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When Aziraphale pulled away from the kiss, he was still reeling, and Crowley was looking at him.
His mouth fell open into an ‘o’ shape, and his lips were tingling from where Crowley’s had been pressed up against his. He could still smell the demon in all his senses (dust after rain, leather from the Bentley, the barest hint of cinders ), and when he brought up a hand to brush against his bottom lip, it still felt like he was there, lingering on him like smoke.
Crowley kept staring at him from behind his dark sunglasses, not saying anything, and Aziraphale didn’t say anything too. He just — his mind was racing a mile a minute, after everything that had happened. The attack on his bookshop, Gabriel and Beelzebub and all the other beings who had just been fighting, his talk with the Metatron who was still waiting for him outside, and Crowley —
What Crowley had said to him. What Crowley had done.
He looked back at the demon then, finally, but it must’ve been too late. Crowley had already turned around without another word and was fleeing towards the front door. Aziraphale’s heart he didn’t really need skipped a beat, and he reached out towards him despite the fact that Crowley couldn’t see him, crying out before he could stop himself, “Crowley, wait!”
The demon did, stopping in his shaky march towards the front door, but he didn’t turn around. Aziraphale trembled, somewhat grateful that Crowley couldn’t see how affected he was, but also wishing that he would just look at him. And maybe he could … he could fix it?
Slowly stepping forward, Crowley still didn’t turn around, so Aziraphale moved around to stand in front of him. The demon’s head was tilted towards the floor, but when he put a finger under his chin to make his head move up, Crowley went willingly. He was wearing his usual dark sunglasses, and Aziraphale remember watching him put them back on during their argument, and he usually respected Crowley’s boundaries when it came to things like this — but right now, he just wanted …
He let go of Crowley’s chin to instead grab onto the arm of his sunglasses. When he faced no resistance except for a small intake of breath from Crowley, he gently pulled the accessory off the demon’s face, careful not to get it tangled in his hair and folding it up to place it on the desk an arms length away.
He was greeted with the sight of Crowley’s full, snakey eyes staring back at him.
“Crowley.” He breathed, the sound seeming too loud for the quiet bookshop.
“ Angel .” Crowley gasped back.
Crowley was looking at him completely bare now, and Aziraphale could clearly see the hurt in his serpentine eyes, the shininess of them. But underneath it — there was hope, too. Just a glimmer of it, stars in a distant cloudy night sky. Aziraphale immediately regretted his wish that Crowley would look at him, because now it felt much too private for him to be privy to anymore.
And that thought was the final straw for him before he started crying.
“Oh — oh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I can’t stand it when you cry.” Crowley immediately said, moving forward with his hands outstretched like he wanted to touch him, before he pulled back last minute and balled up his fists instead. Aziraphale thought the touch wouldn’t be unwanted, and that thought only made another sob break free from his chest.
Oh, how he hated crying, especially in front of Crowley . It was completely undignified and pathetic and he just couldn’t seem to stop .
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just —“ Aziraphale swallowed thickly and desperately scrubbed at his cheeks to rid himself of the tears, but they just kept coming, rolling down his face and making it hard to look at Crowley without seeing watercolour. Crowley. Crowley . “Oh, Crowley.”
“It’s okay.” Crowley said. He didn’t seem to really believe his own words, but it was enough that he was trying, and it made Aziraphale sniffle again, wetter and pathetic even to his own ears.
“You just make this so hard sometimes, my dear.” He replied back. Because Crowley did. As much as he eased the worry and hurt Aziraphale always felt, he made it so hard to stay unattached. To stay on opposite sides, to keep his mind on track, to remind himself that the Metatron was still waiting for his answer on what to do.
Except, Aziraphale didn’t think he really minded as he stared up at Crowley doing his best to comfort him. It was a bit awkward because everything seemed awkward between them now, but he was trying, and he was so nice despite how much he grumbled about it, and he was so good. To Aziraphale. To humanity. To the world.
So, Aziraphale couldn’t help but kiss him again.
He grabbed onto Crowley’s lapels like the demon had done to him just moments before, and him yanking Crowley down to connect their lips was just as frenzied as the first time. Their noses bumped unexpectedly and their teeth clacked together uncomfortably but Aziraphale didn’t let go, eyes squeezing shut to avoid having to identify the emotion in Crowley’s eyes. It was different from their first kiss — less worried and wild, less convincing and concerning, but it was still the same in many ways.
