Chapter Text
This was what he got for snooping.
Crowley didn’t like the way things left off in the park. It wasn’t his fault, really. Aziraphale was the one who misunderstood and got all uppity, the bastard. Fraternizing. He acted like they were doing something shameful, and Crowley hadn’t been able to take that. Aziraphale wasn’t the only one risking his neck in their friendship, which was the whole bloody point! Crowley knew he would be killed if Hell found out, which was why he needed insurance in case they ever came for him. Why was that so hard to understand?
Crowley was so insulted by the fraternizing comment that he blew Aziraphale off with a lie driven by emotion. He didn’t actually have other people to fraternize with, not really. He wasn’t supposed to like humans to begin with, let alone form relationships with them. Besides, they would die eventually, and it would be a bad look for a demon to mourn. He couldn’t let himself get attached, but of fucking course he had to go get attached to an angel. Of course he did. God was still punishing him, wasn’t She? That was why Crowley dropped everything when he sensed he was in danger, and had to bite back a smile when his blue eyes sparkled as he droned on about books, and he found himself pitifully lonely after the fight. Why God had to make him, and only him out of all the other demons, capable of feelings softer than misery was a mystery. More like a sick joke.
Crowley wasn’t going to sacrifice his pride enough to apologize, but he’d explain that he wanted the holy water to potentially kill an attacker, not himself. Aziraphale would understand that more, right? He had to. He was concerned with Crowley’s safety, so he might change his mind. It was two weeks later and Crowley heard Aziraphale joined a gentlemen’s club. He scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. As if that prim little prudish angel would be into that. Crowley knew what those clubs got up to—not that he ever joined in, but that was out of lack of interest more than anything else. Why would he let himself be vulnerable in front of a human? Bit risky. They would probably want him to remove his glasses, too, which was a big no. Someone getting horrified by his eyes was probably a mood killer. It was better for everyone if he stayed away from things like that. He wasn’t sure if he would even like sex. He felt desire before, but only for one, and the thought of doing anything with someone else was unappealing. Humans tended to be rather dirty, for one thing, and he didn’t want anyone else’s hands on him. No one touched him, in general. He didn’t let people get close and he tended to give off a vibe that turned people away. He was getting side-tracked. He didn’t have to justify why he didn’t fuck to his own mind. He wasn’t an incubus, so what he did or didn’t do was no one’s business but his own.
But what the hell could Aziraphale be doing at a place like that? He had to see, and then find an opening to talk to him.
It was much easier for Crowley to transform into a snake in a nearby alley and then slither up to the window so he didn’t look like a creep. But then he had to hold back a cackle, because any passersby would be startled if a snake started laughing.
A dance. Aziraphale was doing a dance with some humans, beaming and having the time of his life.
Crowley was rolling his eyes, because obviously he was here because of something like a funny little dance. He should have known. He was also shoving a little wave of fondness away from the joy on Aziraphale’s face. He was too irked with their situation at the moment to be fond.
The dance ended, and Aziraphale turned to a couple men beside him, shook their hands, and kissed their cheeks.
Crowley blinked. Okay, well, that was weird. Kissing on the cheek was usually a greeting throughout human history, but the society they lived in was more repressed nowadays, and this wasn’t a greeting.
Aziraphale took one of the men by the hand and they were talking, but Crowley couldn’t possibly hear what they were saying. The nature of his smile changed, though, to something Crowley couldn’t recall seeing on his face before. Aziraphale was nodding, and then they started to walk hand-in-hand towards a door off to the side. Where are you taking him, human?
Crowley hissed low in his throat. Something about the way Aziraphale was looking at that human left him uneasy. They went into the room, shutting the door behind them, and Crowley had to see what they were doing. Besides, he needed to discuss the holy water.
Crowley liked being a serpent on the larger side to intimidate people, but now he shrunk down to the size of a small garden snake to fit under the front door. He slithered into the building, tongue flicking out to smell the air. It smelled like cologne. He discreetly slithered through the room, past the other men and to the door off to the side. He contemplated going in. Aziraphale would probably recognize him in his snake form, and he wanted to talk about the holy water in his human form. Being a snake would be a little absurd for a conversation like that. As he was thinking over what to do, he heard a sound of distress.
Alert, he strained his ears and realized the grunt came from Aziraphale. Oh, whoever that bastard was, he was about to get a sharp snake bite to the ankle! Maybe Crowley would throw some venom in there. He quickly slithered under the door, spotting...What?
