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It took a full year, a full leap year, for Aziraphale to find his way home again; 366 days, and he marked each and every one, scratched them into the wall of the empty space in his chest where his heart should have been.
He would have returned home much sooner, but home kept moving; Crowley kept moving.
Crowley kept running.
He had left London. He’d left the city, the country, the entire island, the whole hemisphere. He’d taken off for parts of the world where they'd never spent much time, or any time, and he never held still for long.
There had been a close call, once. He’d crossed paths with another angel in Argentina, a junior Earth agent looking to prove herself and foolish enough to attack. She’d been very vague about the details, either out of shame, or fear of the Supreme Archangel’s wrath, or genuine confusion about how she’d ended up unconscious, but Crowley had definitely got away.
Aziraphale had removed the junior agent from duty and issued a blanket order that no one was to even attempt to harm the Serpent of Eden in any way. Crowley was now officially under his protection.
Of course, giving an order like that had consequences, which had delayed him even more. And the fact that Crowley was making more of an effort to hide himself since the attack certainly didn’t help matters.
Aziraphale had learned that it was easier to find the Bentley. Crowley and the Bentley itself had both accepted Aziraphale as its partial owner, and that had changed certain things. The Bentley couldn’t hide from him; moreover, the Bentley wanted him to find it; and Crowley was never far from the Bentley.
And it was the Bentley that had led him here, to the Falkland Islands, after 366 agonising days; here, where Crowley was standing on an otherwise vacant lookout point, staring down at the penguins on the beach below. This was where Aziraphale finally, finally materialised at his side and breathed a sigh of relief. “There you are.”
Crowley glanced at him and immediately looked away, his upper lip curling into a sneer.
But Aziraphale had expected that. “Crowley—”
“That’s not me,” he spat.
Aziraphale hadn’t expected that. “...What?”
“That’s. Not. Me,” the former demon repeated, grinding the words out. “I’m not Crowley. Not anymore.”
And it was obvious, now, all the little details that were not-quite-Crowley. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of a coat that fit him far too loosely and wasn’t really dark enough, which he was wearing over a very soft-looking jumper that was too light a shade of grey. His face was neither clean-shaven nor adorned with neatly-groomed (or at least decidedly intentional) facial hair; instead, his jaw was rough with stubble. His beautiful red hair was shorter than it had ever, ever been, so short that the wind barely even ruffled it.
“...I see,” Aziraphale said. He took in the sight of the figure beside him, noting every difference and every similarity, every familiar reassurance that home was still home. The sunglasses were still there. So were the snakeskin boots, and the familiar sigil. His voice was the same, and he still held himself the same way.
And he was standing here staring at penguins, which, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, were slightly-more-vertical ducks wearing formal attire.
“Well,” Aziraphale said. “May I ask what you are calling yourself now?”
The former demon was still adamantly refusing to look at him, but he did answer. “Lowley.”
The emptiness in Aziraphale’s chest echoed with the shattering of a heart that wasn’t there. Lowley. That was all the being beside him saw of himself now.
“That’s who I am now,” Lowley said defiantly, daring Aziraphale to argue the point, still refusing to look in his direction at all. “So if you want Crowley, then that’s just tough. I’m not him.”
But Aziraphale could see so much more of him than that. He saw the layers upon layers of pain, and he saw what lay beneath those layers, too. “...Oh, my dear,” he whispered. “You can change your name all you like, but I still know who you are.”
“Do you?” Lowley snapped, spinning on his heel to fully face the angel. “Have you ever known me?” he snarled. “Supreme Archangel Aziraphale?”
The title was meant as a barb, and it clattered uselessly in Aziraphale’s chest against a wall with 366 tallies. He saw through the layers of pain, and he stepped into the empty space between them. “Always,” he whispered, looking right through those sunglasses to hold eye contact. “I have always known you,” and he forced himself to honour the new name, “...Lowley.”
Lowley shuddered at the sound of his name in that voice, and he rolled his shoulders back and looked away to try to hide it, but a soft hand was on his cheek then, drawing him back, perfectly manicured fingers resting lightly on the arm of his sunglasses.
