Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time he noticed it, he was sure he had stepped into the wrong shop.

But no, this was definitely A.Z. Fell & Co., the bookshop owned and, ostensibly, run by the kindest angel in existence. If nothing else, he should be able to tell just based on smell; not only was he so familiar with the bookshop that he could smell whether people had come in or not, he knew Aziraphale’s smell as well as he did his own.

But that said, something was off. Enough so that he had been left unsure for a long moment. What was it?

“Aziraphale, did you move the books?” he called.

The angel, who hadn’t even looked up from where he seemed to be pouring over some new acquisitions when Crowley had come in, lifted his gaze to frown at him. The glasses perched on his nose made the gesture look rather adorable.

“Move them?” he said, incredulity in his voice. “They’re all here, as you can see. What would I want to move them for?”

Was there something else in his voice, too? No, he must’ve imagined that.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“You’re the one asking. Why are you asking, anyway?”

He wasn’t going to say it was because something felt off. That would not only be giving up far too easily, it would more than likely offend Aziraphale. More than it already had, at least.

“Just thought the light fell differently in here,” he lied smoothly, moving further into the shop and gesturing. “Thought you might have moved them around a bit, that was all. For better display or whatever.”

“Oh.” No, it did sound as though there was something else in the voice, even if he couldn’t pin it. “Well, yes, I have. Just a few things. You know. Better composition and all that. A bit of visual appeal.”

As though he ever had much track with what was visually appealing. That was, of course, a matter of individual taste but Aziraphale had a gift for always getting it wrong, sometimes only slightly, sometimes quite spectacularly so. The man was almost a century and a half out of style with his clothes, for crying out loud!

And he definitely never moved his books around for something as relatively mundane as visual appeal. After all, that might have quite a disastrous effect.

“Aren’t you afraid customers will find that to be appealing, too?” he asked, leaning up against a bookshelf as he looked at the other. Taking just a bit of advantage of his glasses to let his eyes wander down over the form in front of him. Just as he always did whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Aziraphale stiffened slightly at that, as he tended to when the dreaded word ‘customers’ was used.

Crowley knew he would and hoped that it might prompt the angel to actually reveal the real reason.

Unfortunately, he was to be disappointed.

“What did you want?” the angel asked instead, turning his attention back to the books. “I thought you had something on up in…where was it? Manchester?”

He remembered.

“Finished that yesterday. Just thought I’d pop down and see if you’d be interested in some lunch. My treat, of course.”

And the way that Aziraphale not only unstiffened but positively beamed at the suggestion wiped the odd feeling about the bookshop from the demon’s mind.

The next time he came to the bookshop rather than meeting up with the angel somewhere else, as was often the case so as not to alert their respective head offices, though, he was struck by that feeling again the moment he set foot in the place. It was stronger than before. Much stronger, in fact.

This time, he didn’t mention anything, just moved around the bookshop quietly. Aziraphale was busy with something or other and if he knew he was there, he had yet to acknowledge it out loud.

As far as he could tell, the books had been…rearranged again. They had always looked…fine, but now there a bit more of a…well, frankly, a visual appeal to them, arranged so that your eye swept across them naturally rather than having to endure the bumps and dips of differently formatted books, as though you were tracing a particularly spiky mountain range with your eyes.

It was very inviting, even for someone who was hardly the biggest booklover or connoisseur.

It wasn’t just the books, though. The sofa was there as it had been for the last…well, before they’d fallen out over that whole holy water thing. But the cushions weren’t merely expensive, they were new and the – had the sofa itself been reupholstered? Had it ever been that before?

What on earth was going on? Aziraphale wasn’t the type to change his décor on a whim, or even that often, and both of those were severe understatements.

He was then tempted to ask Aziraphale but decided against it. The last time, the angel had clearly not wanted the question, though exactly why wasn’t clear to the demon.

Well, so a few updates for comfort. That was hardly a bad thing, was it? The sofa looked more inviting than usual and the cushions looked decidedly snuggable.

Had he actually just thought that word? Eurgh.

He helped himself to a bottle of red wine that the angel had left out just to get rid of that thought. But he did share it with the other, so that was okay.

It was only when he’d gotten back to his own flat, had in fact laid down to sleep, that something came to him, slamming into him hard enough to jolt him upright.

Those things…those additions and changes, they weren’t for comfort. They were – they were for nesting!

No, they couldn’t be. They simply could not because…because this was Aziraphale!

Yes, okay, so angels nested when they felt a particularly strong connection to someone else, usually another angel, and wanted to settle down with them in a more exclusive partnership. That didn’t negate their other duties, of course, or mean that they had no love for anything else.

To be honest, he had wondered somewhat about that whole thing. Angels weren’t supposed to form a stronger connection to one particular being than to the rest of the world. It was supposed to be equal, wasn’t it? Why had God allowed that sort of thing, that sort of behaviour, in the ranks of Her angels?

Then again, it was supposed to be caring, too. They were supposed to care about humanity in the first place, and it seemed that they somewhat struggled with that, judging by the comments Aziraphale had let slip over the years.

‘You don’t want to get Gabriel upset with you’ came to mind, for instance.

But there must be someone up there that wasn’t entirely like that. Otherwise, Aziraphale wouldn’t be nesting for them, would he? He had never picked anyone to nest with in the almost six thousand years they had known each other. At least, not as far as Crowley knew, and if it was the case, then he would’ve found that out about his angel by now.

Except…he wasn’t really his angel, was he? Or at least, he wouldn’t be for much longer, if he was nesting. Then he would be someone else’s and Crowley would’ve blown his chances for good.

If he had ever had any chance to begin with, of course, and he honestly didn’t think he had. Leaving aside the fact that they were on opposite sides…well, no, actually, not leaving that aside. He was a demon, fallen and sullied while Aziraphale was…perhaps not entirely pure but far too decent, too right to entertain those thoughts about someone like him. Friends were one thing, a nestmate was quite another. He couldn’t hide that from the higher-ups, either.

Even leaving all that aside, wouldn’t Aziraphale have nested earlier, if that had been on his mind? At least lately, as within the last 200 years where he’d had an actual base of operations he could use as a nest, and yet, up until this point, he had not so much as hinted that he wanted to, despite all the time they’d spent together. Wasn’t that evidence enough?

A point could be made that Crowley could’ve gone and started nesting himself, if that was what he wanted from Aziraphale, and it would be a good point.

Except for a few snags. First of all, it wasn’t as though Aziraphale ever came to his flat, so he wouldn’t be able to see it if he had done it. Second of all, he actually had started once or twice, or maybe more than that, realised what he’d been doing and had pulled it down in case the angel showed up and got the wrong, or right, impression.

He hadn’t even dared think at the time about what the reaction to it would be.

That he’d struggled with himself every step of the way of dismantling every single one of them was another matter entirely.

The point was that he had attempted it before now, because he couldn’t help himself, hadn’t been aware he’d done it until afterwards, or he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance for him only to get scared of losing what he already had and pulling it down. There’d never been anything remotely like that from Aziraphale, Crowley knew. He’d spent enough time in the bookshop that he would spot it if anything changed, as proven when he’d seen it earlier.

He still wanted to nest for his angel so badly but hadn’t dared to, not properly to show it off to him, in case he’d be rejected. No, not in case. In the certainty he would. Nesting wasn’t for a demon, was it? Neither for it to build nor be the recipient of.

And now he’d missed whatever miniscule chance he might’ve had; Aziraphale’s heart had been captured by someone else, enough so that he was prepared to commit himself to making a proper nest out of his beloved bookshop. One he was satisfied enough with to not only not pull it down but add to it. Slowly perfecting it.

For someone else. Someone who wasn’t Crowley.

No. No! No, he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t nesting. He couldn’t be nesting, he just – he couldn’t!

Crowley realised then that he’d grabbed onto the bedding on either side of him hard and had begun to pull at it as though it had somehow offended him and deserved to be destroyed. He had also begun to hiss, as he did when he forgot himself. However, this wasn’t the soft hiss of contentment that sometimes slipped out when he was enjoying himself, usually around Aziraphale. This was a hiss of pain, even if it was an emotional pain rather than a physical one.

Taking a deep breath and then several more, as the first one didn’t help much, he told himself again that it was wrong. That’d he’d misinterpreted something as innocent as Aziraphale sprucing up the shop a bit. For his own benefit, of course. Not for anyone else’s.

Aziraphale barely had any contact with Heaven beyond what was strictly necessary to keep them off his back, and what he did have didn’t sound at all nice. There was no way that with that, he’d somehow managed to find himself a soulmate that he’d want to nest for.

No way at all.

Telling himself that, firmly, he laid down to get some sleep.

If he had dreams in which he kept falling, what of it? Those were hardly new.

The addition of reaching out towards a familiar body with its back turned to him and arms and wings wrapped around it from in front of it was new, though, as was the cry of a treasured name. One which wasn’t acknowledged.

He wished he could say he didn’t remember what he’d dreamed about when he woke. What he could do was push it as far out of his conscious mind as was at all possible, and that was what he did.

It took a few days, but he managed it.

That he had to avoid Aziraphale for those days was another matter. The angel thought he was on a job somewhere else in the city, thankfully, and wasn’t available.

By the time they met up again, a few weeks rather than a few days later, Crowley had successfully managed to not only suppress the nightmare but convince himself that Aziraphale wasn’t nesting.

That they met somewhere that wasn’t the bookshop was an irrelevant detail. Aziraphale had offered to treat him to some dessert so how could he refuse?

It was quite a worthy enterprise, too, as it always was when the angel was allowed to choose the venue. Crowley was quite good, too, thank you very much, but he wasn’t quite as adept at finding the hidden gems as Aziraphale.

One dessert turned to two then three. Then a fourth, with a side of Irish Coffee and then something a bit…stronger.

They got some wine to go, under the influence of Crowley’s glare rather than Aziraphale’s polite smile, then headed back to the bookshop, which the demon didn’t think twice about. It wasn’t as though it was an uncommon occurrence. Quite the opposite.

That didn’t last long, though.

The moment he stepped over the threshold, he stopped dead. There it was again, that feeling that –

He had to grip onto the doorframe to keep himself upright as it came flooding back to him.

“Crowley? What’s wrong?” Aziraphale asked from behind him. He sounded concerned but then, he would if there was something the matter with his beloved bookshop.

Crowley managed to pull himself together.

“Nothing. Just…dizzy for a moment, that’s all.” To emphasise his point, and also just a little because he did need it, he leaned his back against the doorframe.

Aziraphale moved closer to him and looked him up and down, what Crowley might have termed, in other circumstances, a light frown of concern marring his forehead.

“Oh, dear. Was the wine too much? Or the combination? Perhaps it’s best if we call it a night, then?”

Part of Crowley – to be fair, quite a large part – agreed with that assessment, though not necessarily for the reason Aziraphale thought, and what was more, was touched by the consideration the angel displayed for him.

There was a part of him, however, a little, nasty part, which hadn’t forgotten about the nesting part, that whispered to him that of course Aziraphale wanted to call it a night. He’d obviously done more decorating on the bookshop, the nest, and didn’t want Crowley to see, either because he might worry that he’d get the wrong impression or because it was at a stage where it wasn’t meant for anyone’s eyes but his intended.

No. That couldn’t be right. Why would he have invited him over to the shop in the first place, then?

But had he really? Or had Crowley just assumed because that was how it went, and Aziraphale had been too polite to say anything? Was so polite, in fact, that he even framed the dismissal as a question of consideration.

The demon tried to look and see if there was anything else in that expression of apparent concern. Something that might clue him into what the angel was really thinking.

He couldn’t find it. But perhaps he wasn’t aware that he actually wanted Crowley out of there, which would leave his surface expression quite…innocently true, as it were, while not negating the rest. The fact that he was tipsy probably also made it harder for him to remember that he didn’t want the demon here.

For a moment, Crowley considered pushing past it. Put on a brave face and pretend that it was fine, he’d only been processing the sugar or something. Ignore what Aziraphale might want and go into the shop, right into where the evidence was. Show the angel that wasn’t going to sit idly by and –

The thought of how Aziraphale might react to that breach of trust or whatever you might call it stopped him, though. Or maybe it was the bile in his throat. Or perhaps a combination.

Whatever the case, he backed out of the thought almost as soon as it had formed.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, his tone questioning. He’d stepped closer, his hand hovering in a raised position as though he had just about stopped himself from touching.

Something twisted in Crowley’s belly at that.

“Yeah…perhaps. Perhaps you’re right. I should – ehm, yeah, definitely.” He was happy that his sunglasses were currently rather large, as the risk of his eyes being visible was greatly reduced that way.

He wasn’t expecting the words that came next.

“Would you like to have a lie-down? I know it’s in the back of the shop, but the sofa is long enough to accommodate you, so perhaps – “

The sofa. The sofa. The thing that had been upgraded not just with new cushions but with actual new upholstery – which hadn’t even been needed!

One of the very things that had clued him in that his angel might be nesting for someone, someone who wasn’t Crowley, and he expected him to be able to have a lie-down there? That he would feel better after staying on that piece of furniture?

“No, I’m – I’ll just go for a walk or something,” he managed to say. To his own ears his voice sounded wrong, croaky and echoey at the same time, but that might just be the alcohol’s doing.

If Aziraphale heard it, he didn’t show it.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. Course. Probably too much sugar or something. Enhances the alcohol.” He didn’t feel drunk right now, though, just queasy. “Like with fruit, you know.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Should I – “

Should. Not ‘would you like’ or ‘do you want me to’. No. Should. As though he was obligated to…

He waved a hand, somehow managing to make it seem flowing and nonchalant.

“Nah. I’ll be fine,” he interrupted. “Don’t worry about, about me. Go on in.”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat and managed a smile as he pushed himself off the doorframe. Though his face was tilted towards the other, he wasn’t actually looking at him. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his slightly unsteady gait, even compared to normal, not due to alcohol at all.

He didn’t notice that Aziraphale stood standing in the doorway to his bookshop and watched him until he was out of sight and consequently, he didn’t see the expression on the other’s face, either.

All that kept replaying in his mind was that tableau that had assaulted him the moment he’d looked into the shop.

There hadn’t just been more clean-up, more attempts to make it cosy and inviting in a way it’d never quite been before, just in case it did attract custom.

The clincher to say Aziraphale was nesting, what had made him nauseous, even as innocuous as it seemed, sat there in plain sight.

A feather on the floor.

Chapter Text

Shit! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Of all the things that could – shit!

He couldn’t say where he went after that. Not around in his Bentley, though it was tempting, to scare the life out of some innocent pedestrians. He’d left it back where he lived, though, for some reason choosing to walk to where they’d met up.

Nor did he go straight back to his flat. He couldn’t face it right now, just in case he spotted some remnant of a nesting attempt he hadn’t quite managed to get rid of.

The alcohol might not exactly be a help, either. Of course, he could just sober up instantly if that was what he wanted, but he had a shrewd idea that if and when he did, it’d take away the nausea but leave the rest much starker and more painful.

So…he was definitely nesting. There could be no doubt about it. Not when there was a feather in plain sight.

Feathers didn’t fall from angels’ wings often and they were even more rarely plucked. When they did fall, they were always carefully picked up and hidden away so that nobody else would touch it, accidentally or on purpose. In that regard, angel feathers were much like human teeth, in that they could fall off and were rather…intimate, but without the slight gross factor, obviously.

They were something that should only ever be touched, or even seen, by the angel who’d shed or plucked them.

The only exception to that rule was when the angel in question was nesting and even then, that only applied to the one they were nesting for. In fact, when the nest was accepted, the other angel would take one of the feathers that had been left around the nest and keep it. Then they would put one of their own in its stead, which would begin the next part of the –

No. He wasn’t going to begin thinking about that.

Passing by a couple, he snarled at them, successfully enough that they almost ran off.

The Aziraphale in his mind gently scolded him for it but he snarled at that voice, too, and it shut up.

His aimless wanderings had taken him to one of their usual haunts, quite without his say-so. When he realised that he was in a very familiar park, he stopped and turned on his heel, heading back the way he’d come. He wasn’t going to torture himself with being where he had that many memories which featured the angel.

Of course, the fact that they’d been around for so long, had had London as a base of operations for so long meant that realistically, he would be hard-pressed to find somewhere without memories of all. But there was no need to go somewhere where they were practically chock-a-block.

“Fuck!” he cursed out loud as he walked. Then he followed it up with a string of increasingly foul and inventive swears and even so, he was unable to properly give voice to what he was feeling.

It was something that he was angry, though. Mainly because he knew that the moment that he stopped being angry, the hurt would push itself through the dam barrier and flood him.

Why? Why now? Of all things and all times, why now? What had changed? Who had he met that had so completely managed to steal his heart that he was willing to, to nest for them? Something which he had never done in all the time that Crowley had known him.

It must have been a recent romance, otherwise he would’ve done it earlier. It wasn’t as though new faces popped up among the ranks of angels every century or something, so it had to be someone he already knew and had just started to see in a new light.

He wracked his brain trying to think of whether or not Aziraphale had mentioned anyone in the last decade or so. Any little encounter with the other angels which had been voiced with more genuine joy and excitement than he displayed otherwise when it came to them.

There wasn’t any, as far as he could remember. To be honest, though, he would have to admit that he hadn’t always been the best at paying attention to what was being said. Instead, he let the voice flow over him, content to just be in the moment and enjoy the angel’s presence.

Feeling even angrier now, partly with himself for possibly missing something which would’ve clued him in earlier as to what had been going on – and consequently, if he’d known, he could’ve put a spanner in the works long before this whole nesting business started – he barged his way through the crowds, only realising that he’d actually arrived back at his flat when he kicked his foot out behind him to slam the door shut. It shut with a satisfying bang.

He stalked his way to his desk and chair and practically threw himself onto said chair.

Six thousand years of being there, of loving him from afar no matter the distance between them. Of pining and hoping and torturing himself just to be able to be beside him and now, it had all been snatched away from him by one stupid fucking birdbrain of a Heaven dweller!

Aziraphale had chosen him, bless it! As someone to stand by, stand with and help out, if nothing else. Crowley was supposed to be the opposition, the enemy, and yet the angel had always, despite what he’d said, taken the time out not just to stay his hand but to listen to Crowley and even seek him out. That time in Rome, for one.

The point was that they helped each other, with small things and big things. They had been each other’s only constant for six millennia, for crying out loud, they’d been friends. That ought to mean something! Even if it hadn’t become what Crowley had hoped for, with increasing fervour from the day they met when he realised there were still other ways you could fall, they were friends and that ought to mean something.

But it could, couldn’t it? To the angel, his angel, it could, and it didn’t have to change a single thing, between them or between Aziraphale and the angel he’d taken such a shine to.

Why the heaven was he pussyfooting around? It wasn’t ‘taken a shine to’, it was fallen in love with. You didn’t ever nest for someone you merely fancied, did you?

No. You didn’t.

He writhed in the chair, gripping onto the armrests hard, the truth staring him down, burning him.

Even more so for the consequent confirmation that Aziraphale hadn’t ever felt that way about him. If he had, he would’ve said something by now even if he hadn’t outright built a nest.

Was that what rankled? That he’d build it for someone else but not for Crowley?

No, that wasn’t it. Well, perhaps, but not – firstly, it was far from all that rankled and secondly, even if it did, it was only a very small part of the reason.

He’d desperately hoped, even if he hadn’t prayed, that someday he might manage to pluck up the courage and tell Aziraphale how he felt, and that he’d tried to build him a nest, and Aziraphale would return his feelings, would smile and say he would love to see Crowley’s nest. Would already have a feather ready and waiting for him to place.

But deep down, he knew it for the complete castle in the air it was. He knew he’d never believed the angel would return his feelings. Not like he wanted him to, in any case. Yes, they were friends, even if neither of them had actually admitted that out loud, but there was a long way from that to being, well, not lovers, but…romantic partners? Yes, that would do.

But hope was a funny thing. It found a way to grow on the lousiest of bedrocks, to survive with the barest of nourishments if any at all. To blossom at the merest ray of sun, the lightest of drizzles.

Now, though…now it lay crushed on that very bedrock, its petals scattered and curled up, its roots exposed and broken.

His vision was blurry. Why was his vision blurry? He never had that kind of reaction to alcohol, especially not when he wasn’t also dizzy. In any case, the effects had worn off while he’d been walking.

It was only when he felt wetness streak down his cheeks and drip from his pointed chin that he realised he was crying.

When had he last cried? Genuinely cried, that was. He couldn’t remember.

“Bastard,” he suddenly shouted, his voice strained. “You bloody bastard! How could you – could you – “

He choked on the words.

“You bastard,” he whispered when he’d recovered. “You beautiful bastard angel, how…fuck, how I wish I’d told you before…and now you’re gone. My angel, I love you. So fucking much, you utter twat.”

Aziraphale called him the next day, presumably to ask whether he was okay or not.

It was ‘presumably’ because he didn’t know for sure as he refused to pick up the phone. Then the angel tried his landline and got the same result.

Only, this time, after calling a few times there as well, he left a message on the answer phone. One which the demon was there to hear as it was recorded, confirming the presumed.

“Crowley, it’s me. I know you’re ignoring me. Well, I don’t know, but I assume that you are as I’ve tried both your mobile phone and here. I just…I wanted to know whether you’re alright. Oh, I hope nothing’s happened.” That bit was mumbled but Crowley picked up on it, nevertheless. His heart did a funny squeeze.

“Well, anyway, please call me when you get this or, or feel up to replying. I…well, quite, yes. I just…please call me, my dear.”

With that, he hung up, leaving a demon who stared at the machine as though it had just spelled that out in semaphore instead of perfectly understandable English.

But this was Aziraphale. Eloquent Aziraphale with the careful diction – who sounded distracted and disjointed somehow.

He’d sounded nervous, too, and worried, his hindbrain supplied, but Crowley dismissed it. That could just as easily have been because he had someone else there. Someone who he didn’t want to know he was calling Crowley, a demon they were meant to be fighting against, not socialising with and definitely not caring about.

Caring?

