “I remember when you tried out astrophysics four years ago -”
“I don't get bloody anxious, angel.” A pause. “What was I thinking, though, trying out astrophysics?”
“I think that was Anya's fault, wasn't it?”
“Hmph.”
Aziraphale had to smile. Anya was by now long finished with her studies, and her girlfriend Elsie wasn't working in the café around the corner anymore, either. Before the not-quite-apocalypse and the whole Turned Human by Adam jumble, Aziraphale would have helped the girls along with a few miracles, but since he couldn't do that anymore, he'd decided to help them along with two listening ears and lots of encouragement. And with a place to stay for a week when they'd been kicked out of their flat that one time, though to be fair, it had been Crowley who had gone to their landlord with a rather thick envelope of money and a probably mildly threatening smile.[2]
Anyway, the girls were doing fine. Aziraphale and Crowley were doing fine, too, although Crowley definitely was getting anxious over exams, which was slightly ridiculous because he switched majors every other semester, anyway. Adam and the Them were doing fine and Anathema and Newt were doing fine, everybody was doing fine.
So why exactly was Aziraphale so nervous today?
Usually, Aziraphale would have asked about what exactly Crowley was studying and invite him to rant about it a little, because that often helped. But instead his thoughts kept straying back to the mirror, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was - well, not wrong, per se, but… weird. Something was weird.
Of course, Aziraphale was used to weirdness. He had also become fond of weirdness even before he had gotten his memories back. But there was also a part of his brain, a part of him, that was still very much human and, with all those very human memories of his very human life before he'd met Crowley, got somewhat nervous when he was confronted with a weirdness he didn't understand. He had felt like this every time it had become clear that Crowley knew more than he should have, back when Aziraphale hadn't yet known what was going on. He didn't like feeling like this again, not now, not when everything was supposed to be good, and happy.
Maybe he was sick? Humans got sick sometimes, yes? Sandy - or Sandalphon, he supposed - had gotten a rather nasty diagnosis that one time, and even though he'd been very lucky and it had all turned out fine, Aziraphale remembered getting that call almost two decades ago, nothing but a courtesy call by Gabriel who didn't really expect Aziraphale to do something, but still. That call had shaken Aziraphale to the bone. Nobody liked to be reminded of their own mortality.
Mortality. It was one of the few unpleasant aspects of this whole situation, mortality. Aziraphale was glad that he'd kept the human memories Adam had given him, because dealing with the prospect of death was easier when you'd been dealing with it your whole life already. Crowley, though? He woke up from nightmares sometimes, and then he always woke Aziraphale up and touched every part of him he could reach, just to reassure himself that, yes, they were both there, they were healthy, they were fine. They had both been on this planet for six thousand years, they had both been immortal, but Aziraphale had also been through and through human. Mortality, dealing with that was more difficult for Crowley.
It was a cruel thing, of course. A cruel, merciless, unpredictable thing. Nobody knew when they would die, and while that was good, knowing that it could happen any time was also scary.
Right now, Aziraphale was scared.
“Angel. I can hear you thinking.”
Aziraphale looked down at Crowley, who had tilted his head back so far that he could peer up at Aziraphale, brows raised. It probably wasn’t good for Crowley’s already sore neck, but Aziraphale smiled, anyway, and studied his husband’s face. He knew every detail of it, even when it was upside down like this. He missed Crowley’s eyes, sometimes. The snakey, golden ones. He loved this colour, too, of course, this warm brown - had fallen in love with them all over again, after all -, but sometimes, well. Sometimes he just missed things.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, very carefully. “Would you look at me?”
Crowley blinked slowly and then raised a brow, his expression somewhere between skeptical and concerned. “I am looking at you already, aren’t I?”
“Yes, of course, but - I mean, would you -” He stopped.
“Aziraphale?”
“I think,” Aziraphale said, “something is… weird.”
Crowley sat up properly and turned around, frowning at him. “Weird.”
Aziraphale held his gaze and nodded. “Yes. I - well, I’m not entirely sure how to explain, I just - I looked in the mirror earlier, and I thought - you see -”
“What, did you find a white hair?”
“Oh, very funny. No, I -” He cut himself off again.