Because Aziraphale was trying to say something, to answer what Crowley had asked him the first time, but he just didn’t know what. But he just wanted to Crowley to understand that he wasn’t unwelcome , that it was okay, everything was okay — even if it really wasn’t. Even if Aziraphale was still crying, tears slipping down his cheeks, and he didn’t even have anything to hide it.
After what could have been a few seconds or a thousand years, they both mutually pulled away, chests heaving. For a moment, they just stood there catching their breaths. Aziraphale still held onto Crowley’s lapels, but he did loosen his grip enough that Crowley could slip free if he wanted to. But he didn’t.
In fact, Crowley’s hands came up to settle on his elbows, almost like he wanted to make sure Aziraphale didn’t let go. And Aziraphale — he didn’t want to let go. But he also knew he should. He knew he should go back outside, find the Metatron, go with him into the elevator that would take him up and away from Crowley. Even if Crowley didn’t want to come with him, Aziraphale still needed to go. It was the right thing to do. It was the good thing to do.
It didn’t mean he wanted to, though. Aziraphale wanted a lot of things, but leaving Crowley …
“Does this … does this mean you’re not leaving?” Crowley finally spoke up, breaking the thick silence between them and asking the one question Aziraphale knew he had to answer but wanted to avoid at all possible costs.
“Well, I, er —“ Aziraphale sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling the fabric of Crowley’s jacket under his fingers as he rubbed his thumbs against the edges of his lapels. “I don’t think I really wanted to leave.”
He wasn’t looking at Crowley, but he could hear the restrained longing in his voice, knew what it would look like in his brilliant golden eyes — because Aziraphale had been feeling it for a long, long time too. “No?”
Aziraphale had always — well, he had always wanted. He wanted to be free to dine with Crowley without having to worry about someone from either sides popping up in the middle of their conversation. He wanted to be free to go to museums and art shows and plays together without having to look over their shoulders with an excuse ready on their tongues in case they had to explain their fraternizing . He wanted to just — be with Crowley, without having to worry about either of them getting hurt for it.
And now, it seemed like maybe, they could have that. After all, Armageddon had been averted, they weren’t working for their sides anymore, and as Crowley said … if Gabriel and Beelzebub could have it, why couldn’t they?
Oh, a traitorous part of Aziraphale whispered, in a voice that sounded much too close to Gabriel’s, to Michael’s, to the Metatron’s to be comfortable. You know why, you idiot angel.
Gabriel and Beelzebub didn’t end up unscathed. Gabriel had his memories taken, stolen away, had to hide them in a fly to not lose them forever. And Beelzebub got thrown from their position, lost all of zir power and standing, and it left a target on their backs for the rest of time. Aziraphale wanted to be free from that .
Except, now that Aziraphale had been offered this — this opportunity, that they could both be safe, that they could both be happy again, even if it meant going back to Heaven. But he hadn’t wanted to go back to Heaven, if Crowley wasn’t coming with him, because all he wanted was to be with …
“Angel?” He felt a warm hand drift across his cheek, and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, not willing to look back at Crowley staring down at him. He did lift his own hand up to cup Crowley’s on his cheek, making sure the demon didn’t pull away him. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Aziraphale didn’t realize he was shaking until he squeezed Crowley’s fingers in his own, and his body stopped moving. He still kept his eyes close, not able to stomach the thought of looking at Crowley right now despite how much he really, really wanted to. But really, he couldn’t deny him anything, not when he knew how — how Crowley felt about it all. But rescuing me makes him ever so happy.
“I just — the Metatron, he, well. I declined his offer, at first. I didn’t want to go back to Heaven. Not ever, not after everything. But then he said — well, he said that I could take someone with me. Anyone I wanted.” He was shaking again, and even Crowley’s free hand reaching up to smooth up-and-down his arms wasn’t enough to stop it. “And I wanted you , Crowley. I have always …”
All he ever wanted was for them to be together, and to be safe. Whatever that meant for the two of them. And if they had to go to Heaven again, if Aziraphale had to go to Heaven again — then so be it. They would safe, and they would happy, and it would be okay. Aziraphale had the opportunity to make it okay. He could make it however he wanted. He could make it good .
Aziraphale took a shaky breath his human corporation didn’t necessarily need and continued on. “And he was just saying so many … wonderful things. That I could fix Heaven, that I could make it good, like it used to be —“
For the first time since he started speaking, Crowley interrupted him, the hand that had been moving up-and-down stilling on his upper arm to squeeze tightly. Aziraphale would tell Crowley to be careful with his jacket, that was how hard he was holding on, if they were in any other situation. “Heaven’s never been good, angel. Not for eons.”