Yes. Caring. As much as he was hurting right now and wanted to curse the blond, he couldn’t in good conscience say that Aziraphale didn’t care about him a great deal, even if he’d never called them friends. Otherwise, he wouldn’t run the risk of associating with a demon for so long.

But would that also stop? Would he no longer be able to see Aziraphale or even contact him?

Okay, yes, Crowley was one who wasn’t answering the attempts to contact him right now, but that didn’t…that wasn’t…he never meant forever. Even if it hurt, even if he wanted to escape from being anywhere near Aziraphale and his new nestmate, he couldn’t imagine his life without his angel there in some capacity. He didn’t want to imagine that.

New partner or not, Crowley had no intention of leaving Aziraphale’s side for good. No matter how much it would hurt to see, to watch and know he was forever on the outside looking in, even on that score.

He’d cling to whatever was available to him, even if it was only scraps.

It might be incredibly selfish of him, but he was a demon, after all. He wasn’t meant to be selfless.

He wasn’t meant to be friends with an angel, either, never mind in love with him, but that was another matter entirely and quite irrelevant in the circumstances, in his mind.

If Aziraphale wasn’t interested in that, though, or possibly, if he didn’t dare risk it considering there was another angel, one who hadn’t spent so many millennia on earth and had earned some greater understanding of how things, well, actually worked, to consider, then…

Then the possibility, the risk, that Crowley wouldn’t be allowed near his angel at all was very real.

Or maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t be as interested, either. Not because he didn’t care, of course not, but he’d have other things on his mind, things to do which he couldn’t or didn’t want to include Crowley in anymore. He wouldn’t have a need to include him, either, not to the degree he did now.

After all, a nestmate beat a friend, didn’t they? Especially a friend on the opposite side…who he’d been fraternising with.

That conversation still stung, even after so many decades had passed.

Feeling the claws of abandonment and loneliness ripping and tearing at his insides, along with the rest of it, he hurried to pick up the receiver on his landline and called Aziraphale.

Who picked up almost immediately, something which he didn’t often do, and not only when he was engrossed in a book.

“Hello?” he called down the line.

“Yeah, hi, Aziraphale. It’s me.” He didn’t let on how relieved he actually was to hear the angel’s voice, even though it’d only been a short time since he’d heard it last.

“Crowley!” Was there both relief and joy in that voice? More than one would expect there to be, given their parting? No, surely not. Definitely not. “Oh, thank goodness! I thought you were – but you’re alright.”

It came out as a statement rather than a question. He might’ve thought there was a hint of pleading in there, too, but he was certain that wasn’t it.

“Yeah. Course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He honestly had no idea how he was managing to sound as calm as he always did because he sure as hell, aha, didn’t feel that calm and collected.

“…No. No, of course. Silly of me, really. I just…well. Should I have a word with the owners?”

Owners? What was he on about?

Out loud, Crowley only made a slight questioning noise.

“About the wine where we ate. If it made you ill, then – “

Oh. “Oh, no, it’s, it’s fine. I’m alright now. That’s really all I wanted to say. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. I see.” There was a pause and for a moment, Crowley thought that he’d hung up on him. But then he continued, voice soft. “Could I…would it be alright if I came over and brought something for you to eat? To make it up to you, I mean.”

What might in other circumstances have been seen as sweet, something that sent Crowley’s heart into a butterfly-filled stutter, now stabbed at it instead.

Did he feel that guilty about the nesting? Did he know – no, he must know that the demon had spotted it. Mustn’t he? Or perhaps he was trying to cover it up, try to prevent Crowley from finding out about it, talking about coming to his flat rather than the bookshop. Perhaps he hadn’t presented it to the angel it was meant for and he didn’t want Crowley to come barging in at the wrong time?

Something about that felt wrong but he refused to focus on it right then.

On the other hand, even if that was all true, he couldn’t deny that it would be another chance to see Aziraphale, just the two of them.

He would have to treasure and hoard those moments now, wouldn’t he? More than he already did, that was, because now they were in danger of being numbered, even if he fought it. Not to imply that he wouldn’t ever not fight it.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. Then, hearing himself and worrying that he might come off a little too detached, which wasn’t his intention, he added, “That’d be lo – very nice.”

Don’t tip your hand now, whispered a voice in his head. Don’t make it worse for yourself. It will only hurt more later on.

But at the same time, he wanted him to know that he was worth spending time with, still. That he could still fit in with him as it was. That he didn’t need to avoid him entirely when his nest was accepted, even if they’d have to be even more careful than they were now.

“Oh, good!” Aziraphale enthused. “I’ll be right there. Well, I might have to pick up a few things first, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The way Crowley’s heart danced at the warmth in the angel’s voice at that was undeniable, though.

He didn’t even consciously register that it would be the first time that Aziraphale had actually come over to his flat or that he had in fact never told him the address for it, either.

Instead, he spent the limited time he had before the blond would show up panicking about the state of the immaculate flat. Was it too dark? Too messy? Maybe it was too garish or even too cold for the angel? There certainly wasn’t enough furniture to sit on and the plants looked miserable.

He conjured up a chair, quite incongruous with the rest of the décor of the flat but which he thought perfect for Aziraphale then went and shouted abuse at one of his poor plants which had been unlucky or unwise enough to develop a bit of downy mildew on its leaves.

Its tour to say goodbye was brief and its demise only halted by the sounded of the doorbell.

Right. Time to act as though nothing was the matter apart from a bit of a tummy upset and perhaps a bit of a hangover.

He could do that.

The achingly familiar face, which he opened the door to, held an expression that was hard to decipher but Crowley thought he saw hurt, concern and joy mixed in there as well as some other emotions that he couldn’t put his finger on.

To be perfectly honest, the ones he could identify puzzled him enough, to be honest, especially the hurt, but he pushed the thought and the subsequent knot inside his chest aside for the moment.

It didn’t matter right now.

What mattered was his angel, pure and simple.

“Aziraphale,” he said in greeting as he opened the door, and if the way the other’s face lit up both hurt and warmed him as though he’d gotten too close to a star again without realising, what of it?

Chapter Text

Who could it be?

Crowley had spent the time after Aziraphale had gone home – he had brought a little hamper full of things that were easy to digest but were still, as he would put it, scrumptious – pondering that question.

There had been no indication while the angel had been there that something was off or even different. Everything had been just as it always was, with perhaps a bit of unexpected fussing, which Crowley told himself was because he was just being kind and that it wasn’t because of a guilty conscience.

The feather had been quite irrefutable evidence, though, hadn’t it? Yes, it had been on the floor rather than in a safer spot, such as a table or a shelf, but it’d been out there, in plain sight, impossible to miss.

He had come to a decision while they’d shared the contents of the hamper, Aziraphale insisting that he eat his share of it, to counteract his feeling poorly, which he’d accepted without any fuss; he was going to investigate.

Rather than just waiting for it to smack him in the face, which it would sooner or later, he’d find out when and how Aziraphale had met this mysterious angel and, more importantly, fallen for them, and then find out who exactly they were. Every single detail he could possibly unearth about them, without letting Aziraphale know that was what he was up to.

And if he just happened to warn the other angel off in the process, so much the better.

You’ll have to be sneaky about that, of course, otherwise you’ll alert that angel, and subsequently the rest of Heaven, that you two have either been in cahoots the whole time or that you are trying to tempt an angel into falling, neither of which will exactly go down well with the rest of those stuck-up gits up there. Which in turn will undoubtedly result in Aziraphale being punished, one way or another, and then you will still lose him.

That was true – and the thought of that punishment being something…permanent was large and painful and one he skidded away from as soon as it appeared. What was also true was the fact that if his nest wasn’t accepted, for whatever reason that might be, then Aziraphale would be heartbroken. Which he shouldn’t be.

But wasn’t that worth it? Whoever it would be couldn’t possibly hope to be worthy of Aziraphale’s affections…but then again, neither could he, could he? If anyone was worthy, it certainly wouldn’t be a fallen angel who’d failed as an angel by asking the wrong sort of questions and consequently fallen, and was now failing as a demon, too. He was in no position to make that decision.

And no, it wasn’t worth it, he realised or remembered or possibly just told himself. His mind was something of a mess. Not if it meant that Aziraphale would be hurt, temporarily, or, far more likely given he’d fallen hard enough to be willing to nest that quickly, on a long-term or even permanent basis. Especially not the latter, and decidedly not if Crowley knew he was the cause of it. Causing misery to humans in general, well, that was one thing. To do it to the one he loved was something else entirely.

What could he do, then? He couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Well, he could, technically, but there was no chance in neither Heaven nor Hell that he would. He had to at least find out who they were.

If he did, then he could alter how he acted to better suit what Aziraphale found appealing about the other, for one reason or another.

He’d taken care to listen to Aziraphale closely while he’d been there, just in case something cropped up, and there hadn’t been any mention or even any minute hint as far as Crowley could detect that mentioned the one that he was nesting for.

So, he’d have to employ other methods.

He was going to find a way to stay with his angel, even if he wasn’t Aziraphale’s choice for nestmate.

First step was to analyse just how he’d begun to nest. Not when, as he roughly knew that already, nor how it was done in general terms. It might’ve been positively aeons ago that he’d learned it, but he still remembered how it was done. Otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed it in the first place.

What he needed to find out about were the things the blond changed and in what way. Some of them the demon already knew, such as the sofa, but were there other things and if so, in what precise way had they, including the sofa, changed? Find out that, along with what had been added and how that fitted in with the rest, and he would at the very least get a better idea of what type of person the other angel was, and hopefully it would be a rather clear picture.

One thing was evident even before he started; the books were essential. Not just in the sense that for Aziraphale to fall for someone, in the romantic sense, they would have to have an interest, though perhaps not to the same extent because that hardly seemed possible, in books in particular and earthly things in general.

But the books were essential to Aziraphale, who treasured and loved them, to put it mildly. Not only that, he’d chosen his bookshop to build the nest in, or rather, turn his bookshop into the nest. Of course, it did make sense that he’d pick where he spent most of his time and which was his sanctuary, but at the same time, it was risky because it was his sanctuary. To have his nest there, to present it, with the danger that it could be rejected, that was quite a big move. So, the angel he was nesting for must have a great enough interest in it or enough heart to share in something just because it mattered to the other person that Aziraphale was willing to risk it.

But who could that possibly be? They sounded quite special as angels went but then again, they would have to be to catch the interest of Aziraphale in the first place. But that’d rule out most of them.

It certainly would rule out Gabriel and their little underling, Sandalphon. Crowley remembered both of them from Before and even if he didn’t, he didn’t have to pay much attention to Aziraphale to clock it.

Would it be one of the other high angels? It seemed unlikely, given what he knew, but then, they would be who Aziraphale would have the most contact with. Like it or not, he was a Principality, and even though they didn’t give him the respect that ought to entail, they would hardly send a low angel to deal with him.

On the other hand, he’d have known them as long as he’d known Crowley. No, longer, actually, so the same question applied to them about why…no, it didn’t. Because he didn’t see them as often as he had the demon, did he? They might have shown themselves in a new light one of the times he’d had to report to head office, as it were, and have taken him by storm.

Which would in turn explain why he was suddenly nesting. Well, it would somewhat, at least. No, it would explain why he hadn’t nested before this point, what it would take to catch Aziraphale’s attention in that way. Something which had not been achievable for Crowley in all the years they’d known each other.

Although, granted, he’d never put himself out there, either, had he? He had in fact worked to make sure Aziraphale didn’t twig out of fear that he’d reject him and avoid him from then on, where staying silent would at least preserve the friendship that he treasured.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt that someone else had caught his attention – were they even aware of it? Had they already swept him off his feet? But then, wouldn’t they be the one who was working to perfect a nest rather than Aziraphale? No, that would be if they were courting him. If he was already swept off his feet, the courting would be over and he’d…already have been…

And that thought stopped right there and then; it made something squirm, wobble and roar inside his chest.

They could of course still know of each other, be close even, for Aziraphale to risk it. But he was the instigator on taking things to that level, given that he was the one who was nesting. So, he could take the initiative, which further proved that it couldn’t be Crowley he was doing it for…

No. Stop. Focus. He needed to focus. Stay calm. Stay cool. Be logical and methodical. He had to learn to come to term with this…this sooner or later because it wasn’t going to go away and he needed to be in control of himself when he visited Aziraphale in the future. If he was allowed – no!

Focus. He could do this. Ignore his heart and just focus on gathering the needed data.

So, a book-loving angel, for one. One with an eye for aesthetics, too, given that he’d rearranged the books for more of a visual appeal. That might be evident, given what they were, but the sterility of Heaven was quite frightening, to say the least, and you had to remember that it was God who’d created the Garden of Eden, with its lushness and pleasing outlay, not angels.

There was definitely something to be said for not just the look of the sofa and the cushions, which said expensive but in an understated and rather classy way rather than the…adorably outmoded style his angel tended to favour, but for the feel of them. They were something to be used and taken comfort from rather than merely being there for the look of the thing. He’d been able to spot that just from a glance.

Which, again, spoke of an angel rather different than most everyone else. Something that made sense and was also a bit of a relief; someone like that would be far less likely to be as rigid should Crowley pop in while he was there, which in turn meant that he could come around as often as before. If his heart could take it, of course, seeing the two of them together, happy.

Of course, it also meant that he was less likely to run directly to tell if Crowley should employ some…nastier methods, didn’t it? Heaven didn’t seem to care too much about angels finding ways to indulge a little down here but even so, there was perhaps a way, with the right…

No! He couldn’t do that to Aziraphale. If he was the instigator, he would’ve thought hard about it. He would not have come to that decision lightly, to say the least, and so to run the other angel off like that would undoubtedly hurt him tremendously, never mind that he would work out that it was Crowley’s doing and be incredibly angry with him.

The last time they’d fought, they hadn’t spoken for almost a century, despite how close they’d lived to each other even then. Okay, so it hadn’t been made easier to talk to each other by the fact that Crowley had slept through most of that century, but he’d found that he needed to sleep in order to try and cope with it, however he’d reacted in front of the other.

He was incredibly glad that he’d managed to wake up in time for him to have his wits about him in the war and thereby know what Aziraphale was up to so that he could save him from the Nazis but also, in a sense, from himself, just a little.

There was no knowing how a heartbroken Aziraphale might react and quite frankly, Crowley didn’t want to find out for himself. He wasn’t sure his own heart could bear it. In fact, he was certain it couldn’t.

But he didn’t want to give him up, either and he wasn’t going to.

What you really want, you can’t have because it’s not yours to just take and you were too scared to ask for it when you had the chance, so how can you even begin to –

He knew all of that! He knew…

What should he do, then?

He didn’t know. Everything was a jumbled mess in his head, which only seemed to have gotten worse since he’d first noticed Aziraphale had begun to nest, and the only constant was the love for his angel which burned bright inside of him as always, even if it was streaked through now with sickly pain.

When he got a task from Hell, which would send him all the way to Norway and then to Russia, he took it gladly. Part of him worried about leaving Aziraphale on his own but for one, he wouldn’t be, would he, and for another, it might give him a better chance, further away, to sort himself out.

It didn’t.

All it did was make his head spin more, going over the same details over and over with no way to progress or forget it.

He had to go to the bookshop. He needed to settle this, somehow, one way or another, no matter how much it hurt. For his own heart and sanity, if nothing else.

Aziraphale looked rather downcast when Crowley showed up at the bookshop again.

It had been a few weeks by that point since the demon had first spotted the feather and they hadn’t communicated much in the intervening time. Crowley had called and they’d talked for a bit but though the angel had seemed his normal self, he hadn’t been the one to call.

Crowley tried not to imagine why that could be. His mind didn’t much listen to him.

Now, standing in front of the shop, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and drive away. He already knew what was going on, after all, there was no need to torture himself. But it was a small part and the rest knew better. He’d been over it often enough by this point.

He did wonder at why the angel had come out of the shop when he’d pulled up, though, almost as if he’d been standing just inside and had been waiting for him. Which didn’t make any sense; he’d never done so before, as there were always plenty of things that he needed to do in the shop or so he claimed, and he hadn’t known that Crowley would show up.

Perhaps he had been watching the street for someone else and when the Bentley had shown up, quite distinctive, to say the least, instead, he had hurried out to…what? Make sure that Crowley didn’t get into the shop?

That would make sense, he had to admit even if he didn’t want to do so. It would also explain why he was looking downcast.

Something about that conclusion didn’t seem quite right but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

He was in any case distracted by Aziraphale not just standing in the doorway but coming out onto the pavement to meet him. Why?

“There you are,” he said by way of greeting, which was not just unexpected but odd, especially as he still looked rather dejected.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Crowley asked, his confusion making it easier to play it off as though nothing was different.

He would have to admit, though, that the question was also a slight needling of his suspicion, his fear, that he wasn’t wanted anywhere near the bookshop, the nest. It must be close to finished by this point, if it wasn’t done already, and so it would make sense if nobody was allowed in there.

Or it could’ve been finished by the time he’d first spotted the feather, as he’d suspected at the time, and he was just perfecting it – or the other angel hadn’t yet had the time to come down and see it. They always thought themselves so busy with things up there, didn’t they?

Or it could be that the other angel’s already been and gone and his nest has been rejected.

Surely, then, he’d look more than just downcast if that was the case?

At that thought, Crowley automatically scanned the familiar face for further information. Any indication at all that Aziraphale was broken-hearted about the reception of his nest and was trying to hide it from him.

As the demon did so, he felt anger roar into life inside of him, as sudden and as fierce as a wildfire.

How dare the utter…gloriole of a featherbrain even so much as think of hurting Aziraphale like that? They ought to be bloody well honoured that he’d begun to nest for them in the first place, and not just because they would be the first person, if they could be called that, that the Principality had ever thought to nest for. Anyone who had caught his love like that, they shouldn’t be allowed to reject him.

But wasn’t that to Crowley’s benefit? Wouldn’t it be good that Aziraphale was rejected because then the demon wouldn’t lose him or have to share? With the added benefit that Crowley wouldn’t have had anything to do with it, either.

Perhaps he could even press his own suit, then, and show him how much better he would be, after a suitable amount of –

No! Never!  It wasn’t good that – well it was but it…it wasn’t! It wasn’t him Aziraphale had chosen, it wasn’t him he was nesting for. That was the beginning and end of it, and he would have to accept that. It would sully their entire friendship if Crowley used his friend’s vulnerability for his own gains and demon or not, he would never do that.

He wasn’t going to give his angel up, not unless he was specifically asked by Aziraphale to ever-so-kindly bugger off, but neither would he take advantage of him, physically or emotionally. He wasn’t that kind of demon.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked and there was a slight quaver to his voice that made it sound as though he was indeed hurt.

It was only then the redhead realised he was actively snarling, even if it was, going by the muscles that had shifted – six thousand years in a body will give you some rather hefty insight into the minutia of muscles and expressions, at least on your own face, when you were mentally present to notice, anyway – not too strong.

Even so, it was enough to startle the angel, though that might be for other reasons.

“Sorry, something unpleasant flashed suddenly into my mind, that’s all,” he said. Which wasn’t a lie. “It’s not relevant.” More of one, but, well…

“Oh, I…I see.”

“Nothing to do with you, I promise.” Still technically only a half-lie.

“Shouldn’t I be here?” he asked again. He needed to know whether it was best to bugger off now.

“What? Oh. Oh. No, not at all. I mean, you should be.” He took a breath then gave a small smile.

“I meant that I am glad to see you.” That sounded honest, if nothing else, and Crowley found himself clinging to that. “Was it something to do with the Russians?”

“What was?”

“What flashed through your mind just now, was it something to do with the Russia job?”

“Ehm, yeah…something like that.” It wasn’t even close, but it wasn’t as though he could exactly tell Aziraphale the real reason, was it?

‘No, I was thinking I’d like to submerge the angel you’ve been nesting for into hellfire, slowly, so they feel even some of the pain they’ve inflicted on you if they have or ever will reject you and your nest. Because I love you more than I could possibly ever hope to express, and if your heart has been caught by someone else, then I will make bloody sure that they treat you as well as you deserve’.

Yeah, that’d go down swell.

But Aziraphale still had an expression that hurt to look at and whoever had put it there would pay!

Chapter Text

He pushed forward, past the angel and towards the shop door, ready to confront the cowardly bastard that had hurt his angel before he could run off back to Heaven and tell him just how he was supposed to treat someone as unique as Aziraphale. If that telling needed to be somewhat physical, or even very much so, to get the point across, then that was okay, too.

In the anger he felt towards the interloping angel and the protectiveness and caring he felt towards Aziraphale, he completely forgot that confronting a Heaven-tied angel rather than the wonderfully earthbound one he was friends with, in the shop owned by said friend wasn’t the best of ideas, to put it mildly.

He was just about to push open the door when he was halted by Aziraphale’s hand on his arm. The pain of not being the one the nest was for flared up again at the gesture, the reminder that he wasn’t allowed in, wasn’t meant to see the nest now that it was either done or close to being done. If the angel was there, he wasn’t supposed to see them.

For a moment, he again considered ignoring the unspoken ask. To go in and find out, once and for all, no matter how it would affect him. Even if the shop was empty, which he had a growing if not entirely certain feeling it was, he was looking for clues, wasn’t he?

But if the nest had been rejected, then there wasn’t any need for him to gather further clues. What would he be gathering them for?

He didn’t know that it had been rejected, though, did he? That was merely what he’d presumed, he realised, when he’d seen Aziraphale looking downcast coming out of the shop, which he still did, as a matter of fact.

What else would he look downcast about? Worry that it wasn’t good enough? That would make sense but…

Feeling suddenly rebellious for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he grabbed the door handle and started to push down. Aziraphale tensed up hard at that, a choked little noise escaping his lips as his fingers flexed where they were gripping Crowley’s jacket, but he didn’t stop him.

That tension brought Crowley back down, though, and sent his fears rushing back in. He couldn’t face it. When it came down to it, he was still terrified, both of what he would find and how Aziraphale would react. If his reaction just now was anything to go by, it was hardly going to be anything good.