“May I?”
“No!” He yanked his head away from that hand.
Aziraphale winced at the sting of it, but he let his hand fall and he pressed on. “I’ve always known you,” he quietly repeated. “I knew you when you were an angel—”
Lowley turned to flee and nearly collided with his Bentley, which had apparently decided to join them. He grabbed at the door handle and growled when he found he’d been locked out. The Bentley wasn’t there to aid his escape; it was blocking his path. (Or maybe it just wanted to see the penguins.)
Aziraphale gave their car a deeply grateful look as he gently took Lowley’s hands in his. “When you were making nebulae, when you thought surely a mere suggestion couldn’t hurt, I knew you then,” he went on.
Lowley didn’t pull his hands away, but he kept glaring at the Bentley for its betrayal, clenching his jaw because he didn’t want to hear this, he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t—
“I knew you when you worried you’d done the right thing by tempting Eve with the apple.” Aziraphale tugged on his hands, holding them nearer to his chest. “I knew you when you didn’t destroy the blameless children of blameless Job, just as you didn’t destroy his blameless goats.”
Lowley glared at him and hastily looked away. His every muscle was tense, because the angel just had to phrase it like that, didn’t he? He just had to drive home the reminder that they’d had this conversation before.
“I knew you when you showed a carpenter from Galilee all the kingdoms of the world, and I knew you when you mourned his untimely — his utterly senseless death,” Aziraphale persisted. “I knew you when you spent a full week getting drunk in a cantina in Spain over a commendation you’d been sent—”
Lowley finally yanked his hands free and shoved them into his coat pockets, but there was obviously no point trying to get away. He glared down at his boots.
Aziraphale’s empty hands immediately sought and held Lowley’s elbows, not tightly enough to keep him if he didn’t want to stay, but firmly enough to beg, to plead, don’t leave. “I knew you when you knew the consequences you risked and still chose to persuade a young woman not to take her own life. I knew you when you personally raised the boy we thought would destroy the Earth, when you soothed his nightmares and dried his tears, I knew you!”
Lowley shifted and squirmed and fiercely glared at the dirt between them, and Aziraphale only stepped even closer.
“I knew you when you risked everything to take my place in Heaven,” he whispered. “I knew you when you helped me protect someone you would have rather seen destroyed. I knew you when you led the humans out of our shop and brought them to safety. By any name you want, I know you, and I always have known you, and I always will know you, just as—” His voice cracked. “Just as you have always known me.”
Lowley’s head snapped upright at that, and he stared at the angel who was staring so beseechingly up at him.
The angel gave a helpless little shrug of his shoulders. “Aziraphale,” he said, offering his name with the same inflection he’d used the first time they’d met, although Lowley was pretty sure there hadn’t been tears in his eyes then. “You know me. You always have,” he said, and it sounded like a plea. “You knew me… when I gave away my sword. You knew me when I watched and did nothing about the Flood, when I was desperately trying to convince myself that that was right.”
Lowley gulped, and he consciously unclenched his jaw.
“You knew me when I was certain that I must have Fallen, because I’d lied to defy God,” Aziraphale quietly pressed on. His hands slid a little higher on Lowley’s arms. “And you knew me — in Alexandria, when the library burned.” In a not entirely unrelated thought, he furrowed his brow and added, “And the first time I got drunk.”
Despite everything, Lowley smirked at that particular memory, and Aziraphale counted that as a minor victory.
“You knew me when—” Aziraphale took a deep breath, because it was embarrassing, but he needed to bare himself completely; the emptiness in his chest demanded that he admit to every flaw he could think of. “When I had that whole… debacle because I forgot to have a belly button when I went to the public baths, and ended up being mistaken for a god.”
Lowley raised his eyebrows up above his sunglasses, and it was so delightfully familiar that Aziraphale’s knees almost gave out.
“You knew me when I got myself imprisoned and awaiting discorporation over crepes,” he went on. “And you knew me when… when I couldn’t save Wee Morag.”
As he spoke, Lowley slowly removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his pocket, letting his hands hang at his sides but avoiding eye contact for now.
