Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The pain that suffocated him with every breath. The suffering that nothing could drown out. This is what he had felt for the last two months. For the first four weeks, he tried to live normally. He convinced himself that he didn’t need an angel. He lied to himself, saying he hated him. He wandered through London bars, pouring liters of alcohol into himself. He drove a vintage Bentley through the capital of England, not really knowing why. He cared for his plants because that was all he had left. During the first week, he felt no regret. He felt emptiness, nothing. No emotions he could name. He felt as if someone had torn out his soul and left his body empty. He didn’t cry, he didn’t think. By the second week, it began to slowly dawn on him what had happened. At first, it was the echo of the words he heard that day. I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. He started analyzing them, which only worsened his condition. I forgive you. For being a demon? For daring to show what he had suppressed for so long after six thousand years? Or for feeling more than just friendship for him? All these reasons were just as cruel. Later, emotions filling the emptiness started to reach the echo. They were even worse than the emptiness itself. At first, sadness, which gradually transformed into unimaginable pain and longing, tearing him apart from within. But the cup of bitterness was overflowing with memories that, once beautiful moments, had now become recurring nightmares for him. Every lunch at the Ritz, every visit to the bookstore, every glance. Every shared moment… tore at his wounds over and over again. Did all this really mean nothing to the angel? Still, the worst was the echo. The echo of words that once surrounded him with tenderness. My dear. Now they became a torture that couldn’t leave his mind. Crowley couldn’t bear it any longer. In the second month, he broke. He couldn’t function anymore. He tried to lie down to sleep. Naturally, he didn’t need sleep like humans, but he always enjoyed naps. At that moment, he dreamt of one he’d never wake from again. Exactly a month and ten days passed when Crowley, trying to fall asleep, fixed his gaze on a thermos. A thermos that Aziraphale had once given him. It was supposed to be just a safety aid… an emergency kit. His heart stopped for five minutes because, as was obvious, he didn’t need it to beat, not being human. He sluggishly got out of bed and, with uncertainty, took the thermos in his hands. He wanted to open it, but something held him back. The thought that there might be nothing inside, or that perhaps there was still a sufficient remnant…? You drive too fast for me, Crowley. The piercing echo of those words that cut straight through him made him decisively open the black thermos with trembling hands and look uncertainly inside. Suddenly, he was hit by a sharp, irritating smell. He could compare it to some acid, but it was much stronger than any acid in the world. At first, he wanted to throw it out the window, but something stopped him. A strange thought, which he had never experienced before. As if a black arrow pierced his mind. Enough. He shivered. He had no idea why he even thought about that. He set the thermos aside on the table and, terrified, stepped back a few paces. All the pain would disappear. All the nightmares would go away. You will FEEL RELIEF.
Crowley was terrified. He leaned against the wall and immediately slid down it. No. He didn’t want to die. But… but… he wanted to disappear. He already didn’t want to feel pain anymore. He didn’t want to think about Aziraphale anymore. He had no strength left… relief. The word pierced his thoughts for the next few hours, during which he didn’t get up from the floor. He considered what unimaginable suffering would be brought upon him by holy water. He had seen before what happened to demons under its influence. Relief. Did he not deserve punishment? Punishment for letting his feelings take over and thus destroying everything they had built for damn 6,000 years? Besides, could anything be worse than the pain he was feeling now? Relief. But he didn’t want to die. He wanted to live. But he had no one left for… nothing lasts forever. He hid his face in his hands, unable to endure his own thoughts. JUST SHUT UP ALREADY! he shouted into the emptiness of the apartment with a breaking voice, sure that he was saying it in his mind. His gaze once again shifted to the thermos. It wasn’t enough to destroy his human form, but it was enough to… to destroy the snake. It was enough for his form to speak and die in agony, and with it, his soul and his entire existence. He had stopped worrying about physical pain and began preparing everything. Not even having the strength to get up from his place, he waved his hand and instantly the thermos turned into a black, broad vessel containing that repulsive holy water. All that remained was to change his form. He was afraid. He was afraid of death. He felt his whole body shivering and his eyes glazing over. Suddenly, his thoughts wandered back to that day. The day he lost everything he had. He lost his angel, who treated him like trash. As if everything they had gone through together was worthless. As if their love was a sin that needed forgiveness. Crowley let out a cry of pain. Why didn’t they deserve happiness? Why did Gabriel and Beelzebub get what he had always secretly desired? He struck the floor in anger, likely spraining his wrist. But it didn’t matter. With tears in his eyes, he transformed into a black snake. Moving around, that terrible scent of holy water hit him even more intensely than before. He curled up against the wall, hiding his face as best as he could with his tail. He knew it was enough to crawl onto the table and step into the water, but fear paralyzed him. Not from physical pain, but from death. Despite how much Aziraphale had hurt him, somewhere deep in his mind there was one thought. What if he found out about his death? What if he blamed himself? Despite the wounds he had inflicted, he still felt the same way about him as he did on the day he made that pathetic, desperate move. The only thing he desired was to feel his presence again. His warmth, his tenderness. He knew that what he asked was impossible, which only deepened his wounds. His serpent-like form curled up by the wall in a tight ball. The only thing stopping him from plunging into holy water was the thought that Aziraphale might find out. There was a good chance he wouldn't even know, but what if? Maybe he wouldn't care at all, but what if he felt something for him as well? No, that was impossible… if that were the case, he wouldn't have pushed him away that day. But what if? Crowley so deeply regretted not being able to simply turn off his thoughts. He could perform all sorts of miracles, but that was beyond his reach. He looked at the vessel with yellow eyes. Yes, he could shut his thoughts off. But how… he glanced up, imagining that Aziraphale somehow watched him. What would he think of him right now? That he's pathetic? That he deserves punishment? Or maybe it would be the opposite? Maybe he would throw the whole heaven to the devil and come here to apologize and soothe him? Neither of those options Crowley wanted… not at that moment. He was ashamed of his snake form and only transformed into it when the angel wasn't looking. Only in crises, only when he wanted to hide. It's a fact that in Eden, Aziraphale saw him that way, but that was the only time, at the very beginning. Now, it would be different. Back then, they meant nothing to each other. And besides... now, he still meant nothing to the angel. But Aziraphale was still his whole world. He lay against the wall for the entire next 20 days, pondering and suffering immense torment that grew more painful. The fact that Aziraphale hadn't noticed him at some point only added to the pain. After all, he was now the highest archangel. It was obvious he could spy anywhere he wanted. Or perhaps he saw… but didn't care. Maybe he saw how utterly pathetic Crowley was… he could no longer bear this pain. It felt worse than at the Fall. He wanted it all to just end. For the first time in twenty days, he moved. Slowly, with the fear that consumed his whole body, he climbed onto the table and approached the vessel. The smell of holy water immediately flooded his nostrils. He recoiled as if burned but knew that if he didn't do it now, he might never dare again, and then the suffering would deepen with each day until he eventually lost his senses. He stepped to the edge of the vessel and closed his eyes. He was about to enter and end his suffering once and for all, but suddenly he heard loud, piercing knocking on the door. Hope seized him. ‘Aziraphale?’ he whispered (or rather hissed) and wanted to step down from the vessel, but at that moment, he wavered. At the last second, he managed to jump onto the table. He was more terrified than ever. He really wanted to do it. He was ready for death. His reflections were interrupted by the knocking on the door again. He quickly slid off the table and transformed into his human form. He was about to open the door but realized he wasn’t wearing his glasses, which helped him hide his emotions. Those damn eyes always betrayed him. He couldn’t show himself to his angel without his glasses now. Not in this state, not after that separation, not after what he had done to him. Carefully, he approached the door, nearly choking on the suddenly thickened air. He stood there for a moment, unsure if he was ready for confrontation. He didn't have time to think about it, because the door was forced open, and two white-dressed angels burst into his apartment. He recognized these treacherous fools. But what were they doing in his house? Fury overtook him. How dared they come to him? What more did they want? They had Aziraphale. They couldn't take anything more from him.

“Get out,” he hissed angrily, clenching his fists with rage.

Apparently, the angels didn’t care about what he had to say. Both spread their wings and approached him, looking at him with contempt.

“Speak, devil,” Michael moved closer, so close that Crowley wouldn’t have anywhere to run even if he wanted to. As a precaution, he unfurled his black wings, much smaller than those of the two beings who clearly hadn’t come for tea.

“With you? I’d sooner go to church than…” he didn't even finish. The second angel—Uriel—grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. An immediate, sharp pain pierced Crowley's right wing. He groaned, hearing a crunch in the fog.