Aziraphale was being kissed by the man. The cretin was pressing him against the wall, his grubby hands on his hips. Aziraphale’s face was flushed, hands on the man’s chest.
Crowley would have hissed loudly if he weren’t so shocked. How dare this filthy human touch Aziraphale, who was clearly trying to push him away politely! He made his fangs longer, looking for a good place to bite. He wasn’t going to get away with pawing at Crowley’s friend like this. He’d pay. But then, the man’s hands were sliding into Aziraphale’s trousers, and the sound Aziraphale made actually wasn’t distressed at all. Quite the opposite.
Crowley froze.
Aziraphale chuckled into the kiss, pulling back a moment. “Eager, aren’t you, dear?” he asked in a low, smooth voice, smirking.
Crowley was chilled to the bone. He thought Aziraphale only called him that.
“Of course,” the man replied, hand going farther down his trousers and cupping.
Aziraphale let out a little pleased moan. “Excellent.” His eyes sparkled. He tilted his hips towards the man and started kissing him again.
Crowley couldn’t believe his eyes. The man was not assaulting Aziraphale; he was fully consenting. He actually wanted this. A fucking angel was getting an erection (since when did he have a penis???) in a human’s hand. He was about to have sex. Oh, Satan, this was fucked up. How was this happening? Aziraphale was confident, and since when had that happened, too? He was puttering and stuttering and fussy! Not, whatever the fuck he this was. The worst was that he was holding the man’s face like he cared about him. He never held Crowley that way, or in any way. They never really touched, actually.
Aziraphale gasped softly as the man’s hand moved, and pain slid down Crowley’s long spine. He felt sick. He couldn’t watch anymore. He felt like a dirty, even though he hadn’t meant to witness this. Yeah, like that makes it any less pervy. Idiot. He was shaking with jealousy and needed to leave. He slithered out of the building as quietly as he came in, and didn’t care if anyone saw him turn human and snap his fingers. He was now back at home, alone. Very alone. He didn’t have anyone else to hang around, but Aziraphale did. It wasn’t just talk. He truly didn’t need Crowley.
He took his gloves off his shaking hands, scowling at the heavy sense of betrayal in his chest. It was stupid. He and Aziraphale were friends, nothing more. Well, he considered them as friends, but maybe the feeling wasn’t mutual, if the bloody fraternizing comment were anything to go by. So he doubly didn’t owe Crowley anything. He didn’t know about the warmth Crowley felt around him, and only him. He didn’t know Crowley missed him during their years apart, and the centuries he spent hating himself for it. He didn’t know how Crowley wished he could be colder and stay away from him, despite begrudgingly accepting that he couldn’t hate him if he tried. He didn’t know Crowley lived for the bright smile he’d give him after doing him a favor. He didn’t know Crowley accepted a few centuries ago that he would do anything for him. He didn’t know Crowley was pathetically in love with him.
Crowley took off his hat, coat, and glasses slowly, muscles stiff. He remembered when his idle thoughts about Aziraphale turned into yearning to see him again, and then turning into wishing he could bury his nose in those light curls and hold him away from the rest of the world. He couldn’t deny his feelings after that. He was the worst demon in the universe, being in love with an angel. It wasn’t just treasonous against Hell, but everything he was supposed to stand for, too. Damn it, he couldn’t help it. He tried! He really did! But Aziraphale had to be so him. He learned silly dances and collected books like a dragon hoarding a pile of gold, being rude to customers in a way that made him an irresistible bastard. But he had morals, too, real morals that sometimes went against what Heaven wanted. It wasn’t fair. How was Crowley supposed to avoid warming up to him?
But humans seemed to like Aziraphale, too, if this afternoon were any indication. He supposed he couldn’t blame them. Aziraphale lit up every room he was in. Crowley sat on his bed, posture rigid. His chest hurt. Badly. That human got to kiss Aziraphale, and the closest Crowley ever got to touching him was their fingers brushing as they toasted while drinking alcohol. That was it, after millennia, and this human who couldn’t have known him long at all stuck his hand down his fucking trousers! Crowley felt faint as he realized Aziraphale didn’t just seem enthusiastic, but experienced. Had he had sex before? How many times? Crowley shouldn’t have been thinking about this. It made a terrible combination of jealousy and heartbreak run through his veins.