He turned around so quickly he almost spun, dislodging the hand on his arm in the process.

“Tell you what,” he said, aiming for a light if not exactly cheery tone and thinking that he managed it, “there’s this little tapas restaurant I passed by earlier that looked quite nice. I think I owe you some lunch from last time. Or we could get them to deliver, of course.”

A complicated emotion, one so composite that it resembled those pictures made up of a lot of other pictures, passed over the angel’s face before it disappeared into a more neutral expression. Crowley still managed to clock it, though, and his heart did an odd contraction.

“Oh. No, I think I’d like to go – and I’d love to hear about Russia. Oh, it’s been ages since I was there last…which writer was it I met?”

“Tolstoy, wasn’t it?” Crowley remembered Aziraphale telling him about that trip and had showed off the little snuff box he’d acquired after he’d done the blessing he’d been sent to perform. Apparently, it was a Fabergé, whatever that meant.

The angel looked slightly thoughtful. “Not sure whether it was him or Chekhov.”

“Pretty sure you said Tolstoy at the time, and I didn’t get much chance to be sociable this time.”

To be honest, he had holed himself up when he wasn’t ‘on the job’, just trying to cope with his heart and his thoughts going around in circles so much it resembled a merry-go-round, except it was the opposite of merry. A miserable-go-round, as it were.

“That’s a shame. Would you…could I be the one to treat you for a change?”

That odd hesitation and questioning again, as though they hadn’t done this a hundred times before. Probably closer to a few thousand times, all told, and Aziraphale hadn’t ever had to ask like that. It was ridiculous.

Was that who the other angel was turning the blond into? A nervous, uncertain mess? But otherwise, he seemed his normal self. He certainly had when he’d been to Crowley’s flat? Mostly, anyway. Somewhat.

Apropos of that, however…

“You did treat me recently, remember? The hamper was quite delicious. The contents, that is.”

The angel lit up at that. “Oh, good. But that was an apology, my dear, not a treat. That’s quite different.”

“Well, then…yeah, sure you can. You don’t need to ask, angel. We’ve done this before, you know.”

The atmosphere seemed to have been restored to its normal state, but it was easy enough for the demon to tell that it was mainly on a surface level.

Still, Crowley would cling to that for the moment, especially the endearment that he knew was bestowed on others, too, but which he still cherished every time it was directed at him.

What happened to making the birdbrain pay? Gathering clues? To getting answers once and for all? The voice that asked in his mind was harsh and slightly mocking.

Aziraphale’s pain was what happened, and the tension which must’ve been fear at Crowley seeing the nest. He wasn’t as ready to deal with that as he thought he’d been.

So yes, it was cowardly, but he…well, at least he could admit it to himself – and it was for Aziraphale’s benefit, too.

You’re just scared of him rejecting you.

He was. Oh, Satan, he was.

They ended up going to a matinee instead of the tapas bar. The angel said that he’d heard it’d gotten rather good reviews and he hadn’t had a chance to see it yet. Crowley pointed out that they had seen it before; it was Hamlet, for crying out loud. They were there at the first performance, which had been rather a dud until, well...so why would they need to see it again?

Aziraphale had argued that he ought to be pleased at a job well done and the way his eyes had shone for just a moment at that had shut up any protestation Crowley might’ve had. They had been for show in any case; Crowley was just grateful to spend more time together.

A change of plans was in order.

If he was going to get clues, he would do it while Aziraphale was asleep or out of the bookshop. That way, he wouldn’t upset him – if he was careful, he wouldn’t leave any clue that he’d been there, scent or otherwise – and he could get his answers, hopefully without alerting the other angel afterwards, either, and through them, Heaven.

The problem was that the blond wasn’t out of the bookshop much these days, not if he could help it, and it wasn’t as though they needed to sleep. Aziraphale may have a bedroom, though the demon had never seen it, but that would likely be for the comfort of a big bed to lie and read in rather than sleeping.

Would he use it for sleeping in now, though, or would he still be reading but doing so while resting against another body rather than the –

Which meant that he’d hear Crowley or otherwise notice that he was there the moment he slipped into the shop, whether that was through the front door or some other ways. Just because he tended to use the door for both Aziraphale’s sake and so as not to draw attention from humans didn’t mean he didn’t have other ways in.

Unless Aziraphale had blocked them, of course, which he had done once or twice when he’d found them because really, Crowley, must you do it like that, what’s wrong with the door?

But the point was that he would notice if he was in, as it were, and do so long before Crowley would have a chance to find out anything. Not only would that spoil what he was after, it would be worse than ignoring him earlier and pushing past into the shop, with a corresponding reaction.

That only left the possibility to go explore while he was out on some job or other. One which would preferably take him some time to reach and get back from, too, as that would provide Crowley with enough time to properly investigate and put everything back where it had been so Aziraphale would be none the wiser when he did return.

In itself, that might not be a big problem to overcome. Factor in that he was, if the nest hadn’t yet been presented to the intended recipient, never mind accepted, on borrowed time to get it done before that happened and it became a significantly larger issue. Especially seeing as it had been a while since Aziraphale had last been sent out, at least as far as Crowley had picked up on.

Having to bide his time while having a deadline that was unknown to him and may come to pass while he was unaware was unexpectedly nerve wracking, which didn’t help his overall state of mind.

However, he had an unexpected windfall not too long after, which still managed to seem a long time to him, given that invisible deadline hanging over him.

Aziraphale hadn’t exactly said it outright but it wasn’t exactly difficult to work out that he had to go somewhere and wasn’t happy about having to go.

To be honest, though, Crowley couldn’t say the angel had exactly come off as happy lately, something which both worried him immensely and sent his anger towards the unknown rival skyrocketing, if it was even possible for it to rise further. How unfit were they to not notice that the angel they cared for wasn’t happy in the first place? Not to mention that they’d then also failed to try and remedy that, which became particularly egregious if they were the cause of it.

Crowley had tried, as much as he could, having to quieten his own inner turmoil, which had roared rather than burned or smouldered ever since he’d first seen the feather, to counteract it and cheer his angel up in any way he could think of and to some extent, it seemed to have worked. But there’d always been a smidgeon of that unhappiness lurking at the edges.

He had wanted to ask but had been afraid of the answer and so could mainly watch his angel and try to make it better.

But even so, it was evident when they talked over the phone one evening that the blond had gotten a job that would take him away from the bookshop. He didn’t say exactly where, which wasn’t unusual, but Crowley surmised from what he did say that it was at the very least outside of London.

Which meant that he would have at least a few hours to work with. That ought to be more than feasible to get the evidence he needed and put everything back just the way it was – and it didn’t matter if Aziraphale went early or late. He did have good night vision, after all.

It likely wouldn’t alter the outcome and it most certainly wouldn’t stop the emotional pain he was going through but at least this meant that he might just get some answers. Something concrete that he could work with.

At least then he’d know.

He told his aching heart that quite firmly. Repeatedly.

It was dark by the time he made it into the shop.

He’d been loitering somewhere nearby all afternoon, the location picked so he could watch the bookshop without being spotted in turn, waiting for the angel to come out. A small part of him had worried that he’d see Aziraphale being sent off by his intended but the rest of him had reminded it that they’d already established his angel had yet to present the nest in question so it couldn’t be that.

When Aziraphale had finally come out around when twilight became dusk, he’d looked about him, which was odd, as he normally never did. Then he’d almost hurried off in a direction that thankfully didn’t take him past Crowley. Nor did he think he’d spotted him – but had he been looking for him? He didn’t know.

He’d waited another twenty minutes after that to make sure that he wasn’t coming back then had gone up to the doors.

When he’d gotten there, had been about to open the door, he’d hesitated again, that same feeling of nervousness and fear washing over him. What would he find? How far along exactly was the nest? Would there be small tokens of their, as in Aziraphale and the birdbrain, time together? Would more than one feather be placed there? Would –

No. No more speculations. Enough of that. He was here for clues that would provide him the answers he needed, so that he wouldn’t have to speculate. That also meant he couldn’t keep hesitating. He couldn’t let the fear prevent him from finding out, not when he finally had an opportunity to find out without Aziraphale knowing what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. The fact that it had been thoroughly locked was rather irrelevant. If he couldn’t enter somewhere that he wasn’t supposed to be, he would be a very poor demon indeed.

Once inside, his gaze immediately fell to the floor. But of course, there wouldn’t be any feather there. Why would there? It wasn’t exactly a practical place to have it for any length of time, especially not if you still had to pass over that piece of flooring. The thought of accidentally stepping on your own feather after it was no longer attached to you was difficult enough, but when you added in the risk that other people could tread on it, by accident or design, it was little wonder it wasn’t there.

He felt an urge to go search for it immediately but held himself back. That wasn’t the first priority. He’d already seen the feather; he knew it was there. Unless it was the feather belonging to the other angel, which he highly doubted given the circumstances, there were other things he needed to find out about first.

Taking another deep breath, he kept walking forward slowly, trying to take in as much about the room as possible. Simultaneously look at it as though he’d never seen it before and needed to commit every aspect to memory and keep all his memories of visiting the shop in his mind, so he’d be able to tell which pieces were out of place or had changed.

He knew the shop like the back of his hand but then, how often do you really look at the back of your own hand?

And so he began his investigation, his heart in his throat and deep in his stomach at the same time while he did so, keenly aware that what he found might prove what he didn’t want it to. Would almost invariably do so.

The books were the first thing he noticed, as they had been when he’d gotten more than an inkling of what was going on. Many of them had already been arranged in a more visually pleasing manner, spines lined up, colour-coded if possible, the hardbacks with other hardbacks and so on, then but now there was also something else. It was…prettier, too.

Not all the books were in the best condition, which was a hazard of finding first editions and other rare finds. Aziraphale preferred immaculate but would take a book in any state if it was one that he really wanted. Consequently, not all books lined up neatly or was even capable of standing on a shelf without gutting themselves. Add to that the books were stacked, more or less haphazardly, as often as they were properly shelved, and the bookshop normally resembled the cosiest, warmest, and oddest dragon hoard you could ever conceive of.

Not that Crowley minded. Quite the opposite, actually. It was not only extremely comfortable and relaxing to be in for him, despite the fact that he kept his own flat in such a spartan, pristine condition to make it seemly almost unlived in, which in a sense it was, it embodied its owner, which was only right.

Now, though, there wasn’t…all of that cosy clutter was…gone. Everything was shelved as neatly as possible, with the aforementioned visual appeal kept in mind, it seemed. The stacks of paper and general detritus of the TARDIS-like interior – and yes, of course Crowley was aware of that show, though the lanky sod they’d had on for a while had been a bit much – was almost gone.

It was, he supposed, far easier to see what there was, it was prettier and more appealing, at least to a general audience, of which he most certainly wasn’t part. Not when it came to this place or to Aziraphale himself. His own was a different matter altogether.

But to see this all spic and span and organised to within an inch of its life, that was wrong. It would be as if Aziraphale suddenly showed up sporting a completely modern and trendy suit and his hair was slicked back. Which was a mental image that just wouldn’t form in his mind.

Was that what would be next? If this was what his intended liked, would Aziraphale acquiesce to that style all the way through? But he’d always…his style was ornate yet homely, warm and cuddly, such a far cry from what Heaven dwellers wore. This clean, spartan look was more in style with Heaven’s minimalism and it felt horrible. As if what made Aziraphale his angel – the angel that he was and the one the demon knew, that was, not Crowley’s angel, however strong the wish – was being slowly scrubbed off of him to fit in.

But how could that be someone Aziraphale would fall for in the first place? Soft he may be, but he was anything but stupid, whatever he thought of the different sides and their representatives. He would see through somebody putting on a front like that…wouldn’t he? Even if that someone was another angel, people he tended to put more faith, aha, in than he did most anybody else and certainly more than he ought to, in Crowley’s anything but humble opinion.

The demon would say yes to the angel being that perceptive in a heartbeat, of course, and mean it, too. And yet…this whole new look to the shop did rather suggest that he could be swayed under the right circumstances.

Or maybe, just maybe it had more to do with how Aziraphale thought the other angel would like it rather than any real representation of that angel’s desires or wishes. That the blond would be working off of his conception of what he knew Heaven liked, perhaps without being entirely conscious of it.

As soon as he thought it, Crowley found himself clinging to that thought. No, he didn’t want the other angel to take what he’d been pining and wishing for through millennia, of course he bloody well didn’t! But if he had to give him up, at least in terms of a more romantic partner, then he wouldn’t accept anybody who wasn’t absolutely worthy of Aziraphale’s love.

More evidence was needed. Something that would speak of the both of them, together, evidence of what the one nesting so liked about the other. That would give him a better and more nuanced image of who this other angel was or at least, who Aziraphale thought they were.

Further into the bookshop he went, noting gold ornamentation and marble tops on wooden furniture that had definitely not been there previously and…were those pot plants? Why were there plants there, of all things? Who in Satan’s name among the ranks of birdbrains would have an interesting in horticulture?

Anger, in this case infused with indignation, once again wrapped around the hurt and shielded it, allowing him to press forward.

He found another feather and carefully examined it.

Although he hadn’t actually seen Aziraphale with his wings out on display since that fateful day of the Temptation and the First Rain – that occurrence earned its capitalisation and importance alongside ‘temptation’ purely due to the angel’s wing automatically coming up to shield the demon, the enemy, from something as innocent as rain, even if it was the first – he still remembered them quite vividly and knew, from this distance, that it belonged to Aziraphale rather than any other angel, without a shadow of a doubt.

It was tempting to reach out and touch it, to pick it up and pocket it, to keep something that was so personal and, well, intimate, for angels. So incredibly tempting but he managed to resist it, his fingers a few millimetres from it before he caught himself and wrench it away, taking a few steps backwards in the process.

He had told himself he wouldn’t leave any sign of having been in the shop gathering clues, and a missing feather would be a sign bent in neon with landing strips going to it from the four corners of the world.

That and he might start to leave it in his flat and pretend that Aziraphale had chosen him, which would be both ludicrous and, quite frankly, worrying, especially if it escalated. It was probably a remote risk, granted, but it was one he couldn’t afford to take.

So, he forced himself away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as far as they’d go, which admittedly wasn’t far, to keep them from reaching out on their own and take.

He could do this.

One thing that did puzzle him a lot – leaving aside the rest of it all for the moment – was why the nest had yet to be accepted and it was clear beyond doubt now that it hadn’t been accepted yet as there was no indication of an angel feather that wasn’t Aziraphale’s own.

It wasn’t as though neither angels nor demons had long transportation times upstairs or downstairs, respectively, even if they didn’t take the immediate route coming down from above through lightning or up from below through the ground.

Plus, it was reasonable to assume that the angel in question would’ve come down to visit Aziraphale – and that was a thought Crowley needed to veer away from almost as soon as he’d thought it or he’d likely start to build upon that picture, which he did not need – at least a few times before the blond had begun to nest. That meant they would know the way, even if they hadn’t been to the shop itself, which seemed doubtful, and they could travel there both easily and quickly.

So, why, after such a relatively long time since he’d seen the feather, never mind when he’d first suspected, had it still not been accepted? It definitely hadn’t been rejected as everything was still there for Crowley to see and the emotions that he’d seen on his angel’s face didn’t match what he expected it to look like had he been rejected. But was Aziraphale still perfecting it? Was it that he hadn’t shown it to his intended – which isn’t you and will never be you, so get over it already – yet because he didn’t feel ready?

But there was hardly anything more that could be done to it! He hadn’t been into every nook and cranny yet, far from it, but as someone who was almost as familiar with the shop as the owner himself, owing to the amount of times he’d been here over the years and the time he’d spent in it when he’d been, he could tell there’d been plenty of changes and additions, even beyond what he’d already spotted.

So, why? What on earth, or Heaven or Hell for that matter, was lacking or wrong or otherwise the matter with this nest since Aziraphale had yet to present it to the angel he’d fallen for this quick and hard? It made absolutely no sense and what was more, it made Crowley worried for his angel. To get to this level of changes and improvements, if that was the kind of stuff you liked, of course, and still not feel confident about the nest…?

His heart clenched hard and painfully but not for his own sake this time.

His angel deserved so much more. He deserved…no, not the world, they had quite enough on their hands as it was just trying to look out for humanity, thank-you-very-much, but whatever was the good equivalent of that.

He was just about to go further into the back and get a proper look at the sofa, to see whether more changes had been made – at least, that was what he told himself – when he heard the door open. At that point, he was quite far away from the front door but despite that, in the silence of the room he could hear the quiet click and rattle of the old door opening.

For a moment, he tensed in the belief that he’d not locked the door, and therefore had a sudden intruder. That’d just figure, wouldn’t it?

Then he inhaled, which made him tense further into outright frozen as he recognised who it was. It didn’t matter that there was distance between him and the door nor that residual traces were everywhere in the shop, he knew that smell as well as he did his own. Better than, possibly.

No. No, no, no, no! It couldn’t be. Not yet. There wasn’t any doubt, but it just couldn’t be. For fuck’s sake, he was supposed to be away for at least several more hours, even if it wasn’t that far out from London. Public transport was never fast nor efficient, that was the whole ruddy point! Crowley had seen to that decades ago.

Though still frozen, Crowley managed to check his watch, his expensive, handcrafted watch, and sure enough, it proclaimed that it wasn’t more than a couple of hours after Aziraphale’s departure. He wasn’t supposed to be back yet!

And yet, sure enough – his heart was in his throat, beating a rhythm that threatened to short out on him any minute as he stood as still as a salt pillar.

“Hello?” that so familiar voice called out. “Is there anyone there? Hello?”

Chapter Text

Crowley considered running. He seriously did because the last thing he wanted, perhaps with the exception of being not just discorporated but outright destroyed, was to be caught out here in the shop, without permission or any legitimate reason to be there.

It wasn’t as though he could tell him the real reason, was it? And why else would he turn up here when he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t be there and then have gotten that far into the shop, without even bothering to turn the lights on?

There was nothing he could come up with that sounded remotely plausible. In another life, perhaps, he would’ve found that funny, probably, a demon unable to think of a good lie.

But surely Aziraphale would already know, wouldn’t he? Yes, Crowley had a bit of a benefit there, what with the serpentine bit and all, but if he could smell Aziraphale surely the angel could detect him? The residual scent and other markers he would’ve left would be one thing but to be in the store itself when he returned, that was something entirely different and wasn’t going to go down well, to put it mildly.

Though that then asked the question of why he would call out like that? If he knew it was Crowley, why not call his name straight away, even if he did make it into a question?

Because he was hoping it wouldn’t be Crowley? Possibly but why?

He doesn’t want you in here, remember? that nasty little part of his mind whispered. He’s been trying to keep you out since you first saw one of his feathers, giving away the game. This is no longer a place where you are welcome so of course he’d be disbelieving of the fact that despite that, despite the indications he’s given you that you’re no longer welcome in the shop, his nest, here you are.

But he was welcome in his life!

Oh, yes. For as long as that’ll last. As long as he can keep you a secret from the other angel, which, really, hasn’t got that good odds, does it?

However long that would be, he’d stick with it. He wasn’t going to give his angel up!

And if Aziraphale asks you to?

His eyes stung and he closed them hard, trying to banish what was brewing.

Sure enough, after he’d heard footsteps come softly towards him for a few steps, the line as uninterrupted as it could possibly be given the still rather labyrinthine layout of the shop, he heard the angel call again.

“Crowley? Is that you there?”

Fuck it all! He’d left it too long, being frozen in shock and panic, and now there was nowhere for him to escape to.

Well, no, technically there was but Aziraphale had to know he was there. So just trying to slither out of there through one way or another, provided that the exits he had in mind weren’t blocked, was out of the question; that would only make it seem more suspicious, wouldn’t it?

That said, it took a tremendous amount of effort for him to not shift into a more serpentine shape and slither away, and even more to open his mouth and answer.

“Yes, of course it’s me,” he called back, and his voice came out slightly harsh not because he was angry or annoyed with the blond – scared and panicked wasn’t the same at all – but because he was trying to keep it under control.

He still didn’t move; he couldn’t. His limbs were refusing to cooperate or even acknowledge they belonged to him.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said and it sounded like a question, even though, by the sound of his voice and the concentration of scent, he was standing only half a dozen feet away. He bloody well ought to be able to tell it was the demon, even if he hadn’t already confirmed that it was him.

Why, with all of that, was he still asking? Because he was desperately trying to tell himself that it wasn’t true. That what he was experiencing wasn’t real since you weren’t supposed to enter a nest that wasn’t meant for you, not for anything.

Could he claim that he hadn’t known Aziraphale had actually made a nest, not until he’d stepped inside? Why would he then have gone that far in, if he’d only realised once inside? Surely, an angel worth their salt, whether from upstairs or downstairs and leaving aside the fact they didn’t get paid, in salt or anything else, would be able to tell it was a nest straight away and would’ve gotten out of there immediately?

No, he couldn’t see how he could turn it in his favour. Or maybe his mind was as frozen as his body, the dawning horror and panic or what exactly he’d done settling over him.

The angel was steadily coming closer, though, which didn’t make much if any sense. Especially not as he wasn’t shouting or otherwise showing just how outraged and hurt he was that Crowley could ever think to do such a thing.

Soft, warm and kind he may be, but he had been the Angel of the Eastern Gate and had had a flaming sword. One which Crowley had always suspected he knew full well how to handle, was probably even quite proficient.

He’d be perfectly capable of –

Crowley’s train of thought wasn’t just stopped, it was quite spectacularly derailed when a hand settled, not on his shoulder, but on his arm, as gently as though he was made of spun sugar and would disintegrate if handled too roughly.

It made him want to pull away and run, to wrap himself around the angel while he still could. It made him want to cry.

What didn’t help in that regard was what Aziraphale said next.

“Crowley…my dear, why are you here?”

It was the words themselves but more than that, it was the way they were said. He would’ve expected there to be hurt, disbelief and most definitely betrayal and anger in there. Not to a degree where he was screaming at him or similar, that was hardly something Aziraphale would do, but even so, he was capable of stronger emotions and letting them out.