Aziraphale sniffled again, and dislodged Crowley’s hand on both his cheek and his arm to instead reach up and grab onto Crowley’s lapels, holding him close as he bowed his head so much he nearly buried his face in Crowley’s chest. He knew, deep down, that — well, that Crowley was right. Management in Heaven had been off for millennia, ever since the Fall. He didn’t think they had ever really recovered from that.
But there was still a glimmer of goodness in the heart of it, Aziraphale knew. He just knew, and he had to believe it, because that goodness had been what he had been striving for all these years, trying to spread it on Earth and inspire it in humanity. And that was what the Metatron had been offering him, hadn’t it? Safety and hope. Safety for him and Crowley, and hope that he could make it better for them.
Except Crowley was still right, in a way. And it made Aziraphale hurt .
“Right. Yes.” He sniffled again, cursing his stupid human corporation and its disobedience. He didn’t want to cry, especially not in front of Crowley whose hands came up to cup his wet, reddened cheeks, but he just couldn’t see to get it to stop.
He felt the hands on his cheeks get firmer — not hurting him, but allowing for Crowley to slowly tilt his head up so that they would have been seeing eye-to-eye, if Aziraphale would open his. Crowley’s thumb stroked across his cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear, and he gently asked, “Angel, can you look at me? Please?”
Crowley didn’t ask for much, so Aziraphale managed to find the strength to blink open his teary eyes. And all he found was Crowley ; staring back him, golden sclera bright and shining, and his gaze so open and plain for Aziraphale to see. There were no barriers, no guards, left between them.
He could hear cars racing by outside on the street, people walking down the sidewalk on their way to their next destination. But Aziraphale felt frozen in time, standing there in the middle of his bookshop with Crowley, surrounded by the heavy tomes and bathed in the dim lights. Completely cut off from the rest of the world, rest of eternity. It was just the two of them.
And Aziraphale could see in Crowley’s gaze, the lovely, hopeful emotion he thought demons couldn’t feel for the longest time, until he saw Crowley with his eyes unbarred. It wasn’t something he thought he could name, not without Crowley telling him himself, but with the way the demon stroked his cheeks and lips quirked upwards momentarily when he saw his blue eyes staring back, Aziraphale was confident that he had an inkling of what it could be.
“There you go.” Crowley whispered, holding his face so close their breathing mingled. His brows furrowed then, into the face Aziraphale knew well — his angry face, where he pretended to be annoyed to cover up his concern. “Look, angel, you don’t need to be the one to fix Heaven. You don’t owe those — those morons up there anything. They don’t deserve it.”
Aziraphale knew that too. Well, maybe not the deserving part, but it hadn’t been about that, really. The Metatron offered him the chance to fix Heaven and he declined it until he offered an amendment; then Aziraphale realized what he could do , what the offer really meant. Maybe not in the way the Metatron offered it, but in the way that Aziraphale had taken it.
“It wasn’t about that.” He tried to explain, not quite sure how to explain himself. And maybe that was the crux of it, really. “It was — I thought I could help . I can help. I could make it better, make it good —“
Crowley let out a low, short growl and one of his hands went to cup the base of Aziraphale head, digging his fingers in the short strands of fluffy hair on the nape of his neck. “They don’t deserve you , Aziraphale. You shouldn’t have to fix their problems.”
“I could make it good for you.” Aziraphale kept going, as if he hadn’t heard him, and really, the words hadn’t quite registered his brain, but that didn’t matter either. “That was part of the deal. You would … you would Rise again. You would be an angel again, with me. You would be safe from Heaven and Hell, we would be together , and you could be — you could be happy.”
Crowley’s hand stilled in his hair, and his other came to rest on his shoulder, digging into the soft fabric of his jacket. Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley in return, worried he was about to pull away as he looked up and saw the expression on Crowley’s face. His brows were drawn together in confusion, and his top lip curled back into the beginning of a sneer.
It made Aziraphale want to apologize, and shame curled in his chest, as red-hot as Crowley’s hair. He had — he had done something wrong, hadn’t he? He had messed up again. He just didn’t know what he had done, but it had to have been bad, just like he always was.
A pathetic excuse for an Angel. Gabriel and Michael and the Metatron and everybody else said in his head, and he even thought he heard Crowley’s familiar snarl, somewhere underneath. What were you even thinking? Well, you obviously weren’t thinking , were you?