He laid down on the bed, cursing the way his throat felt tight. He briefly imagined Aziraphale on the bed next to him, turning his face, gazing at him tenderly, and kissing him soundly. He imagined Aziraphale moaning, his eyes rolling back in his head as he allowed himself to feel raw, human pleasure. Was he loud? Did he go for more than one round?
Crowley shivered, trying to ignore the twitch he felt in his cock. Okay, he had to stop thinking about it for real this time. The childish thought that it was all unfair wouldn’t leave his mind. Why did other people get to kiss Aziraphale but he didn’t? Why did Aziraphale call other people ‘dear’? Why didn’t Aziraphale ever give him that easy, suggestive smile? Okay, now they had a fight, but before.
He had thought, sometimes, that maybe the time they shared actually meant something. They were here since the beginning and seen so many eras in humanity, good and bad. Their experience was like no other. With the way Aziraphale laughed with him, Crowley thought that one day, maybe they could try some stuff, something more than just talking. He loved Aziraphale more than anything, and thought it would be indescribable just to walk arm-in-arm, or hold hands. He wanted to kiss him as deeply as he knew how, but would have settled for less intimacy. There he was, resisting his desires in part because of his own fears of rejection, but because he figured Aziraphale was easily flummoxed. Apparently not! He liked physical contact just fine, as long as it was not with him.
Crowley was angry at how hurt he felt, and stupid he had been. He was trying to get holy water because he didn’t want to give up seeing Aziraphale or get killed by demons, and what did Aziraphale do? He dismissed him, stomped away, and was currently in the arms of another man. He didn’t care about their relationship nearly as much as Crowley did. He wasted so many years thinking about him. Crowley’s hands were balled into fists, a hiss in his breath.
“You’re a demon,” Aziraphale had eyes him warily, judgmentally, on the wall of Eden. “It’s what you do.”
That was probably it. His low opinion of Crowley hadn’t changed at all, had it? He still viewed him as the foul fiend who led humanity astray, despite Eve choosing to eat the apple. That was why he couldn’t even think of their friendship without disapproval.
Crowley growled, getting under the covers and pulling them over his head. Fuck this. Fuck Aziraphale. Fuck his own weak, stupid feelings. He was going to sleep.
Crowley awoke disoriented and covered with dust. How long was he asleep? He sat up, smacking his lips. His mouth tasted like death. He’d need to clean himself up a bit. He sniffed and sneezed from the dust. He patted it out of his hair with irritation. He felt like something was wrong, and he put his face into the pillow with a groan when he remembered. Aziraphale. The holy water. The gentlemen’s club.
Sleeping didn’t ease the pain, as it turned out.
Well, he’d just have to spend his time adjusting to this new time period. That would occupy his mind.
Of course Aziraphale had to get himself into trouble a month later. Crowley bit his lip when he sensed it, sighing through his nose. That fucking angel wouldn’t let him forget about him, even for a little while. He was a right bastard. Crowley thought about staying put. A nice discorporation would be like payback for being so obnoxious. He sighed again. No, he couldn’t. Even if it was discorporation, it was bound to hurt, and imagining what Aziraphale sounded like while crying out in pain was enough to send Crowley speeding towards the church.
Crowley gave Aziraphale the books and walked to his car, feeling eyes on the back of his head. He was still hurt from 1862, but he couldn’t show it. He couldn’t even tell Aziraphale what he was upset about. He would be furious if he knew what Crowley saw, and he would have a right to be, he conceded. He certainly would die of embarrassment if he knew Aziraphale ever saw one of the times he indulged in masturbation, especially because he usually couldn’t hold back a strangled out Angel as he came.
Aziraphale got in the car with a look on his face. His eyes were glassy and unbelievably soft, the lines on his face smoothed out, mouth set in a grin caught between...Crowley didn’t exactly know. Surprise? Awe? Happiness? Affection? No, it couldn’t be the latter.
Crowley looked away, grateful that it was night so that the blush on his cheeks would be invisible and for the glasses. It wasn’t the look Aziraphale gave the man in the club; it had no trace of desire, but fondness was there. It had to have been Crowley’s imagination. He was just relieved to see him after all these years, despite it all. His stomach was in knots, sure, but he didn’t feel lonely for a few minutes. He drove him home in silence, save for his heart pounding loudly in his ears. They pulled up to the bookshop.
Aziraphale didn’t move.