Aziraphale still caught his breath at the sight of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. “You knew me when I refused to give you a suicide pill,” he whispered. “And you knew me when I did hand you that thermos.”
Lowley’s shoulders sagged, and he slumped a little bit closer to the angel.
“You knew me when you risked everything to spare me an embarrassing discorporation because I’d got myself double-crossed by Nazi spies,” Aziraphale went on, and his hands crept a little higher again. “You knew me when I handed you a gun as part of a magic act. And you…” Another deep breath, because it wasn’t just the flaws; it was all the hardest parts, all the most difficult choices. “You knew me when I agreed to be godfather to the Antichrist,” he said. “You knew me when I lied about knowing where the Antichrist was. You knew me when I tried to kill the innocent boy who ended up saving us all.”
Lowley met his gaze then. He was noticing a pattern, mostly because of what the angel wasn’t mentioning. He didn’t like those things being omitted, and he didn’t like how those omissions made the angel look.
Aziraphale saw traces of anger in those yellow eyes, and assumed that anger was (justifiably) aimed at him for the very events he’d just mentioned, but he desperately persevered. “You knew me when I took your place in Hell,” he whispered, tightening his grip as his fingers reached Lowley’s shoulders. “You knew me when I refused to see you during lockdown. You knew me when I wanted to help someone who had tried to destroy me. You knew me when I didn’t listen to you about the demons outside.”
Lowley inhaled as pieces slid into place and he understood why Aziraphale was choosing a primarily negative portrayal of himself.
“You knew me when I asked you to do something you have never, ever wanted to do. You knew me when I went back. You’ve always known me, and — and you know me now…” the angel begged. His lip trembled as he stared deep into the eyes he’d missed so dearly. “...Please…” he breathed.
Lowley crumpled and hauled the angel into his arms. They both shuddered with the relief of it and clung to each other with all of their might, each firmly pressing his face into the other’s shoulder. Long fingers slid through pale curls and held Aziraphale safely where he was. The former demon lifted his head just enough to whisper in his ear in a rough, shaky voice, “Yeah… Yeah, I know you, angel… I know you.”
366 miserable days, each scratched into the wall of an empty chest, and Aziraphale was finally home.
The former demon started to nuzzle against him and abruptly straightened up. “Bugger this,” he muttered, disentangling himself just enough to wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand, which he then rubbed on his jaw to vanish away his stubble, because even his own facial hair didn’t get to come between his now-smooth face and his angel’s soft, warm cheek. Then he gently nuzzled in again.
Aziraphale made a cooing sort of sound as he leaned into the touch. He cradled his beloved’s face in his hand and straightened up enough to gaze at him. “My dear,” he murmured. “What would you like me to call you?”
The former demon all but drowned himself in the hazel eyes that haunted his dreams. Then he sighed, because even the thought of how the name Lowley had sounded in his angel’s voice made something twitch in his back. He pressed their foreheads together, because really, was there such a thing as too much touch? “...You know me, Aziraphale,” he whispered wearily. “What do you think?”
“Hmm…” Aziraphale brushed his fingertips through soft red hair, so short that it was practically just fluff, as he considered the matter. “...Of all the names I have ever known you by,” he murmured, “I think, the one that’s always fit you the best is—”
The former demon squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.
“Crowley.” Two simple syllables, humbly offered with pure love and admiration.
And for the first time in 366 days, Crowley’s world felt whole.
Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, holding his angel a little closer. He felt his lips starting to curve towards a smile, and then—
And then Aziraphale’s lips were pressed against his.
Oh. Oh, they were kissing. Aziraphale was kissing him, and he kissed back, and they both clung to each other, and yes, this was right. This was finally right.
“Don’t leave me,” Crowley begged when their lips parted. “Please don’t leave me again.”
Aziraphale winced, painfully aware of how little time they had. “I have to,” he whispered, and he hastened to try to soften the blow. “But only physically. Only ever physically,” he promised. He pressed his hand over Crowley’s chest and looked up at him, trying to give him a brave smile. “You have my heart,” he whispered.
For a moment, Crowley stared at him and didn’t breathe.