Crowley’s frown deepened, and concern seemed to take over. “Starting to get nervous here, angel.”
Well, Aziraphale was starting to get nervous, too. And frustrated. He sighed, hands fidgeting. “Do you see nothing odd when you look at me?”
Crowley looked at him for a long moment, worried, and then he shook his head. “No? You’ve always looked like this.”
“Well, that is the problem.”
“A problem?” Crowley said, his face doing something complicated that showed that he had not the slightest clue what Aziraphale was going on about. “Why on Earth would your looks be -”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale interrupted. “It’s my birthday.”
Crowley stared at him. “I know,” he said finally. “We stayed up til midnight, remember?”
Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively; that wasn’t what he meant. He knew Crowley hadn’t forgotten. Crowley might not be all too familiar with celebrating birthdays, but he insisted on celebrating Aziraphale’s at least, given that human Az had spent all his birthdays alone in his bookshop, year after year after year before they had found each other again.
“Do you know how old I am?” Aziraphale asked. “This body, I mean, not - not me. ”
And suddenly, Crowley understood. Aziraphale could tell by the look in his eyes, the way his face became slack for a second or two, mouth falling open. He stared at Aziraphale, stunned.
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. Yeah, I - right. That’s - huh.”
Yes, very helpful. Aziraphale squirmed a little, frowning himself now. “I don’t look like sixty-four, do I?”
“No,” Crowley said slowly. “Nah, not really. Not at all. Uh. I don’t know, maybe you’ve got good genes?”
“Sandy started losing his hair when he wasn’t even thirty,” Aziraphale said dryly.
“Your hair looks good to me, though.”
“Crowley, I haven’t aged a day since we met.” He paused and looked at Crowley. “And you haven’t, either, I think. Oh dear. Crowley -”
“S’fine. I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s just - ngh. I don’t know. Er -”
They stared at each other for quite a long time.
Finally, Aziraphale asked, “Adam?”
Crowley nodded. “Adam.”
*
The former antichrist lived in London now, too, in a small flat he shared with Brian and Dog. Wensleydale had stayed in Tadfield, and Pepper stopped by every now and then, when she wasn’t off being busy and amazing. Aziraphale had gotten rather fond of them all, and Crowley felt the same, although he didn’t admit it openly, of course.
This time, though, they visited Adam for no other reason than that they were panicking. Which Crowley also didn’t admit openly, but that wasn’t necessary - judging by how Adam looked at them when he opened the door, the panic was very evident on their faces.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi. Is the world ending again?”
“Dunno,” Crowley replied. “Is it?”
“It’s not,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley a look. Dog had come to greet them, tail wagging excitedly, and Aziraphale bent down to pet him. “We just, ah. Have a question regarding - something else.”
“Oh, okay. Alright, then come in." Adam left the door open and led the way into the flat. Brian didn’t seem to be home. “Sorry, it's a bit of a mess. I've been writing and Brian is, you know, Brian. Tea? And coffee for you, right?”
“Right,” Crowley said distractedly. “But I don't think we have -”
“Tea and coffee would be lovely,” Aziraphale chimed in with a smile, not without elbowing Crowley in the side. Gently.
“I think we've got biscuits, too,” Adam said with the tired nonchalance of someone who was in his mid twenties and had most likely eaten cold pizza for breakfast. “Sit down, I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said, carefully taking a pair of pants from the sofa to fold it and put it on the armrest so that he could sit down.
Crowley was already slouching next to him, his glasses on the tip of his nose as he took in the slightly chaotic state of the room. “What’s he writing, you think? Something new?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale said. As so often, a new information popped up in his head, and he smiled. Adam had always had a very vivid imagination; the career of a writer suited him well. “Something about dragons, it seems. It will be quite epic, I’m sure.”
“Dragons,” Crowley echoed. “Big serpents, huh? Nice.”
Dog came and jumped on the sofa, lying down next to Aziraphale with his head on his thigh. Aziraphale petted him, but after a moment he blinked, hand stilling. “Crowley.”
“Hm?”
“Dog is quite old, isn’t he? For a dog?”
Crowley’s eyes narrowed a little as he looked at Dog as well. “Yeah, he is.”
“He doesn’t act like he’s very old.”