“Happy? Why — why do you think that?” Crowley asked, snapping Aziraphale from his thoughts. His eyes darted up to the demon’s again, quick and flitting, before he pursed his lips and felt like crying again. His cheeks were still wet. Did it really count as crying ‘again’ when he hadn’t really stopped?
“Because I can — I can remember, Crowley. Not — not well, you know that, but I can remember Before. How happy everyone was. How happy you were.” He said, quickly, in a rush, desperate to get the words out. “It took me awhile to realize, that you were still the same, but you said you made the stars, didn’t you? And you love them. You could feel that again. Be happy again .”
Aziraphale didn’t remember much of the times Before, or even much of the times After — it really only seemed he could remember clearly from Eden onward, like someone had found the right frequency of his brainwaves and tuned into the correct channel. But he remembered how good it had felt. It had been peaceful, perfect. Happy. It had been happy.
Like the most scrumptious dinner, like a walk in the park with beautiful weather, like listening to a record on a rainy day. Like how Heaven was always described by the humans who didn’t know better. Like the goodness Aziraphale still knew was in there, hidden beneath the glimmering facade of professionalism and cleanliness.
And Crowley had mentioned how he had been Before . Only a handful times, and nothing more than passing comments Aziraphale knew better than to question more. He mentioned making the stars, he mentioned teasing the other angels, he mentioned playing games in the same wistfulness he would use when asking Aziraphale to dinner, or to go on walks, or edging him into listening to something other than just classical music.
If they both went back to Heaven, if Crowley Rose again and Aziraphale was there with him this time, making sure everything was just how it had been Before — they could be happy. They could be together. They could be happy together .
Back down on Earth, Crowley let out a puff of air that almost sounded like a sigh, but at least his brow smoothed out and his lips lost their sardonic edge. In fact, his eyes seemed to dart away from Aziraphale even as his arms fell to encircle his waist, pulling him even closer against him. His face was even a bit red, and the sight of the demon looking almost, well, embarrassed was enough to make Aziraphale blink back his tears and the mocking words in his head.
“I — I don’t need to be an angel or to see the stars or anything Heaven could offer me to be happy, Angel.” Crowley finally said, voice so quiet it barely echoed in the empty shop. “All I need is you .”
Aziraphale blinked. Then he stammered out an, “O-oh.” and threw himself at Crowley. There was barely a hair’s breadth between them before, but as Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and clung to him as tightly as a drowning man would a piece of driftwood, they were impossibly closer. Crowley, for his credit, supported his new armful with only a slight buckle of his knees, and held back on just as tightly.
“You’re all I’ve ever needed. Just you, angel, I swear.” He whispered into the top of Aziraphale head, right into his blinding white curls. One of his hands came up to run through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and making Aziraphale shiver at the new sensation.
“Oh, Crowley, you can’t say that.” He whispered back into his shoulder where he had finally given into the urge to bury his face, getting tears all over the stylish black jacket Crowley always wore. But he felt that in instance it might’ve been okay. Guilt still sat heavy in his chest, weighing him down, for so many things. So, so many things.
Crowley blew out a breath that made his hair ruffle. “Why not?”
He sounded so affronted it made Aziraphale let out a watery giggle, but it turned into a worried gulp for air when he remembered the real cause for concern. The thing that had stopped him from reaching out earlier, before he knew he had some way of keeping them both safe . “Gabriel was banished because he loved Beelzebub. Both of them were, and you’ll be —“
Crowley let out a tutting, shushing noise that had Aziraphale lifting his head to fix the demon with a pointed glare. Though, it probably came out less stern than he wanted it to with the tears still staining his cheeks. “Crowley, do not tut at me at a time like this —“
“Oh. Oh, Angel, no .” Crowley said, much less condescending this time, as his hand moved from his hair to cup his cheek again and make their eyes meet. It was unbearably soft, and it made Aziraphale want to cry again, if only to have some way to expend all the swirling, nauseating emotions in his head.
“What? What are you talking about?” His hands came to rest on top of Crowley’s shoulders, fingers tightening on the fabric, a spike of fear suddenly hitting through his chest like a bullet. Crowley was worrying him, and he didn’t like being kept in the dark.
“Gabriel wasn’t banished because of Beelzebub. Heaven found out the same time as the rest of us.” Crowley told him, lips pressing into a thin line. “He was banished because he didn’t want Armageddon to come again.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and the fear returned tenfold. “Come again? There’s — there’s going to be a second one?”