Crowley turned, and noticed he had that same look on his face. It was like he was a weirdly happy statue. “Angel? Hello? We’re here.”
Aziraphale blinked rapidly, clearing his throat. “Oh, yes, right, of course.” He opened the door. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t thank me,” he dismissed. He couldn’t stay angry with him. After all, Aziraphale hadn’t done anything wrong. He wasn’t committed to Crowley in any way. It was like they were in a one-sided marriage. Crowley would save him and do little things to make him happy and pine for him, and Aziraphale would live life doing whatever, and whoever he pleased.
Aziraphale was smiling at him, downright tender.
Crowley didn’t breathe.
Aziraphale reached out and patted his hand on the steering wheel. “See you around, dear.” He rubbed the top of his hand.
Crowley inhaled sharply. More. Touch me more. “Agh.”
Aziraphale got out of the car and went into his shop.
Crowley stepped on the gas pedal, hand tingling and warm. “What was that?” he asked aloud. “What the fuck was that? He never did that before!” Calm down. Calm down, calm down, calm down. It was nothing. It was just a friendly gesture. They didn’t share those before, but this was basically the make-up after their 1862 fight. Aziraphale was just being nice and letting him know everything was okay. He did that right after he thanked him, so it was just some gratitude. Yeah, that was it. No need to think of impossible, ludicrous things. If Aziraphale wanted to do anything more than friendly, he would have, since he had no qualms about touching people intimately. Yeah, that was it. Friendly gratitude. His heart could stop pounding now. If he weren’t driving, he would have banged his head on the steering wheel. He was older than time itself, and he just had a minor breakdown over someone touching his hand. He needed to go make people sin to distract him from everything, especially the memory of Aziraphale’s hands on that human’s chest as they kissed. He needed to get ahold of himself. He was the Tempter, the coolest demon there ever was. He couldn’t get so flustered over this.
Crowley realized he forgot to ask about the holy water. Damn it.
Crowley was never so happy to receive something that could destroy him in his life. Aziraphale gave it to him. He risked getting in trouble to prevent Crowley from accidentally killing himself while trying to get the holy water. He cared, on some level.
“After everything you said?” he asked in disbelief.
Aziraphale was clearly uneasy. He was breathing heavily, shoulders moving up and down, and his eyes were darting around. He nodded silently.
Crowley looked down at the thermos. “Should I say ‘thank you’?” he asked genuinely as he looked back at him. He was never good with showing gratitude, but this was big. Even he could recognize that.
Aziraphale smiled tightly. “Better not.”
Right. Well, he had to thank him somehow. He struggled to think of something. “Shall I...drop you off anywhere?”
“No, thank you.”
Crowley tilted his head, confused. He didn’t think that was an unreasonable thing to offer.
Aziraphale looked at him, his eyes nervous but placating. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed.”
Shit, he was that obvious?
“Perhaps we could, one day,” he looked at the dashboard, “I don’t know.”
Crowley’s heart fluttered in anticipation. Yes? Will you touch my hand again?
“Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”
Oh. He deflated. That was it? A meal together in the unspecified future? He swallowed down his dissatisfaction. “I’ll give you a lift,” he said with forced lightness, “anywhere you wanna go.”
Aziraphale looked at him directly, then. He looked him up and down, anxious, exasperated, and sorry. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.”
Crowley’s brain screeched to a halt. He instantly knew this had nothing to do with his driving speed. What? What?! “Too fast?” he asked with unmasked befuddlement. Too fast for what? Talking? Sitting in a car? Having dinner once a decade at the most? Touching the top of his hand 16 years ago? They barely did a single thing! They knew each other for 6,000 years, the entire lifespan of the earth! How was that fast by any measure whatsoever?
His second train of thought was not as baffling, but smacked him across the skull with realization. If Aziraphale thought Crowley was moving their relationship “too fast”, then a) that meant his feelings were frighteningly more obvious than he thought and, more importantly, b) Aziraphale was not outright rejecting him, but saying he couldn’t do this now . For some reason, the notion that Aziraphale may have wanted something more than friendship, too, was not the happy moment it was in Crowley’s fantasies. He said that maybe one day they could do what they have always done, essentially. How was that supposed to make Crowley feel good? This actually hurt a bit worse than thinking Aziraphale didn’t consider him a friend. He didn’t know why, nor had the time to examine his emotions at the moment.
Aziraphale’s hand was on the car door, ready to leave. “Yes,” he muttered.