“Where is he?!” Uriel shouted, looking hatefully into the demon’s eyes.

“Who?” Crowley managed to gasp, unable to breathe, feeling the pain radiating across his back.

“You know very well who, monster,” Michael said disdainfully. Seeing that the demon's right wing was unnaturally bent, he pressed it against the wall, causing pain so intense that Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes.

"If you mean… King Charles… I haven’t seen him in two years," even in such moments Crowley maintained his sarcastic nature. He barely managed to form sentences, suffering the agony related to his wing.

"Speak or we’ll remove you, but before we do…" Michael looked at his other wing, realizing how painfully broken it was.

“Actually… you’ll be doing me… a favor,” Crowley rasped, smiling.

This sentence surprised the newcomers. Uriel slightly eased the grip, giving the demon a chance to breathe. The angels looked at each other, unsure of what was happening. Michael glanced around and saw a vessel on the table. He approached it cautiously and immediately realized what it was. He gave Uriel a surprised look, who was still holding Crowley.

“Yeah… it’s water… blessed,” Crowley couldn’t speak normally due to the increasing pain. “You came… at the wrong… time.”

“Leave that disgusting monstrosity,” Michael stepped toward Uriel. The angel nodded and threw Crowley to the ground. He curled up, whimpering from the pain.

“If he knew something, he wouldn’t want to commit self-destruction in such a pathetic way,” Michael stood over Crowley. “Even a demon wouldn’t come up with such a trick.”

“I thought… you’d appreciate me more,” Crowley said with difficulty, trying to smile.

Michael responded with a smile that had nothing to do with him and stepped on the demon’s twisted wing. Crowley screamed in pain.

“If you knew something, devil,” he emphasized the last word, injecting the disgust he felt toward the fallen, “remember, we’re watching you.” Michael let go of the wing and left the apartment with Uriel.

Chapter Text

Crowley got up with difficulty, feeling a stabbing pain in his right wing. It was broken, and such fractures took the longest to heal. He wouldn't be able to fly for at least a year. Not to mention the pain. He sat heavily on the bed and with effort moved the injured wing so that it was in front of him. The fracture looked terrible—twisted in two places, with several feathers torn out. Aziraphale would know how to heal it. A miracle together might work. Crowley closed his eyes, swallowing saliva at the very thought of the angel. Now he was gone. He had to manage on his own. He tried to use his power to mend the break, but it did little. The worst damage remained. The worst part was that broken wings heal more slowly, and he couldn’t parade around London with them. He also didn't want to stay alone inside these four walls, in this cruel silence. Unable to do anything more, he let the wing fall onto the bedding. What exactly was the point of that visit? Was it not enough? Did they just want to tease the demon a bit? Crowley started analyzing everything they had told him, trying to suppress the radiating pain. Where is he? He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but it seemed the most logical. It was about Aziraphale. It was known that the entire heaven would think Crowley was hiding him. What happened there? Since the angel isn't there, where is he? Dark thoughts came to him. What if he was erased from the Book of Life? Or something similar happened to Gabriel? Or someone hurt him? Immediately, he felt anger. How dare anyone rip out his angel’s feather? He would do everything to destroy that person. Despite the hurts he had suffered from him, he still cared. He had to admit that openly to himself. He couldn't hate him. He hissed in anger, not knowing what to think or do. Should he start looking for him? If he found him... he didn't know if he could hide his feelings—not after that day. But if something really happened, he had to find him, find out. He couldn't sit idly by, hoping the angel was safe. He needed to think it all through, organize it in his mind. He couldn't act impulsively again, knowing what had happened the last time he let himself be driven by emotion. He sank onto the bed, lying on his back. His wing hurt again. He would have to get used to it. He snapped his fingers, turning on the gramophone and starting Queen's "Under Pressure," so he wouldn't fall into despair again. Freddie Mercury and David Bowie should keep his thoughts on the right track.

RETROSPECTION

It was one of the warmer days around the Dead Sea. Crowley, having nothing better to do, went to the nearest town craving good wine. As soon as he passed through the grand gate in navy blue and gold, he felt as if he were in a familiar place. It was a strange feeling, considering it was his first time here in his life. Walking down the main street, lined with stalls, he caught sight of two women out of the corner of his eye. Not knowing why, they caught his attention, and he looked back at them. One of them had long chestnut hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a purple robe with embellishments. The other, slightly shorter with brown hair, clearly wore a poorer robe. She seemed to come from a different social sphere. Walking side by side, they held hands. Crowley was surprised. He didn't remember seeing such close friends or a lady and her maid in other cities. Probably just friends or a lady and her servant. He instinctively shrugged and headed to the nearest tavern. He settled comfortably on a wooden chair, resting one hand on the back. By a small, innocent miracle, the host brought him good wine without questions. Sipping it, he noticed a table ahead occupied by two men. Both wore linen garments with similar embellishments and in similar shades. Crowley, with nothing better to do, watched them from behind his glasses. For some reason, they seemed interesting to him. Both ordered the same food. During the meal, they talked and laughed. Crowley felt a vague sense of familiarity… this duo intrigued him more and more. When they finished eating, one of them placed his hand on the table, and the other gently took it. Crowley couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Were they…? No… that was a sin. Besides, people entered into marriages, which by definition involved a woman and a man… But maybe not all? The demon felt a tightening in his throat. A small, shy spark of hope mixed with shock and fear. No. It couldn’t be like that. They had to be friends. But the way they held hands… he felt a sting of jealousy. He never liked that sin. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a pair of men who stood up, leaving gold coins on the table. He couldn’t just live in ignorance, so he also stood up and followed them uncertainly. He waved to leave coins on the table. He left the tavern and saw a sight that completely threw him off balance. Was everything he knew about human love a lie? The duo he had watched earlier now stood close together. One of the men was caressing the other's back. Crowley turned away, unable to endure that sight. Jealousy tore at him from within. He didn't even notice that the pair had seen him.
"Something happened?" one of them asked. He had long, curly dark hair. He moved away from his partner and approached the stranger, visibly concerned.

"No... I'm sorry," Crawley stammered, not knowing what to say. He wanted to leave, embarrassed, but he felt the man's hand on his shoulder. He stopped, hanging his head.

“You're in Sodom. You should know we don't leave anyone alone with what's bothering them here. Can we help you in any way?” Crowley turned to the man, trying to hold back the tears that welled up in his bird-like eyes.

“What’s your name?” asked the second man with raven-black hair.

“Uh… Crawley,” the demon straightened up, now in control of his emotions.

“Crawley, can we help you? It’s clear something’s bothering you,” the man with black hair looked at the visitor.

“Why do you want to help me? You don’t know me, you don’t know where I’m from. I don’t even live here,” Crawley hissed out of anger. He wasn’t used to help.

“You’re a person in need. That’s enough,” answered the second man.

“Oh, believe me, I’m far from a person,” Crawley laughed bitterly.

“Everyone is a human, no matter what deeds they’ve committed,” the man with curly hair tried to look the demon in the eyes through his glasses.

Crawley sighed. There was no point in explaining to these beings that he was a demon, that he had nothing to do with them.

“Come on. You’ll come with us to our house and tell us what’s bothering you,” Crawley agreed to the proposal. He actually wanted to find out what was going on here and whether his ray of hope might turn out to be the truth he so desperately yearned for.

He sat on a wooden bench with his arms crossed on his knees. He didn’t know where to start. It was a bit awkward to ask questions about their relationship, but he knew that if he didn’t do it, he would regret it for eternity. He looked at both men and sighed.

“Do... do you guys… you know,” he hissed, unsure how to phrase it, “together?”

Surprisingly, the people didn’t look appalled by the question. Both smiled and took each other’s hands.

“Yes. Since we first met, we knew it was love.”

“Love?” Crowley whispered, feeling tension throughout his body.

“I know it might seem strange. Actually, only Sodom and Gomorrah allow that. In other places, it’s considered a sin. Since you’re not from here, it might have surprised you, and we don’t hold it against you,” the man with black hair explained.

Crowley felt his heart fill with hope. So it was possible? What he felt wasn’t strange? It wasn’t a mistake? For a moment, his mind flashed with the thought that he could live in this place with his angel. But it was just a dream.

“You love someone, right?” the man with black hair looked at the guest with pity.

Crowley was shocked by the question. He didn’t know what to say. Before, he didn’t know how to name this feeling. He didn’t realize he could feel it for Aziraphale.

“Um… I… I’m not sure I’d call it that. I mean… I like him, I love being in his company. But it’s probably more of a friendship,” he waved his hand nervously.

