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Marriage—the human kind—was a sort of construct, one that required a formalized ritual to enter into. Exactly what form that ritual took varied by culture and time, but at the very least, for there to be a true marriage, the parties had to know they were entering into it.
Marriage, however, had existed before humans did. It was just that celestial marriage, the holiest of all holy matrimonies, was… well, it wasn’t done, for one thing. Any more, at least. It had never been a common practice, but everyone in Heaven knew it had existed. But apparently, it had done so much damage in the early days that after the Fall, the higher ups decided they had to prohibit it from ever happening again.
Funny, because Aziraphale couldn’t remember celestial marriage ever causing any terrible problems. Then again, his memories of his pre-Fall days were all a little hazy. In fact, his earliest clear memories were from Eden. It was like he had been half-asleep until after the original sin had already happened. Then his first act upon waking had been to give his sword to humanity.
And he hadn’t spent much time in Heaven after that.
The point was, Aziraphale knew that angels could marry but were not allowed to. He didn’t know how they went about getting married, he didn’t know what celestial marriage entailed, and he certainly didn’t know what was supposed to be so terrible about it.
What he did know was that he loved Crowley, he wanted to spend eternity with Crowley, and there was no force in Heaven or Hell that could possibly keep them apart anymore.
So when he kissed Crowley, unfurled his wings, and promised him forever… when Crowley had responded in kind… when the celestial energy of their true forms brushed together and entwined…
Aziraphale had really had no idea that he and Crowley had just gotten married. The celestial way.
It wasn’t until the next morning when they woke up that they realized something had changed.
They only had one soul, for one thing.
“Angel?” they said, their voice sounding like two. “What the He—nng, What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, my dear,” they replied. “We appear to have unified.”
Though they had one soul now, they yet retained two minds. The mind that Crowley had contributed was running too quickly to process any of its thoughts at all, which left Aziraphale’s mind essentially alone to consider the situation as slowly as it liked.
The first thing Aziraphale decided was that this wasn’t a bad thing at all. He could feel all of his and Crowley’s love, but there was no way to distinguish who had brought which part of it with them, for now it simply belonged to them equally. Twice the loving and twice the being loved, all at once.
The second thing he realized was that their single soul was inhabiting a single body. A quick stumble over to Crowley’s bathroom (why Crowley felt the need to have one, Aziraphale had never understood, but he was quite grateful for it and its mirror now) revealed a corporation that was really quite the sight to behold. Pale blond curls that stopped just short of obscuring a golden serpent tattoo, eyes of blue with rings of gold encircling the irises, rounded cheeks, a distinct jaw…
He felt a tug at his memory. He had seen this form before, hadn’t he? Before the Fall, back when everything was hazy… He couldn’t remember, but…
Crowley’s mind had slowed enough to think again. He thought there was something familiar here, too. His memories from before the Fall had always been shrouded in a haze of ash, but seeing this face now, he thought…
They felt like…
“Raphael,” they said. That was their name. They were a union of souls, and this was not the first time they had existed.
Crowley’s mind immediately short-circuited.
“Buh— Wuh— Are we a bloody archangel?” they asked.
“Are we an archangel?” they asked, because Aziraphale wasn’t sure what the combination of an angel and a demon would add up to, exactly.
They manifested their wings—four now came easier than two— and they couldn’t say if they seemed particularly angelic or demonic. After all, there was no real difference between the wings of angels and demons. It was the attitude of the being they were attached to that could make them seem menacing or comforting, formidable or unimposing.
“We weren’t always like this…” Crowley could remember that much. When he had hung the stars, it had not been in this form.
“Is this… Could it be…?” It was only now that Aziraphale began to think of forbidden rituals. It was just, if he and Crowley had joined souls, had become one flesh, then it was essentially… “Marriage?”
They felt fear pool inside them, but Aziraphale was sure it wasn’t a result of anything his mind was doing.
“No,” they said. “No, it can’t be that. I’m— I’m unholy. So we definitely couldn’t— Whatever we were before, we couldn’t be that now.”
But despite Crowley’s worries, Aziraphale was becoming more and more certain that he was right, and more importantly, that this was right.
“But we’ve made eternal vows to each other, my dear,” they said.
“We didn’t do it in a church,” they protested. “That’s how they want it, isn’t it? All fancy and in front of a priest?”
“That wasn’t always a requirement. You used to be able to do it anywhere,” they said. “And that’s only for humans, besides. Who’s to say what beings like us have to do?”
