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The air conditioning on the bus was just this side of too cold for Aziraphale’s comfort, but after the day’s events and the Apocalypse That Wasn’t, he was entirely too exhausted to be bothered by it. It wasn’t anything a little angelic power couldn’t account for.
Beside him, slouched low in the seat with his bony legs sprawled like a collapsed doll, Crowley was subdued and silent. Had been since they got on the bus.
Crowley had, Aziraphale noticed, sunk further into his seat by increments, but in a way that left him nearly slumped against Aziraphale’s side.
And, oh, neither side would have liked that.
But, then again, what did it matter?
The world had almost ended. They’d had a hand in saving it by going directly against their own people, and Aziraphale was under no illusion that was something either side would let go.
They would, undoubtedly, pretend their failed planning hadn’t happened, but they would want to deal with the ones responsible for the embarrassment.
Crowley shifted, pushing himself up so he looked less... half-melted in the seat. Doing so, though, pressed him more firmly to Aziraphale’s side. There was no way to mistake it for anything but intentional, and it made Aziraphale frown.
His eyes flicked to the front of the bus and to the air vents. He thought of Crowley’s serpentine nature, and with a thought, he adjusted the controls for the internal temperature.
“Are you alright, my dear?” he wondered.
He’d taken Crowley’s sullen silence as the day catching up to him, but now he was paying attention, he saw the way the demon’s hands shook.
“Fine,” Crowley answered, voice rough and detached.
They had been through a lot over six thousand years, both individually and together. But he could honestly say there was nothing that could compare to the impossible events they’d just lived through.
He didn’t know what Crowley had witnessed or survived that day, but Aziraphale remembered the sight of him in the bar. Drunk midday like it was the last hurrah before the end of the world, but… but his head had been bowed in defeat, bony shoulders hunched and looking… so broken. Like the world and everything in it had already been destroyed and lost while he’d watched and been able to do nothing.
‘I lost my best friend.’
Keeping his eyes straight, Aziraphale reached over, heart stuttering as his fingers slid under Crowley’s and scooped the demon’s hand into his own. Like it was nothing. Totally normal. Nothing horrendously wrong with this image of an angel trying to comfort a demon and taking them by the hand.
Aziraphale's heart was fluttering and chaotic, like a moth to a flame, threatening to break free of his chest.
Crowley stiffened when Aziraphale took his hand but otherwise didn’t react. Head turned like he was watching the shadows of the night outside the window, Crowley flexed his hand, their palms sliding as he slotted their fingers together.
He was still trembling.
With a small effort, Aziraphale willed the warmth he’d surrounded himself with to seep around and into Crowley.
A shudder ripped through the demon, his weight against Aziraphale’s side only just shy of leaning entirely on the angel.
Aziraphale wanted to reach out, wrap one wing around him and draw him closer, to shelter him once again. Instead, he placed his other hand atop the demon’s, pad of his thumb soothing a gentle pattern across his skin.
They stayed that way the rest of the trip.
Once they finally reached London and the bus stopped, Crowley pulled away, thin fingers slipping from Aziraphale’s grasp as he practically sprung from his seat and shoved his hands into his pockets.
When they stepped out of the vehicle, Aziraphale offered the baffled driver a grateful smile in farewell before his head turned around to take in the… rather bland hotel exterior.
Crowley, all boney angles and sharp, defensive movements, was already up the stairs and holding the door. His gaze swept over the empty street like he might have missed someone taking notice of them. Someone suspicious enough to be a threat.
Aziraphale said nothing when the demon paid in advance for a suite for the next several days, only slid him only a sidelong look.
It made sense. Crowley’s flat was probably already being watched. Aziraphale’s bookshop and flat, well...
Losing his bookshop… it hadn’t really hit him yet. Wouldn’t until he saw it.
It was better that way.
It meant he could focus on Crowley. Which he was glad of.
Even without his sunglasses, Aziraphale still wouldn’t have been able to read his expression. He’d crafted it into such a blank mask as to be frightening, making a sort of unease-- dare say, panic-- bubble to the surface and take precedence over his exhaustion.
Because this was Crowley .
Devious, wily, charming, and brilliant Crowley who Aziraphale often knew better than he knew himself. He knew his moods. Knew the rare yellow-eyed glance over his glasses and the way his lips spread in a slow smile. Knew his mannerisms and the difference between his natural, confident, comfortable air, and when that confidence and swagger were a smokescreen to hide behind or buy him time.
It had been centuries-- millennia -- since Aziraphale had felt the demon wasn’t being honest with him.
This wasn’t lying. Or deceitfulness.
It was Crowley shutting Aziraphale out.
Which just… didn’t make sense.
They had, after all, just faced down and survived the end of the world together.
Now, as they rode in the lift and made their way through the hallway to their room… Crowley wouldn’t even look at him. Kept glancing over his shoulder. Cataloguing exits and blind corners and those reflective baubles that hid security cameras and prevented people from crashing into each other at intersections.