“Can you imagine life without him?” the man in black asked.

Crowley sighed heavily, lowering his head.

“No,” he said softly.

“Do you daily feel a stab of hunger for him and find an nourishment at the very sight of him?” the second man asked quietly, studying the visitor.

Crowley hesitated. These two humans had just read him like an open book. But he felt he could trust them.

“Yes,” his voice broke. After all these years, he realized what he truly felt.

“You love him, Crawley,” the man with curly hair smiled.

Crowley began to cry, unable to hold his emotions back. He always had trouble with that.

“No, I can’t love him,” he said, because he was an angel and he was a demon, and they couldn’t… he wanted to say, but he knew they wouldn’t understand, so instead he expressed it differently: “We come from two different worlds. It can’t be.”

“Every love has the right to exist,” when Crowley heard these words, he hid his face in his hands, sobbing. He wanted it so badly, yet he knew it wasn’t real. He didn’t even know if the angel felt the same. Still, he was grateful to the human beings for making him realize and helping him name his desire. It was what he always felt when their gazes met.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and unable to control himself any longer, he quickly left the house of the residents of Sodom. Finding the nearest alley, he leaned against the wall, unsure how to cope with the knowledge he had gained. He wanted to transform into his snake form, now only wishing to hide from the world. He didn’t get the chance. Behind him, he heard a cold voice that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew whom it belonged to. Gabriel.

“Who do we have here?” Crowley slowly turned to the angel with deep violet eyes.

“I should be asking you that,” Crowley knew that the presence of angels never meant anything good. He took a few steps back.

We should have suspected the presence of these monstrosities,” Michael said with disdain and disgust in his eyes.

“We’ll take care of him first, and then we’ll deal with this disgusting place. What do you say, Gabriel?”

Crowley was terrified. What did it mean that they wanted to deal with this place? Before he could say anything, suddenly he found himself in a field, surrounded by two angels.

“Admit it, devil,” Michael approached him, spreading enormous white wings. “Your fault that this place is a disgrace.”

“Seriously, you think I’m not creative enough?” Crowley muttered sarcastically.

“Humans wouldn’t come up with something like that on their own. They wouldn’t commit such a sin willingly,” Gabriel looked at the demon with disdain.

“You call love a sin? Er… well, it’s good that I fell,” after those words, Crowley received a blow from Gabriel’s wing. He was knocked several meters, feeling which ribs were broken. Several black feathers remained where he fell.

The angels approached him, looking down at the injured demon. They could have destroyed him effortlessly.

“Enough with this dramatics and destroy me already!” he shouted in anger. The worst part was being called a sinner for love. Was it truly a sin?

But the angels didn’t do it. Gabriel looked at Michael firmly.

“Let’s not waste our power on the demon. We have more important matters to attend to,” after those words, the angels instantly disappeared, leaving the fallen demon on the ground.

Crowley unfurled his wings to help himself get up more easily. With great effort, he stood and saw a few black feathers on the dry grass. He drew his wings forward to examine them. Luckily, nothing serious had happened to them. Minor damage; they should heal quickly. The ribs, however, had several fractures. He groaned in pain, trying to straighten up. His injuries no longer mattered. What was Heaven going to do with Sodom? Crawley feared the worst. He didn’t know where he was now. Possibly in another country, maybe on the other side of the hemisphere? Unable to fly in his condition, he hid his wings and walked forward, hunched over, hoping to meet someone and ask for directions. He hoped he could make it in time.

The longer Crawley walked, the more his strength waned, and the fractures in his body reminded him of their presence. Walking through a small town late at night, he saw no one along the way. Suddenly, he smelled a familiar scent he would recognize anywhere. In the distance, he saw...

“Aziraphale?” he whispered, wanting to rush to him immediately. He wanted to feel his presence. He hesitated. Did he really want his angel to see him in this state? He didn’t want to worry him. It was already too late to think. Aziraphale noticed him, and before Crawley could realize it, they were already close to each other. He sighed heavily, feeling how his feelings overwhelmed him.

“My dear, what happened to you?” Aziraphale didn’t need to look long to see that Crawley wasn’t in the best shape.

“Nothing, angel. Nothing serious,” the demon squeaked, unable to hide the pain. When he felt the angel’s hand on his shoulder, he shivered. He looked away, despite his glasses.

“You have to tell me immediately or… or we’ll never go to dinner together again,” Aziraphale was so worried that even if he hadn’t used that argument, Crawley would have confessed anyway.

“Er… all right… your colleagues upstairs popped in for some tea,” Crawley weakly smiled, feeling every single fracture clearly.

"Crawley! You were supposed to stay away from them," they hadn’t seen each other in 20 years, and as soon as they met again, Crawley had to give Aziraphale worry. He was furious with himself.

“This time, it was them who started it,” Crawley saw that Aziraphale didn’t believe him. He looked at him sceptically. “I swear, angel!”

“You know very well that angels and heaven... don’t hurt people just like that,” Aziraphale had always believed in their goodness... those upstairs. Crawley couldn’t stand it, but he had to accept it. He saw that trying to convince him was futile, so he simply sighed.

“In any case... we don’t have time. Your colleagues want to do something bad with Sodom. Maybe a Great Flood or something,” Crawley tried to step forward, but pain pierced his ribs immediately. He gasped, hunched over. “It’s nothing serious,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“My dear. First, we need to deal with this. Right away, tell me what’s going on with Sodom.” Hearing those words, Crawley realized he didn’t really want to talk in detail about Sodom. Not now.
He couldn’t walk alone any longer without stopping every few steps. Aziraphale, making sure no one was nearby, spread his wings and covered the demon from behind. He let him lean on his arm. Despite the pain, Crawley could spend eternity this way—covered by his angel’s wing, feeling his warmth and tenderness.
Suddenly, he remembered the words of one of those people from Sodom, whom he hadn’t even asked their names: “Do you feel stabbing hunger every day and find food just by looking at it?” He closed his eyes. That was exactly how he felt right now. He found solace in this strange hunger. He had to resist hugging the angel too tightly.

When they arrived at some house, Aziraphale snapped his fingers to lock the door. He sat the exhausted demon on a wool rug-covered bench. He knelt beside him, hiding his wings, which Crawley loved so much.

“Where does it hurt, my dear?” His caring voice made Crawley feel less pain just by hearing it.

“Uh...” Crawley mumbled, not wanting to show his injuries. He knew Aziraphale had a greater healing power than him and could easily fix it, but he didn’t want to worry him. “Okay... multi-fragment fracture of the ribs,” he didn’t want to admit to the wings, knowing they would heal faster than the ribs and that his wings were so delicate he wasn’t sure how they would react to contact.

“Why did you get into trouble with them again... it could have ended so much worse,” Aziraphale looked into his eyes. Crawley didn’t reply. He knew he wouldn’t persuade the angel that it was them who started it. He also knew that Aziraphale didn’t mean any harm—he was just worried about him.

Aziraphale placed his hand on his chest to heal the serious fractures. Crawley began talking about Sodom to distract himself from the touch he so desperately wanted.

“These are good people, angel. They did nothing wrong,” as he finished telling his story about the city, Crawley removed his glasses to better convince the angel that whatever heaven planned, whatever it was, was evil.

Aziraphale immediately looked at him with his yellow, snake-like eyes. Crawley didn’t like them, but apparently, the angel didn’t mind.

“They...” Aziraphale swallowed, slightly pulling away from the demon. “They must have sinned. Maybe they worshipped the golden calf, or... or you messed something up.”

These words hurt Crawley. “You messed something up.” Well, of course. He was a demon. It was obvious that the angel would always see him like that— as the bad one. How could he have thought before that his feelings weren’t foolish?
“Love—that’s what they did,” Crawley wanted to say, but at the last moment, he held back. He could risk the angel associating him with that, and then their fragile friendship would shatter forever. So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that Aziraphale had already healed his fractures. Even though he no longer felt physical pain, he was far from fine.

“Crawley?” His name, spoken by Aziraphale, snapped him out of his thoughts. He always gave him such delicacy... “I feel like you still have some injuries.”

“Nonsense, I’m fine, angel,” indeed, broken-winged and missing feathers caused discomfort, but it was much less than his ribs. He could walk just fine.

“I can tell when you’re lying, my dear,” Aziraphale looked into his yellow eyes. Crawley always succumbed to that gaze.

“Wings,” he muttered reluctantly. “But don’t worry— feathers will grow back.”

“Did they damage your feathers? I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale placed his hand on his forearm. Crawley had to resist the shudder. He knew his reactions could easily give him away. To prevent the angel from reading his emotions in his eyes, he quickly put his glasses on.