Before the door could open, Crowley asked, “What in Satan’s name does that mean?” He really, honestly did not know. He felt his eyebrows furrow angrily, a leer forming behind his glasses. ‘Too fast’? How did that man with his bloody hand cupping Aziraphale’s cock in 1862 not go ‘too fast’?!
Aziraphale paused. He sighed, and then his hand tightened on the handle of the door, getting ready to open it. “It’s best if I go.”
“No,” Crowley said firmly.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Answer my question,” he said, glaring at him from behind his sunglasses, mind running a million miles a minute. Why was Aziraphale so willing to go into other men’s arms but reluctant to share a car ride with him? It made no sense and he wanted answers. Maybe it wasn’t really his business, but he was a demon, so social etiquette be damned. His blood felt colder than usual in his veins, his grip tight on the thermos. It was so much harder accepting Aziraphale’s aloof behavior when he saw his true capacity for affection and intimacy. Crowley wanted him so badly it stung his stomach, like a large needle slicing into his insides. He considered that maybe it all boiled down to his being a demon, in the end, and fuck that. He couldn’t change who he was. He hadn’t even wanted to become a demon...
Aziraphale’s eyes turned a little cold. “I don’t believe I have to answer to you.”
Crowley clenched his jaw, composing himself. He couldn’t reveal he had spied on him. He couldn’t reveal his feelings. “All I wanted to do was give you a bloody ride,” he said, snarling more than he intended.
“And I declined,” Aziraphale said stiffly.
“How do I go ‘too fast’?” he pressed on. “We only—only talk.”
Aziraphale lowered his gaze then, his anger seeping away. Was that expression one of shame? “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m talking about the car,” he murmured, and moved to leave again.
“No you’re not!” he snapped. “Other men don’t go too fast for you,” Crowley’s mouth uttered flatly before his brain could stop him.
The anger returned, a fire in Aziraphale’s eye. “What?” he asked quietly, calmly.
Crowley’s heart thumped and the action sent goosebumps across his skin. Shit, shit, shit. Why the Heaven did he say that? “I’m a demon. I hear things,” he lied.
Aziraphale outright glowered at him. “What I do in my private life is absolutely none of your concern,” he said sharply. “We are not having this conversation.”
Crowley’s grip tightened around the thermos. “But—”
Aziraphale got out of the car and slammed the door hard, stomping away.
Crowley slumped back in the seat, clutching the thermos to his chest. That went terribly. He tilted his head backwards and let out a frustrated groan. “He is such a bastard,” he bemoaned to the ceiling of the car. He imitated Aziraphale’s accent, “‘Oh, sorry, I can’t let you give me a lift because that’d be rather odd but I’ll let random humans feel me up! Ha, sorry, dear!’”
He was going mad. He was definitely more confused than ever. If Aziraphale thought he was trying to progress their relationship, then he must have known Crowley’s feelings were not strictly platonic, right? That made sense, but the only reason why Crowley wasn’t humiliated was because his brain was trying to make sense of the rest of it. Aziraphale would have said something else if he simply didn’t feel the same way, like “We want different things, Crowley” or “We’re not on the same page”, or just something that didn’t sound like “I know what’s going on, but I’m not ready.”
Home now, Crowley carefully put the holy water in his safe, a shiver wrapped around his spine at the base of his neck. He sat down on his throne, taking off his glasses. He sat and thought about it. Aziraphale felt something for him other than friendship. He should have been happy. But if Aziraphale was having a holy little crisis and self-flagellating because he dared to care for the Damned, Crowley didn’t really feel comforted by that.
He sighed deeply. Maybe he was being too harsh. He knew well how Heaven could have a tight psychological grip on its subjects. Aziraphale was loyal to God, and maybe the idea of straying away frightened him. Crowley could get that. He still didn’t know how fucking humans was seen as in line with Heaven to Aziraphale, though.
Crowley thought of the implications of the conversation. There was potential for them in the future. Well, he supposed he could wait another 6,000 years, if he really had to. What else was he going to do? He couldn’t force Aziraphale to kiss him, or love him. It wouldn’t be right. He closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh. Did Aziraphale love him? He...he didn’t think so. He liked him and cared about his safety. The holy water was proof of that. What they were going through right now was just another fight. After recovering from their 1862 incident, Crowley was fairly sure that they would be at least somewhat all right after this with time. But liking someone enough to not want them to die wasn’t the same as loving them.