“... God,” they said. They laughed incredulously. “No way. You think She’s listening to what’s going on down here? You think She hears what a demon says? Who cares what I swear; demons lie all the time, right?”
“Well, She must have been listening, and She must have known we were both telling the truth,” they said. “Or else how would you explain what we are now?”
“Our special brand of bad luck?” they suggested.
“You really think it’s a bad thing?” they asked.
They could not possibly hide their own hurt. Whatever they felt had to be perfectly available to both minds.
“I didn’t say that,” they said sharply. “Of course it’s not bad. It’s— It’s better than anything I’ve ever— Hnngh.”
“Yes,” they said, smiling a little. “Me, too.”
In some ways it was easier to share a soul. All the things their minds had spent six thousand years trying to keep quiet about were simply laid bare without need for speech. The doubt, fear, and pain they had borne alone for so long was at last shared. But so too was the love that had been there since the Beginning, the love that would outlast even the End.
“Yeah, well…” they said, feeling a bit embarrassed. Old habits tended to die hard. “If we’re going to do this— this marriage thing, we’re going to have to move your things— or my things— or I guess it’s all our things, but we— we’re going to have to move some of our things somewhere else, because—” They gestured vaguely around them. “We can’t occupy two spaces like this.”
“Oh, I suppose we can’t,” they agreed. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, my dear. Don’t you think it’s about time we took a break from city living? I’ve seen quite a few nice-looking cottages over the years…”
If they had someone else around to direct a pointed look towards, they would have done so. As it was, their sense of smugness really said it all.
“Euhhh, yeah, fine,” they said. “I can’t stand all the noise around here, anyway. Can’t get any sleep when the whole city’s up shouting and honking every hour of the day.”
They smiled.
Aziraphale had been correct that their inability to occupy two spaces would not be a problem. This was because neither he nor Crowley had (or had ever had, really) any desire to occupy different spaces. They quickly settled all of their things into a lovely cottage in the South Downs, moving at a pace that only celestial beings who don’t fully believe in the laws of physics can.
But there were other problems that neither mind had considered.
The first issue that arose was how Raphael was going to be clothed. Crowley’s mind insisted that they had to look cool. Aziraphale’s mind insisted that tartan was stylish. Crowley’s mind strongly disagreed. Aziraphale’s mind argued that there was no good reason for them to wear sunglasses. Crowley’s mind wasn’t going to budge.
Ultimately, their compromise resulted in a strange picture. Crowley got the sunglasses he wanted, and Aziraphale got a tartan bow tie, but the jeans they wore were not nearly skinny enough for Crowley, while their gray jacket was far too sleek for Aziraphale’s taste.
“We look terrible,” they said, fondly exasperated. But at least both minds were in agreement about it.
The second problem only seemed to be one to Aziraphale, but it bothered him nonetheless. It was a lot different going on lunch dates when they only had one body, especially because each mind retained its own food preferences despite them having only one mouth to process anything. How was he supposed to enjoy his sushi when he knew that Crowley would much prefer something sweet?
“Don’t be stupid, angel,” they said. “I don’t mind a bit of raw fish every now and then. It’s a lot better than raw mouse, let me tell you.”
They grimaced.
“But it’s the principle of the thing,” they said. “There’s no pleasure in indulgence if it’s not… if you aren’t also… oh, don’t you get it?”
“No,” they said. They felt frustrated, but Crowley’s mind did not understand the reason for it. “Look, let’s just stop at that one gelato place afterward. We both like gelato.”
They did, but it just wasn’t the point, and Aziraphale couldn’t get over it. And the unfairness of the whole thing was, perhaps, what led Aziraphale to suffer eight hours of lonesome darkness every night.
Crowley’s mind was quite used to sleep, you see. It was never his corporation that needed it, and now as Raphael sleep was definitely unnecessary, but Crowley still liked it, and he found it relaxing, and Aziraphale knew how much the poor dear needed to rest.
Thus, Aziraphale resigned himself to keeping their body very still at night, his mind perfectly conscious while Crowley’s mind was off doing unconscious tricks. He tried not to dwell on all the other things he could be doing during this time. His books would still be there in the morning, after all. Cocoa tasted just as good no matter when one drank it. And the human notion of a “midnight snack” wasn’t something meant to be consumed every night, anyway.
“Any idea why I keep dreaming about matcha chiffon cake?” they asked one morning as Crowley’s mind was turning conscious again.
“It’s your mind’s way of reminding you we haven’t tried that little bakery yet,” they said.