“It’s really nothing,” Crawley said, shrugging. It was a lie. He always took care of his wings, especially since those of demons were more prone to damage.

“Let me help you,” Aziraphale still seemed determined. The problem was, no one had ever touched Crawley’s wings before. They were some kind of intimacy for him. But the way his angel looked into his eyes...

“Uh... alright,” Crowley muttered, reluctantly opening his wings. A few feathers were missing, but even such a small injury would prevent him from flying. “Happy now?” he hissed hesitantly.

“And you should know I am,” Aziraphale analyzed the damage, looking at the missing feathers. “What did you do to them, Crawley?”

Crawley knew that Aziraphale’s thoughts about heaven weren’t his fault. And yet, every such statement caused him a kind of pain. Did the angel really see him only through the prism of a demon?
Suddenly, he felt a touch on his left wing. Instinctively, he pulled it back.

“You’re not making it any easier, my dear. Try not to move.”

Crawley took a few discreet breaths. He tried not to analyze too much, but Aziraphale healing his wings with such tenderness… he even briefly thought that he could hurt his damned little feathers more often just to feel that closeness more frequently.

“Was it that terrible?” Aziraphale asked, and for a moment Crawley felt as if the angel had gently stroked his wing. No, that’s impossible… it must have just seemed that way to him.
Crawley stepped back, feeling his heart pounding quickly. He hid his wings and hoped it wasn’t too late for Sodom.

“Now we really have to hurry,” Crawley stood in the doorway but noticed that his angel didn’t intend to follow him. So he turned to him. “These are good people, angel!” he shouted with desperation in his voice.

"Oh Crawley… if that’s God’s will…" the angel looked upward. "We can't interfere in this."

“Angel, listen to me,” Crawley moved so close that the angel was within reach. “They didn’t deserve this,” he was concerned for two reasons. Of course, they were humans, whom the ‘merciful’ God apparently intended to raze to the ground. But the second reason… he saw himself and Aziraphale in those people. He didn’t want to believe that God would punish people for love. He wanted to believe that there was some hope for their relationship. That maybe what he feels isn’t something evil. That if he ever confessed how much he feels, Aziraphale wouldn’t be punished along with him.

“All right… we can see what’s happening, but we won’t interfere,” Aziraphale said very uncertainly. Crawley only partly felt relief. He knew he couldn’t stand idly by and watch the massacre that ‘merciful’ Heaven was about to unleash. Without thinking further, he instinctively grabbed the angel’s hand and they ran out of the house.

PRESENT

Crowley jumped out of bed. He was furious with himself. How could he let himself be carried away by memories at such an important moment? His wing now caused a dull, pulsating pain. He couldn’t get out of his head how Aziraphale had healed his feathers. That gentle touch, which he felt a great hunger for. Suddenly, his phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Retrospections

They were standing on the top of a small mountain. Below, two enormous cities could be seen, lying not far from each other. Both looked rather wealthy and modern. They must have been inhabited by many people. Crawley and Aziraphale were still holding hands.
“I don’t see anything happening here,” Aziraphale looked at the demon. Could it be that he was lying? But why would he?
“It’s the calm before the storm, angel. I can feel it,” Crawley muttered quietly, as if afraid someone might hear them. “We should go there and warn them.” The demon tried to take a step forward, but Aziraphale held his hand.
“No! We weren’t supposed to interfere!” Aziraphale had no intention of meddling with God’s plans, for he believed they were always right. On the other hand, he didn’t want to go down, because he knew perfectly well that if they were there when the catastrophe struck, he would survive. But Crawley wouldn’t stand the slightest chance. He kept trying to fool himself that he didn’t care about the demon, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t true.
Suddenly Crawley grabbed him by the forearms. Aziraphale wanted to pull away but couldn’t.
“Angel! There are innocent people down there! Isn’t mercy your duty?!”
“And isn’t it your duty to lead those people astray?” Aziraphale tore himself free from Crawley’s grip. “You’re a demon! If this is divine punishment, you should be glad they’re all going to hell!” He didn’t want to say it. Every time he said something like that, he felt it hurt Crawley. But this time he truly meant well. He couldn’t let anything happen to the demon. He had to keep him here, on the mountain, in a safe place. He would have wrapped Crawley in his wings so he wouldn’t have to watch the coming massacre if he could. But he knew Heaven wouldn’t look kindly upon that. He’d already grown too close to the demon lately, which in itself was a risk.
Suddenly both of their attention was drawn to figures coming out of the city. It was a man (apparently with his family) and two angels. Aziraphale was certain those were the ones who had hurt Crawley. But why? The demon didn’t want to admit it.
“Too late,” Crawley whispered, then turned to Aziraphale with anger. “It’s your fault! If you didn’t want to go, why did you stop me too?!” The angel just looked at him with sad eyes. He knew what such arguments meant. They wouldn’t see each other again for decades. The very thought made his head spin. I couldn’t let you go there! An angel would survive a cataclysm brought by God, but you? You would die in agony! Aziraphale wanted to say that but couldn’t.
Suddenly, a light brighter than the sun flared in the distance. Both cities—Sodom and Gomorrah—were instantly turned to dust. Through the haze, Aziraphale noticed Crawley falling to his knees, trembling in pain. The power of the cataclysm was so immense that the demon must have felt it even from that distance. He couldn’t look—neither at the destruction nor at his friend’s suffering. He turned away. Then he heard something that completely shook him. “They died for love. Those bastards killed them for love.” Crawley said it in a whisper, but Aziraphale still heard it. He froze. Love? Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind. Maybe it was about some betrayal? Or the sin of pride? When the light faded, leaving behind a massive crater in the ground, Aziraphale carefully approached Crawley.
“Crawley?... What did they sin for?” Fear was growing inside him.
The demon turned to him, taking off his glasses. He fixed his angry, yellow, reptilian eyes on him.
“It was enough that they were themselves,” he hissed, then struggled to his feet. Before Aziraphale could say anything, Crawley spread his wings and flew away, disappearing into the distance. They were themselves. He didn’t know what to think. Something deep inside him screamed that he knew exactly what it meant—but he didn’t want to know.
“No…” he whispered, looking around in shock at the dead land. Seeing two angels not far away, he spread his own wings and flew toward them. He had to find out what had happened here. He needed… certainty. Next to the two angels—Gabriel and Michael—stood Lot with his daughters. Right beside them was a pillar of salt. With growing unease, Aziraphale approached his “colleagues.”
“What were they punished for?” he smiled artificially so as not to arouse suspicion. He tried to sound calm and composed.
“Aziraphale! Good to see you!” Gabriel smiled broadly. “You see, we’re just carrying out God’s will. And what are you doing here?”
“Er… I was just passing by and saw you here, so I thought I might be of help.”
“Oh! It’s all done already,” Gabriel looked toward where the two great cities had once stood.
“What sin did they commit? It must have been terrible!” Aziraphale didn’t know how much longer he could keep smiling.
“You won’t believe it!” This time it was Michael who spoke. “Those people, instead of taking proper marriages in accordance with God’s will, preferred to live in relationships with people of the same sex. Unbelievable!”
Aziraphale froze. It was the worst thing he could have imagined. He stepped back. At that moment, he noticed a small black feather on Michael’s wing. He felt anger rising inside but had to control it.
“Yes… yes… terrible indeed,” the words barely passed his throat. He felt as if he had fallen—which was the worst thing that could happen to an angel. But since he hadn’t fallen, maybe it wasn’t too late for him? He just had to cut ties with Crawley. That couldn’t be so hard… after all, he was just a demon. Yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the black feather.
“Oh dear, did I get dirty?” Michael smiled, bringing his wing forward. He plucked the black feather. “We had to deal with a demon.” Michael looked at the feather with contempt and crushed it in his fist.
“I see… I suppose he resisted?” Aziraphale was no longer smiling. He was too horrified by the sin of the people of Sodom and Gomorrah. And the way Michael looked at the feather… that contempt… it made the angel feel sick.
“No!” Michael laughed, and Aziraphale turned pale. “He’s a demon! They don’t need to resist to be taught a lesson!” Gabriel didn’t comment. He just watched Aziraphale, who could no longer hide his emotions.
Aziraphale realized that Crawley hadn’t done anything to them. He had simply been in the wrong place, and they treated him as if he were worthless. He regretted so much that he hadn’t trusted him. But now it didn’t matter… he couldn’t think about him. He took a deep breath.
“Listen… er… I have a few things to take care of, so I’ll be going now.”
“If you come across that demon on your way,” Michael handed Aziraphale the crushed feather so he could sense who they meant—but he already knew perfectly well who it was—“let us know. We’ll deal with him properly. I can’t stand arrogance.” Michael smiled broadly again, and Aziraphale gently took the black feather from him.
“Something wrong?” Gabriel asked suspiciously.
“No… it’s just… it’s terribly stuffy here from all this dust, don’t you think?”
“Indeed! Come on, Gabriel, let’s go. We don’t want to get our wings too dirty with dust.” Michael, unknowingly, saved Aziraphale from the situation. The angel breathed a sigh of relief deep down. When they vanished, he looked at the black feather with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” he whispered. At that moment, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to cut himself off from the demon. The only thing he could do was increase the distance between them—which already seemed, at that moment, very, very hard to do.