Crowley sank down into his chair. “Didn’t even mean to Fall,” he muttered, not for the first time in his life. He looked up at the ceiling. “Why’d you do this to me?” he asked God. “None of the others in Hell can love.” He was okay with admitting it out loud to Her because She knew anyway. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. “God, hello? This is just overkill, you know. Wasn’t the whole agony as my wings turned black bit enough?”
As always, God didn’t answer.
The funny thing about the oncoming apocalypse was that it took precedence over everything else in their lives. Crowley didn’t hesitate to call Aziraphale when the anti-Christ was born, and thankfully, their conversation stuck solely to earth and the Plan. It was like 1967 had never happened, and Crowley was fine with that. If Aziraphale wasn’t going to make a move, then there was no point dwelling on it. He had spent the past few decades trying to think of Aziraphale as little as possible. Creating the M25 helped distract him a lot, as did the rise of reality television. He still, when he chose to sleep, dreamt of Aziraphale kissing his neck and rubbing him through his trousers, but that was neither here nor there.
As mobile phones and the internet grew in popularity, Crowley invented selfies. He was quite proud of it, to be honest. All of those humans annoying each other with selfies at inappropriate moments and engaging in vanity. Hell was pleased. His invention gave him an opportunity. The increased time he spent with Aziraphale from raising Warlock made his feelings difficult to ignore. They had never spent this much time around each other. His desire to be close to Aziraphale grew, and if a touch on the hand could hold him over for over 70 years, then another little touch could do him good for another few decades. He schemed, and got an idea.
They were sharing a drink at Aziraphale’s bookshop, because really, Warlock was kind of exhausting. He didn’t seem demonic, but just plain annoying. Crowley liked kids, more or less, but Warlock was turning into a bit of a brat with age.
The point was they were both tipsy and Aziraphale’s cheeks were pink and his gaze was getting unfocused in a way that tugged at Crowley’s heart. He was endearing. He was starting to slur a little and he let out a little hiccup.
Crowley was smitten. He stood up. “Did I tell you about my latest demonic work?”
“No,” Aziraphale said dubiously. “Do I want to know?”
“No one gets hurt, I promise.”
“Okay,” he eased up, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Crowley took out his phone. “Yeah, look, these phones have cameras—”
“How on earth?” he asked.
“Get with the times, angel. Anyway, people take pictures of themselves now. It’s called a ‘selfie’ and people get full blown narcissistic with them,” he explained with a satisfied smirk.
“People really enjoy taking photographs of themselves so much?” he asked.
“Yeah. Wanna try?”
“I don’t know how to use that,” he looked at the phone.
“No, I’ll take it. Of both of us.”
“Oh. Then, is it still a self-photograph if another person is in it?”
“Selfie, and yes, it is. C’mon.” Crowley walked around the back of Aziraphale’s chair, leaning down and pulling up the camera on his phone. “People get close for ‘em,” he said, and pressed his cheek against Aziraphale’s and snapped the picture.
Aziraphale gasped and stood up, eyes wide.
Crowley was glad he hadn’t taken off his sunglasses. “What?” he asked casually. He still felt Aziraphale’s warm cheek against his.
“Um, n-nothing,” Aziraphale said, clearing his throat, flushing. “Wh-how did it come out?”
Crowley looked at the picture. He had put on a cocky smile, and Aziraphale’s lips were pulled up a little, but his expression was clearly changing into one of shock. He pressed his lips together. “Damn, it was too blurry,” he lied.
“Oh, what a shame,” Aziraphale laughed nervously. “Why don’t I get us more wine?” He walked into the opposite corner of the bookshop and took a ridiculously long time to refill their glasses.
Crowley deleted the picture and sat down in the chair, shoving away his disappointment. Aziraphale acted like he was burned. His touch was really that unappealing, huh. That was a failure. Great job, moron. That’s what you get for fantasizing about him like a human teenager.
Aziraphale was on edge now, on the cusp of Armageddon. They both were. “We are an angel and a demon . We have nothing in common. I don’t even like you!” Aziraphale cried.
The blood in Crowley’s veins was boiling. The last thing he wanted to hear was a reminder that they could never be together because of who he was, and from Aziraphale’s lips of all things. “You doooo!”
Aziraphale looked like a frightened animal, ready to bolt. “Even if I did know where the anti-Christ is, I wouldn’t tell you because we’re on opposite sides!”