And then Aziraphale was pinned with his back against the Bentley and Crowley pressing impossibly close, apparently trying to fit both of them into his oversized coat. Aziraphale did not have the slightest objection to that. He slipped his arms around Crowley’s slim waist and burrowed in as best he could.
“I’ll take better care of it now,” Crowley vowed when he was satisfied that they were as entangled as they possibly could be.
“I know,” Aziraphale whispered.
“Starting right now, with some addendums to those ridiculously lopsided lists.”
“With — what?”
“You left things out,” Crowley said irritably. “And even the things you did say, the way you said — Aziraphale.” He huffed out a breath and shifted until he had the angel’s face between his hands, all but forcing eye contact. “I did not know you when you just ‘took my place in Hell.’ I knew you when you risked everything to take my place in Hell, asked for a rubber duck, and had the Archangel Michael miracle up a towel.”
“...Oh,” Aziraphale said bashfully. “Well…”
But Crowley was only getting started. “I knew you on that tarmac at the end of the world when Satan was coming and I had given up and you didn’t let me. I knew you when you told the Antichrist he was human incarnate. I knew you when you convinced Gabriel and Beelzebub to sod off because maybe the Great Plan wasn’t the same as the Ineffable one.”
“You helped!” Aziraphale protested.
“It was your idea!” Crowley countered, and he kept right on going. “I knew you when you defied a miracle blocker and saved me from — from who even knows what sort of torture in Hell for all eternity with a bloody sleight of hand trick. I knew you — I have known you every single time you’ve under-charged rent, or waived it completely, so that someone could open a business, or keep a business, or just have a roof over their heads. I knew you when you were absolutely certain that you would Fall from Heaven if you did the right thing and you did it anyway because it was the right thing. I knew you when you saw your hereditary enemy, who’d just caused some very serious trouble, and you chose to shelter him from the first rain. I — I knew you—” His voice was shakier now, and he paused for a deep breath before he forced himself onward. “I knew you when you tried very hard to warn an angel who outranked you at the time that maybe he was — sauntering a little too close to a line that he wouldn’t be able to uncross. I knew you!”
He took a few more shaky breaths, still gripping the angel’s cheeks tightly enough that it probably hurt, staring into his rather stunned-looking eyes.
“You’re the best one of the whole lot Up There. You always have been,” Crowley went on. “And I get it. I get the point you were making. You’re not perfect. Nobody is. But for — nghmz — Whatever’s sake, don’t you ever talk down about yourself like that ever again, Aziraphale! Got it?”
Aziraphale smiled sadly at him and slowly blinked a few stray tears out of his eyes. “...Well I won’t promise anything, but I do… understand the concept of it, yes, on a logical level,” he said cautiously.
Crowley stared at him. “...Well that’s a start,” he decided.
Aziraphale giggled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“I’m not done. I still have to fix your other list,” Crowley said. “You don’t get to cherry-pick all your most embarrassing moments and just skip all of mine. So let’s start with how you also knew me when I was off my head on laudanum.”
Aziraphale looked offended. “For a noble cause,” he said stubbornly.
“That does not change the bit about me changing sizes every which way without even realising it,” Crowley said. “And besides, that was one time I might have had an arguably noble cause, but you have known me when I was under the influence of probably literally every single mind-altering substance available on this planet, and some of those were not exactly flattering.”
Aziraphale could not exactly dispute the point. “...Yes, the peyote was… interesting,” he conceded.
“That… is one way to describe it, yes,” Crowley agreed. “And that’s just… y’know, chemically induced stuff. Let’s not forget that you also knew me that time I got myself trapped in a salt circle that I made.”
“That also involved alcohol.”
“I meant the other time.”
“...Oh! Oh, with the tent, yes.”
“And you knew me when I couldn’t remember the word for a fork for the better part of a fortnight,” Crowley continued. “You knew me when I went to the public baths and forgot to give myself nipples.”
“We had agreed not to talk about that,” Aziraphale said defensively.