Chapter Text

On the phone screen Crowley saw the name “Muriel.” Could it have something to do with Aziraphale’s disappearance? He was afraid to answer the call. He was afraid to hear any familiar voice. He was afraid to go back to that cursed bookshop. Finally, he forced himself to answer the phone but did not speak first.
“Mr. Crowley?” Muriel sounded very nervous. She was never able to hide emotions. She handled it worse than Crowley.
“If you want to ask whether I’ll drop by the bookshop for tea, the answer is no,” a dull pain radiated through his whole back.
“I don’t know how to tell you this!” Muriel was panicking, which did not bode well.
“Muriel… just calm down and say it,” Crowley didn’t even feel like joking anymore. The pain was mixing with fear, which was not a pleasant experience.
“No! Someone else should tell you,” Muriel sometimes exaggerated, but now Crowley was sure she wasn’t. He was already writing the worst, darkest scenarios in his head.
“Muriel, say it. I promise I won’t be angry,” that was a lie. He felt he could be very angry.
“Just come here! I mean to the bookshop!” she moaned in fear and hung up.
Now Crowley realized that during the whole phone conversation he hadn’t been breathing. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t just go and enter the bookshop. Not after that day. Not after all that. But he also couldn’t just sit idly in ignorance. What if Aziraphale had been erased from the Book of Life? If that was the case, then Crowley would first burst into Heaven with hellfire, kill the guilty, and if he managed to survive that, he would come home and throw himself without remorse into holy water. He screamed in anger and helplessness. After an hour of sitting on the bed motionless, he jumped up, which increased the pain. With difficulty, he hid his wings, which only made the suffering worse. He made sure he had his glasses and hurriedly took the Bentley keys.
He drove through the streets of London with a real storm of emotions. He hated himself for not being able to stop his angel from returning to Heaven. He hated that institution. With a screech of tires, he stopped one block before the bookshop. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, unable to drive farther. He didn’t want to go back there so much… He had to do it. He took a flask from the car’s glove compartment and with a snap of his fingers made it full. He drank the entire contents in one gulp, threw it to the back of the car and got out. He felt a gust of air, which today wasn’t pleasant at all. He had one block to walk, but it seemed like eternity. Not only was he torn by emotions and dark scenarios, but also by that dull pain. He had to stop every few steps, leaning against lamps, walls of buildings. Finally, after long torment, he was on the opposite street from the bookshop. In that place. In the place where he looked at that damn elevator. In the place where he waited until the end for Aziraphale to change his mind. He didn’t. Those memories pierced into his mind like thorns.
“Crowley?” a female voice brought him back to reality. He knew it. Nina. That woman who was with Maggie at… the ball.
“Were you hoping I’d gone back to the infernal abyss?” he smiled with difficulty.
“Crowley? Are you all right? Where did you both disappear to? You and Mr. Fell?”
Disappear. Crowley took a deep breath,
“Er… I had a few things to take care of,” he deliberately avoided the subject of the angel.
“What happened to you? You look terrible,” Nina had a concerned voice. Actually, they liked each other from the beginning. If not for all this… maybe they would have even become friends.
“Thanks, I’m trying,” sarcasm was always the best mask.
“Maybe I shouldn’t interfere but… did you two have a fight?” Nina wouldn’t give up.
That whole day flashed before his eyes.
“No. It’s just…” he shrugged. He was glad he had the glasses because he felt tears welling up in his eyes. “He made his choice,” he closed his eyes.
“Crowley, I’m so sorry… we shouldn’t have gotten involved, Maggie and I.”
“It’s not your fault,” he gestured quickly upward. “It’s them.”
“Can we help you somehow? You really don’t look well.”
“No. It’s just… I’m tired,” the pain made itself felt. He tried to hide it as best he could. “You wouldn’t happen to have any alcohol, would you?” he muttered after a moment.
“I run a café, not a bar,” Nina smiled. After a moment, the worry returned. “You drink?”
“Relax… you know I’m not human. A demon can’t get addicted,” he didn’t actually know that but could assume so.
“If you ever need help…”
“I don’t need help,” Crowley hissed and headed toward the bookshop that once had been his home. Now, however, it was a nightmare he didn’t want to return to. He hesitated in front of the door. But he couldn’t stand there forever. Before he could reach for the handle, the panicked Muriel opened it for him, wearing her white outfit.
“Mr. Crowley!” she clearly felt relief seeing him. “I swear I couldn’t do anything! It’s not my fault, I didn’t know anything, I was on Earth the whole time!”
“Calm down!” Crowley shouted, surprised by his tone of voice. “Calm down,” he repeated more quietly, trying to keep his nerves in check. “Will you tell me what the hell is going on?”
“It will be better if you see for yourself,” Muriel stammered and stepped aside. Crowley couldn’t cross the threshold. The pain intensified, making him double over, clutching his back.
“Fuck!” he shouted, losing control.
“Mr. Crowley?” Muriel approached him, worried.
“It’s nothing,” he groaned, trying to straighten up. “Long nap, you know,” he didn’t want a worried angel on his hands. That was their nature. Always worried and trying to help.
“Are you sure?” Muriel looked him over.
“Yes,” Crowley straightened with effort, suppressing the pain for a moment. He took a few deep breaths and, with a lump in his throat, entered the bookshop, passing the worried and panicked Muriel.
Immediately, familiar scents hit him. Memories began to return and wouldn’t let go. Unable to go farther, Crowley sank onto the sofa near the entrance, trying not to strain his hidden wing.
“Muriel? Do you have any alcohol?” Crowley knew that only that could help him ease the wing pain, which grew stronger with each hour.
Muriel approached him, still nervous.
“I… I saw some wine here. I think that’s what it was called? The red one from grapes?” Muriel still hadn’t learned how to live on Earth.
“Yes,” Crowley muttered irritably. He didn’t really want to know what had happened. He preferred not to know the truth. If Aziraphale really was dead, then he had no reason to live either.
Luckily, Muriel didn’t want to talk either, so she hurried off to look for the wine she’d seen somewhere around here.
Crowley closed his eyes, unable to look at this place. He’d rather leave and never come back. I forgive you. Those words seemed to echo through the entire bookshop. Suddenly, he heard Muriel say something. Was she talking to herself? That would actually be typical of her.
“No, that’s not a good idea,” the voice was quiet, but Crowley could make out the words.
“Our… client doesn’t feel very well.” Client? Did Muriel even know what that word meant?
“No!” she shouted, which was unlike her. Crowley was getting more and more uneasy. What the hell was going on here?
“I’ll give it myself. It’s… it’s a special client! An author! Yes, an author! He’s written many books! We can’t just… provide.” Author? Under normal circumstances that would have made Crowley laugh. He’d never read a single book, let alone written one. Muriel must have been losing her mind.
“No! He doesn’t want to meet anyone. He’s… he’s afraid of people. Yes! Because… he has a disease. A genetic one! Yes.” That irritated Crowley. Of course. For an angel, being a demon was a disease—what else could he expect.
“He has an eye disease! Yes. That’s why he doesn’t like people. And he doesn’t want to meet anyone.” Eye disease. Those eyes had always been a curse for him. They gave them to him so he could never look at the stars again. The stars he had created himself. He hated them. He could feel anger rising within him.
“Muriel?” Crowley had had enough. If this was some sick joke or a trick from Heaven to break him…
Muriel immediately peeked out from behind a bookshelf. If she was that good at pretending panic, she definitely deserved an Oscar.
“Who are you talking to?” Crowley said through clenched teeth, trying with all his strength to control his anger.
“Me?” Muriel was embarrassed. “I’m talking to… to… the client.”
“Muriel…” Crowley tilted his head back. “You can’t lie.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Crowley,” she turned around and instantly disappeared again into the back of the bookshop.
For Satan’s sake, Crowley thought. Muriel was really starting to annoy him. He slowly felt as if he himself were losing his mind. Or maybe he already had? The only thing he still managed to hear was the desperation in Muriel’s voice: “Please don’t!” He felt himself overcome by anger, longing, warmth, despair, relief. Everything at once. Nothing else mattered at that moment. He didn’t even feel the fracture anymore. He had definitely lost his mind.