Crowley felt a hiss brewing in his throat. He was losing his patience very quickly. “We’re on our side.”
“There is no ‘our side’, Crowley. Not anymore! It’s over.”
Crowley felt his heart shatter in two and land in fire in his chest. After 6,000 years, Aziraphale was going to end it just like that? Because he was a fucking demon? Crowley never felt so angry with him. “You won’t run away with me because I’m a demon,” he spoke in a low growl.
“Yes,” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “You can’t tempt me to abandon my duty to humanity.”
Crowley felt his fangs sliding out in bubbling anger. He wasn’t trying to do that at all. Aziraphale was never this much of a bastard to him. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. He didn’t feel the need to hold back. It was over, anyway. “But humans can tempt you, can’t they?” he asked in a biting voice.
Aziraphale balled his hands into fists, his face turning red, glaring. “Not this again.”
“You’ve done some pretty non-angelic things that have got nothing to do with me,” he accused. If it was over, he might as well get this off his chest.
Aziraphale was indignant. “You have no right to judge me. It wasn’t much different than indulging in delicious food.”
Yes it fucking was, but Crowley shook his head roughly. “Why’d you let humans tempt you to that but you won’t even work with me?” he demanded.
Aziraphale’s gaze was piercing. “Humans are not my enemy,” he said sternly.
The rejection settled bitterly in his chest. Crowley stared at him. He could tell Aziraphale was bothered about something else, but fuck it. It wasn’t his job to figure it out. He wasn’t going to mope around and plead with him like a lovesick jackass (which, yeah, he was that, but he still had some fucking pride). Crowley walked away from him. Sadly, he wasn’t surprised by this; he suspected the reason behind Aziraphale’s reluctance to be with him for years. He shouldn’t have thought Aziraphale would ever choose him. God cursed him with optimism and it always bit him in the arse.
The worst moment of Crowley’s long life was when he was yelling Aziraphale’s name into the smoke and flame-filled air, on the verge of tears. “For somebody’s sake, where are you?!” he screamed. A blast from a firehouse outside slammed into him, sending him to the floor. His ears were ringing and he sat up, squinting into the flames. He was about to give up when he saw a lump on the floor. Staggering to his feet and tripping on the way, he came across Aziraphale’s body on the floor surrounded by candles.
“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried in relief, falling to his knees. But something was still wrong. Why couldn’t he feel him? If the building hadn’t been burning around them, he would have tried to drag Aziraphale into the Bentley, but he didn’t have time! They needed to get out of there. Crowley saw a book on the ground nearby and grabbed it. Aziraphale would want it to be saved. Summoning all of his strength, Crowley placed his hands on Aziraphale and teleported them to the bed in his flat. It was such a draining miracle to transport two beings, even in the same city, that Crowley collapsed on the bed. He panted, momentarily dazed. He lifted his head, his ash-stained cheek leaving a mark on his pillow.
Aziraphale was lying on his back, eyes closed, still as the dead. No. He couldn’t be. He didn’t look injured at all. He wasn’t breathing, but that was technically optional.
Crowley couldn’t feel his soul, though. His stomach churned, heart in his throat. He felt like he was being thrown down into a pool of boiling sulfur again, filled with despair. “No,” he croaked. He sat up, grabbing his coat lapels. “Aziraphale!” he yelled.
Not a flinch.
Crowley raised his hand. It hovered in the air, but Aziraphale still wasn’t moving, so he slapped him hard across the face, making a startling smack sound and sending his face off to the side. Crowley winced. He never wanted to hit him. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warned weakly.
Aziraphale was motionless. His cheek was pale, not even reddening from the slap.
Crowley’s vision blurred and he was muttering no no no no no. It couldn’t be, but he wasn’t an idiot. He was in bed with a lifeless body and Aziraphale’s essence was nowhere to be seen, or felt. He was dead. “You’ve gone,” tears spilled over his exposed eyes. He bit his lip, fangs out and drawing blood. He looked to the ceiling with fury. “How could you?!” he yelled at God. “He was an angel! He was one of your children and you let this happen?!” His throat was sore and his voice was hoarse from the fire. He kept yelling. “He loved you! He never wanted to upset you!” Tears dripped off his chin. He felt like he was going to hurl, and might have if he had food in his stomach. “Look what you’ve done!” his voice broke with a crack. He looked down at Aziraphale’s slack face. “And you!” He grabbed fistfuls of his waistcoat, lifting the limp body. He gagged at how it dangled in his grasp. He was audibly crying now for the first time since his Fall. “Why couldn’t you listen to me?” he asked through gritted teeth. “No one would have come for you in Alpha Centauri. I wasn't tempting you!”