Except…it wasn’t there. None of it, not even close. It was…well, to be honest, there was some definite hurt in there, he could tell that, but mostly it sounded like concern and confusion, and he was speaking softly, carefully.

Even so, Crowley couldn’t answer. What on earth could he say? The truth wasn’t going to work and any lie that he could come up with sounded horrible to his own ears.

His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses, but they were also still closed hard, and his head was tilted downwards, and so he felt rather than saw the angel come around to stand in front of him instead of to his side. The hand on his arm didn’t leave, though, which puzzled him.

What was going to happen next? Would Aziraphale just quietly ask him to leave? Say how disappointed he was that he’d come in here when he so clearly hadn’t wanted him to? Tell him just how he’d broken his trust after everything they’d been through? Would he slap him? Drag him out of there and slam the door behind him?

Would…why was he so quiet? Why was nothing happening? Was he just too disgusted and disbelieving to do anything? But why wasn’t he still so close, then? Why hadn’t he removed his hand, never mind stepped away from Crowley entirely? He hadn’t even tightened it or anything, so what was going on?

He didn’t dare lift his head or open his eyes, afraid of what he would see in the other’s face if he did so. Whatever he was facing now, it wasn’t going to be anything good.

That he knew he would’ve done the same thing again if given the same set of circumstances wasn’t much of a help, even if they did tell him there was no reasonable way that he could have avoided this outcome. Not without having derailed the entirety of public transport and even so, things would probably still have fallen out to anything but his benefit.

So caught up was he in what was tumbling and rattling through his own head that he almost missed what Aziraphale said next.

“Crowley, would you…please, would you look at me?”

He didn’t answer but he did react to the hand, not the one still on his arm, coming up so that two fingers could gently push at his chin, encouraging it to lift up; he resisted for a moment but then gave it up as there wasn’t much point except delaying the inevitable.

When his head was again upright, as it were, the angel removed his fingers, using them instead to snap so that the shop, which had previously been very dark, filled with light. Granted, it was the light of the lamps already in the bookshop, but it was still all the lights at once, without touching them.

So much for frivolous uses of miracles. But perhaps he’d gotten a – no. This was hard enough as it was, there was no need to make it worse on himself.

He felt the hand on his arm being removed but didn’t look and tried not to think about it.

Then he felt his sunglasses being very gently removed. He still didn’t look, though, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wasn’t ready to face the expression that would be on the angel’s face.

“Oh, Crowley.” Nothing more came after that, as though he didn’t know what else to say or possibly that there wasn’t anything more to add. Perhaps there wasn’t but it didn’t make the comment easier.

“Just say it,” the demon finally managed to get out. “Whatever it is you want to say, just say it already.”

The words came out strangled, as though they’d had to travel through tripwire made of sticky material.

“Won’t you look at me?”

“Just bloody well say it!” he somehow managed to shout at a low volume.

Aziraphale gave a very small gasp at that. What he didn’t do, though, was pull away.

He did hesitate, however, and after a few moments of silence, he sighed.

It was a sigh that did not fit in with the circumstances at all, in Crowley’s opinion, and confused him. But then, he was thrown for a bigger loop.

“Is it that horrible?” the angel asked, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper, giving the feeling that he wasn’t actually addressing the ginger but unintentionally voicing some thoughts out loud.

Yellow eyes popped open all by themselves, staring in utter confusion at the blond who was now the one looking away.

“I...you…what?” he asked, spluttering. “What are you talking about?” He’d completely lost where the conversation was at or where it was headed.

“Have I done that badly a job of it?” the angel asked, apparently addressing the table next to Crowley and still in that incredibly low voice, only adding to the demon’s confusion. “I have tried very hard to get it right but perhaps I’ve gone off in the wrong direction.”

Wait, what?

“Ang – Aziraphale, what the flying fuck are you on about?”

Green eyes lifted to meet his.

“Why are you here, Crowley?” the angel asked, in a stronger tone of voice that was still rather soft. It probably ought to sound accusatory, but it didn’t come out that way. Wary was probably more accurate, guarded yet slightly pleading. “Why did you come here only when you seemed to know that I would be out?”

Crowley’s mouth opened but no words would come. Again, to tell the truth wouldn’t go down well but finding a plausible lie wasn’t easy and likely wouldn’t go down any better.

But he had to say something, too, if only to stop the other looking at him like that. It hurt.

“I just…” he began, “I wanted to…I only…”

He faltered and then it suddenly came rushing out of him. “I wanted to see it one last time!”

That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say or even really the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway. Though now he thought about it, his fear that he wouldn’t be allowed to get close to Aziraphale again did somewhat extend to the shop, too. Not because he was overly interested in a bookshop on its own, but as he’d thought earlier, it embodied Aziraphale so in a sense, when he was there, it was like being wrapped in angel, at least to him.

As close as he could ever get to the real thing. Especially now.

“One last time?” Aziraphale echoed, sounding confused. “What do you mean? See what one last time?”

“This…this here.” He waved an arm to indicate the bookshop.

“Why would – oh.” The angel’s face fell a little at that and, without moving his feet, he withdrew a little.

“’Oh’? What do you mean, ‘oh’?” Now Crowley was confused as well, not to mention further worried.

Aziraphale muttered something that might’ve been ‘I knew it wouldn’t be right to do it like this’ but might have been something else entirely or nothing at all.

What he said out loud was something else entirely, and it only added to the confusion the demon was already feeling. “You don’t have to…please stay. I’ll change…we can pretend that…“

“Pretend what?” Crowley asked, his voice slightly harsh as he interrupted. “Pretend that you haven’t got somebody else waiting for you, the one that you’re doing all of this for?”

Shit! That wasn’t supposed to have come out. Not in a million years and certainly not in that tone of voice.

He hadn’t wanted the angel to know that he was aware of what was going on, afraid that if he did let on that he knew and would’ve known before he’d come in here, then…then the betrayal of trust would be far greater, quite apart from the likelihood that he’d be purged from Aziraphale’s life. To go in unaware would be one thing, and quite horrendously bad on its own, that was true enough, but to know and still choose to enter somewhere like this, that was…that was unforgiveable, quite simply.

Shit, shit, shit, shit! How could he take it back? There had to be a way to take it back! Think, idiot, think!

Aziraphale looked perplexed and more than a little taken aback at the outburst, which he really couldn’t be blamed for. After all, who would want to be called out like that, especially by someone they had tried so hard to keep it from? Not to mention the feeling of betrayal, which he thought he saw reflected in those lovely green eyes.

“Doing all of…?” Aziraphale said, again echoing what Crowley had just said, as though he needed to say it out loud to process it. The confused disbelief was certainly strong when he continued, “Somebody else waiting – who would that be?”

As if you’re not already perfectly aware. Don’t play dumb with me to try and spare yourself or even me! The words wanted to spill out so very badly, but he managed, somehow, to keep his mouth firmly and resolutely shut this time and so they could only push against hard against his teeth. Nobody needed to hear those words.

What he did tell himself was to just…not keep quiet, exactly, and certainly not run, but just…perhaps apologise and say he hadn’t meant to go this deep in, but he hadn’t realised. A softer lie cushioned in truth, something that’d allow him to pretend, perhaps them both to pretend that this hadn’t actually happened –

Had that been what Aziraphale had meant instead of what Crowley had presumed? No, that couldn’t be the reason, it just couldn’t.

Another part of that sentence barged its way into his mind; ‘change’. What did he mean? What would he change? Why? Why would anything need to be changed, at least in relation to this situation and Crowley? It was him who was in the wrong here, after all, utterly and completely, so why was the angel acting like this?

It didn’t make any sense and only made Crowley’s head hurt, not to mention his heart. Then again, his heart had been in constant pain for weeks now.

“My dear…please talk to me?” Now there was definitely pleading in that voice.

He felt hands grip his own, gently and carefully, and he almost jerked his hands away. Almost. He wanted to scream. Why was he being so careful and gentle about all of this? Obtuse was one thing…no, actually, it probably wasn’t, as it sprung from the same source, but it was somehow easier to deal with than this caring kindness even if it was mixed in with perplexity. The latter only made him more aware of how wonderful Aziraphale was and how much he stood to lose.

“Don’t leave,” he found himself whispering, looking down once again. He was also holding onto the hands in his with a strength that he hadn’t expected. “Please just…just don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will.”

There was a slight pause at that, as though something was being processed with difficulty. Or maybe he was just figuring out which way was the best to say that yes, he would.

“Why would I want to leave? What would I want to leave for?”

Crowley shook his head minutely. He couldn’t say it. The word, that one, all-important word, got stuck in his throat and refused to leave.

He tried to disentangle his hands, suddenly unable to bear touching the angel, something which happened so very rarely, especially in the knowledge that he wasn’t allowed to touch as he wanted to.

Aziraphale held on, though, tightening his grip as the demon sought to loosen it. Crowley tugged harder but to no avail.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Aziraphale – “

“No. I am not going to let go until you tell me why. All of the whys, Crowley, fully and truthfully.” There was sudden steel in that voice, but it masked something else. Quite a few other things, it sounded like, though admittedly, Crowley could possibly be wrong on that score.

He could get himself free if he wanted to. Or at least, he would’ve thought he’d be able to. Despite his lanky form, he wasn’t weak. But neither, it seemed, was Aziraphale, for all his soft shape, and as he started to pull in turn, the demon wasn’t so sure he could get free.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t try, that was for sure, pulling at his hands and trying to stand his ground at the same time as the angel tugged at him hard. He continued to do so until he had managed to drag the ginger over to the sofa, that hateful sofa, and pushed him down onto it.

The angel himself took, after disentangling their hands, the chair opposite, which, while not unusual, still managed to stab at Crowley’s heart.

At the same time, though, he was also getting, if possible, even more confused. Why had he been led deeper into the bookshop rather than out of it? Didn’t Aziraphale want him out? At the very least out of his shop if not out of his life entirely, given what he’d just done. Why was he being sat down on the sofa, the one that had so clearly been upgraded for the benefit of the upcoming nestmate? Wasn’t that too risky, in case the other angel smelled that he’d sat on it? Even if it wasn’t that, it would surely be sullying the upholstery, having a demon sit on it.

He looked up at the angel, which sadly wasn’t very helpful.

The steel was still there as was the determination and care that he tended to exhibit when he was looking out for someone, which usually meant Crowley. But underneath that, the confusion and hurt showed clean through and more than that, he thought he saw dejection and…was that shame and embarrassment? It couldn’t be.

What the Heaven did Aziraphale have to feel shame for?

Having fallen for someone? But that was hardly something to – even Crowley didn’t begrudge him that, however angry, with the other angel but mainly with himself, and hurt he was. Aziraphale deserved that, if that was what he wanted, and so much more than that; he shouldn’t ever feel ashamed of it.

Was it that Crowley had gone where he shouldn’t and had exposed something that he was supposed to not know about, never mind actually leave well enough alone? The shame wasn’t over the state of the shop or the reason behind that new state, not directly and on its own. It was the shame of how Crowley had wrecked things.

Needles stabbed into Crowley’s heart at that like a very small and specialised iron maiden and it didn’t help that this time, he had nobody to shift the blame for that pain to. This wasn’t the unnamed angel’s fault; this was purely down to the redhaired demon.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t sat himself down on the sofa. Compared to breaking in, that was pretty minor.

The sudden realisation that by Crowley not having been in the store for a while, Aziraphale had managed to, along with reorganising, adding, removing and changing things about the shop, almost completely get rid of most of the lingering scent of demon, drove the needles in deeper. Not too many more changes and it would be impossible to tell he’d ever been there.

No. Aziraphale hadn’t done that on purpose. He was sure of that. It was merely a very unfortunate, to the snake, at least, side effect of wanting to get the place ready. Ready for –

His thoughts careened off again. This time, the touch was too his knee. It was brief but it did the job and in any case one of his hands was then grabbed again.

Why did he keep doing that? He never normally did, which was worrying – the thrill that went through Crowley at having his angel touch him was strong but flailed and almost drowned in the vortex that was all his other feelings right then – but at the same time, it didn’t fit with wanting to get shod of him.

He belatedly realised the angel had said something. Blinking, he tried to see if his ears remembered what his mind hadn’t caught.

They didn’t, so he had to ask.

“Sorry, what?”

“I would like an explanation, dear.” The sentence came out oddly small and hurt, which only made things harder. “A full and truthful one. Whatever happens afterwards.”

Though all of that joined the positive stew of confusion, especially the last sentence, Crowley’s brain decided to zoom in on something else entirely. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because I do believe I deserve an explanation, at least.”

“No, not that. The – the endearment!”

“I...I always do. Well, often enough, anyway. You’ve never raised an objection before.”

Not like this. Not when – “But why do you do it when you’re angry with me?” he asked, a tad desperately.

Aziraphale’s expression changed to a nonplussed one, though the other emotions were still lurking in the wings, as it were. “Angry? Who says – why would I be angry with you?”

That was somehow too much. The gentle tone, the touch, the place they sat. The look in Aziraphale’s eyes and the incongruity of what the demon knew he must be feeling and how he was acting. Or maybe Crowley’s heart and mind had just tried to keep everything in check and make sense of things for too long and with far too many things at once, and it could no longer do that job.

Whatever the case, something, maybe a dam, broke inside of Crowley.

“Because I broke in!” he burst out. He lowered his gaze to somewhere around their feet. It felt far safer to look down there as the words kept tumbling out of his mouth. “Because I am where you didn’t want me to be, don’t want me to be, been keeping me away from for a long time. Because I’ve…I’ve sullied it!”

There was a small but sharp intake of breath at that.  It came from the angel, but it might as well have come from the demon.

He had not meant to say any of that out loud. What was wrong with his mouth right now? The more he spoke, the more he got himself into trouble, trouble which he couldn’t see any way he could get himself back out of and which would doom him in a way that had nothing to do with Hell, or even Heaven.

If he’d been someone else, he might’ve clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself from saying anything further. As he was himself and would never do such a thing, he instead clenched his jaw and bit his tongue, bearing the pain of that. It was worth it to keep from letting more words spill uninvited and un-consulted from his lips, from making him lose what he loved the most in this world. Or at least try his most blessed to keep from losing him.

“Sullied it?” Aziraphale repeated and this time, he did sound outright upset. Not angry but definitely far more emotional than he ever normally did. “How can you even think that? You could never sully it!”

I’m a bloody demon, of course I can sully it. It’s practically part of the job description. That had never been his intention when it came to his angel, though, however much he’d managed to screw it up.

The words fought to get out, but he bit down harder in response, which punctured his tongue. It shouldn’t have mattered but the pain of it and the tang of blood made him wince just slightly.

Slightly it might’ve been, but it was enough for the angel to notice.

“Crowley? Are you alright?”

He tried to nod his head, not speaking in case he said more stupid things – or he sprayed Aziraphale’s pristine if old clothes with blood.

The blond didn’t seem convinced. “Let me see.”

I can miracle it away if I want to. You don’t need –

He tried to turn his head away. The momentum was halted, however, by a hand grabbing his chin.

“Aziraphale, don’t,” he said, speaking through the surprising amount of blood that had managed to gather in his mouth.

“Oh.” The hand fell away. “Of course. Silly of me, really, assuming my touch would be welcome.” He tried to give a smile, but it came out wan, watery and small.

“You what?” And blood did spray a little at that but thankfully none of it went on the angel’s clothes. He swallowed the rest quickly. “When did I say that?”

“The implications were quite strong.”

No, they hadn’t been – had they?

“That wasn’t what I meant at all,” he said, quickly, though that owed more to his mouth than to him. “Your touch is…is welcome. I meant you shouldn’t – it’s not fair of you to be so kind when it’ll be taken away from me.”

There his mouth went again, despite all of his efforts!

“Taken away from you? Are the – did Hell find out something?” The concern was laced with some panic. “Are they going to – “

Crowley shook his head, quickly. That would’ve been all he needed, the other angel blabbering to Hell about him.

“Oh. Well. Thank Heaven for that. But then I’m….” The panic faded, Aziraphale still looked very perplexed and concerned, and his eyes scanned the other’s face to look for any clue that might give him an idea of what was going on. “I’m really not following you, Crowley, on any of it.”

He paused briefly, biting his lip. “If it’s…if I did wrong, then I do apologise but I, I guess I assumed that…but of course you wouldn’t, I should’ve seen that.”

“Should’ve seen what? You’re the one who’s gone and changed things, all because some birdbrain of another angel has suddenly managed to turn your head!”

Fuck! Shit, no, what the fuck was he saying? Not only was he spilling more of what he should, had vowed to himself he would keep shtum about, he was phrasing it as though Aziraphale was in the wrong and to blame for this turn of events.

Well, technically, he supposed he was the one responsible for it – but that didn’t in any way mean he was in the wrong! Just because Crowley’s unvoiced hopes had been blown to smithereens and his heart was consequently a nest of pain didn’t give him the right to lash out and accuse Aziraphale or try to tear him down.

The pain was Crowley’s to deal with, not his angel’s.

Not to mention that if you lash out like that, the risk that he’ll throw you out and begin to avoid you goes up quite exponentially.

No, that didn’t matter. Well, it did, to him, but not compared to hurting Aziraphale. That was never his intention, so why had he just done that?

Why was he so utterly useless? No wonder Aziraphale had fallen for someone else. Crowley couldn’t even put him first or be mindful of his situation, not in comparison to his own shit, and that was apart from everything else that made him unsuitable for the angel’s affections, regardless of what he’d hoped. That he was unworthy he’d always known but he’d never felt it quite as strong as he did now.

He couldn’t make it right, but he could at least let the other know he knew he’d messed up and was sorry for it.

Opening eyes which he hadn’t realised he’d closed in the short time the whole train of thought had taken to pass through his mind, he looked at Aziraphale, the apology already on his blood-caked lip.

What he saw there was not what he would’ve expected, and it halted the apology on his lip.

It was shock and confusion, but those he might have expected. What he hadn’t expected was the small but growing smile and the warm light in those lovely eyes, its dance faint and wavering but nevertheless burning and radiating out.

As to why this light was there, he had no idea. No, he did have one – that the thought of the one he was nesting for had brought that light in and only the shock and confusion were meant for Crowley – but he tried to push that one out of his mind.

It didn’t work particularly well.

Crowley closed his eyes again, feeling the eyelids sting as he did so. No, he wasn’t going to cry. He was not.

 “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t get between you two. I just don’t…I don’t want to lose you but if that’s what you want, then – “

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft but nevertheless, he managed to halt the demon in what he was saying, which might be just as well. “Would you look at me? Please?”

That same request as before. The demon didn’t want to, not one bit. But he did, this time without any prompting.

As soon as he did, he could feel that despite his efforts, the moisture hadn’t gone away because his vision was ever so slightly blurry.

Through that, he thought he saw both hope and determination again on those angelic – a word which really didn’t do him justice, even if it was technically, physically accurate – features.

“What…Crowley, who do you think you’d get between, exactly?” the blond asked, his voice quiet and soft. The demon didn’t pick up on it but there “What other angel are you talking about?”

What? Did Aziraphale think he was blind or just plain daft? Or was he trying to spare his feelings? He surely wasn’t trying to deny that he had an angel who he cared enough about to want to nest for and with. No, he couldn’t be, not just for the sake of it. What point would that serve?

He couldn’t help it; he scoffed. “Which do you think? The one you’re nesting for, obviously! Do you really think me that daft?”

The angel blinked several times, in rapid succession, his eyes wide. “You noticed I’ve been nesting?” he asked, and it felt as though that hadn’t entirely been what he’d meant to ask.

 “Yes, of course I noticed!” he burst out.

“Then why…why didn’t you say anything?”

Really? “Because you didn’t want me to, quite obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you to?”

Crowley stared, feeling as though they were suddenly speaking different languages. “Are you…angel, you are not asking me that question. You’re simply not.”

“Consider that maybe I am.”

It was the demon’s turn to blink, completely nonplussed. Surely, he wasn’t really asking that question. It was built in!

“You…because a nest isn’t something you’re supposed to talk about. It’s private. Intimate. Meant only for the angel doing it and the recipient. You know all of that, you don’t need me to tell you any of this. You’re still an angel.”

The words ‘I’m not’ hung in the air after that, unspoken but nevertheless felt.

If anything, the angel’s expression grew a little warmer and a little less…not less hurt, exactly, but less…disheartened, possibly? More hopeful? Something between the two, it was hard to say for sure, at least for the demon.

“Yes, well. Yes, quite.” He didn’t say anything more.

“Why are you asking me, then?” Crowley nearly cried. “You know why, and I broke that.”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to shake his head. “You didn’t break it.”

“Don’t try to be kind by fibbing.” The angel didn’t lie but he might fib. “I know I did.”

The angel hesitated for a moment then reached out and took one of Crowley’s bony hands between both of his plump ones, holding it as though it was something to be revered and cherished. The sight made something complicated happen inside of the ginger’s chest.

“You didn’t, dear. Believe me, you didn’t.” There was now no question whether there was hope in that voice, together with just the hint of relief and joy.

“Stop – !“ Crowley was once again halted in what he was about to say but this time, it was because the words got stuck in his throat; he was looking at where Aziraphale was threading their hands together.

Almost instinctively, he tried to tug it away, refusing to believe what he was seeing and needing it to stop before his heart burst from it – or even worse, he got used to it. But the blond held fast, refusing in turn to let go.

“Aziraphale…!” he said, almost pleading.

“You were quite right. It is only meant for the one nesting and the one they’re nesting for.”

“Then why the bloody heaven do you keep saying it’s alright when it’s not? This isn’t being kind; this is just cruel. I can’t…”

…And there. He’d tipped his hand almost if not all the way. But what more could happen? How could he make the outcome any worse than it would already be as it stood?

He only registered that a tear had run down his cheek, despite his efforts, when it was gently wiped away by a soft finger.

“I never meant to be cruel, my dear. I’m tremendously sorry that that’s how it’s come across and if I’ve failed to communicate my intentions to you.”

He gave an odd little smile at that, one which was warm and soft, yet sad and self-deprecating all at once.