Chapter Text

“Aziraphale” — that was all Crowley managed to say. If he hadn’t been a demon, he would have thought he had died and found himself in Heaven. He couldn’t move or even think anything. He stared at his angel. Was it really possible that he had returned?
“Muriel wanted to give this to you so I thought I’d give it” — as if nothing had ever happened, Aziraphale gave Crowley a glass and a bottle of wine. It brutally tore Crowley out of his shock. The angel was insolent. After all that, he just comes here, scares Muriel, and simply gives him wine? Everything else was suddenly overshadowed by anger. Crowley was in such enormous fury that, ignoring the pain, he jumped up from the sofa, grabbed Aziraphale by the shoulders, and shook him.
“No sorry!?” — at that moment Crowley definitely had no intention of controlling his anger. It was righteous anger. “You think that after all this you’ll just come here and everything will be like before?! It won’t, for hell’s sake!” Crowley took off his glasses, throwing them aside in fury.
“Er… Muriel mentioned that you have an eye disease” — Aziraphale said in his calm voice. That was too much. Was he mocking him? Was it that funny?
“I’ll fucking give you an eye disease,” hissed Crowley. What Aziraphale was doing was too cruel even for him. How could one toy with someone’s suffering like that? The great Archangel, and it’s okay to torment the fallen?
“Crowley, I tried to tell you,” Muriel’s voice broke. “You promised not to get angry.”
Crowley let go of Aziraphale. He now walked toward Muriel with slow steps. He didn’t even notice that he was smoking.
“Oh no… I’m not angry…” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m furious!” he shouted, feeling himself boil inside. “Is this your doing too?” he looked at Muriel in rage.
“No! I swear! I didn’t know anything! I just opened the bookshop today as always, and Aziraphale was here! I don’t know what happened,” Muriel looked like she was about to cry.
Crowley growled in anger and turned again toward Aziraphale.
“You have one last chance to talk to me normally, ‘great archangel’” — Crowley put emphasis on the last two words. He hated that title. Especially after that day.
Aziraphale looked at him surprised. Then he looked at Muriel as if seeking help from her.
“Muriel also mentioned that you don’t like people. Is it the autism spectrum? Before I came, I read a book about it,” the angel said as if nothing had happened and smiled uncertainly.
That was the last straw and completely enraged Crowley. The demon instinctively spread his wings, which caused him enormous pain, but he didn’t pay attention to it now.
“You coward!” — Crowley came up to him as close as that day before the complete catastrophe happened. Now he wanted to tear him apart. Before he could do anything, Muriel asked in a hesitant, quiet voice:
“Mister Crowley?” — her voice trembled with fear.
“What do you want!?” — He turned to her and pierced her with his reptilian eyes.
“Your wing,” she managed only to mumble. Crowley looked behind himself and saw how bad it looked now. The bone connecting the wing to the spine had come out, which in turn caused bleeding. His anger and fury instantly left him. The smoke stopped. The terrible pain returned. His head spun.
“Does it work like with birds? Can you fly?” Aziraphale was apparently still joking. Even in this situation, seeing how tragically Crowley looked.
“ENOUGH!” Crowley screamed with such helplessness that the lamps on the entire street began to flicker as if there had been a short circuit. He wanted to go out into the street, not caring about his extended wings, but Muriel firmly grabbed his forearm.
“You can’t go out into the street like this,” she said, unable to take her eyes off the fracture.
Crowley muttered something under his breath and tried to hide his wings. But it caused such pain that he couldn’t do it.
“Lucifer help me!” — he shouted helplessly. He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t want to. But he couldn’t go out until he managed to hide his wings.
“Are you a Satanist?” — from behind him came Aziraphale’s voice. He was acting like a child.
“Muriel…” — Crowley muttered, irritated and exhausted by the situation. “I can’t stay here. Not with him,” he looked at her with pleading eyes.
“Should I throw him out?” — Muriel asked, frightened.
“No, for hell’s sake! It’s his bookshop,” Crowley didn’t look at his angel. He couldn’t. The worst part was that despite how Aziraphale was playing with him, he still felt something for him. “Just…” — he waved his hand nervously, “you’ll help me cast a protection spell on Aziraphale and the bookshop, just in case.”
“Are we to leave him here like that?” — Muriel looked at the lost angel.
“No. He’ll be protected. Muriel, are you able to perform a small miracle?” Crowley wouldn’t be able to cast so many spells by himself.
“But…” — Muriel looked again at Aziraphale, who was now browsing through books.
“Muriel, please. Understand, I can’t look at him. It’s too hard for me,” he almost whispered so Aziraphale couldn’t hear him. If he was joking, Crowley didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Chapter Text

Crowley and Muriel, after many failed attempts, managed to cast the protective spells. They were the same spells that they had cast with Aziraphale on Gabriel / Jim. They will work. At least for some time.
One more tiny miracle was needed. One that would allow Crowley, with his wings out, to cross the street unnoticed. Theoretically, Crowley could stop time, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to maintain it long enough. It required effort, and today he was so exhausted that it was beyond his reach.
His apartment was definitely too far away. So only one option remained — the café. At this hour it should already be closing, so there shouldn’t be any customers inside. And Nina and Maggie knew the truth anyway (at least part of it). Crowley hoped that Nina would let him stay in the café at least until he could hide his wings.
“I have never done such miracles. I’m not a high-ranking angel,” Muriel was still hesitating.
“Do you see anyone else here who would be able to do it?” Crowley had no patience for this angel.
Muriel looked uncertainly at Aziraphale, who was simply drinking tea now and watching them with curiosity.
“Forget it. Whatever is happening here, Aziraphale won’t be able to do it,” Crowley no longer knew whether his angel was playing with him or if something had really happened.
Muriel sighed and nodded.
“I guess I have no choice,” she said, still hesitating, and raised her hands, closing her eyes.
“Already?” Crowley asked uncertainly, feeling that nothing had changed.
“I don’t know,” Muriel looked at him uncertainly, shrugging her shoulders.
“Let’s hope it works.”
They were about to leave the bookshop, but at the last moment Crowley stopped. He wanted to look at his angel one last time. He couldn’t. He closed his eyes and put on his glasses.
“Under no circumstances let anyone in here,” Muriel instructed Aziraphale, who nodded.
Muriel and Crowley pulled down the blinds before leaving (just to be sure) and went out, carefully locking the door. Crowley walked hunched over, barely dragging his feet. He had to stop halfway.
“Just a little further,” Muriel knew that her miracle wouldn’t last long.
“I went too far, didn’t I?” Crowley muttered, glancing toward the bookshop.
Muriel didn’t answer, knowing that she couldn’t lie anyway.
“I know Aziraphale wouldn’t do that to me,” it was slowly dawning on Crowley that because of his anger, he might have hurt his angel, to whom something clearly had happened.
“You had the right to get upset,” Muriel replied. Crowley didn’t expect understanding from her. On the contrary, he expected her to agree with him and say that he had behaved like the worst demon. “Someone you cared about rejected you and then comes back acting like nothing happened. Anyone would get upset.”
Crowley sighed, not knowing what to think about it. He moved forward, knowing that the miracle’s time could end at any moment.
They stopped in front of the café door, and Muriel knocked even though there was a sign that said “closed.” Nina looked through the window, and seeing who was standing behind the door, immediately opened it.
“Jesus Christ,” seeing Crowley’s wing was the first thing that came to her lips.
“Oh no, no Christ,” Crowley smiled despite everything that had fallen on him today.
“Oh my, sorry. It just slipped out. Come in before someone sees you,” Nina closed the door behind them and quickly covered the windows. Crowley barely made it to a chair and collapsed onto it, feeling himself grow weak. His right wing fell limply onto the floor.
“I’ll call Maggie, and you’ll tell us everything. No bullshit, or I’ll throw you out. Understood?” Nina didn’t look like she was joking. Crowley nodded.
After 10 minutes Maggie came to the café. She had a first aid kit with her because it was the only thing she had on hand. Crowley briefly told them what had happened. About the visit of the angels, about how Aziraphale behaved, and about the fact that with Jim / Gabriel basically the same thing had happened.
“Wait, I don’t understand something here,” Nina interrupted the story. “If Jim behaved the same way, shouldn’t you know how to help Aziraphale?”
“It’s not that simple,” Crowley answered with frustration. “There are no two identical angels or demons. In this we are similar to humans. The fact that something worked on Gabriel doesn’t mean it will work on Aziraphale.”
“We can try,” said Maggie.
“Gabriel gave hints. Aziraphale just behaves strangely and that’s all,” Crowley felt a surge of pain. He hissed, curling up on the chair.
“Maybe before we deal with Mr. Fell, we should try to do something with the wing?” Maggie, seeing the demon’s suffering, couldn’t just stand there and watch.
“No… it’s nothing. I’ll manage. I just need to wait it out. Tomorrow it will be better, and I’ll go back to the bookshop. Aziraphale needs me.”
“No way,” Maggie grabbed the first aid kit, approaching Crowley.
“It didn’t happen for no reason! Something must be threatening him,” Crowley regretted his outburst of anger so much. Even though Aziraphale probably didn’t even know what it was about. If he could, he would go back there and apologize to his angel.
“Muriel can go watch over him. If something happens, she can call,” Nina approached Maggie. “Your wing really looks bad.”
“I promise I won’t let in any angel or any demon,” Muriel smiled at the thought that she would be useful for something. “Oh dear… sorry Mr. Crowley, of course I’ll let you in.” The angel seemed embarrassed by his mistake.
“I know what you mean. Go and watch everything carefully,” Crowley tried to mask the pain, but his strength was slowly leaving him.