“We had agreed not to talk about any time that either of us got mixed up about any anatomical bits at the public baths, but you brought yours up!” Crowley said. “Ooh, and you also knew me the first time I tried an oyster. And you knew me when I had no idea why Noah was meant to have two of each animal on the ark. Should I keep going? I’m sure there’s more.”
“I did not list all of my embarrassing moments, and I don’t think you need to, either,” Aziraphale said fondly. He snuggled in against Crowley’s jumper, which was even softer than it looked, and then he abruptly straightened up again. “Oh! How’s your arm?”
“My arm?” Crowley furrowed his brows.
“That… run-in with that… ridiculous agent Heaven had down here,” Aziraphale huffed. He was gently examining both of Crowley’s arms as if anything would show through the coat sleeves, much to the former demon’s befuddlement. “In Argentina. She said she hurt your arm, but she didn’t say which arm—”
“She… did not… lay a hand on me,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale stopped and blinked up at him. “...What?”
Crowley’s eyebrows were at least halfway up his forehead. “...She charged… I side-stepped… she hit a wall…” He shrugged. “That was pretty much it. I mean, I dragged her behind some bins so the humans wouldn’t interfere or anything, but…”
“...Oh!” Aziraphale heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, that explains a great deal about her report,” he realised. “I knew she wasn’t being entirely honest, but… oh, dear.” He gave it another moment of thought. “Well, I think I’m glad for her sake that I removed her from duty.”
Crowley wrinkled his nose as he nodded. “Probably for the best,” he agreed. And then he watched the changes in Aziraphale’s face — changes that he knew all too well. The shadow of worry, the strain of anxiety, the nervous upward glance… Crowley sighed and pulled his angel firmly back into his arms (and his coat). “What’s wrong?” he asked wearily.
Aziraphale didn’t even bother denying that something was wrong; he just sagged into the warmth of Crowley’s embrace. “Rather a lot, I’m afraid,” he admitted, and he very quietly added, “I need your help.” I need you. The memory of his desperate cry in their last conversation sent an involuntary shudder through him, and he tightened his grip on Crowley’s jumper.
Crowley could hear that memory just as clearly; he had never stopped hearing it, really. He held his angel a little closer and nuzzled against him. “Tell me,” he whispered.
Aziraphale sighed. “I’m afraid we have to save the world again.”
Crowley arched an eyebrow. Then he stepped back and gently guided the angel’s face up to make sure he saw the raised eyebrow. “You’re sure it’s up to us?” he asked. “Seem to recall we did a pretty shoddy job of it last time.”
Aziraphale chuckled softly. He did not disagree. “We’ll have help,” he said. “But yes, I do believe we need to do something.”
Crowley sighed dramatically (and even that was familiar enough to make Aziraphale smile). “Nyengh… Guess I’d better get my act together, then. I clearly haven’t been myself. What am I even wearing?” He looked down at his outfit with a critical eye.
Aziraphale pouted. “It’s soft,” he said defensively, and he stroked Crowley’s chest to prove the point.
So when Crowley snapped his fingers, his jumper and oversized coat turned black, but otherwise remained unchanged. “And what am I doing here, of all places? It’s cold,” he complained. He huddled closer to the angel, because warmth was as good an excuse as any. “I mean if I had to go wandering the Earth, I could’ve at least gone somewhere warm. Half the planet has summer right now! Why’d I choose to be on this side of the bloody equator?”
Aziraphale shrugged. “Penguins?” he guessed.
Crowley turned to look at the mass of black-and-white birds on the beach below them. “...Yeah, probably penguins,” he conceded. He watched them for a moment longer. “...What do you call a group of penguins? A herd?”
Aziraphale frowned. “...A… flock, I would think. They are birds,” he reasoned.
“Flock of penguins… that doesn’t sound right,” Crowley mumbled. Then he shrugged it off. “Anyway. Ducks are better,” he decided.
Aziraphale laughed.
Crowley gave him a very fond smirk. “Right. On to business, then?” he said. He pulled out his sunglasses and slid them onto his face, and then he reached past the angel for the door handle. This time, the Bentley opened easily for him. “Get in, angel.”
And they climbed into the Bentley and drove away.