Aziraphale’s body didn’t respond.
Crowley lowered him to the bed and leaned down, craning his neck and burying his sobs in Aziraphale’s chest. It was downright cruel that this was the closest they had ever been. The sound of thunder cracked but he didn’t move. He didn’t care.
“Why didn’t you choose me?” he wept miserably into his chest. “I would’ve protected you. I fucking loved you, you son of a bitch.” A massive bitch! he mentally cursed at God. He trembled and grew quieter, hot, grieving tears leaking from his closed eyes. Why couldn’t you love me? I would’ve taken care of you. Given you more than any human ever did. For fuck's sake, I adored you.
Crowley was prepared to remain there until the end. There was no point in saving the world if there were no Aziraphale. He felt weak, too, from the miracle. So weak. He could lie down and rest until the end. He didn’t care if Heaven won and they killed him. Do whatever you want, you fuckwits, he thought, having given up.
“Crowley?”
He startled, jaw dropping and heart stopping. At the foot of the bed—it was—it was—“Aziraphale.” The world stopped. He wiped his eyes furiously and squinted. “Are you here?” It had to be a dream. He must have cried himself to sleep.
“Good question. Not certain. Never done this before.” His voice sounded far away. Shock was written all over his face. “That’s my body.”
Crowley registered that he was holding onto it and lifted his hands, his heart kicking back to life as he flushed. “Uh, yeah, erm, what the fuck happened to you?” he asked. The devastation he felt just a minute ago was gone and he held back a tear of relief. He couldn’t cry in front of Aziraphale. His face was still wet from the hose, which gave him an excuse for the tear tracks already on his face.
“Long story, but I’ve been discorporated.”
“Oh.” He felt really fucking dumb. That was why he couldn’t sense him but there was no sign of injury on his body.
The wavy image in front of him flew into the body. Aziraphale opened his eyes with a gasp, sitting up.
Crowley never fainted before, but he could have now. This was real. His angel was alive. He could only stare, taking in every movement and the way a healthy flush returned to his cheeks.
Aziraphale looked around. “How did my body get here? Where are we?”
“My flat,” he rasped. “I miracled us here.”
“Your flat?” his brow furrowed. “I—Crowley, why are you wet?”
Crowley braced himself. He hated making his beloved unhappy. His heart sunk for him. “It was a blast from a firehose.”
“Where was the fire?”
Crowley wanted to reach out, but squashed the thought. “I’m really sorry, but your bookshop burned down,” he revealed, voice rough and quivering from, well, everything.
Aziraphale was very still. “All of it?” he asked.
Crowley hated that he couldn’t make the situation better. “Eh—mmm, eh, er—mmm, yeah.”
Aziraphale lowered his eyes, then they widened. “Agnes Nutter!”
Crowley spun around and realized the book he grabbed was behind him on the bed. “Oh, yeah,” he gave it to him. “It was all I could get.”
“It’s exactly what we need!” Aziraphale beamed.
Crowley thought he’d never see that smile again. He melted.
Aziraphale’s smile faltered, but his eyes were soft. “I’m afraid I rather made a mess of things.”
Crowley only stared, still melting like an ice cream cone in the sun. He didn’t even care about their argument earlier. He was too happy to remember to be angry. Screw you for not letting me stay mad at you, he thought. Screw you for making me happy.
Aziraphale lifted his hand, paused, and then placed it on Crowley’s damp cheek.
He went from melting ice cream to stone in an instant.
“We have a world to save,” Aziraphale’s eyes searched his, “but if we succeed, then afterwards, I’d like to have a word with you. Okay, my dear?”
Crowley swallowed. “What’d I do now?” he asked. Okay, he was evil and got up to no good on a regular basis, but couldn’t remember doing anything bad that was noteworthy.
Aziraphale grinned. “Nothing wrong, Crowley.”
He remembered he was supposed to do wrong, but no one was really keeping score anymore. Keeping score was exhausting a lot of times, anyway. “Oh. Okay.”
Aziraphale brushed his cheekbone.
Crowley could have whimpered.
“Good.” Aziraphale let go of him and opened the book. “Now, I know where the anti-Christ is.”