“My mind’s?” they asked, incredulously amused.
Of course, all of these issues were just trifling things, really. Because Aziraphale would have done anything for Crowley, and Crowley would have done anything for Aziraphale, and no minor difficulty or small concession could make a dent in their relationship after six thousand years. They had already proven their ability to overcome anything together.
And that was the only true problem. They were together, yes, literally—two parts combined to form a greater whole—but there were things that could not be experienced with only one body. The warmth of another’s hand, the gentle brush of another’s lips, the sight of love in another’s eyes, of tenderness in another’s smile. What they had now as Raphael was good. But what they had lost in becoming this had also been good. Better, even.
“Do you want to— To break this off?” they asked. “I mean, humans get to do it these days. And we— We did it before, somehow.”
Neither mind could recall the circumstances that led to it, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? Sometime before Eden, Raphael had dissolved back into two beings.
“No,” they said. The pain of merely imagining it was almost too much to bear. Now that they had achieved unity, the thought of going back to being two lonelier souls didn’t appeal to either of their minds.
But this way of living wasn’t working for them, either.
“There’s something we could try,” they said. “We ought to pay Tadfield a visit anyway. But we know Adam knows how to create bodies.”
“So what, we just ask him to stuff our soul into two different corporations?” they asked.
“Well, why not?” Aziraphale couldn’t see the problem with it. They hadn’t lost any essence when they combined, so their spirit was surely big enough to fill two bodies. And they had two minds, one to govern each body. It would be like they were two again, only… Only they would never truly be alone.
“Huh,” they said. “Huh.”
“Look, you’ve got to make up your mind about how many people you want to be,” Adam said, ushering them out into the woods where no nosy neighbors would see any reality-warping events that might occur. “‘Cause summer’s almost over, and I’m not going to have time to go making new bodies all day. I’m going to have to go to school and do homework and still find the time to make up new stuff for Pepper and Brian and Wensleydale. And take care of Dog too, of course.”
“It’s a long story,” Raphael said. “Not quite so long as last time’s, but—”
“Oh!” Adam interrupted. “You got married! That’s okay, then. My mum and dad just blur a little at the edges, but they aren’t quite like you, are they? I guess I can get you a couple of bodies just this once. Like a wedding present. I had to go to my aunt’s wedding last year. It was terribly boring. Even the present my parents picked out was boring. A vacuum cleaner, can you believe it? You don’t want a vacuum cleaner, do you?”
“The bodies will do just fine, dear boy,” Raphael said.
“Although,” they said. “If you wanted to be super cool, there’s something else you could throw in with that.”
“What’s that?” Adam said.
“We used to be together before the world began,” Raphael said. “But we forgot. I don’t suppose you could just— Whoop, and then—” They mimed an explosion close to their forehead. “Memories put back in place and all that.”
“Oh, my,” they said.
“What, do you not want—?”
“No, I agree with you,” they said. “Just… Why the explosion?”
“Because, you know,” they said. “You think, and then you— Explode.” They did the motion again.
“That is not what happens when I think,” they said.
“Okay, okay,” Adam said, holding up a hand. He had been staring at them the whole time with a gaze Aziraphale thought quite intense for a child his age. Crowley would have used a stronger word—”disturbing,” maybe. “You weren’t ready to handle it before, but you can do it now. Figure you wouldn’t’ve got married again if you couldn’t.”
He wasn’t much for showmanship. One moment, Raphael stood, and the next, Aziraphale and Crowley’s minds both found themselves inhabiting the bodies they had grown familiar with over the years. Their single soul was now existing in two places at once, which was perfectly fine for a metaphysical thing to do.
“Hey, thanks,” Crowley said. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, suddenly remembering everything.
It had gone like this, a long time ago.
Crowley (who had been called by another name then, though he didn’t like to use it, since it didn’t feel quite right) had been called on to fill the universe with stars. It was complex work, and it needed intense focus. It took him far away from Heaven and the rest of the angels. And if he wasn’t careful, he might get lost out there, never to return.
So another angel had been appointed to guard him, to make sure he fulfilled his task but did not wander too far. Long before gardens had been invented, Aziraphale’s first mission had been to look out for Crowley.
As the only two beings within a communicable distance, it was little wonder that the two angels grew close. They spoke of everything they knew; their existences were yet short, but they came to know everything they could of each other.
They knew the feelings they felt were of love, for they could sense it the way they could sense all love. But they were the first beings to feel it like this, to combine not just love, but desire and commitment to the point that they felt they could not properly be themselves anymore if they could not be with each other.