“You have got it quite wrong, too, however,” he continued. “I don’t have…there isn’t anyone up in Heaven who’s turned my head, as you put it.”

“Oh, come off it. Of course, there is. You don’t need to try and spare my feelings by lying to me.” That he’d just previously more or less asked the other to spare his feelings to some extent, he didn’t clock at the moment. “You’re nesting. There must be someone up there.”

“Why do you automatically assume that the one I’ve been nesting for comes from Heaven?” Aziraphale looked as though somebody had just asked him what sound yellow makes – which is a mellow tingle, as a matter of fact, depending on the shade. He sounded odd, though.

He’s not denying that he’s been nesting, Crowley thought. If he can admit to that, why can’t he admit to the rest? Why is he trying to conceal that part?

Perhaps it was because the nest was meant for…the thought, the wish, hung closer than it had ever done but he didn’t dare reach for it, in case it popped like a soapbubble.

“Who else could it be?” he said, slightly to cover that up. “Unless there’s some human you’ve developed a connection to.”

Which, to put it bluntly, was downright ridiculous. Not because angels were incapable of caring for humans – that the majority, to the point that they were rather the entirety, tended to live up their own celestial glorioles instead was another matter – both in a platonic and in a romantic sense, but their time was so very brief, even now.

Nesting was…nesting was so much more than just holding out a feather and asking somebody to become your nestmate. Of course, it was part of it and quite a significant part of it. But nesting was to say to the one you were nesting for that you were prepared to be theirs as much as they’d be yours and, more importantly, that you were ready to commit to that forever.

Eternity held a lot more meaning to creatures who’d already been in the race for the long haul.

It was beyond rare for a pair who had agreed to become nestmates to ‘divorce’, the most of the exceedingly few clipped angels, as they were known, were in that situation because their nestmate had been destroyed.

So, to agree to that sort of commitment with a human, who was at best going to stick around for a pitiful hundred years, that was…only setting the angel up for inevitable and profound heartbreak.

Now the angel looked at him as though he’d sprouted the horns and tail that he was supposed to have according to humans – though he was doing so for good reason, admittedly.

“While there is nothing wrong with humans, in a general sort of way, I don’t…I haven’t ever developed that sort of connection with a human and I don’t see how I ever would.”

“But you’ve developed it with another angel – and recently. So, they must’ve turned your head.”

“Why recently?”

Why did he continue to ask all these questions? It wasn’t as though it was benefiting either of them. In fact, it only prolonged the pain of what Crowley knew was going to happen.

Nevertheless, he answered. “Because otherwise, why haven’t you ever nested before? It’s not as though…well…” He trailed off.

Best shut up before he made it worse again. Or he just made a fool of himself, though that ship had probably already sailed. He certainly felt the fool right now.

Of all things, he would never have expected Aziraphale to bite his lip again and certainly not to…was that a blush? No, it couldn’t possibly be – when did he ever blush? Lightly flustered or even embarrassed from time to time, yes, but never actually coloured like that.

“I...I have to admit that I saw…things in a new light relatively recently,” he said, his voice hesitant and his gestures slightly fidgety, “but I’ve…I’ve needed some time, it seems, to come to terms with, well, the fact that I’ve not just cared deeply for the person but that I actually, genuinely desired to nest for them and have them accept my nest.”

He lowered his voice further, dropping it almost to a mumble. “Which seems a rather foolish and unattainable notion now, in retrospect, but one can’t always help but hope, however small and fragile it might be.”

There was that odd smile again, one which Crowley decided he didn’t much like.

But he hadn’t mentioned, still, who that angel was, which was worrying the poor demon. Was there another angel who stayed on earth? That would go a long way to explain why Aziraphale might fall for them given, if they’d gained some of the same understanding and nuance that the two of them had from staying on this mudball for around six millennia.

What hurt, too, was that it seemed as though Aziraphale believed he was in the wrong for having started a nest in the first place, which wasn’t right. He wasn’t in the wrong at all.

Why, though…why didn’t he just come straight out and say who it was?

Did you come out straight and say why you were here? Throwing stones, glass houses and all that.

The question was – did Crowley dare ask outright who it was?

He’d come here for clues, that was true enough, which would eventually lead to some answers, ideally, but when it came down to it, was he actually ready to hear who it was?

No. No, he wasn’t, not by a long shot, but at the same time, the limbo was wreaking havoc on his mind, not to mention his heart, which was fit to bursting for all the wrong reasons.

So, he might as well ask outright. Get some sort of certainty and closure before he was shepherded out of the angel’s life for good. No matter how many times it’d take to get an answer or how he would feel afterwards. Better to know, right? He was damned as it was, wasn’t he? It wasn’t as though it could get much worse.

Apart from, of course, being all alone, then, without his love there with him but that was inevitable, whatever he did, it seemed, so…

Better to be brave and face the music head-on.

“Aziraphale…who exactly is it you’ve been nesting for?” he asked, clinging to the hand still entangled with his, savouring the contact while trying to freeze the memory in his mind. He’d forced his voice steady and also somehow managed to look the other in the eye. He might be a coward but this, he could do. He could.

“What’s their name?”

Chapter Text

His breath caught in his throat the moment he’d said it, painfully, waiting for the verdict, for the confirmation. The personal doom.

Aziraphale looked at him with an expression of sheer incomprehension.

“You mean you…you don’t know?” he asked, his voice mirroring his expression, though it also held a stronger version of the previously displayed hope.

“No, of course I don’t, or I wouldn’t be asking, would I?” It was meant to come out snappish but instead it came out sort of quiet and just a little bit shaky. “It’s not Gabriel, is it?”

He forgot that he’d previously discounted him, the name simply being the first angel that came into his at that point somewhat taxed mind.

“Ga – Gabriel?” Aziraphale spluttered, gaping. “No, of course – why, of all angels, would it be him? He’s terrifying!”

It didn’t register with Crowley at the time that this was the first time he’d heard Aziraphale say something outright negative about another angel. He hadn’t even cushioned it with something pleasant or deflective.

He opened his mouth to say something but Aziraphale beat him to it.

“It’s not Gabriel. Nor anyone else up there. I promise you.”

“But who else could it be?” Crowley said, mostly addressing himself. Could it be…?

Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, looking everywhere but the demon. Then, lifting his eyes back up, seemingly with some effort, he said, “You…Crowley, you have to promise me.” He sounded earnest, insistent.

“Promise you what?” His heart leapt up to say ‘anything, I’ll promise you anything you could possibly want’, but he pushed it down, so it didn’t make it past his lips.

“That you’re genuinely asking these questions and not just trying to, to, to spare me.”

“Spare you? What from?”

“Promise me.”

“Yeah. Course.” Probably not the way to go word choice-wise, all things considered. “Yes. I promise. I’m genuinely asking you these questions. So…who is it?” Satan, his heart was creeping into his throat again.

In response, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter. That only got him a frown.

“It’s…I’ve built it for…” He faltered but didn’t look away from the other as he spoke.

“Yes?” the demon prompted, as gently as he could. He could do gentle, however much his heart was in his throat, burning and freezing him simultaneously.

The angel swallowed, hard, inhaled deeply and sharply then began speaking.

“I built it for you, Crowley – but it’s okay if you don’t, I mean, you don’t have, it doesn’t, we don’t have – if you’d rather pretend I didn’t then we can do that, without any problem, I of course understand that you’ve probably never had a single thought in that direction but I kept thinking about it, ever since…and I thought that I might just start clearing up but when I realised what I was doing, then…well, that’s not quite true either, but – oh, Lord.”

It came out as a torrent, a rush of words that was barely distinguishable from one another but nevertheless, the ginger did catch most of it. Though, to be honest, his mind caught somewhat on the very first part of that whole ramble.

I built it for you, Crowley.

He’d built it for…for…no, he couldn’t have. He must’ve misheard. That was the proper explanation. Only, that didn’t tally with the rest of what he was saying, so…he must assume that what he’d heard was true. But what he’d heard was that…he’d built the nest for him.

For him. Not for a human. Not for an angel birdbrain who’d suddenly turned his head something fierce. For him, Anthony J. Crowley, and nobody else. To – but perhaps, Crowley’s mind tried to supply in an unreasonable effort to find any weak points in the idea that would come back to harm him, he’d built it as a token of their friendship?

But nests weren’t friendship bracelets. No feather placed somewhere about the nest ever signalled a wish to be ‘BFF’, as it were, to another angel. It was for a romantic, dedicated pursuit and for that alone.

Even so…built it for him. Aziraphale had…

Waiting for such a thing for so long, millennia, really, knowing that it would never happen and resigning himself to the fact while simultaneously hoping desperately, with every fibre of his being, to be proved wrong and have Aziraphale return his feelings, that had been hard enough.

To now have it within his grasp, as real and tangible as it had ever been for him, though, he found that he was hesitating. Backing off from what he should’ve leapt for joy for.

Because this didn’t happen. Not to him, not without some sort of twist or renege on the whole thing. God sure had an odd, and unpleasant, sense of humour. The joke tended to be on everyone else playing.

“Crowley?” The warm voice that was so familiar cut through the jumbled discord of Crowley’s mind. “Please. Say something? Anything, really. Even a curse, just…something. Please!”

“Why the Heaven would I curse you?”

“Why? Because…because I just admitted to having made an advance that you have no interest in, with no consideration for how that might – “

“Who said I have no interest in it?” Crowley interrupted.

“You…you’ve been sitting there, completely immobile since I started speaking, which seems pretty clear indication that you’re…you’re not on board with the idea, not to mention the fact that you’ve not responded at all to how I’ve decorated or….or any of the rest of it, either. Which is quite alright, really, I wouldn’t have expected you to – “

“You nested. For me.” He needed to reiterate that out loud, just to make sure that it had actually happened rather than it being merely a figment of his imagination that had finally bloomed and poisoned everything in there.

“Ehm, yes, I, I did.” Now Aziraphale was actively fidgeting, evidently struggling not to look away. “But like I said, if you – “

For the first time in this entire debacle, Crowley’s heart began to feel a little lighter, the roots of hope gently being scooped up and replanted into their soil.

At the time, he didn’t clock all the clues he’d scooted past or misinterpreted as he’d investigated the bookshop and the resulting faulty conclusions he’d come to. His brain was caught on the revelation that –

“You made a nest,” he repeated, interrupting the angel. “For me. Not for someone else. For me. In the proper sense of a nest.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, looking embarrassed, dejected and rather hurt. “Really, Crowley, must you keep on mentioning it? I know I’m in the wrong and I should never have started, but I would have hoped – “

“But angel, you built a nest for me!” He couldn’t have kept the wonder out of his voice if he tried.

However, it seemed as though the other didn’t hear that part, focusing instead on just the words.

“Yes, I bloody well did!” Aziraphale burst out, surprising himself as much as the demon. “I meant, I did, and it was intentional but that’s not to say that if – “

Crowley, feeling hopeful and happy in a way that he couldn’t remember feeling, took a tremendous chance, or so it felt like, and leaned forward, far enough to kiss Aziraphale. For a moment, he debated going for the cheek or the forehead but recognised that that would be chickening out. It might do for Aziraphale and he’d be overjoyed to receive any of those touches but for him, no. Especially not at a time like this.

It would be the mouth or nothing at all. And nothing at all wasn’t an option. Not now.

This is going to be a mistake, the voice in his mind whispered. You’re going to tip your hand all the way and even if he’s amenable to it now, it’s because he doesn’t know any better and you’re going to be the first nesting pair to ever have a divorce that early.

The thought made him swallow but he didn’t stop. He wasn’t going to stop now, he promised himself. Hell for leather, eh? Or something.

Luckily for him, Aziraphale remained still so he could actually reach him without toppling off the sofa.

If Crowley had had the presence of mind to register it over his own nerves and fears and hopes, he might have noticed Aziraphale’s eyes flicking all over his face, shock, worry and hope warring for dominance on his own. He would’ve spotted the hitch of breath from the angel and the way he leaned forward himself.

As it was, all the demon was aware of over the cacophony of his mind was the lips straight in front of him and the implications of what he was about to do, not to mention the reality of it and how utterly it would alter everything, either for the better or for the absolute worse.

When he made contact, it was soft, both in terms of the pressure exerted and the texture of the lips beneath his. It was oh so wonderfully, amazingly soft and exquisite. It shouldn’t have been, probably, but it was.

More than that, though, more than the touch of soft skin to his own, no matter how wonderful it felt, was the knowledge that this was Aziraphale. He was actually, genuinely kissing his angel, on the lips, however chase it might be – and this wasn’t a daydream, a fantasy or otherwise a construct of his mind. He knew…no, he was almost certain of that.

Please don’t let me wake up back in my flat, either having been already kicked out or about to go in here.

Would he go in at all if this was the dream he had? Yeah, truthfully, he probably would.

He hadn’t even gotten to the realisation that Aziraphale wasn’t responding in any way yet, never mind to the fear and worry that realisation would cause, when the angel let out a small, nasal gasp and pressed back. It wasn’t forceful or demanding, rather it was sweet and hesitant, but it was unquestionably a response.

However, it wasn’t long before he pulled back. In fact, it may only have been a few seconds and Crowley’s heart ached the moment they started to. No, not yet. He wasn’t ready to…not yet!

Only, when he tried to protest or plead his case, he felt lips crash into his again and he realised that it hadn’t been the angel who’d been pulling back but him.

It was still soft and sweet but there was a bit more force behind it. Or perhaps it was better to call it intentionality. And maybe a bit of force.

When they pulled apart this time, it was more of a mutual decision. Even so, Crowley was rather reluctant. He felt certain that the moment they did, reality would crash back in on him and deliver him some sort of twist to what seemed such a positive, wonderful thing.

He opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed, to find Aziraphale looking at him from a much shorter distance than he had expected. He was, in fact, less than half a foot away.

And he was smiling. Crowley couldn’t see his lips, not this close, but the smile was reflected in those gorgeous eyes, even if it was small and wobbly in its uncertainty, it was also warm and, well, there.

“So, you…you weren’t building a nest for anybody else, then?” he asked. It managed to come out lightly joking, which he’d intended, but it masked a need to be sure.

The smile widened a little as the blond shook his head. “No. I’ve only ever wanted to build for – but are you sure? You’re not lying to me?” he asked, the light dwindling just a bit.

“Why would I lie, angel? After everything, why would I lie to you on something like this?”

“But you’ve – you’ve never ever said anything. Is this a recent development?” He squeezed their still entangled hands for unneeded emphasis.

Bloody – no, he might not have outright said anything, but he’d left plenty of hints and indications, hadn’t he? Perhaps he only thought he had, or they hadn’t been all that clear.

Then again, to be completely fair, hadn’t he also been very scared of the angel finding out and had acted accordingly?

Not to mention the glass houses once again.

“Does the day we met count as recent?” the ginger asked.

He watched Aziraphale’s eyes widen to an almost comedic level as he pulled his head back somewhat. Crowley would’ve protested but didn’t; he was still close enough that it was easy to close the distance.

“I – but, that was – but my dear, that was so long ago.” His eyes, if possible, widened further and an edge of guilt crept into his voice. “Have I…oh, my good Heaven, have I been – “

“Leave Heaven out of this,” Crowley interrupted and there was just the hint of a growl in his voice. He did not need to be reminded of those smug white peacocks up there, especially not at a time like this.

“But all this time and you’ve never…at least, not as far as I know, but perhaps…” Aziraphale hesitated and momentarily bit at is lip again. “Crowley, are you absolutely sure you don’t mind?”

“That the one you’ve nested for has been me the whole time? Yeah, I’m sure, in fact, I’m positive. It – it has been, hasn’t it?”

“Always,” Aziraphale confirmed, the smile returning, if only briefly.

“Then why have you been trying to keep me out? And you haven’t said anything that might – “

“I haven’t been trying to keep you out!” the blond exclaimed, frowning in puzzlement and slight indignation. “You’ve been the one who’s turned around and refused to go into the shop. Well, perhaps you…perhaps I wasn’t quite ready to show you yet but when you seemed so adamant that you didn’t want to be here – “

I never said that! Crowley wanted to say that, but he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t, at least in deed if not in word. Because he hadn’t wanted to be there, had he? He hadn’t wanted to ever leave his angel’s side but at the same time, the thought of him nesting for someone else had been too much to bear.

“I thought you were nesting for someone else. Well, you’ve probably already sussed that,” was what he ended up saying out loud and in an odd way, it was cathartic, even though he’d said something similar earlier. Maybe it was the next part that made the difference. “I thought that it couldn’t possibly be me you were nesting for. No, I knew it. I mean, why would it be?”

An expression of both concern and love, guilt and adoration settled itself on the angel’s features. He brought the hand he wasn’t still grasping Crowley’s with up and, with only the briefest hesitation, settled it carefully on one somewhat hollow cheek.

The demon immediately leaned into the contact.

“Oh, dearest, I am sorry. It was never my intention to…I thought you knew it was for you. I couldn’t ever imagine it not being for you.”

“But you…you said that you weren’t aware of doing it,” the demon pointed out. “You were being cryptic earlier about who it was you were nesting for!”

“Ehm, ah, yes. Well, you see…” Aziraphale stopped, swallowed and gave a smile that was more of a tight, nervous little grimace. Then his shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

“I’m a coward,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I was afraid of telling you even as I told you -  and perhaps I thought that if I wasn’t being direct, then it would be more up to you whether or not you…well, you could, what is it you call it? Take or leave it be?”

“Something like that, yeah. But angel, did you – you really did all of that when you thought I wouldn’t be interested?”

Not like you, eh? The one who has remnants of his own nest attempts scattered all over his flat – the plants, for instance, making them perfect even though they were part of your very first nest for Aziraphale, the one you were stupid enough to almost show him?

He felt his heart clench somewhat at that, but it was true.

Then his attention was caught by something else entirely; there was a faint but nevertheless distinguishable colour rising in those soft cheeks. To be blushing again, for the second time in this conversation and also only the second time he’d ever seen it, that was…well, actually, it was incredibly endearing, even if it was because he was embarrassed about something and not in a good way.

“I did hope,” the angel admitted, as quietly as before. “Ever since I realised…And I found that even once I knew what I was doing, I still couldn’t stop it – nor did I want to, really.”

He gave another tight, almost self-deprecating little smile. “I told myself that if you didn’t want it, it was okay, I’d at least have had the joy of imagining it while I built it.”

“I – “

What could you say to something like that? But he had to try because the expression on the blond’s face was quickly passing from adorable to heart-aching.

“Angel, I do. I do want it. So fucking much. I never thought you would do that for me, but I’ve never wanted anything else. I was just so scared to lose you and I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale blinked, a little thrown. “Why wouldn’t I do it for you?”

“Why? Because – “

Because I’m a demon and you’re an angel! Because I’m a failure now as a demon as I was as an angel. I can’t even manage one or the other or take care of you the way you should be. I screw things up constantly and my head is a mess. I don’t deserve your love and kindness and certainly not for you to risk the wrath of Heaven for becoming the nestmate of a demon.

The words, so often repeated in his head when he was starting in on a black mood, sprang easily to his lips but there they stayed. He couldn’t make them go past and become sound, so they lodged, painful, in his mouth and throat.

He swallowed, but in that action, something slipped past.

“Because I’m not…not good enough for you,” he whispered. “You deserve so much better.”

Even with everything here, just before him, apparently for his taking, it seemed he was determined to sabotage himself. Though it was an indisputable fact that Aziraphale deserved better.

The hand, which had fallen away from his cheek at some point without his conscious knowledge, returned to gently cup the cheek, its thumb smoothing over his cheekbone once then again and again. He leaned into the contact, savouring it.

“Now please listen very carefully,” the angel started, careful and determined to keep eye contact and keep his voice warm, it seemed. “I cannot imagine how I could possibly deserve more than you, my dearest. You are brave and kind and charming and just lovely and perfect in every possible way that I can think of. I know you probably don’t want to hear that but nevertheless, it’s true. You know me and I know you and I could not imagine spending eternity with any other person than you. My nest is yours, if you’ll have it, and even if you don’t, then it and my heart is still yours.”

He closed the distance between them to kiss the demon as softly as a feather landing on snow for one long, wonderful moment before he pulled away.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an idiot about all of this – “

“Hang on, no. If anyone has been an idiot, then it’s me,” Crowley interrupted, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have – “

Oh, the list was ever so long on that score.

But Aziraphale interrupted in turn before he could get further. He did cheat somewhat, by giving another kiss, more of a peck than anything, to the ginger’s lips as well.

“Perhaps we can summarise and say that we have both managed to be idiots about all of this, yes?” he said.

He removed his hand from Crowley’s cheek and instead grabbed the hand he was still grasping in both of his own, well-manicured ones.

Possibly he meant to say something then but if he had, he must’ve changed his mind because what he did was bring the hand up to kiss it.

The gesture, while in itself perfectly innocent and chaste, innocuous even, once upon a time a relatively casual introduction – oh, the etiquette humans put around even the smallest of gestures, it was endlessly pointless and amusing – was done with such reverence, such naked adoration that it took Crowley’s breath away.

There was a noise that was more the sensation of noise than actual noise. Said sensation was of a whole murder of crows taking off at once or perhaps one enormous bird beating its wings downwards.

Though there realistically wasn’t actually enough space for them where they sat, Crowley’s wings spread out behind him, far more gracefully than they probably would have if he’d done it consciously. The feathers, groomed to perfection, almost glistened in the light of the bookshop as they stretched out.

Aziraphale watched the unintended display keenly, it seemed, and when Crowley became aware of what had happened and coloured, he smiled the softest smile possible, his eyes sparkling.

“They’re just as beautiful as I remember,” the angel said. He reached out with one hand only to stop himself almost immediately, fingers curling back as though to illustrate the decision to curb their desire.

That wouldn’t do. Crowley was tempted to reach out himself and drag the plump hand over so he could touch them if that was what he wanted. It would be sensitive, as wings always were, and the demon couldn’t remember the last time his wings had been touched by someone other than himself, if they ever had, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Aziraphale was willing to touch them, even if he felt hesitant to do so.