Crowley was downright twitchy.
All the paranoia in the world couldn’t help them if Above and Below sought them out now.
They were exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
They didn’t even have the means to fight were it to come to that. The sword was gone. Crowley had never had a weapon to begin with. He was well-trained in the ways of ninjas and assassins (it had amused Crowley deeply at the time and Aziraphale had only fussed a little). But being trained in the art of weaponry did little good when neither of them had so much as a butter knife.
He said nothing when Crowley put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door and shut it behind them.
“Oh,” he breathed in surprise, blinking at what had to be the honeymoon suite.
Large and airy, with enough extraneous detail to make it look finer than even the nicest of rooms. Gold detailing. Rich, thick curtains to block out the light. A bed large enough to be an ocean.
Crowley was at the bar and digging around, waving his free hand toward the bed.
“Why don’t you get some rest, angel? Been a bit of a long, rough day for you.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth and faltered. He spoke with careful deliberateness, “...not as trying a day as you’ve had, I think.”
Crowley finished his search empty-handed, but only because it had been a means of distraction. Aziraphale could plainly see the bottles in the mini bar.
He watched as Crowley planted his hands, sharp points of his shoulders around his ears, further hiding his expression as he dropped his head.
“It was just a car, Aziraphale. Nothing that can’t be replaced.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Crowley spun, hands curling around the edge of the bar as he leaned back against it. “You said ‘no,’” he said, face that miserable blank mask, and Aziraphale wished he’d take his glasses off. “When I tried to get you to go to Alpha Centauri. You. Said. ‘No.’”
Aziraphale took a step forward, worry etched in his brow as guilt carved a new scar in. “Is that what’s wrong? You're angry with me?”
“I’m not angry, Aziraphale! I just--” he gestured wildly, as though all means of articulation had evaded him, “You said no! Would it have been so terrible? You and me? That you would say ‘no’?”
“Oh, my dear, no,” he breathed, moving toward him and then stopping when Crowley’s posture went rigid, throat bobbing. Aziraphale faltered, gaze sliding away as he curled a hand to his chest. “You are so much braver than me-- you have always been the brave one and me the coward--but I knew it wouldn’t work. They would have come after us for desertion. They would have found us.” His gaze flicked up, locking with Crowley’s were it not for those insufferable glasses. “They will find us. I was… I was trying to protect you from that.”
“We could have run, and we could have kept running, angel!”
“And you would have been the one to suffer for it when we had nowhere else to run!” Aziraphale shot back, voice rising.
Crowley jerked, mouth pulling down.
How could he not understand this? After so many years of Aziraphale trying to avoid this very scenario?
“Crowley... I am no one. I am so insignificant to Heaven’s rank and order as to be forgettable. I don’t matter save for being the outlier: the angel stationed on Earth from the Beginning. But that doesn’t mean I am known or respected. Even those who do know of me, I'm still not respected. You, though. Heaven and Hell would make an example of you. They would destroy you in some grand, public affair I would be forced to watch before being shuffled away to some assembly line task, another worker ant in the system.” His mouth wobbled, and he shook his head fiercely. “God, Crowley, how many times have I told you you were risking destruction by your very association with me? For the Arrangement? Yes! I said no. I panicked. We were running out of time and out of options! I-if I could just… deny everything-- pretend it never happened-- then you’d be safe. I’d never see you again, but you’d be alive. I knew we couldn’t save the world, but I could save you.”
Crowley moved, like a striking snake, snatching Aziraphale up by the lapels and slamming him against the wall with teeth bared.
“I don’t want the world! I just want you!” Aziraphale’s eyes widened. Crowley shook him, another shove back against the wall. “And I lost you! They were after me, and your bookstore was in flames! What could I think other than They’d done it? Murdered you for knowing me? I lost everything, angel!” His breathing was ragged, and from so close, Aziraphale could see the chaotic movement of his eyes behind his glasses; see as he searched his face, the mask as shattered as he was. “I don’t want the world-- any world-- if you’re not in it.”
“Oh, darling…”
He reached up, careful as he took Crowley’s glasses, pushing them up onto his head so he could see him. There was something so cracked open and raw to his expression.
Aziraphale cupped the side of his face, and Crowley made a broken noise, eyes squeezed shut as he turned into the touch. Heartbroken, Aziraphale made a soft sound as he closed the space between them, other hand smoothing over Crowley’s waist and to his back, drawing the demon into an embrace.
Crowley didn’t fight, practically falling into Aziraphale, arms wrapped tight and clinging to him, face buried in his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he murmured, fingers stroking through Crowley’s hair.
The demon was trembling again, clinging to Aziraphale like he didn’t trust him to really be there.
Like how Crowley had first thought Aziraphale’s projection was a drunken, grief-induced illusion.