“Yes, that’s my doing.”
Aziraphale and Crowley both looked up to see Adam coming into the room again, carrying a tray. He placed it on the sofa table and sat down across from them, grinning crookedly.
“What do you mean, exactly?” Aziraphale asked.
“I was eleven.” Adam shrugged. He held out his hand, and at once Dog jumped off the sofa again to slobber all over Adam’s fingers. “Making my dog live as long as me was like, the first thought I had when I found out about the whole ‘make reality what you wish’ thing.”
“Oh, I see,” Aziraphale said, smiling. “Well, I’m glad he will stay around.”
“Yeah, me too.” Adam took a biscuit from the plate and started to nibble at it. “So, what’s up?”
“Ah,” Aziraphale began, “well, you see, today is my birthday, and I don’t know why I’ve never noticed it before, but when I looked into the mirror this morning, I -”
“We’re not aging,” Crowley cut him off. “Or at least we think we aren’t. You know anything about that?”
Adam didn’t even seem surprised. He nodded. “Yes, that was. Also my doing. Wait, didn’t I tell you?”
“No,” Aziraphale said. “No, I’m afraid you didn’t.”
“Oh. Sorry. Well, I just thought - I mean, I’m not sure if I really thought about it, you know, because like I said, I was eleven. But it seemed unfair to take two immortals who’d been stuck in miserable jobs for a few thousand years and tell them, hey, listen, you’re free of all that now, but you’re also gonna die in forty years or so. So I let you keep your lifespan.” He frowned slightly. “Sorry, I probably should have - well, asked, first of all, but that ship’s sailed, anyway. I should have told you, though. I guess it just - slipped my mind? Hey, are you okay?”
Aziraphale nodded, even though his head was spinning and he very much did not understand what was going on, exactly, but then he noticed that Adam wasn’t looking at him at all. He was looking at Crowley. So Aziraphale looked at Crowley, too, and as soon as he did that his head stopped spinning and he concentrated on what he saw. He moved closer to Crowley on the sofa and touched his thigh, his arm, his shoulder.
“Crowley? Darling, are you alright?”
Crowley didn’t seem to hear him. He was staring at Adam, eyes wide and desperate and, and that was the most horrifying part, wet. “He’s not gonna die?” he asked, his voice ragged and just as wet as his eyes.
Adam shook his head. “No.” He lifted his shoulders again. “I mean, you’re not - unkillable, I think, so watch out a bit when you cross the street and stuff. But you aren’t going to die because of age and sickness.”
There was a long pause. Aziraphale was entirely focused on Crowley, who seemed frozen in place. Adam watched them, his expression careful, waiting for a reaction.
“I also made sure nobody would notice,” he said eventually. “You know, governments and neighbours and stuff.”
“Okay,” Crowley said. “Okay.” And then he stood up, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He didn’t look at either of them, but he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. “Angel, let’s go.”
“Go? But -”
“Aziraphale, get going.”
“Oh, I - Yes, of course, just -”
But Crowley was already leaving the flat, not looking over his shoulder.
Aziraphale cleared his throat and stood up as well, giving Adam an apologetic look. “Well, I suppose I’d better -”
“Yes, sure.”
“I’m sorry it was such a short visit. And thank you for the tea and -”
“Just go and see if he’s fine,” Adam interrupted him, laughing a bit. “You can come by another time.”
Aziraphale agreed and crossed the room, but before he could close the door behind himself, Adam’s voice stopped him.
“Oh, and happy birthday!”
*
Aziraphale found Crowley in the Bentley. He could see him through the window of the passenger door, and god, he couldn't stand seeing Crowley like this. Something painful and fiercely protective flashed through his chest, and he would have torn the door open if he hadn't feared that would startle Crowley. He opened the door carefully instead, and closed it just as quietly after he'd sat down. The traffic was awfully loud at this time of the day, but in the car it was almost eerily quiet.
Crowley made another one of those sniffing noises, then he straightened a bit to rub his eyes under the glasses. He didn't look at Aziraphale, but that didn't keep Aziraphale from noticing that Crowley's cheeks were somewhat wet.