Before he could carry out that idea, however, another thought struck him. One which was far superior to the previous one, as well as much more appropriate given the circumstances.

He still reached but it was behind him and to the side rather than towards the angel. At the same time, he curled one wing closer to his body so that he could easily reach.

Long hours of practice while grooming them meant that he could do it with ease and without having to watch what he was doing. Which in turn meant that he could look at Aziraphale while he did it.

Aziraphale, who was watching his hand quite intently.

Even so, when Crowley’s hand reached the feathers and ran softly across them, he could feel not only a shudder run through him at their sensitivity, possibly heightened by the tension in the room and what had gone before, but also that his hand was shaking somewhat.

Was he really going to do this? There would be no going back after this. Or, well, there would, technically speaking, but he couldn’t see how. At least, he couldn’t at all see how he’d ever be able to cope with it should Aziraphale choose to back out of this. He knew he himself would never renege on it.

But the thought of doing this monumental, irreversible decision after waiting and pining for six millennia without ever thinking he’d get more was terrifying, and that was putting it mildly.

Then he answered his own question; of course, he was. He was in the best possible position he could be, given what other possibilities there were, and however terrifying it was, it was also beyond exhilarating and breath-taking and he was feeling lighter and more hopeful than he had for decades, possibly longer.

This might be a precipice that he would topple off by doing it but even though he would, he knew that he wouldn’t fall, as he had someone to catch him. Not just someone, either; Aziraphale.

He could do this. He was not alone.

Chapter Text

His hand stroked across the feathers that he could reach again and, despite his desire to keep them open, his eyes fluttered shut all on their own and refused to open again. So, he felt his way across the feathers instead, trying to weigh and decide which one to pull.

Each feather had its own meaning when it came to nests. To some extent regarding the angel who’d begun nesting, although, since that was as often feathers that had fallen off themselves rather than having been explicitly pulled, not as much significance could be placed upon that. Not unless it was specifically made clear that the angel in question had pulled the feather out themselves.

Of course, there was something to be gleaned from them if the angel had saved the feathers that had moulted previously and had chosen one or more of them to display in the nest. But since angels so rarely lost feathers without their conscious decision to remove them, that was a very rare occurrence that couldn’t be put as much stock in.

As a matter of fact, as much if not more could be gleaned from where the nest feathers had been placed in the nest, such as at the ‘front’ of a nest, visible to all; the fateful feather he’d seen on the floor had likely been meant to sit prominently on a table or similar and had blown down from where it had been placed when the door opened.

When it came to the feather the angel who was being courted and nested for gave in return, however, there was a whole set of meanings, including whether you gave just the one feather or more, and in what combination.

Primary feathers would be a statement. Large, long, and essential to flying on account of their generating of both thrust and lift, they tended to be favoured as the receiving feather by angels who thought themselves the dominant in the relationship; someone who could manage a flight without one.

Not that was the only meaning – originally, the symbolism had been more along the lines of the recipient being the one who helped steer them in the right direction – but even Crowley knew that nowadays, angels who didn’t want to dominate rarely if ever pulled purely a primary feather. It was a statement that he did not want to make, however long and beautiful they actually were.

Gabriel would, if someone was to nest for them, be the type who would exclusively give one primary feather.

Coverts, whether primary or secondary, greater, median or smaller, weren’t as important and by some seen as too inferior a wing to be used for something as important as the nesting ritual. However, their meaning was actually far more intimate, smaller though they were, as well as cuter and sweeter, and, to a good number of angels and demons alike, communicated far more. As they were the ones that guaranteed smooth airflow across the wing, their symbolism, when given as a pair, as was the norm, was that the recipient was the one who helped the giver get through whatever they needed and that the giver helped in turn.

Secondaries were somewhere in between those two, not as small and sweet as the coverts and not as big and impressive as the primaries, for all their importance to flight. Their symbolism lay in that the recipient lifted the other up and made their existence possible.

There were many more nuances to it than that, of course, and Crowley was perhaps slightly rusty on what those were, or at least whether they’d changed significantly, but he thought he knew what to do. It helped that it wasn’t what he ought to do, by the standards of other angels or just mere convention, but it was what he knew to be right for the two of them.

What he, Anthony J. Crowley, wanted to communicate to his love.

It was just as well that composite and complex meanings could be drawn from the combination of feathers.

Eyes still closed, he inched his hand across by feel and his vivid mental image of how his wings looked until he came to the feather group he wanted. There he sought out, guided by his mental image, the softest and prettiest feather of its type and tugged.

Normally, the plucking of the reciprocating feather would be done shielded from the view of the nesting angel so it would remain a surprise until they were presented. Crowley wasn’t just okay with Aziraphale being able to see him choose, however – even though his eyes were still closed, he could feel the weight of the gaze on him – he was actually happy that it was happening this way.

It would allow him to show his angel that he was putting thought into this, as much as he possibly could. Show him that he was a hundred percent behind this decision without any hesitation or reservations.

If Aziraphale could find the courage to build a nest that was meant for Crowley, then Crowley could find the courage to equally bare his heart, through his choice of feathers – and the order in which he plucked them.

The first that he closed his fingers around, carefully so as not to damage any part of it, was one of the median coverts, close to where the wing met his body. He pulled, mindful to keep it whole while still doing it hard enough to dislodge it without causing too much pain. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help flinching a little as he tugged and thereby, he almost missed the small intake of breath that came from Aziraphale.

He knew the symbolism lying in the feathers, of course.

“Crowley…” he whispered, his voice a little odd. Coverts were usually given in pairs, after all.

Managing to open his eyes at last, the demon held up his index finger on the hand that held the now free, relatively small feather. Rather than giving it to the angel straight way, he placed it very delicately on one slim thigh.

The angel’s face fell a little at that, but Crowley held the finger up again, signalling that he ought to wait.

Now that his eyes were open, he could watch Aziraphale’s eyes track his fingers’ movement back up towards the still outstretched wings. They were wide and warm, filled with interest, naked hope and joy and astonishment, as though he couldn’t quite fathom what was going on.

Crowley knew precisely how he felt.

The second feather he closed his fingers gingerly around was a primary, the prettiest of the bunch. It wasn’t the longest or the largest, but it was by far the one that always looked the best of the lot of primaries when he inspected them and so it was the obvious choice. The only choice, really.

The intake of breath from Aziraphale was rather more noticeable at that and his eyes flickered over to the ginger’s face as if to wanting to make sure that the other knew what he was about to do.

Crowley didn’t say anything, nor did he nod. Instead, he moved his fingers up a little to a better spot and tugged once, with enough force to pull the feather out smoothly. Again, he couldn’t quite help wincing despite being a little better prepared this time. They were not meant to go, even though they could grow them back, and he could certainly feel that.

But it didn’t matter. He would happily do it, would suffer pain infinitely worse than that if he could somehow help his angel.

When it was free, Aziraphale’s eyes were, if possible, even wider and he was holding out his hand. Not in any way demanding but rather anticipatory; it was evident that he thought Crowley had finished plucking the feathers he wanted to give.

He hadn’t.

Once again, he placed the feather on his thigh, on top of the other, as gently as possible.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said, a minute quaver in his voice that could be awe or slight admonishment. Or perhaps just a smidgeon of tears, or any combination thereof.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley returned, pouring as much warmth into his voice as he could without making it seem like he was giving into the implicit plead.

He was about to reach for the next when he saw one plump hand, the one not still tangled with his own, start to creep towards his thigh, slowly enough that he wasn’t meant to spot it.

“No,” he said, without reaching out to intercept it and sure enough, it stopped on its own.

“My dear,” the angel said again, now sounding a little pleading. “Enough.”

“No,” Crowley repeated, shaking his head slightly. “Not yet. Wait. Please.”

He wasn’t done yet. There was a purpose to this and he was going to see it through. The pain would fade soon enough, relatively speaking.

However, looking at the anxious and concerned expression creeping its way across Aziraphale’s face, he realised that he shouldn’t prolong it longer than necessary. Yes, this was important but there was no need to make the angel worry unnecessarily.

So, to that end, he gently and reluctantly untangled his hand from the angel’s, who at first tried to keep them together. Something which sent something warm blossoming inside the demon’s chest, which was already close to incandescent.

Then he reached out with both hands at once. He’d already plucked a feather from each wing, with a bit of difficulty on the second, as he’d had to curl the other wing around to be able to reach, all without smacking it into the angel. It helped that it had been a primary, at least.

Now, he reached for one from each, again going by feel rather than visual. He couldn’t look at both at once, even if he tried. In any case, he was determined to keep looking at his angel.

The two feathers he was going for would be the last and they would tie them all together. Hopefully in a way that would be interpreted as he intended, but he couldn’t see how it couldn’t be. Then again, with their track record…

One hand closed around a second covert, this time a greater one further out on the wing, which made reaching easier, while the other found a secondary feather. Taking a deep breath, he pulled, a noise escaping him despite his efforts as pain shot from both places at once, which mingled with the one still emanating from the two other spots where he’d taken wings from.

“Crowley!”

“It’s… alright,” he managed. He also managed a smile, somehow. It really was okay, even if it hurt.

“No, it most definitely is not!” Aziraphale didn’t look angry, though, and as he helped bring them down to join the others on Crowley’s thigh, it didn’t seem as though the feathers were unwanted.

As soon as they’d been placed, however, he reached back up and, hesitating only briefly, he touched his fingers to where two of the feathers had been removed.

Crowley watched him, eyes wide in turn, not even remotely expecting that to happen. He was also trying not to react to the sensation of having the other’s fingers touch him there, which was made more difficult by not only the pain that still throbbed but both the sensation of having an angel touch something so tied to his own fallen angel status and that of Aziraphale touching him somewhere so, well, intimate.

It made for a very peculiar combination of feelings, pain mingling with cold burning and warm and pleasant tingling.

“Aziraphale,” he said, his voice soft and just a little strangled.

“Hold on just a moment, dear,” Aziraphale muttered, his eyes flickering up briefly to the ginger’s face before focusing back down on his hands, a light frown of concentration on his brow as he smoothed his fingers ever so gently across the affected area. He hummed in his throat, soft but with a purpose.

Normally, he would, just like Crowley, snap his fingers to facilitate a miracle, even if the directions of the snap were, obviously, opposite, and of course, he could do that now. Easily.

But that was not what he did.

Instead, he let his fingers rest over the wounds, pressing lightly into it while still humming.

Something tingling and cool but simultaneously itching and warm spread through him, taking the pain with it and leaving a feeling of relieving numbness both in the places that were touched but also the other two spots where he’d plucked the other feathers. But it didn’t stop there.

The hum rose in volume a little, then, and Crowley couldn’t suppress a loud yet strangled gasp as he felt the itching return, more intense than before and then –

Then he could feel something grow. Not a quick resetting of his previous state, not a fast and sharp miracle that left you wondering whether something had been amiss in the first place.

A slow, itching but not painful regrowth of the feathers he had plucked. He turned his head to look, to make certain what he felt was really happening and sure enough, he could see them grow, starting from the calamus and the interlocking barbs to where the calamus became a rachis and the barbs became vanes. Each one a perfect duplicate of the one that he had only just pulled from his wings.

His gaze flicked down quickly to make sure and indeed, all four feathers were still on his thigh.

But that was – that wasn’t how things were done!

“Aziraphale!” he exclaimed in protest. Which was rather a moot one, given that they’d already been grown back and everything, but the point was still there, he felt. “You can’t – you shouldn’t!”

Aziraphale, who’d pulled back a little to look at his handiwork, blinked, eyebrows raised as though he didn’t understand what the problem was. “Shouldn’t I? You were in pain, dear, when you shouldn’t be. I was merely setting it right.”

“Healing is one thing. But not growing them back!”

“Why not?” the angel asked, still sounding innocent.

“Why – because that…that undermines the whole bloody thing.”

What was the point of the feathers being plucked from him if they were re-grown moments later? It was supposed to have significance, that they were important to him, essential to attaining flight and yet he was willing to pluck them for his nestmate-to-be. It was supposed to show the equal commitment to the relationship that the nesting angel had displayed through said nest.

But Aziraphale shook his head. “No. It does not. Does it cheapen the nest that the feathers there are ones that have fallen off rather than ones I’ve intentionally plucked?”

“No of course not!”

“Well, then – “

“No. That’s different. Far, far different. Reciprocating feathers are supposed to be plucked with intentionality – “

“And you did, my dear,” the blond interrupted. He carefully grasped Crowley’s bony hands in his, his fingers overlaying warm palms. “You plucked four of them when it is exceedingly rare for angels, now as it has ever been, to go beyond three and certainly not from all three sets of feathers.”

He hesitated suddenly, a blush creeping its way, deep and obvious, across his cheeks. However, he was smiling the happiest little smile Crowley thought he ever had.

“There can be no doubt of your sincerity or commitment, and I don’t see why you should be in pain with them gone or while they, maybe, regrow, just because that is the way it is traditionally done.”

Crowley couldn’t help it; he gaped at the angel, not quite believing what he was hearing. At the same time, though, his heart was suddenly going, if not a mile a minute, then at least a kilometre.

Did he truly just say that? Not only the acknowledgement of Crowley’s sincerity – which, quite honestly and when he thought about it, the angel couldn’t be blamed for if he’d been unsure of previously – but the implications about Heaven, through how it was ‘traditionally done’?

He’s already decided to nest for his hereditary enemy – and really, how does that phrase even make sense for angels and demons? Inherited from whom, exactly? God? – which, should anyone from Heaven work out, will be a far greater and, some might say, only real threat, especially since you’ve accepted it. Compared to that, how that ritual went and whether it complied with traditions is rather an irrelevant side note.

But it proved the shift in mindset, one that spoke of his own sincerity, at least to Crowley’s admittedly rather befuddled and tired mind. To be honest, though, he knew he’d feel the same if he was fresh as a daisy.

The blush on the angel’s cheeks deepened.

“Well, I…I know I did overstep, but perhaps you’d forgive me – “

“Angel.”

Aziraphale shut up immediately.

“Angel, you – you are incredible.” He could feel a smile break out onto his face, one which would turn into a grin if he let it.

However, he needed to school his face back into something calmer; he still needed to give the feathers to the angel, however much tradition could be altered. This was for him, not tradition.

And for him, he wanted to do this as right as possible. Even though it wasn’t a surprise, even though Aziraphale was already perfectly aware of the implications and symbolism of the feathers on their own and together and even in the order they’d been plucked and he’d technically not achieve much, if anything, by giving them to the angel at this point.

That didn’t matter, however. It was the gesture of giving it, or them, to the one who’d nested. The acceptance of the nest itself and through it, the angel who’d done the nesting, in turn accepting the giver of the feathers, sealing them, as it were, as nestmates.

He wanted the reassurance, he supposed, that he was indeed the one that had been chosen when the angel accepted his feathers.

No, wait, that wasn’t right. Not quite, at least. He did still have trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that it was indeed him the nest was for and not some other, far better angel than him and yes, from that did rise a need for reassurance, in a way, but it was more fair to say that what he wanted was proof positive.

Something to convince his head and heart that this was really happening; it wasn’t a dream, or one wrapped in a nightmare, that he was going to wake up from with his body trembling and shaking in the dual pain and pleasure of having been given what he’d so wanted only to have it revealed as the figment that it was and snatched away from him.

This was reality, as far as he could tell, and yet, in this actual reality, he was here, in Aziraphale’s nest made for him, and he was about to give the angel his feathers in exchange.

It didn’t feel like reality.

Gently and carefully, he pulled his hands from the grasp of the blond. Then, without looking down, he equally gently scooped up the feathers, again mindful not to damage them, never mind the fact that he could mend them with a snap of his fingers. That wasn’t the point.

Transferring them to one hand for a moment, he took the plumper hand with his freed one and turned it palm up. He released the hand after that and took a feather at a time up to show, regardless of the fact that Aziraphale already knew, then placed it carefully down on the open palm of the angel, caressing the skin there with the vanes.

His angel watched him, eyes as wide as saucers and as warmly burning as a newly fed log fire, the smile adorning his face growing stronger and more…awed, possibly, but not…in a negative way or…perhaps it was better to call it deeply moved, flowery as that might sound.

All of that seemed to only increase with each feather he placed as gently as the first on the open palm, even though that ought to at some point become impossible. Along with it, the…what he could only describe as love – no other word made even the remotest bit of sense – shone ever clearer and brighter, which made Crowley’s heart burn sweetly and sing.

Normally, this was all accompanied by some words spoken by the angel giving the feathers. Sometimes they were made up in the moment while other times they had been carefully prepared. Some were short, some long and rather long-winded. Almost all of them were sincere.

Crowley had indeed also opened his mouth to say something once the last feather, the first covert plucked, had been placed, to express just what his angel meant to him, at least as much as it was possible to put that into such an inadequate medium as words. When he did open his mouth, however, no words would come, despite efforts to force them.

He tried again, to no avail.

Then, as he saw the smile that threatened to take over the angel’s face, a smile that could only really be called a beam, and felt a hand take his and place it ever so gently over the feathers, the blond’s hand resting itself atop his bony one.

Aziraphale shook his head and while Crowley’s heart didn’t drop – he wouldn’t have let him place the feathers if, well – and it didn’t stop feeling warm, it certainly did something funny inside his chest.

Then he spoke.

“Dearest, it’s quite alright. You don’t have to say anything.”

Crowley opened his mouth to protest but Aziraphale interlaced his fingers with the ones that were underneath them, carefully so as not to damage the feathers.

“You don’t,” he reiterated. “You’ve already said far more than I possibly could’ve – “ thought, Crowley mentally finished, his mind filling it in without his say-so, but was proven wrong when Aziraphale continued, “ – hoped for you to say with the feathers alone, all of which are utterly beautiful to look at, too. To be quite honest, I feel like my heart will burst right through my chest and discorporate me any moment.” His continued smile was still a beam, his cheeks were redder than a sunset at the right angle and

Well, that was – well. Crowley’s heart wasn’t far behind. Or it might just float out through his open mouth with how light it felt.

He felt his face warm and though he would’ve liked to blame it on the temperature in the room or the lighting, he knew that he was colouring for a different reason altogether.

“Aziraphale,” he finally managed, tightening his interlaced fingers and ignoring the shushing sound from the blond, “I – I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to say but I want to say this. Please?”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Please.”

“I love you,” Crowley said.

After everything, it probably wasn’t necessary to say. Possibly not, at least. It might, quite honestly, even sound a little bit flat and trite, compared to the gesture of the nest and the giving of the feathers. Something human that wasn’t needed by angels, fallen or not.

That might all be true but regardless, he needed and wanted to say it; after six thousand years of feeling it inside, only burning stronger and fiercer the longer they knew each other, without any chance of speaking it out loud and certainly not to the object of his affection.

It had never seemed a possibility that he could, that it would be unwelcome, and that was the previously thought best case scenario, so now that it seemed to not only be allowed but actively welcomed, well…there was no way he wasn’t going to say it.

If he was allowed, he would say it at any given opportunity.

Judging by the expression on the angel’s face as the words left his mouth, even he would have to say that there was no doubt he would be allowed.

If other angels had seen it, they probably would’ve been appalled – ignoring the fact that they were an angel and a demon and shouldn’t even be associating, never mind becoming nestmates – to know that that had made as much of an impact, as far as the ginger could tell, as the feathers had.

Which only made his heart feel even lighter, if possible, even as it ached in the most pleasant way he’d ever experienced.

“I love you,” he repeated, looking into the other’s eyes. “I love you so much, Aziraphale, my angel, so fucking much I can’t even find the words to say – mmph!”

What caused his sudden inability to say anything further was that his mouth was covered. Not by a hand but by lips pressing against his, for a definition, as his mouth had been open around the word ‘say’ and the angel’s lips therefore touched teeth as much as they did Crowley’s lips.

That could be rectified quite easily, though, and so he quickly brought his lips together and kissed back, no hesitation or uncertainty. That wasn’t to say he was unaffected by it, but his body knew how to move in such circumstances even when his brain was more or less short-circuiting. Not that it hadn’t been through quite a lot since Aziraphale had returned unexpectedly early.

At some later point he would puzzle at the coincidence that was Aziraphale returning home at that exact moment but right then and there, he didn’t spare it a thought.

To be fair, though, he had something else and entirely more important on his hands right then; Aziraphale was kissing him. On the lips, with his eyes closed and his face redder than anything that should be healthy, he was pressing their lips together…a bit too hard, actually. Crowley noticed that, somehow, and even when he tried to ease up a bit himself, to keep it sweet, not to pull away, Aziraphale followed him, as though he was afraid to break contact.

Using the one that wasn’t laced with the angel’s, the demon brought his hand up to slide it to the back of his neck, fingers immediately slipping into the blond hair that even at the nape looked oh-so-soft. To his delight, it was just as downy soft and fluffy as it looked, as he’d imagined it would be for so long.

They were both sitting awkwardly, not to mention somewhat precariously on Aziraphale’s part, as his arse was perched rather at the edge of the seat of the chair. It didn’t matter, though, not when Crowley was able to guide his angel into a…not a better kiss but one which could be slow and warm. There was no need to be tense.

Even so, Aziraphale pulled back soon after. Not that far and it did seem to be more than a bit reluctantly.

“I do apologise, I am rather out of practice with that,” was what he said, which threw Crowley for a loop.

Out of practice? Out of – who the flying fuck had he been practicing on before now and where – no. No, that was not helping. It could be for any number of reasons, including an assignment and in any case, it didn’t matter. What did matter, the only thing that really mattered, was that he was doing it here, now, with Crowley.

The demon almost missed what was said next. “I know I rather sprung that on you, too, but I just – to hear you say it, out loud, I couldn’t…I couldn’t help myself and it was probably a bit too much – “

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, gently, moving forward, still mindful of the feathers they held, until their noses touched. “It was just perfect, do you hear me?”

“But – “

“Perfect, so shut up.”

That brought out, of all things, a chuckle bordering on a giggle. Crowley grinned in turn.

“I love you, too, my dear,” the angel said, squeezing the hand he held, “and I am so very sorry I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“Pretty much think that’s a case of people in glass houses, don’t you?” Crowley returned.