Horrible, terrible images flashed through his head. The world in flames, boiling, the smell of sulphur and the sound of screaming. The ding of swords against claws and the pained cries of angels and demons falling to their demise. Humanity gone into ashes, just like it almost was last time. Just like they had barely avoided — and last time they had had the Antichrist on their side, but Adam wasn’t the Antichrist anymore, and now it was just the two of them.
The point is not to avoid the war. The Metatron had said to him, once, and now his was the only voice in Aziraphale’s head. The point is to win it.
Aziraphale had to once again blink back tears threatening to spill over. He wouldn’t — him and Crowley couldn’t go through that again. Not when they had just barley managed to slip through by the skin of their teeth the first time.
“That’s what the records in Heaven said.” Crowley told him, once again being the one to drag him away from his terrible thoughts, and that snapped Aziraphale out of himself enough to give the demon a questioning look.
“When did you find out about Heaven’s records?” Asked Aziraphale.
“When you were here dealing with the demons.” Crowley replied with a grin that flashed his teeth. “I convinced Muriel to help me up. Did you know Gabriel was almost demoted lower than them?”
It was — oh, dear Lord, it was such a Crowley thing to make note of that it made Aziraphale let out a bark of laughter before he was crying again, pulling away enough to bury his face in his hands to avoid ruining Crowley’s outfit anymore. Unfortunately, but really it was quite fortunate, Crowley immediately gathered him in his arms again. Holding him so close there was nothing left between them; no barriers, no sides, no worries. Just them. Finally, just them.
“Crowley.” He gasped, not able to get his tears or breathing or racing mind under control again. His demon just hummed comfortingly, lips pressed into his hairline. Aziraphale never wanted to leave his arms.
And he didn’t think he would have to, as Crowley’s hold around him tightened like he never wanted Aziraphale to go.
“Aziraphale. I’m here. I don’t need — I don’t need Heaven to be happy, and neither should you. And if there really is a second Armageddon coming, you shouldn’t be up there with the rest of the lot who want it happen.” He said, putting everything so plainly it seemed like the sanest thing Aziraphale had ever heard. But Crowley had always been good with his words, he supposed. Serpent after all. “If you go upstairs now, you can try to do some good, but look — but look where that got Gabriel, eh?”
Aziraphale was shaking, but with Crowley around him, he wasn’t scared that he was going to break. He felt entirely safe here, standing in the middle of his bookshop while people wandered by completely unaware, while the Metatron was waiting somewhere outside of this little, perfect bubble they had created. But still, Aziraphale found that he couldn’t bring himself to leave Crowley’s arms. Not when it felt like a hundred meals shared, walks in the parks with the shining sun, or rainy days spent arguing over which record to play.
This was good . Just like the way humans always thought Heaven was. Aziraphale didn’t need anything else.
“Dear heart.” He sobbed. “I don’t want to go.”
Crowley gripped the back of his jacket so tightly it felt like he was going to rip it, and Aziraphale didn’t care, as long as he was still around afterwards to scold into fixing it.“Then don’t.”
And he wasn’t. Aziraphale wasn’t — he wasn’t going to leave this, not ever, not for anything.
“I am so sorry, Crowley.” He sobbed again, lifting his head to meet his demon’s eyes, to show to him just how guilty and apologetic he was. He almost made the biggest mistake of his entire immortal life, and he didn’t know if he could ever be finished fixing it, but with Crowley staring back at him like he had been the one to hang every star in the sky, maybe he could start here. “So very sorry, my love.”
The endearment, like the ones before, slipped out before he could stop it. But all it succeeded in doing was making Crowley’s cheeks flash a scarlet red like he was the one who had been crying, and his eyes were shining as sunlight poured in through the bookshop’s open windows. A sight just for Aziraphale, and a moment just for the two of them. Nobody, nothing , else.
“It’s alright, Angel.” Crowley whispered. “I forgive you.”
Crowley leaned forward, but it wasn’t to kiss him this time. No — instead his eyes slipped close, and he touched his forehead to Aziraphale’s, leaning against him as their breaths mingled. A soft, tearful smile shook on Aziraphale’s lips, and he closed his eyes and leaned back in return, just breathing and allowing himself to be held and hold back on, just as tightly. It was tender, and it was soft, and it was good .
It was better than anything Heaven could have offered him, and with nothing standing between them — Aziraphale knew that whatever came next, they would face it together. On their own side.
And there was nothing that could come between them this time.