“Oh, Crowley…”
Breath shuttering out of him, Crowley raised his head, eyes searching his face. “Run away with me, angel. Please, Aziraphale. I am begging you.”
It was the simplest thing in the world for Aziraphale to tilt his chin up and press his mouth to Crowley’s in a kiss, close-lipped and lingering.
‘You go too fast for me, Crowley.’
Looking back, he had no idea why it had taken them so long to get to this moment when it was as obvious and natural as breathing.
Perhaps it was because of Crowley’s rejection issues.
Maybe it was due to Aziraphale’s cowardice and eternal lack of confidence in what was ever indeed the ‘right’ thing to do.
If Heaven had accomplished anything, it was in giving people a complex of one kind or another.
Crowley’s face was nearly as red as his hair when Aziraphale pulled back.
He blinked rapidly, stammering out aborted sounds, but no real words. “I- er- tha- I… wha-?”
“I love you, Crowley.” He smiled, warmth overwhelming him to the point he wondered how his mortal form could contain it. “I would give or do anything for you, you absolute walking paradox… but there’s no need for us to run away.”
The demon jerked and squawked. “A-are you-- are you seriously telling me ‘no’ again? After what you just said? After...after kissing me and telling me that y-you-- No?! You wanna talk paradoxes, angel, let’s talk about you.”
“There’s no need because I have a plan,” Aziraphale clarified gently, then turned his head away and slid Crowley a sly look. “Or, Agnes did.”
“What? The witch? You saying there was a prophecy in there about us? Oh, bugger that. Now I’m starting to wonder if you didn’t come back with your marbles rattled. Would explain the last few minutes, for sure--”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Dear, I’ve loved you for longer than I can account for, only becoming absolutely undeniable when we were standing in the bombed out crater of a church and you wasted a miracle to save books for me.”
“It wasn’t a waste-- wait, hang on. You’ve known without a doubt you were-- that you-- you’ve known since the bombing? And we’re just now having this conversation? After averting the Apocalypse? Was I somehow too subtle? Following you around all these centuries like a smitten puppy?”
“I might have mentioned already that you are the brave one and I the coward? The one who second-guesses literally every choice he makes and if it was the right or wrong one? Have since our first conversation--”
“Yes, yes, alright! But ‘no’ to running away with me?”
“I have a plan.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. I honestly don’t think I can take any more stress or one more shock without it killing me. This has been the bad day to redefine bad days--”
Aziraphale kissed him again, words cutting off abruptly.
This time, Crowley kissed back, fingers curling tight in Aziraphale’s coat as he yanked him closer, their bodies pressed flushed and, oh, that was nice.
God, why had it taken them so long to get here when, looking back, he should have seen it was inevitable for a relationship as improbable-- impossible, nay, ineffable as theirs.
Maybe that had been part of some Plan, too.
He broke the kiss, unable to stop himself from smiling, their eyes closed and foreheads resting together as his heart raced like the pounding of hooves in his chest. For the first time, all the great sonnets and poems and songs and grand epics made sense. The lengths a person would go to. The overwhelming feeling of it. That this was his. His to have, to protect, to keep.
It had turned them into traitors and deserters.
It had made Crowley want to run and given Aziraphale a reason to be brave.
He chuckled, and it was wet sounding to his own ears. “We are such an odd pair, aren’t we, darling?” Crowley hummed, and Aziraphale stepped around him, twisting the demon and leading him toward the bed. “My plan can wait until morning. Right now, though, you must rest. Your day has been far more taxing, and you must be exhausted.” Crowley made a sound of protest as his clothes were replaced with black silk pajamas as Aziraphale turned down the bed and stepped to the side, with a wave of invitation. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Biting his bottom lip and shifting on his feet, Crowley turned his head, sliding the locked door a worried glance.
Aziraphale cupped the side of his face again, turning it to face him. “I’ll keep you safe,” he whispered. “We have a tomorrow now. We have an eternity of them. Rest, Crowley.”
Thin fingers closed around his wrist. “Stay with me?”
The question was punctuated by Aziraphale’s clothes being replaced with silk pajamas the color of buttercream icing.
They ended up situated with Aziraphale sitting against the pillows and headboard while Crowley lay on his side all but latched onto him, an arm slung over his legs and curling around the soft curve of his hip, face pressed into the material of his leg.
Aziraphale stroked his fingers through the demon’s hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Shouldn’t say such broad, generalizing statements, angel. Someone could take it you mean tomorrow morning or that you mean every morning, you know.”
He chuckled, brushing a lock of hair off Crowley’s forehead. “Get some sleep.”
If their names were ever written into history or among the figures from legend, the daring few who would overcome impossible trials to take fate into their hands, lovers who would face any challenge in order to hold onto one another, Aziraphale could think of no image so defining as that of an angel keeping vigil through the night to protect a demon from harm.
Meanwhile, God looked on… and smiled.