Their souls did not begin to marry until after Crowley had finished with Alpha Centauri AB. It was the first binary star he created, and he had been feeling a little emotional about it. There were really two stars there, A and B, but they were so close that they would be seen as one. Everyone would talk about them as one, AB. And wasn’t that just incredible? That two things could be one?
“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale said.
“Do you think we could do that, too?” Crowley asked. “If we tried? I mean, we’re made of a bunch of energy. Not all that different from stars.”
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the faintest idea,” Aziraphale said. “I wasn’t even watching to see how you did this one.”
“You weren’t watching? Isn’t that your job?” Crowley teased.
“Well now,” Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll have you know I was watching you. It’s not my fault that the stars can’t compare.”
And suddenly, despite being in the cold vacuum of space, Crowley felt very warm. Like he was a star burning Aziraphale’s love as fuel.
“Come here, please…” he whispered.
Aziraphale hesitated.
“What are you going to do?” he asked. “You look like you’re planning something.”
“I love you,” Crowley said. “More than any angel has ever loved any other angel. I don’t want anyone else to be able to separate us. They’d try, you know. We’re just two nobodies in Heaven. Out here, we’re all there is.”
“We can’t stay out here,” Aziraphale said. “This is exactly what I’m supposed to be dissuading you from doing. We have to go back once you’re done with the stars.”
“Then promise me you’ll stay with me,” Crowley said. “Wherever we are, I only want to be with you. Do you want that, too?”
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said. He came as close as he was capable of getting to Crowley’s form. “I do.”
And God, in Her infiniteness, heard them all the way in space. And She decided that this was good. So by Her power, She granted them their deepest desire.
Everywhere Crowley and Aziraphale touched, they began to blend. It wasn’t long before their spirits were one.
And one they remained, even as they returned to Heaven. They were a bit nervous, because Crowley sort of thought that this was the kind of thing he wasn’t supposed to do, and Aziraphale sort of thought that this was the kind of thing he was supposed to be stopping Crowley from doing. But to their surprise, they were welcomed back joyfully. Theirs was the first “marriage,” it was said, and they would serve as a guide for human marriage—once humans were actually created, of course; humanity was still but an exciting concept at the time.
Raphael was pleased with their new role as an archangel. Both Crowley and Aziraphale liked the idea of humans. Who knew what God had planned for them, but it had to be something great, right?
But of course, their peace didn’t last. Crowley’s curiosity led him to ask question after question, inching Raphael ever closer to blasphemy. And Aziraphale, despite his efforts to protest, could not truly find it in himself to make Crowley stop, for that dangerous curiosity was part of what he loved, part of their very soul.
And so Raphael found themself on the verge of Falling. Crowley thought the whole thing was completely unfair. He had only asked questions! And Aziraphale had done nothing at all! He’d even tried to tell Crowley to stop! You couldn’t punish someone for something they didn’t even do! His only crime was sharing a soul with Crowley!
Still, they were going to Fall.
But one had once been two. They could be two again. Aziraphale, who was innocent, belonged in Heaven. Crowley should be the one to face the consequences.
And so Crowley, who had destroyed plenty of poorly-made stars when he was in space, took his half of the soul and wrenched it away. It felt like he was burning, a dying star falling away. But even if it destroyed him, everything would be okay. Aziraphale would be safe in Heaven.
Crowley had no what would happen when and if he landed.
“You…” Aziraphale said. “You divorced me!”
“For all I knew we were going to die!” Crowley snapped, then grimaced. “Damn it. Bless it. I never wanted—”
“I should have been with you,” Aziraphale said, his expression twisting in pain. “Wherever we were, we should have been together.”
The agony on Crowley’s face mirrored Aziraphale’s own.
“Sorry, angel,” he said.
They both knew exactly how sorry they were.
Aziraphale couldn’t stand it anymore. He threw his arms around Crowley.
“Me, too,” he said.
Some guardian he was, to leave Crowley so alone for so long.
“You know, it’s kind of funny, all that star stuff you’ve got going on,” Adam said. “‘Cause you two’ve just been circling each other here on Earth all this time, right? Guess you never did leave each other’s gravity.”
“Funny,” Crowley said weakly. “Right, yeah.”
“It’s almost as if it’s,” Aziraphale began, “ineff—”
Aziraphale was immediately shut up by the force of Crowley’s kiss. And they both knew he didn’t mind at all.