Chapter Text

When Muriel left the café, Maggie and Nina were puzzling over what to do with the wing.
“Is it possible that it works like with birds?” Nina looked at Crowley questioningly.
“How should I know. I’ve never thought about it,” the only thing he was thinking about now was his angel. For two months he had so longed for his presence, and now that he appeared, Crowley had let himself be carried away by fury. And at the moment when somewhere out there danger was lurking. He felt terrible about it.
“I guess we have to assume that’s how it works,” Maggie said with uncertainty in her voice. “Once I used to feed them. I found a swan with a broken wing and called the vet.”
Crowley, despite the pain, laughed.
“Do I look like a swan to you?”
“When you said it, it really does sound stupid,” Maggie lowered her gaze.
“Actually, it makes sense,” Nina put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “Well, maybe except for the vet.”
Crowley became curious.
“There should be information somewhere on the internet about how to roughly immobilize a wing,” Nina grabbed her phone.
“Check on forums,” Maggie joined the search.
After long browsing on the internet, unfortunately they didn’t find anything on the topic.
“Well, then we have to assume that a wing is immobilized like an arm,” Nina shrugged.
Maggie took out from the first aid kit a triangular scarf, hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and a bandage. Why hadn’t Crowley thought of that before. Someone would have to touch his wing.
“No,” he said firmly, pulling Nina and Maggie out of their focus.
“We have nothing else,” Maggie looked at the first aid kit as if searching there for something for supernatural beings.
“That’s not the point,” Crowley was embarrassed. How could he explain to them that wings were something very intimate? “Er… I’m a demon. Something might happen to you, even with gloves.” A lie. Nothing would happen.
“You won’t do it yourself,” Nina said firmly, insisting on helping.
“No, that’s not a good idea,” Crowley couldn’t imagine it. There was no such option.
“And Muriel? She’s an angel, right?” Maggie gave Nina a questioning look.
Damn. Crowley knew they wouldn’t let it go.
“No… no. Muriel hasn’t yet adapted to life on Earth. She doesn’t know about this. She could make it worse,” another lie. It would be enough to read some guide.
“At least let yourself disinfect that awful wound,” Maggie looked with compassion at the protruding bone.
“Give it here,” Crowley reached out his hand for the hydrogen peroxide.
“It’ll be better if Maggie does it,” Nina was always stubborn. “You probably don’t know how much disinfecting wounds hurts.”
“Give it here, nothing can be worse than the floor in the church.” Nina was right. Crowley had never used things like hydrogen peroxide. He always had Aziraphale, who healed his wounds with miracles. He didn’t even know if human methods would work on him.
The women looked at each other. They finally seemed to understand that they wouldn’t win this discussion with the demon.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Nina took the hydrogen peroxide from Maggie’s hand and handed the bottle to Crowley.
Crowley, not realizing how hydrogen peroxide worked, opened the bottle and poured all its contents onto the open fracture. Instantly he felt as if he had poured holy water over himself. He screamed in pain, curling up on the chair. It felt as if billions of tiny needles were piercing his wing. If Aziraphale had been here, he would have held his hand — that would have eased the suffering. But he wasn’t here. Nothing could help.
Nina and Maggie, seeing this, both clenched their teeth, imagining how much it must hurt.
“Do you… have… something… for… pain?” Crowley stammered, still unable to recover.
“I have aspirin,” Maggie reached into the first aid kit.
“I have Vicodin,” Nina hurried behind the counter.
“You didn’t say anything hurt,” Maggie seemed indignant.
“No, relax. A few years ago I had an appendix surgery. I just had a few pills left. I didn’t throw them away because I thought they might come in handy — and I was right,” Nina found the medicine and handed it to the demon.
“You think it will work on you?” Maggie looked at the box.
“If alcohol works,” Crowley shrugged and immediately swallowed 3 tablets.
“Better not overdo it with them,” Nina warned him. “It’s an opioid.”
“You think I don’t know how drugs work?” Crowley straightened up a little. “Remember, I’m a demon.”
“Just promise you’ll do something about that wing — masking the pain with Vicodin won’t help,” Nina mentioned. Crowley nodded but didn’t intend to do anything about it. He was counting on it healing by itself.
Crowley slept that night in the chair. It didn’t bother him particularly — it was only about regeneration, since obviously he didn’t need sleep as such. When he woke up, he felt that the Vicodin was working. He managed to hide his wings and even stand up from the chair. Nina and Maggie had watched over him all night in case human healing methods had harmed him. Now they were sitting at the table and drinking coffee.
“Good morning,” Maggie greeted him with a smile. “Do you feel better?”
“Let’s say,” Crowley stretched. He felt better only physically. Mentally, it was just as bad.
“Coffee?” Nina asked.
Crowley would definitely drink coffee. That’s what he needed this morning. But he knew he didn’t have time for it. The most important thing now was Aziraphale. The demon still didn’t know how to help him, but he was counting on it being like with Gabriel — that the clues would start to appear on their own.
“No thanks,” he headed for the exit. He stopped in it. Even though the only thing he wanted now was to get his angel back and have him by his side again, he couldn’t go back there. He was afraid of the pain that Aziraphale would unknowingly cause him. He didn’t know if he could handle it.
“Thank you for your help,” he said quietly. Earlier he wouldn’t have even guessed that those two women, whose lives he and Aziraphale had interfered with, would turn out to be so helpful and kind to him.
“Wait,” Maggie jumped up from the chair and came up to Crowley. “Take this,” she handed him the first aid kit. “Maybe Muriel will still be able to help you.”
“Thanks,” Crowley answered weakly and left the café.