“Sorry,” Crowley got out, sounding a little choked. “Sorry, I - it's just -”
“No,” Aziraphale said, firmly enough to make Crowley look at him. Aziraphale winced; now he'd managed to startle Crowley, after all. His voice was already much softer when he added, “No, Crowley, there really is no reason to apologise. Come here, darling.”
Hugging in a car was a complicated endeavor, but they managed, and soon Crowley was bent over the gearstick with his forehead pressed against Aziraphale's chest. He wasn't crying anymore, but his shoulders were still trembling, and Aziraphale couldn't hold him tightly enough. One of his hands was in Crowley's hair, trying to soothe him. He very insistently told his own confused and overwhelmed thoughts to leave him alone for the time being, because he really had more important things to deal with right now. He'd teach the human part of himself to deal with immortality later, for now he had to take care of Crowley.
“Crowley,” he said, very softly. “Dear boy, everything is fine. We’re fine, nothing is going to happen to us.”
“I thought we’d die,” Crowley replied, voice hitching. “I thought - bloody hell, angel, if you died, I’d be -”
“I know,” Aziraphale said, holding Crowley even tighter. “I know, Crowley. I feel the same.” He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, trying to make him look up. “We don’t have to worry about that anymore, though, do we? Look at me, dearest.”
“Ngk,”
“Crowley.”
Crowley made another reluctant sound, but finally he lifted his head and wiped his eyes again. His glasses were sitting on his nose in a somewhat funny position, but Aziraphale didn’t laugh. Instead, he gently took Crowley’s glasses and put them aside, then he cupped Crowley’s face to run his thumbs over his cheeks. The tears had thankfully already dried.
“Will you be alright, darling?”
“Already am,” Crowley said, but his voice was still raspy. “S’all good. I just - freaked out. A bit. Relief, I think.”
“You don’t mind, then?”
Crowley didn’t seem to understand. “Huh?”
Aziraphale raised a brow. “Well, eternity is a rather long time to spend with a fussy bookseller, my dear.”
Crowley huffed and lifted his hand to wipe his nose as well, this time with his sleeve. “Yeah, it better be.”
Aziraphale smiled and leaned in to kiss Crowley’s cheek. Crowley let out a shaky breath before he pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, rather firmly. Aziraphale didn’t complain, of course he didn’t; he melted into the kiss at once, relieved that they were indeed fine.
“What about you?” Crowley whispered when they broke apart after a long moment. His eyes were wide, but he seemed much calmer already. He’d grasped Aziraphale’s lapels and refused to let them go again. “You’re fine? With this?”
“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “Yes, I do think so.” He thought about it for a second, then, “Well, immortality is a little difficult to comprehend for a mind that was human for about fifty years. I might have a bit of a breakdown, too, in a bit.”
Crowley huffed a brief and almost toneless laugh. “That’s fine, angel,” he said. “I’ll be there.”
Aziraphale beamed. He knew that, of course. Crowley would always be there; that was what they had promised each other. “Good,” he said, cheerful. “Now, why don’t you get us home?”
Crowley nodded, but when he straightened and looked at the steering wheel, he paused. “Not sure I should drive. What with - you know. Accidents.”
“Really, Crowley.”
“I just mean - Adam said to be careful.”
“Well, let’s switch, then. I’ll drive.”
“You - you want to - fuck, no. I will not let you drive the Bentley, angel. No. Nope. You’d make her go crazy with all your - all your indicating and - and shoulder checks -”
He started the car himself, and was still complaining about Aziraphale’s driving skills when they reached the first traffic light. Aziraphale, who had never even dreamed of driving the Bentley when Crowley was there as well, just smiled.
*
They spent the evening and half of the night in the Ritz, taking Aziraphale’s birthday as a good occasion to celebrate… well, everything they could think of, really. Their toasts got a little more ridiculous as they became thoroughly sloshed, and Aziraphale was reasonably sure that they would have quite impressive hangovers in the morning, but really, what did that matter?
The nightingale was singing again.
1In his opinion, worrying about things like that was such a horrible waste of time that could better be spent smiling and eating one or three pieces of cake. [return to text]
2“Look, they - they just need to get out of the bookshop, that's all. They're driving me insane with all their… uh, courtesy. And laughter. I want our privacy back, that's all. No other reason.”
“Of course, my dear. [return to text]