A small but happy smile. “Well. Perhaps.”

The ginger pulled back a little, just to be able to better see the other. “Besides, you were the one who had the balls to not just build the nest but keep it and keep building on it.”

“Crowley, really, your language does leave – wait, what do you mean, ‘keep it’?”

Chapter Text

Shit! Where the bloody heaven had that come from? He’d never meant to reveal that, under any circumstances, and yet, the words had just slipped out.

Perhaps he could play it off as though it was just a casual remark, an observation of what others did from time to time. Divert and deflect from the fact of his own unacceptable and discarded attempts.

There was one thing that thankfully popped into his mind, surprising himself somewhat with how far it’d have to have travelled from the depths.

“Well, you know,” he said, trying for nonchalant, “the first time you try, it might not come out anything like you imagined or you think the recipient would like. I know that when first Lord Beelzebub tried – “

“Beelzebub has never tried making a, a nest!” Aziraphale didn’t look horrified or even scandalised but his eyes were almost comically wide at the very idea, the original question pushed out of his mind for the moment, it seemed.

Crowley, who’d taken his hand from the nape of the other’s neck with reluctance when they’d parted, held it up. “As I live and breathe. We didn’t find out until they threw the remnants of it out onto some unsuspecting demon, right smack in the forehead. There was no doubt what they’d thrown out was for a nest, though, even if it was completely unfit to present to anyone – and nobody found out who they were nesting for.”

He paused as a thought occurred to him. “Come to think of it, I don’t know whether they tried again or if they were succesful later on. Huh. That’s…well…”

“Beelzebub?” Aziraphale almost spluttered. “The demon? The Lord of the Flies? Are you telling me that – but they can’t!“

“Why not? Because they’re a demon?”

It wasn’t meant to be needling or pointed, even though that perhaps at another he would’ve meant it that way. Right now, however, it was just a question, but Aziraphale reacted to it as though it had indeed been a needling.

“No!” he cried, quickly, almost urgently, his hand in Crowley’s tightening. “Not at – that was not what I meant at all. Of course demons can nest as well as angels can, if they are so inclined. Of course. But Beelzebub, that’s – that’s as unfathomable as thinking of Gabriel nesting for someone or have someone nest for him!”

Crowley would have to agree the point – and then his mind made a connection he wasn’t prepared for and had no idea how to handle. In fact, he couldn’t help but recoil from it somewhat.

“Crowley? What’s the matter?” Aziraphale asked, worried.

“I, ah, eh – can’t – it – Gabriel and Beelzebub!” the ginger managed to get out.

His expression was now mirrored in Aziraphale’s.

“No!” The tone of voice sounded more scandalised than horrified, though. “You don’t really think – but that, surely – “

“I don’t want to think about it,” Crowley exclaimed, emphatically, interrupting the angel, “not now nor ever. It’s just mindboggling and – eurgh. But especially not now. Not here.”

He pressed, lightly and carefully, down on the hand underneath his, which in turn pressed on the feathers, to make a point, possibly unnecessary, about the situation.

“No. Of course. Most definitely not.”

There was emphasis in the last sentence that went beyond Aziraphale’s normal range but why it was there wasn’t entirely clear, at least to Crowley. It did relieve something inside of him, though, a nasty little part, to hear Aziraphale talk about Gabriel that way.

Silence ruled for a bit after that, a comfortable, warm silence that was spent just looking at each other and, for Crowley’s part, basking in the tangible reality that had only ever been the loveliest castle in the air.

He was just about getting properly settled into that quiet enjoyment when, so quiet that others probably wouldn’t have caught it, Aziraphale said something.

“When did you…how many nests have you started to build then demolished?” he asked, green eyes scanning Crowley’s face, as though he needed further confirmation than he could get from the spoken answer itself.

Crap. It hadn’t worked! Or perhaps he could still salvage it, somehow. Could he lie? He supposed he could, but not only did he not in any way feel confident Aziraphale would believe him, he didn’t want to lie to Aziraphale. Not that he hadn’t, because of course, but this…

This really wasn’t worth lying about, was it? It would be embarrassing and he didn’t want to but…he would.

“I haven’t actually counted how – ” he began, then stopped. No, still wrong.

“…at least half a dozen, probably more over the centuries,” he corrected himself. Then he swallowed, forcing himself not to look away or try to play it off as nothing.

“And how many…” the angel licked his lip, quite unconsciously, it seemed. “Who were they for?” he asked, his voice somehow even quieter, to the point it almost sounded small.

…Did he not know? How could he not – hadn’t he figured it out already? At least after Crowley had admitted to…well, everything. Wasn’t it then more than obvious?

Though if he was honest with himself, was he really in any position to make that sort of judgment?

“For you,” he said, voice coming out a little hoarse, keeping his gaze determinedly fixed on the other’s face. He wasn’t aware that he’d tightened the grip, which had been slackened, on Aziraphale’s hand considerably. “I’ve only ever done it for you, angel. All of them were for you and then they weren’t good enough to…but even if they were, I was so scared of…and I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I should’ve told you. Shown you.”

Though it might not make too much sense, he needed to say something, to combat the hurt and slightly dejected expression that had kept lurking behind those warm eyes ever since he’d mentioned he’d made nests, too. He hoped it would explain that it was nothing that Aziraphale had done or hadn’t done. It was all down to Crowley and his fears.

It looked at least to some degree as though he had managed to do so. Though the face remained unchanged in expression the emotion lurking in the eyes lessened considerably.

However, he wasn’t done yet. He had to make sure that he communicated the next part. “There’s never been anyone else for me and there never will be. You are my everything.”

He didn’t say anything about having mentioned something to that effect earlier, and not only because he didn’t really remember it, what with everything else that had happened.

It didn’t matter in any case. He’d say it a thousand times if Aziraphale wanted to hear it, really, or more, and mean it just as much every single time.

Aziraphale stared at him, seeming to have gone completely still.

Crowley would’ve worried – if he’d had the time.

Before he could, there was another noise as of a flock of birds taking off and the movement of air.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley breathed as he watched them unfold.

His yellow eyes threatened to take over the sclera, as they did when he forgot himself, while looking at the wings he hadn’t seen in their full glory – and they were a glory to behold, almost iridescent in their soft whiteness, highlighted perfectly by the glow of the light in the bookshop – since…well, really since the same day the angel had last seen his. The day they’d met.

Six thousand years and they were as beautiful as he remembered them.

So why did Aziraphale look slightly embarrassed? More than slightly, really, and not in a good way, if embarrassment could ever be positive.

“I’m so – I just couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he said, and it sounded like an apology, which was both puzzling and ridiculous.

“Keep it –? “Crowley began and his disbelief was clearly audible, “angel, were you – have you been keeping them in check until now?”

He got a nod, slow and reluctant. “Yes. Since you said, ‘I love you’. Well, longer, really.”

“But – why?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer.

“Aziraphale, why would you ever keep them in? Unless – you did lock the door?”

Another nod, emphatic, and Crowley relaxed a bit. “Okay. Right. But why, then?” Surely, if there was one time it would be okay to let them out, it would be for this occasion?

Perhaps he could persuade his angel – his angel! – to have them out occasionally, just for him to gorge himself on, on a both visual and tactile level.

Aziraphale seemed to have a different opinion on the matter.

“Because they’re…they’re not – yours are so exquisite!”

Wait, what? What did that have to do with anything?

“Angel are you seriously…?” he said, incredulous to say the least and entirely missing the compliment, as he reached out with his free hand.

At first, he went slowly but the blond tried to pull his wing back out of reach. So instead, to make sure he got a hold on them, the demon shot his hand out and grasped hold of, not a primary as he thought, which was frankly probably just as well, or he might’ve pulled it out unintentionally.

What he got hold of instead was the metacarpal, what would in a human hand be the bones of the hand itself, not the fingers. His grip wasn’t hard, not really, but he was out on the edge of the sofa by then and he probably used it unintentionally for balance.

Aziraphale gasped loudly at that and his wing shook. Surprised, and worried that he might’ve caused damage, Crowley let go, but that upset what little equilibrium he had, and he fell off the sofa.

Thankfully, he hit the floor with his knees first and managed to stay upright but before he’d had much chance to really comprehend what had happened – or think on why the heaven he hadn’t used his own bloody wings to keep himself upright – warm arms closed around him, underneath his wings, and he realised his torso was sprawled across a lap. His head was pressed into the lovely soft tummy to some extent.

But right then, he couldn’t spare the thought for it, since if Aziraphale’s arms were both around him and he could feel the hands on his back, then where was –

His head snapped up immediately. “Where -?”

“They’re – oh, my goodness, I think – “Aziraphale stopped but then he breathed a sigh of relief. “No, they’re here. Fell on the floor but I do believe they’re okay.”

With one hand still on Crowley’s back, as though wanting to make sure he stayed where he was, he reached down and when he rose back, he held up the four feathers for the demon to see, handling them as though they were made of glass.

There wasn’t a vane out of place.

Crowley made a face that he wasn’t sure what was, exactly, or was meant to communicate but he hoped that it was something positive. He tried to right himself so he could get back up on the sofa. Being this close to Aziraphale’s body was doing things that – was such a thing as spontaneous combustion possible for a demon?

The hand still on his back pressed harder for a moment as if to prevent him getting up but it relented almost immediately afterwards, allowing him to sit himself back on the sofa.

“Sorry,” Crowley murmured as he did so, with a guilty look at the wing he’d demon-handled, however accidental. “Didn’t mean to…is it alright?”

“Alright? Is what alright?”

“The wing! You gasped loudly and the wing shook, I assumed I was gripping it too hard or something! That you were in pain!”

“What? Oh. No, that’s not – I’m perfectly alright, my dear. I was merely…surprised. But thank you for the concern.” He gave a smile that looked genuinely grateful.

However, the pause before ‘surprised’ was just a fraction too long to be believable and in any case, it hadn’t sounded like a gasp of surprise. Pursuing that line of enquiry, though, didn’t seem the right move then and there, so he let it go. For now.

“Oh. Okay. Still, sorry for grabbing it like that. I didn’t – I just wanted to…your wings are beautiful and beyond lovely, Aziraphale. To look at and to feel. Just like the rest of you.” To be honest, his fingers itched to reach out again and run over the bone, following it from base to tip.

It was a statement of fact and wasn’t meant to be leering or even smirking. He could’ve done it like that, of course, but it didn’t feel right.

Regardless, it seemed to have shocked the poor angel more than a little.

“Crowley, I – do you really think so?” There was no coyness there but an honest question, which tore at something inside the ginger.

“Well, obviously. Always have, always will.” He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow but at the same time, he was smiling. “I’d be a bloody shite nestmate if I didn’t think so, wouldn’t I?”

The smile turned suddenly into a full-blown grin. “Nestmate. Nestmate.”

“Yes, indeed, “Aziraphale confirmed, and his beam was back in full force. “We are. We are, aren’t we?”

It was said with wonder in his voice but also something that was wavering and asking for confirmation that this was indeed the case.

Crowley knew exactly how he felt. In an odd way, though, that felt reassuring and made it more real and tangible. He could honestly not see how he would ever believe his imagination would cook up Aziraphale being uncertain and needing confirmation.

Before all of this, he would’ve said his little fantasy was about as perfect as it could be. He’d spent literal ages creating, tweaking and replaying it, after all.

Now, though…now he knew that even with all the little bits like the misunderstandings, the uncertainties, and the fumbling, both metaphorically and physically, this reality was a hundred times better and more perfect than his fantasy ever could be. It was better because it was reality and it did contain all of those little imperfections.

“We are,” he confirmed. Reassured. “We are! Finally!”

The word was out of his mouth before he was aware of it and he blessed himself and his stupid mouth.

“Angel, I didn’t – “he immediately began, trying to fix what he’d messed up, but, decidedly unexpectedly, the blond didn’t seem upset.

Putting the feathers which he was still holding down on his own thigh for the moment, Aziraphale gathered Crowley’s hands in his. They’d held hands in various ways a few times by now but even so, it sent a pleasant thrill through the ginger. He hoped that would never ever stop being the case.

“You can say ‘finally’ when you’ve waited – oh, Crowley, I am so sorry – “

“If you didn’t reciprocate, then you didn’t,” Crowley cut in.

He’d come to terms with that a long time ago. That was to say, to as much an extent as he could manage and not factoring in that persistent and resilient hope. Which wasn’t a very great extent, to be honest, not at all, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that.

“You’re not obligated to reciprocate,” he continued. “Never. You can’t control your feelings nor should you.”

“Well…no…of course not. But you can be better at realising that what you were feeling was indeed what you were feeling, and I failed quite miserably at that.”

“You got there. Fuck’s sake, you were the one who started the ball rolling on all of this.”

“Well, yes, but – “ There was the definite feeling that if his hands weren’t occupied, then he’d be wringing them slightly, “– oh, how are you so calm about all of this?”

“Calm? Calm? I’m anything but calm and I keep thinking that at any moment, you’ll turn into a three-headed kitten spewing hellfire or something and prove I’m dreaming.”

That made Aziraphale giggle, the sort of giggle that you’re surprised is coming out of your mouth, often because what was said wasn’t that funny.

“Why a kitten?” he asked when he could make himself stop.

“That was the part you picked up on?”

“Among others, yes.” There was a small pause. “Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Could – can I please touch your wings?”

Oh, G-, Sa-, fuck, yes. Please. You don’t need to ask, angel, please touch them. Touch them as much as you want as long as you want. I can still feel where you touched them earlier and it has nothing, well, very little, to do with you making my feathers grow back.

Of course, that wasn't what he said out loud.

“On one condition.”

“And what would that be?”

“That I can reciprocate as long as I want to.”

Aziraphale blushed at that but at the same time, his lips puckered in what could only be described as a smiling pout, something which was utterly adorable.

A plump hand disentangled itself from a bony and reached out slowly, though not hesitantly. Crowley held perfectly still as it came closer, his breath bated. It somehow felt more intimate than the earlier kiss.

It was fingers that touched first, where the middle primary coverts enclosed the radius bone. They moved over said bone as though…as though they were stroking across the cover of a newly discovered, exceedingly rare book.

A shudder ran through Crowley at that, hard. Not just because of the touch itself, however wonderful it was, but the knowledge that Aziraphale wasn’t just touching him, he was treating his wing as he would his most prized possessions in the world.

He felt the nastily lingering, stubbornly clinging uncertainties and doubts melt away in the face of that. What more proof could he possibly want or need?

Oh, how he loved his angel.

Before he knew quite what he was doing, Crowley had grabbed hold of the soft body and pulled him from the chair he’d been sitting in into his lap. Well-manicured hands grabbed hold of bony shoulders for support, even though he could’ve easily used his wings for balance.

That was, one hand grabbed hold. The other held the given feathers, snatched quickly from his thigh and then pressed against his chest.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale protested but there was no heat to it.

“Do that again,” Crowley said, his voice something of a rasp, which initially surprised him. Then it clicked.

Oh. Oh. Of course.

“Please,” he said.

“Crowley, are you – “

“Yes, I’m sure. Please bloody well touch them again.” He paused and shook himself. He shouldn’t be making demands like that. “Sorry, that was – “

His sentence caught in a gasped moan as a hand ran from his shoulder down the humerus of the other wing, down over the radius and the metacarpals, all the way to the tip of the phalanges, as gently and reverentially as he had before.

That it wasn’t a one-time thing, not the novelty of touching for the first time – it could be argued that it was the first time he touched that much of his wing but that wasn’t the same thing at all and didn’t really hold water – but, it seemed, something that was the immediate reaction to touching his wings in general…

That stole his breath. Not that he’d had much of it right now, but the point remained.

“Aziraphale…” he breathed. His hands on the other tightened and he instinctively moved his wing closer, both for getting them within easier touching range and for enclosing the other somewhat. Shielding him. Protecting him.

There was a bit of manoeuvring to it, on both their parts, so as not to knock into the blond’s wings but even though their wings were the same size and not exactly small, they managed it without knocking anything over and actually, with a surprising amount of grace and ease.

What he hadn’t expected was that the angel would not just tuck his wings in a bit to assist but would make a sort of counter-cocoon inside the embrace of the demon’s wings, low where Crowley’s went high.

The hand hadn’t been removed from his wing all throughout that, though how it had managed it he had no idea.

Especially not given that the other still held the feathers, pressed against his chest, shielding them in turn.

Slowly, the ginger moved his own hand up, with the intention of taking the feathers from Aziraphale. Not to take them back, though, merely to put them somewhere safe.

The moment Aziraphale saw his hand move towards his chest, though, he pulled away a little.

“No,” he said. “You can’t – you gave them to me. You can’t.”

“You what?” Then it clicked. “I’m not going to take them back, angel. I just wanted to put them somewhere safe.”

The angel relaxed a bit. “Oh. I see. Well, that’s…that certainly puts it in a different perspective.”

If Crowley then expected to be given the feathers, he was to be disappointed or at least surprised. Instead of placing them in the still outstretched hands, or even reaching out to lay them on the table, Aziraphale chose to switch hands. This was so he could slide the feathers inside the left side of his long jacket where there might’ve been a pocket, or he might’ve created one then and there, as Crowley had never seen him use an inner pocket there before or anywhere else, for that matter. The way the hand moved was…rather tell-tale.

Given that Aziraphale bought his clothes rather than miracle them into existence like Crowley did, which included alterations, the seeming fact that he had miracled something for the feathers, that was…quite something on its own, too. Something which sent a bubble of warmth, the warmth of a hot drink sliding inside a cold body, bursting inside the demon’s heart.

Joining that sensation was the fact that his solution to the problem, which was hardly a problem to start with, was to make a place where they could stay, protected, not just close to him but right above his heart.

If he had worried about not having realised sooner and, possibly, about plucking up courage to show Crowley how he felt, then he was certainly making up for it now and then some.

Compared to that, how could he ever hope to…to show the angel the same level of caring and love? He felt it, certainly, and so much more, but how could he show it in a way that didn’t seem as though he was merely mimicking the other? Or trying to outdo him, as though…

Well, that was the point, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about who did what, to what extent and at what time, was it?

And in any case, he had something more important to focus on right now, hadn’t he?

The hand he’d reached out with still hung in the air as though frozen there, but he started to move it forward again, towards where the feathers had disappeared.

Aziraphale tensed up again at that, though he didn’t move this time. When the bony hand settled on top of his over the feathers, he relaxed once more.

“My nestmate,” he whispered, looking the other straight in the eye. “My beautiful, loving, perfect Aziraphale is my nestmate.” He allowed his love to shine through in his voice as much as he possibly could.

“For now, and forever,” Aziraphale replied, his voice very soft in turn but no less loving for that. “As you are mine, my dearest Crowley.”

“No matter what Heaven says?”

It might have come across as a pointed or even a needling question. Petty, someone might say. But it wasn’t. At least, that wasn’t how it was at all meant.

That wasn’t to say the angel would take it that way, which Crowley realised a few seconds too late. He opened his mouth to somehow take it back but was stopped by Aziraphale’s expression.

He wasn’t smiling and there was a pained look to his face but at the same time, there was the determination and steel from before.

“Yes. No matter what Heaven says.” There was no hesitation in the voice. “Or Hell, for that matter. They do not appreciate what they have had and therefore, they do not deserve it.”

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine at that, one of surprise and delight. Well, that was definitely new from Aziraphale. He liked it.

“Same can be said for Heaven,” the demon said. “Just even more so.”

“If that’s the case, why…why were you then so convinced that I had fallen in love with any one of them up there rather than with you?” Aziraphale asked.

Chapter Text

It was an incredibly legitimate question to ask, considering, and it wasn’t as though it was posed in a way that could be called accusatory at all. In fact, it sounded as though it was a genuine question.

Even so, it hit Crowley like a bucket of ice water to the face, assisted by the realisation that opened and cascaded, or possibly more accurately snowballed, inside of his mind.

The realisation that he had managed to miss and misinterpret a vast amount, if not all, of the things that Aziraphale had done since Crowley had first discovered that he’d started to…well, to nest, really, there was no need to call it anything else now.

All of those changes had been for Crowley’s sake, not anybody else’s and certainly not for what had turned out to be an entirely fictional rival. The one he’d been angry with for…for so many reasons, that had been nobody but himself.

He was the one who hadn’t accepted the nest, had in fact run from it, even if he had physically walked, and not just the once, either. Because he couldn’t face the rejection, yes, the knowledge that his angel was in love with someone but how could Aziraphale be expected to know that? To him, it must’ve felt like he had put himself out there and Crowley had…he’d basically rejected Aziraphale, hadn’t he?

Why on earth hadn’t the angel reacted to that? No wonder he’d looked downcast and dejected but he should’ve been screaming – or had given up. That would’ve been the logical thing to do.

But he hadn’t given up, had he? Unlike the demon, who hadn’t even had the courage to keep his attempts at nesting up for Aziraphale to see, the angel had not just kept it up, he had made alterations to it in an effort to make it more to the perceived taste of his intended.

Alterations which, Crowley further realised with a sinking heart, hadn’t been to appeal to an angel used to heavenly aesthetics but to mimic the style he had at his flat. The lack of clutter, the general streamlining of the interior, the gold ornamentation, the look and feel of the sofa and pillows. For crying out loud, there were marble surfaces and pot plants! How the fuck had he managed to miss that significance?

Furthermore, those alterations had come about after Aziraphale had been to his flat and…oh, bugger, the poor angel must’ve thought that he needed to change it to appeal to the demon. That he had to change something so essential about himself as what his bookshop looked like in order to make his nest a worthy prospect to present to Crowley.

No wonder, then, that he’d made comment about trying to get it right but that he thought he might’ve gone off in the wrong direction.

Crowley’s heart sank further, twisting as it did so. All of that, that effort and dedication and persistent hope and he had failed to pick up on any of it. Nor had he properly realised until now, when it was brought up directly and not when he should’ve done, when Aziraphale had confessed that the nest was for him, that he’d been harbouring wrong assumptions and what those assumptions had wrought on his beloved.