Chapter Text

Crowley stood motionless in front of the bookstore door. Now it was even harder to go inside. It was hard for him to look at Aziraphale, who wasn’t Aziraphale. But he had to push through. For him. He knocked on the door.
The door to the bookstore was opened for him by Muriel.
“Any clues?” Crowley asked with hope in his voice.
Muriel looked down and shook her head no. Crowley didn’t answer and entered the bookstore with difficulty.
“Oh, you came back!” Aziraphale greeted him with a smile. Crowley looked at him and was immediately overwhelmed by longing and hunger. He couldn’t smile. Luckily, his eyes full of emotion were protected by his glasses. “Tea?” the angel asked in his calm voice, to which Crowley turned his gaze away.
“Yes, you can bring tea,” Muriel immediately stepped into action, “but necessarily with milk because that’s how English people drink it… I think,” she stammered.
“I’m not English,” hissed Crowley, feeling anger again. This time not at a particular person. At the situation. At what had happened to his angel.
Aziraphale looked at Crowley with that lost gaze. The demon couldn’t bear it.
“He is English but lived for a long time in… Romania,” Muriel smiled warmly.
When Aziraphale walked deeper into the bookstore, Crowley looked at Muriel with surprise.
“Romania?” under normal circumstances that would have been quite funny.
“Well… because I read the book Dracula when I was bored, and he was a vampire and lived in a castle in Romania. And demons are kind of similar… that’s the first thing that came to my mind,” Muriel explained herself as if she had done something wrong. “Mr. Crowley,” after a moment she changed the tone of her voice, “if you want Aziraphale to start talking and giving clues, you have to talk to him normally.”
“How am I supposed to talk to him, huh?” Crowley was overcome with anger again. “After all this? How can I explain to him who we are to each other?”
“And how did you talk to Gabriel?” Muriel looked at him firmly.
“That’s different. He meant nothing to me,” Crowley felt his head spinning.
“If you care about Aziraphale, then you must talk,” Muriel had turned out over the past few days to be a surprisingly intelligent angel.
Crowley knew he had no choice, but at the same time, he didn’t know how to talk when in Aziraphale’s presence nothing could pass through his throat.
“Tea is ready,” Aziraphale approached Crowley, which caused even greater pain. But he had to speak, and he knew it well.
“Put it on the table,” he muttered under his breath without looking at the angel. That was what was most difficult for him now. He sat down on the sofa and took a deep breath.
“Sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling well. What’s your name?” Crowley’s tone of voice was indifferent. He couldn’t manage anything else, he couldn’t pretend it was easy.
“Er… actually I don’t know,” the angel said, still smiling. When Gabriel had been in his place, it had seemed quite funny. But now there was nothing funny about it. “But it seems to me you called me Aziraphale?” These words hit Crowley like a dagger. He looked out the window, trying not to cry. Was it even safe for him to use his real name? The angels could burst in here at any moment. But a false name would be even worse for Crowley. He clenched his teeth, knowing that his angel’s safety was most important.
“We were talking… about someone else,” his voice broke.
“So do you know what my name is or not?” Aziraphale was now so defenseless that any one angel or demon could easily catch him.
When choosing a name, Crowley decided on the same thing that had worked with Gabriel. He looked at the books with difficulty, knowing he had to pick something. His gaze stopped on Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. He sighed heavily, knowing that whatever he came up with, it would hurt just the same.
“William,” he said quietly with a tight throat.
“Great! Like William Shakespeare! I read Hamlet last night!” his enthusiasm was so innocent. Crowley most of all wanted to go back to his apartment and change form.
“Hamlet?” Muriel noticed the title and gave Crowley a meaningful look. Only then did he realize that this could be something important, and instead of focusing on the angel’s words, he focused on his own sorrow.
Crowley jumped up from the sofa and began looking for Hamlet. Once he had watched that play with Aziraphale, but remembered little.
“What was that Hamlet about?” Muriel asked the angel, and he brightened.
“It’s very interesting! Hamlet was the prince of Denmark. He returned home after his father’s death, and the ghost of his father appeared to him. And revealed that he had been murdered by his brother. Remarkable!”
“That has nothing to do with anything!” Crowley shouted and in anger kicked one of the shelves.
“Continue,” Muriel threw Crowley a meaningful look.
“So Hamlet wants to take revenge on his father’s brother, but he delays it by pretending to be insane…”
Madness. Crowley approached Aziraphale and reflexively grabbed his arm. But immediately pulled his hand back. He knew that if he allowed himself too much, he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings as well.
“Why did that damn Hamlet pretend to be insane?”
“Well, Hamlet wanted to protect himself and his mission of revenge while also gaining time and an advantage over his enemies. It completely confused them! You must read it!”
“That’s nonsense,” Crowley moved away, frustrated. Aziraphale would never want to take revenge; that wasn’t his style. “That’s some random book, for heaven’s sake!” Suddenly the pain in his wing began to return. And with double strength. “Not now,” groaned Crowley, falling to his knees. Along with the pain came the echo. I forgive you. Nothing lasts forever. Crowley began desperately searching for the Vicodin that Nina had given him.
“I read that for chronic pains it’s good to drink herbs,” Crowley heard Aziraphale’s voice as if through fog.
“Mr. Crowley? The wing again?” worried Muriel came up to him, but at that moment Crowley already had the package of pills in his hands. He quickly took several tablets, and after a few minutes he began to feel relief as the pain and echo faded away. He slowly got up and sat on the sofa, exhausted from the pain attack. Suddenly Aziraphale sat down next to him. A shiver instantly went through Crowley. Do you feel daily stings of hunger and find nourishment at the very sight of it? — the words he once heard in Sodom came back to him, echoing in his mind. No. His feelings weren’t the most important now. He quickly moved to the other end of the sofa.
“Why do you have wings? Are you an angel? I read about them in the Bible,” Aziraphale looked at him with curiosity. Crowley quickly turned his gaze away.
“Er. Muriel is an angel,” he didn’t know if he could say that he was a demon. How would not-Aziraphale react to that?
Muriel looked at Crowley in surprise.
“Muriel doesn’t have wings,” Aziraphale looked at her and then again at Crowley.
“Yes she does. She’s just hiding them now. I don’t have wings now either.”
“You must be a sad angel,” Aziraphale said with care in his voice.
Crowley was a little surprised. “Why? I’m not sad, just…” fallen.
“Your wings. They cause you pain, don’t they?” Crowley was surprised that not-Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the color of the feathers.
“You know… a fracture is never pleasant.” The Vicodin had already completely worked. The pain was gone. At least for now.
“That’s not the only thing that troubles you,” Aziraphale looked at him so piercingly that for one small moment Crowley saw the real Aziraphale in him.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, still looking straight ahead.
“Hamlet makes sense,” Muriel suddenly said. Crowley looked at her with hope. “Maybe it’s not about the literal meaning. After all, it’s Shakespeare, and people say he wrote symbolically. That’s what I heard… anyway, maybe Aziraphale didn’t want to protect himself but you. It wasn’t about revenge, because that’s not in the style of angels, so maybe it’s just about the ending? He wanted to confuse Heaven.”
Crowley felt hope returning.
“How did you come up with that?” he asked, and Muriel shrugged.
“Who is Aziraphale?” not-Aziraphale interrupted their conversation. Crowley, hearing that question, felt like he was falling apart into pieces. But he had to pretend it didn’t affect him.
“He is… was my friend,” Crowley had to try hard not to let his voice break.
“Oh… I also lost something, but I don’t remember what,” Crowley took a deep breath so as not to let emotions take control over him again.
Suddenly someone entered the bookstore. Crowley immediately recognized the scent. Michael. He instantly jumped up from the sofa and went toward the entrance. He wouldn’t let them take Aziraphale again. Muriel immediately followed behind Crowley.
“I could have expected to find you here,” Michael approached the demon, measuring him with his gaze. “You tricked us nicely with that self-destruction. I admit, I’m full of admiration for your cleverness.” Crowley didn’t take his eyes off the intruder. He only hoped that his and Muriel’s miracle would hold.
Michael noticed Muriel and turned to her.
“You don’t know how to lie,” Michael smiled at the lower-ranking angel. “So tell me. Where is Aziraphale?”
Crowley looked at Muriel with a pleading gaze.
“He’s not here,” she shrugged, trying to hide her fear.
“Then what is this devil doing here?” Michael wasn’t going to let go.
“I came to visit Muriel,” muttered Crowley.
“Yes… we were just going for coffee.”
“What business did he come to you for? As an angel you shouldn’t associate with him,” Michael said in a hostile voice.
“About the bookstore,” Crowley again answered for Muriel. “She can’t run it alone, and it’s my business too. But you probably already know that.”
Suddenly Aziraphale came up to Michael. Crowley looked at him in terror.
Michael turned to the angel and looked at him closely.
“And who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
“My name is William, just like Shakespeare, and I love reading books,” Aziraphale smiled at the Archangel.
“Maybe you know where Aziraphale is?”
“I don’t know. But I know he was Crowley’s friend,” Aziraphale looked at the demon.
“Where do I know you from…” Michael began to look closely at “William.”
“He’s been a regular visitor to the bookstore for 10 years. You must have crossed paths sometime,” Muriel lied surprisingly well.
“Oh yes, I’m here every day! I’ve already read many books, I can recommend you some!” not-Aziraphale was still smiling.
“Get him out of here, he’s terribly annoying,” Michael muttered and turned to Crowley. “If this is another of your tricks, then our next meeting will be the last.” The demon knew what those words meant. But he wasn’t afraid of death, not anymore. Michael turned to Muriel. “And I’ll be keeping an eye on you,” and he left the bookstore. Crowley sighed with relief.
“You did well,” he said, and Muriel smiled.
“They’ll come back, won’t they?” Muriel’s smile was replaced by an expression of worry.
“I’m afraid so. Until then, we have to restore Aziraphale.”
“What was that about self-destruction?” Crowley expected that question from Muriel, but he couldn’t be honest.
“Just like he said. I tricked them.”