He had, in fact, completely failed his angel and his earnest attempt, all because he was scared, terrified, of losing his angel.

Satan, he was an idiot, wasn’t he? A cosmos-class one, to boot.

His hands found their way back to the blond’s back and he grabbed onto the jacket, fingers digging into the fabric as he tried to pull Aziraphale closer. Meanwhile, he buried his face in the other’s front, both to reassure himself that he was actually there and to keep from seeing the angel’s expression.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, confused and concerned about the reaction to a question. “I…was that the wrong question to ask?”

Crowley shook his head, against the waistcoat as he tried to pull the other closer still, feeling tears, of anger with himself as well as hurt and guilt, prickle. He didn’t want to, certain he’d make things worse, but he knew he needed to say something, to apologise.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his words muffled against the fabric. Wait, that wouldn’t do. If he was going to apologise, it wasn’t going to be unclear. They’d had enough misunderstandings as it was, hadn’t they?

Slowly, reluctantly, he raised his head back up to look Aziraphale in the eye. He didn’t let go of his hold, though, nor did he move his wings back. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” he said. “I should’ve realised that you wouldn’t be interested in someone up there…but it seemed the only possible explanation for why you were nesting all of a sudden.”

No, that was making excuses, wasn’t it?

His gaze flickered down, his nerves faltering. “I couldn’t believe it because it didn’t make sense that you’d choose me, but…” He had to fight to keep his breathing under control, “…but I still should’ve seen the truth, though, sooner or later, and I didn’t, not at any point. You made it bloody obvious, didn’t you? And all I could see was further evidence that someone else had managed what I have always wished for. I couldn’t even spot that I was in the wrong and apologise for it when you said that it was for…for me, I just ploughed on like a complete moron!”

“Oh, Crowley…” the angel sighed after a moment or two of horrible silence.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, the threat of tears clearer. “Yes, I know! I know! I’m so sorry. I’m a colossal idiot that doesn’t deserve – “

“That was not what I meant,” Aziraphale interrupted, his voice gentle even as it was also slightly sharp, at least in part in order to cut through. “Look at me. Please.”

Crowley opened his eyes as he was bid but not immediately.

“I did not say you were, or are, an idiot or moron or whatever else you’ve called yourself, nor do I believe that you are.”

“I clearly am!” How the Heaven could Aziraphale say that he wasn’t? “I know you’re being kind but there’s no need to when I can finally see it myself!”

“Crowley…my dearest, I don’t consider you stupid – “

“I hurt you!” The words, while he hadn’t quite intended for them to come out, he didn’t regret. They were true and he needed to communicate to Aziraphale that he was aware of his blunder. “I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been – you’ve been miserable for weeks and it’s all my fault. Because I was too fucking dumb to see what was right there, even when – “

“Anthony J. Crowley, stop!”

There was that steel again, wielded like…like the demon imagined he would’ve wielded his flaming sword back before he’d given it away.

His jaw clacked shut, hard enough that his teeth and jawbone ached.

“That does matter!” the angel retorted. “In fact, that is what matters. I cannot deny that I was very much hurt that you didn’t seem to like what you saw and have not been able to stem that afterwards, or that I’ve been struggling to understand what I’d done wrong since you turned away from my first attempt.”

Crowley’s heart, still in the region of his intestines, twisted horribly. “There, you see – “

“However, that does not equal that I blame you nor that I think you stupid for missing things. You were not to know that it wasn’t an attraction that just suddenly manifested and, well…” He smiled but it was somehow a little off. “It’s not as though I’ve given you much reason to think otherwise, is it?”

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“To me, it does, my dearest, as it explains it quite sufficiently and I do not blame you. I never would.”

“But – “

“Do you blame me?”

The demon’s nose wrinkled as he made a face of incomprehension. “Blame you? What on earth would I blame you for?”

“For taking so long to see what was inside of me and not mistake it for anything else, never mind gather up the courage to nest for you.”

“No, of course not! I said earlier, didn’t I?”

“Then why can’t you extend that same forgiveness to yourself?”

Crowley opened his mouth, to give a clever answer or perhaps merely a retort. Either would do really, but nothing would come out of his mouth.

Aziraphale smiled again, a more genuine one, as he brought his hands up to cup the demon’s face. For a moment, he just stared at Crowley without saying anything and the ginger looked back at him in turn, confused and nervous but somehow managing to hold the gaze.

Then, after his smile had widened and yet softened, the angel leaned forward. Crowley would have thought he meant to kiss him, and it did seem that way. Except that he stopped far too far away to make contact.

“I forgive you,” he said softly, his voice warm and loving. “I do not believe it’s needed but I forgive you.”

“Angel…”

“My dearest Crowley, you are my beloved and now, at long last, you are my nestmate, too. I will not blame you for making mistakes or wrong but plausible assumptions. Do you understand me?”

“I…yeah. I do.”

“Good.”

And with that, he closed the remaining distance between them.

Even though this was only their third kiss – second if you counted the first two as one with a slight pause in between – it felt as natural to slide into it as if this was their thousandth kiss instead.

It started off as just a press of lips against lips and that was perfect lovely. They could take it slow or even keep it at that, if that was what Aziraphale wanted. There was no actual need to take it further. The intimacy was quite strong as it was.

Within the span of only a few minutes, though, the angel pressed his tongue against the seam of Crowley’s lips. More asking than outright demanding entrance, the demon willingly opened his mouth for the questing tongue, curious to see where and how far the angel would take it and thrilled that he would dare do it at all, considering.

The tongue moved forward slowly, though it seemed as much to be due to a want for slow exploration as hesitation about what he was doing, which made it somehow even better.

Once it reached Crowley’s own tongue, he no longer sat idly by, though. Instead, he came to meet it, pressing against it and twirling around it. Taking it slow so he could explore thoroughly in turn and just get to enjoy this very first moment between them.

At some point while they kissed, one of Aziraphale’s hands slid from its place cupping the side of Crowley’s face, further along until it reached the back of his head, where his fingers slid into the short, soft, thick strands of ginger hair.

There, they didn’t exactly tug but they did still somehow wind themselves into whatever locks they could find, which sent signals down into Crowley’s brain, signals which were very pleasant and just a little distracting.

He didn’t stop the kiss, though. It would take a lot more than that to get him to stop at this point, and even then, he wasn’t sure he would be willing.

Aziraphale wasn’t the greatest of kissers, technically speaking, but he was both trying earnestly and, to his credit, learning quite fast. In any case, it didn’t matter; he could’ve been the sloppiest, worst kisser in the world and Crowley wouldn’t give a flying fuck.

What mattered was that it was his angel. Everything else could take a flying jump.

His own hands slid, too. One went up to grab at the junction where neck became shoulder, somehow managing to slide its way under not just the jacket but both the waistcoat and the shirt as well. The other slipped down to cup the curve of a plush arse cheek. Not with any ulterior motive…well, except for the fact that he’d always wondered what it would feel like. To be honest, he’d wondered at the exact shape, too, the angel always managing to somehow cover or otherwise obscure the shape of his butt, either through relatively loose-fitting clothing or a covering jacket or both.

The best chance he’d gotten was when he’d sauntered into the Globe and had seen just what the angel had been wearing. If he’d been a bit slower going around him from behind just to get a better look at it, what of it?

Not that he was focused exclusively on Aziraphale’s arse. Of course not. That would hardly be fair, for one thing. Actually, he’d wondered what all of him felt and looked like and had formed, he’d thought, a fairly good estimation of it. He’d had quite a long time to work it out, after all.

When his hand made contact, he realised his estimation didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

Furthermore, much to his consternation, Aziraphale broke the kiss to gasp.

“Crowley…!” There was a hint of protest in there but no more.

“Hmm? Am I not allowed to touch?” He didn’t even loosen his grip despite his words.

“Of course, you are, that’s not the point!”

“What is the point, then?”

“That – that you’re deliberately trying to distract and disrupt me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Not when you’re kissing me like that.”

The angel bit his lip. “Now you’re mocking me.”

“Teasing you at best and I meant it.”

Aziraphale still didn’t look convinced. “Meant what, precisely?”

“That I would never stop you kissing me.”

“Then we could be stuck kissing for quite a long time.”

Well, now…the implications of that…well. Definitely something to explore at a later point.

“I fail to see the problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

The blond giggled a little at that. Then he laid his head down on Crowley’s shoulder, shifting himself even closer while his wings tucked in further to keep them inside the circle of the demon’s.

“You know, you’re going to hurt them if you keep that up,” Crowley pointed out.

With them as close as they were, he felt the urge to reach out and touch the other’s wings again, but he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Not least because they might be as sensitive as his own and for all the kissing and touching, that wasn’t really the direction this was headed. Perhaps at a later date it would, maybe, but not now.

Aziraphale turned his head slightly to plant a kiss on a prominent cheekbone. Then he lifted his head back up enough to look the other in at least one yellow yes.

“I would…I was rather hoping that you would take one,” he said, voice quiet, eyes hopeful.

Take one? One what? Oh. Oh.

But that…

He turned his head to look more directly at the other, even if they were a bit too close to properly focus. “Angel, are you…but there’s no need to do that.”

There really wasn’t, not from a nesting perspective. Aziraphale had been the one to start nesting, after all, and had placed more than one feather, even though only the one was required, around the nest to signal his intentions – and some other time, the demon needed to go around to take in just what kind of feathers they were. The feathers Crowley had given was a token of reciprocation of the feelings and intentions the nest represented. That he’d gone above and beyond, as it were, was a different matter.

The point was that for Aziraphale to then give one back to Crowley would be…a reciprocation of a reciprocation? Something like that, anyway, and it felt…not wrong, per se, it never could feel outright wrong. But it did feel an unnecessary kindness that would also be painful.

“I know there isn’t,” Aziraphale answered. He didn’t sound hurt, however, nor dejected. In fact, he now had a small smile playing on his lips, which puzzled the demon a little, adding to the pile of confusion, which rather seemed to be the expression of the day.

“Why are you asking me to…to pluck a feather from you, then?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Yeah, I got that. Why?”

“Do I have to have a reason beyond wanting you to?”

“As it’s painful and unnecessary, yes!” He watched an odd emotion flicker across Aziraphale’s face. “No, I didn’t – I just meant that…I don’t need…I do understand. About the nest and everything that…you know. There’s no need for you to be hurt.”

Further, his mind added, quite unhelpfully if truthfully.

Aziraphale, smile coming back, lifted his head up the rest of the way but only so that he could press his forehead against Crowley’s. A part in the back of the demon’s mind wondered at the amount of touch they were both giving now, as though now, when they had permission, they wanted to touch in as many places as they could.

The rest of him knew that that wasn’t exactly it but, in any case, the rest of his mind was otherwise occupied.

Such as with the fact that Aziraphale was willing to pull a feather for him, or have Crowley pull a feather, for no other reason, it seemed, than he wanted to do it. Which didn’t make any sense.

“There is,” the blond said.

“Is what?” Crowley asked, having momentarily lost track.

“Is a need. I want you to pull one, to choose one to take. One that is yours.”

“You’ve already done that.”

Aziraphale shook his head, lightly as their foreheads were still touching.

“No. I have taken ones for the nest. That is not the same. No, my dear,” he added when he saw Crowley’s expression shift, “they were all meant for you. But they were for the nest, for part of…well, how nesting goes.”

“So were the feathers I gave you.”

“Yes, and then again, no.”

“They are!” the ginger protested.

“Yes, they are. But you chose to give me four. Four different feathers, working together to…and they are mine. Mine to keep with me. You wouldn’t do that with the ones I put in the nest, would you?”

Guiltily remembering the thought he’d had about the feather he’d found before Aziraphale had returned, Crowley restrained himself to shaking his head, after pulling back just enough that their foreheads were separated. He wouldn’t really take it, especially not now when he knew who the nest was made for. Feathers for the nest were supposed to stay in the nest.

Granted, many nesting couples placed the reciprocation feathers in the nest, too, but they were not required to as per the norm and ritual of nesting. Just as often, separate feathers would be given to the nesting angel for them and for to be placed in the nest alongside the original ones, signalling their new status.

“No, I didn’t think you would. So…it hardly seems fair that I should be the only one who would have that joy.”

Crowley opened his mouth to argue. Then he shut it again as something clicked. Something which almost made his jaw drop again as it sank in.

‘To keep with me’, Aziraphale had said. With him. Implying, together with the pocket it seemed definite he’d just created for them, that he wanted to keep them on him at all times. Well, ‘imply’ with a clue-by-four, really, even for the idiot that the ginger evidently was when it came to these things.

A part of Crowley, and such an intimate part, as well, for angels, fallen or not, that would always be with the angel. Right next to his heart, too, in a specially created pocket that would keep them safe.

In that light, they not only gained even more significance, if that was even possible, it became rather clear, not to mention incredibly heart-warming, why Aziraphale might want to reciprocate.

The thought of having his angel’s feather with him at all times, a tangible reminder of his angel and what they now shared…

He swallowed around a lump he hadn’t been aware had manifested in his throat. It was the good sort, though, if one could put it like that.

“I suppose not,” he managed to get out, his voice somewhere between a croak and a rasp.

“Of course, only if you would – “

“I would,” Crowley interrupted, not giving the uncertainty time to manifest. They’d had quite enough of that as it was. His gaze dropped down to where his feathers had disappeared, where they would live from now until forever, and when he lifted it back up to meet green eyes, Aziraphale’s smile became at once broader and a little bit shy.

“I would love to, angel.”

He slid his hand up the side of the blond’s neck to rest against his cheek, a touch which Aziraphale leaned into immediately.

“Pick one for me,” Crowley said after a moment or two had passed but Aziraphale shook his head.

“You should be the one to pick it, my dear,” he said.

“You didn’t pick the feathers from my wings.”

“No, but now I’m asking you to do it for me. Not because I don’t want to,” he added. “I would but I would rather that you make the choice.”

“Why?” Possibly he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t rock the boat. But then again, that was always his problem, wasn’t it? One of many.

The angel didn’t seem fazed, however. “Because it is your choice.”

The words sank in and then a moment later, so did the implications thereof.

Oh, fuck, Aziraphale.

Eyes wide as he continued to look his angel in the eye, heart full to bursting even though he’d thought it already was and couldn’t get any fuller, Crowley’s hand slipped from the other’s cheek. It slid down to land on a shoulder which it briefly gripped, as though for anchoring. Then it trailed further down the back, slowly, down to where the fabric of the jacket had somehow moved aside to make room for the wing sprouting from it while staying exactly where it was.

All the while, the hand trembled minutely. It was stupid but he couldn’t have helped it if he tried.

When he made tentative contact with the joint of the wing, that tremble only strengthened but he pressed on, spurred on by the look in Aziraphale’s eyes and the small hitch in his breath.

Oh, and the fact that the wing was, when he continued the path very gently, just about touching, pushed more firmly into his touch, of course. That did help just a bit.

Ignoring the thought he’d had earlier about what reactions touching the angel’s wing would cause, in both Crowley and Aziraphale – he had a purpose now, a reason for it, bless it – the demon trailed his hand further along, not just in terms of the width of the appendage but the length of it, too.

Aziraphale wanted him to choose. To pick the one that he would carry with him always.

For a moment, he felt too overwhelmed to choose. No, it was more than that, really. It was the fact that for the claim, the assertion that it was up to him to choose, not that he didn’t believe the sincerity of that, the symbolism of the feathers still remained. It would still speak volumes which feather he picked in turn.

So, he had to get it right.

One might argue that he could pick any, as he’d already shown what he wanted to say through the feathers he’d given the angel. That if it was that important this feather also communicated something, it really ought to be Aziraphale who plucked it, to signal what meaning he wanted Crowley to carry with him rather than leaving it up to the demon to gain his own meaning and importance.

It wasn’t a bad point. In fact, it was a very good one, but it was nevertheless trumped, or at least countered, by the point that Crowley was given the choice to pick the feather he wanted to have on him at all times. Then again -

The hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Aziraphale, though. Instead of being uncertain or questioning, however, he seemed to understand immediately this time.

“Don’t think about the symbolism,” he said, smiling in understanding. “Not now. Just the one you’d like best.” He stretched the wing, still within the confines of Crowley’s own circle of feathers, just a little for emphasis.

“I can’t…angel, I can’t not think about the symbolism. It’s bloody well wired in. Well, as good as. You might as well not expect me to…to not hiss!”

“You very rarely do.”

“That’s hardly the point. The point is…the point is that any feather I pick, we’ll both inherently know the symbolism of it is and will form assumptions based on it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get what you’re driving at.”

“Driving at?”

“With the choice. That I am free to choose. But I’m not. Not really. I appreciate the thought, though.” He smiled a genuine smile because he honestly did appreciate it.

“Crowley, please. You are. Forget the symbolism.” The demon opened his mouth to argue but the angel ploughed on. “This isn’t about nesting, my dear, it isn’t about instinct or symbolism or tradition. This is just you and I, together, making a choice. From now on, it’s just the two of us.”

“Even against Heaven?” This wasn’t a case of the words being out of his mouth before he could stop them or even meant as remotely pointed or barbed. It was a genuine question that he wanted, no, needed, to know the answer to.

Why it hadn’t occurred to him before now that this was dangerous, what they’d just done, becoming nestmates despite supposedly being hereditary enemies – of sides that had even less grasp of nuance and grey areas than a recently politically-awakened teen and were capable of the same kind of hyperbolic retribution – he had no idea. It ought to have been flashing in enormous neon lights, surrounded by frantically waving flags, that they’d be at risk from now on.

Of course, there was the undeniable fact that they had always been at risk from either side for associating or, as Aziraphale had put it back at their falling out in the middle of Victoria’s reign, fraternising. It was a risk that they’d worked around for millennia and had, he would say, become rather good at.

This was different, though; it went far beyond their normal interaction. That wasn’t to say it’d be immediately detectable by the denizens of Heaven or Hell even if they were to move their arses down or up here, respectively. Not if they were careful.

Even so…if either side did find out…destruction would be a blessing in comparison.

He looked to Aziraphale, who he expected to look rather like he felt himself; uncertain and worried to the point of terror as the implications set in.

Instead, he found an expression of determination and steel, not unlike what he’d seen before but significantly clearer and stronger.

“Yes. Even against Heaven. And Hell, for that matter. I made that decision when I first became aware that I was nesting, and I am not going to renege on it.”

Crowley felt quite a mixture of feelings at that, the worry and fear didn’t go away but pride at his angel flooded in, mixing with the love, and so did a small amount of guilt.

“Then we’ll have to be incredibly careful that they don’t find out,” he said. “Not exactly known for being understanding, are they?”

Something pained and conflicted flitted across the angel’s features. Despite his determination and decisiveness, it was clear that the decision hadn’t come lightly to him, and why would it? It would be going against the side he’d been on for actual aeons. Which would also go a long way to explain why he’d needed time to come to terms with wanting to nest.

The expression was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, however, the steel back in full force.

“They cannot separate us,” he said.

“They can destroy us,” Crowley pointed out. “Doesn’t mean I would ever want to give this up, mind.” He tightened his hold as the blond simultaneously moved closer.

Aziraphale’s smile could power the entire city. “No. Neither do I. Not for anything.”

“Till the end, then?” he asked, the addition ‘however long that might or might not be’ remaining unspoken but nevertheless distinctly heard.

The angel nodded, moving his wings tighter around them still, which the demon reciprocated instantly. “And beyond, my dear. No matter what happens.”

“The two of us.”

That thought alone, that they were now nestmates and that he was Aziraphale’s as much as the angel was his, in all senses of the word, that was something not just uplifting and warming, but mentally fortifying.

They’d make it through. He had no idea how but if either side, or indeed both, did try to separate them or punish them in some way, he…well, he’d picked up a thing or two from human ingenuity over the years, hadn’t he? Nothing that couldn’t be adapted, really.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, still smiling. “The two of us – and I am certain it will turn out fine.”

“If you’re about to say anything about ineffable plans, angel – “

“Well, why not?”

“Because an angel and a demon becoming nestmates is hardly going to be the part of any Plan, divine or ineffable or whatever!”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t know that it is, either. You’re just looking for excuses.”

For a split-second, Aziraphale looked guilty but it was gone so soon Crowley wasn’t sure he’d seen it. Then the smile, which had momentarily faltered, returned.

“I choose to believe that She would not have instilled the nesting urge in angels in the first place if She didn’t want it utilised, as it were. It is built into us, after all. It’d be like blaming the architect for putting door in a house.”

“But you chose to nest for a demon,” the ginger pointed out. “Nesting is meant for angels.”

“And demons are fallen angels. Such a lot was taken from you all when you fell, why not take that as well, if that was the case?”

“Why not take our wings, then? Remove all the painful reminders, which isn’t going to happen, because it’s supposed to be – “

“But nesting is something positive, isn’t it?” Aziraphale interrupted. His smile was tinged with a slight sadness. “Hardly painful, at least no more than it is for any angel if it’s rejected by the intended. So why not take that away?”

Crowley blinked. That was…he’d have to concede the point.

“Good point,” he said. “I still don’t believe that Heaven or Hell’s going to look at it like that.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. There was something else to his smile now, just the hint of…steely devilment? Surely not? “Perhaps not. They haven’t found out yet, have they? And if they do…as I said, I have no intention of giving you up.”

He touched their foreheads together. “I made my decision, my dear, and I don’t regret it.”

“My nestmate. My beautiful angel,” Crowley said, and he let the deep, all-consuming love for his angel that he’d held inside of himself for so unfathomably long, restrained and contained and yet nurtured, show on his face fully, letting go of all restraints.

He pulled back a little and kissed, not the soft lips, tempting though it was, but instead the nose, lingering and soft. “My Aziraphale.”

That last sentence, that declaration, simple and short though it was, contained just about everything, really, assisted by his tone of voice.

If the smile before could’ve powered the city, then the smile now could power the entire South Coast, at least, and that paled in comparison with the love shining in those green eyes.

Yes. This was worth risking discorporation or outright destruction for.

Crowley leaned in again, but he was met halfway and the kiss he got had everything poured into it.

Perfect.